If what is now in my mind does not save me, I shall again fall ill, or
perhaps go mad. I am making up my accounts. Is there anything owing to
me from life? Nothing. What is awaiting me in the future? Nothing. If
so, there is no reason why I should not make a present of myself
to somebody whom that present would make happy. For my life, my
intellect, my abilities,--for the whole of my own self I would not
give a stiver. Moreover, I do not love Clara; but if she loves me, and
sees her happiness in me, it would be cruel to refuse her what I hold
so very cheap. I should consider it my duty to tell her what she is
taking; worse for her if it does not discourage her,--but that will be
her concern.
This plan attracts me chiefly for one reason,--namely, it widens the
gulf that separates me from the other one. I will prove to her that,
as she has taken her own way, I am able to take mine. Then there will
be an end of it. But I am thinking of her still! I notice it, and
it puts me into a rage. Perhaps it is hatred now; but it is not
indifference.
Pani Kromitzka probably fancied that I tore myself away forced by
circumstances; she will see now that it was also my wish. And the
thicker the wall I raise up between us, the sooner I shall be able to
banish her from my mind. As to Clara, I repeat that I do not love her;
but she loves me. Moreover, I owe her a debt of gratitude. During my
illness there were moments when I considered Clara's devotedness a
piece of German sentimentality, and yet the other one would not have
found courage enough for such sentimentality. It would be more in
accordance with her exalted virtue to let a man die than to see
him without his necktie; this is a freedom reserved for the lawful
husband. Clara did not care anything about such things; she gave up
for me her music, exposed herself to trouble, sleepless nights, and
possibly to the world's comments, and stood by me. I contracted
towards her a debt, and am going to pay it. I pay it badly and in
bad faith; for I offer to her what I do not value myself,--the mere
remnants of what was once a man. But if she values it, let it be hers.
To my aunt it will be a disappointment; it will hurt her family pride
and patriotic feelings. Yet, if my aunt could but know what has been
lately going on in my heart, she would prefer this matrimonial scheme
to that other love; I have not the slightest doubt as to that. What
does it matter that Clara's ancestors were most probably weavers? I
have no prejudices; I have only nerves. Any casual view I take tends
rather towards liberalism. Sometimes I fancy that people professing to
be liberals are more narrow in their views than conservatives; but, on
the other hand, liberalism itself is resting on a larger basis than
conservatism, and more in accord with Christ's teachings; but I am
wholly indifferent to both parties. It is scarcely worth speaking or
reasoning about them. Real unhappiness shows us the emptiness of mere
partisan hair-splittings. Involuntarily I fall to thinking, "How will
Aniela receive the news of my resolve?" I have been so accustomed to
feel through her that the painful habit still clings to me.