“And how can one be freed from her blessings?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, “mother never would tell me the end of the fairy tale. I don’t think, either, there is any deliverance. Such creatures as we are must renounce happiness of our own free will, and however near it may be to us we may not see it—something sad always comes between us and happiness. The only thing we can do is to watch over the happiness of others and to make them as happy as possible.”
“But I should like to be a little happy myself,” she said, raising her eyes to him trustfully.
“I wish I were as happy as you are,” he answered.
“If only this anxiety were not always with me,” she complained.
“Anxiety! you must let her be your friend, I have known her all my life, and when I did not know why I quickly found some reason. It is not so bad, either—if there were no anxiety, one would not know for what purpose one lives. But only think how contented you might be. You see nothing but merry faces surrounding you. Your mother feels happy in spite of all her sufferings, does she not?”
“Yes, thank God,” she replied, “she has no idea how ill she is.”
“There you see! and your father has no idea of it, either. No care weighs on them, they love each other, and love you as well. No angry word is spoken among you, and when your mother at last closes her eyes she will perhaps do so with a smile on her lips, and be able to say, ‘I have always been very happy.’ Do tell me—what more can you wish for?”
“But she shall not die,’ cried Elsbeth.
“Why not? he asked, ‘is death so terrible?”