[An excerpt from the entry dated “November 30,” in THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; translated by Elizabeth Mayer and Louise Bogan:]
He should perish without comfort who mocks at a sick man for traveling to the remotest medicinal springs, even though these may only increase his sickness and make his final exit more painful! who feels superior to the oppressed heart that sets forth on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher to free itself from pangs of conscience and sufferings of the soul. Every footstep on an unbeaten path that bruises the feet is a drop of balm for an anguished spirit, and, at the end of a day’s journey thus endured, that heart will lie down to rest, eased of many a sorrow. And can you call all this delusion, you armchair quibblers? Delusion! O God, you see my tears! Did You, who created man so poor, have to give him fellow creatures who deprive him of his little poverty, of his little confidence in You, You All-loving Father! For what is trust in a healing root, in the tears of the vine—what is it but trust in You, that You have endowed everything that surrounds us with the power of healing and soothing which we need every hour? Father, whom I do not know! Father, who once filled my whole soul and has now turned His face from me! Call me to You! Break Your silence! Your silence will not keep this soul from thirsting. And is it possible that a human father could be angry when his unexpectedly returning son embraces him, crying: “I am back again, Father. Don’t be angry that I interrupted my journey, which you wanted me to continue. The world is everywhere the same—trouble and work, reward and pleasure; but what is that to me? I am only happy where you are, and I want to suffer and to enjoy in your presence.” —And You, dear Heavenly Father, would You turn him away from You?