IX. Conclusion
Just as my "traveller's tales" are only sketches, this work before you is also just a sketch. It could not be anything else, because what I am telling you has not ended yet and because numerous lawsuits, which have been forced upon me, are taking aim at me like menacing revolvers. Furthermore, brutal physical pain prevents me from writing as I would like to. To receive, during a time of ten years, four times a day, entire stacks of letters and newspapers, overflowing with venom, mockery, and gloating, is more than any Samson or Hercules could endure. Mind and soul have remained strong. Not the slightest part of my inner self has changed. My confidence in God and my love for mankind have not been shaken. But in the end, it has still got the best of my body, which used to seem so indestructible in the past. It is on the verge of collapse. For one year, I lack natural sleep. Whenever I want to rest for a few hours, I must resort to artificial means, to sleeping powders, which only numb the senses and are not harmless in their effect. I also cannot eat. Just a few bites a day, my poor, dear wife forces me to take. But instead, I am in pain, an incessant, terrible neuralgic pain, which forces me up from my bed at night and rips the pen out of my hand a hundred times during the day! I feel, as if I had to scream all of the time, to shout for help. I cannot lie down, cannot sit, cannot walk, and cannot stand up, and yet I have to do all of these things. Most of all, I would like to die, die, die, and yet I do not want to die and may not die, because my time is not up yet. I have to solve my task.
My task? Yes, my task! I have finally, finally realized what it is. It is just what I had thought, and yet so very, very different. I have already said: The Karl-May-problem is, like every other mortal's problem, an individual example of a problem which concerns all of mankind. But while most people are only called upon to represent to their small, immediate surroundings certain phases of the great problem, there are also others who have been given the hard task to serve as a representation of it, though also just on a small scale, but not just representing an individual detail, but rather the whole. The many represent parts of mankind, while the few represent images of mankind. The many can keep their narrow surroundings clean; people like this exist by the dozens; they can even appear as exemplary people. But the few are assigned the virtue and the sin, the purity and the filth of the entire mankind in a representative ratio; they can become famous generals or crude murderers, great diplomats or notorious swindlers, philanthropic financial geniuses or despicable pickpockets, but never exemplary people. They have not been granted the enjoyable fortune of unconscious mediocrity. If the forces around them are more powerful than they, they are torn between virtue and vice, between height and depth, between cheer and desperation, until they dissolve above the clouds or plunge into the abyss. If they are the stronger ones and if they are born into fortunate surroundings, they will proudly and calmly go on their shining course; but if they came into this world where baseness, poverty, and want rule, they will still reach their goal, because they have to, but the resistance they will have to overcome will be brutal and unrelenting, and, once they have ascended to this top, before they will be able to sound their cry of victory, they will collapse with exhaustion, to close their eyes to this word.
One would think that everyone knew which of these types of people he would belong to, or at leat, everyone should feel obliged to think about this. I have done this and have arrived at the conclusion that I had no right to expect a simple, averagely happy life, but that I had to get acquainted with mankind's misery in its deepest depths, in order to work myself up from this misery just as persistently and just as exhaustingly as mankind requires floods of sweat and blood as well as millenia of time to rise from its. Likewise, I am convinced that I had been destined to meet with this unrelenting resistance, which opposes me up to this day, and that I have no right to complain about it, because I have brought it upon myself just as all of mankind would progress faster, if they would finally stop blocking their own path with obstacles. It is plain to see that I do not accuse anybody but myself.
If I ever spoke too tough or harsh in this book, if I have been unfair or stubborn, then this has, by no means, been intentional or deliberate, but it has been the still not quite overcome anima, dictating this to me. As long as a person moves in the low realm, and this is what I had to do in this description of my life to a more than large extent, the low matters have some power over him, and I was not allowed to be untrue; I had to write as my social surroundings required. But now, that I am reaching the end and am starting to breathe a better, cleaner air, I am also cleaner and freer in what I am writing and am regaining the strength to overcome everything which seeks to embitter me.
And there has been more than enough reason for me to be embittered. In this, I am only talking about the last ten years and what has happened as a consequence of the lawsuit against the Münchmeyers. This lawsuit has been conducted by my opponents, or rather by their lawyer Gerlach, in a manner which I had thought entirely impossible before. I had no idea to what an extent the law protects a lawyer in this respect. For the purpose of degrading the opposing party before the judge, he is at liberty to use means which nobody else is permitted to use. He is under the protection of article 193, because he is acting in his client's interests. I am going to list a selection of sample expressions, I had to put up with from the Münchmeyers' advocate Dr. Gerlach, because he employed them in his capacity as a lawyer:
He accused me of "imprudent extortions", "unjustified demands", numerous "audacities", and "mumbo jumbo". He called me "cunning", "fresh", "audacious", "slandering", "pathologically provoking untruthfulness", "liar", "lying May", "show-off", "Münchhausen", "boaster", "fraud", "scoundrel", "swindler", "commonplace swindler", "burglar", "imposter", "convict", etc. etc. I am asking you: Are these kinds of offensive statements, even if there was some truth in them, permitted in everyday life? Would a truly well-educated man want to move in the same circles as someone who has made them? Well, in the circles of the court they are permitted, for I have sued this lawyer on account of them for gross insult and have been rejected. But there is even more: In response to this complaint of mine, he filed counter-charges against me, and this was not rejected. The judge is perfectly innocent in this; he could not act any other way; the law proscribes it like this! One day, when the testimonies of the witnesses had turned out to be unfavourable for the Münchmeyers' party, this lawyer said to the judge: "But in any case, it is entirely impossible that a person with prior convictions, like May, could win this trial!" "You'll just have to wait and see," the judge answered to him. I was right there and had to put up with this insult, because the law allowed him to make it. For almost ten years, this has been going on like this and is still going on up to this day in the same tone and in the same manner. A very high-ranking judge said, regarding this, to my lawyer: "Never in all of my long time on the bench, a case has touched me so deeply like the that of Karl May. How much must this poor, old man have suffered!" He might very well have added: "How much is he still suffering, and how much more will he suffer!" This judge knew my prison record very well; he had studied the files which existed on it. Nevertheless and in spite of the verbal abuse of my opponents, I won the trial and all appeals, surely an expressive proof that German judges are not influenced by invectives on the lawyers' part; but nevertheless, I had to listen to them without being able to speak up and I still have to do so up to this day. And they work their effect, though not on the verdict, but definitely into another direction. They introduce a cruel rudeness into the way the parties interact with each other and extent beyond the courtroom, out into the public and even into the private life. All those insulting expressions about me, which I have listed above, one would already have read in the newspapers and would likewise also have come across them in private conversations. This is the necessary consequence of those liberties which every malicious, unscrupulous lawyer is allowed to take, once he sees that crude rudeness will get him further than humaneness. He writes these rude statements into his legal documents, and from there, he arranges it for them to appear as official files proving his case in the newspapers. Or he might first sent them to the newspapers and then submit them in printed form to the court as evidence, without saying that they originally came from him. If such a lawyer has several like-minded, or by him persuaded, newspapers or small papers on his side, it is easy for him to shatter, or possibly even to destroy, within a short time, every existence, no matter how firm it might stand. "To destroy in the newspapers of all of Germany", this is called. And the law encourages this practice!
There is also another, most interesting example I care about, which, if anything, will sound less than favourable for me. But I am mentioning it nevertheless, because, intending to write for the benefit of the general public, I must not ask whether I might harm my own interests by this. My first wife had insulted the wife of an author from Dresden, who had been told by the Münchmeyers that I had been previously convicted. He got even by informing against me with a German sovereign and told him that his relatives were reading my books and also visited me in person. The sovereign gave no reply. Then came a second letter with accusations, and now the sovereign was compelled to turn to Dresden, in order to find out what my prior convictions were all about. He received detailed information. An official was sent to Radebeul, to conduct on-the-spot investigations. He found out that my marriage had not been a happy one, which was the reason why I had not stayed at home in me free time, and that I had written in my books about countries where I had never been; everything I reported in them was not true. Therefore, the files of the police of Dresden record about me that I was leading an unsteady life and was an imposter by means of my literature. The sovereign was informed of this, and one of those relatives, he matter was concerned with, passed it on to me at the next opportunity in all the details. He knew very well how much there was to this matter, but asked me to be discrete, so that I had been compelled to keep silent about this. I also believed that I could keep silent, because I presumed that these kinds of police records were among the most secretive things in the administration. But now, they are being published by Lebius to my astonishment and are being exploited accordingly by my opponents. How does a former social democrat, who has seceded from the church, get hold of these secret records of the police of Dresden? The law permits it! Quite naturally, I now no longer feel obliged to be discrete and will insist that these records will be revised and corrected.
Another case brings me to Leipzig, where I, as I have reported on page 119 [a], have been apprehended forty-five years ago by unlawful means. This was such a long time ago that the court records about this have long since been destroyed, because humaneness demands that such traces shall only last for a very specific time, and this time is up. Who has now considered the possibility that the police of Leipzig might also have made notes about this, which might still be in existence? Mr. Lebius has recently published them! How does a man like he now also get hold of the police records of Leipzig? The law permits it!
[a] Fifth chapter, second half of the 13th paragraph.
Likewise, has published the records of my divorce. These are most certainly of a nature which requires discretion and are none of his business at all. But the law permits him to do so!
He is informed about everything relating to my lawsuits. Who gives him that permission, and who makes it possible for him? The law and the Münchmeyers' lawyer, who is his lawyer as well. Both are working hand in hand. At one time, Lebius even persuaded my ex-wife in Berlin to sign a blank power of attorney, but sent this to Dresden to the Münchmeyers' lawyer, who then filled in the blanks as he saw fit for his particular purposes. These are only a few examples from my rich, personal experience with the fact that the law does not just permit, but even encourages, things which it ought to prohibit most strictly. Even the most judicious and humane judge is powerless against this, and this was what I was thinking of when I said before that I had finally, finally realised what my task was. About forty to fifty years ago, I have involuntarily descended to that place where the despised people dwell, for whom regaining the respect, which had been robbed from them, is made so very difficult. I have come to know them, and I know that they are worth no less than all those who only never fell because they either had never been on a high level or did not possess the necessary inner freedom to be able to fall. I want to descent back down to them, now being almost seventy years old, not being forced, but voluntarily, as my own decision. I want to tell them what nobody dared to tell them before, this is that nobody can help them, if they do not know how to help themselves; that they are doomed, unless they save themselves using their own power; by sticking most closely together among themselves. I want to present them with my example, my life and my efforts. I want to show them what will become of all of their good intentions and all of their hard efforts, if others lack these good intentions. I want to show them that a single unfair lawyer or that single article 193 are enough to destroy even the most beautiful and best achievements of their strength of mind, of Christian love, and of humaneness in one blow. I want to tell them that it is a sin of mankind to conceal their share in the guilt of the guilty ones; but that it is also a mistake for the latter ones to keep their past guilt a secret. Our lives, my life, their lives shall be spread out openly before the eyes of God, but in particular also openly before our own eyes. Then, we will not bear a grudge, and then, we will not be resentful. Because then, we will realise why it was possible for us to fall: We made ourselves fall. And once we realise this, we are able to forgive ourselves; and he who may forgive himself, will be forgiven. So, do away with the inappropriate feeling of being ashamed, and bring out openness! Only the secret we veil ourselves in gives that article and every unscrupulous person the power to think himself higher and better than us and still to be our -- -- -- executioner!
I am only giving you an outline here. Like everything up to this point, this can also be nothing but a sketch for now. But I am feeling the need to transform the evil things which others have done to me into something good for my fellow human beings. I will enable those who had the same fate as I to draw those conclusions from my inhumane persecution which are beneficial to them. What good is all so-called "justice", all so-called "clemency of the court", all so-called "humane punishment", all so-called "care for released prisoners", if all it takes is one cunning lawyer or one questionable article to destroy all the good things which had come out of these efforts in a single moment? How can anybody expect a fallen man to get up again and to be a better person, as long as they fail to create better conditions as well in the surroundings he is put back into? Does it encourage him to know that, in spite of all efforts to become a better person, he must still continue to be, as long as he shall live, the ostracised one, the suppressed one, the one without rights, and will continue to be like this, because he is forced to remain silent, no matter what is happening to him, and to let them do everything to him? Because if he does not do this, he is doomed. If he should go ahead and seek his rightful justice against those who insult, rob, and cheat him, his old files are dragged forward, and he is pilloried. Let me just remind you that a public prosecutor form Dresden, even just for purely "scientific" reasons, had nailed me to the pillory, while I am still alive! He could not even wait for my death and maintained that an article of the law gave him the right to conduct this vivisection. In such a situation one cannot help but look into the faces of those who talk about humaneness, to see whether there might be a sardonic smile coming through, revealing how things really are. And one feels, together with the hundreds of thousands who are suffering from this, the burning urge to take all of these articles, because of which mankind's good intentions fail, drag them to the light of day, and put them there where they must be, in order to be seen as what they really are, -- -- -- into the public, before parliament!
Here lies the point where my task has to begin. There have already been several who have written down their experiences as "released prisoners"; but what could be gathered from these reports was so insignificant that it could not be of any benefit for the general public. Here, it is not enough to show the small lot of some people, but rather heavy, weighty fates of people, which are also real fates in the classical sense. And my fate is like this. I feel obliged, and it is my task, to put it into the service of humaneness. What I mean by this will, so I hope, be be evident from my second volume.
It was a part of this task of mine, that the public did not only take an interest in Karl May the novelist, but also in the person May, and that everything which could be held against the latter had to be scooped up, down to the last drop. One thing was justified criticism; the other was the work of executioners, flayers, and knackers, I had to put up with without freeing myself from this agony and torture by paying the money they demanded from me. This was the spirits' furnace of my fable, where they were bashing away at me, so that the sparks were spewing through every newspaper. They even still spew today. But soon, this will quiet down. The time of the hammer is over; only the file is still to come, and then, it will be done. It goes entirely without saying that all that pain, which came upon me, also had to influence my other task, my task as a novelist. There also was dross, and even more than enough. It also had to be removed. Thus flew the soot, the filth, the dust, the hammer's blows. All of this is still lying all around me, but now, it will be cleared away, so that the clean, noble work shall begin.
It was quite generally a large, a hard, and a most painful process of clearing up and out; not just inside of me, but also externally, in my work, my profession, my house, my marriage. Everything which had driven me to the furnace and the pain had to go. It was replaced with what was clean and honest and what was striving upwards with me, from Ardistan to Jinnistan, the land of the nobly spirited people. This resulted in a separation of good from evil, which could only be brought about by means of struggles and sacrifices. Now it has been completed. The storms have passed. Though there a still a few murky waters, murmuring here and there, some lawsuit for gross insult, a complaint with the public prosecutor's office, but this will also pass quickly, and then, there will be calm and peace around me, so that I will finally, finally obtain the time and space and state of mind, to approach my real, my only and last "work".
Looking back at the last ten years, I am full of gratitude for having survived them. There has never been a "persecution" like the one against me for as long as earth exists in the literature of any country, of any nation. There were tempests in the newspapers, tempests in the courtrooms, tempests in my own house, and tempests inside of me. Though my old, faithful, good friend, the body, maintains that he could no longer go along with me, I am still convinced that he will nevertheless be as willing and understanding again as he has always been. He had to endure what normally could not possibly have been endured. First, there were for entire six years the three instances of the first trial against the Münchmeyers with all those upsetting and pathetic aspects connected with it. Then followed the twenty-two months of the investigation for perjury and incitement to perjury. This was because the Münchmeyers' lawyer had filed a complaint for perjury with the public prosecutor's office against me and my witnesses, after he had lost the trial. The prosecutor had, according to his own statement, accepted the complaint to finally clear this matter up. This struggle, lasting for almost two years, quite naturally ended with the finding that no proof of any punishable act committed by me or my witnesses could be established. But this was not the end of it yet, for other things came on top of this, which were almost even worse than everything which had happened before: the first assaults by Lebius; a double pneumonia, which kept me between life and death for several months; the accusations my ex-wife brought up against me, my present wife, and her mother, and by means of which she had sought to bring a severe punishment upon us; the complaints with the public prosecutor's office, which she had then filed by a friend against us on account of these accusations; the same complaints being repeated by Lebius in Berlin. Luckily, this ex-wife had voluntarily told and confessed everything which she then denied after the divorce, during the divorce proceedings in the presence of perfect strangers without any interference on my part, so that she could only have been lured into this later denial. The presentation of these pieces of evidence proved that all accusations against me were lies. Furthermore, there is the petition of Lebius with the public prosecutor's office to lock me up in a lunatic asylum; his petition to have me followed to America with a warrant for my arrest; the numerous articles against me in his paper "Der Bund"; his pamphlets with the most horrible lies, which were circulated in Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, France, England, North and South America. In these, he even accused me of having strangled my father-in-law! [a] This goes on like this up until recent times. Finally, he informed against me for having made insulting statements about an investigating judge, and the very last thing was, about four weeks ago, a complaint with the public prosecutor against me for incest, the punishment for which is, as we all know, five years in prison. You see that the very most extreme means are being used to "destroy" me! To endure this, without losing the faith in God, the belief in the good of mankind, and all joy of life and strength to live, is an act I hardly think everybody would be capable of. I have endured it, without allowing myself to be tempted to take the law into my own hands, because I am incapable of doubting for a single moment in God and his love, and because, in all of these more than hard times, there had been a person by my side, whose brave, upward striving soul had lifted me up, like on the wings of angels, above all suffering, I was meant to be subjected to, this person is my present wife. If someone has had the right to write books on the topic of "The Savage Beast in a Woman" , I might just as well feel obliged to publish, as a contrast to this, a book bearing the title "Heaven in a Woman".
[a] This should probably read "grandfather-in-law", refering to C.G. Pollmer, the grandfather of Karl May's first wife. At any rate, Lebius's accusation is bogus.
"Die Bestie im Weibe" by Carl Felix von Schlichtegroll (1862-1946).
With such a woman by my side, who is a source everything which is clean, noble, and eternal in a human being, everything can be achieved in respect to the pains of life on earth, and everything can be performed in respect to the work which is still ahead for me, as far as it is humanly possible. I am no longer so terribly alone. No longer, I have to tap into nothing but my own inner self, but rather I have been joined by a delightfully plentiful living soul, by whose influence everything inside of me which is leading me towards the good goal is being doubled. Severely ailing physically, I am of a fresh mind and in my soul at least just as much full of confidence as in my youth. I am not foolish enough to deny to myself that I am regarded as an outcast, cast out from the church, society, and literature. One person will start bashing at me, because he regards me as a Catholic or even Jesuit in disguise; another one will reach for the cudgel, because he thinks that I was still secretly a Protestant. Do you think that those two would manage to pledge their allegiance exclusively to whomever they happen to get the most thorough thrashing from at any given time? That I am regarded as socially dead, I do not care about. I do not have the slightest reason to be eager to be a part of that society the acquaintance of which I had been forced to make in my times of suffering. By the way, we two old folks, my dear wife and I, are thus perfectly sufficient to one another in respect to world within ourselves, that we would not even be capable to yearn for the "society" of others. And concerning me being cast out from literature, I can also live with that. The path I am on has been taken by no one else before me; I would therefore, even without the hatred directed against me, be forced to be a lonely man. I am furthermore convinced that later, once they will be properly acquainted with me and what I want, a sizable number, perhaps even many, will leave the large crowd, in order to join me. Old paths can lead to nothing more than old, dead treasures. But whoever is searching for new, living treasures, shall also take new, not old, paths. And my path is a new one! The fate of my previous work will only be determined by their worth or worthlessness, by nothing else. If they are any good, they will stay, no matter whether they are presently being praised or condemned. If they are no good, they will disappear, no matter whether they are now rejected or not. And the most important thing is, the person who has their worth or worthlessness under his control is just me alone. No one of my opponents, no matter how powerful and influential he may be in literature, can influence this in even the slightest degree. This sounds proud and boastful, but it is true. These works are collections of sketches, are preliminary exercises, are preparations for what is to come later. If those later things will turn out well, everything by means of which I prepared myself for it will be justified, no matter how or what is being thought and written about it now.
Now, there is only one final remark in respect to the Münchmeyer novels left for me to make. One of my most unrelenting opponents wrote I should by no means fool anybody into believing that a trashy publisher could transform decent novels into indecent ones; this would be a huge job, which nobody would be able to cope with. This gentleman seems to be in the fortunate position to be infinitely far removed from the live and activities of a trashy publisher. First of all, if someone is able to spend the time and effort to write a novel, then someone ought to be much more able to spend the shorter time and lesser effort to change this novel! Secondly, such a change requires by no means as much time and work as my opponent seems to assume. The insertion of a few words is perfectly sufficient to transform a "moral" sheet of printed paper into an "immoral" one. Thirdly, there is more than enough manpower for such changes available, and they have such an astonishing routine in it that even an insider is amazed by the the amount they can cope with. I have supplied evidence to this and will supply even more. Walther, the frequently mentioned factotum, sat at Münchmeyers' every day, from early in the morning until in the evening, only doing these kinds of work, and then reading the proofs, which the author never got to see. The evidence given first by Fischer, who had bought the Münchmeyers' business, and a few years later by his heirs, in a material manner and in court, on these adaptations of my novels, is well known. Concerning this, Münchmeyer's nephew, who had been the head pressman, had confirmed as a witness in the trial that Münchmeyer had personally altered entire chapters. Another witness had testified under oath that Münchmeyer had confessed to him that he was making large, extensive changes to my novels, he would better not tell me anything about. I suppose, I do not need to list here even more examples, which are available to me, to make you comprehend why I am absolutely demanding to be presented with my original manuscripts, which surely would carry a so very different weight as evidence than the fading memory of an old typesetter, who, after thirty years, is expected to find his way around through the mess of Münchmeyer's letter-cases of that time. Furthermore, these changes often stand out thus sharply from my original text, that very numerous readers are assuring me that they could say very precisely where the forgery begins and where it ends.
Finally, I cannot neglect drawing your attention to a trick of my opponents, and of Mr. Lebius in particular, which is being employed to cause those of my readers who belong to the higher classes to be outraged against me. They would write, for instance, in an eye-catching place, that I was socialising with the high society of Dresden and that I would quite generally make the greatest effort to obtain the acquaintance of high-ranking people. Not a single word, not a single letter of this is true. When I am by myself, I feel most comfortable, and I also wish, in this respect, for nothing else than to remain by myself. I would like to see that person who would want to prove to me that I had forced my company on him! In other places, it has been stated emphatically, that I was a regular guest at "courts". This is even more decisively untrue. If some aristocrat, who might belong to some "court", would read my books and occasionally exchange a few words with me, I would be the very last person to interpret this as me being a "regular at court". Behind these statements, which are pure fiction, there can only be the intention, to give me, in those circles, the reputation of a indiscrete person or even a liar, and to harm me even there, where I am absolutely not to be found. -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
In the end of this volume, I am returning to the beginning, to my old, dear fable of "Sitara", I had started with. Not much time will pass, before this fable will be known as the truth, and even as the most tangible there is. It is the task of the present century, which has just started, to enable our untrained eyes to see the great, exalted symbolism of daily life and to bring us to the bliss giving and uplifting realisation that there are higher and more undeniable realities than those with which the workdays and weekdays keep us busy. The sketches I drew and published shall serve to prepare for this realisation. Therefore, they are written in a symbolic manner and only have to be interpreted allegorically, if they are to be understood. One would think that it is quite amazing that this seems to be so hard for the common reader. It should not be too much of a hard nut to crack, to figure out something when reading a parable. When I refer to Ardistan as the land of the ethically low and Jinnistan as the land of the high, nobly thinking people, it could not require an almost academic education to see what I mean when I describe a journey from Ardistan to Jinnistan. The reader simply has to transport himself in his imagination from his world of weekdays into my world of Sundays, and this, I would think, is surely not harder for him than to leave his workshop every Sunday, in order to go to church at the sound of the bells.
Just as going to church this way frees a person from earthly pressures, I want to free the inner part of my readers from the external pressure by means of my tales. They shall hear bells ringing. They shall sense and experience how a prisoner feels who hears the locks clanging, because the day has come when he is being released. It is is just as easy to understand my books and to comprehend their contents, as it is easy to interpret this imprisonment allegorically. I want my readers to stop regarding life as a merely material existence. This view is a prison for them, beyond the walls of which they are unable to see, to behold the sunny, free, wide land. They are prisoners, but I want to free them. And in seeking to free them, I am freeing myself, because I am also not free, but rather imprisoned since a long, long time ago. At that time, when I was living in prison, I was free. There, I lived protected by the walls. There, everyone stepping into my cell came with good and honest intentions. There, nobody was allowed to touch me. There, nobody was allowed to disturb the development of my inner self. No villain had me in his power. Whatever I possessed and whatever I obtained was my sure and inalienable property, until I -- -- was released, not for a moment longer! For when I was released, I lost my freedom and my human rights. What others who only know how to talk in materialistic terms refer to as freedom has been a prison to me, a labour camp, a penitentiary, in which I have been languishing by now for thirty-six years, without finding a single person, aside from my present wife, I would have been able to talk to, as I used to talk to that unforgettable Catholic Bible teacher. I have not lived and worked for myself, but only for others. Whatever I obtained, I have been defrauded out of. Whatever savings I made, have been stolen from me. Any given person was allowed to do with me whatever he pleased, for everywhere he found a lawyer taking his case. Any given person was allowed to suspect me, insult me, bash away at me, for everywhere there was an article of law protecting him. I had to conduct lawsuits for six years for the sake of my property, and when I had won the trial, this did not mean by a long shot that I would have received anything, and I was put under preliminary investigation for perjury for twenty-two months. By now, I am already conducting lawsuits for almost ten years, and still, I have no result. The law does not want to have it any other way. But in the meantime, I have been like a prison inmate, who may be flogged, hurt, and tortured by everybody however he may please, if he only succeeds in arming himself with one of those articles of law, which are the ideals of all "resolute" lawyers. Yes indeed, I am a captive, a prison inmate, even now! A dozen lawsuits have detained me, so that by no means I would be able to escape, and everybody who wanted money from me, but did not get any, has behaved like a disciplinarian and has been bashing away at me. I have wanted the best for all of those I write for, their internal and external wellbeing, their present and their future happiness. What have I been given for this good intentions of mine? Scorn, mockery, and sarcasm! When I was a prison inmate, I was no prisoner. And now that I am it no more, I am it still. Why?
And you are laughing about me writing allegorically? Are not even hell and purgatory allegories to us, who are the poorest of them all? Where is a hell, if not in yourselves? And where is purgatory, if not in ourselves? I am talking about this purgatory when I am symbolically telling the story of my "spirits' furnace", the terrible time of which I will have overcome today or tomorrow. I hold no grudge against you, for I know it had to be this way. It had been my task to bear every heavy load and to taste every bitterness, which was to be borne and tasted here; I have to use this in my work now. I am not embittered, because I know my guilt. And what others had been forced to do to me, I do not hold against them. I am just asking for that one thing: Finally, finally, let me have the time to start this work!
Now that my life's hard work is all quite done,
Just leisure is what old age shall be bringing.
And what perhaps I will still look upon
With harp and psaltry I will still be singing.
I gave you all I got from God above,
Not for myself, among you I've been living.
And when you're giving hatred for my love,
I'll be content with these thanks you are giving.
Now that my life's hard pains are all quiet done,
To soothe my grief on God I am depending.
And what might still on me will come upon
He shall, in me, lead to a joyous ending.
The guilt you burdened me with heavily,
Was partially not my own, I must be saying.
The worldly thoughts on this which stir in me,
I'll gladly hide, except when I am praying.
Now that my life's hard test is all quiet done,
The Lord's own verdict I might soon be hearing,
Which way on me He might decide upon
It's my salvation, nothing I'd be fearing.
I cheer. From dungeons I will be set free;
At last, this prison's ties He'll sever.
Farewell! And he who still will misjudge me
Might just as well go on, hate me for ever!
The End.