The sun was already looking into my window over the mountains when I
awoke. Was it the same sun which looked upon us the evening before with
lingering gaze, like a departing friend, as if it would bless the union
of our souls, and which set like a lost hope? It shone upon me now, like
a child which bursts into our room with beaming glance to wish us good
morning on a joyful holiday. And was I the same man who, only a few
hours before, had thrown himself upon his bed, broken in body and spirit?
Immediately I felt once more the old life-courage and trust in God and
myself, which quickened and animated my soul like the fresh morning,
breeze. What would become of man without sleep? We know not where this
nightly messenger leads us; and when he closes our eyes at night who can
assure us that he will open them again in the morning--that he will bring
us to ourselves? It required courage and faith for the first man to
throw himself into the arms of this unknown friend; and were there not in
our nature a certain helplessness which forces us to submission, and
compels us to have faith in all things we are to believe, I doubt whether
any man, notwithstanding all his weariness, could close his eyes of his
own free will and enter into this unknown dream-land. The very
consciousness of our weakness and our weariness gives us faith in a
higher power, and courage to resign ourselves to the beautiful system of
the All, and we feel invigorated and refreshed when, in waking or in
sleeping, we have loosened, even for a short time only, the chains which
bind our Eternal Self to our temporal Ego.
What had appeared to me, only yesterday, dark as an evening cloud flying
overhead, became instantly clear. We belonged to one another, that I
felt; be it as brother and sister, father and child, bridegroom and
bride, we must remain together now and forever. It only concerned us to
find the right name for that which we in our stammering speech call Love.
"Thy elder brother I would be,
Thy father--anything to thee."
It was this "anything" for which a name must be found, for the world now
recognizes nothing as nameless. She had told me herself that she loved
me with that pure all-human love, out of which springs all other love.
Her shuddering, her uneasiness, when I confessed my full love to her,
were still incomprehensible to me, but it could no longer shatter my
faith in our love. Why should we desire to understand all that takes
place in other human natures, when there is so much that is
incomprehensible in our own? After all, it is the inconceivable which
generally captivates us, whether in nature, in man, or in our own
breasts. Men whom we understand, whose motives we see before us like an
anatomical preparation, leave us cold, like the characters in most of our
novels. Nothing spoils our delight in life and men more than this ethic
rationalism which insists upon clearing up everything, and illuminating
every mystery of our inner being. There is in every person a something
that is inseparable--we call it fate, the suggestive power or
character--and he knows neither himself nor mankind, who believes that he
can analyze the deeds and actions of men without taking into account this
ever-recurring principle. Thus I consoled myself on all those points
which had troubled me in the evening; and at last no streak of cloud
obscured the heaven of the future.
In this frame of mind I stepped out of the close house into the open air,
when a messenger brought a letter for me. It was from the Countess, as I
saw by the beautiful, delicate handwriting. I breathlessly opened it--I
looked for the most blissful tidings man can expect. But all my hopes
were immediately shattered. The letter contained only a request not to
visit her to-day, as she expected a visit at the castle from the Court
Residence. No friendly word--no news of her health--only at the close, a
postscript: "The Hofrath will be here to-morrow and the next day."
Here were two days torn out at once from the book of life. If they could
only be completely obliterated--but no, they hang over me like the leaden
roof of a prison. They must be lived. I could not give them away as a
charity to king or beggar, who would gladly have sat two days longer upon
his throne, or on his stone at the church door. I remained in this
abstraction for a long time; but then I thought of my morning prayer, and
how I said to myself there was no greater unbelief than despondency--how
the smallest and greatest in life are part of one great divine plan, to
which we must submit, however hard it may be. Like a rider who sees a
precipice before him, I drew in the reins. "Be it so, since it must be!"
I cried out; "but God's earth is not the place for complaints and
lamentations. Is it not a happiness to hold in my hand these lines which
she has written? and is not the hope of seeing her again in a short time
a greater bliss than I have ever deserved? 'Always keep the head above
water,' say all good life-swimmers. As well sink at once as allow the
water to run into your eyes and throat." If it is hard for us, amid
these little ills of life, to keep God's providence continually in view,
and if we hesitate, perhaps rightly, in every struggle, to step out of
the common-places of life into the presence of the divine, then life
ought to appear, to us at least, an art, if not a duty. What is more
disagreeable than the child who behaves ungovernably and grows dejected
and angry at every little loss and pain? On the other hand, nothing is
more beautiful than the child in whose tearful eyes the sunshine of joy
and innocence soon beams again, like the flower, which quivers and
trembles in the spring shower, and soon after blossoms and exhales its
fragrance, as the sun dries the tears upon its cheeks.
A good thought speedily occurred to me, that I could live both these days
with her, notwithstanding fate. For a long time I had intended to write
down the dear words she had said, and the many beautiful thoughts she had
confided to me; and so the days passed away in memory of the many
charming hours spent, together, and in the hope of a still more beautiful
future, and I was by her and with her, and lived in her, and felt the
nearness of her spirit and her love more than I had ever felt them when I
held her hand in mine.
How dear to me now are these leaves! How often have I read and re-read
them--not that I had forgotten one word she said, but they were the
witnesses of my happiness, and something looked out of them upon me like
the gaze of a friend, whose silence speaks more than words. The memory
of a past happiness, the memory of a past sorrow, the silent meditation
upon the past, when everything disappears that surrounds and restrains
us, when the soul throws itself down, like a mother upon the green
grave-mound of her child who has slept under it many long years, when no
hope, no desire, disturbs the silence of peaceful resignation, we may
well call sadness, but there is a rapture in this sadness which only
those know who have loved and suffered much. Ask the mother what she
feels when she ties upon the head of her daughter the veil _she_ once
wore as a bride, and thinks of the husband no longer with her! Ask a man
what he feels when the maiden whom he has loved, and the world has torn
from him, sends him after death the dried rose which he gave her in
youth! They may both weep, but their tears are not tears of sorrow, but
tears of joy; tears of sacrifice, with which man consecrates himself to
the Divine, and with faith in God's love and wisdom, looks upon the
dearest he has passing away from him.
Still let us go back in memory, back in the living presence of the past.
The two days flew so swiftly that I was agitated, as the happiness of
seeing her again drew nearer and nearer. As the carriages and horsemen
arrived on the first day from the city, I saw that the castle was alive
with gaily-dressed visitors. Banners fluttered from the roof, music
sounded through the castle-yard. In the evening, the lake swarmed with
pleasure-boats. The moennerchors sounded over the waves, and I could not
but listen, for I fancied she also listened to these songs from the
window. Everything was stirring, also, on the second day, and early in
the afternoon the guests prepared for departure. Late in the evening I
saw the Hofrath's carriage also going back alone to the city. I could
not restrain myself any longer, I knew she was alone. I knew she thought
of me, and longed for me. Should I allow one night to pass without at
least pressing her hand, without saying to her that the separation was
over, that the next morning would waken us to new rapture. I still saw a
light in her window--why should she be alone? Why should I not, for one
moment at least, feel her sweet presence? Already I stood at the castle;
already I was about to pull the bell--then suddenly I stopped and said:
"No! no weakness! You should be ashamed to stand before her like a thief
in the night. Early in the morning go to her like a hero, returning from
battle, for whom she is now weaving the crown of love, which she will
place upon thy head in the morning."
And the morning came--and I was with her, really with her. Oh, speak not
of the spirit as if it could exist without the body. Complete existence,
consciousness, and enjoyment, can only be where body and soul are one--an
embodied spirit, a spiritualized body. There is no spirit without body,
else it would be a ghost: there is no body without spirit, else it would
be a corpse. Is the flower in the field without spirit? Does it not
appear in a divine will, in a creative thought which preserves it, and
gives it life and existence? That is its soul--only it is silent in the
flower, while it manifests itself in man by words. Real life is, after
all, the bodily and spiritual life; real consciousness is, after all, the
bodily and spiritual consciousness; real being together is, after all,
bodily and spiritually being together, and the whole world of memory in
which I had lived so happily for two days, disappeared like a shadow,
like a nonentity, as I stood before her, and was really with her. I
could have laid my hands upon her brow, her eyes, and her cheeks, to
know, to unmistakably know, if it were really she--not only the image
which had hovered before my soul day and night, but a being who was not
mine, and still could and would be mine; a being in whom I could believe
as in myself; a being far from me and yet nearer to me than my own self;
a being without whom my life was no life, death was no death; without
whom my poor existence would dissolve into infinity like a sigh. I felt,
as my thoughts and glances rested upon her, that now, in this very
instant, the happiness of my existence was complete--and a shudder crept
over me as I thought of death--but it seemed no longer to have any terror
for me; for death could not destroy this love; it would only purify;
ennoble, and immortalize it.
It was so beautiful to be silent with her. The whole depth of her soul
was reflected in her countenance, and as I looked upon her I saw and
heard her every thought and emotion. "You make me sad," she seemed on
the point of saying, and yet would not, "Are we not together again at
last? Be quiet! Complain not! Ask not! Speak not! Be welcome to me!
Be not bad to me!" All this looked from her eyes, and still we did not
venture to disturb the peace of our happiness with a word.
"Have you received a letter from the Hofrath?" was the first question,
and her voice trembled with each word.
"No," I replied.
She was silent for a time, and then said:
"Perhaps it is better it has happened thus, and that I can tell you
everything myself. My friend, we see each other to-day for the last
time. Let us part in peace, without complaint and without anger. I feel
that I have done you a great wrong. I have intruded upon your life
without thinking that even a light breath often withers a flower. I know
so little of the world that I did not believe a poor suffering being like
myself could inspire anything but pity. I welcome you in a frank and
friendly way because I had known you so long, because I felt so well in
your presence--why should I not tell all?--because I loved you. But the
world does not understand or tolerate this love. The Hofrath has opened
my eyes. The whole city is talking about us. My brother, the Regent,
has written to the Prince, and he requests me never to see you again. I
deeply regret that I have caused you this sorrow. Tell me you forgive
me--and then let us separate as friends."
Her eyes had filled with tears, and she closed them that I should not see
her weeping.
"Marie," said I, "for me there is but one life which is with you; but for
you there is one will which is your own. Yes, I confess, I love you with
the whole fire of love, but I feel I am not worthily yours. You stand
far above me in nobility, sublimity and purity, and I can scarcely
understand the thought of ever calling you my wife. And, yet, there is
no other road on which we could travel through life together. Marie, you
are wholly free; I ask for no sacrifice. The world is great, and if you
wish it, we shall never see each other again. But if you love me, if you
feel you are mine, oh, then, let us forget the world and its cold
verdict. In my arms I will bear you to the altar, and on my knees I will
swear to be yours in life and in death."
"My friend," said she, "we must never wish for the impossible. Had it
been God's will that such a tie should unite us in this life, would He,
forsooth, have imposed these burdens upon me which make me incapable of
being else than a helpless child? Do not forget that what we call Fate,
Circumstance, Relations, in life, is in reality only the work of
Providence. To resist it is to resist God himself, and were it not so
childish one might call it presumptuous. Men wander on earth like the
stars in heaven. God has indicated the paths upon which they meet, and
if they are to separate, they must. Resistance were useless, otherwise
it would destroy the whole system of the world. We cannot understand it,
but we can submit to it. I cannot myself understand why my inclination
towards you was wrong. No! I cannot, will not call it wrong. But it
cannot be, it is not to be. My friend, this is enough--we must submit in
humility and faith."
Notwithstanding the calmness with which she spoke, I saw how deeply she
suffered; and yet I thought it wrong to surrender so quickly in this
battle of life. I restrained myself as much as I could, so that no
passionate word should increase her trouble, and said:
"If this is the last time we are to meet in this life, let us see clearly
to whom we offer this sacrifice. If our love violated any higher law
whatsoever, I would, as you say, bow myself in humility. It were a
forgetfulness of God to oppose one's self to a higher will. It may seem
at times as if men could delude God, as if their small sense had gained
some advantage over the Divine wisdom. This is frenzy--and the man who
commences this Titanic battle; will be crushed and annihilated. But what
opposes our love? Nothing but the talk of the world. I respect the
customs of human society. I even respect them when, as in our time, they
are over-refined and confused. A sick body needs artificial medicines,
and without the barriers, the respect and the prejudices of society, at
which we smile, it were impossible to hold mankind together as at present
existing, and to accomplish the purpose of our temporal co-existence. We
must sacrifice much to these divinities. Like the Athenians, we send
every year a heavy boatload of youths and maidens as tribute to this
monster which rules the labyrinth of our society. There is no longer a
heart that has not broken; there is no longer a man of true feelings who
has not been obliged to break the wings of his love before he came into
the cage of society for rest. It must be so. It cannot be otherwise.
You know not life, but thinking only of my friends, I can tell you many
volumes of tragedy.
"One loved a maiden, and the love was returned; but he was poor, she was
rich. The fathers and relatives wrangled and sneered, and two hearts
were broken. Why? Because the world looked upon it as a misfortune for
a woman to wear a dress made of the wool of a shrub in America, and not
of the fibres of a worm in China.
"Another loved a maiden, and was loved in return; but he was a
Protestant, she was a Catholic. The mothers and the priests bred
mischief, and two hearts were broken. Why? On account of a political
game of chess which Charles V and Henry VIII played together, three
hundred years ago.
"A third loved a maiden, and was loved in return; but he was a noble, she
a peasant. The sisters were angry, and quarreled, and two hearts were
broken. Why? Because, a hundred years ago, one soldier slew another in
battle, who threatened the life of his king. This gave him title and
honors, and his great grandson expiated the blood shed at that time, with
a disappointed life.
"The statisticians say a heart is broken every hour, and I believe it.
But why? In almost every case, because the world does not recognize love
between 'strange people,' unless it be between man and wife. If two
maidens love the same man--the one must fall as a sacrifice. If two men
love the same maiden, one or both must fall as a sacrifice. Why? Cannot
one love a maiden, without wishing to marry her? Cannot one look upon a
woman, without desiring her for his own? You close your eyes, and I feel
I have said too much. The world has changed the most sacred things in
life into the most common. But, Marie, enough! Let us talk the language
of the world when we must talk, and act in it, and with it. But let us
preserve a sanctuary where two hearts can speak the pure language of the
heart, undisturbed by the raging of the world without. The world itself
honors this seclusion, this courageous resistance, which noble hearts,
conscious of their own rectitude, oppose to the ordinary course of
things. The attentions, the amenities, the prejudices of the world are
like a climbing plant. It is pleasant to see an ivy, with its thousand
tendrils and roots, decorating the solid wall-work; but it should not be
allowed too luxuriant growth, else it will penetrate every crevice of the
structure, and destroy the cement which welds it together. Be mine,
Marie; follow the voice of your heart. The word which now hangs upon
your lips decides forever your life and mine--my happiness and yours."
I was silent. The hand I held in mine returned the warm pressure of the
heart. A storm raged in her breast, and the blue heaven before me never
seemed so beautiful as now, while the storm swept by, cloud upon cloud.
"Why do you love me?" said she, gently, as if she must still delay the
moment of decision.
"Why, Marie? Ask the child why it is born; ask the flower why it
blossoms; ask the sun why it shines. I love you because I must love you.
But if I am compelled to answer further, let this book, lying by you,
which you love so much, speak for me:
["Das beste solte das liebste sin, und in diser libe solte nicht
angesehen werden nuss und unnuss, fromen oder schaden, gewin oder
vorlust, ere oder unere, lob oder unlob oder diser keins, sunder was in
der warheit das edelste und das aller beste ist, das solt auch das
allerliebste sin, und umb nichts anders dan allein umb das, das es das
edelst und das beste ist. Hie nach mocht ein mensche sin leben gerichten
von ussen und von innen. Von ussen: wan under den creaturen ist eins
besser dan das ander, dar nach dan das ewig gut in einem mer oder minner
schinet und wurket dan in dem andern. In welchem nun das ewig gut aller
meist schinet, luchtet, wurket und bekant und geliebet wirt, das ist ouch
das beste under den creaturen; und in welchem dis minst ist, das ist ouch
das aller minst gut. So nu der mensche die creatur handelt und da mit
umb get, und disen underscheit bekennet, so sol im ie die beste creatur
die liebste sin und sol sich mit flis zu ir halden und sich da mit
voreinigen. . ."]
"The best should be the most loved, and in this love there should be no
consideration of advantage or disadvantage, gain or loss, honor or
dishonor, praise or blame, or anything else, but of that which in reality
is the noblest and best, which should be the dearest of all; and for no
other reason, but because it is the noblest and best. According to this
a man should plan his inner and outer life. From without: if among
mankind there is one better than another, in proportion as the eternally
good shines or works more in one than in another. That being in whom the
eternally good shines, works, is known and loved most, is therefore the
best among mankind; and in whom this is most, there is also the most
good. As now a man has intercourse with a being, and apprehends this
distinction, then the best being should be the dearest to him, and he
should fervently cling to it, and unite himself with it. . . . . ."
"Because you are the most perfect creature that I know, Marie, therefore
I am good to you, therefore you are dear to me, therefore we love each
other. Speak the word which lives in you, say that you are mine. Deny
not your innermost convictions. God has imposed a life of suffering upon
you. He sent me to bear it with you. Your sorrow shall be my sorrow,
and we will bear it together, as the ship bears the heavy sails which
guide it through the storms of life into the safe haven at last."
She grew more and more silent, A gentle flush played upon her cheeks like
the quiet evening gleam. Then she opened her eyes full--the sun gleamed
all at once with marvellous lustre.
"I am yours," said she. "God wills it. Take me just as I am; so long as
I live I am yours, and may God bring us together again in a more
beautiful life, and recompense your love."
We lay heart to heart. My lips closed the lips upon which had just now
hung the blessing of my life, with a gentle kiss. Time stood still for
us. The world about us disappeared. Then a deep sigh escaped from her
breast. "May God forgive me for this rapture," she whispered. "Leave me
alone now, I cannot endure more. _Auf wiedersehen_! my friend, my loved
one, my savior."
These were the last words I ever heard from her. But no--I had reached
home and was lying upon my bed in troubled dreams. It was past midnight
when the Hofrath entered my room. "Our angel is in Heaven," said he;
"here is the last greeting she sends you." With these words he gave me a
letter. It enclosed the ring which she had given me, and I once had
given her, with the words: "_As God wills_." It was wrapped in an old
paper, whereon she had some time written the words I spoke to her when a
child: "What is thine, is mine. Thy Marie."
Hours long, we sat together without speaking. It was a spiritual swoon
which Heaven sends us when the load of pain becomes greater than we can
bear. At last the old man arose, took my hand and said: "We see each
other to-day for the last time, for you must leave here, and my days are
numbered. There is but one thing I must say to you--a secret which I
have carried all my life, and confessed to no one. I have always longed
to confess it to some one. Listen to me. The spirit which has left us
was a beautiful spirit, a majestic, pure soul, a deep, true heart. I
knew one spirit as beautiful as hers--still more beautiful. It was her
mother. I loved her mother, and she loved me. We were both poor, and I
struggled with life to obtain an honorable position both on her account
and my own. The young Prince saw my bride and loved her. He was my
Prince; he loved her ardently. He was ready to make any sacrifice and to
elevate her, the poor orphan, to the rank of Princess. I loved her so
that I sacrificed the happiness of my love for her. I forsook my native
land and wrote her I would release her from her vow. I never saw her
again, except on her death-bed. She died in giving birth to her first
daughter. Now you know why I loved your Marie, and prolonged her life
from day to day. She was the only being that linked my heart to this
life. Bear life as I have borne it. Lose not a day in useless
lamentation. Help mankind whenever you can. Love them and thank God
that you have seen and known and loved on this earth such a human heart
as hers--and that you have lost it."
"_As God will_." said I, and we parted for life.
* * * * *
And days and weeks and months and years have flown. Home is a stranger
to me, and a foreign land is my home. But her love remains with me, and
as a tear drops into the ocean, so has her love dropped into the living
ocean of humanity and pervades and embraces millions--millions of the
"strange people" whom I have so loved from childhood.
* * * * *
Only on quiet summer days like this, when one in the green woods has
nature alone at heart, and knows not whether there are human beings.
without, or he is living entirely alone in the world, then there is a
stir in the graveyard of memory, the dead thoughts, rise again, the full
omnipotence of love returns to the heart and streams out from that
beautiful being who once looked upon me with her deep unfathomable eyes.
Then it seems as if the love for the millions were lost in the love for
the one, my good angel, and my thoughts are dumb in the presence of the
incomprehensible enigma of endless and everlasting love.