I have been reading what I wrote yesterday, and am struck by what
I said at the end, namely: that the love which might have been my
salvation has become a source of evil. I cannot quite agree with the
thought. How can love for a pure woman like Aniela bring forth evil?
One word explains it,--it is a crooked love. I must own the truth. If
two years ago somebody had told me that I, a civilized man, a man with
aesthetic nerves, and living in peace with the penal code, should
meditate for nights and days how to put out of the world, even by
murder, a man who would be in my way, I should have taken that
somebody for an escaped lunatic. Yet it is true; I have come to that.
Kromitzki shuts out from me the world; he takes from me the earth,
water, and air. I cannot live because he lives; and for that reason I
incessantly think of his death. What a simple and complete solution of
all the difficulties and entanglements his death would be. I thought
more than once that since the hypnotizer can send his medium to sleep,
a more concentrated power would be able to put him to sleep forever. I
have sent for all the newest books about hypnotism. In the mean while
with every glance I say to Kromitzki, "Die!" and if such a suggestion
were sufficient, he would have been dead some time ago. But the whole
result of it is that he is as well as ever, is Aniela's husband, and
I remain with the consciousness that my intention is equally criminal
and foolish, ridiculous, and unworthy of an active man; and it makes
me lose my self-respect more and more. Yet it does not prevent my
trying to hypnotize Kromitzki.
It is the old story again of the intelligent man who, given up by the
doctors, goes for advice to quacks and wise women. I want to kill my
enemy by hypnotism; and as it only shows my own worthlessness, it is I
who suffer by it. I must also confess that as often as I am alone, I
begin to think of all possible means in human power to put the hateful
man out of the way. For some time I nursed the thought of killing him
in a duel; but this would not lead to anything. Aniela would never
marry the man who had killed her husband; then, like a common
criminal, I began to think of other ways. And what is the strangest
thing of all, I discovered ways which human justice would not be able
to detect. Foolishness! vain thoughts! pure theory!
Kromitzki need have no fear for his life; thoughts like these will
never be acted upon. I should not kill him if I could do it without
more responsibility than is incurred in crushing a spider; should not
kill him if we two were alone together on a desert island. If one
could divide the human brain as one cuts in two an apple, and lay
bare its thoughts, it would be found that mine is honeycombed with
murderous thoughts. What is more, I am well aware that if I refrain
from killing Kromitzki it is not by reason of any moral principle
contained in the law "Thou shalt do no murder." This law I have
already violated morally. I refrain from killing him because some
remnants of chivalric tradition bar my way; because my refined nerves
would not permit me to commit a brutal deed; in short, I am too far
removed from primitive man to be physically competent to the task,
though morally I slay him every day. And now I ask myself whether, in
presence of a higher judgment, I should be held responsible, as if I
had committed the deed.
It may be that if one could lay open the human brain, as I said
before, in the most virtuous individual thoughts would be found to
make our hair stand on end. I remember that, when a little boy, there
came upon me a period of such religious fervor that I prayed from
morning until night; and at the same time, in the midst of my pious
transports, there came into my mind blasphemous thoughts, as if an
evil wind had blown them thither, or a demon whispered them into my
ear. In the same way I had irreverent thoughts about persons whom
I loved with all my heart and for whom I would have given my life
without a moment's hesitation. I remember that this, which I might
call a tragedy of childhood, cost me a great deal of anguish. But I
will not dwell upon that now. Going back to blasphemous or criminal
thoughts, I do not think we are responsible for them, as they come
from the knowledge of evil, not from an evil growing within the
organism itself; and for the very reason that it is outward to
ourselves we fancy an evil spirit suggesting the thoughts. Man listens
to it, and being averse to evil, spurns it; and there may be some
merit in this. But with me it is different. The thought of getting rid
of Kromitzki does not come from the outside, but springs from me and
exists within me. I have come down to that morally, and if I do not
commit the deed it is a mere matter of nerves. The part of my inward
Mephistopheles is confined to mocking and whispering into my ear that
the deed would only prove my energy, and not be much of a crime.
These are the crossways on which I never dreamed of finding myself.
I look into the depths of my own self with amazement. I do not know
whether my exceptional troubles will partly atone for my errors, but
one thing I know, namely: that he whose life cannot find room in
the simple code Aniela and others like her cling to, if his soul is
brimming over and breaks its bounds it must mix with dust and be
polluted in the mud.