Believe me, dear Wilhelm, I did not allude to you when I spoke so
severely of those who advise resignation to inevitable fate. I did not
think it possible for you to indulge such a sentiment. But in fact you
are right. I only suggest one objection. In this world one is seldom
reduced to make a selection between two alternatives. There are as many
varieties of conduct and opinion as there are turns of feature between
an aquiline nose and a flat one.
You will, therefore, permit me to concede your entire argument, and yet
contrive means to escape your dilemma.
Your position is this, I hear you say: "Either you have hopes of
obtaining Charlotte, or you have none. Well, in the first case, pursue
your course, and press on to the fulfilment of your wishes. In the
second, be a man, and shake off a miserable passion, which will enervate
and destroy you." My dear friend, this is well and easily said.
But would you require a wretched being, whose life is slowly wasting
under a lingering disease, to despatch himself at once by the stroke of
a dagger? Does not the very disorder which consumes his strength deprive
him of the courage to effect his deliverance?
You may answer me, if you please, with a similar analogy, "Who would
not prefer the amputation of an arm to the periling of life by doubt and
procrastination!" But I know not if I am right, and let us leave these
comparisons.
Enough! There are moments, Wilhelm, when I could rise up and shake it
all off, and when, if I only knew where to go, I could fly from this
place.