Towards the end of my sojourn at Warsaw I put down these words: "Love
for another man's wife, if only a pastime, is a great villany, and if
real, is one of the greatest misfortunes that can happen to a man."
Writing this before Kromitzki's arrival, I had not taken into account
all the items which make up the sum of this misfortune. I also thought
it nobler than it really is. Now I begin to see that besides great
suffering, it includes a quantity of small humiliations, the
consciousness of villany, ridicule, the necessity of falsehood, the
doing of mean things, and the need of precautions unworthy of a man.
What a bouquet! Truly the scent of it is enough to overpower any man.
God knows with what delight I would take such a Kromitzki by the
throat, press him to the wall, and tell him straight in his face, "I
love your wife!" Instead of that I must be careful lest the thought
should enter his mind that she pleases me. What a noble part to play
in her presence! What must she think of me? That too is one of the
flowers in the bouquet.
As long as I live I shall not forget the day of Kromitzki's arrival.
He had gone straight to my house. Coming home late at night, I found
somebody's luggage in the anteroom. I do not know why it did not occur
to me that it might be Kromitzki's. Suddenly he himself looked out
from the adjacent room, and dropping his eyeglass rushed up with open
arms to salute his new relative. I saw as in a dream that dry skull,
so like a death's-head, the glittering eyes, and the crop of black
hair. Kromitzki's arrival was the most natural thing in the world, and
yet I felt as if I had looked into the face of death. It seemed to
me like a nightmare, and the words, "How do you do, Leon?" the most
fantastic and most improbable words I could have heard anywhere.
Presently such a rage, such a loathing combined with fear, seized me
that it took all my self-control to prevent me from throwing him down
and dashing out his brains. I have sometimes felt such paroxysms of
rage and loathing, but never combined with fear; it was not so much
fear of a living man as horror of the dead. For some time I could not
find a word to say. Fortunately he might suppose I had not recognized
him at first, or was astonished that a man I scarcely knew should
treat me so familiarly. It still irritates me when I think of it.
I tried to recover myself; he in the mean while readjusted his
eyeglass, and shaking my hand once more, said:--
"Well, and how are you? How are Aniela and her mother? Old lady always
ill, I suppose. And our aunt, how is she?"
I was seized with amazement and anger that this man should mention
those nearest and dearest to me as if they belonged to him. A man of
the world bears most things and hides his emotions, because he is
trained from his earliest years to keep himself under control;
nevertheless I felt that I could not bear it any longer, and in order
to pull myself together and occupy my thoughts with something else, I
called for the servant and told him to get tea ready.
Kromitzki appeared uneasy that I did not reply at once to his
questions; the eyeglass dropped again, and he said, hurriedly:--
"There is nothing wrong, is there? Why don't you speak?"
"They are all well," I replied.
It suddenly struck me that my emotion might give the hateful man an
advantage over me, and the thought restored all my self-possession at
once. I led him into the dining-room, asked him to sit down, and then
said:--
"How is it going with you? Have you come to make a long stay?"
"I do not know," he replied. "I was longing for Aniela; and I fancy
she too must have been anxious to have me back again. We have only
been a few months together, and for a newly married couple that is
not much, is it?" and he burst out into one of his wooden laughs.
"Besides," he added, "I have some business here to look after. Always
business, you see."
Then he began a long-winded harangue about his affairs; of which I
did not hear much, except the often repeated words "combined forces,"
observing meanwhile the motion of the eyeglass. It is a strange thing
how in presence of some great calamity small things will thrust
themselves into evidence. I do not know whether this be so with
everybody, but in the present instance the reiterated words "combined
forces" and the shifting of the eyeglass irritated me beyond
endurance. In the earlier moments of the interview I was almost
unconscious, and yet I could count how often that eyeglass dropped and
was put up again. It always used to be thus with me, and it was so
now.
After tea I conducted Kromitzki to the room he was to occupy for the
night. He did not cease talking, but went on in the same strain while
with the help of the servant he unpacked his portmanteau. Sometimes
he interrupted his flow of words in order to show me some specimens
brought from the East. He undid his travelling straps, unfolded two
small Eastern rugs, and said:--
"I bought these at Batoum. Pretty things, are they not? They will do
to put before our bed."
He got tired at last, and after the servant had gone he sat down in
the armchair, and still continued to talk about his affairs, while I
thought of something else. When we are not able to defend ourselves
from a great misfortune, there is one safety-valve,--we may be able
to grapple with some of its details. I was now mainly busy with
the thought whether Kromitzki would go with us to Gastein or not.
Therefore after some time I remarked:--
"I did not know you formerly; but I begin to think that you are the
kind of man to make your fortune. You are not in the least flighty,
and would never sacrifice important affairs for mere sentimentality."
He pressed my hand warmly. "You have no idea," he said, "how much I
wish you to trust me."
At the moment I did not attach any special meaning to his words. I
was too much occupied with my own thoughts, and especially with the
reflection that in regard to Kromitzki I had already been guilty of a
lie and a meanness,--a lie, because I did not believe in his business
capacities at all; a meanness, because I flattered the man I should
have liked to kill with a glance. But I was only anxious to induce
him not to go to Gastein; therefore I went deeper and deeper into the
quagmire.
"I see this journey does not suit you in the least," I said.
Thereupon, egoist that he is, feeling things only in so far as they
concern himself, he began to grumble at his mother-in-law.
"Of course it does not suit me," he said; "and between ourselves I do
not see the necessity of it. There is a limit to everything, even to
a daughter's affection for her mother. Once married, a woman ought
to understand that her first duty is toward her husband. Besides, a
mother-in-law who is always there, either in the same room or in the
next, is a nuisance, and prevents a young married couple from drawing
near to each other, and living exclusively for themselves. I do not
say but that love for one's parents is a good thing, if not carried
too far and made an impediment in one's life."
Once embarked upon that theme he gave expression to very commonplace
and mean sentiments, which irritated me all the more that from his
point of view there was certainly some truth in what he said.
"There is no help for it," he concluded; "I made a bargain, and must
stick to it."
"Then you mean to go with them to Gastein?"
"Yes; I have some personal interest in the journey. I want to enter
into closer relation with my wife's family and gain your confidence.
We will speak of that later on. I am free for a month or six weeks. I
left Lucian Chwastowski in charge of the business, and he is, as the
English say, a 'solid' man. Besides, when one has a wife like Aniela
one wants to stop with her a little while,--you understand, eh?"
Saying this he laughed, showing his yellow, decayed teeth, and clapped
me on the knee. A cold shiver penetrated to my very brain. I felt
myself growing pale. I rose and turned away from the light to hide my
face, then made a powerful effort to collect myself and asked "When do
you intend going to Ploszow?"
"To-morrow, to-morrow."
"Good-night."
"Good-night," he replied, his eyeglass dropping once more. He put out
both hands, adding: "I am tremendously glad to have the opportunity
to get more acquainted with you. I always liked you, and I am sure we
shall understand each other."
We understand each other! How intensely stupid the man is! But the
more stupid he is, the more horrible to me is the thought that Aniela
belongs to him, is simply a thing of his! I did not even try to
undress that night. I never had seen so clearly that there may be
situations where words come to an end, the power of reasoning ceases,
even the power of feeling one's calamity,--to which there seems to
be no limit. A truly magnificent life which is given unto us! It is
enough to say that those former occasions when Aniela trampled upon
my feelings, and when I thought I had reached the height of misery,
appear now to me as times of great happiness. If then, if even now,
the Evil One promised me in exchange for my soul that everything
should remain as it was, Aniela forever to reject my love, but
Kromitzki not to come near her,--I would sign the agreement without
hesitation. Because in the man rejected by a woman there grows
involuntarily a conviction that she is like a Gothic tower far out of
his reach, to which he scarcely dares to lift his eyes. Thus I always
thought of Aniela. And then comes a Pan Kromitzki, with two rugs from
Batoum, and drags her from the height, that inexorable priestess,
down to a level with those rugs. What a terrible thing it is, that
imagination can bring it all so clear before us! And how repulsively
mean he is, and how ridiculous withal!
Where are all my theories, my reasonings, that love is far above
matrimonial bonds,--that I have a right to love Aniela? I still have
my theories, while Kromitzki has Aniela. As the wind is tempered to
the shorn lamb I thought the human being capable of carrying only a
certain weight, and that if more were put upon his back he must needs
break down. In my misery without bounds, and in my equally great
foolishness and degradation, I felt that from the time of Kromitzki's
arrival I was beginning to despise Aniela. Why? I could not justify it
upon any common grounds. "One wife, one husband." This law I know by
heart, like any other fool; but in relation to my own feelings it is a
degradation for Aniela. What does it matter that it does not stand to
reason? I know that I despise her, and it is more than I can bear.
I felt that existence under these conditions would become simply
impossible, and that necessarily there must be some change and the
past be buried. What change? If my scorn could throttle my love, as a
wolf throttles a lamb, it would be well. But I had a foreboding that
something else would take place. If I did not love Aniela I could not
despise her now; therefore my scorn is only another link in the
chain, I understand perfectly that beyond Pani Kromitzka, beyond
Pan Kromitzki and their relation to each other, nothing interests
me,--nothing whatever; neither light nor darkness, war nor peace, nor
any other thing. She, Aniela, or rather both she and her husband, and
my part in their life, are my reason for existence. If for this same
reason I cannot bear my existence any longer, what will happen then?
Suddenly it came upon me, as a surprise, that I had not thought of the
most simple solution of the problem,--death.
What a tremendous power there is in human hands,--the power of cutting
the thread. Now I am ready. Evil genius of my life, do thy worst;
pile weight upon weight,--but only up to a certain time, as long as I
consent. If I find it too much I throw off the burden! "E poi eterna
silenza," Nirvana, the "fourth dimension" of Zöllner--what do I know?
The thought that it all depended upon me gave me an immense relief.
I remained thus an hour, stretched out on the couch, thinking how and
when I would do it; and that very abstraction of my thoughts from
Kromitzki seemed to calm me. Such a thing as the taking of one's life
wants some preparation, and this also forced my thoughts into another
groove. I remembered at once that my travelling revolver was of too
small a calibre. I got up to look at it and resolved to buy a new one.
I began to calculate ways and means to make it appear an accident.
All this of course as a mere theory. Nothing was settled into a fixed
purpose. I might call it rather a contemplating the possibility of
suicide than a purpose. On the contrary, I was now certain it would
not come to that soon. Now that I knew the door by which I could
escape I thought I might wait a little to see how far my evils would
extend, and what new tortures fate had in store for me. I was consumed
by a burning and painful curiosity as to what would happen next, how
those two would meet, and how Aniela would face me? I became very
tired, and dressed as I was I fell into a troubled sleep, full
of Kromitzkis, eyeglasses, revolvers, and all sorts of confused
combinations of things and people.
I woke up late. The servant told me that Pan Kromitzki had gone to
Ploszow. My first impulse was to follow and see them together. But
when seated in the carriage I suddenly felt I could not bear it, that
it would be too great a trial, and might hasten my escape through the
open door into the unknown; and I gave orders to drive somewhere else.
The greatest pessimist instinctively avoids pain, and fights against
it with all his might. He clutches at every hope and expects relief
through every change. There awoke within me such a desire to make them
go to Gastein as if my very life depended upon it. To make them leave
Ploszow! The thought did not give me rest, and took such possession of
me that I gave my whole mind to its realization. This did not present
great difficulties. The ladies were almost ready to start. Kromitzki
had come unexpectedly, evidently intending to give his wife a
surprise. A few days later he would not have found us at Ploszow. I
went to the railway office and secured places in a sleeping-car for
Vienna; then sent a messenger with a letter to my aunt telling her I
had bought tickets for the following day, as all the carriages were
engaged for the following week, and we should have to go to-morrow.