To-day in the reading-room Kromitzki pointed out to me an Englishman
accompanied by a very beautiful woman, and told me their story. The
beauty is a Roumanian by birth and married a Wallachian bankrupt
Boyar, from whom the Englishman simply bought her at Ostend. I have
heard of similar transactions at least a dozen times. Kromitzki even
mentioned the sum the Englishman had given for her. The story made a
strange impression upon me. I thought to myself, "This is one way,
however disgraceful for the seller and buyer; it is a simple method of
obtaining a desired result. The woman concerned in it need not know
anything about the transaction, and the agreement could be concealed
under decent appearances." Involuntarily I began to apply the idea to
our own situation. Suppose it answered. The whole thing presented
itself to me under two aspects: in regard to Aniela as a horrible
profanation; in regard to Kromitzki, not only as feasible, but at the
same time gratifying my scorn and hatred for him. If he agreed to it,
he would prove himself a villain, and show what kind of man he is, and
what a monstrous thing has been done in giving Aniela to him. I should
then be quite justified in all my endeavors to take her from him. But
would he agree? I said to myself: "You hate him, and consequently
believe him capable of any evil." But thinking of him objectively, I
remembered that the man had sold his wife's property, had deceived
her and Pani Celina, and also that the ruling passion of his life was
greed for gain. It was not I alone who considered him as one wholly
possessed by the gold fever. Sniatynski thought the same, and so do
my aunt and Pani Celina. This kind of moral disease always leads into
pitfalls. I understand that much will depend upon the state of his
affairs. How they stand nobody seems to know, unless it be his agent
Chwastowski. It suddenly struck me that I might get some information
from this same Chwastowski, but that would take some time. Perhaps I
will run over to Vienna and see his brother the doctor, who is working
in the Vienna hospitals; the brothers are sure to correspond with each
other. My aunt thinks that he is not doing as well as he wants us
to believe, and I imagine that he has sunk all his money in
some speculation from which he expects a great profit. Will he
succeed?--that is the question. He himself does not know; hence
his restlessness, and the multitude of letters he sends to young
Chwastowski. In the mean while I will sound him cautiously, lest I
should rouse his suspicions, as to what he thinks of the Boyar who
sold his wife to the Englishman. I do not suppose for a moment that
he will be quite sincere, but I will help him and guess the rest. The
whole sum and substance of this is, that it has put a little more life
into me. There is nothing more horrible than to suffer passively; and
anything that rouses me from my apathy is acceptable. I repeat to
myself, "At least to-morrow and the day after, you will have something
to do to further your plans;" and that promises a transition from
utter passiveness to a feverish activity. I must be doing something;
it is a question of not losing control over my senses. I pledged my
word to Aniela not to attempt my life, and I cannot go on living as I
do. If the road I am taking be ignominious, the ignominy will be for
Kromitzki more than for me. I must and will separate them, not only
for my own sake but also for Aniela's sake. I am really feverish.
Everybody seems to derive some benefit from the bathing except me.