Frankly the suicide of Werter was the act of an egocentric narcissist cheated of the central role in his own little drama. He was the aesthetic Victorian treasure hunter who's rival got there first. He was unable to bare the third spot in the love triangle and constructed his own demise as a way of returning to the top of the bill. He was undoubtedly in love, not with the fräulein but with what she could do to enhance him. If he had truly loved her he would not have killed himself while she lived. It is a great pity this story influenced a whole generation's worth of pointless romantic posturing when the cause of love would have been better served by a more genuinely selfless conceptualisation of heroism.
If a man should see the future of his own household There are tents like a flock of birds Resting in the valley plain There are courtyards with grass and water, Balconies hung with flowers There are voices rising with the dawn Each one beloved There are the treasures of love Gold, silver and pearls Every soul filled with good things
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