He went through the village, lights shone through the windows, as he passed by he saw children at tables, old women, young girls, the faces all calm and quiet, the light seemed to pour forth from them, he felt at ease, he was soon in the parsonage in Waldbach. They were sitting at the table, he went in; curls of blond hair fell around his pale face, his eyes and mouth twitched, his clothes were torn. Oberlin welcomed him, he took him to be a journeyman. “Welcome, whoever you are.”—I am a friend of . . . and bring you greetings from him. “Your name, if you please?” . . . Lenz. “Aha, it’s appeared in print, hasn’t it? Haven’t I read several plays attributed to a gentleman by this name?” Yes, but I beg you not to judge me by that. They continued talking, he searched for words and they came tumbling out, but it was torture; little by little he calmed down, the cozy room and the tranquil faces looming out of the shadows, the bright face of a child on which all the light seemed to rest, trusting eyes raised in curiosity, and finally the mother sitting quietly back in the shadows, angel-like. He began to talk of his homeland; he sketched its various local costumes, they all pressed around him to join in, he immediately felt at home, his pale child’s face now all smiles, his lively talk; he felt at ease, it was as if familiar figures, forgotten faces were emerging from the dark, old songs were awakening, he was away, far away. Finally it was time to go, he was led across the street, the parsonage was too cramped, he was given a room in the schoolhouse. He went upstairs, it was cold up there, a large room, empty, a high bed off to the back, he placed the lamp on the table and paced back and forth, he thought back on the day, how he had come here, where he was, the room in the parsonage with its lights and kindly faces, it seemed like a shadow, a dream, and emptiness came over him again as it had on the mountain, but he could no longer fill it with anything, the lamp was out, the darkness engulfed everything; he was seized by a nameless anxiety, he sprang to his feet, he ran through the room, down the stairs, out of the house; but in vain, everything dark, nothing, he seemed a dream to himself, stray thoughts flitted by, he grasped after them, he felt he had to keep on saying “Our Father” over and over again; he could no longer find himself, a dark instinct drove him to save himself, he butted against rocks, he tore at himself with his nails, the pain began to restore his consciousness, he threw himself into the fountain, but the water was not deep, he splashed around. Then people appeared, they had heard it, they called out to him. Oberlin came running; Lenz had come back to his senses, to the full consciousness of his condition, he felt at ease again, now he was ashamed and sorry to have frightened the good people, he told them it was his custom to take cold baths and returned upstairs; exhaustion allowed him at last to rest.

The next day went well. With Oberlin through the valley on horseback; broad mountain slopes funneling down from great heights into a narrow winding valley leading this way and that to the upper elevations, great boulder fields fanning out at the base, not much woodland, but everything a gray somber cast, a view to the west into the countryside and onto the mountain range running straight from north to south, the peaks looming huge, solemn, or mute and motionless, like a twilit dream. Enormous masses of light sometimes surging out of the valleys like a golden torrent, then clouds again, heaped around the highest peaks and then climbing down the forests into the valley or darting up and down in the sunbeams like silvery fluttering ghosts; no noise, no movement, no birds, nothing but the sighing of the wind, now near, now far. Specks also appeared, skeletons of huts, straw-covered planks, somber black. People, silent and somber, as if afraid to disturb the peace of their valley, quietly greeted them as they rode by. There was animation in the huts, they crowded around Oberlin, he set things right, offered advice, consolation; trusting looks everywhere, prayer. People recounted dreams, premonitions. Then quickly on to practical matters, the laying of roads, the digging of ditches, visits to the school. Oberlin was tireless, Lenz his constant companion, now conversing, now attending to affairs, now absorbed in nature. It all had a benign and calming effect on him, he often had to look into Oberlin’s eyes, and the immense peace that comes over us in the tranquility of nature, in the middle of the woods, on liquid moonlit summer nights, appeared even closer to him in this quiet gaze, this noble solemn face. He was shy, but he made observations, he spoke, Oberlin found his conversation agreeable, and the childish charm of Lenz’s face gave him great pleasure. But things were only bearable for him as long as the light lay in the valley; towards evening he was seized by a 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.