"So you see," he began, "a sensible boy like I am has behaved like
an ass in the past. But I did not shoot myself after all, that was
so far good, and I am ashamed to tell you how soon I got over it. I
often go past her shop in Unter den Linden, and see her through the
window beyond all her brilliants and precious stones. She is still
very pretty, and seems happy, much happier no doubt than if she had
been with me. She would certainly not recognize me now, and I can
look at her and my heart beats no whit the faster. Dwell on my
example."
"I am not sure that you are not slandering yourself."
"You can feel easy about that," said Schrotter earnestly. "The
disenchantment was quick and complete, and very naturally so. Just
get Schopenhauer's 'objectivity' out of your head; I don't believe
in Plato's theory of the soul divided into two halves which are
forever trying to join again. Every sane man has ten thousand
objects which are able to awaken and return his love. All he has to
do is not to go out of their way."
"Ought not there to be an individual one?"
"I venture to say no. The story of the pine trees of Ritter
Toggenburg, which love the palm trees, is the creation of a
sentimental poet. Lawgivers in India to all appearance believe in
faithfulness unto death; and the widow or even the betrothed follows
her husband to the grave of her own free will.
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