"It seems to me you are very much like the fox looking at the
dovecote. He does not like, and it makes him wroth, to see the doves
dwelling so high, and unlike the hens, always on the wing. All you
have said tells in favor of Polish women."
"How do you make that out?"
"The more a Polish woman seems intolerable as somebody else's wife,
the more desirable she is to have for one's own."
She had driven me into a corner, and I could not find an answer.
Perhaps she is right, and I look upon it from a fox's point of view.
There is also not the slightest doubt that if I were to marry,
especially a Pole, I not only should search for her among the high
flying doves, but I should choose a perfectly white one.
But I am like the chickens when asked in what sauce they would like to
be served; I do not want to be dished up at all. Now, to return to my
grievance against you, dear ladies, you are before everything in love
with love, and not with the lover. Every one of you is a queen in her
own rights, and in this you differ from other women; every one seems
to confer a boon and a favor in permitting herself to be loved; none
agrees to be only an addition or completion of a man's life, who,
besides matrimony, has some other aims in life. You want us to live
for you, instead of living for us. Last, but not least, you love your
children more than your husband. His final fate is that of a satellite
turning forever round in the same orbit. I have seen this and noticed
it very often in a general way; but now and then there happens to
be found a pure diamond too among the chaff. No, my queens and
princesses, permit me to worship you from a safe distance.
Fancy putting aside all other aims, all ideals, in order to burn
incense every day at the shrine of a woman, and that woman one's own
wife. No, dear ladies, that is not sufficient to fill a man's life.
Nevertheless, that second self sometimes mutters, "And what else is
there for you to do? If, anybody it is you who are fittest for the
sacrifice, for what are your aims or your intentions? No! the deuce
and all! To change the whole tenor of one's life, renounce old habits,
comforts, pleasures, it must be a great love, indeed, that could
induce me to such a venture. Marriage means a most amazing act of
faith in a woman, I could never summon courage enough to commit. No,
most decidedly, I do not wish to be served up in any sauce whatever."
WARSAW, 21 January.
I arrived here to-day. I broke my journey at Vienna which made it less
tiring, but my nerves do not let me sleep, so I take up my journal
which has grown as a friend to me. What joy there was in the house
at my arrival, and what a dear, kind soul that aunt of mine is! I do
believe she is awake now for very joy. She could scarcely eat any
dinner. When in the country at Ploszow, she is continually wrangling
with her land-agent, Pan Chwastowski, a burly old nobleman who does
not give in to her one whit. Sometimes their disputes reach to such
a pitch that a catastrophe seems imminent; then suddenly my aunt
relaxes, falls to with an appetite and eats her dinner with a certain
determination. To-day she had only the servants to scold, and that was
not sufficient to give her an appetite. She was in capital spirits
though, and the loving glances she bestowed on me beggar description.
In intimate circles I am called my aunt's fetich, which makes her very
angry.
Of course my fears and presentiments have not deceived me. There are
not only plans, but also a definite object. After dinner my aunt is
in the habit of walking up and down the room, and often thinks aloud.
Therefore, in spite of the mystery she deems fit to surround herself
with, I heard the following monologue:--
"He is young, handsome, rich, intelligent; she would be a fool if she
did not fall in love with him at once."
To-morrow I am to go to a picnic the gentlemen are giving for the
ladies. They say it is going to be a grand entertainment.
WARSAW, 25 January.
I am often bored at balls. As a _homo sapiens_ and an _éligible
parti_, I abhor them; as an artist, that is, artist without portfolio,
I now and then like them. What a splendid sight, for instance, that
broad staircase well lit up, where, amid a profusion of flowers the
women ascend to the ball-room. They all appear tall, and when not seen
from below (because the training robes destroy the illusion) they
remind one of the angels on Jacob's ladder. I like the motion, the
light, the flowers, and the gauzy material which enwraps the young
girls as in a soft mist; and then those shoulders, necks, and arms
which released from the warm cloaks seem at once to grow firm and
crisp as marble. My sense of smell, too, is gratified, for I delight
in good perfumes.
The picnic was a great success. To give Staszewski his due, he knows
how to arrange these things. I arrived together with my aunt, but lost
sight of her in the entrance hall, for Staszewski himself came down to
lead her upstairs. The dear old lady had on her ermine cloak she uses
on great occasions, and which her friends call her robe of state. When
I entered the ballroom I remained near the door and looked around.
What a strange sensation when, after a long interval, one comes back
to once familiar scenes. I feel I am a part of them, and yet I look at
them and criticise them as if I were a stranger. Especially the women
attracted my attention,--I must admit, fastidious as I am, that our
society is very choice. I saw pretty faces and plain faces, but all
stamped with the same well-bred refinement. The necks and shoulders,
in spite of the softly rounded contours, simply reminded me of Sevres
china. There is a restful elegance, something daintily finished, in
all of them. Truly, they do not imitate Europe,--they are Europe.
I remained there about a quarter of an hour indolently musing which of
all these dainty damsels my aunt had chosen for me, when Sniatynski
and his wife came up. I had seen him only a few months ago at Rome,
and had known her, too, for some time. I like her very much; she has a
sweet face and belongs to those exceptional Poles that do not absorb
their husband's whole life, but surrender their own. Presently a young
girl slipped in between us, and while greeting Pani Sniatynska, put
out a small hand encased in a white kid glove and said:--
"Don't you know me, Leon?"
I felt slightly perplexed at this question, for indeed I did not know
who it was that greeted me thus familiarly; but not wishing to seem
rude, I smiled and pressed the little hand, saying, "Of course I do."
I must have looked a little foolish because, presently Pani Sniatynska
burst out laughing and said, "But he does not recognize you; it is
Aniela P."
Aniela, my cousin! No wonder I did not recognize her. The last time
I saw her, some ten or eleven years ago at Ploszow, she wore a short
frock and pink stockings. I remember the midges had stung her about
the legs, and she stamped on the ground like a little pony. How could
I dream that these white shoulders, this breast covered with violets,
this pretty face with the dark eyes, in short, this girl in the full
bloom of maidenhood, was the same as the little wagtail on thin feet
I had known formerly. How pretty she had grown; a fine butterfly
had come from that chrysalis. I renewed my greeting very heartily.
Afterwards when the Sniatynskis had left us she told me that my aunt
and her mother had sent her to fetch me. I offered my arm and we went
across the room.
All at once it burst in upon me. It was she, Aniela, my aunt had in
her mind. That then was the secret, the surprise meant for me. My aunt
always used to be fond of her, and troubled herself not a little over
Pani P.'s financial difficulties. I only wondered why these ladies
were not stopping with my aunt; but I did not ponder over it long; I
preferred to look at Aniela, who naturally interested me more than the
average girl. As we had to make our way to the other end of the
room and the crush was great, I had ample time for conversation and
scrutiny. Fashion this year has it that gloves should be worn halfway
up the elbow, so I noticed that the arm which rested on mine had a
slightly dusky shade, covered as it was with a light down. And yet she
could not be called a brunette. Her hair is a light brown with a gleam
of bronze. Her eyes are light too, but appear dark, shaded as they are
by long eyelashes; the eyebrows, on the contrary, are dark and very
pretty. The characteristic of this little head with the low brow is
that exuberance of hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and that down, which
on the face is very slight. This at some future time may spoil her
beauty, but at present she is so young that it points only to an
exuberance of organism, and shows that she is not a doll, but a woman
full of warm, active life.
I do not deny that, fastidious as are my nerves and not easily
thrilled, I fell under a spell. She is my type exactly. My aunt, who,
if she ever heard about Darwin would call him a wicked writer, has
unconsciously adopted his theory of natural selection. Yes, she is my
type. They have baited the hook this time with a dainty morsel.
An electric current seemed to pass from her arm into mine. Besides I
noticed that she too seemed pleased with me, and that naturally raises
one's spirits. My scrutiny from an artistic point of view proved
highly satisfactory. There are faces that seem to be a translation
from music or poetry into human shape. Such a face is Aniela's. There
is nothing commonplace about it. As children are inoculated for
small-pox so the upper classes inoculate modesty in their girls; there
is something so very innocent in this face, but through that very
innocence peeps out a warm temperament. What a combination!--as if
some one said, "An innocent Satan!"
Unsophisticated as Aniela is, she is yet a little bit of a coquette,
and quite conscious of her attractions. Knowing for instance that she
has beautiful eyelashes, she very often drops her eyes. She has also
a graceful way of lifting her head and looking at the person she
is speaking to. In the beginning she was slightly artificial, from
shyness I fancy, but soon afterwards we chatted together as if we had
never been separated since those times at Ploszow. My aunt is highly
amusing with her absentmindedness, but I should not care to have her
for a fellow-conspirator. Scarcely had we approached the two elderly
ladies and I exchanged greetings with Aniela's mother, when my aunt,
noticing my animation, turned to her companion and said aloud, "How
pretty she looks in those violets! It was, after all, a happy thought
that he should see her the first time at a ball."
Aniela's mother grew very confused, and so did Aniela, and the truth
began to dawn upon me why it was the ladies were not staying with my
aunt. This had been Pani P.'s idea; she and my aunt had been plotting
together. I suppose Aniela had not been taken into confidence, but
thanks to female perspicacity could not help guessing how matters
stood.
To put an end to the embarrassing situation I turned to her and said,
"I warn you that I am not very proficient at dancing, but as they will
carry you off any moment, will you grant me a waltz?"
Aniela for all answer handed me her tablets and said resolutely, "Put
down as many as you like."
I confess that I do not like the rôle of a puppet pulled by a string,
therefore I resolved to take an active part in the old ladies'
politics. I took the tablets and wrote, "Did you understand that they
want us to marry?"
Aniela read it and changed color. She remained silent for a moment,
as if not trusting her voice, or hesitating what to say; at last she
lifted her eyelashes and looking straight into my eyes she replied,
"Yes."
It was now her turn to question me, not in words but with her eyes. I
already knew I had made a favorable impression on her, and if she had
an inkling of the truth her mind must needs dwell a good deal on me.
I interpreted the look of her eyes thus: "I am aware my mother and my
aunt want us to become acquainted, to know each other well. And you?"
Instead of an answer I put my arm around her waist, and lightly
drawing her towards me, led her into the mazes of a waltz. I
remembered my fencing practice.
A mute answer could not but stir up fancies in a girl's mind,
especially after what I had written on the tablets. I thought to
myself: "What harm is there if her fancy turns into my direction? As
far as I am concerned I shall not go a step further than I intend,
and if her fancy travels further I cannot help it." Aniela dances
exquisitely, and she danced this waltz as a woman should, with a
certain vehemence and self-abandon at the same time. I noticed that
the violets on her breast rose and fell far quicker than the quiet
step of the dance warranted. I understood that she felt agitated. Love
is a law of nature, kept under control by a careful bringing-up. But
once the girl is told that she may love this one or that, the chance
is she will obey very readily. Aniela evidently expected that after
I had been bold enough to write those few words I would allude to it
further, but I kept aloof on purpose to leave her in suspense.
I wished also to look at her from a distance. Decidedly she is my
type. Women of that kind have a special attraction for me. Oh, if only
she were thirty, and not a girl they expect me to marry!
WARSAW, 30 January.
They have come to stay with us. Yesterday I spent all the day with
Aniela. She has more pages to her soul than most girls at her age. On
many of these pages the future will write, but there is room for many
beautiful things. She feels and understands everything, and is an
excellent listener, and follows the conversation with her large,
intelligent eyes. A woman that can listen possesses one more
attraction, because she flatters man's vanity. I do not know whether
Aniela is conscious of this, or whether it be her womanly instinct.
Maybe she has heard so much about me from my aunt that she deems every
word I say an oracle. She is decidedly not without coquetry. To-day
I asked her what she wished for most in life. She answered, "To see
Rome;" then her eyelashes fell, and she looked indescribably pretty.
She sees that I like her, and it makes her happy. Her coquetry is
charming, because it comes straight from a delighted heart, and tries
to please the chosen object. I have not the slightest doubt that her
heart is fluttering towards me, as a moth flutters into the candle.
Poor child! she feels the elders have given their mute consent, and
she obeys only too willingly. I can watch the process from hour to
hour.
Perhaps I ought to inquire of myself, "If you do not want to marry
her, why are you trying to make her love you?" But I do not choose to
answer that question. I feel at peace here, and restful! After
all, what is it I am doing? I try not to appear more foolish or
disagreeable or less courteous than I am by nature, that is all.
Aniela appeared to-day at breakfast in a loose sailor-dress,
which only just betrayed the outline of her shape, and she looked
bewitching. Her eyes were still full of dreaminess and sleep. It is
something wonderful what an impression she is making on me.