* * * * *
"Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone." These are
the noblest, the greatest words ever uttered by human lips, or heard by
human ear. They divide the history of the human race into two parts.
They are the "Let there be light" of the second creation. They divide
and heal my little life too, and create me anew.
Has one who is not wholly without sin a right to offer precepts and
reflections to others?
Look into your own heart. What are you?
Behold my hands. They are hardened by toil. I have done more than merely
lift them in prayer.
* * * * *
Since I am alone I have not seen a letter of print. I have no book and
wish for none; and this is not in order to mortify myself, but because I
wish to be perfectly alone.
* * * * *
She who renounces the world, and in her loneliness still cherishes the
thought of eternity, has assumed a heavy burden.
Convent life is not without its advantages. The different voices that
join in the _chorale_ sustain each other; and when the tone at last
ceases, it seems to float away on the air and vanish by degrees. But
here I am quite alone. I am priest and church, organ and congregation,
confessor and penitent, all in one; and my heart is often _so_ heavy, as
if I must needs have another to help me bear the load. "Take me up and
carry me, I cannot go further!" cries my soul. But then I rouse myself
again, seize my scrip and my pilgrim's staff and wander on, solitary and
alone; and while I wander, strength returns to me.
* * * * *
It often seems to me as if it were sinful thus to bury myself alive. My
voice is no longer heard in song, and much more that dwells within me
has become mute.
Is this right?
If my only object in life were to be at peace with myself, it would be
well enough; but I long to labor and to do something for others. Yet
where and what shall it be?
* * * * *
When I first heard that the beautifully carved furniture of the great
and wealthy is the work of prisoners, it made me shudder. And now,
although I am not deprived of freedom, I am in much the same condition.
Those who have disfigured life should, as an act of expiation, help to
make life more beautiful for others. The thought that I am doing this
comforts and sustains me.
* * * * *
My work prospers. But last winter's wood is not yet fit for use. My
little pitchman has brought me some that is old, excellent, and well
seasoned, having been part of the rafters of an old house that has just
been torn down. We work together cheerfully, and our earnings are
considerable.
* * * * *
Vice is the same everywhere, except that here it is more open. Among the
masses, vice is characterized by coarseness; among the upper classes,
by meanness.
The latter shake off the consequences of their evil deeds, while the
former are obliged to bear them.
* * * * *
The rude manners of these people are necessary, and are far preferable
to polite deceit. They must needs be rough and rude. If it were not for
its coarse, thick bark, the oak could not withstand the storm.
I have found that this rough bark covers more tenderness and sincerity
than does the smoothest surface.
* * * * *
Jochem told me, to-day, that he is still quite a good walker, but that a
blind man finds it very troublesome to go anywhere; for at every step he
is obliged to grope about, so that he may feel sure of his ground before
he firmly plants his foot on the earth.
Is it not the same with me? Am I not obliged to be sure of the ground
before I take a step?
Such is the way of the fallen.
Ah! why does everything I see or hear become a symbol of my life?
* * * * *
I have now been here between two and three years. I have formed a
resolve which it will be difficult to carry out. I shall go out into the
world once more. I must again behold the scenes of my past life. I have
tested myself severely.
May it not be a love of adventure, that genteel yet vulgar desire to
undertake what is unusual or fraught with peril? Or is it a morbid
desire to wander through the world after having died, as it were?
No; far from it. What can it be? An intense longing to roam again, if it
be only for a few days. I must kill the desire, lest it kill me.
Whence arises this sudden longing?
Every tool that I use while at work burns my hand.