hich leaves the darkness
deeper than before. Our philosophy is the unhappy curiosity of Oedipus,
who did not cease to inquire till the dreadful oracle was unravelled.
Mayest thou never learn who thou art!

Does your wisdom replace what it has set aside? If you had no key to
open heaven, why did you lead me away from earth? If you knew beforehand
that the way to wisdom leads through the frightful abyss of doubt, why
did you venture the innocence of your friend Julius on this desperate
throw?--

If to the good, which I propose to do,
Something very bad borders far too near,
I prefer not to do this good.

You have pulled down a shelter that was inhabited, and founded a splendid
but lifeless palace on the spot.

Raphael, I claim my soul from you! I am unhappy. My courage is gone. I
despair of my own strength. Write to me soon!--your healing hand alone
can pour balm on my burning wounds.

LETTER III.

Raphael to Julius.

Julius, happiness such as ours, if unbroken, would be too much for human
lot. This thought often haunted me even in the full enjoyment of our
friendship. This thought, then darkening our happiness, was a salutary
foretaste, intended to mitigate the pain of my present position.
Hardened in the stern school of resignation, I am still more susceptible
of the comfort of seeing in our separation a slight sacrifice whose merit
may win from fate the reward of our future reunion. You did not yet know
what privation was. You suffer for the first time.

And yet it is perhaps an advantage for you that I have been torn from you
exactly at this time. You have to endure a malady, from which you can
only perfectly recover by your own energy, so as not to suffer a relapse.
The more deserted you feel, the more you will stir up all healing power
in yourself, and in proportion as you derive little or no benefit from
temporary and deceptive palliatives, the more certainly will you succeed
in eradicating the evil fundamentally.

I do not repent that I roused you from your dream, though your present
position is painful. I have done nothing more than hasten a crisis,
which every soul like yours has sooner or later to pass through, and
where the essential thing is, at what time of life it is endured. There
are times and seasons when it is terrible to doubt truth and virtue. Woe
to the man who has to fight through the quibbles of a self-sufficient
reason while he is immersed in the storms of the passions