childish pursuits, I think I see a bride whose priestly robes do not
betray, nor her face express, whether she is sad or joyous in her
ecstasy." "Thou lookest deeper into my breast, knowest more of my
spiritual fate, than I, because I need only read in thy soul to find
myself." "I would possess every thing, wealth and power of beautiful
ideas, art and science, only to give it to thee, to gratify my love
to thee, and my pride in thy love." "Formerly, I often thought, Why
was I born? but, after thou wert with me, I never asked again." "I
see thee wandering past the grove where I am at home, just as a
sparrow, concealed by dense foliage, watches a solitary swan swimming
on the quiet waters, and, hidden, sees how it bends its neck to dip
into the flood, drawing circles around it; sacred signs of its
isolation from the impure, the reckless, the unspiritual!" "I have
been made happy to-day: some one secretly placed in my room a rose-
tree with twenty-seven buds; these are just thy years."

Many plaintive presentiments of unknown woe, parting, death, gave a
mysterious undertone of sadness to much of the correspondence of
these two friends. The forebodings were destined to be more than
fulfilled in the tragic reality. Poor Guenderode, wrought to madness
by a disappointment in love, committed suicide. She drowned herself
in a river, where her body was found entangled in the long sedge.
Years afterwards, Bettine relates the story in a letter to Goethe,
the perusal of which has made many a gentle heart ache. The substance
of the tragedy may be briefly told:

"One day," Bettine writes, "Guenderode met me with a joyful air, and
said, "Yesterday I spoke with a surgeon, who told me it was very easy
to make away with one's self. She hastily opened her gown, and
pointed to the spot beneath her beautiful breast. Her eyes sparkled
with delight. I gazed at her, and felt uneasy. And what shall I do
when thou art dead?' I asked. Oh! ere then,' said she, thou wilt not
care for me any more; we shall not remain so intimate till then: I
will first quarrel with thee.' I turned to the window to hide my
tears and my anger. She had gone to the other window, and was silent.
I glanced secretly at her: her eye was lifted to heaven; but its ray
was broken, as though its whole fire were turned within. After I had
observed her awhile, I could no longer control myself: I broke into
loud crying, I fell on her neck, I dragged her down to a seat, and
sat up