Minna/Book 1, Chapter 3
If I had my wish, a monument to the obloquy of the man who gave this part of the country the name of "Saxon-Switzerland" would be erected in a most prominent spot. Visitors now come here, either with a remembrance of Switzerland, or with a fantastic delusion as to size; comparing, disapproving, and saying, with a sneer, that they had seen or imagined something much grander—a treatment for which the poor little country has never asked.
But if one comes without expectations, and accepts the country as it is, especially not trying to do it in tourist fashion, but quietly settling down to live and enjoy—what richness of beautiful nature does it not offer you, and how filled it is with striking contrasts, which are harmonised in its own idyllic, rustic way! Barrenness and prolific growth, wild ruggedness and cultivated land are lying side by side, or one above another; from bright burning heat one suddenly plunges into cool, humid shade. Where do the lungs expand in a fresher and more exhilarating air than in that which sweeps over these heights, and fills the woods and rocky valleys?
Rightly to understand the peculiar nature of this country, a study must be made of it in order to discover that it is not a mountainous district, but a plateau which, by the action of floods, has been rent, hewn, and washed out, revealing the stone, sometimes as sides of the fissures and sometimes as ruins in them, so that in this way the rocks form more of the excavated than of the elevated part. For this reason one is at first astonished to find a stretch of rich verdure winding up over the uneven, stony surface of a steep rock, as a velvet saddle on an elephant, and still more astonished when, after having passed through waving cornfields, and on looking down a precipice, one suddenly sees a wild tract of rugged rocks with numerous crags and pinnacles, and sandstone columns a hundred feet high.
At first these contrasts are almost irritating, but as time goes on they grow upon one. On the top of this plateau, with the mountainous land beneath, one finds, again, these solitary, towering rocks that give the land its characteristic physiognomy, which is, to tell the truth at the expense of the aesthetic, a rather warty one. For, seen at some distance, these stones, whether called Kingstone, Popestone, Lilystone, or what not, are really more like gigantic warts than anything else, not even excepting the Schneeberg with its two thousand feet and its far-reaching crest. A few, as for instance the Winter Mountains, vary from this type, but they are just on the frontier, and as one comes into Bohemia a more ordinary mountain aspect is to be seen. To be quite correct the Schneeberg is situated in Bohemia, and the boundary is not altogether so sharply defined as is the quality of the coffee, which is so excellent in the first Bohemian hamlets that one might imagine oneself already at Carlsbad; while, on the Saxonian side, one drinks the famous "Bliemchen-Kaffee," a decoction which has taken its name from the fact that through it one can see the little flower painted at the bottom of the cup.
Only that afternoon I had partaken of the usual quantity of this beverage, which is by no means dangerous to the heart. The day before I had tasted the Bohemian coffee in Prebischthor, and two days previouslyin short, I had moved about a good deal and did not feel fit for any long excursion. I was now sitting dozing in my window, considering whether I had the energy to go down to the Blackbirds' Glen. It was very hot and perfectly calm. The filmy clouds, which seemed to be half-absorbed by the grey-blue sky, had a rosy hue. The grass and foliage did not glitter in the sunlight, but were of a more than usually intensified green colour; the shadows between the rocks were not transparent, and those cast from one on to another had no sharp outlines. From the Glen the notes of the cuckoo were constantly heard, as they had been for hours, this monotonous sound adding greatly to the drowsy effect which all nature was producing.… I certainly did not feel inclined to walk many yards; I could not sleep, did not care to read, and, as to writing a letter, such an idea was out of the question.
In this state of indecision "them shady promenades" came into my mind. So far I had not thought of them, but now I wished them to serve a better purpose than simply that of a trump-card for the landlady. Just then my eye fell on a small avenue of young birches that faced my window and was about fifty feet from it. This avenue soon made an abrupt turn and disappeared behind the shrub-covered margin of the hill, which sloped down rather steeply towards a little kettle-shaped valley. I had imagined that the birch avenue belonged to the smart neighbouring villa, but it now struck me that it was not in any way separated from the ground on which stood the house I lived in. This ground was used for growing potatoes, lettuces, some rows of peas, and included a grass plot. The plot brought the avenue suddenly to an end, and, farther on, stretched uninterruptedly up to the shrubs at the margin of the hill. It was, therefore, just possible that the beginning of the slope might belong to my landlady, and that the suddenly broken avenue only waited for the finishing touches, which, when the ground had been fully laid out, would join it to the pathway leading to the house; consequently I thought that "the shady promenade" might be down there.
In my own mind I apologised to the woman for having made fun of her and for having been so unbelieving, and I decided at once to make use of my highly valued privilege as a lodger to walk "da'rim und dort'nim."
I did not go towards the birch avenue, but went across to the coppice of hazel and may. The grass, filled with daisies and buttercups, peeped through all the openings of the scattered bushes, and extended up to a gravelled path. On the other side of this path the grass-covered slope led, rather precipitously, down to the small valley that was covered with fir and birch wood, while to the right the gravelled path was soon transformed into a modest foot-track which lost itself amongst the fir trees. I turned to the left so that I might make myself acquainted with the grounds.
I had hardly walked more than a few steps before I stood in front of a small grotto. Here the underlying stone was apparent, but for the most part one only saw turf and sand on this hill; the rock was overhanging as if it had run its head through the soil, and the sides were bent forward like two prominent shoulders, in this way forming, nearly all day, a natural shelter from the sun. A table and a couple of garden seats were placed here, and in the middle of the wall was painted "Sophien Ruhe."
For a moment I stood quite impressed; I could not have believed that Mother Richter held such a trump-card in her hand. I then sat down on one of the comfortable seats, but did not feel quite at home, as I was more and more doubtful whether I had the smallest right to be where I was. While this reflection was troubling me, I caught sight of a little book lying on the seat. I took up the book, and as I turned over the leaves I discovered, to my astonishment, that it was a German-Danish Dictionary. I was not aware that any countryman of mine was in the Pension which this barrack of a villa was called, in spite of the fact that it was only able to accommodate lodgers. Who, in these parts, could be interested in studying Danish, an interest so rarely found in Germany? The worn cover was in some way familiar to me.
The gravel crunched under light, quick footsteps. As I raised my head a girl approached along the path, and I saw the beautiful governess of the steamer.
Since my arrival I had been so busy touring about the country, that I had not had time to long for a renewal of our short acquaintance, and during these last few days I had not thought of her at all. Now I suddenly recollected that the schoolmaster had spoken of a pretty little governess living at the smart villa.
She had evidently not expected to find anybody there, for, involuntarily, she gave a tiny scream. I had, of course, scrambled to my feet and blurted out several excuses and apologies, saying that my landlady, having spoken of "the shady promenades," had made me think of coming to the place. I added that I feared I was accidentally trespassing, and regretted it all the more as I seemed to have frightened her.
She smiled shyly.
"Your mistake is quite intelligible, so you really have nothing to apologise for nor anything to regret on my account."
Her glance now fell on the little book, which I, in my confusion, kept twirling between my fingers. The colour mounted to her face.
"Perhaps this is your book?"
"I had just come to fetch it."
"Then I must apologise again for being so bold as to open it.… It was a strange surprise to me, for I am a Dane."
"I was quite sure of that," she answered. "I recognised it from the first words you spoke to me on board the steamer."
This remark of hers was not very flattering to me, as I secretly hoped my pronunciation to be so good, that a German might take me for a fellow-countryman living in a distant part.
"I suppose you have associated a good deal with Danes?" I asked.
"I have known a few countrymen of yours," she said, and suddenly her gaiety vanished.
"And these acquaintances have led to your studying a language so little used?"
"Yes," she answered hesitatingly, as if considering how she could bring the conversation to an end.
"Perhaps in some way I might be of help to you …"
"No, thank you—unfortunately. That is to say, there was some talk of my going as a governess to a family in Denmark, but the idea has now been given up."
These details about things which were no concern of mine rather surprised me, and I was expecting her to continue the conversation when she said in a reserved tone—
"I should be very sorry to drive you away from this comfortable seat. It is not at all necessary for you to go. I know the customs of the house, and nobody ever comes in the grounds or the garden at this hour. That is why I was so frightened when I saw somebody sitting here; I am rather nervous. Good-bye!"
I was just going to try and persuade her to remain, as I knew that we should be undisturbed, when I became aware of tears glittering in her eyes, which withdrew their glance from mine. And this, combined with a trembling at the corner of her lips, proved to me that she was on the point of bursting into tears, a discovery which made me utterly confused. I stammered something about her great kindness, of which I should not like to take advantage; at any rate, I had the courage to add, when her society no longer …
But she had vanished.
Bewildered by this unexpected meeting, I, however, did not move, but tried to retain the image of the young girl who, on this second occasion, had made a still deeper impression on me. It was now quite clear to me that she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She had been wearing a garden hat encircling her face like an old-fashioned hood, which had given me the opportunity to see that her forehead was unusually high and well-shaped. But it was especially the eyes, rather deeply set under this arch, which had struck me. When she opened them wide there was hardly any distance between the lashes and eyebrows, neither of which riveted my attention as much as the clear-cut setting of her eyes. The eyes themselves were striking rather for their brilliance than their size, and were apt to dart quickly from one object to another in a curious way of their own. Their irises, in which yellow and green were blended with brown, made the same impression on one as when, in a shady wooded cleft, one looks down into a stream, at the bottom of which soft sunbeams play; and the expression of them changed as rapidly as that of the rippling water under the movements of the foliage and the clouds.
I felt that they were impressed upon my memory for ever.
This coincidence of the Danish Dictionary was very striking. It appeared to me as an omen, the finger of fate, or, in short, something that had a meaning, and could not remain as an isolated fact. I did not quite believe her assertion that she might have gone as a governess to Denmark; but then, why should she have said so? More than all, why had she been on the point of crying without any apparent reason?
All this kept on working in my mind, whilst I lost myself in the valley and walked through the big fir wood right across to Polenzgrund, where I took my supper in the Walthersdorfer-Mill. The intense heat had given place to a most pleasant afternoon.
I still enjoyed nature, not, however, with my accustomed calmness, but with a spiritual elation, which resembled the bodily sensation one has after drinking freely of wine. This sensation is by no means disagreeable, for in rendering one's senses readily open to external influences, it at the same time makes things appear less distinct. Therefore it is easier for this "sweet lingering thought" to mingle with other impressions.
If I looked down into the sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly gliding Polenz, its green and brown shimmer in the golden rays of the afternoon sun reminded me of her peculiar eyes. I discovered some beautiful flowers, and at once I thought, "If only I were now on such terms with her, that she would accept a nosegay from me." Then I lay on a steep slope listening to the soughing of the wind in the fir trees, and I said to myself, "Supposing I were a poet, then surely this moment would inspire me to create a poem, which would meet with her admiration, and through which my feelings might speak." Yes, I even found a theme. She was a problem that continually puzzled me, and "it seemeth to me"—this expression I found very poetical—that if I could only discover the solution, I might find "Life's Treasure." However, I could not get my words to rhyme, nor could I make any sort of rhythmic connection.
Darkness had fallen before I returned to Rathen. Only a small portion of the moon appeared dimly over the hill on which the villa was situated. Between the bushes and the garden, and in the shrubs near the brook, the fireflies were swarming. The little sparks peacefully floated to and fro, ascending and descending, as if they were tiny lamps carried by invisible elves. Sometimes a few leaves of a bush were lit up by a hidden firefly; now and again one flew up so high that against the sky it looked like a moving star. No other stars appeared; it was again sultry and calm.
On the previous evening also I had enjoyed this wonderfully ethereal phenomenon of the erotic of nature, and it was not only because of its being richer on this night that it touched me in quite a different manner, and put me into a most indescribable mood. And to be honest, what meaning is there in these everlasting examinations of moods, which modern authors feel obliged to make? As if, for instance, any one could form an idea of water by being told that it consists of hydrogen and oxygen in a proportion of one to two, even if one were well acquainted with both of them. Surely it would take God Himself to do so, and then he eo ipso has created it, so that would be nothing to boast of. I can only say this much, that my heart was beating fast when I came up the hill, and I often stopped to look down into the valley, in which the little lights moved about, and where, in some places, a small shining lattice lit up the surrounding foliage, while around I felt rather than saw the steep rocks, all of which seemed to be the same distance from me.
On the stone step, leading up to the door, I saw one more lonely little spark, spreading its phosphorescent light. I lit a match and discovered a small grey, hairy insect, which was again turned into a spark as the match went out. However, I was afraid to disturb it, as I had a mysterious feeling for this glow-worm, which now, for three nights in succession, had been in the same place, in the inner corner of the step near the cellar window; and I had made sure that it was not there during the day. What was stirring in such a tiny creature, that, night after night, it found its way to this enchanted spot? Had it, perchance, been disappointed each time and still patiently returned with its erotic lantern of Diogenes, not searching for what it had found now—a human being—but a mate? and did it stay there in the hope that its burning love, in this conspicuous position, would attract its object?… Has, perhaps, a secret constant passion, such as this, an irresistible power in us also, though in our case hidden, while in the case of the glow-worm one can literally "see the heart burning through the waistcoat"?
One would think that I must have been in especial need of such an unusual power, for while I tossed to and fro on my bed (which always felt a little damp), I continually thought of the little light-giver, and, as far as I remember, it also played a prominent part in my rather bewildered dreams.