He could contain himself no longer; he rushed forward and threw himself at her feet. “Oh, Charlotte, I love you, only you, and once more I am by your side!”
A shriek! was it a cry of surprise or delight? Who let the guitar fall to the floor, he or she? Who embraced the other in affectionate haste, he or she? Who pressed the lips so lovingly to the other lips, he or she? And who said, “I love you? What bliss to again repose in your affection, I would fain die now. In this moment a whole life has been consecrated, for love has revealed to us our other self.”
She sat upon the tabouret, and Goethe still knelt before her, clasping her feet and pressing them to his bosom. His eyes beamed with inexpressible delight as he regarded the face, usually so calm and indifferent—today glowing as sunrise.
“Oh, tell me, Charlotte, have you thought of me? But rather speak to me with your eyes, and may they be more than the cruel lips which refuse to confess. Oh, shade not those loved orbs, which are my stars shining upon me, whithersoever I wander. They are my light, my spring-time, and my love. They will never cease to beam upon me, as light and love never grow old. Let me read eternal youth in those eyes, and the secrets which rest as pearls in the depths of your heart. Only tell me, is the pearl of love to be found there, and is it mine?”
“It would be a misfortune if it were there,” she whispered, with a sweet smile. “Pearls are the result of a malady, and my heart would be ill if the pearl of love were found there. No, no, rise, Wolf, dear Wolf, we have given away at the first moment of meeting; let us now be reasonable, and speak in a dignified manner with each other, as it becomes a married woman and her friend.”
“Friend?” repeated Goethe, impetuously; “forever must I listen to this hated, hypocritical word, which, like a priest’s robe, shall cover the sacred glow in my heart? I have told you, Charlotte, that I am not your friend, and I never shall be. There is not the least spark of this still, calm fire of the earthly moderation in me, by which one could cook his potatoes, or his daily vegetables, but by which one could never prepare food for the gods, or that which could refresh a poet’s heart or quicken his soul. No, in me burns the fire which Prometheus stole from the gods, originating in heaven and glowing upon earth. This heavenly and earthly love unites in one flame. Again, I say, Charlotte, banish this hypocritical word ‘friendship!’ It is only love which I feel for you, let this sentiment enter at every avenue of your heart, and do not feign ignorance of it, sweet hypocrite. Surprise has torn away the mask! The passionate kiss, which still burns upon my lips, was not given by a friend or sister; but overcome by joy, the truth has been acknowledged!”
“Do you wish that the kiss of meeting should be that of parting also?” said Charlotte, sadly, as she raised her blue eyes with a languishing look to the handsome, ardent face of the man who stood before her. “Do you wish to separate forever? I must recall to you our last conversation: ‘Only when you are resolved to moderate this impetuous manner, and curb this overflow of feeling, which reason and custom imposes upon us, shall I be able to receive you and enjoy your society.’”
“Yes, with these unmeaning phrases you banished me. Cruel and hard-hearted were you to the last. Oh, Charlotte! you know what I suffered at our last walk, with your reasoning remonstrances and cold-hearted reproaches; they pierced my heart like poisoned arrows. If the duke and duchess had not been walking before us, I should have wept myself weary. My whole being cried within me: ‘Oh! cruel and inexorable woman, to beg of me, who so unutterably loves her, to call her friend and sister!’ I repeated the words daily during my absence, and sought to clothe your beloved image with meaning. They disfigured you, and the angel whom I adore was no longer recognizable. I cannot call you friend or sister.”
“Then I can be nothing to you, dear Wolfgang,” sighed Charlotte. “In this hour of meeting we will part, and to avoid a chance encounter even, I will go to my husband at Kochberg, and remain there the whole summer.”
Goethe seized her, holding her fast in his strong arms, staring her in the face with a fierce, angry look. “Are you in earnest? Would you really do it?”