I admire the
Apennines; but my spirit is not in touch with them, and sooner or
later they become wearisome. The human being finds a resting-place
only where he is in harmony with his surroundings; and is reminded
that his soul and the soul of nature are of the same organization.
Homesickness springs from the isolation of the soul from its
surroundings. It appears to me that the principle of psychical
relationship could be applied in a still wider sense. It may seem
strange that I, brought up in foreign lands, permeated by their
culture, should harbor such views; but I go farther still, and say
a foreign woman, even the most beautiful, appears to me more as a
species of the female kind than a soul.
I remember what I wrote at one time concerning Polish women, but one
statement does not contradict the other; I may perceive their faults,
and yet feel myself nearer to them than to strangers. Besides, my old
opinions--at least, the greater part of them--are now in tatters, like
a worn-out garment.
But enough of this! I notice with a certain shame and surprise
that all I have been writing has been done in order to distract my
thoughts. Yes, that is true. I speak about landscapes, homesickness,
and so forth, while all my thoughts are at Ploszow. I did not want to
acknowledge it, even to myself. I feel restless, and something seems
to weigh me down.
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