Diary 1916-1920

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Wednesday, April 19 [1916]

For F. I am not what I was – I cannot delude myself about that for a moment, only I do not know yet what turn it will take. Will I turn him completely back to me by skillful action, or will I lose him completely by unskillful action, that is, by leaving everything to his fate. The word “completely” does not even make sense in the latter case, because I decided to avoid such a parting scene as with K. I am only tormented by the future, what will happen if nothing happens to him, what will happen to me, to us? A black despair seizes me at the thought that everything always slips through my fingers.

A change, my student told me – in Łódź, Miss Janowska told her last year: Mrs. Baumgarten married a German, and my student said: Mrs. Baumgarten is too good a Pole to do that!

I am actually interested in the psychological basis of this change in F.’s attitude towards me. Something has gone wrong. He is not interested in me at all. Yesterday I told him that I was unwell, and yet this morning he did not call me, even to see how I was feeling. We have little to talk about: he has lost his ……. It is very unpleasant to me. And I am only angry, why is that? Is it because he knows too much about me? I have recently learned from Cornelowa[1]  that such knowledge about her greatly spoils my attitude towards her. And it may be the same with me and him, but on the other hand I know everything about him and it does not spoil my attitude towards him very much (and maybe so, maybe he no longer sees admiration for him in me, etc.). The only truth is that he no longer loves me, maybe there is only a little attachment left. He is becoming more and more indifferent to me, I would not like to experience either like H. and K.

Notes:

[1] The “Mrs. Cornel mentioned in prior entry.

Tuesday, May 9 [1916]

Something has come between me and F. I don't know what. When our hands meet - we withdraw them after a moment, as if this mutual touch weighed on us. When we are sitting, he does not seek to be touched - he does not look at me either, when he is in company, I no longer absorb his attention.

Yesterday he was at our place for dinner. Those were sad hours, the four of us[1]. There was no sign that he was in a hurry to get home. Mom herself noticed that he was bored. And after he left, there was a kind of silence that showed how unpleasant it was for us to be aware that he was not feeling well with us.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I woke up at night around 4. That was already a bad sign. In the morning, there were also sad letters from the children. I have been walking around all day today as if poisoned. I feel terribly, terribly bad, because I see the whole tragedy of us five. How I pray that we will finally be settled in marriage! I often think that fate would give our sisters happiness before this, than me, but so far neither they nor I have had this happiness. Why are Rózia or Fela being murdered! And Julek! What despair!

What will happen to F? Is it possible for any cordial and pleasant relationship to develop between us again? Actually, nothing has seemingly happened, nothing has been said, and something has happened. Some kind of ghost, some kind of nightmare. Well, he has not offended me, nor I him, neither he me nor I have done anything bad to him, I have not said an unkind word, and yet it has become difficult for us to be together. Is this too much? Or are we already burdening each other. After all, we really have a lot of unused matters and we have a lot in common. So what?

He says so few things to me.

Notes:

[1] Believe Julek was in Berlin; otherwise, not sure who the fourth would have been.

Sunday, May 28 [1916]

Yesterday there was a Huberman[1] concert – F. sat down next to Sokolow with real pleasure when I showed him the seat there. In the café he sat far away from me. It was the first time since we met that he had sat far away from me in a café. Later, he did sit down and made excuses, but that only got him into even more trouble. Because his place was with me yesterday.

The tragedy of “Kaziow” has begun in general. He doesn’t think about me at all anymore. I feel it in various subconscious, perhaps instinctive actions. I talk about him, tell him stories, I even tell something unflattering (as I did about Julek). When I am interested in a person, when I care about them, I don’t say anything about them. But what is most important and most horrible is that I don’t dare to address him with any warmer, more tender gesture. As if I felt that it was false in me, or more importantly, that it would not resonate with him.

The question remains what to do? I racked my brains over this with Kaz, and I rack my brains now. I've been with this man every day for two years and I don't even know what works for him, what to take from him. And I'm a psychologist?

Now we're in a situation like two tightrope walkers on one rope. The slightest awkward movement by one or the other brings disaster. I can't balance at all. I only have a little feeling for him and the desire for it not to waste away so miserably.

Is it kindness or anger?

Notes:

[1] Bronisław Huberman, a noted Polish Jewish violinist.

Thursday, June 1 [1916]

I wanted to find out Je……’s address at the bank and send her a card, but I didn’t manage to get it. So I have no idea whether she is here or not. I called him before I left and I had the impression as if he had just spoken to someone before …….. and ………., that the person speaking again wanted to tell him what he wanted to say. He wrote in the card that he was pleased with my “telephonischer …….” I have an unpleasant impression that I must have received from his short and not at all joyful conversation.

I had a disgusting day on Tuesday – a little better on Wednesday, because I told myself that I had to be prepared for the worst – today, although I received 2 cards yesterday and one today, I feel the painful constriction of my heart again, as always with a premonition of something unpleasant.

I was at that party at the Chinese man’s yesterday evening. The Chinese engineer Hu was also there. I admired how much self-consistency and common sense there is in this man, I felt unwavering trust in him. His posture and forms are so absolutely correct and so beautiful that even in dance – in tango – he looked as if he was performing some kind of mystery. For example, I felt for the first time that I could simply fall in love with him and follow him anywhere without opposition, blindfolded. And besides, he is small and ugly. However, the power of the spirit is so great in him.

I want to have such power and I don't know how to gain it. What creates it? How does it ………?

I don't feel the ground beneath me and it probably makes a negative impression on others. There is nothing permanent and unshakable in me. My opinions and beliefs are of such a nature that I can always say or act differently at the first opportunity. There is no ………. content in myself, peace. And it seems to me that all this comes from a lack of work, satisfaction with it. I devote myself too little to my work.

- - - - - -

I have this feeling as if absolutely everything F has for me has burned out. When I think about our relationship, I have the impression that he feels it perfectly, but he doesn't want to break off our good relationship with me. What he said about his wife, that he didn't want to divorce her under any circumstances. What can I do to make this great feeling arise in him again?

July 1 [1916]

I haven't written for maybe 4 weeks. During that time F. was abroad. He came back a week ago. Since then he has been the same old man from a year ago. Sensitive, cordial, and considerate. In a word, just as she wanted him to be (of course, only in one most important point not yet). I ask myself a question that sounds monstrous: is this an outburst of true feeling, or is it being done for some purpose. For what purpose? I don't know. Timeō Danaōs et dōna ferentēs[1].

Notes:

[1] “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”

July 6, Thursday [1916]

Yesterday I was with F. at Kempiński's. Strange, we talked to each other as if we had known each other for only a few days or weeks. He was absolutely interested, just like at the very beginning of our acquaintance. I wondered in my heart not at this current interest, but that there had been a time, and a very recent one at that, when we could say absolutely nothing to each other for lack of a topic. Of course, there was a certain inhibition then, probably due to a sense of guilt on his part (taking an interest in someone else) and on my part

1:30 a.m. [March 27, 1918]

I was at this Vecsey[1] concert. I came absolutely enchanted. That is, to play – there was no end to the ovations – he played for an encore from 10:30 to 11:15.

When I looked at him like that, I had before me the type of man absolutely blessed with the graces of fortune: a talent for acting – one of the most beautiful in the world, young, handsome, rich, healthy. When he stood there on the pass surrounded by a clapping crowd, women smiling at him and ready to give him their all, as he smiled and waved a white handkerchief joyfully in farewell, he seemed to me to be the god of happiness. The red carnation in his buttonhole was the purple not of blood, but of the ………….. fiery kiss that the eyes of the delighted listeners threw at him from all sides. He laughed with happiness, with this adoration surrounding him.

I felt so poor, small, without talent, without happiness, without anything. During the concert I kept thinking about my old age, which looks like this ………….. I'm afraid that it will come true just as my ……….. after graduating from university came true about not getting married.

Simply all hope is in this M.

Notes:

[1] Franz von Vecsey, a Hungarian violinist.

Friday, March 29 [1918]

David was there. As always "in love". Three-quarters of this love should be attributed to these printed cards of mine. Today I had the impression of Kazio. The same type. Kazio probably "suffers" just as much as he does. Swindlers.

Strange, F. hardly calls me these days.

Saturday, March 30 [1918)

Yesterday I was at ……… evening for this family feast. Dav. was sitting diagonally from me, and I was next to Klara. He listens to her with gestures. He is like a dog being led on a leash. How he trembles before her!

When I was looking at David yesterday, I thought to myself how shallow this man is, how little he would give me in marriage and that… every man has the wife he deserves.

I am coming to the conclusion that there are probably no men who deserve me.

6 pop.

I don't know why my heart is bursting. It has been a long time since it has been so painful. Whatever I do and do, I do it with such a heavy feeling as if I was lifting hundredweight. Brrr… such emptiness and loneliness. I feel Rózia and Fela from a distance and my heart aches.

Monday, April 1st [1918]

D. is leaving tomorrow morning. He was supposed to call at 11:00 today to see if he could see us again, but he didn't, and I can't forgive him for that. He didn't even say goodbye to me. Yesterday he said he'd be here within a month, so I decided not to even accept him. I'm drawing a big line over him.

Tuesday, April 2, 1918

Yesterday, D. was with his wife and Truda at his uncle's, met my mother and told me to bow. In view of this, I decided not to see him at all when the time came and to treat him like a dog. From now on, he ceased to exist for me. I only got to know him through and through now. And I told him well: the game is not worth the candle.

However, one thing is interesting to me: Dawid makes a very nice impression and lets himself be liked, the same impression was made on me by Kazio, M. Adler - as for all of them, I have become convinced that they are bad, evil people at bottom and that they are basically stingy. So why this nice appearance? Do they want to gain people for themselves with this sympathy, in addition to their stinginess, who would pay them? Whether this nice appearance is dependent on other qualities they possess, I do not know. And yet the fact is that both Dawid and Kazio are generally very attractive to me and that they are notorious scoundrels. I am faced with a riddle.

F. was at my place on Sunday evening, because he went with me to Dora's. He brought me a bouquet of lilies of the valley (for him that is already a lot – flowers!) two bottles, a book and a wonderful Chinese woodcut. I asked him jokingly if he loved me, he replied as if reproachfully, how could I ask him that, and yet, despite the fact that I asked a second time, he did not answer openly. It seems that he has given me so much, because he must have done something wrong. Today he excused himself from going for a walk, although he promised – he did not call and is probably wandering somewhere. It would be best for me if some man, completely unknown, appeared now, so that we would fall madly in love and he would carry me far away from here – beyond all the mountains and forests. And from there, so that I could spit on everything. Dream…

Rubinsztein said yesterday that Radek[1] and Radkowa were thrown out of the ministry, even when she came to take something else that Radek had left, Petrar ordered her thrown out through the valet. I have the satisfaction that Eilenburg heard it, he will probably tell Fuchs literally.

Notes:

[1] Maybe (can’t reconcile with the various names here) Karl Radek, who was a Russian revolutionary and active in Berlin before WWI, and was around this time Vice-Commissar for Foreign Affairs in Russia.

April 11, 1918

A few days ago I read in the newspaper that Faj.[1] would be giving a lecture at Urauji[2]. I arranged with Cieklenstemowa and we both went. When I arrived, he was already there, we greeted each other, he said I hadn’t changed a bit, he would have recognized me right away. We went out for a walk around Siegesallee and talked. First of all, his second son was born 3 weeks ago. This news was very unpleasant for me. But apart from that, he didn’t tell me anything about his wife, except “I really wanted to be in Munich, and so did my wife.” We talked a little about politics, about the war, he doesn't like Germans very much and I thought with more admiration than bitterness how two such feelings can be used in a human soul: on his part causing someone pain with refined meanness and a tender farewell, which was absolutely sincere, and I, also tenderly saying goodbye, which on my part was completely and completely sincere, had in my soul a plan of revenge, which I intend to carry out tomorrow. Yesterday M[4]. proposed something to me that could be a scientific happiness for me. It came unexpectedly, but it could work out and be something.

Notes:

[1] From clipping enclosed in diary: This is Kazimierz Fajans, a noted chemist born in Warsaw. From Wikipedia biolgraphy, I gather they knew each other from Zurich.

[2] Probably “Urania,” a society with the aim of making scientific findings accessible to a lay audience.

[3] A famous Berlin café.

[4] Moritz Tramer?

Saturday 27.4.[19]18

I spoke to Mour today, as I see he has no desire to see me. Promises – goodies.

F. has not written a word so far. Yesterday I was at Dora's, who started a conversation about F., I told her a little, but can I tell her everything? Too humiliating. But Dora said one thing, which shows that everyone else sees the world differently than I do: she said what he thinks