If any one makes a song about us we will sit down
together and try to get up one in answer to it; we must succeed if we
assist each other. No one can harm us if we keep together, and thus
_show_ people that we keep together. All unhappy love belongs either
to timid people, or weak people, or sick people, or calculating people,
who keep waiting for some special opportunity, or cunning people, who,
in the end, smart for their own cunning; or to sensuous people that do
not care enough for each other to forget rank and distinction; they go
and hide from sight, they send letters, they tremble at a word, and
finally they mistake fear, that constant uneasiness and irritation in
the blood, for love, become wretched and dissolve like sugar. Oh
pshaw! if they truly loved each other they would have no fear; they
would laugh, and would openly march to the church door, in the face of
every smile and every word. I have read about it in books, and I have
seen it for myself. That is a pitiful love which chooses a secret
course. Love naturally begins in secresy because it begins in shyness;
but it must live openly because it lives in joy. It is as when the
leaves are changing; that which is to grow cannot conceal itself, and
in every instance you see that all which is dry falls from the tree the
moment the new leaves begin to sprout. He who gains love casts off all
the old, dead rubbish he formerly clung to, the sap wells up and rushes
onward; and should no one notice it then? Hey, my girl! they shall
become happy at seeing us happy; two who are betrothed and remain true
to each other confer a benefit on people, for they give them a poem
which their children learn by heart to the shame of their unbelieving
parents.
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