Why do I repeat to myself so often that she is as the crown of my
head? Because one must love a woman more than life, consider her as
the crown of life, if he does not leave her under circumstances like
these. I am perfectly aware that mere physical repugnance would have
driven me from any other woman; and since I remain here the thought
occurs to me again that my love must be an aberration of the nerves,
which could not exist were I a normally healthy specimen of mankind.
The modern man, who explains to himself everything by the word
"neurosis," and is conscious of all that is going on within himself,
has not even the comfort which a conviction of his own faithfulness
might give him. For if he says to himself, "Your faithfulness
and perseverance are signs of disease, not virtues," it adds one
bitterness the more. If consciousness of all these things makes life
so much more difficult, why do we take so much care to cultivate it.
To-day, by daylight, I noticed how much Aniela is changed, and my
heart was torn at the sight. Her mouth is swollen, and the once so
pure brow has lost its purity and clearness. My aunt was right,--her
beauty is almost gone. But the eyes are the same as those of the
former Aniela, and that is enough for me. That changed face only
increases my pity and tenderness, and she is dearer to me than ever.
If she were ten times more changed I should love her still. If this be
disease, I am sickening with it, and do not wish to get well again; I
would rather die of this disease than of any other.