es. He was anxious and
uneasy. The hereditary prince had held out hopes to him, but their
fulfilment was too long deferred; Madame Koenig's affairs grew more and
more involved, the solitude of Wolfenbuettel more and more arid.

At last his restless spirit could brook this position no longer.
Heedless of Madame Koenig's warning prayers not to bring matters to an
abrupt crisis, to have patience with the Court whose financial position
at the time was truly a sorry one, Lessing one day broke away from
Wolfenbuettel and appeared at Berlin, whence he applied for an extended
leave of absence to Vienna, where Madame Koenig's business had lately
required her presence. He reassures her that he has not burnt his ships
behind him, and this was true, but he wished to ascertain for himself
how matters stood with her, and also if there was, any opening for him
in that capital. He arrived at Vienna in March 1775, and found Madame
Koenig's affairs so far advanced towards settlement as to justify him
in entertaining hopes of a speedy union.

But the evil fortune that seemed to run like a fatal thread through
Lessing's life whenever he found himself near the fulfilment of an
ardent desire again asserted itself. He had not been ten days in Vienna
before one of the younger princes of the house of Brunswick arrived
there also on his way to Italy. He wished to have Lessing as his
travelling companion. Thus a long cherished desire was to be realised
at the moment when a far stronger one had usurped its place. Lessing
debated for some time what he should do, but on consideration with
Madame Koenig, it was decided to be unwise to offend the prince whose
earnest wish for Lessing's companionship was supported by the Empress
Maria Theresa, and moreover the projected journey was only to extend
over eight weeks; consequently the parting and delay would be brief,
while the ultimate consequences of having obliged the ducal house at
personal inconvenience might be incalculable. The journey extended to
nine months, and was a period of misery to Lessing. He never received a
line from Madame Koenig all this time, her letters having all
miscarried, thanks to the officious zeal of her Vienna acquaintances,
and he tortured himself with fears lest she were ill or dead. Neither
did he write to her, nor keep a diary, beyond the very briefest records
of some discoveries in libraries. Not a word about the art, the scenery
of the land he had so craved to see. He p