He was inexpressibly hurt by the offer, and,
at first, even doubted whether she could really love him; but, on
second thoughts, he wrote to her, expressing his deep thanks, but,
at the same time, the impossibility of his accepting such a gift
from her. He succeeded in reaching his destination, though
entirely destitute of means. After a long and hard struggle with
the world, extending over many years, Fichte was at length earning
money enough to enable him to marry. In one of his charming
letters to his betrothed he said:--"And so, dearest, I solemnly
devote myself to thee, and thank thee that thou hast thought me
not unworthy to be thy companion on the journey of life.... There
is no land of happiness here below--I know it now--but a land of
toil, where every joy but strengthens us for greater labour.
Hand-in-hand we shall traverse it, and encourage and strengthen
each other, until our spirits--oh, may it be together!--shall
rise to the eternal fountain of all peace."
The married life of Fichte was very happy. His wife proved a true
and highminded helpmate. During the War of Liberation she was
assiduous in her attention to the wounded in the hospitals, where
she caught a malignant fever, which nearly carried her off.
Fichte himself caught the same disease, and was for a time
completely prostrated; but he lived for a few more years and died
at the early age of fifty-two, consumed by his own fire.
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