Free Lenz by Georg Büchner Page B

strange anxiety, he wanted to chase after the sun; as objects gradually grew more shadowy, everything seemed so dreamlike, so menacing, he felt the anxiety of children who sleep in the dark; it was as if he were blind; now it was intensifying, the nightmare of madness was settling at his feet, the hopeless realization that everything was merely his dream opened before him, he clung to every object, figures fled by him, he pressed toward them, they were shadows, life drained from him and his limbs went stiff. He spoke, he sang, he recited passages from Shakespeare,he grasped after everything that used to make his blood race, he tried everything, but cold, cold. He then felt the urge to rush outdoors, the sparse light scattered through the night, once his eyes had gotten used to the dark, made him better, he plunged into the fountain, the harsh effect of the water made him better, also he secretly hoped he would contract an illness, he now organized his bathing so there would be less noise. Yet the more he grew accustomed to this life, the calmer he became, he helped out Oberlin, sketched, read the Bible; old vanished hopes rose anew in him; the New Testament spoke to him so directly here, and one morning he ventured forth. When Oberlin recounted how an invisible hand had steadied him on the bridge, how his eyes had been dazzled by a blinding light on a mountain, how he had heard a voice, how it had spoken to him in the night, and how God had entered into him so completely that he took his Bible reader out of his pocket like a child in order to seek its advice, this faith, this eternal heaven in life, this existence in God; now for the first time Holy Scripture was hitting home. How Nature so affected these people, divine mystery in everything; but not violently majestic, rather taken on faith!—That morning he ventured forth, snow had fallen during the night, bright sunshine lay over the valley, but the countryside furtheroff half in fog. He soon left the path, up a gentle slope, no trace of footprints anymore, past a forest of firs, the sun chiseling the crystals, the snow fine and powdery, here and there the faint tracks of game leading into the mountains. Nothing astir in the air except a quiet breeze, the rustle of a bird dusting the snow off its tail. Everything so silent, and the expanse of trees, their white feathers swaying in the dark blue air. He felt more and more at home, the overpowering solid planes and lines that had sometimes seemed to address him in loud tones were blanketed over, he was suffused with a cozy Christmas feeling, at times it seemed his mother might loom forth from behind a tree and tell him she had arranged all this as a special gift; as he made his way down he saw a rainbow haloing his shadow and felt as if something had touched his brow, the Being was speaking to him. He came back down. Oberlin was in the room, Lenz went up to him cheerfully and said he would like to deliver a sermon at some point. “Are you a theologian?” Yes!—“Fine, this coming Sunday.”
    Lenz went up to his room contented, he thought of a text for the sermon and his mind drifted off, and his nights grew peaceful. Sunday morning arrived, a thaw had set in. Clouds scuddingoverhead, blue sky in between, the church on a spur of the mountain, the churchyard surrounding it. Lenz stood above while the bell rang and the churchgoers, women and girls in their somber black local costumes, white handkerchiefs folded on their hymnals and sprigs of rosemary, converged from all sides on the small paths leading up and down between the rocks. Bursts of sunshine playing over the valley, a soft lazy breeze, the landscape afloat in fragrance, distant bells, the whole as if dissolving into a single melodious wave.
    The snow was gone from the small churchyard, dark moss beneath the black crosses, a late rosebush leaning against the cemetery wall, late flowers rising through the moss, sun at moments, then the dark. The