February, 1878.
“Never yet has
human foot trod either the
Jungfrau or the Finsteraarhorn.”
The summits of the Alps.... A whole chain of
steep cliffs.... The very heart of the mountains.
Overhead a bright, mute, pale-green sky. A hard,
cruel frost; firm, sparkling snow; from beneath the
snow project grim blocks of ice-bound, wind-worn cliffs.
Two huge masses, two giants rise aloft, one on each
side of the horizon: the Jungfrau and the Finsteraarhorn.
And the Jungfrau says to its neighbour: “What
news hast thou to tell? Thou canst see better.—What
is going on there below?”
Several thousand years pass by like one minute.
And the Finsteraarhorn rumbles in reply: “Dense
clouds veil the earth.... Wait!”
More thousands of years elapse, as it were one minute.
“Well, what now?” inquires the Jungfrau.
“Now I can see; down yonder, below, everything
is still the same: party-coloured, tiny.
The waters gleam blue; the forests are black; heaps
of stones piled up shine grey. Around them small
beetles are still bustling,—thou knowest,
those two-legged beetles who have as yet been unable
to defile either thou or me.”
“Men?”
“Yes, men.”
Thousands of years pass, as it were one minute.
“Well, and what now?” asks the Jungfrau.
“I seem to see fewer of the little beetles,”
thunders the Finsteraarhorn. “Things have
become clearer down below; the waters have contracted;
the forests have grown thinner.”
More thousands of years pass, as it were one minute.
“What dost thou see?” says the Jungfrau.
“Things seem to have grown clearer round us,
close at hand,” replies the Finsteraarhorn;
“well, and yonder, far away, in the valleys there
is still a spot, and something is moving.”
“And now?” inquires the Jungfrau, after
other thousands of years, which are as one minute.
“Now it is well,” replies the Finsteraarhorn;
“it is clean everywhere, quite white, wherever
one looks.... Everywhere is our snow, level snow
and ice. Everything is congealed. It is well
now, and calm.”
“Good,” said the Jungfrau.—“But
thou and I have chattered enough, old fellow.
It is time to sleep.”
“It is time!”
The huge mountains slumber; the green, clear heaven
slumbers over the earth which has grown dumb forever.
February, 1878.
I was walking across a spacious field, alone.
And suddenly I thought I heard light, cautious footsteps
behind my back.... Some one was following me.
I glanced round and beheld a tiny, bent old woman,
all enveloped in grey rags. The old woman’s
face was visible from beneath them: a yellow,
wrinkled, sharp-nosed, toothless face.
