Human nature is ever malicious. I have a grim satisfaction in thinking
how ridiculous a man like Kromitzki must seem, who is turning
summersaults in the East in his effort to make money, while somebody
whispers love vows into his wife's ears; and sooner or later Aniela
must see it in this light. The whole Kromitzki can be summed up in
the one fact: he sold Gluchow and left the women without a home. He
thought perhaps they would live in Odessa or Kieff; in the mean while
Pani Celina's illness brought Aniela to Ploszow.
Yet he knew how precarious the lady's health was; he ought to have
foreseen that she might fall ill, and that Aniela would remain alone
with the burden of sorrow and trouble. If his business requires his
presence in the East, why did he marry at all?
To-morrow I go back to Ploszow. I feel very lonely here, and besides
I feel the longing to look once more into Aniela's eyes, and at times
feel guilty, as if I had been shirking a duty by running away. It was
necessary at the time, but I must go back now. Who knows? greater
happiness than I suppose may be waiting for me,--perhaps she too is
longing for me.
I called upon the Sniatynskis, and Clara, whom I did not find at home.
I paid also a visit to the celebrated beauty, Pani Korytzka. The
latter carries her historical name like a jockey cap, and her wit as
a riding-whip; she hits people with it between the eyes. I came off
unscathed; she even tried a little coquetry on me. I made a dozen or
so calls and left cards. I wish people to think that I am settled at
Warsaw.
As the bringing over of my father's collections is only a matter of
will and ready money, I am seeking what else there is for me to do.
Men of my position are usually occupied with the administration of
their fortune; and very badly they administer it on the whole, far
worse than I. Very few take any part in public life. I mentioned
before that here they still amuse themselves with aristocracy and
democracy; there are even some whose whole aim in life consists in
backing up social hierarchy, and stemming the tide of democratic
currents. It is a sport as good as any other, but since I am no
sportsman, I take no interest in that amusement. Even if it were no
mere play, if there were some sense at the bottom of it, I am too much
of a sceptic in regard to both parties to belong to either. Democracy,
by which I mean patented democrats, not people of humble extraction,
acts upon my nerves. As to aristocracy, methinks that if their _raison
d'être_ is based upon services rendered to the country by their
ancestors, those services have often been such that the sooner their
descendants don the hair shirt and cover their heads with ashes the
better. Besides, these two parties, with the exception of a few
foolish individuals, do not really believe in themselves. Some feign
sincerity in order to serve their own ends, and as I never feign
anything, it is clear that to take part in such struggles is not the
work for me. Then there are those of the Sniatynski order who stand
above both parties, but are always ready to drown both in their
synthesis. They are, as a rule, strong men; but even if I could agree
with them I should have to do something,--mere consciousness of duty
is not work. Sniatynski writes plays. Truly, when I look things
straight in the face, I find that I am outside the parenthesis, and
do not see my way to get inside. It is strange that a man who has
considerable means, culture, certain capacities, and a wish for
something to do, should find nothing he can put his hands to. Again
I feel inclined to swear, as it is all owing to that intellectual
splitting of hairs. They ought to make a diagnosis upon me, as to the
disease of Time's old age, which in me has reached the acute stage.
He who is a sceptic in regard to faith, in regard to science,
conservatism, progress, and so on, has indeed difficulty in finding
anything to do.
In addition to all that, my aspirations are far greater than the
possibility of satisfying them. Life rests upon work; and therefore,
here people work at something or other. But it is the work of a
dray-horse, carting grain to the granary. I could not do it even if I
wished. I am a high-stepper, fit only for a carriage, and of no use on
sandy, rutty roads, where common horses do the work better and more
steadily. At the building of a house I could not carry the bricks, but
might do something in the ornamental line, but where it is a question
of four simple walls and a sound roof, artisans such as I are not
wanted. If at least I had a mighty impulse towards work, I still might
be able to force myself to do something. But in the main, it is only a
question of appearances. I wish to work in order to please the woman
I love. Aniela in regard to that has exalted notions, and it would
certainly please her. Moreover, for that very reason my vanity and
also my calculations urge me to bid for a prominent position, which
would raise my value in her eyes. I will see what can be done, and
in the meanwhile my purse will do the work for me. I shall have the
collection sent over, support various institutions, and give money
where it is wanted.
What a strange power there is in woman! She comes in contact with a
genius without portfolio, an exceptionally useless implement like me,
and then, without any preaching on her part, he feels himself in duty
bound to do all sorts of things he never dreamed of doing before.
The deuce take me if I ever thought of bringing my collections to
Paris or Vienna for the sake of a Parisian or Viennese. I am going
back to Ploszow; I long to be near my good spirit.