hitherto she had been only a dreaded stranger.

She could not yet obtain a clear insight into the result of the promise
which she had given her son; it seemed as though a veil was drawn over
her active mind.

Yet again and again she asked herself what power could have induced her
to grant so quickly and unconditionally to the son a demand which in her
youth she would have refused, with defiant opposition, even to his
ardently loved father. But she took as little trouble to find the
answer as she felt regret for her compliance.

The world to which she returned after this hour had gained a new aspect.
She had not understood the real nature of the former one. The
exclamation which her son's confession had elicited she still believed
after long reflection. What she had deemed great, was small; what had
seemed to her light and brilliant, was dark. What she had considered
worthy of the greatest sacrifice was petty and trivial; no fountain of
joy, but a fierce torrent of new wishes constantly surpassing one
another. With their boundless extent they had of necessity remained
unfulfilled. Thus woe on woe, and at the same time the painfully
paralyzing feeling of the hostility of Fate had been evoked from its
surges and, instead of happiness, they had brought sorrow and suffering.

Pride in such a son had been the delight of her life; henceforth, she
felt it, she must seek her happiness, her joys, elsewhere, and she knew
also where, and realized that she was receiving higher for smaller
things. Instead of sharing his renown, she had gained the right to
share his misfortune and his griefs.