THE DRYAD [5]
stars above made their appearance, the same to which the
Dryad had looked up in her home. She thought she felt a clear pure
stream of air which went forth from them. She felt herself lifted up
and strengthened, and felt an increased power of seeing through
every leaf and through every fibre of the root. Amid all the noise and
the turmoil, the colors and the lights, she knew herself watched by
mild eyes.
From the side streets sounded the merry notes of fiddles and
wind instruments. Up! to the dance, to the dance! to jollity and
pleasure! that was their invitation. Such music it was, that horses,
carriages, trees, and houses would have danced, if they had known how.
The charm of intoxicating delight filled the bosom of the Dryad.
"How glorious, how splendid it is!" she cried, rejoicingly. "Now I
am in Paris!"
The next day that dawned, the next night that fell, offered the
same spectacle, similar bustle, similar life; changing, indeed, yet
always the same; and thus it went on through the sequence of days.
"Now I know every tree, every flower on the square here! I know
every house, every balcony, every shop in this narrow cut-off
corner, where I am denied the sight of this great mighty city. Where
are the arches of triumph, the Boulevards, the wondrous building of
the world? I see nothing of all this. As if shut up in a cage, I stand
among the high houses, which I now know by heart, with their
inscriptions, signs, and placards; all the painted confectionery, that
is no longer to my taste. Where are all the things of which I heard,
for which I longed, and for whose sake I wanted to come hither? what
have I seized, found, won? I feel the same longing I felt before; I
feel that there is a life I should wish to grasp and to experience.
I must go out into the ranks of living men, and mingle among them. I
must fly about like a bird. I must see and feel, and become human
altogether. I must enjoy the one half-day, instead of vegetating for
years in every-day sameness and weariness, in which I become ill,
and at last sink and disappear like the dew on the meadows. I will
gleam like the cloud, gleam in the sunshine of life, look out over the
whole like the cloud, and pass away like it, no one knoweth whither."
Thus sighed the Dryad; and she prayed:
"Take from me the years that were destined for me, and give me but
half of the life of the ephemeral fly! Deliver me from my prison! Give
me human life, human happiness, only a short span, only the one night,
if it cannot be otherwise; and then punish me for my wish to live,
my longing for life! Strike me out of thy list. Let my shell, the
fresh young tree, wither, or be hewn down, and burnt to ashes, and
scattered to all the winds!"
A rustling went through the leaves of the tree; there was a
trembling in each of the leaves; it seemed as if fire streamed through
it. A gust of wind shook its green crown, and from the midst of that
crown a female figure came forth. In the same moment she was sitting
beneath the brightly-illuminated leafy branches, young and beautiful
to behold, like poor Mary, to whom the clergyman had said, "The
great city will be thy destruction."
The Dryad sat at the foot of the tree- at her house door, which
she had locked, and whose key had thrown away. So young! so fair!
The stars saw her, and blinked at her. The gas-lamps saw her, and
gleamed and beckoned to her. How delicate she was, and yet how
blooming!- a child, and yet a grown maiden! Her dress was fine as
silk, green as the freshly-opened leaves on the crown of the tree;
in her nut-brown hair clung a half-opened chestnut blossom. She looked
like the Goddess of Spring.
For one short minute she sat motionless; then she sprang up,
and, light as a gazelle, she hurried away. She ran and sprang like the
reflection from the mirror that, carried by the sunshine, is cast, now
here, now there. Could any one have followed her with his eyes, he
would have seen how marvellously
Dryad had looked up in her home. She thought she felt a clear pure
stream of air which went forth from them. She felt herself lifted up
and strengthened, and felt an increased power of seeing through
every leaf and through every fibre of the root. Amid all the noise and
the turmoil, the colors and the lights, she knew herself watched by
mild eyes.
From the side streets sounded the merry notes of fiddles and
wind instruments. Up! to the dance, to the dance! to jollity and
pleasure! that was their invitation. Such music it was, that horses,
carriages, trees, and houses would have danced, if they had known how.
The charm of intoxicating delight filled the bosom of the Dryad.
"How glorious, how splendid it is!" she cried, rejoicingly. "Now I
am in Paris!"
The next day that dawned, the next night that fell, offered the
same spectacle, similar bustle, similar life; changing, indeed, yet
always the same; and thus it went on through the sequence of days.
"Now I know every tree, every flower on the square here! I know
every house, every balcony, every shop in this narrow cut-off
corner, where I am denied the sight of this great mighty city. Where
are the arches of triumph, the Boulevards, the wondrous building of
the world? I see nothing of all this. As if shut up in a cage, I stand
among the high houses, which I now know by heart, with their
inscriptions, signs, and placards; all the painted confectionery, that
is no longer to my taste. Where are all the things of which I heard,
for which I longed, and for whose sake I wanted to come hither? what
have I seized, found, won? I feel the same longing I felt before; I
feel that there is a life I should wish to grasp and to experience.
I must go out into the ranks of living men, and mingle among them. I
must fly about like a bird. I must see and feel, and become human
altogether. I must enjoy the one half-day, instead of vegetating for
years in every-day sameness and weariness, in which I become ill,
and at last sink and disappear like the dew on the meadows. I will
gleam like the cloud, gleam in the sunshine of life, look out over the
whole like the cloud, and pass away like it, no one knoweth whither."
Thus sighed the Dryad; and she prayed:
"Take from me the years that were destined for me, and give me but
half of the life of the ephemeral fly! Deliver me from my prison! Give
me human life, human happiness, only a short span, only the one night,
if it cannot be otherwise; and then punish me for my wish to live,
my longing for life! Strike me out of thy list. Let my shell, the
fresh young tree, wither, or be hewn down, and burnt to ashes, and
scattered to all the winds!"
A rustling went through the leaves of the tree; there was a
trembling in each of the leaves; it seemed as if fire streamed through
it. A gust of wind shook its green crown, and from the midst of that
crown a female figure came forth. In the same moment she was sitting
beneath the brightly-illuminated leafy branches, young and beautiful
to behold, like poor Mary, to whom the clergyman had said, "The
great city will be thy destruction."
The Dryad sat at the foot of the tree- at her house door, which
she had locked, and whose key had thrown away. So young! so fair!
The stars saw her, and blinked at her. The gas-lamps saw her, and
gleamed and beckoned to her. How delicate she was, and yet how
blooming!- a child, and yet a grown maiden! Her dress was fine as
silk, green as the freshly-opened leaves on the crown of the tree;
in her nut-brown hair clung a half-opened chestnut blossom. She looked
like the Goddess of Spring.
For one short minute she sat motionless; then she sprang up,
and, light as a gazelle, she hurried away. She ran and sprang like the
reflection from the mirror that, carried by the sunshine, is cast, now
here, now there. Could any one have followed her with his eyes, he
would have seen how marvellously