And yet I knew that this
tremendous structure was the obedient tool of the same power that had
entrusted me with its most precious gifts, that had urged me on my way,
that was responsible for my strength and for my weakness.
And in proportion as the want that reigned in my little house grew more
and more real and the struggle for existence more and more anxious, in
the same proportion this humble home also began to grow dearer to me. I
was approaching the age when a man, even though not yet tired and worn
out, still, more than ever before, longs for a resting place, a small
intimate sphere of quiet and rest, of cherishing love and peace, a
home. What had formerly been my home had always remained inwardly
strange to me. It afforded me every comfort and physical ease, but my
heart found no happiness there. And now I had more than I had ever
expected to find. I found the true domestic happiness more beautiful,
more sublime and holy than I had imagined - but its beauty was touched
with anguish and its joy with anxious sorrow because it was so
transitory.
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