I was like a tree which flowers and knows it not. My inward
and outward vocation and endeavour, my true life-destiny and my apparent
life-aim were still, however, in a state of separation, and indeed of
conflict, of which I had not the remotest conception. My resolve held
firm to make architecture my profession; it was purely as a future
architect that I took leave of all my companions.
At the end of April 1805, with peace in my heart, cheerfulness in my
soul, an eager disposition, and a mind full of energy, I quitted my old
surroundings. The first days of an unusually lovely May (and I might
here again recall what I pointed out above, that my inner and personal
life invariably went familiarly hand in hand with external Nature) I
spent with a friend, as a holiday, in the best sense of the word. This
was a dear friend of mine, who lived on an exceedingly finely-situated
farm in the Uckermark.[35] Art had improved the beauty of the somewhat
simple natural features of the place, in the most cunningly-devised
fashion. In this beautiful, retired, and even solitary spot, I flitted,
as it were, from one flower to another like a very butterfly. I had
always passionately loved Nature in her adornments of colour and of dewy
pearls, and clung to her closely with the gladsomeness of youth.
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