patients, she is allowed to be with him, to help him, nurse him; every minute of the day she knows how he is, if there is improvement and hope. While I, who love him, I, who would not for a moment hesitate to give him my life, I must stand outside his door like one of the crowd and receive what information she, a hireling, is graciously pleased to give me. She bars the door to me, she does not even allow me to give him, my dearest and only one, a single glance.
And so powerless am I that I must obey this person, even be amiable to her to persuade her to give me the latest news.
I would gladly run away from everything here at home. Willingly bear the blame and the disgrace if I could be with him, sit near his bed, and fight with death for him. I have ransacked my heart, and I know I would do it without a moment's hesitation.
But I know also that he would never allow it. For he does not love me as I love him. His love is wise and prudent, and thinks of consequences; his love knows exactly how far it should go; it knows the frontier which it never intends to pass. But my love knows no goal but him, neither now nor in the future.
Therefore I must be wise and stay here; here where I have nothing to do, where I am gasping like a fish on shore, because the air round me holds nothing of him. His name is never mentioned, and I can never even hear it. To no one can I tell my
