Yesterday a child was born to Aga. It is a girl. They did not carry her to Holdenschlag, but sent for me to christen the little one. I am no priest and may not steal a name from the church calendar. I have called the girl _Waldlilie_ and have baptised her with the water of the woods.
When will the angel come to roll away the stone?
"Alas, alas, our Lord is dead! But as I have already said, one hardly knows anything in this back country. Well, well, He cannot have been very young, for I have heard of Him all my life. But all the same His time has come at last. Ah, who can escape!..." Thus spoke old Schwammelfuchs, when he learned that on Good Friday it had been proclaimed from the chancel in Holdenschlag that our Lord had died for the sins of the world.
The old man meant it seriously and in the greatest reverence, although every evening at his prayers he repeats the words: "Suffered under Pontius Pilate, crucified, dead."
It is a prayer of the lips. True prayer, the heart offers only in its need, in its joy, but these people are not conscious of this. Deeply buried is that which we call true worship or religious feeling.
The people hasten Easter eve or in the morning out into the open woods, where they kindle fires, discharge their guns, and gaze into the air for the papal blessing, which from the pinnacle of St. Peter’s at Rome is scattered to the four winds on Easter morning.
There is always present the unconscious longing and struggle. One sees that something lies hidden in the heart which is not dead. But when will the angel come to roll away the stone?
The snow is melted. Yonder in the gorge the avalanches still thunder. A year ago we planted a few fruit-trees; these are now becoming quite green and the cherry-tree bears five snow-white blossoms.
The building of the church has commenced again. The masons have also gone to work on the parsonage. That is to be a stately house, built after plans from the owner of the forest. Why then must the parsonage be larger than the schoolhouse? The latter is for an entire family and a troop of young guests; the parsonage harbours one or a few single people, whose world does not extend outwards, but is absorbed within.
But the parsonage is the home and refuge for all those needing help or advice; an asylum for the persecuted and defenceless—the centre of the parish.