* * * Thus a part of the winter passed.  I was in a very happy frame of mind—­others might call it exaltation, but it was natural to me.  By the fortress wall that surrounded the large garden there was a watch-tower with a broken ladder inside.  A house close by had been broken into, and though the thieves could not be traced it was believed they were concealed in the tower.  I had examined it by day and seen that it would be impossible for a strong man to climb up this very high ladder, which was rotten and lacked many rungs.  I tried it, but slid down again after I had gone up a short distance.  In the night, after I had lain in bed awhile and Meline was asleep, the thought left me no peace.  I threw a cloak about my shoulders, climbed out of the window, and walked by the old Marburg castle, where the Elector Philip and Elizabeth peeped laughingly out of the window.  Often enough in the daytime I had observed this marble couple leaning far out of the window arm in arm, as though they wanted to survey their lands; but now at night I was so afraid of them that I jumped quickly into the tower.  There I seized the ladder and helped myself up, heaven knows how; what I was unable to do in the daytime I accomplished at night with anxiously throbbing heart.  When I was almost at the top, I stopped and considered that the thieves might really be up there and that they might attack me and hurl me from the tower.  There I hung, not knowing whether to climb up or down, but the fresh air I scented lured me to the top.  What feelings came over me when I suddenly, by snow and moonlight, surveyed the landscape spread out beneath me and stood there, alone and safe, with the great host of stars above me!  Thus it is after death; the soul, striving to free itself, feels the burden of the body most as it is about to cast it off, but it is victorious in the end and relieved of its anguish.  I was conscious only of being alone and nothing was closer to me at that moment than my solitude; all else had to vanish before this blessing. * * *

LETTERS to GOETHE.

May 25, 1807.

* * * Ah, I can impart nothing else to thee than simply that which goes on in my heart!  “Oh, if I could be with him now!” I thought, “the sunlight of my joy would beam on him with radiance as glowing as when his eye meets mine in friendly greeting.  Oh, how splendid!  My mind a sky of purple, my words the warm dew of love; my soul must issue like an unveiled bride from her chamber and confess:  “Oh, lord and master, in the future I will see thee often and long by day, and the day shall often be closed by such an evening as this.”

This I promise—­that whatever goes on in my soul, all that is untouched by the outer world, shall be secretly and faithfully revealed to him who takes such loving interest in me and whose all-embracing power assures abundant, fruitful nourishment to the budding germs within my breast!

Without faith the lot of the soul is hard; its growth is slow and meagre like that of a hot-plant between rocks.  Thus am I—­thus I was until today—­and this fountain of my heart, always without an outlet, suddenly finds its way to the light, and banks of balsam-breathing fields, blooming like paradise, accompany it on its way.