Yesterday I received a letter from my aunt. It was sent after me from
Rome and dated two weeks back. I cannot understand why they kept it so
long at Casa Osoria. My aunt was sure I had gone to Corfu, but thought
I might have returned by this, and writes thus:--
"We have been expecting to hear from you for some time, and are
looking out with great longing for a letter. I, an old woman, am too
deeply rooted in the soil to be easily shaken, but it tells upon
Aniela. She evidently expected to hear from you, and when no letter
came either from Vienna or Rome, I saw she felt uneasy. Then came your
father's death. I said then, in her presence, that you could not think
now of anything but your loss; by and by you would shake off your
trouble and return to your old life. I saw at once that my words
comforted her. But afterwards, when week passed after week and you did
not send us a single line, she grew very troubled, mostly about your
health, but I fancy because she thought you had forgotten her. I, too,
began to feel uneasy, and wrote 'poste restante' to Corfu, as we had
agreed. Not getting any reply, I am sending another letter to your
house at Rome, because the thought that you may be ill makes us all
very unhappy. Write, if only a few lines; and, Leon, dear, pull
yourself together, shake off that apathy, and be yourself again.
I will be quite open with you. In addition to Aniela's troubles,
somebody has told her mother that you are known everywhere for your
love affairs. Fancy my indignation! Celina was so put out that she
repeated it to her daughter, and now the one has continual headaches,
and the other, poor child, looks so pale and listless that it makes
my heart bleed. And she is such a dear girl, and as good as gold. She
tries to look cheerful so as not to grieve her mother; but I am not so
easily deceived, and feel deeply for her. My dearest boy, I did not
say much to you at Rome, because I respected your affliction; but a
sorrow like that is sent by God, and we have to submit to His will and
not allow it to spoil our life. Could you not write a few words to
give us some comfort,--if not to me, at least to the poor child? I
never disguised it from you that my greatest wish was to see you two
happily married if it were in a year or two, as Aniela is a woman in a
thousand. But if you think otherwise it would be better to let me know
it in some way. You know I never exaggerate things, but I am really
afraid for Aniela's health. And then there is her future to be thought
of. Kromitzki calls very frequently upon the ladies, evidently with
some intentions. I wanted to dismiss him without ceremony, especially
as I have my suspicions that it was he who spread those tales about
you; but Celina solemnly entreated me not to do this. She is quite
distracted, and does not believe in your affection for Aniela. What
could I do? Suppose her motherly instinct is right, after all? Write
at once, my dear Leon, and accept the love and blessing of the old
woman who has only you now in the world. Aniela wanted to write to you
a letter of condolence after your father's death, but Celina did not
let her, and we had a quarrel over this. Celina is the best of women,
but very provoking at times. Kind greetings and love from us all.
Young Chwastowski is establishing a brewery on the estate. He had some
money of his own, and the rest I lent him."
At first I thought the letter had not made any impression upon me; but
presently, when walking up and down the room, I found that I had been
mistaken. The impression increased every minute, and became very
strong indeed. After an hour I said to myself with amazement: "The
deuce is in it! I cannot think of anything else but that." Strange how
quick my thoughts travel, chasing each other like clouds driven by the
wind. What a creature of nerves I am! First, a great tenderness for
Aniela woke up within me. All that I had felt for her not long ago,
and that had lain dormant in odd nooks of my soul, stirred into life.
To go at once, soothe her, make her happy, was the first impulse of my
heart,--not clearly defined, perhaps, but very strong all the same.
When I imagined to myself the tearful eyes, her hands resting within
mine, the old feeling for her woke up with renewed strength. Then the
idea crossed my mind to compare her to Laura,--with a fatal result for
Laura. I felt sick of the life I was leading; felt the want of a purer
atmosphere than I was breathing here,--of restfulness, gentleness, and
above all, rectitude of feeling. At the same time a great joy filled
my heart, that nothing was lost yet, everything could be made right;
it depended only upon my will. Suddenly I bethought myself of
Kromitzki, and of Aniela's mother, who, not trusting me, is evidently
on his side. A dull anger rose within me, which, gradually increasing,
smothered all other feelings. The more my reason acknowledged that
Pani Celina was right in mistrusting me, the more I felt offended that
she should harbor that mistrust. I worked myself up into a terrible
rage against everybody, including myself. What I thought and felt can
be expressed in a few words: "Very well, let it be as they wish!"
The letter came yesterday; to-day, analyzing myself more quietly, I
find to my own astonishment that the offence not only rankles in my
mind, but also has taken firmer root. I say to myself all that a
soberly thinking man can say in mitigation thereof, and yet I cannot
forgive either Aniela or her mother the Kromitzki business. Aniela
could have put a stop to it with one word, and if she has not done it,
she is sacrificing me to her mother's headaches. Besides, Kromitzki
lowers Aniela in my eyes, stains her, and brings her down to the level
of marriageable girls. I cannot even speak of it quietly.
Maybe my reasoning and feeling are those of an exasperated man; maybe
that love of self is too predominant in me. I know that I am able to
look at and judge myself as a stranger would; but this dualism does
not help me in the least. I am more and more embittered. To write
about it irritates my nerves,--therefore, enough!