Kromitzki is dead! The catastrophe has come upon us like a
thunderbolt. God keep Aniela from any harm in her present state.
To-day came a telegram to the effect that, accused of fraud and
threatened with imprisonment, he has taken his life. I should have
expected anything but that! Kromitzki is dead! Aniela is free! But how
will she bear it? I have been looking again and again at the telegram,
to make sure I am not dreaming. I cannot yet believe my own eyes; but
the signature, "Chwastowski," vouches for its truth. I knew it could
not end well, but I never supposed the end would be so speedy and so
tragic. No! the thought never crossed my mind.
I feel as if I had received a blow on the head. If my brain does not
give way now, it can bear anything. I once helped Kromitzki, and
latterly I have done what I could for him, consequently I have nothing
to reproach myself with. There was a time when from my whole soul I
wished him dead,--that is true; but it is all the more to my credit
that I helped him in spite of that. And death has overtaken him, not
in consequence of anything I did, but in spite of it. And Aniela is
free! Strange, though I know it, I cannot believe it altogether. I
am as if only half conscious. Kromitzki to me was a mere stranger,
moreover the greatest obstacle in my way. The obstacle is removed,
therefore I ought to feel a boundless joy; and yet I cannot, dare not
feel it,--possibly because a fear of the consequences for Aniela is
connected with it. My first thought when I received the telegram was:
"What will happen to Aniela? How will she bear the news?" God guard
her! She did not love the man, but in her present state a shock may
kill her. I am thinking of taking her away from here.
What a fortunate thing that I received the telegram in my own room,
and not in the dining-room. I do not know whether I should have been
able to control my features. For some time I could not recover myself
from the sudden shock. I then went to my aunt, but did not show her
the telegram. I said only:--
"I have had bad news about Kromitzki."
"What has happened?"
"You must not be shocked, aunty."
"They brought him up for trial,--is that it?"
"No, it is worse; he is brought up for trial, but before a higher
tribunal than ours."
My aunt winked with both eyes vigorously.
"What do you mean, Leon?"
I showed her the telegram. She read it, and without saying a word went
to her prie-Dieu and buried her face in her hands. After a short time
she rose from her knees and said:--
"Aniela may pay for it with her life. What is to be done?"
"She must not know anything until after the child is born."
"But how can we prevent it? It will be in everybody's mouth; the
papers will discuss it. How can we keep it from her?"
"Dearest aunt," I said, "there is only one way. We must have the
doctor here and ask him to prescribe for her a change of air. Then I
will take her and Pani Celina to Rome. There I can keep all news from
her. Here it would be difficult, especially when the servants come to
hear about it?"
"But will she be able to bear the journey?"
"I do not know; it all depends upon what the doctor says; I will send
for him at once."
My aunt agreed to my proposal. It was really the best thing to do
under the circumstances. We resolved to take Pani Celina into our
confidence, in order that she might further our plan of departure. I
saw all the servants, and gave strict orders that all letters, papers,
and telegrams should be brought direct to my room, and nobody approach
the young lady with any news or gossip whatever.
My aunt was terribly shocked. According to her views, suicide is one
of the greatest crimes anybody can commit; therefore with the pity for
the unfortunate man, there was a great deal of horror and
indignation. "He ought not to have done this," she said over and over
again,--"especially now when he expected to become a father." But I
suppose he might not have received news of that. During the last few
weeks he must have been in a state of feverish anxiety, travelling
from one place to another as the entangled position of his affairs
drove him.
I dare not condemn him, and will confess openly that it has raised the
man in my esteem. There are some men who, justly accused of fraud and
wrong-dealing, and sentenced to imprisonment, take it easy, and pass
their time in prison gayly drinking champagne. He did not do that,--he
preferred death to disgrace. Maybe he remembered who he was. I should
have less sympathy with him if he had made away with himself merely
because he had failed; but I suppose even that would have been a
sufficient motive for him to do so. I remember what he said about
it at Gastein. If my love be a neurosis, then most undoubtedly his
feverish desire for gold is the same. When this one aim went out from
his life, this one basis slipped away from under his feet, he saw
before him, perhaps, a gulf and a desert such as I saw when alone at
Berlin. And what could hold him back? The thought of Aniela? He knew
we would take care of her; and besides,--who knows?--perhaps in a dim
way he felt that he was not necessary to her happiness. I did not
think he had it in him; I had not expected from him so much energy and
courage, and I confess that I judged him wrongly.
I had put down my pen, but take it up again because I cannot sleep;
and besides, while writing my thoughts flow more evenly, and I do not
feel my brain reeling. Aniela is free! Aniela is free! I repeat it to
myself and cannot encompass the whole meaning. I feel as if I could
go mad with joy, and at the same time I am seized with an undefined
dread. Is it really true that a new life is dawning for me? What is
it? Is it one of Nature's tricks, or is it God's mercy at last for all
I suffered, and for the great love I bear in my heart? Perhaps there
exists a mystic law which gives the woman to the man who loves her
most in order that a great, eternal commandment of the Creator should
be fulfilled. I do not know. I have a feeling as if I and all those
near me were carried away by an immense wave, beyond human will or
human control.
I interrupted my writing again, because the carriage I sent for the
doctor has come back without him. He has an operation on hand and
could not come, but promised to be here in the morning. He must remain
with us at Ploszow until our departure, and go with us to Rome. There
I shall find others to take his place.
It is late in the night. Aniela is asleep, and has no foreboding of
what is hanging over her, what a complete change in her life has taken
place. May it bring peace and happiness to her! She deserves it all.
Perhaps it is for her sake God's mercy is showing.
My nerves are so overstrung that I start when I hear a dog barking in
the distance, or the watchman's rattle; it seems to me as if somebody
were bringing news and trying to get to Aniela. I make an effort to
calm myself, and explain away the strange fear that haunts me, by the
state of Aniela's health; I try to be convinced that but for this I
should not feel so uneasy. I repeat to myself that my fear will pass,
as everything passes, and afterwards there will be the beginning of a
new life.
I have to familiarize myself with the thought that Kromitzki is no
more. Out of this catastrophe springs my happiness, such happiness as
I dared not hope for; but there is within us a moral instinct which
forbids us to rejoice at the death of even an enemy. And moreover in
death itself there is an awful solemnity,--those who speak in presence
of it speak in hushed voices; that is the reason I dare not rejoice.