Not alone for Fraulein Goechhausen was this beautiful May-night of sad experience with witches. There were other places at Weimar. In the neighborhood of the ducal park, in the midst of green-meadows, stood a simple little cottage. Near it flowed the Ilm, spanned by three bridges, all closed by gates, so that no one could reach the cottage without the occupant’s consent. It was as secure as a fortress or an island of the sea, and distinctly visible even in the night, its white walls rising against the dark perspective of the park. This is the poet’s Eldorado, his paradise, presented to Wolfgang Goethe by his friend the Duke Charles Augustus. It was late as the possessor wound his way toward his Tusculum, as he familiarly called it, and, more attracted by the aspect of the heavens than by sleep, sought the balcony, to gaze at the dark mass of clouds chasing each other like armies in retreat and pursuit; one moment veiling the moon, at another revealing her full disk, and soon again covering the earth with dark shadows, until the lightning flashed down in snaky windings, making the darkness momentarily visible with her lurid glare. It was a glorious spectacle for the intuitive, sympathetic soul of the poet, and he yielded to its influence with delight. He heard the voice of God in the rolling of the thunder, and sought to comprehend the unutterable, and understand it in this poetical sense. Voices spake to him in the rushing of the storm, the sighing of the trees, and the rustling of the foliage. The storm passed quickly, a profound quiet and solemnity spread out over the nightly world, and it lay as if in repose, smiling in blissful dreams. The air was filled with perfumes, wafted to the balcony upon which dreamed the poet with unclosed eyelids and waking thoughts. The clouds were all dispersed; full and clear was suspended the moon in the deep, blue vault, where twinkled thousands of stars, whispering of unknown worlds, and the mysteries of Nature, and the greatness of Him who created them all.
“Oh, beloved, golden moon, how calmly you look down upon me, sublime and
lovely at the same time! When I gaze at you, moving so quietly, floating
in infinity, and contemplating reflect thyself in finiteness, I think of
you, oh Charlotte, who stands above me like the moon so bright and mild,
and I envelop myself in your rays, and my spirit becomes heavenly in
your light.
Mir ist es, denk ich nur an Dich,
Als in den Mond zu seh’n,
Ein suesser Friede weht um mich,
Weiss nicht, wie mir gescheh’n!
“Yes, like sweet peace, and quiet, sacred moonlight, my thoughts shall be of you, Charlotte; not like the glowing rays of the sun, or the cold light of the stars. Bright and beaming like the moon you are to me, spreading around me your soft light. Oh, beautiful golden moon, mirrored in the water, you lie as in a silvery bath, and would entice me to seek you in the murmuring depths. Hark! how the ruffled waves of the Ilm with repeated gentle caresses kiss the shore, rush from thence in golden links down the river! Sweet of the Ilm, I come, I come!”
Goethe hastened from the balcony, threw aside his apparel, plunged into the silvery flood, shouting with joy.
What heavenly pleasure to float there, rocked by the murmuring waves, gazing at the silvery stars and the golden moon, a lovely May night, listening to the voices of Nature! Add to that the perfume-laden breeze rising from the rain-refreshed meadows. How glorious to plunge into the cool stream, splashing and dashing the water, and then to shoot like a fish through the drops falling like golden rain! Suddenly, while swimming, Goethe raised his head to listen. He thought he heard footsteps on the poet’s forbidden bridge. The moon distinctly revealed a peasant from Oberweimar, who would be early to the weekly market, and so serve himself to the shortest route while no one could see him.
“Such presumption deserves punishment, my good peasant, and if there is no one else to do it the ghosts must.”
Listen, what a savage yell from under the bridge, and then another more unearthly!
The peasant, frightened, stopped suddenly, and looked down into the river. “Oh, what can it be?”
A glistening white arm is raised menacingly toward the bridge. A white figure, with a black head and long black hair, is seen plunging and splashing, while fearful yells are heard from the deep. Then it disappeared, to return, and menace, and yell, and plunge again.
The peasant shrieked with terror, and was answered with a cruel laugh. The white figure sank and rose from the river screeching and yelling, and the peasant shrieked also with terror.