"Is this to live?" I asked again.
Then Sorrow took me with her on long journeys to the North, South, East, and West. I saw all men, all arts, all treasures, the mighty sea, and the petty towns, till I grew homesick for the old house in which I had seen so many die, in which my father had now closed his eyes. For when I came back I found his armchair empty. Then I was ready to die of grief.
"What," said Sorrow, "die already? And you could carry a mountain? Why, you have not lived yet, for you have not loved."
While she said this she laid her hand on my heart, and like a mighty stream love entered in with song and rejoicing. Only the Wood saw it, and it rejoiced with me, and yet more secretly I wrote now and again a little poem.
But Truth was not in love, neither was it in renunciation, for I murmured and knew not why I should renounce. Sorrow's hand lay heavy on my arm, and for a long time my steps were weak and slow. I no longer sought after Truth. But at last I seemed to see that she must lie in Work, in great, rich Work. When Sorrow heard me say this, she raised my drooping head and pointed before me.
"Here stands a good man, and waits for you. Will you love him your life long? Here is your path, it is rough and stony, and leads past precipices to steep heights. Will you walk on it? And there lies work for you, mountains high. Will you carry it?"
"I will," I said.
Then Sorrow led me into marriage, and made me a mother, and laid great rich labors upon my shoulders. I groped about to find the right path, and we had to meet with mistrust and misunderstanding, and on the steep path stood hate and strife. But I did not fear, for I was a mother. But not many years was this high dignity mine, my child's fair eyes closed, and I laid his curly head in the grave. Yet I stood erect, notwithstanding the fire in my breast, and I asked of Sorrow—
"Where is Truth? Now that all earthly joy, all earthly hopes have been borne to the grave, there remains for me nothing but Truth; I have a right to find her."