Never was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and feel it
too, because it was then I first knew you. You have yourself seen that
in society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes and writhes, but
cannot get away till some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the
mighty ocean. I was indeed fairly stranded, dearest friend, when
surprised by you at a moment in which moroseness had entirely mastered
me; but how quickly it vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious
that you came from another sphere than this absurd world, where, with
the best inclinations, I cannot open my ears. I am a wretched creature,
and yet I complain of others!! You will forgive this from the goodness
of heart that beams in your eyes, and the good sense manifested by your
ears; at least they understand how to flatter, by the mode in which they
listen. My ears are, alas! a partition-wall, through which I can with
difficulty hold any intercourse with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise
perhaps I might have felt more assured with you; but I was only
conscious of the full, intelligent glance from your eyes, which affected
me so deeply that never can I forget it. My dear friend! dearest
girl!--Art! who comprehends it? with whom can I discuss this mighty
goddess? How precious to me were the few days when we talked together,
or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have carefully preserved the
little notes with your clever, charming, most charming answers; so I
have to thank my defective hearing for the greater part of our fugitive
intercourse being written down. Since you left this I have had some
unhappy hours,--hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing. I
wandered for three hours in the Schönbrunn Allée after you left us, but
no _angel_ met me there to take possession of me as you did. Pray
forgive, my dear friend, this deviation from the original key, but I
must have such intervals as a relief to my heart. You have no doubt
written to Goethe about me? I would gladly bury my head in a sack, so
that I might neither see nor hear what goes on in the world, because I
shall meet you there no more; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope
sustains me, as it does half the world; through life she has been my
close companion, or what would have become of me? I send you 'Kennst Du
das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour when I
first knew you....
If you mention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find words
expressive of my deep reverence and admiration. I am about to write to
him myself with regard to 'Egmont,' for which I have written some music
solely from my love for his poetry, which always delights me. Who can be
sufficiently grateful to a great poet,--the most precious jewel of
a nation!
Kings and princes can indeed create professors and
privy-councillors, and confer titles and decorations, but
they cannot make great men,--spirits that soar above the base
turmoil of this world. There their powers fail, and this it
is that forces them to respect us. When two persons like
Goethe and myself meet, these grandees cannot fail to
perceive what such as we consider great. Yesterday on our way
home we met the whole Imperial family; we saw them coming
some way off, when Goethe withdrew his arm from mine, in
order to stand aside; and say what I would, I could not
prevail on him to make another step in advance. I pressed
down my hat more firmly on my head, buttoned up my
great-coat, and crossing my arms behind me, I made my way
through the thickest portion of the crowd. Princes and
courtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke Rudolph took off his
hat, and the Empress bowed to me first. These great ones of
the earth _know me_. To my infinite amusement, I saw the
procession defile past Goethe, who stood aside with his hat
off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him sharply to task
for this; I gave him no quarter and upbraided him with all
his sins.