I cannot imagine myself as living a year or two hence. What shall I
do? Such utter aimlessness ought to debar one from life. Properly
speaking, there is no room for me anywhere.
I did not go to see Clara, but met her in the Friedrichsstrasse.
Seeing me she grew pale from joy and emotion, and greeted me with
such effusion that it pleased and pained me at the same time. I was
conscious that my cordiality towards her was a mere outward form, and
that I did not derive any pleasure from the meeting. When she had
recovered from the surprise at meeting me thus unexpectedly, she
scrutinized my face anxiously. Truly I must have presented a strange
sight; and my hair has become much grayer too. She began to inquire
after my health, and in spite of my friendship for her, I felt that
to see her often would be more than I could stand. I resolved to put
myself on guard against this; I told her that I did not feel very
well, and was shortly going away to a warmer climate. She tried to
persuade me to come and see her; than asked after my aunt, Pani
Celina, and Aniela. I put her off with general remarks. I thought to
myself that she perhaps is the only being who would have understood
me, and yet I felt that I could not open my heart to her.
Nevertheless I am still susceptible to human kindness. At moments,
when those honest blue eyes of Clara's looked into mine with such
kindliness and such keen scrutiny, as if they wanted to look into my
very soul, her goodness humiliated me so that I felt a desire to weep.
Clara, in spite of my effort to seem as usual, noticed that I was
changed, and with quick feminine intuition she guessed that I speak,
live, almost think mechanically, and that my soul is half dead within
me. She left off all searchings and inquiries, but became very tender.
I saw that she was afraid of wearying me. She also tried to make
me understand that in the tenderness she was showing there was no
concealed intention of winning my regard, but only the desire to
comfort me. And it did comfort me, but I could not help feeling very
tired. My mind is not capable of any concentration, any effort to
maintain a conversation, even with a friend. And besides, since the
one aim of my life has vanished from my eyes, everything appears to me
so empty that I have continually the question in my mind: "What is the
use of it? what can it matter now?"