Early the next morning, there was a knock at the door, and my old doctor,
the Hofrath, entered. He was the friend, the body-and-soul-guardian of
our entire little village. He had seen two generations grow up.
Children whom he had brought into the world had in turn become fathers
and mothers, and he treated them as his children. He himself was
unmarried, and even in his old age was strong and handsome to look upon.
I never knew him otherwise than as he stood before me at that time; his
clear blue eyes gleaming under the bushy brows, his flowing white hair
still full of youthful strength, curling and vigorous. I can never
forget, also, his shoes, with their silver buckles, his white stockings,
his brown coat, which always looked new, and yet seemed to be old, and
his cane, which was the same I had seen standing by my bedside in
childhood, when he felt my pulse and prescribed my medicines. I had
often been sick, but it was always faith in this man which made me well
again. I never had the slightest doubt of his ability to cure me, and
when my mother said she must send for the Hofrath that I might get well
again, it was as if she had said she must send for the tailor to mend my
torn trousers. I had only to take the medicine, and I felt that I must
be well again.
"How are you, my child?" said he, as he entered the room. "You are not
looking perfectly well. You must not study too much. But I have little
time to-day to talk, and only came to tell you, you must not go to see
the Countess Marie again. I have been with her all night, and it is your
fault. So be careful, if her life is dear to you, that you do not go
again. She must leave here as soon as possible, and be taken into the
country. It would be best for you also to travel for a long time. So
good morning, and be a good child."
With these words, he gave me his hand, looked at me affectionately in the
eyes, as if he would exact the promise, and then went on his way to look
after his sick children.
I was so astonished that another had penetrated so deeply into the
secrets of my soul, and that he knew what I did not know myself, that
when I recovered from it he had already been long upon the street. An
agitation began to seize me, as water, which has long been over the fire
without stirring, suddenly bubbles up, boils, heaves and rages until it
overflows.
Not see her again! I only live when I am with her. I will be calm; I
will not speak a word to her; I will only stand at her window as she
sleeps and dreams. But not to see her again! Not to take one farewell
from her! She knows not, they cannot know, that I love her. Surely I do
not love her--I desire nothing, I hope for nothing, my heart never beats
more quietly then when I am with her. But I must feel her presence--I
must breathe her spirit--I must go to her! She waits for me. Has
destiny thrown us together without design? Ought I not to be her
consolation, and ought she not to be my repose? Life is not a sport. It
does not force two souls together like the grains of sand in the desert,
which the sirocco whirls together and then asunder. We should hold fast
the souls which friendly fate leads to us, for they are destined for us,
and no power can tear them from us if we have the courage to live, to
struggle, and to die for them. She would despise me if I deserted her
love at the first roll of the thunder, as it were in the shadow of a
tree, under which I have dreamed so many happy hours.
Then I suddenly grew calm, and heard only the words "her love;" they
reverberated through all the recesses of my soul like an echo, and I was
terrified at myself. "Her love," and how had I deserved it? She hardly
knows me, and even if she could love me, must I not confess to her I do
not deserve the love of an angel? Every thought, every hope which arose
in my soul, fell back like a bird which essays to soar into the blue sky
and does not see the wires which restrain it. And yet, why all this
blissfulness, so near and so unattainable? Cannot God work wonders?
Does He not work wonders every morning? Has He not often heard my prayer
when it importuned him, and would not cease, until consolation and help
came to the weary one? These are not earthly blessings for which we
pray. It is only that two souls, which have found and recognized each
other, may be allowed to finish their brief life-journey, arm in arm, and
face to face; that I may be a support to her in suffering, and that she
may be a consolation and precious burden to me until we reach the end.
And if a still later spring were promised to her life, if her burdens
were taken from her--Oh, what blissful scenes crowded upon my vision!
The castle of her deceased mother, in the Tyrol, belonged to her. There,
on the green mountains, in the fresh mountain air, among a sturdy and
uncorrupted people, far away from the hurly-burly of the world, its cares
and its struggles, its opinion and its censure, how blissfully we could
await the close of life, and silently fade away like the evening-red!
Then I pictured the dark lake, with the dancing shimmer of waves, and the
clear shadows of distant glaciers reflected in it; I heard the lowing of
cattle and the songs of the herdsmen; I saw the hunters with their rifles
crossing the mountains, and the old and young gathering together at
twilight in the village; and, to crown all, I saw her passing along like
an angel of peace in benediction, and I was her guide and friend. "Poor
fool!" I cried out, "poor fool! Is thy heart always to be so wild and so
weak? Be a man. Think who thou art, and how far thou art from her. She
is a friend. She gladly reflects herself in another's soul, but her
childlike trust and candor at best only show that no deeper feeling lives
in her breast for thee. Hast thou not, on many a clear summer's night,
wandering alone, through the beech groves, seen how the moon sheds its
light upon all the branches and leaves, how it brightens the dark, dull
water of the pool and reflects itself clearly in the smallest drops? In
like manner she shines upon this dark life, and thou may'st feel her
gentle radiance reflected in thy heart--but hope not for a warmer glow!"
Suddenly an image approached me as it were from life; she stood before
me, not like a memory but as a vision, and I realized for the first time
how beautiful she was. It was not that beauty of form and face which
dazzles us at the first sight of a lovely maiden, and then fades away as
suddenly as a blossom in spring. It was much more the harmony of her
whole being, the reality of every emotion, the spirituality of
expression, the perfect union of body and soul which blesses him so who
looks upon it. The beauty which nature lavishes so prodigally does not
bring any satisfaction, if the person is not adapted to it and as it were
deserves and overcomes it. On the other hand, it is offensive, as when
we look upon an actress striding along the stage in queenly costume, and
notice at every step how poorly the attire fits her, how little it
becomes her. True beauty is sweetness, and sweetness is the
spiritualizing of the gross, the corporeal and the earthly. It is the
spiritual presence which transforms ugliness into beauty. The more I
looked upon the vision which stood before me, the more I perceived, above
all else, the majestic beauty of her person and the soulful depths of her
whole being. Oh, what happiness was near me! And was this all--to be
shown the summit of earthly bliss and then be thrust out into the flat,
sandy wastes of existence? Oh, that I had never known what treasures the
earth conceals! Once to love, and then to be forever alone! Once to
believe, and then forever to doubt! Once to see the light, and then
forever to be blinded! In comparison with this rack, all the
torture-chambers of man are insignificant.
Thus rushed the wild chase of my thoughts farther and farther away until
at last all was silent. The confused sensations gradually collected and
settled. This repose and exhaustion they call meditation, but it is
rather an inspection--one allows time for the mixture of thoughts to
crystallize themselves according to eternal laws, and regards the process
like an observing chemist; and the elements having assumed a form, we
often wonder that they, as well as ourselves, are so entirely different
from what we expected.
When I awoke from my abstraction, my first words were, "I must away." I
immediately sat down and wrote the Hofrath that I should travel for
fourteen days and submit entirely to him. I easily made an excuse to my
parents, and at night I was on my way to the Tyrol.