I cannot
hide it from myself; I have met with a defeat so complete and decisive
that if I had the strength, or anything else to live for I ought to go
away at once.
Supposing she does love me, what good can it be to me if that feeling
is to remain for ever imprisoned within her own heart, and never show
itself--either in word or deed? I might as well be loved by Greek
Helen, Cleopatra, Beatrice, or Mary Stuart. Such must be the feeling
which does not desire anything, exact anything, and is sufficient
unto itself. Maybe her heart belongs to me, but it is a faint heart,
incapable of any action.
Possibly she poses before herself as a lofty soul, sacrificing her
love upon the altar of duty--and pleases herself in that pose. It is a
satisfaction worth doing something for. Be it so! Sacrifice me; but if
you think you sacrifice much in immolating your feeling, and feed your
duty upon it, you are mistaken. I cannot, I cannot either think or
write calmly.
8 June.
A coquette is like a usurer, giving very little and exacting upon it a
high percentage. To-day, as I am growing more composed and can think
again, I must render Aniela justice; she never encouraged me or
exacted anything. What I mistook for a touch of coquetry at Warsaw
was mere joyfulness of a youthful spirit that had shaken itself
momentarily free from all trouble.
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