After a long time I became conscious that I had been thinking about the young cleric’s funeral, Aniela, and death.  I rung for lights, and then began to write.

29 April.

Kromitzki’s letters have stirred me to such a degree that I cannot get over the impression.  My unreasonable resentment towards Aniela is passing, and the more I feel how undeserved was my harshness, the more contrite I become, and the more tenderly I think of her.  Yet more clearly than ever I see how these two are bound by the power of a simple fact.  Since yesterday I have been in the clutches of these thoughts, and that is the reason I did not go to Ploszow.  There I am obliged to keep watch upon myself and to put on an appearance of calmness, and at present I could not do it.  Everything within me—­thoughts, feelings, nerves—­has risen up in revolt against what has been done.  I do not know whether there can be a more desperate state of mind than when we do not agree with something, protest with every fibre of heart and brain, and at the same time feel powerless in presence of an accomplished fact.  I understand that this is only a foretaste of what is awaiting me in the future.  There is nothing to be done,—­nothing.  She is married, is Pani Kromitzka; she belongs to him, will always belong to him; and I who cannot consent, for to do so would mean losing my own self, am obliged to consent.  I might as well protest against the earth turning round as against that other law which bids a woman stand by her husband.  Does this mean that I ought to respect that law?  How can I submit when my whole being cries out against it?  At moments I feel inclined to go away, but I understand perfectly that beyond this woman the world has for me as much meaning as death,—­that is, nothingness; moreover, I know beforehand that I shall not go, because I could not muster strength enough to do so.  Sometimes I have thought that human misery goes far beyond human imagination,—­imagination has its limits, and misery, like the vast seas, appears to be without end.  It seems to me that I am floating on those seas.  But no,—­there is still something for me to do.

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.  Theoretically I was conscious of it before; it is only now I have come to prove it actually on myself.  From the time of my arrival at Ploszow until now, I have never clearly and distinctly said to myself that I wanted to win Aniela’s love, but it was merely a question of words.  In reality I know that I wanted her, and want her still.  Every look of mine, every word, and all my actions are tending that way.  Affection which does not include desire and action is a mere shadow.  Let it be understood,—­I want her.  I want to be for Aniela the most beloved being, as she is to me.  I want to win her love, all her thoughts, her soul; and I do not intend to put any limit to