“You are a kind child.”  A long pause—­I, glued in such anxiety to the odious sofa; you know how impossible it is for me to sit up in such well-bred fashion.  Oh, mother, is it possible for any one to forget herself thus?

Suddenly I said, “I can’t stay here on this sofa any longer,” and jumped up.

“Well,” said he, “make yourself comfortable;” and with that I flew into his arms.  He drew me on his knee and pressed me to his heart.  Everything was quiet, oh, so quiet, and then all vanished.  I hadn’t slept for so long—­years had passed in longing for him—­and I fell asleep on his breast.  When I awoke a new life began for me.  I’ll not write you more this time.

BETTINA.

May, 1807.

* * * Yes, man has a conscience; it exhorts him to fear nothing and to leave no demand of the heart unsatisfied.  Passion is the only key to the world and through it the spirit learns to know and feel everything, for how could he enter the world otherwise?  And so I feel that only through my love for him am I born into the spirit, that only through him the world is opened to me where the sun shines and day becomes distinct from night.  The things I do not learn through this love, I shall never comprehend.  I wish I were a poor beggar girl and might sit at his door-step, and take a morsel of bread from him, and that in my glance my soul would be revealed to him.  Then he would draw me close to him and wrap me in his cloak, that I might grow warm.  Surely he would not bid me depart; I could remain, wandering on and on in his home.  And so the years would roll by and no one would know who I am and no one would know what had become of me, and thus the years and life itself would go by.  The whole world would be mirrored in his face, and I should have no need of learning anything more.* * *

October, 1808.

* * * I hadn’t yet seen him at that time when you used to while away for me those hours of ardent longing by picturing to me in a thousand different ways our first meeting and his joyous astonishment.  Now I know him and I know how he smiles and the tone of his voice—­how calm it is and yet so full of love; and his exclamations—­how they come swelling from the depths of his heart like the tones of a melody, and how gently he soothes and affirms what surges forth in wild disorder from an overflowing heart.  When I met him so unexpectedly again last year, I was so beside myself and wanted to speak, but simply could not compose myself.  Then he placed his fingers on my lips and said, “Speak with your eyes—­I understand it all”; and when he saw that they were full of tears he pressed my eyelids down and said; “Quiet, quiet, that is best for both of us!” Yes, dear mother, quiet was instantly suffused through my whole being, for didn’t I possess everything for which I had longed for years!  Oh, mother, I shall never cease thanking you for bearing this friend; where else could I have found him?  Now don’t laugh at me, but remember that I loved him before I knew the least thing about him, and if you had not borne him what would have become of him?  That is a question you cannot answer.