LEN Z
37
assisted Oberlin, sketched, read the Bible; old, discarded hopes re–
asserted themselves: the New Testament seemed so near to him
here. . . . When Oberlin told him how an invisible hand had held
him back on the bridge, how on the summit a radiance had dazzled
his eyes, how he had heard a voice, how it had spoken to him
in
the night and how God had wholly entered his heart, so that like
a child he would cast dice whenever he did not know what to do:
this faith, this eternal Heaven on earth, this being in God-only now
Holy Writ became quite clear to him. How close was Nature to the
people here, how close all the heavenly mysteries; yet neither violent
nor majestic, but still familiar.
One morning he went out.
It
had snowed in the night; now the
valley was filled with bright sunshine, though further away the
landscape was half veiled in mist. He soon strayed from the path,
up a gentle rise, no more trace of footsteps, a pine forest on one side;
the sun was caught in crystals, the snow was light and flaky, here
and there the track of wild animals softly imprinted on the snow,
leading into the mountains. Not a movement in the air other than
a soft breeze or the faint rustle of a bird shaking snow from its tail.
All so still and, far above, the trees with swaying white feathers in
the deep-blue air. Gradually the scene became familiar to him: the
immense, uniform lines and planes, whose aspect sometimes suggested
to him that they were addressing him with mighty voices, were
shrouded; a familiar feeling as of Christmas crept upon him: some–
times he thought that his mother would step from behind a tree to
tell him that all these were her presents to him; she would be tall
as in those days.
As
he descended he saw that a rainbow of rays had
gathered around
his
shadow; he felt as though something had touched
his forehead: the created world was speaking to him.
He came down. Oberlin was in the room, Lenz went up to
him
gaily and told him that perhaps he would deliver a sermon one
day. "Are you a theologian?-"Yes."-"Good, next Sunday, then."
Happy, Lenz went up to his room. He was thinking about a
text for a sermon and grew pensive, his nights restful. Sunday morn–
ing came, the thaw had begun. Clouds gliding past, blue in between.
The church stood nearby, up the mountain, on a projection, round
about it the churchyard. Lenz was standing up above when the bell
pealed and the church-goers, women and girls in their grave black
