From the hermitage I strolled on up the hill, lost in my thoughts, and
was just turning to descend when from the left the slender figure of a
young girl appeared. She wore the local costume, had a pretty face,
and greeted me with friendly blue eyes. As though it were the most
natural thing, in the world we descended into the valley together.
She was about my own age. Since I knew no other girls except my
cousins, I felt rather embarrassed and did not know how to talk to
her. So I began hesitantly explaining that I was here for a couple of
days on holiday, that I was at the Gymnasium in Basel and later
wanted to study at the university. While I was talking, a strange
feeling of fatefulness crept over me. "She has appeared just at this
moment," I thought to myself, "and she walks along with me as
naturally as if we belonged together? I glanced sideways at her and
saw an expression of mingled shyness and admiration in her face,
which embarrassed me and somehow pierced me. Can it be
possible, I wondered, that this is fate? Is my meeting her mere
chance? A peasant girl—could it possibly be? She is a Catholic, but
perhaps her priest is the very one with whom my father has made
friends? She has no idea who I am. I certainly couldn't talk to her
about Schopenhauer and the negation of the Will, could I? Yet she
doesn't seem in any way sinister. Perhaps her Priest is not one of
those Jesuits skulking about in black robes.
But I cannot tell her, either, that my father is a Protestant clergyman.
That might frighten or offend her. And to talk about philosophy, or
about the devil, who is more important than Faust even though
Goethe made such a simpleton of him--that is quite out of the
question. She still dwells in the distant land of innocence, but I have
plunged into reality, into the splendor and cruelty of creation. How
can she endure to hear about that? An impenetrable wall stands
between us. There is not and cannot be any relationship.
Sad at heart, I retreated into myself and turned the conversation to
less dangerous topics.
