Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 12.djvu/25

Rh painful joy,—an overflowing of emotion, which agitates the mind, and draws from us the most delicious tears. By this operation, the soul, without knowing it, becomes greater in itself, and is, of course, not capable of ever feeling again such a sensation; and man thinks, in consequence, that he has lost something, whereas in fact he has gained. What he loses in delight, he gains in inward riches. If only destiny had bidden me to dwell in the midst of some grand scenery, then would I every morning have imbibed greatness from its grandeur; as, from a lonely valley, I would extract patience and repose.

After reaching the end of the gorge, I alighted, and went back alone through a part of the valley. I thus called forth another profound feeling,—one by which the attentive mind may expand its joys to a high degree. One guesses in the dark about the origin and existence of these singular forms. It may have happened when and how it may: these masses must, according to the laws of gravity and affinity, have been formed grandly and simply by aggregation. Whatever revolutions may subsequently have upheaved, rent, and divided them, the latter were only partial convulsions; and even the idea of such mighty commotions gives one a deep feeling of the eternal stability of the masses. Time, too, bound by the everlasting law, has had here greater, here less, effect upon them.

Internally their colour appears to be yellowish. The air, however, and the weather, have changed the surface into a bluish-gray; so that the original colour is only visible here and there in streaks and in the fresh cracks. The stone itself slowly crumbles beneath the influence of the weather, becoming rounded at the edges as the softer flakes wear away. In this manner have been formed hollows and cavities gracefully shelving off, which, when they have sharp slanting and pointed edges, present a singular appearance.