"
"I cannot always follow you," she said, after a momentary silence,
"but I trust you, yes, and believe in you."
We remained once more silent; I pressed her hand again, saying
good-night. We stopped near the door, and our eyes met. The waters
begin to rise and to rise. They will overstep their boundary any
moment.
23 February.
The human being, like the sea, has his ebb and flood tides. To-day my
will, my energy, the very action of life are at a very low tide. It
came upon me without warning, a mere matter of nerves. But for that
very reason my thoughts are full of bitterness. What right have I,
a man physically worn out and mentally exhausted, to marry at all?
Involuntarily the words of Hamlet come in my mind: "Get thee to a
nunnery; why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?" I shall not bury
myself within cloister walls. The future sinners will be like me,
all nerves, oversensitive, not fit for any practical life,--in fact,
artists without portfolios. But the deuce take it, it is not they, but
Aniela I am thinking of. Have I a right to marry her,--to link that
fresh budding life, full of simple faith in God and the world, to my
doubts, my spiritual impotence, my hopeless scepticism, my criticism
and nerves? What will be the result of it for her? I cannot regain
another spiritual youth, and even at her side cannot find my old self;
my brains cannot change, or my nerves grow more vigorous,--and what
then? Is she to wither at my side? It would be simply monstrous.
Pages:
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90