It is right that I should go to the woods. I am equipped and all is
ready. The Baron has promised me his assistance in everything. His son
Hermann greeted me again with a friendly bow. The young gentleman is a
little pale; he is probably very studious. His sister ... (In the
original two lines were here crossed out so many times that they had
become entirely illegible.)
They say that my aunt is well. Not wishing to cause her the pain which
she would have experienced at my appearance and my undertaking, I did
not visit her again. Now they are blowing the post-horn. Farewell,
beautiful town.
Already three days on the journey. However, this is a pleasanter
expedition than the one over the winter steppes. Day before yesterday
the green uplands changed into picturesque mountain regions. Yesterday
we entered a broad, pleasant valley. To-day we are going up and down
hills, through woods and ravines and by rocky cliffs. Now the road is
becoming narrower and rougher; sometimes it is necessary to alight from
the waggon and shove aside the broken blocks of stone. We see more
chamois and deer than people. I was obliged to remain in debt for my
night's lodging to-day. The bank-note which I have with me the people
in this region cannot change. I would have given my host something as
security, but he assured me if I were to remain in the forests of the
Winkel, I could easily send him the money by a messenger who came
occasionally from that region. I must return the bank-note and ask for
small coin.
On this the fourth day I have been set down. The post-chaise has gone on
its way; for a while I still hear the clear horn resounding through the
woods, and then all is silent and I sit here beside my bundle in the
midst of the wilderness.
Through the ravine flows a stream which they call the Winkel, along
which is a footpath. It leads over stones and roots and is sown with
hard pine-needles of last year. By this road I must travel.
Through the branches yonder I see the gleam of a white plateau; that is
a snow-field. And do people live in there?
*IN THE WINKEL*
So I will write it all out. For whom I do not know. Perhaps for the
dear God to whom in my innocence I wrote the letter when my father died.
My heart would break could I not talk over all that is unusual and
sorrowful in my life. I will tell it to the sheet of paper. Perchance
in the future it may be found by someone whom I can trust, though he but
half understands me. You, pure, white leaves, shall now be my friends
and share the years which may come to me. To-day my hair is still dark,
while you are somewhat grey, but you may yet outlive me and become my
future generation.
A little leaf of paper may live longer
Than the freshest spring-leaf upon God's earth,
Than the fleetest chamois on the rocky cliff,
Than the curly-haired child in the peaceful dale.
A little sheet of paper, pale and fragile,
Is oft the one image, faithful and true,
That man leaves behind him for future time,
When o'er his dust his descendants tread.
His bones are scattered, the grave-stone gone,
The house destroyed, the works have vanished.
Who will then our footsteps trace
In the eternal Nature where we once held sway?
New men wrestle with fortunes new,
And think no more of those who are gone;
Then a leaf, with its pale ink tracings,
Is often the only enduring sign
Of the being who once lived and suffered,
Laughed and wept, enjoyed and struggled,
And the thought that from the heart was born
In pain or joy, or in mad jest,
Remains, and the eternal kiss
Casts it in an everlasting mould.
Oh, may it in future times,
Purified, touch the hearts of men!
I arrived here on a Saturday. As I stumbled along by the Winkel Water,
I met here and there wood satyrs, brown and hairy, covered with moss and
pitch, going about in their fustian smocks. They looked like exiled,
withered tree-trunks, seeking for new ground where they might grow and
flourish again.
Stopping in front of me, they stared in astonishment or glanced at me
threateningly, while they struck fire with tinder and flint for their
pipes. Some of them had flashing eyes which sent forth sparks like those
from the fire-stones; others very good-naturedly showed me the way. One
rough, sturdy fellow, carrying a pack on his back with saws, axe, meal
buckets, etc., stepped to one side, as he saw me coming, and murmured,
"_Gelobt sei Jesu Christ!_"
"Forever and ever, amen!" was my answer, which seemed to give him
confidence, for he accompanied me a short distance.
At last the valley widens a little. It is a small basin into which flow
a number of streams from the different ravines, as well as from the
cliffs that rise at my left hand. These form the Winkel. Here a thick
log, hewn flat on the upper side, is laid across the brook, forming the
path to a frame house standing on the edge of the woods.
This is the forestry, the only house of any size in the vicinity.
Farther away in the defiles and valleys are the cabins of the shepherds
and wood-cutters, and beyond, on the wooded hillsides, where large
clearings have been made and charcoal-pits started, are villages of huts
for the charcoal-burners.
They call this little valley _Im Winkel_. It still remains almost
entirely in its primeval state, excepting the one large house, with its
domestic surroundings and the footpath leading up to it.
The forestry is also called the Winkel-warden's house. Here I entered
and, placing my bundle upon a chest in the hall, seated myself beside
it.
The forester was busy with workmen who were settling their accounts and
receiving their monthly wages. He was a domineering, red-bearded man,
and he dismissed the people somewhat roughly and curtly; but the men
bore it good-naturedly and pocketed their money in silence.
The business finished, he rose and stretched his strong limbs, which
were clothed in genuine and correct hunter's costume. I now approached,
handing him the credentials which I had brought from the owner of the
forest.
This document contained everything essential. A nicely furnished room
was assigned to me. A sturdy woman who was there to look after and
arrange it, according to her own ideas, stopped suddenly before my open
door, and with arms akimbo called out loud and shrilly, "_Du lieber
Himmel_, is that how a schoolmaster looks?" She had never seen one in
her life.
I was soon settled and had all my possessions in order. Politely
knocking at my door, the forester then entered my room. Looking at my
apartment, he asked, "Does it answer your purpose?"
"Oh, yes, very well," I replied.
"Are you satisfied?"
"Yes, and I hope to be quite contented here."
"Then I trust everything will be all right."
He walked many times up and down over the plank floor, his hands thrust
into his trousers' pockets, and finally stopping in front of me he said:
"Now look about you and see what method you would like to adopt for your
work. I leave here to-morrow and only come every Saturday into the
Winkel. The remainder of the time I am busy in other localities, and my
home is in Holdenschlag, four hours from here by the road. The idea of
beginning a school immediately dismiss from your mind, my dear man.
First we must do away with the old one. They are blockheads, I tell
you! And you may as well know at once that we have all kinds of people
in our woods. Nothing very bad can be charged against any one of them,
but they have come here from the east and west--for what reason God only
knows. They are mostly peasants from the outlying regions, who have
fled into the forest to escape military service. There are also fellows
among them whom one would hardly like to meet on a dark night. Poachers
are they all. So long as they only shoot the game of the forest, we let
them go about free; that cannot be helped, and the labour of their hands
is needed. But if they shoot down a hunter, then of course we are
obliged to arrest them. The most of them are married, but they did not
all bring their brides from the altar. You will run across men and women
who, even in this century, have never heard a church bell or seen a
vestment. You will soon observe what an effect that has upon the
people. Do it in whatever way you think best; but first you must become
acquainted with them. And if you find that you can exert an influence
over them, we will support you in it. You are still quite young, my
friend; take care and be prudent! If you think best, take a boy for the
first part of the time to show you your way about. And if you need
anything, apply to me. I wish you well!"
With these words he departed. He, it seems, is now my master; may he
also be my protector!
Although it was my first night in the Winkel, I slept soundly on the
straw bed. The murmuring of the brook cheered my heart. It was the
month of June, but the sun rose late over the forest and looked into my
room in a friendly way.
In the morning I wander out of doors. All is fresh and green and
sparkling with dew-drops, while on the wooded heights, as far as the eye
can reach in the narrow valley, the bluish sun-web spins itself over the
shadowy tree-trunks. Toward the west towers the battlement of rocks
above which lie the meadows of the Alm, then rocky cliffs again, and
over all stretch the wide, inhospitable fields of snow and ice,
glittering like a white plateau.
If I am successful in my task here below, then sometime I will climb up
to the glaciers. And above the glaciers towers at last the Graue Zahn,
from whose summit, I am told, in the farthest distance can be seen the
great water. Am I successful here, then sometime from the high mountain
I shall behold the sea.
In war and storm I have rushed over half the world and have seen nothing
but dust and stone; now, in the peace of solitude my eyes are opened to
nature.
But--poachers, deserters, wild fellows whom one would not like to meet
at night! Andreas, that will be no easy task.
*PEACE OF THE PRIMEVAL FOREST*
I already feel contented in the woods. The few people who see me going
about in the forest gaze after me, unable to understand why I, a young
fellow, should be roaming here in the wilderness. Ah yes, it is true,
from day to day I am growing younger and am beginning to take a new
lease of life. I am recovering. That comes from the fresh, primitive
nature which surrounds me.
Romantic fancies I do not indulge in. As it is absorbed through the eye
and the ear and all the senses, the much loved, the beautiful forest, so
I like to enjoy it. The solitary one alone finds the forest; where many
seek, it flees and only the trees remain. The woods are lost to them on
account of the trees. Nay, still more, or, indeed, still less, they do
not even see the trees, but only the wood which serves for timber or
fuel and the twigs which may be used for brooms. Or they open the grey
eyes of wisdom and say,--"That belongs to this class, or to that"--as if
the pines and oaks, centuries old, were nothing but schoolboys.
I already feel contented in the woods. As long as I enjoy it, I do not
wish to hear a single word of the purpose it serves, as man's love of
gain understands this purpose; I wish to be as childishly ignorant as if
I had to-day just fallen from heaven upon the soft, cool moss in the
shade.
A network of roots surrounds me, partly sucking the mother's milk from
the earth for its trees, partly seeking to entwine itself about the
mossy bank and Andreas Erdmann sitting upon it. Softly I rest upon the
arms of the network--upon mother-arms.
The brown trunk of the fir towers straight upward, stretching a rich
garland of rugged branches in all directions. They have long grey
beards, hairy, twisted mosses hanging from bough to bough. Well polished
and dripping with balsam is the silvery, shimmering pine. But in the
rough, furrowed, knotted bark of the larch-tree, with the mysterious
signs and innumerable scars, is engraved the whole world's legend, from
that day when the exiled murderer Cain rested for the first time under
the wild interwoven branches of the larch, up to the hour when another,
also homeless, inhales the perfume of the tender, light-green needles.
It is dark, as in a Gothic temple; the pine-forest builds the pointed
arch. Above rise the thousand little turrets of branches, between which
the deep blue sky lights up the shady ground beneath, forming tiny
mosaics. Or white clouds are sailing high above, trying to espy
me,--me, a little worm in the woods,--and they waft a greeting to
me--from--No, she is hidden by the hand of man under a baronial roof.
Clouds, ye have not seen her--or have ye? Alas, no, they are drifted
hither from distant deserts and seas.
There is a whispering, a rustling. The trees are speaking with one
another. The forest dreams.
In all my life I have never seen such a remarkable woven mat as this
variegated, wonderful network of mossy earth. It is a miniature forest,
and in the bosom of its shade perhaps other beings rest, who like myself
are watching the endless web of nature. Ah, how the ants hasten and run,
embracing the smallest of small things with their slender arms, while
endeavouring to poison everything hostile with their corroding fluid! A
brilliant beetle has been contemptuously regarding the tiny, painstaking
creatures, for it is endowed with wings. It now flutters haughtily
upward, and glittering, circles away; suddenly it is ensnared and
captured in a net. The spider, quiet and industrious, has been toiling
long on this net; a veil, softer than any made on earth, has become the
beetle's shroud.
The little birds in the branches are also planning their works of art;
where the boughs are thickest, they weave a cradle-basket from straws
and twigs for their beloved young.
Can it then be true that a red thread spins itself on through all races
of the human and animal kingdoms, down to the very smallest creature?
Does everything then follow one and the same law, the acts of King
Solomon on his throne of gold and those of the lazy, writhing worm under
the stone? I should like very much to know.
Hush! yonder darts a rabbit; the crowned stag is making his way through
the underbrush. Each shrub acts as mysteriously as if concealing a
hundred beings and wood-spirits within itself. Sharply defined
shadow-forms lie upon the ground, over which strings of light spin
themselves. And the breath of the forest plays upon these strings.
I step out into the clearing. A trembling breeze ripples towards me,
plays with my curls, and kisses my cheeks. Here are light-green furze
bushes, with their clusters of little red berries, dark, gleaming
bilberry, and the evergreen laurel of our Alps, for the worthy poet of
the forest. The wood-bee is buzzing about among the bushes, and each
leaf is a table spread for her.
And above this dim, perfumed field rises the charred trunk of a tree,
its one bare branch lifted in defiance, threatening heaven for having
once shattered its head with a lightning-stroke. And yonder towers a
grey, cloven rock, in whose fissures the nimble lizard and the
shimmering adder hide, and at whose feet flourish the serrated leaves of
the fern, and the blue gentians, constantly waving greetings with their
little caps.
Where there is no path, there is mine--where it is steepest, where the
tangle of the alder-bushes and briars is thickest, where the dogberry
grows, where the adder rustles in the yellow foliage of last year's
beech. The partridges are afraid of me and I of them, and my feet are
the greatest misfortune of the ants, my advancing body the scourge of
God to the spiders, whose house falls in ruins on this summer day.
It is a delight to penetrate thus into the wilderness, into the dim and
uncertain; that which I anticipate attracts me more than that which I
know; that which I hope for is dearer to me than that which I have. I
stand on the edge of a green meadow, enclosed by young fir-woods. Close
to me a deer springs from the thicket, bounds over the meadow, stopping
on the other side, where it now stands in a listening attitude with head
thrown high. Following an inborn instinct of man, I raise my juniper
stick, lay it beside my cheek like a gun, aiming towards the breast of
the deer. It looks over at me, well aware that a juniper stick does not
go off. Finally it begins to graze. Laying the stick on the ground
again, I walk farther out on the meadow. The deer raises its head
quickly and I now expect it to dart away. But it does not hasten, it
licks its back and scratches itself behind the ear, and again begins to
eat.
"Little deer," I say, "thou forgettest the respect due to mankind! Dost
thou think me incapable of injuring thee? I wonder at that; here in the
forest wander poachers and hunters. Thou dost not seem to be a novice,
yet thou pretendest to be very inexperienced. Among us men, such
behaviour would be called stupidity."
The creature, gradually grazing in my direction, stops often to look at
me, but tosses its head in fright, preparing for a spring, whenever
hearing a noise from any other side. With ears constantly pricked up,
its whole being is a picture of anxious watchfulness and readiness for
flight.
"Thou knowest then," I say, "that thou art in the land of the enemy?
Not a moment safe from the shot? That is indeed cause for fear."