another like
Aniela, or a better one either,--I want her. I say it seems to me;
for it is a feeling without any definite shape. I carry within me
something like an entangled skein; I weary myself, and yet am not able
to reduce it to any kind of order. In spite of all my self-knowledge,
I cannot quite make out what it is that makes me feel sad. Is it
because I find I love her, or is it because I feel I could love her
very much? Sniatynski unconsciously replies to this question in these
words: "I have heard or read that gold nuggets have sometimes a large
admixture of quartz, which must be crushed in order to get at the
gold. I suppose your heart is thus covered with an incrustation, that
only partly melted while you were staying at Ploszow. You did not
remain long enough, and simply had no time to let your love grow
sufficiently strong. You have, maybe, energy enough to act, but not
enough to decide; but you would have found the energy if the feeling
had been powerful enough. You went away, and according to your custom,
began to ponder, to think it over; and it came to pass, as I was
afraid it would, that you philosophized away your own happiness and
that of another." What strikes me most in Sniatynski's words is
that they are almost a repetition of what my father said to me. But
Sniatynski penetrates deeper; for he adds almost immediately: "It is
the old story,--he who inquires too deeply into his own mind ends by
disagreeing with himself; and who disagrees with himself is incapable
of any decision. Truly times must be out of joint, when only asses
have any power of action left, and those who have a little more
intelligence use it to doubt everything, and to persuade themselves
that it is not worth while to attempt anything." I have read similar
observations in one of the French authors; and by Jove! he is right.

I almost wish Sniatynski had given me a downright scolding, instead of
larding his letter with sentences like this "In spite of all your good
qualities it will come to this, that you will always be a cause of
suffering and anxiety to those who love you." He brings it home with a
vengeance. I have caused suffering to Aniela, her mother, and my-aunt,
and to myself also. I feel inclined to laugh a little as I read
further: "According to the laws of nature, there is always something
growing within us; beware, lest it be a poisonous weed that will
destroy your whole existence!" No,--I am not afraid of that. There