My dear girl, sister of my Kaspar, I must write to you. I cannot sleep, cannot find rest. I am sitting here half-clothed at my desk, involuntarily thrust to and fro by dreams. I feel as though I could write letters to all the world, to any random stranger, any heart; for to me all human hearts tremble with warmth. Today when you pressed my hand you looked at me for such a long time, questioningly and with a certain severity, as though you already knew how things stood with me, that I was in a bad way. Could it be that I appear bad in your eyes? No, I feel certain you won’t condemn me when you know everything. You’re the sort of girl one doesn’t wish to keep secrets from, but the sort one wishes to tell everything, and I do wish to tell you everything so that you’ll know everything, so that you’ll be able to love me; for you will love me once you know me, and I so long to be loved by you. I dream of having all beautiful, intelligent girls gathered around me, as friends and advisors, but also as my pupils. Kaspar tells me you want to be a teacher and sacrifice yourself to the education of young children. I too wish to be a teacher, for women are born educators. You wish to become something, be something: This suits you well, and corresponds to my image of you. It also corresponds to this age we live in, and the world, which is a child of this time. This is lovely of you, and if I had a child, I would send it to study with you, I would entrust it to you completely so that it would become accustomed to revering and loving you as a mother. How the children will look up to you, look to see whether there is severity or benevolence in your eyes. How they will lament in their small, blossoming hearts when they see you arrive for class with a worried expression; for your soul is comprehensible to children. You will not have to spend long with poorly behaved children; for I imagine that even the most poorly behaved, poorly brought-up among them will quickly come to feel ashamed of their misbehavior and will regret having caused you pain. To obey you, Hedwig, how sweet that must be. I should like to obey you, to become a child and feel the pleasure of being allowed to be obedient to you. And you intend to move to a small, quiet village? All the lovelier! Then you will have village children to teach, and they are even better to educate than children from the cities. But even in the city you would be successful. You long for the countryside, the cottages and the little gardens before them, the human faces one sees there, the river that goes rushing past, the lonely, enchanting shore of the lake, the plants one searches for and finds in the silent forest, the animals in the countryside and the entire country world. You will find all these things; for this is where you belong. One belongs in the place one longs for. Surely you will one day find there the answer to the question of what one must do to be happy. You are already happy now, and I can feel quite well how dearly I would love to possess your good cheer. When one sees you, one would like to imagine one has known you a long time and that one even knows what your mother looks like. Other girls one might find pretty, even beautiful, but just looking at you is enough to make a person wish to be known and loved by you. There is something enticing, something almost grandmotherly in your bright young face; perhaps it’s the country air you have about you. Your mother grew up on a farm? What a beautiful, dear farmwife she must have been. She suffered a great deal in the city, Kaspar once told me; I can believe it; for I see her as if she were standing here before me, this mother of yours. I understand she behaved haughtily and suffered on this account. Of course; because in the city one isn’t allowed to display such pride as in the country, where a woman can easily imagine herself the mistress of all she surveys. I’m hoping to please you a little by speaking of your mother, whom you tended and cared for when the poor thing was broken and ill. I’ve seen a picture of your mother too, and I shall honor and love her if you’ll allow me. If you give your permission, I’ll do so even more warmly. If only I could see her, could throw myself at her feet, take her hand and press my lips to it. How much good this would do me. It would be like a provisional, paltry, incomplete payment of a debt; for I am her debtor, and yours as well, Hedwig. Your brother Kaspar was no doubt often unkind and treated you harshly; for young men must often be hard on those who love them best if they are to clear themselves a path out into the world. It makes sense to me that artists must often shake off love as a hindrance. You saw him when he was very young, a mere schoolboy going to school, you reproached him for his poor conduct, argued with him, you both pitied and envied him, protected and warned him, scolded and praised, you shared with him his first, awakening sentiments and told him it was good to feel things; you withdrew from him when you realized his aspirations were different from yours; you gave him leave to do as he pleased, hoping he would prosper and not fall. When he was gone, you longed for him and ran to throw your arms about his neck on the day of his return, and at once you went back to taking him under your wing; for he is the sort of person who seems constantly in need of a wing to rest under, constantly. Thank you for this. I haven’t breath enough, heart enough, words enough to thank you. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to. Perhaps you want nothing to do with me. I am a sinner, but perhaps sinners deserve to be permitted to learn what a person must do to appear humble. I am humble, not defeated, certainly not broken, but rather filled with flaming, suppliant, imploring humility. I wish to make good again with humility what I have done wrong out of love. If you place any value on having a sister who is happy to be your sister, I am at your service. Do you know what your brother Simon has given me? He has given me himself, as a gift, he has thrown himself away on me, and I should like to throw myself away on you. But, Hedwig, one cannot throw oneself away on you. After all, this would mean wanting to give you little. But I am a great deal happier ever since Kaspar embraced me. Now I’m starting to boast and speak pridefully, let me stop. I’m going to see if I can fall asleep. The forest is sleeping too, why should people be unable to sleep. But I know I’ll be able to sleep now.
