Without Dogma by Henryk Sienkiewicz

H >> Henryk Sienkiewicz >> Without Dogma

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

Formerly the conditions of life and a differently constituted
community summoned us, and in a way forced us, into action. Now, in
these antihygienic times, when we have nothing to do with public life,
and are poisoned by philosophy and doubts, our disease has grown
more acute. We have come to this at last, that we are not capable of
sustained action, that our vitality shows itself only in sudden leaps
and bounds, and consequently the most gifted among us always end in
some kind of madness. Of all that constitutes life there is only woman
left for us; and we either fritter and squander ourselves away in
licentiousness or cling to one love as to a branch that overhangs a
precipice. As it is mostly an unlawful love we cling to, it carries
within itself the elements of a tragedy. I know that my love for
Aniela must end badly; and therefore I do not even try to defend
myself from it. Besides, whether I resist or submit, it means ruin
either way.

28 June.

The baths and especially the cool, bracing air are improving Pani
Celina's health, and she is growing stronger day by day. I surround
her with every care and think of her comforts as if she were my own
mother. She is grateful for it, and seems to be growing very fond of
me. Aniela notices it, and cannot help feeling a certain regret at
this vision of happiness that might have been ours if things had
turned out differently. I am quite certain now that she does not love
Kromitzki. She is and will be faithful to him; but when I see them
together I notice in her face a certain constraint and humiliation.
I see it every time when he, whether really in love or only showing
himself off as a doting husband, fondles her hands, smoothes her hair
or kisses her brow. She would rather hide herself in the very earth
than be forced to submit to these endearments in my and other people's
presence. Nevertheless she submits, with a forced smile. I smile too,
but as a diversion I mentally plunge my hands into my vitals and
tear them to pieces. At times the thought crosses my mind that this
priestess of Diana is more at ease and less reticent when alone with
her husband. But I do not often indulge in thoughts like these, for I
feel that one drop more and I shall lose my self-control altogether.

My relation to Aniela is terrible for me as well as for her. My love
shows itself in the guise of hatred, scorn, and irony. It frightens
Aniela and hurts her. She looks at me now and then, and her pleading
eyes say, "Is it my fault?" And I repeat to myself, "It is not her
fault;" but I cannot, God help me, I cannot be different to her. The
more I see her oppressed and hurt, the fiercer becomes my resentment
towards her, towards Kromitzki, myself, and the whole world. And yet
I pity her from my whole heart, for she is as unhappy as I am. But
as water, instead of subduing a conflagration, makes it rage all the
fiercer, so my feelings are rendered fiercer by despair. I treat the
dearest being with scorn, anger, and irony, and thereby hurt myself
far more than I hurt her; for she is capable of forgiveness, but I
shall never be able to forgive myself.

29 June.

That man notices there is some ill-feeling between me and his wife,
and he explains it in a manner worthy of him. It seems to him that
I hate her because she preferred him to me. He fancies that my
resentment is nothing but offended vanity. Truly only a husband can
look upon it in this light. Consequently he tries to make it up to her
by his caresses, and treats me with the kind indulgence of a generous
victor.

How vanity blinds some people! What a strange creature he is! He goes
every day to the Straubinger hotel, watches the couples promenading on
the Wandelbahn, and with a certain delight puts the worst construction
upon their mutual relations. He laughs at the husbands who, according
to his views, are deceived by their wives; every new discovery puts
him into better humor, and his eyeglass is continually dropping out
and put back again. And yet the same man who considers conjugal
faithlessness such an excellent opportunity for making silly jokes,
would consider it the most awful tragedy if it happened to himself.
Since it is only a question of other people it is a farce; touching
his own happiness it would cry out to heaven for vengeance. Why,
you fool!--go to the looking glass, see yourself as you are, your
Mongolian eyes, that hair like a black Astrachan cap, that eyeglass,
those long shanks; enter into yourself and see the meanness of your
intellect, the vulgarity of your character,--and tell me whether a
woman like Aniela ought to remain true to you for an hour! How did you
manage to get her, you spiritual and physical upstart? Is it not an
unnatural monstrosity that you are her husband? Dante's Beatrice,
marrying a common Florentine cad, would have been better matched.

I had to interrupt my writing because I felt I was losing my balance;
and yet I fancied myself resigned! May Kromitzki rest easy; I do not
feel that I am any better than he. Even if I supposed I was made of
finer stuff than he, it would be small comfort, since my deeds are
worse than his. He has no need of hiding anything, and I am obliged
to play the hypocrite, take him always into account, conceal my real
feelings, deceive and circumvent him. Can there be anything meaner
than pursuing such a course of action, instead of taking him by the
throat? I abuse him in my diary. Such underhand satisfaction even a
slave may permit himself towards his master. Kromitzki never could
have felt so small as I did in my own eyes when I committed a
multitude of littlenesses, devised cunning plans to make him take
separate lodgings and not stop in the same house with Aniela. And
after all, I gained nothing. With the simple sentence, "I wish to be
near my wife" he demolished all my plans. It is simply unbearable,
especially as Aniela understands every movement of mine, every word
and scheme. I fancy she must often blush for me. All this taken
together makes up my daily food. I do not think I shall be able to
bear it much longer, as I cannot be equal to the situation,--which
simply means: I am not villain enough for the conditions in which I
live.

30 June.

I overheard from the veranda the end of a conversation carried on in
an audible voice between Kromitzki and Aniela.

"I will speak to him myself," said Kromitzki; "but you must tell your
aunt the position I am in."

"I will never do it," replied Aniela.

"Not if such is my wish?" he said sharply.

Not desirous of playing the part of eavesdropper, I went into the
room. I saw on Aniela's face an expression of pain, which she tried to
hide upon seeing me. Kromitzki was white with anger, but greeted me
with a smile. For a moment an unreasonable fear got hold of me that
she had confessed something to her husband. I am not afraid of
Kromitzki; my only fear is that he may take away Aniela and thus part
me from my sorrows, my humiliations, and torments. I live by them;
without them I should be famished. Anything rather than part from
Aniela. In vain I racked my brain to guess what could have taken place
between them. At moments I thought it probable that she had told him
something; but then his manner towards me would have changed, and it
was if anything even more polite than usual.

Generally speaking, but for my aversion to the man, I have no fault
to find with him in so far as I am concerned. He is very polite and
friendly, gives way to me in everything as if he were dealing with a
nervous woman. He tries all means to gain my confidence. It does
not discourage him in the least that I meet his advances at times
brusquely or sarcastically, and without much consideration for his
feelings show up his ignorance and want of refined nerves. I do not
miss any opportunity to expose before Aniela how commonplace he is in
heart and intellect. But he is wonderfully patient. Maybe he is so
only with me. To-day I saw him for the first time angry with Aniela,
and his complexion was of the greenish hue of people who are angry in
cold blood and nurse their wrath long afterwards. Aniela is probably
afraid of him, but she is afraid of everybody,--even of me. It is
sometimes difficult to understand how this woman with the temper of
a dove can at a given moment summon so much energy. There was a time
when I thought her too passive to be able to resist me long. What
a disappointment! Her resistance is all the stronger, the more
unexpected it is. I do not know what was the question between her and
Kromitzki, but if she says that she is not going to do what he asks
her, she will shake with fear but will not yield. If she were mine, I
would love her as the dog loves its mistress; I would carry her on
my hands, and not allow the dust to touch her feet; I would love her
until death.

1 July.

My jealousy would be a miserable thing if it were not at the same time
the pain of the true believer who sees his divinity dragged in the
dust. I would abstain even from touching her hand if I could place her
on some inapproachable height where nobody could come near her.

2 July.

I deluded myself as to my state of quiescence. It was only a temporary
torpidity of the nerves, which I mistook for calmness. Besides, I knew
it could not last.

3 July.

Yes, something has passed between them. They hide some mutual offence,
but I see it. For some days I have noticed that he does not take her
hands, as he used to and kiss them in turn; he does not stroke her
hair or kiss her forehead. I had a moment of real joy, but Aniela
herself poisoned it. I see that she tries to conciliate and humor him
as if wishing to restore their former relations. At the sight of this
a great rage possessed me, and showed itself in my behavior to Aniela.
Never had I been so pitiless to her and myself.

4 July.

To-day, returning from the Wandelbahn, I met Aniela on the bridge
opposite the Cascades. She stopped suddenly and said something, but
the roar of the water drowned her voice. This irritated me, for at
present everything irritates me. Whereupon, leading her across the
bridge towards our villa, I said impatiently: "I could not hear what
you were saying."

"I wanted to ask you," she said, with emotion, "why you are so
different to me now? Why have you no pity upon me?"

All my blood rushed to my heart at these words.

"Can you not see," I said quickly, "that I love you more than words
can tell? and you treat it as if it were a mere nothing. Listen! I do
not want anything from you. Only tell me that you love me, surrender
your heart to me, and I will bear anything, suffer anything, and will
give my whole life to you and serve you to the last breath. Aniela,
you love me! Tell me, is it not true? You will save me by that one
word; say it!"

Aniela had grown as pale as the foam on the cascade. It seemed as if
she had turned to ice. For a moment she could not utter a word; then
making a great effort, she replied:--

"You must not speak to me in that way."

"Then you will never say it?"

"Never!"

"Then you have not the least--" I broke off. It suddenly whirled
across my brain that if Kromitzki asked her, she would not refuse him;
and at this thought rage and despair deprived me of all consciousness.
I heard the rushing of waters in my ear, and everything grew dark
before my eyes. I only remember that I hurled a few horrible, cynical
words at her, such as no man should use against a defenceless woman,
and which I dare not put down in this diary. I remember as in a dream
that she looked at me with dilated eyes, took me by the sleeve, then
shook my shoulder, and said, anxiously:--

"Leon, what is the matter with you,--what ails you?"

What ailed me was that I was losing my senses. I tore my hand away and
rushed off in the opposite direction. After a moment I retraced my
steps; but she was gone. Then I understood only one thing: the time
had come to put an end to life. The thought seemed to me like a rift
in the dark clouds that weighed upon me. It was a strange state of
consciousness, in one direction. For the moment all thoughts about
myself, about Aniela, were wiped from my memory; but I contemplated
the thought of death with the greatest self-possession. I knew, for
instance, perfectly well that if I threw myself from the rocks it
would be considered an accident, and if I shot myself in my own room
my aunt would not survive the shock. It was still stranger that, in
spite of this consciousness, I did not feel called upon to make any
choice, as if the connection between my reasoning and my will and
its consequent action had been severed. With a perfectly clear
understanding that it would be better to throw myself from the rocks,
I yet went back to the villa for my revolver. Why? I cannot explain
it. I only remember that I ran faster and faster, at last went up
the stairs into my room, and began to search for the key of my
portmanteau, where the revolver was. Presently I heard steps
approaching my door. This roused me, and the thought flashed through
my mind that it was Aniela, that she had guessed my intention, and
came to prevent it. The door was flung open, and there was my aunt,
who called out in a breathless voice:--

"Leon, go quick for the doctor! Aniela has been taken ill."

Hearing that, I forgot all else, and without hat I rushed forth, and
in a quarter of an hour brought a doctor from the Straubinger hotel.
The doctor went to see Aniela, and I remained with my aunt on the
veranda. I asked her what had happened to Aniela.

"Half an hour ago," said my aunt, "Aniela came back with such a
feverishly burning face that both Celina and I asked whether anything
had happened to her. She replied, 'Nothing, nothing,' almost
impatiently; and when Celina insisted upon knowing what was the matter
with her, Aniela, for the first time since I have known her, lost her
temper and cried out, 'Why are you all bent upon tormenting me?' Then
she became quite hysterical, and laughed and cried. We were terribly
frightened, and then I came and asked you to fetch the doctor. Thank
God, she is calmer now. How she wept, poor child, and asked us to
forgive her for having spoken unkindly to us."

I remained silent; my heart was too full for words.

My aunt paced up and down the veranda, and presently, her arms akimbo,
stopped before me and said,--

"Do you know, my boy, what I am thinking? It is this: We somehow do
not like Kromitzki,--even Celina is not fond of him; and Aniela sees
it, and it hurts her feelings. It is a strange thing; he does his best
to make himself pleasant, and yet he always seems like an outsider. It
is not right, and it grieves Aniela."

"Do you think, aunty, that she loves him so very much?"

"I did not say very much. He is her husband, and so she loves him, and
feels hurt that we treat him badly."

"But who treats him badly? I think she is not happy with him,--that is
all."

"God forbid that you should be right. I do not say but she might have
done better; but after all there is nothing to be said against him.
He evidently loves her very much. Celina cannot quite forgive him the
sale of Gluchow; but as to Aniela, she defends him, and does not allow
anybody to say a word against him."

"Perhaps against her own conviction?"

"It proves all the more that she loves him. As to his affairs, the
worst is that nobody knows how he stands; and this is a great source
of trouble to Celina. But after all, wealth is not everything;
besides, as I told you before, I will not forget to provide for
Aniela, and you agree with me, do you not? We both owe her a kind of
duty, not to mention that she is a dear, affectionate creature, and
deserves everything we can do for her."

"With all my heart, dear aunt; she will be always as a sister to me,
and shall not be in want of anything as long as I live."

"I count upon my dear boy, and can die in peace."

Thereupon she embraced me. The doctor, coming towards us, interrupted
our conversation. In a few words he set our minds at rest,--

"A little nervous agitation; it often appears after the first baths.
Leave off bathing for a few days, plenty of air and exercise,--that is
all that is wanted. The constitution is sound; strengthen the system,
and all will be well."

I paid him so liberally that he bowed, and did not put on his hat till
he was beyond the railings of the villa. I would have given anything
if I could have gone immediately to Aniela, kissed her feet, and
begged her forgiveness for all the wrong I had done her. I vowed to
myself that I would be different, more patient, with Kromitzki,--not
revolt any more, nor grumble. Contrition, contrition deep and sincere,
permeated my whole being. How unspeakably I love her!

Close upon noon I met Kromitzki coming back from a long walk on the
Kaiserweg. I put my good resolutions at once to the test, and was more
friendly with him. He thought it was sympathy because of his wife's
illness, and as such accepted it in a grateful spirit. He and Pani
Celina spent the remainder of the day with Aniela. She had expressed a
wish to dress and go out; but they did not let her. I did not permit
myself even to chafe at that. I do not remember that I ever subdued
myself to the same extent. "It is all for you, dearest," I said
inwardly. I was very stupid all the day, and felt an irresistible
desire to cry like a child. Even now tears fill my eyes. If I have
sinned greatly, I bear a heavy punishment.

5 July.

After yesterday's commotion a calm has set in. The clouds have
discharged their electricity, and the storm is over. I feel exhausted
morally and physically. Aniela is better. This morning we met alone on
the veranda. I put her on a rocking-chair, wrapped a shawl around her
shoulders, as the morning was rather chilly, and said:--

"Aniela dear, I beg your pardon from my whole heart for what I said
yesterday. Forgive and forget if you can, though I shall never forgive
myself."

She put out her hand at once, and I clung to it with my lips. I could
have groaned aloud; there is such a gulf between my love and my
misery. Aniela seemed to feel it too, for she did not withdraw her
hand at once. She too tried to control her emotion, and the feeling
which urged her towards me. Her neck and breast heaved as if she were
strangling the sobs that rose to her throat. She feels that I love her
beyond everything; that a love like mine is not to be met with every
day; and that it might have been a treasure of happiness to last our
whole life. Presently she grew more composed and her face became
serene. There was nothing but resignation there, and angelic goodness.

"There is peace between us, is there not?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"And forever?"

"How can I tell, dearest? You know best how things stand with me."

Her eyes again grew misty, and again she recovered herself.

"All will be well," she said, "you are so good."

"I, good?" I exclaimed with real indignation; "do you not know that if
you had not fallen ill yesterday I should--"

I did not finish. I suddenly remembered that it would be mean and
cowardly to use such a weapon against her. I felt all the more ashamed
of my rashness as I saw the troubled eyes looking anxiously into mine.

"What did you want to say?"

"I was going to say words unworthy of myself; besides, they have no
meaning now."

"Leon! I must know what you meant, else I shall have no peace."

Suddenly a breath of wind blew a lock of her hair into her eyes. I
rose, and with the light, tender touch of a mother, put it back into
its place.

"Dear Aniela, do not force me to tell what I ought to forget. If it be
a question of your peace of mind I pledge you my word that you need
not have any fear for the future."

"You promise this?" she asked, still looking intently at me.

"Yes, most solemnly and emphatically; will that satisfy you, and drive
out any foolish notions from the little head?"

The postman coming in with a parcel of letters interrupted our
conversation. There was the usual budget from the East for Kromitzki;
only one letter for Aniela, from Sniatynski (I recognized his
handwriting on the envelope), and one for me from Clara. The latter
does not say much about herself, but inquires most minutely what I am
doing. I told Aniela who it was that had written, and she, to show me
that all ill-feeling and constraint had gone, began to tease me. I
paid her back in the same coin, and pointing to Sniatynski's letter
said there was another poor man who had succumbed to little Aniela's
wiles. We laughed and bandied jests for a little time.

The human soul, like the bee, extracts sweetness even from bitter
herbs. The most unhappy wretch still tries to squeeze out a little
happiness from his woes, and the merest shadow and pretext will serve
his turn. Sometimes I think that this intense longing for happiness is
one proof more that happiness is awaiting us in another world. I am
convinced also that pessimism was invented as a comfort to satisfy a
want, sum up all human misery, and put it into a philosophic formula.
It satisfies our thirst for truth and knowledge, and happiness itself
is nothing but satisfied craving. Perhaps love in itself is such a
source of happiness that even a clouded love like ours is interwoven
with golden rays. Such a ray fell on our path to-day. I had not
expected it, as I had not expected that a man whose desires are
without limits could be satisfied with so little.

We had scarcely read our letters when Pani Celina, who is now able to
walk without help, came towards us with a footstool for Aniela.

"Oh mamma!" cried out Aniela, in a shocked voice; "You ought not to do
that."

"And did you not yourself nurse me night and day when I was ill?"

I took the footstool from Pani Celina's hands, and kneeling down
before Aniela, I waited until she had put her little feet upon it; and
kneeling thus before her for a second filled me with happiness for the
whole day. It is a fact. A very poor man lives upon crumbs, and smiles
gratefully--through tears.

6 July.

I have a crippled heart, but it is capable of love. It is only now I
fully understand what Sniatynski meant. If I were not a man out
of joint, without an even-balanced mind, poisoned by scepticism,
criticism of myself, and criticism of criticism, if my love were in
harmony with law and principles, I should have found in Aniela the
dogma of my life, and other dogmas, other beliefs, would have come
to me in course of time. Yet I do not know; perhaps I could not love
otherwise than crookedly; and in this lies my incapacity for life.
In short, that which ought to have been my health and salvation has
become my disease and damnation. Strange to say, there was no lack of
warnings. It almost seems as if people had foreseen what would befall
me. I remember constantly the words Sniatynski wrote to me when I was
with the Davises at Peli: "Something must always be growing within
us; beware lest something should grow in you which would cause your
unhappiness, and the unhappiness of those near and dear to you." I
laughed then at the words, yet how true they were. My father, too,
spoke several times as if he had pierced the veil that hides the
future. To-day the remembrance is too late. I know it is useless to
rake up the ashes of the past, but I cannot help it. I am sorry for
myself, but more sorry still for Aniela. She would have been a hundred
times happier with me than with Kromitzki. Supposing even I should
have subjected her at first to analysis, and discovered various
faults, I should have loved her all the same. She would have been
mine, and as such she would have become part of me and entered into
the sphere of my egoism. Her faults would have been my weaknesses, and
we are always ready to make allowance for ourselves, and though we
criticise self we do not cease to care for its well-being. Thus she
would have been dear to me; and as she is infinitely better than I, in
time she would have become my pride, the noblest part of my soul; I
should have found out that criticism, as far as she was concerned, was
out of place; gradually she would have won me over to her pure faith
and wrought my salvation. All that has been wasted, spoiled, and
transmuted into a tragedy for her,--into evil and a tragedy for me.

7 July.

I have been reading what I wrote yesterday, and am struck by what
I said at the end, namely: that the love which might have been my
salvation has become a source of evil. I cannot quite agree with the
thought. How can love for a pure woman like Aniela bring forth evil?
One word explains it,--it is a crooked love. I must own the truth. If
two years ago somebody had told me that I, a civilized man, a man with
aesthetic nerves, and living in peace with the penal code, should
meditate for nights and days how to put out of the world, even by
murder, a man who would be in my way, I should have taken that
somebody for an escaped lunatic. Yet it is true; I have come to that.
Kromitzki shuts out from me the world; he takes from me the earth,
water, and air. I cannot live because he lives; and for that reason I
incessantly think of his death. What a simple and complete solution of
all the difficulties and entanglements his death would be. I thought
more than once that since the hypnotizer can send his medium to sleep,
a more concentrated power would be able to put him to sleep forever. I
have sent for all the newest books about hypnotism. In the mean while
with every glance I say to Kromitzki, "Die!" and if such a suggestion
were sufficient, he would have been dead some time ago. But the whole
result of it is that he is as well as ever, is Aniela's husband, and
I remain with the consciousness that my intention is equally criminal
and foolish, ridiculous, and unworthy of an active man; and it makes
me lose my self-respect more and more. Yet it does not prevent my
trying to hypnotize Kromitzki.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32