as a child of my time.  But if all that is thought, that is achieved and happening, has for its ultimate aim to increase the sum of general happiness, I permit myself a personal remark as to that happiness; by which I do not mean material comfort, but that inward spiritual peace in which I as well as anybody else may be wanting.  Thus my grandfather was happier than my father, my father happier than I, and as to my son, if ever I have one, he will simply be an object of commiseration.

FLORENCE, 20 June.

The house of cards has tumbled down.  I received a letter from my aunt.  Aniela is engaged to Kromitzki, and the marriage will take place in a few weeks.  She herself has fixed such a short date.  After receiving the news I took a railway ticket, with the intention of going straight to Ploszow, conscious all the time that it was a foolish thing to do, which could lead to nothing.  But the impulse was upon me, and carried me along; when, collecting the last remnants of common-sense and reflection, I stuck fast here.

FLORENCE, 22 June.

Simultaneously with my aunt’s letter, I received a “faire part” addressed in a female hand.  It is not Aniela’s handwriting, or her mother’s; neither of them would have done it.  Most likely it is Pani Sniatynska’s malicious device.  Upon the whole, what does it matter?  I got a blow with a club on the head, and feel dizzy; it has shaken me more than it has hurt.  I do not know how it will be later on; they say one does not feel a bullet wound at once.  But I have not sent a bullet through my head, I am not mad; I look at the Lung Arno; I could sit down to a game of patience if I knew how to play; in fact, I am quite well.  It is the old story,—­among sincere friends the dogs tore the hare to pieces.  My aunt considered it her Christian duty to show Aniela the letter I had written from Peli.

FLORENCE, 23 June.

In the morning, when I wake up,—­or rather, when opening my eyes,—­I am obliged to repeat to myself that Aniela is marrying Kromitzki,—­Aniela, so good, so loving, who insisted on sitting up to take care of me when I returned from Warsaw to Ploszow; who looked into my eyes, hung upon every word that came from my lips, and with every glance told me she was mine.  That same Aniela will not only be Kromitzki’s wife, but within a week from the wedding will not be able to conceive how she could ever hesitate in her choice between such a man as Ploszowski and a Jupiter like Kromitzki.  Strange things happen in this world,—­so terrible and irrevocable that it takes away the desire to live out the mean remnant of one’s existence.  Most likely Pani Celina together with Pani Sniatynska make a great ado about Kromitzki, and praise him at my expense.  I hope they will leave Aniela in peace.  It is my aunt’s doing; she ought not to have allowed it, if only for Aniela’s sake, as she cannot possibly be happy with him.  She herself says Aniela has accepted him out of despair.