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himself and her scientific career. It was impossible
for her to make the sacrifice; so the crisis came,
in which the happiness of her heart suffered its
great shipwreck.
A letter from this time, written to my brother,
shows how miserable she felt:—
‘Paris, Jan. 1889.
‘Dear Gösta,—I have this moment received
your kind letter. How grateful I am for your
friendship! I truly believe it is the only really
good thing life has brought me. I feel quite
ashamed to have done so little to show how
highly I value it! Forgive me, dear Gösta;
really I have no control over my feelings at this
moment. Letters of congratulation are pouring
in from all sides, but, by a strange irony of fate,
I never felt so miserable as now. I am as
miserable as a dog. No; I hope, for their sake, that
dogs cannot be as unhappy as human creatures,
especially as women.
‘Maybe I shall become more reasonable in
time, at least I shall make great efforts to get
over this state of mind. I shall take up work,
and try to interest myself in practical matters
again. Of course I shall be guided by your
advice. At present, all I can do is to keep my
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