Fritz's Story.
ERFURT, AUGUSTINIAN CONVENT, _April_ 1.
I suppose conflict of mind working on a constitution weakened by the
plague, brought on the illness from which I am just recovering. It is
good to feel strength returning as I do. There is a kind of natural
irresistible delight in life, however little we have to live for,
especially to one so little prepared to die as I am. As I write, the
rooks are cawing in the church-yard elms, disputing and chattering like
a set of busy prosaic burghers. But retired from all this noisy public
life, two thrushes have built their nest in a thorn just under the
window of my cell. And early in the morning they wake me with song. He
flies hither and thither as busy as a bee, with food for his mate, as
she broods secure among the thick leaves, and then he perches on a twig,
and sings as if he had nothing to do but to be happy. All is pleasure to
him, no doubt--the work as well as the singing. Happy the creatures for
whom it is God's will that they should live according to their nature,
and not contrary to it.
Probably in the recovering from illness, when the body is still weak,
yet thrilling with reviving strength, the heart is especially tender,
and yearns more towards home and former life than it will when strength
returns and brings duties. Or, perhaps, this illness recalls the
last,--and the loving faces and soft hushed voices that were around me
then.
Yet I have nothing to complain of. My aged confessor has scarcely left
my bed-side. From the first he brought his bed into my cell, and watched
over me like a father.
And his words minister to my heart as much as his hands to my bodily
wants.
If my spirit would only take the comfort he offers, as easily as I
receive food and medicine from his hands!