It cost me much to part with the blue coat which I wore the first
time I danced with Charlotte. But I could not possibly wear it
any longer. But I have ordered a new one, precisely similar, even
to the collar and sleeves, as well as a new waistcoat and pantaloons.
But it does not produce the same effect upon me. I know not how
it is, but I hope in time I shall like it better.
SEPTEMBER 12.
She has been absent for some days. She went to meet Albert.
To-day I visited her: she rose to receive me, and I kissed her
hand most tenderly.
A canary at the moment flew from a mirror, and settled upon her
shoulder. "Here is a new friend," she observed, while she made
him perch upon her hand: "he is a present for the children. What
a dear he is! Look at him! When I feed him, he flutters with his
wings, and pecks so nicely. He kisses me, too, only look!"
She held the bird to her mouth; and he pressed her sweet lips with
so much fervour that he seemed to feel the excess of bliss which
he enjoyed.
"He shall kiss you too," she added; and then she held the bird
toward me. His little beak moved from her mouth to mine, and the
delightful sensation seemed like the forerunner of the sweetest
bliss.
"A kiss," I observed, "does not seem to satisfy him: he wishes for
food, and seems disappointed by these unsatisfactory endearments."
"But he eats out of my mouth," she continued, and extended her
lips to him containing seed; and she smiled with all the charm of
a being who has allowed an innocent participation of her love.
I turned my face away. She should not act thus. She ought not to
excite my imagination with such displays of heavenly innocence and
happiness, nor awaken my heart from its slumbers, in which it
dreams of the worthlessness of life! And why not? Because she
knows how much I love her.
SEPTEMBER 15.
It makes me wretched, Wilhelm, to think that there should be men
incapable of appreciating the few things which possess a real value
in life. You remember the walnut trees at S--, under which I used
to sit with Charlotte, during my visits to the worthy old vicar.
Those glorious trees, the very sight of which has so often filled
my heart with joy, how they adorned and refreshed the parsonage
yard, with their wide-extended branches! and how pleasing was our
remembrance of the good old pastor, by whose hands they were
planted so many years ago: The schoolmaster has frequently mentioned
his name. He had it from his grandfather. He must have been a
most excellent man; and, under the shade of those old trees, his
memory was ever venerated by me. The schoolmaster informed us
yesterday, with tears in his eyes, that those trees had been felled.
Yes, cut to the ground! I could, in my wrath, have slain the
monster who struck the first stroke. And I must endure this! --
I, who, if I had had two such trees in my own court, and one had
died from old age, should have wept with real affliction. But
there is some comfort left, such a thing is sentiment, the whole
village murmurs at the misfortune; and I hope the vicar's wife
will soon find, by the cessation of the villagers' presents, how
much she has wounded the feelings of the neighborhhood. It was
she who did it, the wife of the present incumbent (our good old
man is dead), a tall, sickly creature who is so far right to
disregard the world, as the world totally disregards her. The
silly being affects to be learned, pretends to examine the canonical
books, lends her aid toward the new-fashioned reformation of
Christendom, moral and critical, and shrugs up her shoulders at
the mention of Lavater's enthusiasm. Her health is destroyed, on
account of which she is prevented from having any enjoyment here
below. Only such a creature could have cut down my walnut trees!
I can never pardon it. Hear her reasons. The falling leaves made
the court wet and dirty; the branches obstructed the light; boys
threw stones at the nuts when they were ripe, and the noise affected
her nerves; and disturbed her profound meditations, when she was
weighing the diffculties of Kennicot, Semler, and Michaelis.
Finding that all the parish, particularly the old people, were
displeased, I asked "why they allowed it?" "Ah, sir!" they replied,
"when the steward orders, what can we poor peasants do?" But one
thing has happened well. The steward and the vicar (who, for once,
thought to reap some advantage from the caprices of his wife)
intended to divide the trees between them. The revenue-office,
being informed of it, revived an old claim to the ground where the
trees had stood, and sold them to the best bidder. There they
still lie on the ground. If I were the sovereign, I should know
how to deal with them all, vicar, steward, and revenue-office.
Sovereign, did I say? I should, in that case, care little about
the trees that grew in the country.
OCTOBER 10.
Only to gaze upon her dark eyes is to me a source of happiness!
And what grieves me, is, that Albert does not seem so happy as he
-- hoped to be -- as I should have been -- if -- I am no friend
to these pauses, but here I cannot express it otherwise; and
probably I am explicit enough.
OCTOBER 12.
Ossian has superseded Homer in my heart. To what a world does
the illustrious bard carry me! To wander over pathless wilds,
surrounded by impetuous whirlwinds, where, by the feeble light
of the moon, we see the spirits of our ancestors; to hear from
the mountain-tops, mid the roar of torrents, their plaintive
sounds issuing from deep caverns, and the sorrowful lamentations
of a maiden who sighs and expires on the mossy tomb of the warrior
by whom she was adored. I meet this bard with silver hair; he
wanders in the valley; he seeks the footsteps of his fathers, and,
alas! he finds only their tombs. Then, contemplating the pale
moon, as she sinks beneath the waves of the rolling sea, the memory
of bygone days strikes the mind of the hero, days when approaching
danger invigorated the brave, and the moon shone upon his bark
laden with spoils, and returning in triumph. When I read in his
countenance deep sorrow, when I see his dying glory sink exhausted
into the grave, as he inhales new and heart-thrilling delight
from his approaching union with his beloved, and he casts a look
on the cold earth and the tall grass which is so soon to cover him,
and then exclaims, "The traveller will come, -- he will come who
has seen my beauty, and he will ask, 'Where is the bard, where is
the illustrious son of Fingal?' He will walk over my tomb, and
will seek me in vain!" Then, O my friend, I could instantly, like
a true and noble knight, draw my sword, and deliver my prince from
the long and painful languor of a living death, and dismiss my own
soul to follow the demigod whom my hand had set free!
OCTOBER 19.
Alas! the void the fearful void, which I feel in my bosom! Sometimes
I think, if I could only once but once, press her to my heart, this
dreadful void would be filled.
OCTOBER 26.
Yes, I feel certain, Wilhelm, and every day I become more certain,
that the existence of any being whatever is of very little consequence.
A friend of Charlotte's called to see her just now. I withdrew
into a neighbouring apartment, and took up a book; but, finding I
could not read, I sat down to write. I heard them converse in an
undertone: they spoke upon indifferent topics, and retailed the
news of the town. One was going to be married; another was ill,
very ill, she had a dry cough, her face was growing thinner daily,
and she had occasional fits. "N-- is very unwell too," said
Charlotte. "His limbs begin to swell already," answered the other;
and my lively imagination carried me at once to the beds of the
infirm. There I see them struggling against death, with all the
agonies of pain and horror; and these women, Wilhelm, talk of all
this with as much indifference as one would mention the death of
a stranger. And when I look around the apartment where I now am
-- when I see Charlotte's apparel lying before me, and Albert's
writings, and all those articles of furniture which are so familiar
to me, even to the very inkstand which I am using, -- when I think
what I am to this family -- everything. My friends esteem me; I often
contribute to their happiness, and my heart seems as if it could
not beat without them; and yet --- if I were to die, if I were
to be summoned from the midst of this circle, would they feel --
or how long would they feel the void which my loss would make in
their existence? How long! Yes, such is the frailty of man, that
even there, where he has the greatest consciousness of his own
being, where he makes the strongest and most forcible impression,
even in the memory, in the heart, of his beloved, there also he
must perish, -- vanish, -- and that quickly.
OCTOBER 27.
I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think how little we
are capable of influencing the feelings of each other. No one
can communicate to me those sensations of love, joy, rapture, and
delight which I do not naturally possess; and, though my heart may
glow with the most lively affection, I cannot make the happiness
of one in whom the same warmth is not inherent.
OCTOBER 27: Evening.
I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess
so much, but without her I have nothing.
OCTOBER 30.
One hundred times have I been on the point of embracing her.
Heavens! what a torment it is to see so much loveliness passing
and repassing before us, and yet not dare to lay hold of it!
And laying hold is the most natural of human instincts. Do not
children touch everything they see? And I!