My senses are reawakening. Light and sound now bring me entirely new
impressions; what I see, I now also feel, with nerves of which hitherto
I did not suspect the existence. When evening draws on I stare into the
twilight until everything seems to shimmer before my eyes, and I dream
like a child....
Yesterday, before going to bed, I went on my balcony, as I usually do,
to take a last glance at the sea. But it was the starry sky that fixed
my attention. It seemed to reveal and offer itself to me. I felt I had
never really seen it before, although I sleep with it over my head!
Each star was to me like a dewdrop created to slake my thirst. I drank
in the sky like a plant that is almost dead for want of moisture. And
while I drank it in, I was conscious of a sensation hitherto unknown to
me. For the first time in my life I was aware of the existence of my
soul. I threw back my head to gaze and gaze. Night enfolded me in all
its splendour, and I wept.
What matter that I am growing old? What matter that I have missed the
best in life? Every night I can look towards the stars and be filled
with their chill, eternal peace.
I, who never could read a poem without secretly mocking the writer, who
never believed in the poets' ecstasies over Nature, now I perceive that
Nature is the one divinity worthy to be worshipped.
* * * * *
I miss Margarethe Ernst; especially her amusing ways. How she glided
about among people, always ready to dart out her sharp tongue, always
prepared to sting. And yet she is not really unkind, in spite of her
little cunning smile. But her every movement makes a singular impression
which is calculated.
We amused each other. We spoke so candidly about other people, and lied
so gracefully to each other about ourselves. Moreover, I think she is
loyal in her friendship, and of all my letters hers are the best
written.
I should have liked to have drawn her out, but she was the one person
who knew how to hold her own. I always felt she wore a suit of chain
armour under her close-fitting dresses which was proof against the
assaults of her most impassioned adorers.
She is one of those women who, without appearing to do so, manages to
efface all her tracks as she goes. I have watched her change her tactics
two or three times in the course of an evening, according to the people
with whom she was talking. She glided up to them, breathed their
atmosphere for an instant, and then established contact with them.
She is calculating, but not entirely for her own ends; she is like a
born mathematician who thoroughly enjoys working out the most difficult
problems.