ot so. There are others who have
roused at some time or other an aversion in me that clings quite as
perversely to my memory. As I cannot ascribe it to the state of my
health,--I never felt better in my life,--I explain it in this way:
The world has robbed me of my love, time has dried up hatred, and as
the living individual must feel something, I live upon what remains to
me. I must also say that he who feels and lives thus does not get a
surfeit of happiness.

My former sympathies have cooled down very considerably. To Sniatynski
I have taken a dislike which no reasoning on my part can overcome.
Sniatynski has many grand qualities and is pleasantly conscious of
them, which gives him, as painters express it, a certain mannerism. I
suppose it is exceedingly rare that a man who sees that his individual
characteristics impress people favorably does not fall in love with
his own type, and end by exaggerating it. Sniatynski consequently has
grown artificial, and for the sake of the pose sacrifices his innate
delicacy; as in case of the abrupt telegram he sent to Cracow, after
his mission with Aniela had failed,--his advice to travel, which I
should have done without it,--and I received another letter from him
at Christiania soon after Aniela's wedding, written in a friendly
spirit, but very abrupt and artificial. I might give its substance as
follows: "Panna Aniela is now Pani Kromitzka,--the thing is done; I am
sorry for you; do not think the bottom is falling out of the universe;
there are other things in the world of more importance, the deuce take
it. Norway must be splendid just now. Come back soon and set to work.
Good-by," and so forth. I do not repeat it word for word, but such was
the gist of the letter. It impressed me unpleasantly, first because
I had not asked Sniatynski to lend me his yard-measure to measure my
sorrow with; secondly, I had thought him a sensible man, and supposed
he understood that his "more important things" are merely empty words
unless they imply feelings and inclinations that existed before. I
wanted to write to him there and then and ask him to release me from
his spiritual tutelage, but thinking better of it did not answer
at all,--I fancy that is the easiest way of breaking off a
correspondence. Entering more minutely into the matter, I find that
neither his telegram nor his letter have caused my dislike. Properly
speaking, I cannot forgive him that for which I ought to feel
grateful,--