Mittler, who was the less disposed to put a check on his inexorable good sense and strong, vigorous feeling, because by this violent outbreak of passion on Edward’s part he saw himself driven far from the purpose of his coming, showed sufficiently decided marks of his disapprobation.  Edward should act as a man, he said; he should remember what he owed to himself as a man.  He should not forget that the highest honor was to command ourselves in misfortune; to bear pain, if it must be so, with equanimity and self-collectedness.  That was what we should do, if we wished to be valued and looked up to as examples of what was right.

Stirred and penetrated as Edward was with the bitterest feelings, words like these could but have a hollow, worthless sound.

“It is well,” he cried, “for the man who is happy, who has all that he desires, to talk; but he would be ashamed of it if he could see how intolerable it was to the sufferer.  Nothing short of an infinite endurance would be enough, and easy and contented as he was, what could he know of an infinite agony?  There are cases,” he continued, “yes, there are, where comfort is a lie, and despair is a duty.  Go, heap your scorn upon the noble Greek, who well knows how to delineate heroes, when in their anguish he lets those heroes weep.  He has even a proverb, ’Men who can weep are good.’  Leave me, all you with dry heart and dry eye.  Curses on the happy, to whom the wretched serve but for a spectacle.  When body and soul are torn in pieces with agony, they are to bear it—­yes, to be noble and bear it, if they are to be allowed to go off the scene with applause.  Like the gladiators, they must die gracefully before the eyes of the multitude.  My dear Mittler, I thank you for your visit; but really you would oblige me much, if you would go out and look about you in the garden.  We will meet again.  I will try to compose myself, and become more like you.”

Mittler was unwilling to let a conversation drop which it might be difficult to begin again, and still persevered.  Edward, too, was quite ready to go on with it; besides that of itself, it was tending toward the issue which he desired.

“Indeed,” said the latter, “This thinking and arguing backward and forward leads to nothing.  In this very conversation I myself have first come to understand myself; I have first felt decided as to what I must make up my mind to do.  My present and my future life I see before me; I have to choose only between misery and happiness.  Do you, my best friend, bring about the separation which must take place, which, in fact, is already made; gain Charlotte’s consent for me.  I will not enter upon the reasons why I believe there will be the less difficulty in prevailing upon her.  You, my dear friend, must go.  Go, and give us all peace; make us all happy.”

Mittler hesitated.  Edward continued: 

“My fate and Ottilie’s cannot be divided, and shall not be shipwrecked.  Look at this glass; our initials are engraved upon it.  A gay reveller flung it into the air, that no one should drink of it more.  It was to fall on the rock and be dashed to pieces; but it did not fall; it was caught.  At a high price I bought it back, and now I drink out of it daily—­to convince myself that the connection between us cannot be broken; that destiny has decided.”