only say that even if people don't reach the island, yet is the journey not lost.
Wollmar
To content oneself with grazing the eye, with just the picturesque landscape which appears on one's right and left? Edwin!? And why would one be thrown into internal turmoil only for such views!? Why tremble as if before a fearful obstacle only for such views!?
Why agonize oneself of rage in the undulating desert of a threefold death only for such views!? Do not speak any more; my sorrow is more eloquent than your happiness!
Edwin
And should I crush the little violet under my feet, because I cannot
obtain the rose? Or should I not enjoy this Mayday, because a thunderstorm can darken it? I create cheerfulness under the cloudless blueness which will shorten itself for me, later on, its unpredictable boredom. Should I not pick the flower today, because it will fade away tomorrow? I throw it away when it withers, and pick its young sister who already springs attractively from the bud.
Wollmar
For nothing! In vain! Wherever a burgeon of pleasure only blooms, thousand seeds of misery are already germinating. Wherever a tear of joy is only shed, thousand tears of affliction lie beneath.
Here, on the spot where the human being exults, thousand insects have perished. In precisely the moment where our delight whirls into heaven, thousand curses of damnation are profferred. It is a deceiving lottery; the few miserable gains hide the numerous failures! Every moment in time is a dying minute for joy; every blessing dust is the tombstone of a buried pleasure! In every point in the eternal universe, death has impressed its monarchic seal. In every atom, I read the desolate inscription: death!
Edwin
And why not death? May every sound from a death song become happiness! It is also the hymn of the all-encompassing love! Wollmar, against this lime tree, my Juliet has kissed me for the first time!
Wollmar (suddenly leaving the place)
Young man! It is under these lime trees that I have lost my Laura!
A good deed
Attending theatres and reading novels reveal to us the most glowing traits of the human heart; while our fantasy will be inflamed, our heart remains cold, and at least, the passion in which our heart will be thrown into in this manner, will be only temporary and leaves it still fit for the practical life.
In the namely moment when the simple generosity of sincere outburst moves us almost to tears, would we also be capable to dismiss impatiently a beggar knocking at our door? Who knows, maybe, precisely this artificial existence in an ideal world, will also shake up our true existence in the real world? We hover, so to speak, above the two extremes of morality, the angel and the demon, and only in the middle, the human being, we allow ourselves to land.
The following story about two Germans (I write this down with quite some proud joy!) has an indisputable merit, as it is a true story. I hope that this story will leave my readers with warmer feelings than all the books written by Grandison and Pamela.
Two brothers, Barons of Wrmb, both fell in love with the same young, perfect lady of Wrthr; without the lady knowing about the passion which the two brothers had for her. The love felt by both brothers was tender and strong, because it was the first time for both. The young lady was beautiful and sensitive. Both allowed their inclination to grow into a full passion, because none knew about the danger which was most terrible for a heart: to have one’s own brother as a rival. Both spared the young lady with an early confession of their love, and hence, the two brothers went on, until an expected event revealed the whole secret of their sentiments to one another.
Each brother’s passion has already grown into its highest degree, the unhappiest affection which has produced so many cruel devastations in humankind than its terrible contrary, has already taken over their whole heart that a sacrifice was really not to be expected from any of them. The young lady, full of compassion for the sad situation of these two unfortunate persons, dared not to decide exclusively for one brother, and submitted her inclination to the judgement of their brotherly love.
To decide about the winner in this doubtful battle of duty and sentiment, which our philosophers in all times have skilfully solved, and which the practical man undertakes so slowly; the older brother said to the younger one:
"I know that you love my sweetheart, as passionately as I do. I will not make prevail the seniority right. Hence, you should remain here, I will travel the great world, I will strive to forget her. Should I achieve to do that, then the young lady is yours, and may heaven bless your love! Should I not achieve to forget her, then you should be the one travelling, and try to forget her!”
He left immediately Germany, and headed towards Holland, but the image of his sweetheart travelled with him. Away from the object of his love, banned from a territory where lies the whole felicity of his heart, where alone he wanted to live; the unfortunate brother fell sick, the same way as the plants which the brutal Europeans took away from their motherly land of Asia and grew in the rawer soil, die, away from the milder sun. He reached Amsterdam in despair; there, a violent fever put his life in danger. The image of his unique love prevailed in his silly dreams, his recovery depended upon possessing her. The doctors worried for his life, only the assurance of receiving again her love took him arduously away from the arms of death. Like a wandering skeleton, offering the most terrifying image of sorrow, he finally arrived in his city of birth; tumbled before his sweetheart and his brother.
"Brother, here I am again. Whatever I pretended to obtain from my heart, God only knows,... I cannot any more bear!”
Powerlessly, he fell into the arms of the young lady. The younger brother was not lesser resolved. A few weeks later, he was also ready to travel.
"Brother! You have carried your sorrow as far as Holland. Now, it’s my turn to carry it. Do not bring her to the altar until I will write to you! Only brotherly love allows me to make the following condition. If I am happier than you, then in God’s name, may she be yours, and may Heaven bless your love! Should I not be happier than you; then, only Heaven may decide further about our case! Live well. Take this little sealed package, do not open it until I am away from you. I am also travelling to Batavia.”
At this precise moment, he jumped into his carriage and left.
Rather stunned, people looked staringly at him. He has matched his older brother in terms of noble courage. Love would, now, storm over the two remaining lovers, but at the same time, also the pain of having lost the noblest of all men. The sound of the departing carriage thundered still in the older brother's heart for a long time. People were worried for his life, but not for the young lady's. The end of the story will tell about it.
Then, the package left by the younger brother would be opened. It was a complete description of all his possessions which the older brother should inherit, should the fugitive become successful in Batavia. The younger brother who achieved a victory over himself, sailed with some Dutch trading seamen, and arrived without any harm to Batavia. After a few weeks, he sent to his brother the following lines:
“Here in Batavia, where I thank God the Almighty; here, in my new country, I think about you and our love with all the delights of a martyr. The new landscapes and destinies have enlarged my soul; God has given me strength to make the highest sacrifice in the name of brotherhood, she is yours... God! A tear is falling as I am writing these lines, but it is the last one,
