sembling all human faces, the same ordinary, although
unfamiliar, features.

And suddenly dread fell upon me, and I came to myself. Only then did I
understand that precisely such a face--a face like all human faces--is
the face of Christ.

December, 1878.

II

1879-1882

THE STONE

Have you seen an old, old stone on the seashore, when the brisk waves
are beating upon it from all sides, at high tide, on a sunny spring
day--beating and sparkling and caressing it, and drenching its mossy
head with crumbling pearls of glittering foam?

The stone remains the same stone, but brilliant colours start forth upon
its surly exterior.

They bear witness to that distant time when the molten granite was only
just beginning to harden and was all glowing with fiery hues.

Thus also did young feminine souls recently attack my old heart from all
quarters,--and beneath their caressing touch it glowed once more with
colours which faded long ago,--with traces of its pristine fire!

The waves have retreated ... but the colours have not yet grown dim,
although a keen breeze is drying them.

May, 1879.

DOVES

I was standing on the crest of a sloping hill; in front of me lay
outspread, and motley of hue, the ripe rye, now like a golden, again
like a silvery sea.

But no surge was coursing across this sea; no sultry breeze was blowing;
a great thunder-storm was brewing.

Round about me the sun was still shining hotly and dimly; but in the
distance, beyond the rye, not too far away, a dark-blue thunder-cloud
lay in a heavy mass over one half of the horizon.

Everything was holding its breath ... everything was languishing beneath
the ominous gleam of the sun's last rays. Not a single bird was to be
seen or heard; even the sparrows had hidden themselves. Only somewhere,
close at hand, a solitary huge leaf of burdock was whispering and
flapping.

How strongly the wormwood on the border-strips[75] smells! I glanced at
the blue mass ... and confusion ensued in my soul. "Well, be quick,
then, be quick!" I thought. "Flash out, ye golden serpent! Rumble, ye
thunder! Move on, advance, discharge thy water, thou evil thunder-cloud;
put an end to this painful torment!"

But the storm-cloud did not stir. As before, it continued to crush the
dumb earth ... and seemed merely to wax larger and darker.

And lo! through its bluish monotony there flashed something smooth and
even; precisely like a white handkerch