Without Dogma by Henryk Sienkiewicz

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"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:--

"It is he! Leon! Leon!"

In an instant I was at their side. My aunt fell upon my neck, and
repeated, "God has been good to us!" and breathed as rapidly as if she
had been running all the way from Wildbad. Aniela had clutched my hand
and held it fast; then all at once a terrible fear shone in her face,
and she cried out:--

"You are wounded?"

I understood at once what was the matter, and said,--

"Not in the least. I was not at the accident at all. I got the blood
on my hand from the carriage, which had been used for the wounded."

"Is it true, quite true?"

"Quite true."

"What train was it that was wrecked?" asked my aunt.

"The train coming from Zell am See."

"Oh, good God! A telegram came to say it was the Vienna train. It
almost killed me. Oh, God, what happiness! Praise be to God!"

My aunt began wiping the perspiration from her face. Aniela was as
white as a sheet. She released my hand, and turned her head aside to
hide her tears and twitching mouth.

"We were alone in the house," continued my aunt. "Kromitzki had gone
with some Belgians to Nassfeld. The landlord came and told us about
the accident on the line, and you can well imagine what state I was
in, knowing you were coming by that same line. I sent the landlord at
once for a carriage, and this dear child would not let me go alone.
What a terrible time it has been for us! Thank God, we escaped with a
mere fright. Did you see the wounded?"

I kissed my aunt's and Aniela's hands, and told them what I had seen
at Lend-Gastein. It appeared that the telegram sent to the Kurhaus was
thus expressed: "Railway accident at Lend-Gastein; many killed and
wounded." From which everybody concluded that the calamity had
happened on the Vienna-Salzburg line.

I gave them a few fragmentary details of what I had seen. I did not
think much of what I was saying, as my head was full of the one joyful
thought: "Aniela could not wait for news at home, and preferred to
come with my aunt and meet me!" Did she do this for my aunt's sake?
Most assuredly not. I saw the trouble in her face, the sudden terror
when she noticed the blood on my hand, and the lighting up of her
whole countenance when she heard I had not been near the place at the
time of the accident. I saw she was still so deeply moved as to be
inclined to weep from sheer happiness. She would have burst into tears
if at that moment I had taken her hands and told her how I loved her,
and would not have snatched them away. And as all this was as clear as
the day, it seemed to me that my torments were about to end, and that
from that moment the dawn of another life had begun. From time to time
I looked at her with eyes in which I concentrated all my power of
love, and she smiled at me. I noticed that she was without gloves
or mantle. She had evidently forgotten them in her haste and
perturbation. As it had grown rather chilly, I wanted to wrap her in
my overcoat. She resisted a little, but my aunt made her accept it.

When we arrived at the villa Pani Celina met me with as much
overflowing tenderness and delight as if Aniela in case of my death
had not been the next of kin, and heiress to the Ploszow estate. Such
noble, disinterested women are not often met with in this world. I
would not guarantee that Kromitzki when he comes to hear about it may
not utter a discreet sigh, and think that the world would go on quite
as well if there were no Ploszowskis.

Kromitzki returned very tired and cross. The Belgians he had met, and
with whom he had gone to Nassfeld, were capitalists from Antwerp. He
spoke of them as idiots who were satisfied to get three per cent. for
their capital. He said when parting for the night that he wished to
talk with me in the morning about some important matter. Formerly I
should have disliked the idea of this, for I suppose he will make some
financial proposition. Now I almost wished to get it over at once; but
I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, with my happiness, and with
Aniela in my heart and soul. I pressed her hand at good-night as a
lover might, and she returned a warm pressure.

"Are you really and truly mine?" I said inwardly.

16 July.

I had scarcely finished dressing in the morning when my aunt came
into my room, and after wishing me good-morning said, without any
preface,--

"While you were away Kromitzki made me a proposal to enter into
partnership with him."

"And what answer did you give him?"

"I refused point-blank. I said to him: 'My dear cousin, thank God, I
have as much as I want; and after my death Leon will be one of the
wealthiest men in the country. Why should we rush into adventures and
tempt Providence? If you make millions in your enterprises, it will be
a good thing for you; if you lose your money, why should we lose ours
with you? I do not know anything about these things, and am not in the
habit of undertaking what I know nothing about.' Was I right?"

"Very much so."

"That is just what I wanted to talk over with you, and I am glad you
look at it from the same point of view. You see, he was a little
offended that I called his enterprises adventures; he explained
everything to me, nevertheless, and told me what prospects he had for
the future. Then I asked him, straight out, why he wanted a partner,
since everything was going on so well. He replied that the more money
was put into the concern the greater would be the profit; that out
there everything was done on a great scale, and he would rather the
family shared the profits than strangers. I thanked him for his
family sympathies, but repeated my refusal. I saw that he was greatly
disappointed. He began to grumble that nobody in the country had any
brains for business; all they were capable of was to spend what they
had got. He said in plain words that it was a social crime not to use
one's capital to a better purpose. Thereupon I became very angry. 'My
good friend,' I said, 'I have managed my estate I dare say in woman
fashion, but I have not lost any money; rather I have increased my
property; and as to social crimes, if anybody has the right to speak
of that, it is certainly not you, who sold Gluchow. If you wanted to
hear the truth, you hear it now. If you had not sold Gluchow, I should
have trusted you more. As to your enterprises, it is not only I that
know nothing about them, but others too are equally in the dark; one
thing is quite clear to me, and that is that if your prospects were as
brilliant as you make them out, you would not be in search of partners
or feel hurt at my refusal. You want a partner because you cannot do
without; you have not dealt openly with me, and that I dislike more
than anything else.'"

"What did he say to that?"

"He said that he could not understand why he should be held
responsible for the sale of Gluchow. It was not he who had let the
estate slip through his fingers; it had been slipping gradually
through the hands of those that had administered it badly, and it
was their thoughtlessness and lavishness that had made the sale
indispensable. Aniela when she married him had nothing but debts. He
had saved out of the wreck more than anybody else could have done, and
now instead of gratitude he met with reproaches and--wait a bit, what
word did he use?--yes, and 'pathetic declamations.'"

"It is not true," I said; "Gluchow could have been saved."

"I said the same to him, and also that upon Gluchow I would have lent
him the money. 'You might have sent me word through Aniela,' I said
to him, 'about the sale, or told her to talk it over with me, and God
knows, I would have made any sacrifice to save the property. But such
is your method,--not to let anybody know what you are doing. We all
believed in your millions, and that is the reason I never dreamed of
offering you any pecuniary help.' He laughed ironically. 'Aniela,'
he said, 'is too great a lady and far too lofty to stoop to interest
herself in the details of her husband's business. I asked her twice to
speak to you about the partnership, and both times she refused most
decidedly. It is very easy to speak about saving Gluchow when the
opportunity is gone. Judging by the reception I have met with to-day,
I am entitled to believe that it would have been the same about
Gluchow.'"

I had begun to listen with the greatest interest, for now I saw
clearly what had led to the estrangement between Kromitzki and Aniela.
My aunt continued:--

"When I heard that I said: 'Now you see how little sincerity there
is in what you told me. At first you said that you proposed the
partnership in order that the family might derive the benefit of it,
in preference to strangers, and now it turns out that you want it for
your own sake.' He is not wanting in cleverness, and therefore replied
at once that in this kind of affairs the gain was on both sides, and
that naturally it was a matter of concern to him to have as much
capital at his disposition as he could get; for in this kind of
business the larger the basis it rested upon, the more certain the
profit. 'Besides that,' he said, 'taking Aniela without any money I
thought I might count upon the support of the family, at least in
a case like this, when the help would turn out a clear gain to the
family.' He was very cross, especially when I told him he had not
taken Aniela without anything, as it had always been my intention to
give her the life interest of a certain sum."

"You told him that?"

"Yes. I told him all that was uppermost in my mind. 'I love Aniela,' I
said, 'as if she were my own child; and for that very reason, to make
her safe, I will not leave her the principal, but a life interest. The
principal might be swallowed up in your speculations, which may turn
out God knows how; and an annual income will give Aniela the means
of a decent establishment. The principal,' I said, 'will go to your
children, if you have any, after Aniela's death; and that is all I
intend to do,--which of course does not exclude any smaller services I
may be able to render you.'"

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