On the Heights Part 138

The teachings--or, rather, the experiences--of a ruined worldling have two things in their favor. She who has gone astray has become observant of everything, and is, therefore, the best guide. And, besides that, it seems to me that those who receive a precept from the lips of one who is perfectly pure have no, choice left them; for purity is the highest authority, and its teachings must be accepted. But when a ruined being speaks to us, every word must be tested. It will not do to reject it at once; and this is well, for it makes one free.

The swallows are departing. They gather in flocks which, like thick clouds, darken the air and, with lightning speed, they move in their zig-zag course. How they can keep together in such irregular movements pa.s.ses our comprehension. When, or by what means, do they signify to each other when a sharp turn is to be taken?

The thought of flying suggests a sphere of life of which we can form no conception. And yet we imagine that we understand the world. What is fixed, we may comprehend; at least, the portion that is fixed.--Beyond that, all is conjecture.

I overheard Franz, Gundel's lover, saying to her: "A woman who looked just like Irmgard was once with the queen at the military maneuvers; and she wore the uniform of our regiment, and rode up and down the line."

If the soldier were to recognize and betray me?

How the confused feelings that fill the human heart seem to play at hide and seek with each other. With all my misery, it is not without a certain feeling of triumph that I learn that my image has impressed itself on a thousand memories.

I have not yet accustomed myself to go out alone, and it often seems to me as if a servant must be walking after me. Ah! what an artificial life we all lead.

I have spent a whole day alone in the woods. Oh, how happy I was! I lay on the ground listening to the rustling of the leaves overhead, and the prattling of the brook below. If I could but end my days here like a wounded doe--for I am one, and drops of blood mark my track.--No, I am well again. I was once in the world; that is, in another world; and now I lead a new life.

The little pitchman knew my father. During one summer, he worked in our forest, gathering pitch, and my father, who understood everything, went up to him and taught him how to boil the pitch in order to obtain a better and purer article than he would otherwise have got.

"Oh, what a man he was! I only wish you'd known him," said the little pitchman to me. "He was so good. Many a one has told me, since then, how he used to help everybody. He knew all about everything. He taught me that you can get the best turpentine from the larches. He never liked to give anything to people, but he wasn't stingy. He helped all who'd work, and showed them how things might be done with less trouble and with greater profit, and that was better than giving them money.

Every year he would lend them some money, so that they could buy a pig, and when they'd sold it, they had to pay him back. They often laughed at him and gave him a nickname, too, but it was an honor to him.

Yes--and would you believe it?--he had a great misfortune. His children deserted him."

How these words rent my heart!

During the whole evening, the terrible mark on my forehead burned like fire.

This is the anniversary of my return to the summer palace.

At that time, I dreamt that a star had fallen down on me, and that a man, with averted gaze, was saying: "Thou too, art alone!"

There are depths of the soul, which no safety-lamp ever enters, and where all light is extinguished. I turn away--for naught dwells there but the angry storm-wind.

My thoughts go back to my childhood. I was three years old when my mother died. I have nothing to remind me of it, except that the moving about and pushing in the next room greatly frightened me. Oh mother!

why did you die so soon? How different I would have been--

I? Who is this I? If it could have been different, it were not I. It was to be thus.

They put black clothes on me and my brother, and I only remember that father went with us. He said that it would be better if we did not remain with him, and that it was not well for us to grow up in solitude. He kissed us at parting. He kissed me and my brother, then he kissed me once more. It seemed as if he wished to retain my kiss for the last.

What are the memories of my childhood? A silent convent, my aunt the lady abbess, and my friend Emma. I remember this much, however: when strangers came, they would turn to me and say: "Oh, what a pretty child! what large brown eyes!" Emma told me that I was not pretty, and that the visitors were only laughing at and mocking me; but my mirror told me that I was pretty. I frankly said so to Emma and she confessed that I was. My father came--he had been in America--and he looked at me for a long while. "Father, I am pretty, am I not?" said I to him.

"Yes, my child, you are, and much is required of one who is beautiful.

Beauty is a heavy charge. Always bear yourself that others may justly feel proud of you."

I did not know what he meant at the time, but now I understand it all.

I do not remember how the years pa.s.sed by. I went back to father.

Bruno, who was intended for an agriculturist, entered the army against father's wishes. Father, absorbed by his work and his studies, lived entirely for himself, and left us to do as we pleased. He was proud of this, and often said that he did not wish to exercise his authority over us, and that he meant to allow us to develop our characters freely and without restraint. I returned to the convent, and remained there until my aunt died.

And there--forgive me, great and pure spirit!--there lay your great error. You cast aside your paternal majesty and meant to live in love alone. And we? Bruno would not, and I could not. And thus, while you were lonely, we were miserable.

Bruno went to court. He was handsome, gay and full of life. He presented me at court, also. Father had allowed me to follow my own choice, and there my troubles began. I knew that I was beautiful, and I had the courage to think differently from others. I had become the free nature which my father had meant me to be; but to what purpose?

When I look over what I have written, I cannot help thinking of how much one has lived and labored during a year, and how small the yield is, after all. But then flowers, too, require a long time before they blossom, and fruit ripens but slowly; many sunny days and dewy nights have helped to perfect them.

A rainbow! Rest and peace are intangible. They exist nowhere except in our own imagination and in the view we take of things around us. Now I understand why the rainbow that followed the deluge was described as a token of peace. The seven colors have no real existence. They only appear to the eye that receives the broken rays at the proper angle of refraction. Rest and peace cannot be conquered by force; they are free gifts of the heaven within us--smiles and tears meeting like the rain cloud and the sunshine.

I am often oppressed with a fear that I shall lose what culture I possess, because of my having no one with whom I can speak in my own language, and--I hardly know how to express myself--in whom I can find my own nature reflected. And yet, that which makes man human is possessed by those about me, as much as by the most cultured. This being the case, whence this fear? and of what benefit is culture? Do I still mean to use it in the world? I do not understand myself.

Our fashionable culture cannot supplant religion, because, while religion makes all men equal, education produces inequality. But there must be a system of culture that will equalize all men, and that is the only right and true system. We are, as yet, at the threshold.

I have a great work before me, and am determined to succeed.

Hansei put little Peter on the white horse and let him ride a few steps. How happy the little fellow was! and how Wodan looked around at father and son! I retained the scene in my memory, and am now working at the group--Hansei, Peter, and the white foal, all together. If I only succeed! I can scarcely sleep for thinking of it.

The group has proved a success, although not so great a one as I had wished for. The human figures are stiff and without expression; but the horse is full of life, and every one in the house is delighted with my achievement.

Hansei wishes me to accompany him when he goes out hunting, so that I may copy stags, deer, and chamois. Those, he thinks, are the best subjects, after all.

I have tried to copy the animals in the forest, but did not succeed as I did with the horse. I can only hold fast to that which has no fear of me and which I, therefore, love. I shall stick to my horses and cows.

All the mountain summits that I see, have such strange and yet appropriate names. Who bestowed them upon them? And who accepted them?

What names could we invent nowadays? The earth and language have both become rigid and unyielding. I think I once heard the same thought expressed one evening, while we were at tea with the queen.