Without Dogma | Page 6

confine himself to one epoch or any
specialty in his researches. Gradually mediaeval Rome began to
fascinate him as much as the first era of Christianity. There was a time
when his mind was full of Orsinis and Colonnas; after that he
approached the Renaissance, and was fairly captivated by it. From
inscriptions, tombs, and the first traces of Christian architecture he
passed to nearer times; from the Byzantine paintings to Fiesole and
Giotto, from these to artists of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries,
and so on; he fell in love with statues and pictures; his collections
certainly increased, but the great work in Polish about the three Romes
remained forever in the land of unfulfilled intentions.
As to these collections my father has a singular idea. He wants to
bequeath them to Rome under the condition they should be placed in a
separate gallery named after him, "Museum Osoria Ploszowski." Of
course his wishes will be respected. I only wonder why my father
believes that in doing this he will be more useful to his community than
by sending them to his own country.
Not long ago he said to me: "You perceive that scarcely anybody there
would see them, and very few derive any benefit, whereas here the
whole world can study them, and every individual that benefits thereby
carries the benefit to other communities." It does not befit me to
analyze how much family pride and the thought of having his name
engraved in marble in the Eternal City has to do with the whole scheme.
I almost think that such must be the case. As to myself, I am perfectly
indifferent where the collections are to remain. But my aunt, to whom
by the bye I am shortly going to pay a visit at Warsaw, is very
indignant at the idea of leaving the collections out of the country, and

as, with her, thought and speech go always together, she expresses her
indignation in every letter. Some years ago she was at Rome, and they
wrangled every day over the matter, and would have quarrelled outright
had not the affection she has towards me subdued her temper.
My aunt is older than my father by several years. When my father, after
his great sorrow, left the country, he gave up the Ploszow estate to her,
and took instead the ready capital. My aunt has managed the property
for thirty years, and manages it perfectly. She is of a rather uncommon
character, therefore I will devote to her a few lines. At the age of
twenty she was betrothed to a young man who died in exile just when
my aunt was about to follow him abroad. From that time forth she
refused all offers of marriage and remained an old maid. After my
mother's death she went with my father to Vienna and Rome, where she
lived with him, surrounding him with the tenderest affections, which
she subsequently transferred to me. She is, in the full meaning of the
word, une grande dame, somewhat of an autocrat, haughty and
outspoken, with that self-possession wealth and a high position give,
but withal the very essence of goodness and kindliness. Under the
cover of abrupt manners she has an excellent and lenient disposition,
loving not only her own family, as for instance my father and myself
and her own household, but mankind in general. She is so virtuous that
really I do not know whether there be any merit in it, as she could not
be otherwise if she tried. Her charities are proverbial. She orders poor
people about like a constable, and tends them like a Saint Vincent de
Paul. She is very religious. No doubts whatever assail her mind. What
she does, she does from unshaken principles, and therefore never
hesitates in the choice of ways and means. Therefore she is always at
peace with herself and very happy. At Warsaw they call my aunt, on
account of her abrupt manners, le bourreau bienfaisant. Some people,
especially among women, dislike her, but generally speaking she lives
in peace with all classes.
Ploszow is not far from Warsaw, where my aunt owns a house in which
she spends the winter. Every winter she tries to inveigle me there in the
hope to see me married. Even now I received a mysteriously worded
missive adjuring me to come at once. I shall have to go, as I have not
seen her for some time. She writes that she is getting old and wishes to
see me before she dies. I confess I do not always feel inclined to go. I

know that my aunt's dearest wish is to see me married, therefore every
visit brings her a cruel disappointment. The very idea of such a decisive
step frightens me. To