Diary 1906-1908

See notes about this project and the translations on the Diaries home page.

Sunday, August 12, [19]06

Strange. He wrote to me. He was passing through Krakow, memories came flooding back, and he wrote. "Loving" ended the letter. I read it several times—it radiated a strange sincerity. I could tell from it what he was feeling and thinking at that moment. He mentioned being in my old apartment, and the sight of the emptiness felt like a blow with a hammer. He asked for a few words and a photograph.

I don't know what to do with this. I don't want to reply—I don't want to engage in correspondence—I've only had one with Horowicz in my life, and I don't want another—I poured a lot, perhaps too much, of emotion into that first one. Each of his letters has its own story for me. This correspondence forged the strongest, perhaps the only, bond between us. It seems to me that he has no real feelings, no desire for me – so I can't even consider someone like that…

With Malin, desire plays a dominant role. His entire relationship with me is summed up in desire. I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, and saw it in everyone's actions. And because something like this happened to me for the first time, I reacted to it for now. Without a doubt, if we had been together longer than 3.5 weeks, our relationship would have developed into a completely serious one, so now I only have to regret that so many words were thrown into the mercy of… the moment…

I imagine life with M. and H. With the former, I imagine it far more intense, full of verve, freedom… It would sometimes be the life of two people, still playing since childhood… With H., it would already be a "marriage"; Besides, things are quite unclear with him, because I have absolutely no idea what feelings he has for me... It seems to me that if he showed me the same love as M., I would feel the same way towards him as I do towards M.

Łódź Friday, 17 August [19]06

In the “Gońcu“ I was informed that they will pay me. So I supposedly have a source of income, but somehow I am absolutely unable to work. The room makes me nervous. I long for some open space, the sight of trees, forests, a garden… I was in the countryside on that “Bloody Wednesday”[1] and became convinced that only in the country would I now be able to work…

As for my boys – the matter is this: I have realized that I do not love either of them. It would be foolish to deceive myself. Probably neither the one nor the other, only that third one…

So now I have a calm enough head to concern myself with my own affairs, such as writing, etc. One must take advantage of such a circumstance as a clear head.

Notes:

[1] “Bloody Wednesday” occurred two days before and was a series of guerilla attacks on Russian rule in Poland.

Sunday, 19 August [1906]

Yesterday I received a reply from Malin. He sent a photograph – the letter clearly shows that he thought about me a lot. It's not as emotional as the first one, due to my conventional "reply," but that's only proof of his efforts not to offend me with any tactlessness. So what should I do: reply? Commencing correspondence – it's beyond my strength – I can't write letters anymore – Hor. has exhausted me terribly with these letters. Not replying? – somehow, I wouldn't want to completely sever all ties with him… And he writes that he "wants not to lose sight of me," and that's telling.

I'm undoubtedly convinced that I would fall deeply in love with him, but I'm not allowed to. I can't love a man who is superior to me in every respect, even if I were rich – then again: I'm independent at all times, etc., but to be completely devoted to him, solely dependent on him, even materially – no! I won't reply to him, because we can't have a future together. I just don't want to pity him, which I always feel when I think about our relationship. This is also, sometimes, the first step to love.

By the way, he had a strange effect on me, like no one else has before... I know so many men, with some of whom I've had "suffocating" relationships, like with Nolek, with Horowicz, but touching them never even crossed my mind. On the contrary, if they ever touched me (?), I would be offended. After all, I've become the proverbial "sister of the feathers" (?). And here I am, playing with his hands and finding pleasure in it. Isn't it a great disappointment that this is the man I've felt the most sympathy for so far?

I like his appearance. With Horowicz, it didn't matter to me. I even like his sometimes brutal, ugly way of expressing himself simply because it demonstrates a certain life experience, a certain familiarity with life. I like him in general and I'm sure we would get along very well, but well – you have to be able to say to yourself: not for me!

Łódź Saturday, August 25, [19]06

After that, before I even left for Krakow, I spoke with Abramowicz. I told him then that I was afraid to leave the city because I was convinced I would lose all connection and cohesion with the residents. I said yes, but deep down I was convinced I was exaggerating. Today I'm realizing the truth. I'm starting to hate these peoIple who have no clue about God's world – I feel like I can't speak directly to them, their lack of intellectual development is so jarring… Yesterday, Julek Welman (?) visited us, staying up late. We actually talked about current events, etc., just like in Krakow with (……?), and he spoke absolutely no worse about it all than some social activist, but the very conviction that I couldn't expand on any other topic with him, that this is the only thing we can spin together, drives me to despair.

We're leaving for Hohenzalza.[1] It's good for my parents, because it has to be good. For the children, too. I don't care. I'm coming to the conclusion that I wasted four years after graduating from gymnasium, and that time, spent so vilely and foolishly, is constantly betraying me in everything. All the ‘self-consolations,’ that supposed glimpsing of life from another side, etc. — it’s one stupid delusion and self-deception. I’m coming to hate myself for having submitted to the prevailing conditions. I hate opportunism. It’s proof of some shallowness of character, some compromise with life. That should not be. It is the first condition for the destruction of individuality

In Krakow, my "self," suppressed in school, shaken in Klau... (?), began to revive, then in Łódź for two years. In Krakow, it began to stir after a quarrel with Henia, when it first occurred to me why I should always be part of some kind of group, why I shouldn't create my own group? It was at the end of my first semester – my arrival in Łódź temporarily halted the development of my "self" that had begun. Meeting Malinowski and this great, unexpected success with him did a lot: it gave me self-confidence and taught me a few things. I came back to Łódź, and it all seemed to come to a halt again. I'd live like this for another four and a half weeks – and then I wouldn't be returning home so soon. I can't, like Penelope, single-handedly destroy the work I'd so painstakingly completed. And my relationship with H. underwent a very ugly change because of my arrival in Łódź. So much emotion can be invested in my relationship with a person, only to later discover that it wasn't a hint (?) of love, but only a great, intense desire for it. What a pity.

Notes:

[1] Would appear to be what was a spa town, currently known as Inowrocław.

Łódź Saturday, September 1, [19]06

I received a letter from Hor. If he had sensed what was happening to me, he couldn't have written to me more skillfully. It contained everything that could, for now, create a positive impression of his ever-advancing, yet so evident, intellectual development. This boy will go far someday, provided he has a wife who takes charge of the world and life and who understands him. It would be better for him not to marry for another five years, but since he wishes to remain chaste until marriage, this is less likely. Malin is more mature in life, but he lacks the foundations for comprehensive and genuine intellectual development that Hor possesses. Malin will develop, at most, in his already clearly defined direction; one can even already determine what kind of professor and person he will be in the future. Hor. Everything is in the beginning – he can be just as mediocre as he can be distinguished, just as much a philistine as a human being. For example, I wouldn't be afraid of M. where he would go; for H., it seems that special living conditions are still needed. M. can bend circumstances to his own liking, H. would submit to them.

Łódź Thursday, September 13, [19]06

I haven't heard a word from Hor. in Berlin. I suspect he's doing it on purpose, because he's planning to come to Łódź. I've thought about him several times with a sort of longing. Judging by the similar charade with Mal., I'm convinced that I don't actually love either of them, but a desire for love is simply beginning to manifest within me. After all, I'm a whole person now. This week I've recalled enough of those years, and I'm convinced that I've wasted my life completely. It would seem very good for me if I got engaged. Various thoughts would vanish, etc., etc. However, I don't know how the relationship between me and him will develop. It depends very much on his first move.

Łódź Friday, September 14, [19]06

A year ago, I would have called the current period of my life a breakthrough. Since I've learned to use words incorrectly(?), I'll humbly say that now is actually the time when I start asking: what will become of me? And in response to this question, I immediately have the premises for a conclusion, as always, but this time I will finally draw one with determination.

I'm 22 1/2 years old, almost 23, and the very memory of it leaves me breathless... with despair. My literary career is out of the question in the current circumstances, and given my very poor mental development, I can't promise much from it.

Łódź Sunday, 30 September [19]06

I haven't written for a long time[1] - and the reasons were so varied!

On September 19, I met Horow[itz][2] on the street. I knew he was going to arrive at that time and I didn't want to meet him on the street. That is why I walked on the left. Suddenly, someone was passing on the opposite side - Hor, of course. I was walking to Kania. So only a few houses and I said very little. He said he was in Łódź to take care of some business, then he said something about the congress – which by the way he had already written in his card, then he added that despite my wishes – he could tell me “everything, everything”. He said this with great enthusiasm. When we said goodbye I saw (or maybe I imagined it) that he wanted to tell me something, but somehow he didn’t say anything.

I didn’t go out at all for two days of the New Year. Julek saw him and told me that he didn’t even tell me to bow. On Saturday, so I really couldn’t stand to see him anymore – I went out with the children.[3]

The day was bright, sunny, although a bit chilly. A wonderful autumn day. All three of us were in a fabulous mood. On our way back from the post office we met Hor[owitz]. He was walking with his father. He bowed to us with a smile. When we were coming back from the grammar school, we met him again, this time alone. He came to us. It was almost near the house, so we didn’t say anything to each other. When we shook hands, it seemed to me again that he wanted to say something, but it ended in silence. I was terribly outraged by such stupidity. I could have beaten him then, like a stupid, ugly child. I decided to deliberately go out on the street on Sunday and swear at him as much as I could. I guarantee that I would not mince my words. In the meantime...

At 7 p.m. I came home with Mom from Uncle Mak(?)[4], with whom Mom had gone to say goodbye. When we had only entered one room, the maid informed us that a man had fallen from the second floor[5]... it was the father...

The din, the uproar, the terror and the horror of the first moments – the funeral and the condolences made this week some kind of stunning [illegible] . I felt gratitude to Lotka and Gucia for their daily visits and to Hor[owtiz]. for his absence during all this time, for the lack of even a word of sympathy from him, some deep anger, downright intrusiveness. If he had come right away in the first days, I would have said more than one bad word to him, now I would probably keep quiet. Today was a week of the funeral – people indifferent and very dear to us came, and neither among the first nor among the second could I get enough of the one I had invested so much emotion and time in my dreams… He told me he would leave on Tuesday. Perhaps if he did not meet me on the street today or tomorrow, he would come to say goodbye according to the Easter plan. Much depends on the circumstances at home, what kind of goodbye this will be. I don't make any plans for this, but if I could wish for anything, I would sincerely and honestly tell him everything I think about him. At least let him not make as many mistakes about another woman as he did about me. What hurts so much...

Notes:

[1] Her previous entry was for September 14.
[2] From other diary entries, "Horowitz" (haven't learned his full name yet) was a constant, "romantic" interest of Franka.
[3] The "children" probably means Madja, who was just 12. Hard to think it also would have mean Rosja who was just 4 years younger than Franka and would have been 17.
[4] Probably her uncle Max Lubliner (transcriber answered me "word "Maka" is a matter of declination in Polish grammar, so if you wrote in English, it would be "we came back from uncle Mak", so it's closest to Max."
[5] The only indication of how he died.
[6] Interesting word to use given Julek's strong statement in a letter he wrote that was kept in the diary.

Łódź Thursday October 4, 1906

Today, the first day of the Succoth holidays, I only just stepped out onto the street. I thought I'd go crazy at home the last two or three days. After lunch, I went to Locia's; Borka had just arrived and told me that Stefa Prusak had gone to Berlin with Horowicz. "Myth ……… ………..(?)?" Locia asked. "Myth den ………(?)." For a moment, I felt a dull pain: I felt myself pale and blush violently, but I continued my banal conversation – but I desperately wanted to escape from Locia and the people and run somewhere far away. I barely sat down and went, but my heart was in despair. And then there was this stupid jealousy about Stefa… It was a coincidence, of course, but it might be symptomatic of him… And the very thought made me feel hot and cold. I walked around like a corpse. I found Hela Majzel at home. When we were alone, I finally couldn't take it anymore and cried... She thought it was about her father, and I thought about the other one, who seemed equally dead to me.

But I'll have my satisfaction. …….(?) she'll get something from me yet...

Monday, October 8[, 1906]

On Saturday, when it was as beautiful outside as it had been two weeks ago, he took me to Hor. There was a certain regret that we weren't spending this beautiful day together. On Saturday evening, the regret was somehow "comfortable." Today, I'm actually not thinking about him, and worrying whether ………(?) it will probably pass and… - …..(?) and I have to have a future ahead of me. Just don't lose confidence.

Tueday, October 9, [19]06

Julek has already given me a letter from Henia and seems to be reconciled with her. I haven't received a letter yet. Beautiful autumn days like last year remind me of our meetings together, and I feel very sad and angry with him.

If, without loving either H. or M., I'm so sensitive to the moments we shared, what will I be like when I truly fall in love or when I live with a man for a while? My suspicion is coming true that a woman can marry without love – women get used to it quickly.

The prospects of going to Paris are expanding. My plans will probably come true. I'm also writing to Stranioski for letters.

Brrr... it's so hard and even sad in my soul.

Łódź, Wednesday, October 10, 1906

The dead speak, and in a terrible language at that – my father comes to mind more and more often, in increasingly brighter light. I will probably only appreciate the full significance of the event[1] after some time.

I haven't received a letter from Hor. I'm no longer indifferent to him personally, although when I went out onto the street, I thought to myself that today I've been walking, searching, and finding for a year. Today I know full well that ultimately it will be the same with him as with M., I will forget about him, but what angers me about this whole matter is my attitude towards him as a person. After all, Henia, despite all her character flaws, knows how to enslave people – I even enslave friendly acquaintances. And that's why Hor's behavior hurts me not as a betrayal of friendship, but as a way of treating me as a person. I shouldn't allow it, and I won't allow it either.

Notes:

[1] Interesting neutral word to use about her father's death, especially given what we have from Julek’s letter.

Łódź Thursday October 11, [19]06

And so I feel worse and worse, increasingly oppressed, increasingly desperate. What am I missing? What should I be looking for? I look around and sometimes say to myself: will, reason, character, and it seems to me that it's the latter that matters most. Until now, underdeveloped, undercooked, with great aspirations, with little ability, with even less perseverance – I've done nothing – I haven't developed mentally as I should have. Krakow has barely pointed out my mistakes when I'm almost forced to ask myself again: will all the effort I put into myself be fruitful, will it lead to the right result, will I truly be what I intend to be? Do I have the strength, do I have the talent, will the work be fruitful, will I contribute to increasing my scientific achievements, in any way? And hundreds of such questions, related to my nature, my disposition, my dreams, loom before me menacingly, and they terrify me. Should I go ahead? In Krakow, I initially thought it wasn't allowed, but now I think it's necessary. I went to see last year's hit and did something. Maybe it will be the same this time. My artistic pursuits might change too – a lot of things have become clear in my head. Nothing molds a person like trials and tribulations; the conviction of one's own guilt diminishes and the guilt of others.

Dad's action will only now begin to make itself felt. In Łódź, we definitely lost out on so-called "reputation" – the incident gave everyone an opportunity to talk about us – and since everyone had something nasty in store, he was happy to vent. It's strange how people have so much time to spend on a thousand speculations. And I did it before, too.

I feel like I'll have to get married this year, otherwise I'll become an old, bitter spinster.

Łódź, Saturday, October 13, [19]06

Kazik wrote. Honest and brief. It's as if I had gone too far with my letter. It's a good thing I didn't send it. I'd probably look foolish now. However, one must know how to behave with a certain dignity.

Berlin, Thursday, November 1, [19]06

I've been here since Tuesday of last week. I wrote to Hor. – he's asking me to come to Göttingen. Should I do it? Should I not? Probably.

Paris, November 7, [19]06--Wednesday

Despite various negotiations, I didn't go to Göttingen. I decided almost at the last minute – by train. On the first day after arriving in Cologne and Paris, I couldn't get over it – now I've calmed down after Horowicz's letter – he's the kind of guy I might not reply to for two weeks as punishment – he's an ugly boy – I can sense a certain restraint in him, while I take a step forward in our relationship – he takes ten steps back. He could be rewarded for his ability to hold back.

Our relationship is so artificial, so strained, that if we don't see each other for a long time, a breakdown might occur, and a rather ugly one at that. A relationship between two young people must necessarily rely on physical intimacy – daily visits, daily conversations, small incidents shared, happy or sad moments – these are the factors of intimacy – we don't have them – paper discharges of one's thoughts into nonsense – …...annually(?) on paper – feeble and faint. If, for example, he doesn't come for Christmas, this web of relationship can unravel forever.

Paris, November 10, [19]06--Saturday

I haven't attended a single lecture yet, haven't heard a single professor. I'm observing the city and living peacefully with Olga. That's all.

I'm planning to start working seriously these days. I finally have to submit a work. You can't sneak through life like I've been doing. I have obligations for ……… ……..(?) and I can fulfill them in part with this work.

I'm terribly, terribly angry at Hor. I don't know why I'm overcome with intense anger and resentment towards him. I definitely won't reply to his letter, this last one, so soon, and even if I knew(?) about the correspondence and our relationship with her, I won't reply until I receive another letter or postcard. There are times when I hate him. I really should forget about him. His last letter was so cold, so indifferent - ………….(?) that I wanted to tear it up. Why did I bother with him, unfortunately? I absolutely hate him.

Paris, Friday, November 16, [19]06

H., like a spell, can't be left in my mind. I'd give anything for Mal to show up here and for me to finally forget this Gedyng affair. I haven't stopped thinking about him since morning. That last letter of his, so repulsive, so cold, so calculating, has driven me absolutely mad. I've been distracted by it: the woman had no problem. And it prevents me from working, from thinking; I'm starting to hate him, because I doubt it would have ended any other way than with his engagement to someone else. My father's death completely ruined my plans.[1] Naturally, our relationship would have taken a completely different turn back then in Łódź.

Max(?), seeing my indecision on the train, said: eine Frau, welche … einen Mann … ist verloren. (rough sense: “a woman who flirts/cajoles a man is lost.”) Now I'm truly going through an era when, fearing he might completely lose his good opinion of me, or something worse, I might make a mistake that would make matters worse. My silence, it seems to me, isn't at least something foolish, and I'm terribly afraid of being accused of foolishness, which could so easily have been done with the Cologne Letter. What does it mean to get carried away!

Merci(?).

The semi-scientific atmosphere I'm breathing for now is already giving me considerable satisfaction. I think that once I'm in the laboratory, I'll be completely satisfied with my arrival here. Hor. will probably finish his doctorate in the meantime—he was supposed to send me his work in print—we'll see! Strange—one single step and it all could collapse. I could, for example, not write for a month now, and any trace of our relationship, which could have developed into something lasting, would vanish! And after meeting again after a few years, each of us might say to each other—it's good that it happened!

I'd really like to have Mal. in Paris. I wouldn't be to him what I was in Krakow, but I really want to have a man like him as a friend. I miss that kind of soul—Hor. is a correspondent, not a friend, as he puts it. This whole friendship of his is worthless to me, nothing, nothing. I wouldn't turn to him in any serious situation, wouldn't tell him many things, wouldn't let him in on my affairs, wouldn't seek comfort, solace, or even advice from him. In a practical sense, he means far less to me than even Drobner(?). So why can't he leave my mind for even a moment, not even a hundredth of a second?

Notes:

[1] Not clear from diary entries what changed.

Paris, November 21, [19]06--Wednesday

Kazik, not receiving the letter, wrote me a few words only on a piece of paper – but I'm so grateful to him for them. I really can't write – otherwise he'd receive a letter. But…(?) I can't, and I don't want to force myself to do so.

Paris, November 26, [19]06--Monday

It's my birthday today – I'm 23. Many years ago, I had the illusion that by the time I reached this age, I'd be famous – today! Similar illusions have vanished.

It would actually be good to take stock, but in the face of things like this – like the so-often revealed ………..(?) will, etc., I'm afraid – I'm terribly fed up and I don't want to spoil my already spoiled mood.

Our family life is a horror when viewed without the lens of optimism. One thing can inject a fresh breath of hope into our worries – my marriage. Even my eventual success would matter to Mom only insofar as it would bring me closer to some kind of conclusion to my blessed maidenhood. And me?

My mind is preoccupied with Hor. However, this isn't love yet; it's the foundation for some terribly ………..(?) great feeling. I suspect it's the same with him – and so far, we haven't had much opportunity to meet. Perhaps it will happen in Paris. I would give a lot to be able to say to myself in the New Year: at least once, my mother will be happy just because of me. A relationship like ours—the one of letters—must finally end—it's been a year and a half, no matter what. Besides, I prefer to end it, even if it's to my own detriment, just to get Hor and everything connected with him out of the way once and for all.

He wrote back immediately after sending the card. Three days have passed since then, and I can't bring myself to write him a letter. I know it's better not to force myself, but I'd still like to talk to him. And so, delenda est Carthago[1]—everything ends with this boy for me.

Notes:

[1] From Cicero: Carthage must be destroyed.

Paris, November 26, [19]06--Monday

H – a month in Paris. Should I take stock of this time?

I've seen a lot – that means a lot – a person is as absorbent as a sponge and hopefully not dried out. Just as skeletal(?), like her, when she's dry – one should absorb a lot of impressions, see a lot, hear a lot, breathe a lot into oneself with the current of life – that's our need. I see a lot now, I hear less, but still something – only one evil: I possess one property that a sponge doesn't – the ability to absorb – a sponge needs to be squeezed well to extract even a little liquid – for me, the opposite – I only need to move enough to extract everything, like through a funnel, that should be my exclusive possession. That's a flaw. And I need to get rid of it – this is evident in my relationship with Olga, and it shouldn't be.

The situation is completely different with the real one. The need to give of oneself what is most essential and best in oneself to others "to strengthen the hearts." For example, I stand in such a "Petit Palais."[1] I see such a "Les brejeres(?)" – a wonderful thing – I am delighted. I recall the moments in Klonowa – those good moments when I had great pleasure looking at the landscapes and when I felt quiet and at peace after all the unpleasantness of life. "Wrzos" now awakens all this within me, and I become as calm and bearable as I did then.

I stand before such a "Tea...paete(?)." I admire the genius of people, their creative power, and it seems to me that the lack of strength I feel within me is diminishing. I return with renewed self-confidence to my work.

I stand before Octabre's "Renards"(?), and a whole series of images closely related to this idea arises in my soul. Memories begin to flood me, various moments, and I become like that figure wanting to escape. And just as I see in it only the movement to escape, but the impossibility of escape itself, so too I feel that I cannot escape from my memories, and the only solution is to escape in such a way that they cannot appear at all.

These moments, after all, are different from the gray workdays—they caress the eye and our sense of human creative power—and I must feel grateful to all these people—creators—who allow me to spend such moments.

And how do I actually repay them? They don't even take money for watching them. Some of them are no longer alive, and my payment in gold for ………..(?) was of no use to them. And yet, I must give them something of myself.

And so, out of gratitude for them, I continue this work. If there is something in me that I can give of myself, that represents such a certain value, I must give it—and if not, it is my duty to help all those who possess this ability. But I must work in this direction in my life as well.

What do I, taken as an individual, decide? Judging by the results of my life so far, very little—but I suspect there is something in me that I could tell people new; namely, the topic of hunger. Therefore, I must create something—and if I don't, woe is me. I am not fulfilling what I should.

Notes:

[1] Museum in Paris; but I haven’t deciphered the paintings she mentions.

Paris, December 5, [19]06

To be added. She switched to French.

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