Part 144 (2/2)

The telegraph wires are being put up between here and my forest view.

The busy doings of the great world are now to pa.s.s by me. I can see men on the ladders, fastening the wires to the high poles.

Walpurga tells me that my voice is quite hoa.r.s.e, but I feel quite well.

Perhaps it is because I speak so little, sometimes pa.s.sing whole days without uttering a word.

The cool, pure breezes that I inhale every morning are like a refres.h.i.+ng draught, and the blue of the sky is far deeper up here.

Gunther once told me that I am of an unrhythmic temperament. He was in the right. If I were not, I would now express my deepest thoughts in melodious words. I feel so happy, so free, that my thoughts could find proper expression in poetry alone.

Although Hansei has now been in possession for a long while, he seems grateful for everything. It makes him happy to know that he is able to buy fine cows and pretty bells for them, and this grat.i.tude for his good fortune lends an inner tenderness to his rough exterior.

(August 28th.)--After long, sunless days of deathlike torpor, the sky is bright and clear again. The snowy peaks, the green hills and the valleys are bathed in suns.h.i.+ne. I feel as if I must fly away and soar through s.p.a.ce; but I remain here and work; for, as my work was faithful to me in dark days, so shall I remain faithful to it in bright ones. I shall only wander forth when evening comes and work is at an end. This is Goethe's birthday. I think Goethe would have been friendly toward me, if I had lived in his time and near him.

It is pleasant, after all, that we know the hour of his birth. It was at noon. I write these lines during the very hour, and my thoughts are of him.

What would he have counseled me to do with my lost life?

Is it a lost life?--It is not.

Franz has returned from the target-shooting and was the hero of the occasion. What shouts of joy and triumph! He gained the first prize, a fine rifle. The target, riddled with bullets, is displayed before our house.

A falling leaf in autumn--how many bright summer days and mild nights were required to perfect it? What was it while it hung on the tree?

What is it now, when it falls to the ground?

And what is the result of a whole human life, when summed up in a few sentences?

How many feet is our farm above the level of the sea? I do not know, and Hansei would smile to think of one's asking such a question. We perform our duty on the little spot of earth on which we dwell. Its effect flows out into the great sea of humanity and of history, without any interference of ours. The brook goes on in its course, driving the mill-wheels, irrigating the meadows, and is at last swallowed up in the ocean, whence come the clouds and storms that again feed the brook.

In spite of all that I grew up to, all that, in a course of years, I have practiced, acted, or thought, I cannot help regarding myself as a block of wood--even now, I know not what will become of me, or who will hew me into shape.

I have a beautiful task on hand--a piece of work that will remain and be a constant pleasure to me--work for our own house.

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