away till some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the
mighty ocean. I was indeed fairly stranded, dearest friend, when
surprised by you at a moment in which moroseness had entirely mastered
me; but how quickly it vanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious
that you came from another sphere than this absurd world, where, with
the best inclinations, I cannot open my ears. I am a wretched creature,
and yet I complain of others!! You will forgive this from the goodness
of heart that beams in your eyes, and the good sense manifested by your
ears; at least they understand how to flatter, by the mode in which they
listen. My ears are, alas! a partition-wall, through which I can with
difficulty hold any intercourse with my fellow-creatures. Otherwise
perhaps I might have felt more assured with you; but I was only
conscious of the full, intelligent glance from your eyes, which affected
me so deeply that never can I forget it. My dear friend! dearest
girl!--Art! who comprehends it? with whom can I discuss this mighty
goddess? How precious to me were the few days when we talked together,
or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have carefully preserved the
little notes with your clever, charming, most charming answers; so I
have to thank my defective hearing for the greater part of our fugitive
intercourse being written down. Since you left this I have had some
unhappy hours,--hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing. I
wandered for three hours in the Schoenbrunn Allee after you left us, but
no _angel_ met me there to take possession of me as you did. Pray
forgive, my dear friend, this deviation from the original key, but I
must have such intervals as a relief to my heart. You have no doubt
written to Goethe about me? I would gladly bury my head in a sack, so
that I might neither see nor hear what goes on in the world, because I
shall meet you there no more; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope
sustains me, as it does half the world; through life she has been my
close companion, or what would have become of me? I send you 'Kennst Du
das Land,' written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour when I
first knew you....

If you mention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find words
expressive of my deep reverence and admiration. I am about to write to
him myself with regard to 'Egmont,' for which I have written some music
solely from my love for his poetry, which always delights me. Who can be
sufficie