We leave here to-morrow. The sky is clearing up and there is a
westerly breeze that promises fine weather. The mist has gathered into
long, whitish billows, that hang on the mountain sides, and like
huge leviathans are slowly rolling down. I went with Aniela on the
Kaiserweg. This morning the question arose in my mind what would
happen if the existing state of things ceased to satisfy Aniela. I
have no right to overstep the boundary, and I am afraid to do so;
suppose she too thought the same? Her innate modesty and shyness in
themselves would prove an almost insurmountable barrier; and if, added
to that, she thought the mutual agreement as binding for her as for
me, we should never come to an understanding; we should suffer in
vain.
Reflecting upon this, I understood the futility of such fears. She, to
whom even that Platonic relation appears too broad, who consciously or
unconsciously restricts, and does not even grant me what is due to me
within these limits, should be the first to acknowledge any greater
rights. And yet the human soul, even if in hell, will never lose hope
altogether. In spite of the self-evident impossibility, I resolved to
make myself safe by giving Aniela to understand that if I considered
the agreement as binding, it was not the same with her.
I wanted to say many other things, especially that she was doing me a
great wrong, and that my soul yearned to hear a word of love from her
lips, not once but many times, and that only thus I should be able to
remain on those lofty heights whereon she condemned me to dwell. But
that morning she was so gay, so cheerful and kind to me, that I had
not the heart to disturb her peace. Yesterday I could not understand
how a being so full of simplicity had got me under her power and
conquered me even on those fields I thought my exclusive domain.
To-day it seems clearer to me; and I have a ready and very sad
hypothesis,--she loves me less than I love her.
I knew a man who had the trick of repeating in all his sentences,
"Never mind me." It would not be strange if I began to do the same.
For when I feel, as I do sometimes, a desire to get rid of some words
that almost burn my tongue, the sudden thought that I might mar her
cheerfulness, drive away the smile, and change her good disposition,
renders me mute. Ah me! how often this does happen!
The thought that I love Aniela more than she loves me has crossed my
mind a hundred times; one day I think of it in one way, the next in
another. I am straying among my thoughts and look at the matter in a
different light every day. At one time it seems to me that she does
not care for me very much, in fact is incapable of any strong feeling;
and again, I not only think but am conscious that she has one of the
deepest and most loving hearts I ever met in the world. I have always
plenty of proofs either way. Thus I say to myself: "If her love
increases, three, four, ten times as much, will there not come a time
when it will grow stronger than her resistance?" Yes. Then it is only
a question of how great her feeling is? No. For if the feeling were
small she would not have suffered so much, and I have seen her suffer
almost as much as I did myself. Against all reasoning I have one
answer: "I have seen."
To-day a sentence escaped her which I shall remember, for it is an
answer to my doubts. She would not have said this had I spoken about
us and our love. But I spoke in a general way, as I now always do.
I argued that it lay in the nature of feeling to be connected with
action; that love produces acts of will. When I had finished she said
quietly:--
"Not always. One may suffer."
Of course one may suffer. With these few words she had crushed my
arguments and filled my heart with reverence for her. In moments like
these I am happy and unhappy, as again it seems to me that she loves
me as I love her, but will remain pure before God, and men, and
herself. And I shall not be able to shake that temple. When all is
said and done this analysis of her heart and feelings does not lead to
any certainty. I am always walking in the dark. To my philosophical
and social "I do not know" there is now added a personal
consideration, far more serious; for this "I do not know" threatens my
very life.
I forged myself the chain which binds me to Aniela, and there is no
hope whatever that it ever will be broken. I love her despairingly,
and it is a question whether my love be not a disease. If I were
younger, less shattered in mind and nerves,--in short, of a more
normal disposition,--I might, seeing the hopelessness, try to break
that chain. As it is, I do not make even an effort. I love as a man
with diseased nerves, a man who is close upon mania; love as old
men do, clinging to love with all their might, as it is for them
a question of life. Thus one may cling to a branch overhanging a
precipice.
This one thing has blossomed in my life, consequently its growth is so
out of all proportion. A phenomenon like this is easy to understand
and will repeat itself the oftener, the more people there are like me;
that is, hyper-analytical sceptics inclined to hysteria, with a great
nothingness in their souls, and a strong neurosis in their veins. This
modern product of our epoch, drawing to its end, may not love at all,
or may look upon love as mere licentiousness; but if it happen that
all the forces of one's life centre in one feeling, and come under the
sway of his neurosis, the predilection will become as ineradicable as
any other chronic disease. Physiologists have not fully understood
this, still less novelists, who occupy themselves with the analysis of
the modern human soul.
Vienna, 25 August.
We arrived to-day at Vienna. On the way I listened to a conversation
between my aunt and Pani Celina, of which I took note, as it seemed to
make an extraordinary impression upon Aniela. We four were alone in
the railway carriage; we were discussing the portrait, and especially
the question whether the white dress would not have to be abandoned,
as the making of it would take up too much time. Suddenly Pani Celina,
whose mind is full of reminiscences and dates, which she quotes in and
out of season, turned to Aniela and said:--
"It is just two months to-day since your husband arrived at Ploszow,
is it not?"
"I believe so," replied Aniela.
At the same instant she grew very red and tried to hide her confusion
by taking down one of her bags from the rack. The blush had not gone
from her face when she turned round again, and there was in her face
an expression of acute pain. The ladies did not notice it, for they
were deep in a discussion as to the exact date of Kromitzki's arrival;
but I had noticed it and it grated upon my nerves, for it reminded me
that that very day she had to submit to his caresses. I was furious,
and at the same time ashamed for that blush of hers. In my love there
are many great thorns, but there are also a multitude of small,
hideous ones. Before that unlucky remark of Pani Celina's I felt
almost happy because I had the illusion that I was travelling with
Aniela as my affianced wife. Now in one moment the good disposition
fled. I felt resentment towards Aniela, and I showed it in my manners.
She noticed it at once, and when we arrived at Vienna and were left
alone for a moment, she asked:--
"Are you angry with me about something?"
"No, but I love you," I said curtly.
Her face grew sad. She thought, perhaps, that I had grown tired of the
peaceful current of our life, and the old Leon had come back again.
I felt angry with her, but angrier still with myself, that all my
philosophy and consciousness did not serve to give me the mastery over
the slightest sensations.
I went at once to Angeli, but when I arrived at his studio it was
six o'clock and the studio was closed. Aniela will be rested, and
to-morrow I will go with her. I have changed my idea. I do not want
her in a ball-dress, showing her arms and shoulders; I will have her
as she is every day, and as I love her most.
In the evening Doctor Chwastowski came to see us. He looks very well,
and as strong as a giant.