"Heartily loved brother, one longs to know whether thou still thinkest
a little bit of thy friends in Blumenbühl, now that in the magnificent
Italy thou art certainly quite in thy _essée_.[89] That thou livest in
all our hearts, _that_ thou hast long known, and thou shouldst only
know how long after thy departure we all wept for thee, as well thy
mother as myself; and a certain one[90] thinks now-a-days quite
differently of thee from what he did in old times. Much has happened
this winter. The Minister's lady has separated from her husband, and
lives on her estate, sometimes in Arcadia with the Princess Idoine. Our
Prince is dangerously sick with the dropsy, and father can get a scrap
of business from the province by this, as he says. Thy Schoppe has gone
on a journey of a couple of months, leaving behind a letter to thee,
which he has intrusted to father's care. He stayed latterly with us,
and in thy room, and visited attentively the Countess Romeiro. It is a
shame for him, for he means well; but Master Wehmeier and all of us in
the place are convinced that he is, in short, mad, and he believes it,
too, and says he shall therefore soon set his house in order. As
touching the Countess Romeiro, she has gone off with Princess Julienne;
none, however, knows whither. They say the Prince has shown her too
marked attentions, and she would rather be off to Spain. Others talk of
Greece, but the _certain one_ assures me she is gone to Rome to her
guardian: of that now thou wilt know better than myself. The certain
one undertook all that was within human possibility in order to win
her, partly by letters, partly in person, to no purpose; not one smile
could he gain as often as ever he addressed her even at _cour_. All
this I have (wilt thou believe it?) from his mouth, for he is again
often with me, and reveals to me his whole heart. Mine, however, I hold
together fast, that not so much as the smallest drop of blood may
trickle out from it, and God alone sees how it passes, and what a
weeping there is therein. Ah, Albano, a poor girl who is in strong
health must endure much before she can die. Often my eye can no longer
remain dry, and I then say his talk does it, which, to be sure, is
partly true, but to thee I show the _dessous des cartes_. Never, never
more can I be his, for he has not dealt ingenuously with me, but
altogether recklessly, and he knows it too. Nor is a single kiss
allowed him; and I tell him, only for God's sake, not to take that as a
coquette's manner to draw him to me. My good parents do not rightly
know what they are to make of our intercourse, and I fear father may
break out; then I shall have very bitter days. But shall I repel the
poor, sick, pale spirit from myself, too? shall the glowing soul,
exhaling like smoke, rise to heaven, and consume itself? Whose heart
will not break when he is at a _Festin_, and she immediately, offended
at his presence, goes home again?--as lately happened, and he said to
me, in a perfect rage, 'Well, very well, Linda, _one day_, be sure,
thine eye will be wet for me.' Then I know well that he means no good,
and I spare him from an anxious dread on that account; for shall two,
brother and sister, sink in their bloom? He would long ago have
travelled after her, had he not daily hoped she was coming back. Ah,
could I tear my loving heart out of my breast, and put it into hers
instead of the other, that so she might love him with all my love,
Albano, right gladly would I do it. But the paper comes to an end on
this side, and mother wishes on the other to write a greeting.
Farewell! is the wish of Thy faithful sister,