"La nuit porte conseil." I will not go at once to Ploszow, it would be
a journey in the dark; but I have written a long letter to my aunt,
quite different from that I wrote at Peli. Within a week, or at the
most ten days, I shall get an answer, and according to it I shall
either go or stay,--in fact, I do not know myself yet what I shall do.
I might count upon a favorable answer if I had written for instance
like this: "Dearest aunt, send Kromitzki about his business; I beg
Aniela to forgive me. I love her, and my dearest wish is to make her
my wife." Unless she were married already,--and things could not have
been managed there so speedily,--such a letter could have but one
result. But I did not write anything of that kind. My missive was
intended to reconnoitre the position, sent in fact as a scout to find
out how affairs were progressing, and partly, to learn what Aniela
was thinking. To say the truth, if I did not express myself more
definitely, it is because experience has taught me to mistrust myself.
Ah! if Aniela, in spite of the wrong inflicted upon her by me,
refused Kromitzki, how gratified I should feel towards her; and how
immeasurably higher she would rise in my esteem if once removed from
the ranks of marriageable girls whose only aim is to get a husband.
What a pity I ever heard about Kromitzki. Once rid of the entanglement
with Laura, I should have flown on wings to Aniela's side. This dear
aunt has managed things with a clumsy hand in writing to me about
Kromitzki and the encouragement he had from Aniela's mother. In these
times of overwrought nerves, it is not only women that are like
sensitive plants. A rough touch, and, the soul shrinks, folds itself
up, maybe forever. I know it is foolish, even wrong, but I cannot help
it. To change myself I should have to order at an anatomist's a new
set of nerves, and keep those I have for special occasions. No one,
not even Pani Sniatynski, can judge me more severely than I judge
myself. But is Kromitzki better than I? Is his low, money-making
neurosis better than mine? Without any boastfulness I may say that I
have more delicacy of feeling, nobler impulses, a better heart, more
tenderness, and--his own mother would be obliged to own it--more
intelligence. It is true I could not make millions to save my life;
but then Kromitzki has not achieved it yet; instead of that, I could
guarantee that my wife would spend her life in a broader and warmer
atmosphere; there would be more sincerity in it and nobler aims.
It is not the first time I have compared myself to Kromitzki, and it
makes me angry considering what a vast difference there is between us.
We are like inhabitants of different planets, and as to our souls, if
one has to climb up to reach mine, such as Aniela would have to stoop
very low to reach his. But would this be such a difficult task for
her? It is a horrible question; but in regard to women I have seen so
monstrous things, especially in my country where the women generally
speaking are superior to the men, that I am obliged to consider it.
I have seen girls, angels in all but wings, full of noble impulses,
sensitive to everything beautiful and uncommon, not only marry
louts of narrow and mean characters, but adopt after marriage their
husbands' maxims of life, vanities, narrowness, and commonplace
opinions. What is more, some of them did this eagerly, as if former
ideals were only fit to be thrown aside with the bridal wreath. They
seemed to labor under the conviction that only thus they could prove
themselves true wives. It is true that sometimes a reaction follows,
but in a general sense Shakspeare's Titania is a common enough type,
to be met with every day.
I am a sceptic from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, but
my scepticism springs from pain, for it hurts me to think that such
may be Aniela's fate. Perhaps she too will shrug her shoulders at the
memory of her girlish aspirations, and consider contracts in Turkestan
better adapted to practical life. A dull wrath seizes me at the
thought, all the more as it will be partly my fault, that is, if it
should come to that.
On the other side these reflections and vacillations are not merely
the result of a want of decision, as Sniatynski seems to think. I have
such a high conception about marriage, such lofty demands, that they
take away my courage. It is true that often husband and wife fit each
other like two warped boards, and yet jog through life contentedly
enough; but this would not be enough for me. For the very reason that
I believe in happiness so little, I should like to attain it; but can
I attain it? It is not so much the unhappy marriages I have met with
that make me so wavering, but the few happy ones I have seen; at the
remembrance of these I ask myself, "Is it possible I could be so
happy?" And yet happiness is not met with in fiction only,--but how to
know where to look for it!