Discouragement is an act of unbelief.
Growing weakness has been the consequence of it; the principle of death
in me and the influence of the Prince of Darkness have waxed stronger
together. My will in abdicating has yielded up the scepter to instinct;
and as the corruption of the best results in what is worst, love of the
ideal, tenderness, unworldliness, have led me to a state in which I
shrink from hope and crave for annihilation. Action is my cross.
October 11, 1861. (_Heidelberg_).--After eleven days journey, here I am
under the roof of my friends, in their hospitable house on the banks of
the Neckar, with its garden climbing up the side of the Heiligenberg....
Blazing sun; my room is flooded with light and warmth. Sitting opposite
the Geisberg, I write to the murmur of the Neckar, which rolls its green
waves, flecked with silver, exactly beneath the balcony on which my room
opens. A great barge coming from Heilbron passes silently under my eyes,
while the wheels of a cart which I cannot see are dimly heard on the
road which skirts the river. Distant voices of children, of cocks, of
chirping sparrows, the clock of the Church of the Holy Spirit, which
chimes the hour, serve to gauge, without troubling, the general
tranquility of the scene. One feels the hours gently slipping by, and
time, instead of flying, seems to hover.
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