Architecture was now
vigorously studied, and other books, too, were not suffered to lie idle.
The following books took great hold upon me: Proeschke's "Fragments on
Anthropology" (a small unpretending book), Novalis' Works, and Arndt's
"Germany" and "Europe."[31] The first of these at one stroke drew
together, so that I could recognise in them myself as a connected whole,
my outer existence, my inner character, my disposition, and the course
of my life. I for the first time realised myself and my life as a single
entity in contrast to the whole world outside of me.[32] The second book
lay before me the most secret emotions, perceptions, and intentions of
my inmost soul, clear, open, and vivid. If I parted with that book it
seemed as if I had parted with myself; if anything happened to the book
I felt as though it had happened to me, only more deeply and with
greater pain. The third book taught me of man in his broad historical
relations, set before me the general life of my kind as one great whole,
and showed me how I was bound to my own nation, both to my ancestors and
my contemporaries. Yet the service this last book had done me was hardly
recognised at this time; for my thoughts were bent on a definite outward
aim, that of becoming an architect.
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