I am already beginning to design houses which are to be built from the
proceeds of my inheritance. In Winkelsteg I shall erect a large,
beautiful mansion, larger than the parsonage. I have the plans all
completed. But as long as I remain schoolmaster, I have no desire to
live in it myself. Sometime I shall give a little room in this house to
the invalid Reutmann from Karwasserschlag; and I shall ask the old,
childless Frau Bruennhuetter, and the sick Aga from Karwaesser, and
Markus Jager, who is blind, and Joseph Ehrenwald, who has been injured
by a falling tree. And I shall welcome many others, until, by degrees,
the great house is filled. There are a number of wretched creatures
wandering about in the Winkel woods.
I shall place a doctor and medicine at the disposal of these people,
that is, if the money goes far enough. Then I will invite in jesters and
musicians who understand providing all kinds of entertainment. An
almshouse is dreary enough, without sad and lonesome surroundings in
addition; the merry world should look in at all the windows and say:
"You still belong to me, and I will not let you go!"
I do not need to pay for the land now, as at present I am merely
building my castle in the air. The inheritance has not yet arrived.
But the report is that my aunt won large sums of money at play.
I shall give the pleasantest room in the new alms-house to old Ruepel.
The poor man is really quite deserted. For his rhymes the people pay
him now with scarcely a bit of bread. They have forgotten how, in
former times, they have been edified by his cheering and uplifting songs
on festive occasions, how they have laughed and wept, often saying to
one another: "It is as though the Holy Ghost were speaking through him."
To be sure the old man has not much to offer now, and he has already
become quite childish. He has bent a piece of wood, across which he has
stretched straws for strings, and this is his harp. He rests it against
his breast, and his fingers wander over the strings as he murmurs his
songs.
He is a strange old figure, as he sits upon a stone in the dark forest,
wrapped in his wide, faded cloak, with his long, luxuriant, snow-white
beard and shimmering hair, which falls unkempt about his shoulders. He
raises his tearful eyes toward the tree-tops and sings to the birds,
from whom he once learned his songs.
The creatures of the forest do not fear him; a squirrel often hops down
upon his shoulder from the branches and, standing on its hind-legs,
whispers something into the old man's ear.
His words, like his songs, are becoming more and more incomprehensible.
They are no longer in keeping with the people or with the circumstances.
He sings foolish love songs and children's ditties, as though dreaming
of his youth. When in summer the white-bearded man is sitting
motionless upon some hill-top, he looks from the distance like a bunch
of _Edelweiss_.
The beetles and ants run over his coat and scramble up his beard; the
bees fly about his head as though seeking wild honey there.
The priest has confided something to me which seems to cause him
anxiety.
He says it is possible that I may become a rich man, and as such I would
probably go forth into the world, to fulfil all the wishes which I have
formed and nourished in the wilderness. No one is entirely unselfish.
This communication has cost me a restless night. I have searched my
heart and in truth I have found there one desire, which is far away from
the Winkel forest. But it could not be fulfilled with money. She is
married.
Why should I demur? My wish is fulfilled. She is happy.