When I came into these forests, I found the people scattered, starving,
and uncounted. To-day I see before me a new generation.
A village surrounds the church. And about the village stand apple- and
pear-trees bearing fruit; an endeavour has been made throughout
Winkelsteg to cultivate the wild fruit-trees, and for the most part it
has succeeded.
On Sundays people dressed in gala attire come from all directions, the
men, wearing black leather knee-breeches, the women, padded velvet
spencers and droll-looking wired caps, decorated with gilt and ribbons.
Their clothing is no longer of home-made material. Formerly they wore
the linen from their own flax, the wool from their sheep, the shoe
leather from their cattle, the skins and furs from the game which they
shot. To-day peddlers go about in the Winkel forests, exchanging
garments and frippery for the valuable raw material.
The young people have wider views than the older ones, but they are far
more pretentious; besides, they show too little respect for the past
from which they themselves have sprung. But they still smoke tobacco
and drink brandy, as their ancestors have done before them.
What can the old schoolmaster do alone? Ah, if my priest were only
living!
The little Reiter-Peter, my godchild, is a sweet lad; but a great
misfortune has overtaken him--by a fall from his bed he has lost his
voice.
How gladly would I give him mine, for it is no longer of use to me! It
has become quite hoarse, and no one listens to it now.