When I went away from Ploszow for some time, it was to bring Aniela
to some kind of decision. At Warsaw and on the way back to Ploszow, I
tried to guess what she had resolved upon. I knew she could not write
to her husband: "Come and take me away, for Ploszowski is making love
to me;" she would not have done so even if she hated me. There is too
much delicacy of feeling in her to do that. Putting aside that an
encounter between me and Kromitzki might be the consequence of such a
step, Aniela would have to leave her sick mother, who cannot go away
from Ploszow.
Aniela's position is indeed a difficult one, and I counted upon that
before I made my confession. The thought crossed my mind that she
might take it into her head to avoid me altogether, and shut herself
up in her mother's rooms. But I dismissed the thought. In the country
and under the same roof it would be quite impracticable, or at any
rate so conspicuous as to rouse the elder ladies' attention and
consequently act injuriously upon her mother's health. In truth I take
the utmost advantage of her position, but who that is in love does not
do the same? I foresaw that Aniela, even if she returns my love, will
not allow me in the future to repeat my avowal,--she will resist more
than any other married woman; for what with her principles and her
modesty, the slightest sign of yielding would appear to her an
incredible crime. But how can she prevent me from telling her my love?
There is only one way,--by getting from me a voluntary promise; I
guessed she would speak to me about it, and I was right.
When I arrived at Ploszow she seemed pale, and a little worn, but
looked at me with a resolute face. It was evident the dear child had
laid by a whole store of arguments to convince me with, and believed
that after displaying them there would be nothing for me but to remain
silent forever. Angelic delusion; to think there is only one truth in
the world. No! do not enter into any arguments with me, my Aniela, for
if I believe in any truth, it is the truth and right of love; besides,
I am too wily, and each argument will be turned inside out like a
glove and made into a weapon against yourself. Neither argument nor
reasoning, not even my pity will save you; for the whiter, the more
perfect and angelic you prove yourself, the more I shall love you, and
the more I love, the more desirable you will be to me. I have nothing
but crocodile tears for you, which will only sharpen my rapacity. Such
is the mazy circle of love. At the sight of Aniela I felt myself drawn
into that circle. In the afternoon, that same day, when Pani Celina
had fallen asleep on the veranda, Aniela motioned me to follow her
into the park. From the earnest expression of her face, I guessed that
the time had come for those arguments, and I followed her eagerly. As
we went farther from the veranda, I noticed that Aniela's animation
began to flag; she had grown paler and seemed frightened at her own
temerity; but she could not draw back now, and began in an unsteady
voice:--
"If you only knew how unhappy I have been these last days--"
"Do you think I have been much happier?" I replied.
"I know you have not, and because of that I have a request to make.
You understand everything, and are so good and generous you will not
refuse what I ask you."
"Tell me, what do you want me to do?"
"Leon, you must leave here, go abroad again, and do not come back
until mamma and I are able to leave Ploszow."
I was sure she would ask me that. I remained silent for a while as if
searching for an answer.
"You can do with me what you like," I said; "but tell me, why do you
send me into exile?"
"I do not send you into exile; but you know why--"
"I know," I replied, with unfeigned sadness and resignation; "it is
because I am ready to give the last drop of my blood for you, because
I would shield you with my body from any danger, because I love you
more than my life,--these are heavy sins indeed!"
"No," she interrupted, with feverish energy, "but because I am the
wife of a man I love and respect,--and I will not listen to such
words."
Impatience and anger seized me; I knew she did not speak the truth.
All married women shield themselves with love and respect for the
husband when they arrive at a turning-point of their life, though
there may not be a shadow of that feeling in their hearts;
nevertheless, Aniela's words sent a shock through my nerves, and I
could scarcely repress the exclamation: "You say what is not true! you
are perjuring yourself, for you neither love nor respect the man;" but
the thought that her energy would not hold out long made me refrain,
and I replied, almost humbly:--
"Do not be angry with me, Aniela; I will go."
I saw that my humility disarmed her, and that she felt sorry for me.
Suddenly she pulled a leaf from a low-hanging branch, and began to
tear it nervously to pieces. She made superhuman efforts not to burst
into tears, but I saw her breast heaving with agitation.
I, too, was moved to the very depth of my soul, and continued with
difficulty:--
"Do not wonder that I hesitate to comply with your wish, for it is
very heavy upon me. I have told you that I do not wish for anything
but to breathe the same air with you, to look at you, and God knows it
is not too much I ask for; yet such as it is, it is my all. And you
take it away from me. Think only; everybody else is allowed to come
here, to speak to you, look at you--but me. Why am I shut out? Because
you are dearer to me than to anybody else! What a refined cruelty of
fate! Only put yourself in my place. It is difficult for you, who have
never known what loneliness means; you love your husband, or think
you do, which comes to the same; put yourself for a moment into my
position, and you will understand that such a sentence is worse than
death. You ought to feel at least a little pity. Driving me from here,
you take everything from me. I told you I had come home to do some
useful work, in which I might find peace, forgetfulness, and redeem
my former sins; only recently I resolved to bring over my father's
collections; and you want me to renounce all that, bid me go away and
begin again a wandering, aimless, life. But have your wish; I will
go if you tell me the same three days hence, for I fancy you did not
quite understand what all this meant for me. Now you know, I only ask
for three days' respite, nothing more."
Aniela covered her eyes with her hands and moaned: "Oh, my God! my
God!"
There was something inexpressibly touching in the low cry, like the
wail of a child at its own powerlessness. There was a moment I felt
tempted to promise everything she asked. But in that wail I saw the
promise of a future victory, and I would not lose its fruits.
"Listen to me," I said, "I will go at once, this very moment, and put
seas between us, if you tell me that it is necessary for your own
peace of mind. I speak to you now as a friend, a brother! I know from
my aunt that you loved me; if that love be still alive I will go at
your bidding."
Sincere pain on my part dictated these words; but it was a terrible
trap for Aniela, which might wring a confession from her. If that had
happened--I do not know--maybe I should have kept my word, but as the
heavens are above us, I would have taken her into my arms. But she
only shuddered as if I had touched an open wound; then her face flamed
up in anger and indignation. "No!" she exclaimed with desperate
passion, "it is not true! not true! You may do as you like, go away
or stay, but it is not true!" The very passion with which these words
were uttered showed me that it might be true. I felt inclined to tell
her so with frank brutality, but I saw my aunt coming towards us.
Aniela was not able to conceal her emotion, and my aunt looking at her
asked at once:--
"What is troubling you, child? what have you two been talking about?"
"Aniela was telling me how grieved her mother was about the sale of
Gluchow--and I do not wonder she took it so much to heart."
Whether Aniela's strength was exhausted, or the untruth I made her
take a silent part in filled the cup of bitterness to overflowing, she
burst into incontrollable sobs that shook her like a reed; my aunt
folded her into her arms and hushed her as if she were a little child.
"Aniela, my darling, there is no help for it; let us submit to God's
will. The hail has ruined five of my farms, and I did not even say a
word about it to Chwastowski."
The mention of the five farms appeared to me so inappropriate,
selfish, and futile in presence of Aniela's tears that it made me
quite angry with my aunt.
"Never mind the farms," I said brusquely, "she is grieved about her
mother;" and I went away in sorrow, for I felt I was torturing the
woman I loved beyond anything. I had conquered along the whole line,
yet I felt profoundly sad, as if the future were full of unknown
terrors.