Without Dogma Part 29

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 pa.s.sive 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 n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.d, 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."

"G.o.d 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 n.o.body 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 const.i.tution 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:--