"I was an elected representative of the regional parliament when, during the national argument over how the army should be organised from 1862 to 1866, His Majesty sent his gift of the famous symbolic stick to our prime minister. I voted of course with the majority and now, now in this year of Our Lord 1867, I have written a sonnet—a sonnet, just imagine!—a sonnet in praise of our venerable prime minister and had it published in the advertisement pages of our national daily. Can you understand me and my relationship to that moon of ours?"
"Absolutely!" I said after a pregnant pause.
"Then I can be brief in what I have to say and that's what I'll do. We all know—and so does the moon—a fairly euphonious name that ends in E or A and the bearer of that name or, if not, we immediately search for such a name and its bearer, and that the moon is ready and willing to help us find it and her goes without saying. No go-between in cases of this sort would lend a hand sooner or more deftly. It lights our way to the lyrical poet for whom we suddenly feel more than just an affinity. It manifests itself on the sheet of paper we ourselves make use of to pay court to the muse. It grins at us when we wait for a certain woman on the way out of a ballroom, concert hall or theatre. Later it escorts us home if our mother has no objection to us bringing her home with us. Who understands better than it does how to light the way home for a donkey or a person? It's neither here nor there, but a question well worth asking nevertheless, whether the blame can also be laid at its door when our father one fine day gives his permission. Are you married too, my dear colleague?"
The question bored into my brain so abruptly that I nearly fell off my chair and I had to collect my thoughts for a minute before I could answer yes.
"Good! Then we have talked of this theme at its true worth and no further talk is called for. Is it responsible for that alliteration as well? Look, there it is, looking in at the window—the clouds that you put me off with earlier have also been incapable of hiding it. The meadows are lit up for miles—such beauty! How wonderful! My dear colleague, how truly charming the world is, how splendid both in war and peacetime! Poetry drips down from above and springs up from below! Listen—listen to the music of the everlasting sea! The waves dance their immortal dance in the German moonlight—why should we not dance too? My soul is a drop in the harmonious flow of the world, a shining, light-filled drop. Colleague, let us partake of the sweetness of nature. It's a sin to sit here in this dull room while the elements of earth and water outside are looking so extraordinarily fine in the German moonlight. Come on. Drink up. Let's go…"
"You're no longer afraid…?"
"Why should I be afraid? My dear, dear friend, that's the point!
It beats us all and by its light we win all our victories."
"Even the battle of Königgrätz?"
"Even that one, whatever objections one may have to it. And all future great and remarkable battlefield victories as well! Ah, this air, this light! Let's climb to the top of that dune once again to take one more look at the holy briny."
"And afterwards, standing in the moonlight, will you tell me some more of your life story?"