Once upon a time, in a land where towers of glass and steel grew into the sky and the rivers ran with data and numbers, there lived a man named Jakob Goldmann. He was neither king nor prince, yet in his realm — the Great Counting House of the Golden Numbers — his word carried considerable weight.
He was the Second Keeper of the Great Key, a title that granted him access to the most important treasure vaults and whose luster shone brighter than the morning sun.
Mr. Goldmann dwelt in a palace of cool marble, in which every piece of furniture had a price but no story. His reflection in the mirror showed him a man in bespoke garments whose worth he measured anew each morning by the magnitude of his income and the importance of his title.
He counted his successes the way a dragon counts its gold coins, and yet his heart was a cold, empty cavern. The warmth of a smile, the melody of a song, or the stillness of a sunset were, to him, nothing but unproductive wastes of time. His worth was his rank. Nothing more.
But one day a shadow fell across his golden realm. The Grand Treasurer, a man with eyes as cold as a winter's night, summoned him. "Mr. Goldmann," he said, without looking up, "the times are changing. We must reorder the vaults. As of tomorrow, you shall no longer be the Second Keeper of the Great Key, but the Third Guardian of the Silver Quill."
The words struck Jakob Goldmann like a bolt of lightning. From gold to silver! From the key to the quill! From the second rank to the third! The world around him lost its color. The luster of his title was extinguished, and in the darkness he saw himself for the first time: a nothing. A wretched creature whose entire golden castle had been built on a single, tottering foundation — the approval of others.
That very evening he sat in his cold palace and wrote a letter. But he used no ink; he used the bitter gall of his wounded pride. On the finest paper he cataloged every injustice, every unacknowledged achievement, every person who had inflicted this descent upon him.
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It was a long scroll of anguish. When he had finished, his resolve was fixed. He would go to the Bridge of Forgotten Souls and cast his worthless body into the cold, indifferent river.
With the letter in his pocket, he strode through the city at night. The lights of the towers glittered like counterfeit diamonds. When he reached the bridge, he felt the damp wind on his face.
He gazed into the black depths that promised an end to his disgrace. He drew out the scroll to read it one last time, when a quiet, creaking voice tore him from his thoughts.
"A heavy heart for so light a night, sir."
Jakob Goldmann turned around. Before him stood an old man, stooped and wrapped in simple, patched clothing. In his hand he held a long pole with which he was lighting the old gas lamps along the edge of the bridge. One after another, they bloomed into a warm, gentle glow.
"What do you want?" Goldmann snapped. "Leave me in peace!"
The old lamplighter smiled, and his eyes sparkled wisely in the light of his flame. "Peace?" he said softly. "One seldom finds it while holding on so tightly to something. What is that you have in your hand? It looks heavy."
"This is my life!" Goldmann cried in despair. "Everything that has been done to me! My entire lost worth!"
The old man stepped closer and looked not at Goldmann's expensive coat, but directly into his eyes. "Lost worth?" he asked, puzzled.
"Tell me, sir — if a king loses his crown, does he cease to be a human being? If a bird loses a feather, can it no longer sing? You speak of your worth as though it were a coin that someone has stolen from your pocket."
He paused, lit the last lamp, and the bridge was now bathed in a consoling light.
"I am only a simple lamplighter," he continued. "My wages are modest. My title is none. And yet, when I kindle this light and see how it guides a lost wanderer on his way or shines upon the faces of two lovers, I feel rich. Tell me: who determines the worth of this light? The mayor who pays my wages? Or the eye that receives its warmth?"
Jakob Goldmann fell silent. The old man's words were like small keys that began to open rusted locks within him.
The lamplighter reached into his pocket and produced a small, misshapen piece of bread.
"Here," he said, offering it to Goldmann. "It is not much, but it is warm and baked by honest hands. It holds no title and no rank. Its only worth lies in satisfying hunger."
Jakob Goldmann took the bread. In his hand it felt heavier and more real than all the golden numbers he had ever possessed. When he looked up, the old man had vanished, as though he had been nothing but a part of the very light he had kindled.
Goldmann stood alone on the bridge. In one hand he held the cold scroll of his grievances. In the other, the warm bread. He looked at the letter — a monument to his pride and his pain. Then he looked at the bread — a symbol of simple, unconditional goodness.
Slowly, he let the scroll go. It fluttered like a dark bird into the depths and was swallowed by the river. Then he bit into the bread. And for the first time in years, he tasted something. Not the price, not the status — simply bread. And it was good.
The next day, Jakob Goldmann walked into the Counting House of the Golden Numbers. He sat down at his new, smaller desk and took the Silver Quill in his hand. It rested lightly and elegantly in his fingers.
He began to work, but he no longer merely counted the numbers. He saw the people behind the numbers. He heard the laughter in the corridors. He felt the sun streaming through the window.
He was no longer Mr. Goldmann, the Second Keeper. He was simply Jakob. And he understood that the true worth of a human being is not bestowed like a crown that can be taken away. It is like a light in the heart that only one can kindle oneself.
And so he began to live happily and contentedly — not because he possessed a great deal, but because for the first time in his life he knew what truly mattered. And that, they say, is the greatest treasure of all.
1 Luchmann, D.: The High Price of the Summit: When Unbridled Drive Becomes a Trap. Psychotherapie. June 22, 2025.
2 Nepon, J.; Belik, S.L.; Bolton, J.; Sareen, J.: The relationship between anxiety disorders and suicide attempts: findings from the National Epidemiologic Survey on Alcohol and Related Conditions. Depression and Anxiety, 2010, 27(9), 791–798.
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