The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 12
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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 12
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
"Because it must be, nevertheless. I have thought it over from every
point of view. We are not merely individuals, we belong to a whole,
and have always to take the whole into consideration. We are
absolutely dependent. If it were possible to live in solitude I could
let it pass. I should then bear the burden heaped upon me, though real
happiness would be gone. But so many people are forced to live without
real happiness, and I should have to do it too, and I could. We don't
need to be happy, least of all have we any claim on happiness, and it
is not absolutely necessary to put out of existence the one who has
taken our happiness away. We can let him go, if we desire to live on
apart from the world. But in the social life of the world a certain
something has been worked out that is now in force, and in accordance
with the principles of which we have been accustomed to judge
everybody, ourselves as well as others. It would never do to run
counter to it. Society would despise us and in the end we should
despise ourselves and, not being able to bear the strain, we should
fire a bullet into our brains. Pardon me for delivering such a
discourse, which after all is only a repetition of what every man has
said to himself a hundred times. But who can say anything now? Once
more then, no hatred or anything of the kind, and I do not care to
have blood on my hands for the sake of the happiness taken away from
me. But that social something, let us say, which tyrannizes us, takes
no account of charm, or love, or limitation. I have no choice. I
must."
"I don't know, Innstetten."
Innstetten smiled. "You shall decide yourself, Wüllersdorf. It is now
ten o 'clock. Six hours ago, I will concede, I still had control of
the situation, I could do the one thing or the other, there was still
a way out. Not so now; now I am in a blind alley. You may say, I have
nobody to blame but myself; I ought to have guarded and controlled
myself better, ought to have hid it all in my own heart and fought it
out there. But it came upon me too suddenly, with too much force, and
so I can hardly reproach myself for not having held my nerves in check
more successfully. I went to your room and wrote you a note and
thereby lost the control of events. From that very moment the secret
of my unhappiness and, what is of greater moment, the smirch on my
honor was half revealed to another, and after the first words we
exchanged here it was wholly revealed. Now, inasmuch as there is
another who knows my secret, I can no longer turn back."
"I don't know," repeated Wüllersdorf. "I don't like to resort to the
old worn-out phrase, but still I can do no better than to say:
Innstetten, it will all rest in my bosom as in a grave."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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