JOHANNA TO LUDWIG.
"DOeNNINGHAUSEN, August 22, 1874.
"Although this letter cannot start on its way to you for a
week, I must tell you before the rest of the world of the
astounding change that has taken place in my life. A few days
ago I was betrothed to Otto. My grandfather has not only given
us his blessing, but he continually assures me that our
betrothal is the fulfilment of his favourite wish, and you can
easily imagine the tears of joy that dear Aunt Thekla has shed
on our behalf. And you, dear Ludwig, what do you say to my
betrothal? I hardly expect you to be quite satisfied with it at
first, but I hope my future happiness will reconcile you to my
present joy. I hope, indeed, that the future will be even
happier than the present.
"A strange expression from one so lately betrothed. I think I
should not venture to use it to any one save yourself, but I
have been so long used to lay bare to you my inmost heart and
mind, that I cannot help doing so now. I grow clearer in my own
mind when I tell you all.
"It is so in the present case. I felt a want in my happiness
from the first, and now I see why. I know you will accuse me of
exaggerated anticipations, and I entreat absolution in
consideration of my frank confession.
"Ah, Ludwig, the foolish Johanna whom you know so well had
imagined a different wooing. We each went duly through all the
previous pain that must rack 'heart to heart inclined.' I in
especial have been tortured of late by jealousy, mistrust of
him, mistrust of myself, and instead of being released from
misery by words of love from his lips, grandpapa asked whether
I loved Otto and would consent to marry him. And then there
were so many preliminaries to discuss,--as if a marriage were
to be contracted between princes or peasants. Grandpapa
explained to Otto upon the spot how much I was entitled to as
the heiress of his daughter,--I an heiress!--and how the
capital had been increased by interest and compound interest,
and how it would be best to invest my 'property.' Once Otto
ventured the unlucky remark that he cared for nothing if he
only had myself, whereupon grandpapa grew very angry, and since
then Otto listens patiently to long explanations and
descriptions of the advantages and disadvantages of various
estates that are for sale. It distresses me so to have
grandpapa always reminding Otto, as he does, that he must
consider himself only the steward of my property; that he has
no right to dispose of it. Of course this annoys Otto, and my
heart rebels against having these first days of our betrothal
so spoiled.
"And it is not only Otto who has to bear what is painful on
account of our love for each other. Apart from what I suffer
for him, I am continually wounded, more than ever, by the
contempt shown for my father. No betrothal announcements were
printed, in order that his name might not appear. The event was
made known to our immediate circle of acquaintance at a solemn
dinner given here; all distant members of the family--and
heaven only knows how long the list of cousins is--grandpapa
informed by letter thus: 'My grandson Otto is betrothed to my
grand-daughter Johanna, the only child of my daughter Agnes;'
and although I could not tell how to prevent this, I cannot
help having a sensation of wronging the dead. I need not tell
you that in Otto's eyes the name of the famous artist which I
bear is my best dowry. If it were not so I never could have
loved him.
"Apart from these considerations, we are happy. Otto, who
resigned from the army some time ago to turn his attention to
agriculture, is completing his practical studies at
Klausenburg. Thus we see each other daily,--sometimes in the
mornings, when grandpapa arranges our rides so that we meet
Otto, and always in the evenings. Then Otto comes to
Doenninghausen, and, in spite of the formality which is the rule
here, there are sure to be opportunities for delightful
_tete-a-tetes_ in the linden avenue, on the terrace, or, as
yesterday, when it rained, in a window-recess of the
drawing-room, while my grandfather and Aunt Thekla were playing
piquet and Magelone was seated at the piano. Then we can talk
freely of all that life has brought us to make us what we are,
and look forward to a future which seems almost too rich in
blessings! No, Ludwig, it is positively wicked to ask for more;
it is not possible to be happier than I am now!"
Would Otto have said the same? At times, perhaps, but in any
circumstances only at times. He was so absolutely dependent upon the
impression of the moment that his nature knew only moods, no settled
condition. When he clasped Johanna in his arms for the first time as his
betrothed he felt 'divinely happy' as never before, but immediately
afterward, when he received Magelone's cool congratulations, and later,
whenever he felt her unfathomable eyes resting upon him, he was
possessed by doubt and annoyance. He would have liked to be free, to
break his bonds, and yet a quiet hour with Johanna would again make him
her own. The love of her strong, full heart exalted him above himself.
He believed for a while in his own affection for her, and so long as no
fresh impulse from a contrary direction interfered, he let himself be
borne along in a kind of ecstasy by the same current to which Johanna
resigned herself. If they had been married without delay, and entirely
thrown upon each other's resources, Johanna's influence might perhaps
have come off conqueror. But Otto had to finish his year of study at
Klausenburg, Johanna had to acquire at Doenninghausen the knowledge to
qualify her for the mistress of a household, and Magelone was there--and
bored!
She had been startled at first by Otto's betrothal, as by a thunder-clap
out of a clear sky. The idea that she herself had perhaps brought about
this condition of affairs by her command to Otto was intolerable. She
soon found that Otto played his part in the farce with astonishing ease,
and then came the suspicion that the farce had been played with herself.
Upon this point she must have certainty, and if her suspicion proved
well founded he must be punished.
She waited impatiently for an opportunity to speak alone with Otto,
which he, however, seemed to avoid. But one evening she was on the
castle steps as Otto galloped into the court-yard. She told him that the
others were in the garden, and went with him to look for them.
For a while they walked along together in silence; at last she asked in
a low voice, without looking up, "Have you forgiven me?"
"Forgiven?" he repeated, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"About the note. What else could I mean?" And her eyes flashed as she
asked, "Do you mean this pretence of forgetfulness for magnanimity?"
Then, falling back into a sad, gentle tone, "Yes, it is magnanimous. I
am guilty of this betrothal, perhaps of the unhappiness of your whole
future life."
"You are mistaken. I am not unhappy," he replied, and his manner
betrayed a slight embarrassment that did not escape Magelone. She
paused, laid her hand upon his arm, and looked him full in the face.
"Let me look at you," she said. "A happy bridegroom in his own despite.
Oh, if you but knew how queer you are!"
She laughed, the old wayward child-like laugh; but the next moment her
eyes were veiled, and, turning from him, she covered her face with her
hands and burst into tears.
"Magelone, what is the matter?" Otto cried, trying to pull her hands
down from her face; but with a scarce audible "Let me alone! let me
alone!" she turned and fled back towards the house.
Otto was surprised beyond expression. He had wronged her, then, when he
thought her incapable of any depth of feeling. The cold calculation of
which he had accused her had been forced upon her by circumstances. Now,
in spite of her apparent indifference, her foolish heart had asserted
itself. Poor Magelone!
When Otto saw her next in the domestic circle she seemed cool and gay as
usual, and she continued to appear so, but him she could no longer
deceive.
He knew now what lay concealed beneath this outward seeming; he noted
and interpreted every half sigh, every absent smile, every fleeting
moment of abstraction, from which she would rouse herself with a start,
and the half-angry glance which she bestowed upon him now and then was
quite as comprehensible to him as was her evident avoidance of him.
At first he was grateful to her for this last. What could he say to her
after that scene in the garden? By and by, however, her reserve began to
annoy him. His mocking intercourse with her was necessary to him as a
counterpoise to his grandfather's harshness and severity, and also,
although he did not acknowledge this to himself, to Johanna's
earnestness. For a time it had interested him to pursue his betrothed's
line of thought, more especially as he could resign himself to her
guidance without any trouble, and, trusting to her, frequently made
discoveries in himself which flattered his vanity. But he grew weary of
her earnestness. It came to be an effort to him to follow her along the
paths she trod so naturally and simply, and he began to sigh for the
intellectual and mental repose which he had always sought and found in
the society of women.
Where should he find it now? Magelone held herself aloof from him, and
Elfrida Klausenburg seemed to have forgotten his existence. In fact, his
position in society was entirely changed. He had not noticed this so
long as the entertainments given in return for the grand Doenninghausen
dinner lasted, but when the echo of the toasts drunk in honour of the
betrothed pair had died away, he suddenly found himself of slight
importance, if not entirely overlooked, and this not only by calculating
mothers and daughters, as every betrothed man must expect, but
universally. He had not looked for this result of his choice.
And society had still further cause for discontent with him. One day the
old Countess Klausenburg begged Otto not to read the newspaper, which he
was in the habit of glancing through daily. Of course he perused it with
all the more attention, and found in it an announcement that Johanna's
step-mother was married to the equestrian artist and circus-manager
Carlo Batti. Flushed with excitement, he rode to Doenninghausen, where he
found Johanna alone on the veranda.
"Have you seen what is in the paper?" he asked, scarcely taking time to
greet her. "I suppose it is another of those shameless lies----"
"No; it is true," Johanna interrupted him. "Helena has written to me
herself. Her letter came by the same post that brought the paper."
"Really!" Otto exclaimed. "Well, you have not much cause for pride in
that connection. But then it is no affair of yours," he added, by way
of consolation, seeing her change colour.
She looked up startled. Could he regard so superficially what had cut
her to the very quick? "Oh, Otto!" she said, "I cannot understand how
that woman, whom my father fairly adored, could forget him so quickly."
Otto shrugged his shoulders impatiently. It vexed him that such
sentimental considerations should cause Johanna to overlook the real
consequences of this wretched marriage; that is, the necessary lowering
of her own position in society. At this instant Magelone made her
appearance. "How you look!" she said, turning from one to the other. "Is
anything the matter? Do you wish to be alone?"
"No, no; stay!" Otto made reply. "All the world knows about the matter
we were discussing----"
"Oh, is it that newspaper story?" Magelone interposed. "These long faces
for that? How can you be so stupid?"
"It's all very well for you to talk," said Otto. "Try having your
friends turn up their noses at you."
"But you must not let them," Magelone exclaimed. "Of course, if you go
about like chanticleer in a rain, they will do so. But hold up your
head, and look every one full in the face, and no one will hint at the
unlucky story; and even if any one should be so awkward as to allude to
it, deny it on the spot."
"We cannot!" said Johanna. "It is true."
Magelone laughed. "That sounds precisely as if you had just been
confirmed. True or false, you must deny it. You would not put Otto in
the position of step-son-in-law to a circus-rider? And all the rest of
us: our step-uncle or step-cousin Carlo Batti? It is too ridiculous!"
With these words she departed, with the agreeable consciousness of
having left Otto in no doubt as to the fresh annoyances entailed upon
him by his betrothal.
The evil seed had fallen upon fruitful soil.
When Magelone had gone, Otto said, still more gloomily than before, "She
takes it very easily, but I must confess to you that I am enraged. My
position was hard enough before." And he went on venting his indignation
against society in violent expressions, concluding with the angry words,
"Of course you care nothing for all this. You feel yourself, as usual,
exalted far above----"
Johanna arose, and interrupted him. "You are mistaken," she said,
gently. "Everything that you say cuts me to the heart, and convinces
me"--she hesitated a moment--"convinces me that I make you unhappy. This
I cannot endure." She could not continue; her eyes filled with tears,
and she turned hurriedly to leave him. But Otto sprang to her side and
detained her.
"Forgive me! forgive me!" he cried again and again, while clasping her
in his arms he kissed her hands, her lips, her eyes, and drew her down
beside him, overwhelming her with protestations of affection and
reproaching himself bitterly for his conduct. "Be magnanimous as ever!"
he entreated; "do not condemn me. I know what a thorough egotist I am;
when anything annoys me I think of no one but myself. I feel only my own
discomfort. I am ungenerous, unloving,--a very petrifaction of anger and
dissatisfaction. All the better part of me seems paralyzed. I think at
such moments I am a perfect wretch. But do not you forsake me, I conjure
you. If there is anything in this world that can save me from myself it
is your love."
Otto was apparently sincere in these self-accusations, but there is no
denying that he also found a certain piquant charm in thus setting forth
his heartlessness, and perhaps, too, he knew that he was never more
irresistible than when heaping himself with reproaches, and, with his
fine eyes bent entreatingly upon his companion, begging her to forgive
him. The oft-proved power again asserted its sway over Johanna.
Overcoming her own pain, she thought only of his distress, and did all
that she could to make him see himself in a more favourable light. Upon
calm reflection, she even found it quite natural that Otto should at
first apprehend only the superficial consequences of Helena's second
marriage, and she accused herself of over-sensitiveness. Otto also was
magnanimous,--he forgave the pain which he had caused,--and thus peace
was restored.
Great was Magelone's astonishment upon beholding the harmony existing
between the lovers when she saw them again. After what had occurred a
few hours before, she expected something quite different; but Johanna's
luck was something incredible. Otto, who had always been known to be
fickle, had suddenly grown so ridiculously dutiful that he had actually
fallen in love with a girl who had been forced upon him, scarcely
noticed any other woman, and, in spite of the proverbial pride of the
Doenninghausens, quietly acquiesced in this wretched connection. What was
the spell that Johanna had woven about him? It all seemed positively too
ridiculous to Magelone when she observed how Otto's eyes followed
Johanna; how he would seize her hand and kiss it as she passed him; how
he continually sought opportunities for a _tete-a-tete_ with her, even
venturing to whisper to her when the family were all present. If there
had only been a single soul in Doenninghausen with whom she could laugh
over it all! But Aunt Thekla contemplated the pair with pleased emotion,
the Freiherr with proud content, dubbing the lovers 'the handsomest
couple seen at Doenninghausen within the memory of man.' And the days
were so stormy and rainy,--the evenings were so long,--the family
assemblages so inevitable. And there sat Johanna with undeniably happy
eyes; and every evening Otto appeared,--oh, it was almost intolerable!
But help was at hand.
Hedwig Wildenhayn had just presented her husband with a second
daughter, and she wrote begging Magelone to stand godmother to it, and
adding that she must not fail to be present at the christening. Within
the letter which was for the public was a closely-written sheet marked
'private,' which ran thus:
"DEAR MAGELONE,--You must come, not only on account of the
child, but to tell Hildegard (who is coming to the christening)
and me more about Otto's betrothal than can be confided to
paper. The affair is still a riddle to me. Our husbands--you
know how good-humoured they are--maintain, indeed, that Otto is
quite right, and Johanna's 'a capital girl!' (I wish I knew
why), but this is hardly enough to satisfy me, and Hildegard
(who has always been more decided in her opinion than I)
declares she never shall be satisfied, and that three such
clever women as we must, if we can get together, find ways and
means to liberate the poor boy. To speak frankly, dear
Magelone, I thought I discovered, upon our last visit to
Doenninghausen, that our brother Otto was desperately enamoured
of a certain lady (you guess who she is, although your modesty
may prevent your admitting it), and I was sorry to see it, I
confess, for he could not marry her. I still believe in it (I
mean his devotion in that quarter), and I fancy that Otto in
pique (men are so odd, and women, too, for that matter) has
betrothed himself to this girl. Hildegard, however, insists
that the whole affair has been patched up by our grandfather,
who chooses thus to make a Doenninghausen of his favorite niece
(can you understand why she is so?), and does not care how we
stand affected. You see, dear Magelone, you must come. Only
when, by your help, we can clearly appreciate our poor Otto's
unhappy circumstances (I do not exonerate him from blame, but I
am so sorry for him) can we decide whether there is any help
for him and for us. I continually ask myself wherein we have
deserved this trial that has befallen us all, even my little
angel-daughter; for, since her elder sister had to be named
Henriette, after my mother-in-law, it would have been so
natural to christen this little girl Johanna (grandpapa's
godfather's tokens are always so magnificent, and he is
evidently so much fonder of children who are named after him);
but Hildegard says that to do so now would look like an ovation
to the sister-in-law who has been forced upon us, and of course
I am too proud for that, apart from the fact that Hildegard
never would forgive me. But I must conclude; my dear Eduard is
scolding me for writing so much, and we women submit only too
gladly to love's tyranny. So adieu for the present, dear
Magelone. Pray come as soon as you can. You can, perhaps, give
counsel and consolation to your truly affectionate HEDWIG."
"How much they must need me!" thought Magelone. "I wonder if they fancy
they are deceiving me with this sudden outburst of tender affection. But
never mind that; after this letter they certainly will make themselves
agreeable, and at all events it will be more entertaining at Herstaedt
than here. If grandpapa will only let me go!"
Her anxiety upon this point was groundless. The Freiherr made no
objection; on the contrary, the request to one of the family to stand
god-parent was, according to his sense of duty, not one that could be
refused, and he was glad that, in spite of the stormy autumn weather,
Magelone was perfectly willing to undertake the journey with all its
discomforts. The proof of his satisfaction which was most welcome to her
was the bundle of bank-notes he handed to her 'for the outfit which
every lady must have upon such an occasion;' and, enraptured to escape
at last from 'that horrible Doenninghausen,' she set forth for Herstaedt,
wind and weather notwithstanding.
Life in Doenninghausen was now even more quiet than before, and thus
there came on for Johanna the sad anniversaries of her father's illness
and death. The Freiherr, who never forgot dates, could not bring himself
to say one word of sympathy to her, but he took great pains to provide
the wherewithal to distract her mind. He eagerly interested himself in
the contemplated purchase of her future home. Offers were made of
estates which must be examined into. There were letters to answer, plans
to study, proposals and calculations to compare, or personal inspections
to be made of estates for sale in the neighbourhood. Johanna on these
occasions would gladly have appointed Otto her proxy, but the Freiherr
would not hear of this. "It is your dowry," he said, "and you must be
able to love the spot of earth where you are to live and die. Otto's
wishes and approbation are secondary matters."
Nevertheless, the old Herr would have liked to see on Otto's part a
greater display of interest in the choice about to be made. The young
man avoided, when he could, any participation in the consultations that
took place upon the subject. He detested the whole matter, which he
regarded as an outrage upon his own rights and claims. He, a born
Doenninghausen, who had lived from his childhood in his ancestral castle,
was pushed aside, while the bourgeoise grand-daughter, whose mother had
forcibly severed every tie that bound her to her people, was to be
dowered at the expense of the family estate. It might be that this was
done for Otto's own sake; but why did not his grandfather place in his
hands the sum he had appropriated to Johanna, and thus give him the
position which a husband had a right to expect? It had always seemed an
annoyance to him for a man to be dependent upon a wife's property, but
under the present circumstances it was more than annoying,--it was
degrading; for instead of receiving from his equal in rank what might be
considered a gift of love, here was apparently a business transaction.
Hildegard had written him that his grandfather was permitting him to
pay for his 'frugal outfit' with his name, and his Doenninghausen blood
was in revolt. There were moments in which he forgot entirely that the
Freiherr had been induced to consent to the betrothal, not out of regard
for material interests, but because he believed sincerely in Otto's love
for Johanna; and at such moments he was profoundly indignant not only
with his grandfather, but with his betrothed. Such emotions were very
fleeting. He was ashamed of them, and was doubly amiable afterwards in
the consciousness that there was somewhat for which he should make
atonement. Nevertheless a faint trace of them remained, and Johanna
perceived it.
One evening this was more the case than usual. She overlooked his ill
humour for a while, under the impression that he would find it easier to
overcome if he were not called to explain it, but at last she could
remain silent no longer. When her grandfather and Aunt Thekla retired to
their piquet, she went to Otto, who was standing at the centre window
staring gloomily out into the rain and darkness; and as she put her hand
within his arm she asked him if anything disagreeable had happened.
"Nothing more than usual," he replied, without looking at her.
"Usual," she repeated; "I do not understand you----"
"Of course not," he interrupted her, peevishly. "You never reflect what
my sensations must be when you and that old man sit like the fates and
consult whether this or that estate shall be purchased, while I, who am
more interested than any one else, am not asked to say a word."
"Do not be unjust, Otto," Johanna entreated him. "If I have these
matters talked of in your presence, it is only for the sake of hearing
your opinion. Why do you not give it?"
"Because it would have no influence," he said; but when Johanna,
wounded by his unkindness, would have withdrawn her hand from his arm,
he drew her closer to his side. "Forgive me," he begged, in the tender
tone she had not heard for a long while. "I am detestable to-night. But
remember how I am tormented. To whom shall I tell it all, if not to
you?"
"If you only would be frank with me always," Johanna said, in a tone of
gentle reproof. "But sometimes you are so reserved with me."
"Because now and then I mistrust even you," he replied, "and have a
feeling that you are leagued with my grandfather against me."
"Dear Otto----" she began.
He interrupted her. "Never mind," he said; "words avail nothing. I will
put you to the test."
"Do," she said, earnestly. "What do you ask of me?"
He hesitated. Involuntarily he had said more than he meant to; but
perhaps it was best so. With his own victorious smile he said, "I ask
you to hurry on the purchase of this estate, that we may be married as
soon as possible and sell it again."
She looked at him incredulously. "You cannot be serious."
"And why not?" And his eyes flashed.
"Consider our grandfather----"
"Consider me!" he exclaimed. "Try to understand, if you can, what it is
to be snatched from a career that you love and forced year out and year
in to do what gives you not the smallest pleasure. But this you cannot
comprehend,--no woman can."
Unconsciously he raised his voice as he uttered the last words. The
Freiherr looked round. "How ungallant!" he exclaimed. "What is he
reproaching you with, my child? Let us hear what it is that you cannot
understand."
Johanna was embarrassed. Otto instantly came to her aid. "I was
lamenting the length of our engagement," he replied.
"Already!" said the Freiherr; but his tone and air betrayed his pleasure
in Otto's impatience. And, throwing down his cards,--his hand was so
poor that he had no desire to play any longer,--he continued: "We would
appoint the wedding-day if a nest were only found for you."
Aunt Thekla hastened to put away her aces, for the Freiherr was cross
when he lost a game. "I thought, my dear Johann," she said, to keep up
the conversation, "that you were satisfied with Tannhagen."
"The estate,--yes," he replied; "and the farm-buildings, too, are all
very well; but the house is a ruinous old pile, and Otto cannot wait, as
you have just heard, while a new one is building."
"Why should I, sir?" Otto said. "If Tannhagen suits you in other
respects, we shall do very well in the old house, shall we not,
Johanna?"
The Freiherr laughed. "Indeed, my boy? 'A hovel with the one we love.'
Is it come to that with you?" he said, in high good humour. "Well, we
will take the matter into consideration. First of all, as soon as the
weather permits, we must ride over and inspect the owl's-nest and see
whether it can be made habitable for a while. I should like, children,
to have you so near me."
All through the evening the Freiherr's mood was of the brightest, as was
Aunt Thekla's. Otto, too, seemed gayer than he had been for a long time.
Johanna alone was depressed, and could scarcely conceal her sadness.
Otto was incomprehensible. She struggled against her suspicions, feared
lest she was doing him injustice, and yet what he had said of his plans
scarcely allowed of a misconstruction. Was it possible that he could so
misuse his grandfather's assent to his wishes? After those words, 'I
should like to have you so near me,' could he contemplate selling again
the estate which the old Freiherr was selecting for them with such
loving care? She breathed a sigh of relief when she once more found
herself alone in her room, and, after taking counsel with herself, she
sat down at her writing-table to write to Otto. She could not but do it,
even at the risk of offending him; there must be no possibility of
either's misunderstanding the other.
She told him frankly that it seemed to her unprincipled and ungrateful
to allow their grandfather to provide them with a home only to sell it
again immediately, and she declared herself ready at any moment to brave
the old man's anger by relinquishing the estate and requesting Otto's
restoration to the army.
"Our grandfather will not consent at first," she added, "but he will be
persuaded in the end. And however long the strife may last, even
although it should be for weary weeks and months, we must expect this,
my dear Otto, and for my part I will submit gladly for the sake of
restoring you to a profession which you like. I confess I had no
suspicion of how dear it was to you. I misunderstood you formerly. But,
now that I know it, I can understand how irksome must be the calling
forced upon you, and how impossible it would be for you to devote your
life to it. I am sure you do not think that this could make me doubt
your love. What would my love be worth if it could exact such a
sacrifice from you? Your happiness, my dearest, is and always must be
the aim of all my desires, and how could you be happy if you took no
pleasure in your daily occupations? You think we women cannot understand
this? Let me confess to you that there was a time when I believed I had
a calling,--a calling for art,--and that it gave me intense pain when I
was forced to recognize my want of talent. To resign a sphere of
activity because it is beyond our powers is very different from giving
it up merely on account of the stress of outward circumstances. But any
one who has been forced to do the former knows well what pain it must be
to do the latter. And, indeed, I think that without drawing from my own
experience I should always suffer out of my love for you from whatever
pains and torments you."
She wrote on for some time in this strain. The frank outpouring of her
very self did her good. In Otto's presence she was always restrained by
a certain timidity. Never had she felt so indissolubly bound to her
lover.
The next morning she sent him the letter, although seen by the light of
day it seemed to her poor and cold. She consoled herself, however, by
reflecting that Otto's heart would supply all that she could not express
in words, and she waited eagerly for his reply.
It was contained in a few lines. Otto thanked her for her letter, and
would answer it more thoroughly by word of mouth.
"Talking is better than writing," he added, "and it is idle to bother
with pen, ink, and paper when, as in our case, there exists the blessed
certainty of seeing each other almost every day. I shall come at noon
to-day, and hope, in spite of the rain, to induce you all to drive to
Tannhagen. I am very anxious, my dear little wiseacre, to prove to you
that it was quite unnecessary for you to tire your beautiful eyes and
snatch so much time from your night's rest. Promise me never to be
guilty of such a sin again. I want no letters,--I want only yourself."