“Oh yes, it was, exactly. Then I found Beatrice, and finally a guide came to me. His name was Pistorius. For the first time it was clear to me why my boyhood was so bound up with Max’s, why I could not break away from him. Dear lady—dear mother, at that time I often thought I should have to take my life. Is the way so hard for everyone?”
She let her fingers stray through my hair, as gently as if a light breeze were blowing.
“It is always hard, to be born. You know, it is not without effort that the bird comes out of the egg. Look back and ask yourself: was the way then so hard?—only hard? Was it not beautiful as well? Could you have had one more beautiful, more easy?”
I shook my head.
“It was hard,” I said, as if in sleep, “it was hard, until the dream came.”
She nodded and looked at me penetratingly.
“Yes, one must find one’s dream, then the way is easy. But there is no dream which endures for always. Each sets a new one free, to none should one wish to cleave.”
I started. Was that already a warning? Was that already a warding-off? But no matter, I was ready to let myself be led by her, and not enquire after the end.
“I do not know,” I said, “how long my dream is to last. I wish it would be forever. My fate received me under the picture of the bird, like a mother, and like a mistress. To it I belong and to no one else.”
“As long as the dream is your fate, so long must you remain true to it,” she said, in earnest confirmation of my remark.