Aniela
could have put a stop to it with one word, and if she has not done it,
she is sacrificing me to her mother's headaches. Besides, Kromitzki
lowers Aniela in my eyes, stains her, and brings her down to the level
of marriageable girls. I cannot even speak of it quietly.
Maybe my reasoning and feeling are those of an exasperated man; maybe
that love of self is too predominant in me. I know that I am able to
look at and judge myself as a stranger would; but this dualism does
not help me in the least. I am more and more embittered. To write
about it irritates my nerves,--therefore, enough!
1 May.
During the night I thought, "Perhaps to-morrow I shall be more
composed." Nothing of the kind. I am simply in a rage with Aniela,
Aniela's mother, my aunt, and myself. The wind ought to be tempered
for the shorn lamb, and they forget that my wool is deucedly thin.
After all, I am comfortable where I am. Laura is like a marble statue.
Near her nothing troubles me very much, because there is nothing
except beauty. I am tired of over-strained, tender souls. Let
Kromitski comfort her.
2 May.
I carried the letter to the post-office myself. It was not a long one:
"I wish Pan Kromitzki every happiness with Panna Aniela, and Panna
Aniela with Pan Kroinitzki. You wished for a decision, dear aunt, and
I comply with your wish.
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