This practice comes with
later years, when the live spring of feelings begins to dry up and the
mind acquires a certain conventionality.
I had let Aniela see there was no resentment in my heart towards her,
and I shall not allude even to the past, and for that reason did not
try to see her alone. In the evening during tea we discussed general
topics. My aunt questioned me about Clara, who interests her very
much. I told her all I knew about her, and from that we drifted into
conversation about artists generally. My aunt looks upon them as
people sent into the world by kind Providence to give performances for
the benefit of charitable institutions. I maintained that artists,
provided their hearts were pure and not filled with vanity and love of
self, might be the happiest creatures in the world, as they are always
in contact with something infinite and absolutely perfect. From life
comes all evil, from art only happiness. This was, indeed, my point of
view, supported by observation. Aniela agreed with me, and if I took
note of the conversation it is because I was struck by a remark of
Aniela's, simple in itself, but to me full of meaning. When we spoke
about the contentment arising from art she said: "Music is a great
consoler."
I saw in this involuntary confession that she is unhappy, and is
conscious of it. Besides, in regard to that, I never had any doubts.
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