"Why do I not write to you?" You lay claim to learning, and ask such a
question. You should have guessed that I am well—that is to say—in a
word, I have made an acquaintance who has won my heart: I have—I know
not.
To give you a regular account of the manner in which I have become
acquainted with the most amiable of women would be a difficult task. I
am a happy and contented mortal, but a poor historian.
An angel! Nonsense! Everybody so describes his mistress; and yet I find
it impossible to tell you how perfect she is, or why she is so perfect:
suffice it to say she has captivated all my senses.
So much simplicity with so much understanding—so mild, and yet so
resolute—a mind so placid, and a life so active.
But all this is ugly balderdash, which expresses not a single character
nor feature. Some other time—but no, not some other time, now, this
very instant, will I tell you all about it. Now or never. Well, between
ourselves, since I commenced my letter, I have been three times on the
point of throwing down my pen, of ordering my horse, and riding out.
And yet I vowed this morning that I would not ride to-day, and yet every
moment I am rushing to the window to see how high the sun is.
I could not restrain myself—go to her I must. I have just returned,
Wilhelm; and whilst I am taking supper I will write to you. What
a delight it was for my soul to see her in the midst of her dear,
beautiful children,—eight brothers and sisters!
But, if I proceed thus, you will be no wiser at the end of my letter
than you were at the beginning. Attend, then, and I will compel myself
to give you the details.
I mentioned to you the other day that I had become acquainted with S—,
the district judge, and that he had invited me to go and visit him in
his retirement, or rather in his little kingdom. But I neglected going,
and perhaps should never have gone, if chance had not discovered to me
the treasure which lay concealed in that retired spot. Some of our young
people had proposed giving a ball in the country, at which I consented
to be present. I offered my hand for the evening to a pretty and
agreeable, but rather commonplace, sort of girl from the immediate
neighbourhood; and it was agreed that I should engage a carriage, and
call upon Charlotte, with my partner and her aunt, to convey them to the
ball. My companion informed me, as we drove along through the park
to the hunting-lodge, that I should make the acquaintance of a very
charming young lady. "Take care," added the aunt, "that you do not lose
your heart." "Why?" said I. "Because she is already engaged to a very
worthy man," she replied, "who is gone to settle his affairs upon
the death of his father, and will succeed to a very considerable
inheritance." This information possessed no interest for me. When
we arrived at the gate, the sun was setting behind the tops of the
mountains. The atmosphere was heavy; and the ladies expressed their
fears of an approaching storm, as masses of low black clouds were
gathering in the horizon. I relieved their anxieties by pretending to be
weather-wise, although I myself had some apprehensions lest our pleasure
should be interrupted.
I alighted; and a maid came to the door, and requested us to wait a
moment for her mistress. I walked across the court to a well-built
house, and, ascending the flight of steps in front, opened the door,
and saw before me the most charming spectacle I had ever witnessed. Six
children, from eleven to two years old, were running about the hall, and
surrounding a lady of middle height, with a lovely figure, dressed in a
robe of simple white, trimmed with pink ribbons. She was holding a rye
loaf in her hand, and was cutting slices for the little ones all around,
in proportion to their age and appetite. She performed her task in a
graceful and affectionate manner; each claimant awaiting his turn with
outstretched hands, and boisterously shouting his thanks. Some of them
ran away at once, to enjoy their evening meal; whilst others, of a
gentler disposition, retired to the courtyard to see the strangers, and
to survey the carriage in which their Charlotte was to drive away. "Pray
forgive me for giving you the trouble to come for me, and for keeping
the ladies waiting: but dressing, and arranging some household duties
before I leave, had made me forget my children's supper; and they do
not like to take it from any one but me." I uttered some indifferent
compliment: but my whole soul was absorbed by her air, her voice, her
manner; and I had scarcely recovered myself when she ran into her room
to fetch her gloves and fan. The young ones threw inquiring glances at
me from a distance; whilst I approached the youngest, a most delicious
little creature. He drew back; and Charlotte, entering at the very
moment, said, "Louis, shake hands with your cousin." The little fellow
obeyed willingly; and I could not resist giving him a hearty kiss,
notwithstanding his rather dirty face. "Cousin," said I to Charlotte,
as I handed her down, "do you think I deserve the happiness of being
related to you?" She replied, with a ready smile, "Oh! I have such
a number of cousins, that I should be sorry if you were the most
undeserving of them." In taking leave, she desired her next sister,
Sophy, a girl about eleven years old, to take great care of the
children, and to say good-bye to papa for her when he came home from his
ride. She enjoined to the little ones to obey their sister Sophy as they
would herself, upon which some promised that they would; but a little
fair-haired girl, about six years old, looked discontented, and said,
"But Sophy is not you, Charlotte; and we like you best." The two eldest
boys had clambered up the carriage; and, at my request, she permitted
them to accompany us a little way through the forest, upon their
promising to sit very still, and hold fast.
We were hardly seated, and the ladies had scarcely exchanged
compliments, making the usual remarks upon each other's dress, and upon
the company they expected to meet, when Charlotte stopped the carriage,
and made her brothers get down. They insisted upon kissing her hands
once more; which the eldest did with all the tenderness of a youth
of fifteen, but the other in a lighter and more careless manner. She
desired them again to give her love to the children, and we drove off.
The aunt inquired of Charlotte whether she had finished the book she had
last sent her. "No," said Charlotte; "I did not like it: you can have
it again. And the one before was not much better." I was surprised, upon
asking the title, to hear that it was ____. (We feel obliged to suppress
the passage in the letter, to prevent any one from feeling aggrieved;
although no author need pay much attention to the opinion of a mere
girl, or that of an unsteady young man.)
I found penetration and character in everything she said: every
expression seemed to brighten her features with new charms,—with
new rays of genius,—which unfolded by degrees, as she felt herself
understood.
"When I was younger," she observed, "I loved nothing so much as
romances. Nothing could equal my delight when, on some holiday, I could
settle down quietly in a corner, and enter with my whole heart and soul
into the joys or sorrows of some fictitious Leonora. I do not deny that
they even possess some charms for me yet. But I read so seldom, that I
prefer books suited exactly to my taste. And I like those authors best
whose scenes describe my own situation in life,—and the friends who are
about me, whose stories touch me with interest, from resembling my own
homely existence,—which, without being absolutely paradise, is, on the
whole, a source of indescribable happiness."
I endeavoured to conceal the emotion which these words occasioned, but
it was of slight avail; for, when she had expressed so truly her opinion
of "The Vicar of Wakefield," and of other works, the names of which I
omit (Though the names are omitted, yet the authors mentioned deserve
Charlotte's approbation, and will feel it in their hearts when they read
this passage. It concerns no other person.), I could no longer contain
myself, but gave full utterance to what I thought of it: and it was not
until Charlotte had addressed herself to the two other ladies, that
I remembered their presence, and observed them sitting mute with
astonishment. The aunt looked at me several times with an air of
raillery, which, however, I did not at all mind.
We talked of the pleasures of dancing. "If it is a fault to love it,"
said Charlotte, "I am ready to confess that I prize it above all other
amusements. If anything disturbs me, I go to the piano, play an air to
which I have danced, and all goes right again directly."
You, who know me, can fancy how steadfastly I gazed upon her rich dark
eyes during these remarks, how my very soul gloated over her warm lips
and fresh, glowing cheeks, how I became quite lost in the delightful
meaning of her words, so much so, that I scarcely heard the actual
expressions. In short, I alighted from the carriage like a person in a
dream, and was so lost to the dim world around me, that I scarcely heard
the music which resounded from the illuminated ballroom.
The two Messrs. Andran and a certain N. N. (I cannot trouble myself with
the names), who were the aunt's and Charlotte's partners, received us
at the carriage-door, and took possession of their ladies, whilst I
followed with mine.
We commenced with a minuet. I led out one lady after another, and
precisely those who were the most disagreeable could not bring
themselves to leave off. Charlotte and her partner began an English
country dance, and you must imagine my delight when it was their turn
to dance the figure with us. You should see Charlotte dance. She dances
with her whole heart and soul: her figure is all harmony, elegance,
and grace, as if she were conscious of nothing else, and had no
other thought or feeling; and, doubtless, for the moment, every other
sensation is extinct.
She was engaged for the second country dance, but promised me the third,
and assured me, with the most agreeable freedom, that she was very
fond of waltzing. "It is the custom here," she said, "for the previous
partners to waltz together; but my partner is an indifferent waltzer,
and will feel delighted if I save him the trouble. Your partner is not
allowed to waltz, and, indeed, is equally incapable: but I observed
during the country dance that you waltz well; so, if you will waltz with
me, I beg you would propose it to my partner, and I will propose it to
yours." We agreed, and it was arranged that our partners should mutually
entertain each other.
We set off, and, at first, delighted ourselves with the usual graceful
motions of the arms. With what grace, with what ease, she moved! When
the waltz commenced, and the dancers whirled around each other in the
giddy maze, there was some confusion, owing to the incapacity of some of
the dancers. We judiciously remained still, allowing the others to weary
themselves; and, when the awkward dancers had withdrawn, we joined in,
and kept it up famously together with one other couple,—Andran and his
partner. Never did I dance more lightly. I felt myself more than mortal,
holding this loveliest of creatures in my arms, flying, with her as
rapidly as the wind, till I lost sight of every other object; and O
Wilhelm, I vowed at that moment, that a maiden whom I loved, or for whom
I felt the slightest attachment, never, never should waltz with any one
else but with me, if I went to perdition for it!—you will understand
this.
We took a few turns in the room to recover our breath. Charlotte sat
down, and felt refreshed by partaking of some oranges which I had had
secured,—the only ones that had been left; but at every slice which,
from politeness, she offered to her neighbours, I felt as though a
dagger went through my heart.
We were the second couple in the third country dance. As we were going
down (and Heaven knows with what ecstasy I gazed at her arms and eyes,
beaming with the sweetest feeling of pure and genuine enjoyment),
we passed a lady whom I had noticed for her charming expression of
countenance; although she was no longer young. She looked at Charlotte
with a smile, then, holding up her finger in a threatening attitude,
repeated twice in a very significant tone of voice the name of "Albert."
"Who is Albert," said I to Charlotte, "if it is not impertinent to ask?"
She was about to answer, when we were obliged to separate, in order to
execute a figure in the dance; and, as we crossed over again in front of
each other, I perceived she looked somewhat pensive. "Why need I conceal
it from you?" she said, as she gave me her hand for the promenade.
"Albert is a worthy man, to whom I am engaged." Now, there was nothing
new to me in this (for the girls had told me of it on the way); but it
was so far new that I had not thought of it in connection with her whom,
in so short a time, I had learned to prize so highly. Enough, I became
confused, got out in the figure, and occasioned general confusion; so
that it required all Charlotte's presence of mind to set me right by
pulling and pushing me into my proper place.
The dance was not yet finished when the lightning which had for some
time been seen in the horizon, and which I had asserted to proceed
entirely from heat, grew more violent; and the thunder was heard above
the music. When any distress or terror surprises us in the midst of our
amusements, it naturally makes a deeper impression than at other times,
either because the contrast makes us more keenly susceptible, or rather
perhaps because our senses are then more open to impressions, and the
shock is consequently stronger. To this cause I must ascribe the fright
and shrieks of the ladies. One sagaciously sat down in a corner with
her back to the window, and held her fingers to her ears; a second knelt
down before her, and hid her face in her lap; a third threw herself
between them, and embraced her sister with a thousand tears; some
insisted on going home; others, unconscious of their actions, wanted
sufficient presence of mind to repress the impertinence of their young
partners, who sought to direct to themselves those sighs which the lips
of our agitated beauties intended for heaven. Some of the gentlemen had
gone down-stairs to smoke a quiet cigar, and the rest of the company
gladly embraced a happy suggestion of the hostess to retire into another
room which was provided with shutters and curtains. We had hardly got
there, when Charlotte placed the chairs in a circle; and, when the
company had sat down in compliance with her request, she forthwith
proposed a round game.
I noticed some of the company prepare their mouths and draw themselves
up at the prospect of some agreeable forfeit. "Let us play at counting,"
said Charlotte. "Now, pay attention: I shall go round the circle from
right to left; and each person is to count, one after the other, the
number that comes to him, and must count fast; whoever stops or
mistakes is to have a box on the ear, and so on, till we have counted a
thousand." It was delightful to see the fun. She went round the circle
with upraised arm. "One," said the first; "two," the second; "three,"
the third; and so on, till Charlotte went faster and faster. One made a
mistake, instantly a box on the ear; and, amid the laughter that ensued,
came another box; and so on, faster and faster. I myself came in for
two. I fancied they were harder than the rest, and felt quite delighted.
A general laughter and confusion put an end to the game long before
we had counted as far as a thousand. The party broke up into little
separate knots: the storm had ceased, and I followed Charlotte into the
ballroom. On the way she said, "The game banished their fears of the
storm." I could make no reply. "I myself," she continued, "was as much
frightened as any of them; but by affecting courage, to keep up the
spirits of the others, I forgot my apprehensions." We went to the
window. It was still thundering at a distance: a soft rain was pouring
down over the country, and filled the air around us with delicious
odours. Charlotte leaned forward on her arm; her eyes wandered over the
scene; she raised them to the sky, and then turned them upon me;
they were moistened with tears; she placed her hand on mine and said,
"Klopstock!" at once I remembered the magnificent ode which was in her
thoughts: I felt oppressed with the weight of my sensations, and sank
under them. It was more than I could bear. I bent over her hand, kissed
it in a stream of delicious tears, and again looked up to her eyes.
Divine Klopstock! why didst thou not see thy apotheosis in those eyes?
And thy name so often profaned, would that I never heard it repeated!