After the danger of the illness had passed I was attacked by a serious
trouble with my eyes, which has not yet quite left me. For a long time
I shall be obliged to remain in my room, indeed until the warm weather
comes and the freshets are over. I am not at all lonely, for I busy
myself with wood-carving. I intend to make a zither or something of the
kind for myself, so that I may practise music until the organ is ready
in the church.
The people come often and, sitting down beside me on the bench, inquire
after my health. Russ-Annamirl, who has moved with her family into the
master wood-cutter's house in Lautergraeben and according to the new
order of things is called Anna Maria Russ, sent me three big doughnuts
last week. They are some of those which have been baked in great
quantities to celebrate the arrival of a wee Russ. They have christened
the little one with doughnuts.
The widow of Black Mathes has also been to see me once. She asked me in
great sorrow what was to be done with her boy Lazarus. She then told me
how he was often attacked by a _frenzy_. A frenzy, she explained, was
when one broke out into a passion at the slightest provocation,
threatening everything. Lazarus had this malady in a much worse degree
than his father; sister and mother would be in danger when he became a
little stronger. Did, then, no remedy exist for such a trouble?
What can I advise the distressed woman? A continuous, regular
employment, and a loving but earnest treatment should be given to the
lad; that is my proposition.
Of all the people in the Winkel forests, I have the greatest sympathy
for this woman. Her husband, after an unfortunate life, died a violent
death and was dishonourably buried. Nothing better is in store for the
child. And his mother, formerly accustomed to better days, is so
soft-hearted and gentle.
Day before yesterday a boy came to me dragging a bird-cage with him.
The lad was so small that he could not even reach the door-handle, so he
timidly knocked for a while until I opened the door. Still standing on
the steps, he said, "I am the son of Marcus Jager, and my father sends
me here--father sends me here----"
The little fellow had learned the speech by heart, but he stopped short,
blushed, and would have liked to make his escape. I had some trouble in
discovering that his father's message was, that he was entirely well and
wished me the same; that soon he would come to thank me, and that he
presented me with a pair of fine crested titmice, for, being aware that
I could not yet go out of doors, he would be glad to send the whole
spring to me in my room.
What shall I do with the little creatures? If one approaches them, they
flutter confusedly about in the cage and beat their heads against the
wires in their fright. I let them fly out into our Father's bird-cage,
out into the May.
And when the time is finally fulfilled, I myself walk out early one
morning into the open May. The cock crows, the morning star is peeping
brightly over the dark forest hill. The morning star is a good
companion; it shines faithfully as long as it is night, and modestly
retires when the sun appears.
Softly I steal through the front door, so that I may not awaken the
people who have not rested for weeks, as I have; the weariness of
yesterday still weighs upon the eyelids, which the dawning day is
already forcing open.
In the forest there is a trembling, rustling awakening from deep rest.
How strange is the first walk of a convalescent! One feels as if the
whole earth were rocking one--rocking her newly born child in her arms.
O thou holy May morning, bathed in dew and sweet perfumes, trembling and
reverberating with eternal thoughts of God! How I think of thee and thy
fairy magic, which at this hour hath sunk into my soul from the dome of
heaven and the crown of the forest!
And now I experience a strange sorrow. Youth has been given to me in
vain. What is my aim? What do I signify? A short time ago and from
eternity I was nothing; a short time hence and through all eternity I
shall be nothing. What shall I do? Why am I in this small place, and
conscious of myself for this brief period? Why have I awakened? What
must I do?
Then I vow to myself anew to work with all my might, and also to pray
that such difficult, heart-burning thoughts may not return to me.
As the sun appears, I am still standing on the edge of the woods. Below
splashes the water of the Winkel, from the chimney of the house rises a
silvery wreath of smoke, and in the church building the masons are
hammering.
My housekeeper, having noticed that I was not in my room, reproved me
for my carelessness. As soon as she discovered that I had been lying on
the damp moss in the cool early morning, she asked me quite seriously if
I then found it so uncomfortable in her house, or if I had something on
my mind, that I risked my life in such a way; yes, and did I not know
that he who lies down on the dewy ground in the spring is giving his
measure to the grave-digger?