At times I flattered myself with great hopes from the near approaching visit of the unknown; then wept again, because I saw clearly on reflection that they would end in disappointment.  I had made a calculation of the day fixed on by the fearful being for our interview; for he had said in a year and a day, and I depended on his word.

The parents were worthy old people, devoted to their only child; and our mutual affection was a circumstance so overwhelming that they knew not how to act.  They had never dreamed for a moment that the Count could bestow a thought on their daughter; but such was the case—­he loved and was beloved.  The pride of the mother might not have led her to consider such an alliance quite impossible, but so extravagant an idea had never entered the contemplation of the sounder judgment of the old man.  Both were satisfied of the sincerity of my love, and could but put up prayers to Heaven for the happiness of their child.

A letter which I received from Minna about that time has just fallen into my hands.  Yes, these are the characters traced by her own hand.  I will transcribe the letter:-

“I am indeed a weak, foolish girl to fancy that the friend I so tenderly love could give an instant’s pain to his poor Minna!  Oh no! thou art so good, so inexpressibly good!  But do not misunderstand me.  I will accept no sacrifice at thy hands—­none whatever.  Oh heavens!  I should hate myself!  No; thou hast made me happy, thou hast taught me to love thee.

“Go, then—­let me not forget my destiny—­Count Peter belongs not to me, but to the whole world; and oh! what pride for thy Minna to hear thy deeds proclaimed, and blessings invoked on thy idolised head!  Ah! when I think of this, I could chide thee that thou shouldst for one instant forget thy high destiny for the sake of a simple maiden!  Go, then; otherwise the reflection will pierce me.  How blest I have been rendered by thy love!  Perhaps, also, I have planted some flowers in the path of thy life, as I twined them in the wreath which I presented to thee.

“Go, then—­fear not to leave me—­you are too deeply seated in my heart—­I shall die inexpressibly happy in thy love.”

Conceive how these words pierced my soul, Chamisso!

I declared to her that I was not what I seemed—­that, although a rich, I was an unspeakably miserable man—­that a curse was on me, which must remain a secret, although the only one between us—­yet that I was not without a hope of its being removed—­that this poisoned every hour of my life—­that I should plunge her with me into the abyss—­she, the light and joy, the very soul of my existence.  Then she wept because I was unhappy.  Oh!  Minna was all love and tenderness.  To save me one tear she would gladly have sacrificed her life.

Yet she was far from comprehending the full meaning of my words.  She still looked upon me as some proscribed prince or illustrious exile; and her vivid imagination had invested her lover with every lofty attribute.