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our horizon like night or perhaps eternal dusk, so that on account of deep snow and bad weather few people from the mountains can visit the mother church - in mourning because of evil times, dear bread and low wages, hunger and want with the greater and the less. Knecht Rupert
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has grown poor. For that the poor little ones mourn. The greater ones mourn for good days flown past and because no-one will predict better ones for them. The birds of the sky mourn for their food, seeking in mourning and shuddering to save their lives by the windows of the houses. The son of earth, with his soft heart, throws crumbs out for them, and prays to the Father of All, who cares for all, even these. The creatures of the wild die by the thousand, half stiffened in their lairs.And yet, be ye blessed of me, holy days, blessed and welcome, 'tis the time when I, poor miserable little worm, was baptised, the time when I enter upon my fifty-fourth year of life, blessed, because it is the time when the gentle sun turns her face towards us again, and in spite of all storms bright and happy prospects show themselves again. Blessed and welcome! 'Tis the time when I commend my ways anew to the Lord and once more hope in Him, the time when I once again begin to thaw out, to rise up again, the time when I begin again, anew, to be content with my life. Or is it a small thing, an unremarkable thing? Truly for me it is big enough!
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makes me more happy, gives me more contentment, than the great Sultan with his whole seraglio, even though from time to time little feelings of lust lurk in my bosom. Patience! Time will sort it all out and strew like dust on the wind a thousand vanities of Solomon. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Too much force in the winding overloads the clock, too little makes it stop working.So moderate your joy, poor son of earth. Now I will let it have free rein. Who knows when it will come again. Up, then, my soul! A new course is open to you. My goal is indeed set before me. I run as far as I can, and then - adieu, world!
How happy the little ones are with their Christmas presents! The Great Mogul is by far less happy than they. The earth is too poor to make him as joyful as they are over their nuts and red-cheeked apples. Lucky little girl, your new little apron of twill makes you happier than any princess with her jewels worth millions. And you, old farmer with hair grey as ice, content with your little property, your few cheeses seem to you the finest in the land, they make you happier than the Emperor Joseph with all his lands. You are better off as you muck out the byres than a Swede going out to pillage, your Hannah makes you happier than a Frenchman with all his mistresses, your little dog loves you more than all his wives love the Great Sultan -" [Voellmy, v 2 pp 208-210]
Personally, I think that when Bräker could write like this he did not need any help from Füssli!
28th Dec. "St. Gallen"
"Today things are going on in much the same old way. I am thinking back over the harsh time of year and what has happened to me since my last journey to St. Gallen. It is high time, too, to recount this journey, for it's almost five weeks past. Well then, I still know all about it, as if it had been yesterday.
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Knecht Rupert, in Germanic folklore, is the henchman of St. Nikolas and distributes presents to good children at Christmas.
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Xanthippe was the wife of the Greek philosopher Socrates, she was reputed to be a shrew
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