In the course of our conversation I asked about his plans for the future.  He replied that first he must save some money in order to go abroad and see something of foreign hospitals; afterwards he intended to settle at Warsaw.

“What do you understand by settling at Warsaw?”

“Work at some of the hospitals, and a possible practice.”

“And then you will get married, I suppose?”

“I suppose so; but there is plenty of time for that.”

“Unless you meet somebody that subjugates your will; as a doctor you know that love is a physiological necessity.”

Young Chwastowski wants to show himself off as a sober-minded man above human weaknesses; so he only shrugged his broad shoulders, smoothed his short-cropped head, and said:  “I acknowledge the necessity; but do not intend to allow it to occupy too large a space in my life.”

He looked very knowing, but I replied gravely:  “Considering somewhat deeper the question of feeling, who knows whether it be worth while to live for anything else?”

Chwastowski pondered over this a little while.

“No,” he said, “I do not agree with you.  There are many other objects in life,—­for instance, science, or even social duties.  I do not say anything against matrimony; a man ought to marry for himself as well as to have children.  But matrimony is one thing, and continual love-making another.”

“What is the difference between them?”

“The difference is obvious, sir.  We are like ants constructing an ant-hill.  We have our work to do, and not much time to spare for love and women.  That is all very well for those who cannot work, or who do not want to do anything.”

Saying this he looked like a man who speaks in the name of all that is strongest in the country, and expresses himself well.  I looked with a certain satisfaction at this healthy specimen of mankind, and acknowledged that, except for a certain touch of youthful arrogance, he spoke very sensibly.

It is quite true that woman and love do not occupy a large space in the life of those who work, and those who have before them great undertakings and serious aims.  The peasant marries because such is the custom, and he wants a housekeeper.  There is very little sentiment in him, although poets and novelists want us to believe the contrary.  The man of science, the statesman, the leader, the politician devote only a small part of their life to woman.  Artists are exceptional.  Their profession brings them in touch with love, for art exists through love and woman.  Generally, it is only in rich communities that woman reigns supreme and fills the life of those who have no serious work in hand.  She encompasses all their thoughts, becomes the leading motive of their actions, and the exclusive aim of their exertions.  And it cannot be otherwise.  There is myself for instance.  The community to which I belong is not as rich as others, but personally I am rich.