When I think of this I curse her and worship her at the same time; I
hate her and love her more than ever. The worst is I do not see how I
shall ever get out of this enchanted circle. Added to the passion
of the senses this woman wakes in me, I have for her a dog-like
affection. I envelop her with my eyes and thoughts, can never satiate
myself with the sight of her, and at the same time she is the most
desirable of women, and the very crown of my head. No other woman ever
attached me to her so absolutely and in that twofold manner.
At times this influence of hers over me seems well-nigh incredible;
then again I explain it, and as usual take the worst view of it. I
have lived too quickly, passed already the zenith, and am going down
hill, where it is dark and cold. I feel that in her I could recover my
lost youth, vitality, and the desire for life. If she be lost to me,
then truly nothing remains but to vegetate, and gloominess unutterable
as the foretaste of decay. Therefore I love Aniela with the instinct
of self-preservation,--not with my senses only, not with my soul, but
also from the fear of annihilation.
Aniela does not know all this; but I suppose she pities me, just as I
torture her, who would give my life to make her happy. And therefore
I say again that the love for another man's wife is the greatest
misfortune, since it leads the man to make her unhappy whose happiness
he would ensure at the cost of his own.
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