She spoke kindly and heartily: she said she had not ridiculed me—Oh, I don't remember the rest—she gave me her hand, and-—-
I cannot write it; you shall hear all about it sometime, and, even if I don't describe it, you know just the same: I, Emil Knopf, girls' tutor through so many generations, am engaged to an angel. That is a hackneyed phrase. Who knows whether angels could stand the teachers' examination?
I say with Herr Weidmann: I should just like to know how men can manage not to believe in God. Could only human understanding devise such a story as this? I had not the slightest idea where she came from, or who she was; and now she is put aboard the same ship for me, or you may say, I am put on board, and now the war breaks out, and she has an uncle in America—It is a fine thing that there is an uncle in America. I think I have met my father-in-law. And do you know what is the best thing?
To have a beloved one to live through a storm.
In the midst of the storm, and it was no ordinary one, I thought, How would it have been, if you had been obliged to sink into the sea alone, and had never known what it is to kiss a maiden's lips, and how it feels to have a soft hand stroke your face, and even to be told, "You are handsome,"—just think of it! I, Emil Knopf, famous as the least dangerous of men, I am handsome! Oh, how blind were all mothers and daughters in the blessed land of Uniformingen! Rosalie has a little mirror, and when I look into it, I am really handsome—I am pleased with myself. But do not think I have gone mad; I am in full possession of my mental powers. Herr Major, I pledge myself to explain to you the law of the centre of gravity and of the line of gravitation. I retain my understanding intact.
One thing, however, is hard for me. I find that I am no poet. If I were, I should now, of necessity, compose such poems that the whole world would hear of nothing else. The sailors could not refrain from singing them, nor the soldiers, coming away from the parade ground, nor the white-handed young lady at the piano, nor the journeyman by the roadside, when he takes off his oil-cloth hat and lays his head on his pack. Oh, I feel as if I must have something which should appease the hunger of the whole world, crying to all men, "Do you not see how beautiful the world is?"
But now I beg for a wedding gift. You and Fräulein Milch must have your photographs taken, for my sake. Oh, excuse my writing Fräulein Milch—I mean the Majorin. I see that I have kept writing Fräulein Milch throughout the whole letter. Do not be vexed if I do not alter it.
In the New World I shall write again; but now not another word. I have written enough, my whole life long, and now I wish to do nothing but frolic and kiss. Oh! that beautiful air from Don Giovanni occurs to me.
I will say but this one thing more: Manna behaves sweetly and kindly to my Rosalie, and so do Adams and our three doctors and young Fassbender. Every one rejoices in our happiness, and my young brothers-in-law are jolly fellows. We are all practising English, but we mean to remain true Germans.
In sight of land.