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Page 50
August was in despair about my table, my chair, my bed, and so on.
It was with difficulty that I withheld him from cudgelling the
host who would take money for such a hole. I was obliged to
satisfy him with the most holy assurances, that on the following
day I would remove without delay. "But tell him," prayed August,
"before you pay him, that he is a villain, a usurer, a cheat, a--
or if you like, I will--"
"No, no; heaven defend us!" interrupted I, "be quiet, and let me
only manage."
After my young friend had left me, I passed several happy hours in
thinking on the change in my fate, and inwardly thanking God for
it. My thoughts then rambled to the parsonage; and heaven knows
what fat oxen and cows, what pleasure grounds, with flowers,
fruits, and vegetables, I saw in spirit surrounding my new
paradise, where my Eve walked by my side, and supported on my arm;
and especially what an innumerable crowd of happy and edified
people I saw streaming from the church when I had preached. I
baptized, I confirmed, I comforted my beloved community in the
zeal and warmth of my heart--and forgot only the funerals.
Every poor clergyman who has received a living, every mortal,
especially to whom unexpectedly a long-cherished wish has been
accomplished, will easily picture to himself my state.
Later in the night it sunk at last like a veil before my eyes, and
my thoughts fell by degrees into a bewilderment which exhibited on
every hand strange images. I preached with a loud voice in my
church, and the congregation slept. After the service, the people
came out of the church like oxen and cows, and bellowed against me
when I would have admonished them. I wished to embrace my wife,
but could not separate her from a great turnip, which increased
every moment, and at last grew over both our heads. I endeavored
to climb up a ladder to heaven, whose stars beckoned kindly and
brightly to me; but potatoes, grass, vetches, and peas, entangled
my feet unmercifully, and hindered every step. At last I saw
myself in the midst of my possessions walking upon my head, and
whilst in my sleepy soul I greatly wondered how this was possible,
I slept soundly in the remembrance of my dream. Yet then, however,
I must unconsciously have continued the chain of my pastoral
thoughts, for I woke in the morning with the sound of my own voice
loudly exclaiming, "Amen."
That the occurrences of the former evening were actual truth, and
no dream, I could only convince myself with difficulty, till August
paid me a visit, and invited me to dine with his parents.
The living, Wilhelmina, the dinner, the new chain of hopes for the
future which beamed from the bright sun of the present, all
surprised me anew with a joy, which one can feel very well, but
never can describe.
Out of the depths of a thankful heart, I saluted the new life
which opened to me, with the firm determination that, let happen
what might, yet always TO DO THE RIGHT, AND TO HOPE FOR THE BEST.
Two years after this, I sat on an autumn evening in my beloved
parsonage by the fire. Near to me sat my dear little wife, my
sweet, Wilhelmina, and spun. I was just about to read to her a
sermon which I intended to preach on the next Sunday, and from
which I promised myself much edification, as well for her as for
the assembled congregation. Whilst I was turning over the leaves,
a loose paper fell out. It was the paper upon which, on that evening
two years before, in a very different situation, I had written down
my cheerful and my sad thoughts. I showed it to my wife. She read,
smiled with a tear in her eye, and with a roguish countenance which,
as I fancy, is particular to her, took the pen and wrote on the other
side of the paper:
"The author can now, thank God, strike out a description which
would stand in perfect contrast to that which he once, in a dark
hour, sketched of an unfortunate person, as he himself was then.
"Now he is no more lonesome, no more deserted. His quiet sighs are
answered, his secret griefs shared, by a wife tenderly devoted to
him. He goes, her heart follows him; he comes back, she meets him
with smiles; his tears flow not unobserved, they are dried by her
hand, and his smiles beam again in hers; for him she gathers
flowers, to wreathe around his brow, to strew in his path. He has
his own fireside, friends devoted to him, and, counts as his
relations all those who have none of their own. He loves, he is
beloved; he can make people feel happy, he is himself happy."
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