Complete works of henryk.., p.335
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz, page 335
In spite of my emotion I was struck by Kromitzki’s tone of voice and Aniela’s silent obedience, — all the more as I had already noticed that his manners towards her during the day had been those of a man who is displeased. There was evidently the same reason, of which I knew nothing, at the bottom of this, and of the estrangement some time ago. But there was no room now for these reflections; the fresh memory of the kiss I had imprinted on her feet still overpowered my senses. I felt a great delight and joy, not unmixed with fear. I could account for the delight because I felt it every time I only touched her hand. But why the joy? Because I saw that the immaculate Aniela could not escape from me altogether, and must needs confess to herself: “I am on the downward path too, and cannot look people in the face; he was at my feet a moment ago, the man who loves me, and I am obliged to be his accomplice and cannot go to my husband and tell him to take me hence.” I knew she could not do this without creating a commotion; and if she could, she would not do it, for fear of an encounter between me and Kromitzki,— “And who knows for whom she is most afraid?” something within me whispered.
Aniela’s position is indeed a difficult one, and I, knowing this, take advantage of it without more scruples than are admitted by a general in time of war who attacks the enemy at his weakest point. I asked myself whether I would do the same if Kromitzki would make me personally responsible; and as I could conscientiously say “Yes,” I thought there was no need for any further consideration. Kromitzki inspires me with fear only in so far as he has power to remove Aniela and put her out of my reach altogether. The very thought makes me desperate. But at this moment, in the carriage, I only feared Aniela. What will happen to-morrow? How will she take it? As a liberty, or as a mere impulse of respect and worship?
I felt as a dog may feel that has done wrong and is afraid of being whipped. Sitting opposite Aniela, I tried at moments when the moon shone on her face to read there what was to be my sentence. I looked at her so humbly and was so meek that I pitied myself, and thought she too ought to pity me a little. But she did not look at me at all, and listened or seemed to listen attentively to what Kromitzki was telling my aunt he would do if Gastein belonged to him. My aunt only nodded, and he repeated every moment: “Now, really, don’t you think I am right?” It is evident that he wants to impress my aunt with his enterprising spirit, and to convince her that he is capable of making a shilling out of every penny.
The road to Hofgastein, hewn out of the rocks, skirting the precipices, winds and twists around the mountain slopes. The light of the moon shone alternately on our faces and those of the ladies opposite, according to the varying directions of the road. In Aniela’s face I saw nothing but a sweet sadness, and I took courage from the fact that it was neither stern nor forbidding. I did not obtain a single glance, but I comforted myself by the thought that when concealed in the shadow, she would perhaps look at me and say to herself: “Nobody loves me as he does, and nobody can be at the same time more unhappy than he,” — which is true. We were both silent. Only Kromitzki kept on talking; his voice mingled with the rush of the waters below the rocks and the creaking of the brake, which the driver often applied. This creaking irritated my nerves very much, but the warm, transparent night lulled them into restfulness again. It was, as I said before, full moon; the bright orb had risen above the mountains, and sailing through space illumined the tops of Bocksteinkogl, the Tischlkar glaciers, and the precipitous slopes of the Graukogl. The snow on the heights shone with a pale-green, metallic lustre, and as the mountain sides below were shrouded in darkness, the snowy sheen seemed to float in mid air, as if not belonging to the earth. There was such a charm, such peace and restfulness in these sleeping mountains, that involuntarily the words of the poet came into mind: —
“At such a moment, alas! two hearts are grieving.
What there is to forgive, they are forgiving;
What was to be forgot, they dismiss to oblivion.”
And yet what is there to forgive? That I kissed her feet? If she were a sacred statue she could not be offended by such an act of reverence. I thought if it came to an explanation between us I would tell her that.
I often think that Aniela does me a great wrong, not to say that she calls things by wrong names. She considers my love a mere earthly feeling, an infatuation of the senses. I do not deny that it is composed of various threads, but there are among them some as purely ideal as if spun of poetry. Very often my senses are lulled to sleep, and I love her as one loves only in early youth. Then the second self within me mocks, and says derisively: “I had no idea you could love like a schoolboy or a romanticist!” Yet such is the fact. I may be ridiculous, but I love her thus, and it is not an artificial feeling. It is this which makes my love so complete, and at the same time so sad; for Aniela misconstrues it and cannot enter into its spirit. Even now I inwardly spoke to her thus: “Do you think there are no ideal chords in my soul? At this moment I love you in such a way that you may accept my love without fear. It would be a pity to spurn so much feeling; it would cost you nothing, and it would be my salvation. I could then say to myself: ‘This is my whole world; within its boundaries I am allowed to live. It would be something at least. I would try to change my nature, try to believe in what you believe, and hold fast to it all my life.’”
It seemed to me that she ought to agree to such a proposition, after which there would be everlasting peace between us. I promised myself to put it before her, and once we know that our souls belong to each other we may even part. There awoke within me a certain hope that she will agree to this, for she must understand that without it both our lives will remain miserable.
It was nine o’clock when we arrived at Hofgastein. It was very quiet and still in the village. Only the Gasthaus was lighted, and before Meger’s some excellent voices were singing mountain airs. I thought of asking the serenaders to sing before our window, but I found they were not villagers; they were Viennese mountaineers, to whom one could not offer money. I bought two bunches of edelweiss and other Alpine flowers, and giving one to Aniela I accidentally, as it were, unloosened the other and the flowers fell under her feet.
“Let them lie there,” I said, seeing she was stooping to pick them up. I went in search of some more flowers for my aunt. When I came back I heard Kromitzki say: —
“Even here at Hofgastein, by erecting another branch establishment, one could easily make a hundred per cent.”
“You are still hammering at the same subject,” I said quietly. I said this on purpose; it was the same as to say to Aniela: “See, while my whole being is occupied with you he thinks of nothing but how to make money. Compare our feelings; compare us with each other.” I am almost certain she understood my meaning.
On the return journey I made several attempts to draw Aniela into general conversation, but did not succeed. When we arrived at the gate of the villa Kromitzki went upstairs with the ladies, and I remained behind to pay for the carriage. When I went up I did not find Aniela at tea. My aunt said she had gone to bed and seemed very tired. A great uneasiness got hold of me, and I reproached myself for tormenting her. There is nothing more crushing for the man who loves truly than the consciousness that he is bringing unhappiness on her he loves. We took our tea in silence, for my aunt was drowsy, Kromitzki seemed depressed, and I tormented myself more and more with anxious thoughts. “She must have taken it very much to heart,” I thought, “and as usual has put upon it the worst construction.” I expected she would avoid me the next day and consider our treaty of peace broken by that rash act of mine. This filled me with fear, and I resolved to go, or rather to escape, the next day to Vienna; firstly, because I dreaded meeting Aniela, secondly, because I wanted to see Doctor Chwastowski; and finally, I thought, — and God knows how bitter is the thought, — to relieve her of my presence for a few days and give her rest.
15 July.
A whole budget of events. I do not know where to begin, as the last sensations are the uppermost. Never yet had I such convincing proofs that she cares for me. It will cost me no small effort to put everything down in proper order. I am now almost sure Aniela will agree to the conditions I am going to propose to her. My head is still in a whirl; but I will try to start from the beginning.
I have been in Vienna and brought some news I am going to discuss with my aunt. I have seen Chwastowski. What a fine fellow he is! — works at the hospitals, is busy upon a series of hygienic articles his brother is to publish in three-penny booklets for the people, belongs to several medical and non-medical associations, and still finds time for various gay entertainments on the Kaerthner Strasse. I do not know when he finds time to sleep. And the fellow looks like a giant from a fair. What an exuberance of life! — he seems literally brimming over with life. I told him without any preliminaries what had brought me to Vienna.
“I do not know,” I said, “whether you are aware that my aunt and I possess considerable capital. We are not obliged to speculate, but if we could invest our money in some enterprise where it would bring profit, the profit would be so much gain for the country. I suppose if at the same time we could render a service to Pan Kromitzki it would be a two-fold gain. Between ourselves, he is personally indifferent to us, but he is by his marriage connected with our family. We should be glad to help him provided we can do so without running any risk.”
“And you would like to know how he stands in his affairs, sir?”
“Yes, I should. He seems very sanguine in his hopes, and no doubt believes himself to be right. The question is whether he does not delude himself. Therefore if your brother has written you anything without binding you to secrecy I should like to know what he says. You might also ask him to give me an exact statement as to their business transactions. My aunt relies upon you, considering that the relations which connect us with your family are of a much older standing than those connecting her with Kromitzki.”
“All right; I will let my brother know about it. He mentioned something in one of his letters, but as it does not interest me very much I did not take notice of it at the time.”
Saying this, he began to search in his desk among his papers, where he found it easily and then read aloud: “‘I am heartily tired of the place. No women here worth talking about, and not a pretty one in the whole lot.’” He laughed. “No, that’s not what I wanted. He would like to be in Vienna.” Turning over a page he handed it to me, but I found only these few lines: —
“As to Kromitzki, his speculation in oil has turned out a failure. With the Rothschilds a struggle is impossible, and he went against them. We had to get out of it as well as we could, but lost a deal of money. We have got a monopoly in the contract business; there are immense profits to be made, but there is also a considerable risk. It all depends upon the honesty of the people we deal with. We treat them fairly and trust to luck. But money is wanted, because the government pays us at stated terms, and we have to pay money down, and besides that, often receive bad material. I have to look at present after everything myself.”
“We will furnish the money,” I said, when I had finished reading.
On the way back to Gastein I thought it over and my better instincts prevailed. “Let the future take care of itself,” I thought; and in the mean while would it not be more simple and more honest to help Kromitzki instead of ruining him? Aniela would appreciate such an act, and my disinterestedness would win her approval; and as to the future, let Providence decide about that.
But would it be an act of disinterestedness on my part? Reflecting upon it, I found that my own selfish views had a great deal to do with it. Thus I foresaw that Kromitzki, getting hold of the money, would leave Gastein immediately and release me from the torments his presence near Aniela gives me. Aniela would remain alone, surrounded by my devotion, with gratitude in her heart for me, resentment or even indignation towards Kromitzki because he had availed himself of my offer. I seemed to see new horizons opening before me. But above all, and at whatever cost, I wanted to get free of Kromitzki’s presence.
I thought so much of my future relation to Aniela that I arrived at Lend-Gastein before I was aware of it. At Lend I found a great commotion. A railway accident had happened on the branch line of Zell am See, and the place was full of wounded people; but scarcely had I taken my seat in the carriage when the impression the killed and wounded had made upon me gave way to the thoughts that occupied me so exclusively. I saw clearly that some change must take place in our relation, that the present state could not be prolonged indefinitely without doing mischief to both of us and bringing us both to such a pass that it would be better for me to roll down the precipice there and then and make an end of it at once.
Aniela, though she does not yield in the least, must needs be distracted in her mind by the continual presence of that forbidden love. It is true she does not give me any encouragement, but now and then I kiss her hands, her feet; she is compelled to listen to words of love, obliged to have secrets from her husband and her mother, and always control herself and me lest I might overstep the boundary. Life under such conditions becomes unbearable to us both. It must undergo some change. At last I had found, I thought, a solution of the problem. Let Aniela frankly admit that she loves me, and say to me: “I am yours heart and soul, and will be yours forever; but let that satisfy you. If you agree to that our souls henceforth will be as one and belong to each other forever.” And I bound myself to her. I fancied I was taking her hand and saying: “I take you thus and promise not to seek for anything more, promise that our relations will remain purely spiritual, but as binding as those of husband and wife.”
Is such an agreement feasible, and will it put an end to our sorrow? For me it is a renunciation of all my hopes and desires, but it creates for me a new world in which Aniela will be mine. Besides that, it will make our love a legitimate right; and I would give my very health if Aniela would agree to it. I see in this another proof of the earnestness of my love, and how I wish her to be mine; I am ready to pay any price, accept any restrictions, provided she acknowledges her love.
I began to think intently whether she would agree. And it seemed to me she would. I heard myself speaking to her in a persuasive, irrefutable manner: —
“Since you really love me, what difference can it make to you if you tell me so with your own lips? What can there be nobler, holier than the love I ask you for? I have surrendered to you my whole life, because I could not do otherwise. Ask your own conscience, and it will tell you that you ought to do this much for me. It is the same relation as Beatrice’s to Dante. Angels love each other in that way. You will be near me, as near as one soul can be to another, and yet as distant as if you dwelt on the highest of heights. That it is a love above all earthly loves is all the more a reason for your not rejecting it; carried on the wings of such a love your soul will remain pure; it will save me and bring peace and happiness to both of us.”
I felt within me a boundless wealth of this almost mystic love, and a belief that this earthly chrysalis would come forth in another world a butterfly, which, detached from all earthly conditions would soar from planet to planet, till it became united to the spirit of All-Life. For the first time the thought crossed my mind that Aniela and I may pass away as bodies, but our love will survive and even be our immortality. “Who knows,” I thought, “whether this be not the only existing form of immortality?” — because I felt distinctly that there is something everlasting in my feeling, quite distinct from the ever changing phenomena of life. A man must love very deeply to be capable of such feelings and visions; he must be very unhappy, and perhaps close on the brink of insanity. I am not yet on that brink, but I am close upon mysticism, and never so happy as when I thus lose myself and scatter my own self, so that I have some difficulty in finding it again. I fully understand why this is the case. My dualism, my inward criticism shattered all the foundations of my life, together with the happiness these foundations would have given me. In those lands where, instead of syllogisms, visions and dim consciousness reign paramount, criticism finds no room; and this solution gives me rest and relief.
Thus I rested when I drew near Gastein. I saw myself and Aniela wedded spiritually and at peace. I had the proud consciousness that I had found a way out of the enchanted circle and into happiness. I was certain Aniela would give me her hand, and thus together we would begin a new life.
Suddenly I started as if waking from a dream, and saw that my hand was covered with blood. It appeared that the same vehicle I was travelling in had been used to transport some of the injured victims of the railway disaster. There was a deal of blood at one side of the seat, which the driver had not noticed or had forgotten to wipe off. My mysticism does not go so far as to create belief in the intervention of mysterious powers through omens, signs, or predictions. Yet, though not superstitious myself, I am able to enter the train of thought of a superstitious man, and consequently observe the singular coincidence of this fact. It seemed to me strange that in the carriage where I dreamed about the beginning of a new life some other life had perhaps breathed its last; also that with bloodstained hands I had been thinking of peace and happiness.
Coincidences like these more or less influence nervous persons, not by filling them with presentiments, but rather by throwing a dark shadow upon all their thoughts. Undoubtedly mine would have travelled in that direction had I not been close upon Wildbad. Slowly crawling up the hill I saw another carriage coming down at an unusual speed. “There will be another collision,” I thought, as on the steep road it is very difficult for two carriages to pass each other. But at the same moment the driver of the vehicle put on the brake with all his strength, and the horses went at a slow pace. Suddenly, to my great astonishment, I recognized in the inmates of the carriage my aunt and Aniela. They, too, had caught sight of me; and Aniela cried out: —
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