Short Stories (The Schiller Translations, 8)
Theatres and 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 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 in the middle, the human being, we allow ourselves to land.
A remarkable feminine revenge
She has suffered all sort of bitterness which vindictiveness keeps ready for a lady whose spotless virtue has made even more visible the vice of her surrounding. She has born the loud laughter with which the nasty multitude avenged on the ridiculous prudery which bragged loudly about its virtue. Proud and sensitive as she was, she would rather spend the rest her life sighing in a deadly darkness than going once more into the world where her mocked honour found only sarcastic deriders, where her disdained love found only bitter comforters. She was approaching a period in her life where the loss of a lover will never be replaced so quickly any more; hence, a heart like hers could only regret this destiny in a sad loneliness.