And with that a delightful sense, as it were of infinite might, comes over me. To my power, to my continuance, I can find no limit. I am not of the earth, I am not Janka Dernowicz; I am eternal, unsleeping consciousness; I am the Universe! In this burial-ground, Janusz grows dismal, and holds forth on the evanescence of all earthly things. A beautiful animal which lives in fear of Death!
What if it be true that animals have no souls?
At times I experience the pangs of an entirely unjustified longing for the man who came into my life and went out of it like a hurricane. Yes, now and again I long for my ice-plains and my Northern Lights!
Once he asked me whether I should never wish to feel and think and strive along with some companion in life.
Then I burst into laughter; for I hate sentiment—hate to mix up love and “brotherhood of souls.”
Now I am near thinking that this man, whom I never loved, may be the only one fit to become my husband.
Often of nights, lying awake and staring into the darkness with wide-open eyes, I feel burning lips, lips famished with hunger, that are pressed to mine. …
And when I seize the kiss upon those lips, I know that they are the lips, not of Roslawski, but of Janusz.
And then I am full of terror lest an evil thing has been done that never can be undone—lest something may have fallen away forever out of my life.
Then do I no longer feel any desire for anyone; and I weep in the dark, but silently, not to awaken Martha.
In the morning, I look upon Janusz with hatred and with loathing; and I treat him harshly, though he is indeed in no wise to blame. I merely use him ill, because my soul is a-wandering alone over those ice-plains of mine, is still dreaming cold silvery dreams, is seeking in vain for a fraternal soul.
Is it then really an impossibility to be in love without loving also?
While out shooting today, Janusz had just such a gleam in his eyes as he has when he gloats on me.
He is a typical primitive man of a nomad race of hunters, in whom the instinct of conservation manifests itself as vehemently when procuring his own subsistence as when acting for the preservation of the race. Game is to him a vital necessity; so is woman.
I was sorry for the hares he had killed and lectured him with great unction on man’s cruelty in taking the lives of such defenceless innocent creatures.
Just now I was thinking how I should like to lock Janusz up in a nice cage, and have him all to myself. I should give him plenty of food, but neither let him read (that prohibition he would not find very hard) nor talk to anyone; so that he, with all his treasures of vitality, might be mine alone. And occasionally I should enter the cage.
I should then be far more spiritually disposed than I am now. At present, my splendid, primitive, untamed beast is hungry and howling, and mars the divine symphony I listen to in my dreams of light.
I should appease it, and go out to walk in my sacred grove, along the margin of the dark abysmal lake which is in my soul.
And I should willingly have Roslawski to walk with me there!
Janusz has asked me if I would consent to become his wife.
“If only for a month or two, I would with pleasure,” was my truthful reply, which I afterwards turned into a jest: not a nice one, I must say.
Janusz darted one or two angry looks at me, and gave vent to this aphorism: “There are things one should never jest about.”
Most certainly he is right. And all this begins to worry me just a little.
I might perhaps fancy myself playing the part of his seductress; of his wife, never. And what to do with him now, I can’t tell.
I should like to go away now. Oh, why has all this come about so suddenly?
Out boating late in the evening, on the great pond beyond the park.
I have consented to come here, for I am so wretched, I want to die. And I know that Janusz, whom I have been tormenting all day long, can no longer control himself.
His nerves are racked to the very utmost; it is my doing. He clutches me by the shoulders and holds me down to the side of the boat with an iron grip. To get the better of his mad fit, I keep myself very passive and cool.
“Hear me, Janka!” he growls between his teeth, his face close to mine, “you! listen: I am speaking for the last time. Say Yes!”
I could disarm him with a single cry of pain or fear: but I remain mute. I must have strong sensations tonight.
“I’ll kill—I’ll kill you! Do you hear? I hate you as much as I love you, and more. Speak instantly—speak!”
His rage is suffocating him; the words stick in his throat. His knee is pressed hard upon my bosom; his nails dig deep into my flesh. With all my strength I stifle a groan, and wait. The boat is careening over more and more, and begins to be waterlogged.
“I shall drown you! See, the boat is about to go down! Say Yes!”
Quietly, silently, I look into his wild burning eyes, of which the whites gleam through the darkness and fascinate me.
For an instant I have a desire to close my eyelids and disappear, sinking noiselessly into the dark water. My eyes nevertheless instinctively encounter his.
Suddenly I feel that the grip of his clenched hands is growing weaker.
Now sure of victory, I whisper, “No!” with a smile.
Janusz, uttering a cry of pain, falls back into the boat. He presses his forehead hard against my feet which he
