"Very well," said Herr von Schrankenheim, "possibly I can, if you will
sit down again and listen to me. Erdmann, I know of a distant and real
hermitage, in which one could serve humanity and perhaps do something
great for the community. Far from here, deep in among the Alps,
stretches a large forest between rocky hills, where shepherds, herdsmen,
wood-cutters, and charcoal-burners are working, and where others are
also living who have perhaps honestly secluded themselves or dishonestly
taken refuge there, and who drag out an existence by means of lawful or
unlawful business. It is true churlish men are among them, whose hearts
are gnawed by misfortune or something worse. They have neither priest
nor doctor and also no school-teacher in their vicinity; they are quite
deserted and isolated and have only their own incompetency and misguided
natures upon which to depend. I am the owner of the forest. For a long
time I have had the intention of sending someone to this region who
should guide the inhabitants a little, assist them with good advice, and
teach the children to read and write. The man might make himself very
useful. And, indeed, it is not so easy to find one for the place; for
it should be someone who, weary of the world, would like to live in
seclusion, yet work for mankind. Erdmann, what do you think of that?"
At these words I felt impelled to seize his hand and say: "I am the man
for it; dissatisfied with the condition of things in this old world, I
will found a new one in the wilderness. A new school, a new parish,--a
new life. Let me go to-day!" So the fire was not quite extinguished;
sparks sometimes fly from ashes.
"Cold weather is at hand," continued the Baron. "For the winter remain
in my house and give the matter due consideration and when summer comes,
if my offer still pleases you, then go to the forest."
The rustling of a dress in the adjoining room filled me with alarm, and
I finally took my leave, begging permission to go away for the winter,
with the promise to return with the swallows and accept his proposal.
He would not be dissuaded from giving me the "means" for the coming
season, but then I fled. In the front hall I caught a glimpse of a
woman's figure, past which I glided like a spectre.
One day I wandered as far as the woodland by the lake where my childhood
and my mother lie buried. And here in this place I rented a small room
for the winter. I often climbed the snowy slopes and, standing under
moss-covered trees, was impressed with the feeling of having once stood
there with my mother and father. I often walked over the frozen lake
thinking of the days when I had crossed the gentle waves in a boat at my
parents' side, watching the sunset glow on the mountains and listening
to the song echoes of a yellow-hammer resounding on the cliffs. My
father and mother also sang. That was long ago; long ago.
I have lain in prison in France; I have wandered ill and dying over the
deserts of Russia; and now I am living here in this dear, precious
little room by the lake. All would have been well, the time of poverty
forgotten like the image in a dream,--only it should never have dawned,
that unhappy day in Saxonland--that will haunt me forever. Heinrich, I
do not fear thy ghost; only come to me once, that I may say to thee: "It
happened in blindness; I cannot alter it now; I will wipe it out with my
own life." ...
*RESOLVED*
Now it is well. I have searched myself for many days; I have reviewed
my former life and written it out here in a few words, that I may always
keep it the more clearly before my eyes when new perplexities and
troubles overwhelm me. In fact I think I have endured and am still able
to endure the school of life better than the school of books and dead
precepts. I have acquired understanding and have become calm. Having
carefully considered my experiences and circumstances, my talents and
inclinations, I think it no presumption to accept the proposal of Herr
von Schrankenheim. Although outwardly still quite young, inwardly I am
very old. The advice of an old man will surely be welcome to the
dwellers in the forest.