There is within me something that is keenly conscious and can appreciate every word of this noble letter. Not a syllable is lost to me, and I say to myself: "All the more reason for asking her again; she is so honest, simple, and loving." But there is also that other self, very tired, who had all the strength taken out of him, who can give sympathy but no love; because he has staked his all upon one feeling, and sees clearly that for him there is no return.
28 October.
I am quite certain that Clara will not come back to Berlin; and what is more, that when she went away it was with the intention of not coming back again. She wanted to avoid my gratitude. I think of her gratefully and sadly, and am sorry she did not meet a different man from me. There is such an irony of fate in this! But what is the use of deceiving myself? I am still yoked to my memories. I see before me Aniela, as she appeared to me at Warsaw, as I saw her at Ploszow and Gastein; and I cannot tear myself away from the past. Besides, it has absorbed so much of my strength and life that I am not surprised at it. The difficulty is, not to remember. Every instant I catch myself in the act of thinking about Aniela, and I have to remind myself that she is changed now, that her feelings will be going, have gone already, into another direction, and that I am nothing to her now.
Formerly I preferred not to think of my wrecked condition, because my brain could not stand the thought; now I do it sometimes on purpose, if only to defend myself against the voice that calls out: "Is it her fault? and how do you know what is passing in her heart? She would not be a woman if she did not love her own child when it comes into the world, but who told you that she is not as unhappy as you are?" At times it seems to me that she is even more unhappy, and then I wish for another inflammation of the lungs. Life with such a chaos of thoughts is impossible.
30 October.
With my returning health I am gradually drifting back into the magic circle. The doctor says that in a few days I shall be able to travel. I will go hence, for it is too near Warsaw and Ploszow. It may be one of my nervous whims, but I feel I shall be better and more at rest in Rome on the Babuino. I do not promise myself to forget the past; on the contrary, I shall think of it from morning until night, but the thoughts will be like unto meditations behind cloister walls. Besides, what can I know of how it will be? All I know is that I cannot remain here any longer. I shall call upon Angeli by the way; I must have her portrait at Rome.
2 November.
I leave Berlin, I renounce Rome, and go back to Ploszow. I wrote some time ago that Aniela is not only the beloved woman, but the very crown of my head. Yes, it is a fact; let it be called by any name,—neurosis, or an old man's madness; I have got it in my blood and in my soul.
I am going to Ploszow. I will serve her, take care of her, do for her what I can; and for all reward let me be able to look at her. I wonder at myself that I fancied I should be able to live without seeing her. One letter from my aunt brought out all that was buried within me. My aunt says:—
"I did not write much about us, because I had nothing cheerful to tell you; and as I am not clever at disguising things, I feared I should make you uneasy, knowing that you were not well. I am in terrible anxiety about Kromitzki, and should like to have your advice. Chwastowski showed me his son's letter, in which he says that Kromitzki's affairs are in a deplorable state, and that he is threatened with legal prosecution. Everybody has deceived him. He suddenly received orders to deliver a great quantity of goods, and as the appointed term was very short, he had no time to look into things and see whether everything was as it should be. It turned out that all the goods were bad,—imitations, and second and third rate quality. They were rejected; and in addition Kromitzki is threatened with a trial for defrauding the agency. God grant that we may be able to prevent this, especially as he is innocent. Ruin does not matter, provided there be no disgrace. I am altogether at a loss what to do and how to save him. I do not like to risk the money I intended Aniela to have, and yet we must not let it come to a trial. Tell me what to do, Leon; for you are wise and will know what is expedient in these matters. I have not told Celina anything about it, nor Aniela,—and I am very anxious about Aniela. I cannot understand what is the matter with her. Celina is the worthiest of women, but she always had exaggerated ideas about modesty, and has brought up Aniela in the same way. I do not doubt that Aniela will be the best of mothers, but now I am quite angry with her. A married woman ought to be prepared for consequences, and Aniela seems to be in despair, as if it were a disgrace. Nearly every day I see traces of tears in her eyes. It torments me to see her looking so thin and pale, with those dark rings under her eyes and ready to burst into tears at the slightest provocation; and there is always an expression of pain and humiliation in her face. I have never in my life seen a young woman so distressed at her situation. I tried persuasion and I tried scolding,—all in vain. Perhaps I love her too much, and in my old age am losing my former energy; but then she is such an affectionate creature! If you only knew how she asks after you day by day, whether a letter has arrived and if you were well, when you will be going, and how long you mean to stop at Berlin. She knows I like to speak about you, and she makes me talk for hours. God give her strength to bear all the troubles that are awaiting her. I am really so concerned about her health that I positively dare not give her any hint about her husband's position. But sooner or later it must come to her ears. I have not said anything to Celina either, because she is troubled about Aniela, and cannot understand why she should take her position so tragically."