Why do I not become ill after such tortures as these? Because I have to empty the cup of suffering to the dregs, in order that the punishments undergone may be equivalent to the wrongs committed. And it is really remarkable how I manage to endure the tortures; I swallow them down with a kind of grim joy in order to get done with them.
[II]
MY WRETCHEDNESS INCREASES
When the New Year with its numerous holidays has passed, I find myself one fine day alone. It is as though a hurricane had passed by; all are scattered, blown away, shipwrecked. My friend the doctor has entered the hospital as a patient. As a matter of fact, weakened by dipsomania, hard-pressed by poverty, and worn out by want of sleep, he is suffering from "neurasthenia." This is pitiful, and, instead of going to the tavern, I turn my steps to the hospital for an hour's conversation and society. In the café I am the only one who drinks anything alcoholic, for my three companions have taken the pledge. The poet has gone away. The young aesthete, the son of the Professor of Ethics, has been sent abroad in order to be freed from the evil companionship of the "seducer of youth," i.e. myself.
A doctor of philosophy is laid up through having broken his leg. At the same time it happens that the young chemist, the standard-bearer of the party of progress, falls ill and has to be treated for neurasthenia. He suffers from sleeplessness, attacks of nightmare and giddiness. All these sad events and others happen in the course of a month and a half. And what makes my situation insupportable is, that they attribute the blame more or less to me. I am the Evil One himself and have the evil eye! It is a good thing that they know nothing about the power of an evil will and the secret tricks of occultism and reject all ideas of it, otherwise they kill.
A depressing stagnation has settled down on the intellectual life of the University. There are no new productive ideas, no ferment and no movement. The natural sciences have suffered to fall into disuse the transformistic method which promised progress, and threaten to die of their common weakness. There is no more discussion, for people are agreed as to the futility of all efforts at reform. They have seen so many illusions perish, and in this condition of things the once great movement for liberty has dissolved or rather decomposed. The younger generation are waiting for something new without being clear as to what they want. Novelty at any price, whatever it be, with the exception of apologies and retreats! Forward to the unknown, no matter what, so long as it is not old! They want reconciliation with the gods, but they must be re-created or, rather, developed gods, who are up-to-date, have broad views, are free from petty prejudices, and intoxicated with the joy of life. The invisible powers have become all the more morose, envious of the freedom which mortals have won for themselves. Wine is poisoned, and causes madness instead of calling up pleasant visions. Love, regulated by social bonds, proves to be a life-and-death battle, and free love brings in its train nameless and numberless diseases, causes misery in homes, and its victims are execrated and outlawed. The period for experiments has passed away, and the experiments have produced only negative results. All the better for the men of the future who can derive wholesome lessons from the defeat of the advance guard, who have gone astray in the desert, and fallen in hopeless strife against superior force.
Lonely as I am, a wreck on a reef in the ocean, there are moments when I am seized with giddiness at the sight of the blue and vacant immensity. Is it the sky which reflects the outspread sea, or the sea which mirrors the sky? I have fled from men and men fly from me. In the loneliness which I longed for I am persecuted by a crowd of demons, and after all I begin to prefer the humblest mortal to the most interesting phantom. But when I look for a man, during the long evenings through the whole town, I find no one either at home or in the cafés.