Soul of the Age Read Online Free PDF Page B

until eight-thirty. I’m on bread and water, but can do as I wish otherwise. I’ve been buried in Homer, the splendid passage in the Odyssey, epsilon 200ff. I’m doing all right, i.e., am terribly weak and tired, physically and mentally, but improving gradually. The detention room is so big I can walk about quite easily; before me I have a table, a desk, two chairs, a warm stove, books, pen, ink, paper, and a lamp.
    The first part of the written final exam was held this morning. The Latin thesis was difficult; the Latin passage was taken from Livy V, II, and the Hebrew was easy. Next Wednesday it’ll be French (!) and mathematics (!).
    I’m being treated very gently and considerately by Professor Paulus and, especially, the two tutors. It was such a relief to be able to drop the violin lessons—permission came right away. I believe I should like to keep up music by taking private lessons. Anyhow, my idea is to accept the abilities I have and make the most of them. I’m not musical, that I realize; I don’t have what it takes to be a good violinist. I have also written Theo today.
    I’m going to visit Herr Mährlen tomorrow and shall give him your regards. Unfortunately, they’re moving to Stuttgart on St. George’s; Herr Mährlen hopes it will be easier for him to find a position there. They always treated me in a very loving, friendly manner, and I’m grateful to them for those many wonderful hours.
    Please give my regards to Grandfather, Aunt Jettle, Herr Claassen, and particularly Uncle Friedrich, whom you should also thank on my behalf for his visit here, which I greatly enjoyed. I’ve had a headache since two o’clock; it’s so hot here, my head is on fire, goodbye.
    With a kiss
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    I just read this on the wall of the detention room: “Karl Isenberg, May 28, 1885.”
    I would be pleased if you could send me a little money by and by. I spent a bit in those twenty-three hours, and have also had a few other larger expenses. I don’t see how my funds can possibly last until April.
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    March 20, 1892
    Thanks for the letter and money. My vacation starts in three or four weeks; I don’t know exactly for how long. From one to four yesterday we were out on one of those field trips that always leave my feet and head crippled for a few days. I didn’t have much of a headache during the actual excursion, but now it’s even worse. I’m so tired, so lacking in energy and willpower. I’m merely preparing the assignments, not doing anything of my own. I’m so glad when I get a moment’s peace and quiet, and don’t have to think at all. But there are few such moments. I’m not so much ill as pinned down by some rather uncharacteristic weakness. I hardly even get annoyed anymore, and I cannot enjoy things either, not even the golden sunlight or the approaching vacation. But I love to sit atop the vine-covered hill for a quarter of an hour or so, when the east wind is blowing. There are no houses or people around, and I have nothing on my mind, am totally passive, just enjoy the gale, which cools my eyes and temples. Klopstock’s divine Messiah and even Homer’s immortal song no longer hold me in thrall; I have left my Schiller all alone, and rarely read the mammoth dirge in Klopstock’s odes.
    My feet are always like ice, whereas there is a fire blazing deep within my head somewhere. Although I seldom have anything much on my mind during my free time, I occasionally think of Herwegh’s 10 beautiful poem:
    I wish to leave like the sunset
    Like the final embers of day  …
    The hardest part came yesterday, having to say goodbye to my Wilhelm, the person who really grew to know and understand me completely, who still loved me after my fall and kept on sharing my joys and my sorrows, even though everybody else had nothing but contempt for me. Yesterday, he showed me a letter from his pious, upright father,