fault with us.  Then I put to myself another question.  Let us say my aunt had not made any allusion to Kromitzki, would the result have turned out differently?  And truly I dare not say yes.  It would not have come so swiftly,—­that is certain; but who knows whether in the end it would have turned out more satisfactory.  Weak characters want infinite accommodations; only powerful ones are spurred on by opposition.  Laura, who in certain things is as subtle as musk, most likely understood this and therefore showed herself so—­gracious.

Finally, what is the upshot of it?  Am I a milksop?  Not in the least.  A man who looks straight at truth would not shrink from confessing it,—­but no.  I feel that I could go on an arctic expedition without a moment’s hesitation, be a missionary in darkest Africa.  I am possessed of a certain pluck, inherited courage, which would carry me through many bold adventures and risky enterprises.  My temperament is lively; perhaps less nimble than Sniatynski, I am yet no laggard.  But when it comes to solving any of life’s problems my scepticism renders me powerless, my intellect loses itself in observations, reasonings, the will has nothing to rest upon, and my acts depend mainly upon external circumstances.

12 May.

I never liked Laura, though I was and am still under the spell of her physical charms.  This at first sight looks like a paradox, but nevertheless is a common enough occurrence.  One may love and not like the person in question.  As often as I happened to meet a love full of thorns and apt to take easily offence, it was only because there was no real liking at the bottom.  Now Sniatynski and his wife are not only in love, but they like each other immensely, and therefore are happy.  Ah me!  I feel I could have liked Aniela, and we might have been as happy!  Better not think about it.  As to Laura, she will meet many who may fall in love with her raven hair and statuesque beauty, but she will never inspire real liking.  This singular woman attracts irresistibly, and at the same time repulses.  I have said that beyond beauty there is nothing else; for even her uncommon intelligence is only the humble slave kneeling at the feet of her own beauty.  Not more than a week ago I saw Laura giving money to a child whose father had been drowned recently, and I thought to myself:  “She would put the child’s eyes out in the same way, gracefully and sweetly, if she thought it would add to her beauty.”  One feels these things, and one may lose one’s head over a woman like that, but it is impossible to like her.  And she who understands so many things does not understand this.