First Part

First Letter

Herz to his friend Rothe in a large town

I am writing to you from my fully furnished hut, which, though covered only by moss and foliage, is still proof against wind and rain. I would never have imagined that this climate could be so mild even in winter. What's more, the region in which I have settled is very picturesque. Mountains, rolling grotesquely on top of each other, appear to be thrusting back, with their black bushes, against the downward-pressing sky; deep below, there is a broad valley where the houses of a poor but happy village lie scattered along a small bright river. When I sometimes descend and survey the narrow circle of ideas that circumscribes the existence of these children of Adam—the simple and ever-uniform affairs and the certainty and assurance of their joys—my chest tightens and I want to curse the hour in which I was not born a farmer. They often look at me in wonder when I sneak around among them. I am nowhere at home and can't sympathize with their jesting and earnestness so that I finally feel ashamed and have to seek to fit their mold, at which point their wit knows, masterful in its own way, how to poke fun at my awkwardness. None of this offends me, because most of the time they are right, and since Petrarch's days a condition like mine must become the object of everyone's mockery due to the symptoms it causes. If I have the choice, however, I still find the farmers’ mockery to be a blessing compared to the hissing of vapid dandies and coquettes in the cities. If you happen to have a spare day, come to me; you are the only person who still occasionally understands me.

Herz

Second Letter

Fräulein Schatouilleuse to Rothe,

who had traveled to the countryside to take the waters for a spring spa. But tell me where in the whole world Herz may have ended up. If he is with you, then I have won a bet. Papa tells me today that he has quit his post in the court office and has gone into the Odenwald to become a hermit.