27/02/2014 17:53
It is some ten months since I put down anything in my journal; it had
become such a familiar friend that I missed it. But I said to myself:
what is the use of it? If I put down on paper thoughts worthy of a
Pascal; deeper than the ocean depth; loftier than the Alps,--it would
not change the simple fact that she is married. With that fact staring
at me, my hands dropped powerless. Sometimes life concentrates itself
in one object, not necessarily an important one; but if that fails us
we seem at a loss what to do with ourselves. It is strange,--almost
laughable,--but for a long time I remained in a state of mind in which
the most commonplace functions of life seemed irksome and useless,
and it took me some time to remember that I used to go to clubs and
theatres, shaved, dressed, and dined before I knew her.
This is a special kind of armor which not only protects the man
himself, but also makes him dangerous to others. It is clear that
he who does not spare himself will not spare others.
I read once, in Amiel's memoirs, that the deed is only the
crystallized matter of thought. But thoughts may remain in the
abstract,--not so feelings.
My jealousy would be a miserable thing if it were not at the same time
the pain of the true believer who sees his divinity dragged in the
dust. I would abstain even from touching her hand if I could place her
on some inapproachable height where nobody could come near her.
The human soul, like the bee, extracts sweetness even from bitter
herbs. The most unhappy wretch still tries to squeeze out a little
happiness from his woes, and the merest shadow and pretext will serve
his turn. Sometimes I think that this intense longing for happiness is
one proof more that happiness is awaiting us in another world.
I have a crippled heart, but it is capable of love.
When I come to think that all is at an end between us, and that I have
left her forever, I can scarcely believe it. There is no Aniela for me
any more. Then what is there? Nothing. Then why do I live? I do not
know.
The thought still pursues me that as a rule human tragedy is the
outcome of exceptional events and calamities, and mine comes from a
natural event. Really I do not know which is worst. The natural order
of things seems to me past bearing.
I have heard that a man struck by lightning stiffens, but does not
fall down at once. I too keep up, sustained by that thunderbolt that
struck me, but I feel myself falling. As soon as it grows dark in the
evening something strange takes place within me. I feel so oppressed
that it costs me an effort even to sigh; it seems as if the air could
not get to my lungs, and that I breathe with only a part of them.
During the night, and also in the day, a sudden nameless terror seizes
me,--terror of nothing in particular. I feel as if something horrible
was going to happen, something worse than death. Yesterday I put the
question to myself: "What would become of me if, in this foreign town,
I suddenly forgot my name and where I lived, and wandered on and on in
darkness without knowing where I was going?"
Aniela died this morning.
I might have been your happiness, and became your misfortune. I am the
cause of your death, for if I had been a different man, if I had not
been wanting in all principles, all foundations of life, there would
not have come upon you the shocks that killed you. I understood that
in the last moments of your life, and I promised myself I would follow
you. I vowed it at your dying bed, and my only duty is now near you.
To your mother I leave my fortune; my aunt I leave to Christ, in whose
love she will find consolation in her declining years, and I follow
you--because I must. Do you think I am not afraid of death? I am
afraid because I do not know what there is, and see only darkness
without end; which makes me recoil. I do not know whether there
be nothingness, or existence without space and time; perhaps some
midplanetary wind carries the spiritual monad from star to star to
implant it in an ever-renewing existence. I do not know whether there
be immense restlessness, or a peace so perfect as only Omnipotence and
Love can bestow on us. But since you have died through my "I do not
know," how could I remain here--and live?
The more I fear, the more I do not know,--the more I cannot let you go
alone; I cannot, Aniela mine,--and I follow. Together we shall sink
into nothingness, or together begin a new life; and here below where
we have suffered let us be buried in oblivion.
