Davis; but on the other hand this
is not one of the reasons that have prevented me from writing to
Aniela. Doubtless that profile of Mrs. Davis which I still see before
me is a mere passing impression. When I compare these two women my
feeling for the other becomes very tender; and yet I leave her in
cruel suspense and uncertainty.
To-day my father wrote to my aunt, setting her mind at rest as to his
health, and I added a postscript from myself, sending kind regards
to Aniela and her mother. I could not say much in a few lines, but I
might have promised them a longer letter. Such a promise would have
comforted Aniela and the elder ladies. I did not do it because I could
not. To-day my spirits are at a very low ebb. My wish for another
life, and my trust in the future have retreated into the farthest
distance; I can see them no more, see only the barren, sandy
wilderness. I cannot get rid of the idea that I can only marry Aniela
if I can conscientiously believe that our union would lead to mutual
happiness. I cannot represent it otherwise to Aniela without uttering
a lie; for I have none of that belief, and instead of it an utter
hopelessness almost a dislike of life. She is ill at ease with longing
and uncertainty, but I am worse, all the more so because I love her.
11 March.
Mrs. Davis, to whom, during our _causerie_ on the moonlit terrace, I
unfolded my view as to the all-powerfulness of love, more or less as I
have written it down, called me Anacreon, and advised me to crown my
head with vine leaves, and then said more soberly, "If such be your
opinions, why play the part of pessimist? Belief in such a deity ought
to make any man happy.
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