Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. I.Jean Paul
General
Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. I.
Jean Paul
Fiction
In the latticed pew of the Eymanns, whose door made nearly a right
angle with that of the vestry, Sebastian found all the flowers again,
or at least the flower-skeletons, which had bloomed around his fair
childhood's days,--figurative and literal ones; and the literal ones,
which had crept away all soiled under the footstool of the choir-pew,
opened out again into flowers of memory. He thought of his childish
sorrows here,--among them the length of the sermon,--and of his
childish pleasures, among which were to be reckoned the length of the
voluntary and Eymann's kneeling on the middle of the pulpit-stairs. He
pushed back the wooden lattice-window, and found in its wooden groove
his initials, V. S. H., notched by his own hands. So far is it from the
child to the youth! And man wonders at the distance. "Ah! then," said
Horion,--and we will say it with him,--"all was to thee as yet
infinite, and nothing little but thy heart. Ah! in that warm,
quickening time, when a father is still God the Father, and a mother
the mother of God, not yet did the bosom, oppressed with spirits,
graves, and storms, press itself for comfort to a human one. All the
four quarters of the world were installed in this church; all rivers
were named Rhine, and all princes January. Ah! this tranquil and lovely
day was set in a golden horizon of infinite hope and a ring of
morning-red. Now the day is gone, and the horizon sunk, and only the
skeleton remains there,--the latticed pew."
But if we now, even in the noonday hours of life, think and sigh thus,
how much more at evening, when man folds up his flower-leaves, and
becomes undistinguishable like other flowers,--at evening, when we
stand low in the western horizon and go out,--then, when we turn round,
and survey the short road strewed with trampled-out hopes,--oh! then,
how much more sweetly will it not look upon us,--the garden of
childhood, lying in the east, low down near the place of our rising,
and still suffused with an old, pale redness,--how much more magically
will it gleam on us, and yet how much more will it affect us to
tenderness! And thereupon man lays himself down on the earth not far
from the grave, and hopes here below no more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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