The result of this is that we
are both unhappy. But you, Aniela, have at least your dogma to support
you, whereas I am verily like a boat drifting without helm and oar.
I am not well in health either. I sleep very badly, or rather scarcely
at all. I should like to fall ill and lie unconscious for a month
without memories, without trouble--and rest. It would be a kind of
holiday. Chwastowski examined me yesterday, and said I had the nerves
of a decaying race, but had inherited a fair supply of muscular
strength. I believe he is right; but for that I should have succumbed
ere this to my nerves. Maybe to my very strength I may ascribe this
present concentration of feeling; it had to find an outlet somewhere,
and as it did not find it either in science or other useful work, it
all got absorbed into love for a woman. But owing to my nervous system
it is turbid, stormy, and crooked,--above all, crooked.
What sensations I pass through every day! Towards evening the dear old
aunt came to me and began to apologize for praising Panna Zawilowska
to me. I kissed both her hands, and in my turn asked her to forgive my
momentary show of temper. She then said,--
"I promise never to mention her again. It is true, my dear Leon, I
wish from all my heart to see you married, for you are the last of our
race; but the Lord knows what is best.
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