I ask myself if I have become such a weakling as that, to desert him when he needs me most. I don’t know. I don’t recognize myself any longer....
But of course I will be back. There is the translation, for one thing, which is coming along famously. I could never forgive myself for dropping it at the most vital point.
As for Arthur, when I return, I intend to give in to him no longer. I will make myself master here and cure him against his will. Fresh air, change of scene, a good doctor, these are the things he needs.
But what is his malady? Is it the influence of this house that has fallen on him like a blight? One might imagine so, since it is having the same effect on me.
Yes, I have reached that point where I no longer sleep. At night I lie awake and try to keep my eyes off the mirror across the room. But in the end I always find myself staring into it—watching the door with the heavy bolts. I long to rise from the bed and draw back the bolts, but I’m afraid.
How slowly the day goes by! The night will never come!
Nine p. m.—Have packed my suitcase and put the room in order. Arthur must be asleep.... I’m afraid the parting from him will be painful. I shall leave here at eleven o’clock in order to give myself plenty of time.... It is beginning to rain....
October 19.—At last! It has come! I am mad! I knew it! I felt it creeping on me all the time! Have I not lived in this house a month? Have I not seen—. To have seen what I have seen, to have lived for a month as I have lived, one must be mad....