The boulders took on strange shapes: slender stone flowers blossomed forth from them. Lining the way were rubble heaps, in front of which stood walls with tall pointed windows. Occasionally an organ sound seemed to become faintly audible. After some time we came upon a road in open country. A tiny little man with a greyish-green hood over his head fled as we approached. Quickly my guide took off his top hat. He wanted to trap the little fellow but he got away. ‘Opitz’, my guide remarked regretfully. ‘I would have liked to have had him for my collection.’ Then we walked for a long time along the dull country road. Suddenly a mountain appeared ahead of us. Upon it we saw, set against the sky, the silhouette of a writing man. He had an enormous sheet before him, and his pen was so long that it seemed to write in the heavens when he moved it. ‘Take off your hat’, I heard the voice beside me say, ‘that is Lessing’. We greeted him, but the mighty figure on the peak did not move. There were dense shrubs at the foot of the mountain. The trees were finely trimmed. Little people moved around on paths like automatic puppets dressed as shepherds and beaus. Many danced around white statues that stood amid the greenery. A faint chirping rang from this party of puppets in the moonlight. But occasionally it was silent and a mighty voice riven with woe and longing and joy could be heard penetrating as far as the stars. ‘Can you hear Klopstock?’ I heard my guide ask. I nodded. ‘We will be there soon,’ he announced.

We went around the mountain and before us lay another dark plain from which two bright temple-like structures arose. With horror I noted that the immense chasm opened up beside us, with its temple ruins and roaring streams. Along its side swayed a figure, inching closer and closer towards the edge until – finally – it plunged before our eyes. ‘Yes, we have arrived,’ remarked my guide. ‘Did you see Hölderlin?’ Once again, I nodded silently and in terrible fear. The clear air was filled with strange cries. The deep yet beautifully constant tone of the sad streams reverberated from below. The sunken man’s bright, woeful song seemed to mingle with it.