, towards Kromitzki, myself, and the whole world. And yet
I pity her from my whole heart, for she is as unhappy as I am. But
as water, instead of subduing a conflagration, makes it rage all the
fiercer, so my feelings are rendered fiercer by despair. I treat the
dearest being with scorn, anger, and irony, and thereby hurt myself
far more than I hurt her; for she is capable of forgiveness, but I
shall never be able to forgive myself.

29 June.

That man notices there is some ill-feeling between me and his wife,
and he explains it in a manner worthy of him. It seems to him that
I hate her because she preferred him to me. He fancies that my
resentment is nothing but offended vanity. Truly only a husband can
look upon it in this light. Consequently he tries to make it up to her
by his caresses, and treats me with the kind indulgence of a generous
victor.

How vanity blinds some people! What a strange creature he is! He goes
every day to the Straubinger hotel, watches the couples promenading on
the Wandelbahn, and with a certain delight puts the worst construction
upon their mutual relations. He laughs at the husbands who, according
to his views, are deceived by their wives; every new discovery puts
him into better humor, and his eyeglass is continually dropping out
and put back again. And yet the same man who considers conjugal
faithlessness such an excellent opportunity for making silly jokes,
would consider it the most awful tragedy if it happened to himself.
Since it is only a question of other people it is a farce; touching
his own happiness it would cry out to heaven for vengeance. Why,
you fool!--go to the looking glass, see yourself as you are, your
Mongolian eyes, that hair like a black Astrachan cap, that eyeglass,
those long shanks; enter into yourself and see the meanness of your
intellect, the vulgarity of your character,--and tell me whether a
woman like Aniela ought to remain true to you for an hour! How did you
manage to get her, you spiritual and physical upstart? Is it not an
unnatural monstrosity that you are her husband? Dante's Beatrice,
marrying a common Florentine cad, would have been better matched.

I had to interrupt my writing because I felt I was losing my balance;
and yet I fancied myself resigned! May Kromitzki rest easy; I do not
feel that I am any better than he. Even if I supposed I was made of
finer stuff than he, it would be small comfort, since my deeds are
worse than his. He has no