As Stein recalled a boat trip on the Elbe, she wrote,
“Our boat was so shrouded in mist that one saw nothing whatsoever of the beautiful shores. Every few minutes the frightful foghorns could be heard signaling the passing of some ship; that was essential for only as they went close by could one see their ghostly outlines. Suddenly the mist parted, and the port of Cuxhaven lay before us with its many steamers, masts, and sails bathed in bright sunlight. Then the wide expanse of the ocean was before us transparently clear and green. And finally, out of those green waves one saw rise the steep red cliffs of the small island” (Stein, Life in a Jewish Family, 149).
Of all of the travels Stein documented in her autobiography, this short seaside trip stood out to me because of the unique emotional state she was in during the trip and the unusually poetic language she used to describe her journey. In following Stein’s journey from Hamburg to the town of Cuxhaven and the island of Helgoland on the northern coast of Germany, I hoped to better connect with Stein’s narrative from these formative years.
Stein took this trip during a rather difficult time during her life. She had moved to Hamburg following a bit of a break – despite excelling at academics her entire childhood, she was “fed up with learning” and withdrew herself from school. Unable to connect with most of her peers, she had begun a “serious search for truth,” entertaining the big “questions which were ignored in school” (147).
I think this inner emotional turmoil is reflected in some of the more idyllic details and poetic language Stein uses as she remembers the journey, such as the mist that shrouded the boat, “frightful foghorns,” and “ghostly outlines” of passing ships.
But one of the deepest and most profound passages is a memory Stein has from her time on the island. As she wrote,
“In the evening, once more, we went out to walk to the isolated light house. Not far from it, someone had tied a sheep to a post. It bleated pitiably as we came near, and in its light green, watery-clear eyes there was expressed such an abyss of mortal fear and total incomprehension that I could never forget it” (149-150).
It’s not the most uplifting quote, it gives a lens into Stein’s own emotional state at the time. Ever the empath, Stein recognized the deep hurt, fear, and confusion in the sheep’s eyes because that was what she, too, was feeling.
But even as Stein was hurting, I like to think that she found some meaning in the nature around her. As she wrote of her night on the island,
“From the windows of my room one could see the ocean; and at night the sound of the waves penetrated as far as my room. All this was so exciting that I could hardly sleep” (150).
Europe with Edith 