My reason is now altogether subservient to feeling, and is, in truth,
like the driver who passively clings to his box, and can do nothing
but watch whether the vehicle will go to pieces. I went back to
Ploszow a few days ago, and all I say and all I do are only the
tactics of love. He is a clever doctor--is Chwastowski--to prescribe
for Aniela exercise in the park. I found her there this morning. There
are moments when the feeling in my heart--though I am always conscious
of it--manifests itself with such extraordinary power that it almost
frightens me by its magnitude. Such a moment I had to-day, when at a
sudden turn of the road I met Aniela. Never had she appeared to me
more beautiful, more desirable, and more as if she were my own. This
is exactly the only woman in the world who by virtue of certain
natural forces, scarcely known by name, was to attract me, as the
magnet attracts iron, to reign over me, to attach me to her, and
become the aim and completion of my life. Her voice, her shape, her
glances intoxicate me. To-day, when I thus unexpectedly met her, I
thought it was not only her personal charm she carried with her, but
the charm of that early morning, that spring and serene weather, the
joy of all the birds and plants,--in fact, she seemed to be more an
incarnation of beauty and nature than a woman. And it struck me then
that, if nature had created her thus that she should react upon me
more than upon any other man, nature had meant her to be mine, and
that my right had been trodden under foot by this marriage. Who knows
whether all the crookedness of the world does not spring from the
non-fulfilment of certain laws, and whether that be not the cause of
the imperfectness of life?
They are wrong who say that love is blind. On the contrary,
nothing--not the smallest detail--escapes its eyes; it sees everything
in the beloved being, notices everything; but melts it all in one
flame in the great and simple "I love." When I came close to Aniela, I
noticed that her eyes were brilliant as if from recent slumber; that
on her face and the light print dress fell the golden rays of the
morning sun filtering through the young leaves; her hair was tied in
a loose knot, and the flowing morning dress showed the outline of her
shoulders and supple waist, and in its very carelessness had a certain
freshness, which enhanced a thousandfold her charm. It did not escape
my notice how much smaller than usual she looked among the tall elm
trees of the avenue,--almost a child; in brief, nothing escaped me,
but all my observations changed into the rapture of one who loves
deliriously. She returned my morning greeting with some confusion. For
the last few days she seems afraid of me, for I hypnotize her with
every glance and word. Her peace of thought is already disturbed, and
the ferment has entered her soul. She cannot help seeing I love her,
but does not own it, not even to herself. Sometimes I have a
sensation as if I were holding a bird in my hand, and heard its heart
palpitating under my fingers. We walked together in embarrassed
silence, which I did not care to interrupt. I know this uneasiness is
oppressive to her; but it renders her my accomplice, and brings me
nearer to the end. In the silence which surrounded us not a sound
was audible but the crunching of the gravel under our feet, and the
whistling of the golden orioles, which are plentiful in the park. I
started at last a conversation. I directed it to suit my plans, for
however much my mind is closed against influences that have no bearing
upon my feeling, within their sphere I have a well-nigh redoubled
presence of mind,--an acuteness of perception, as have those plunged
into a hypnotic trance, and in a given direction see more clearly
than people in their normal state. We passed speedily on to personal
topics. I spoke about myself in the confidential tone in which one
speaks to those nearest, who alone have the right to know everything.
There sprung up between us a whole world of mutual understanding and
thoughts, common to us both. Since such a bond ought to exist by
virtue of marriage,--between her and her husband,--I was leading
her towards spiritual faithlessness by such gradual steps that she
scarcely could be aware of it.
Nevertheless, the subtle nature perceived the drift. But I had taken
her by the hand, and led her; yet while leading, I felt a moral
resistance. I was fully aware the resistance would grow stronger if I
pushed much farther, and she perceived the danger. But I saw too that
I was gaining ground, and that step by step I could lead her where I
wanted.
In the meantime I spoke on purpose about the past.
"Do you remember," I said, "how in the days gone by--those happier
days--you asked me why I did not remain in the country, and turn my
abilities to some use. It was when I came home late, and you were
sitting up for me. I cannot tell you even what power you had over
me. I could not then begin to work, I had to go away; then came my
father's death. But I never forgot those words. I have come back now
to live and to work at home, and if I ever achieve anything it will be
owing to you,--your influence will be the source of my achievement."
There ensued a momentary silence between us, broken only by the
whistling of the orioles. Aniela was evidently searching for a reply,
and at last said,--
"I cannot believe that a man like you should not be able to find a
more weighty inducement. You know very well it is your duty, and what
is past is past, and now everything is changed."
"I am not so sure of that," I replied. "Perhaps, when once I start, I
shall find in the work itself some pleasure and encouragement. But
a man like me, who, in spite of what you are saying about duty, has
never been, fully conscious of it, must have some personal reason for
changing the whole tenor of his life; and the more he is unhappy, the
more he wants that personal inducement. Why should I tell you what is
not true? I am not happy. The consciousness of duty is a beautiful
thing, no doubt; but unfortunately I do not have it. You, who are so
much better, nobler than I, could have taught it me; but it was fated
otherwise. But even now, if only for the sake of those times when you
wanted me to do something, I can do it still if you will help me."
Aniela hastened her steps, as if she wanted to return home, and said
almost in a whisper,--
"Do not say that, Leon; please do not. You know I cannot do it."
"Why can you not? Do not understand me wrongly. You are and always
will be a very dear sister to me. It is only this I wanted you to
know."
Aniela almost feverishly gave me her hand, which I raised reverently
to my lips.
"Yes, I will be that,--always that," she replied quickly.
And I saw what a heavy weight I had lifted from her mind; how that one
word "sister" had calmed and moved her. This made me recover all my
self-possession; for, when I had touched her hand with my lips, it
almost grew dark before my eyes, and I wanted to take her in my arms,
and tell her the whole truth. In the mean time Aniela's face had grown
brighter and more cheerful. As we came nearer the house, her trouble
seemed to slip off from her, and seeing how much I had gained by
taking this way with her, I continued in the same strain of friendly
conversation.
"You see, little sister, there is such a void around me. My father is
no more; my aunt is a saintly woman; but she does not understand new
times and new people. Her ideas are different from mine. I shall
never marry,--think only what a lonely man I am. I have nobody near
me,--nobody to share my thoughts, my plans, or my sorrows; nothing but
loneliness around me. Is it not natural that I look for sympathy where
I might expect to find it? I am like the crippled beggar, who stands
waiting at the gate until they give him a small coin. At this moment
the beggar is very poor indeed, and he stands under your window, and
begs for a little friendliness, sympathy, and pity. A very small coin
will satisfy him,--you will not refuse him that, Aniela, will you?"
"I will not, Leon; I will not, since you are so unhappy--"
Her voice broke, and she began to tremble. Again I had to make a great
effort to restrain myself; and as I looked at her, something like
unshed tears took me by the throat.
"Aniela! little Aniela!" I exclaimed, not knowing what to say.
But she waved her hands, as if to ward me off, and said, her eyes full
of tears,--
"Let me go--I shall be better presently. I can not go back like this;
let me go."
And she went swiftly away.
"Aniela, forgive me!" I called after her.
My first impulse was to follow her, but I thought it would be better
to leave her to herself, and I only followed her with my eyes. She
went quickly back into the avenue we had crossed together, and then
turned into a side path. Sometimes the foliage hid her from my eyes,
then again the light dress lit up by the sun appeared between the
trees. From the distance I saw how she shut and opened her sunshade,
as if trying by physical exertion to overcome her emotion. During all
that time I inwardly called her the most endearing names that love
could invent. I could not go away without looking once more into her
eyes; but I had a long time to wait. She came at last, but passed
quickly by, as if afraid of another shock; she only smiled at me in
passing, with angelic sweetness, and said, "I am all right again."
On her face, pink with exercise, there was no trace of tears. I
remained alone, and a mad, indescribable joy got hold of me, hope
filled my heart, and there was one thought dominating everything: "She
loves me, she fights against it, does not yield, deludes herself--but
loves." At times, the most self-possessed of men, in the
super-abundance of some emotion, comes near the brink of madness. I
was so near it then that I felt a wild desire to hide myself in the
deepest recess of the woods, tear the grass, and shout at the top of
my voice, "She loves me!" At present, when I am able to think more
calmly of this joy, I find it was composed of various active forces.
There was the joy of the artist who sees that a masterpiece he has
begun is progressing satisfactorily; maybe also the satisfaction
of the spider when the fly comes near the web; but there was also
kindness, pity, great tenderness, and all that over which angels
rejoice, as the poet has it. I felt sorry the defenceless little thing
should fall into my hands; and that pity increased the love, and the
desire to conquer Aniela. I felt also a sting of conscience that I had
deceived her, and yet I had the consciousness that I had spoken the
truth when I asked for her sympathy and friendship. I want it as I
want my health. But I did not confess to all my desires, because the
time for it has not yet come. I did not tell her the whole truth, so
as not to frighten the timid soul. I shall come to it by and by, and
the road which leads towards it in the straightest line is the best.