Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part I - VI
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82 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
alder tree, I climbed to its top. The tree swayed with
the convulsive, uncontrollable movements of my muscles.
In this way I succeeded in remaining in the same place for
some time. The icy air scorched my skin like a red-hot
iron.
At last I was convmced that I had attained my end, and
hastily dressed myself.
In the meantime night had fallen. When I re-entered
the wood it was quite dark. Terror seized me ; I knocked
my head against the lower branches of the trees, and was
obliged to feel my way along. Suddenly, under the influ-
ence of my frantic fear, my senses became so acute that I
could tell the variety of the trees which surrounded me by
the rustling of their branches. What depth there was in
the bass of the Scotch firs, with their firm and closely-set
needles, forming, as it were, gigantic guitars ; the tall and
more pliable stems of the pines gave a higher note ; their
sibilant fife resembled the hissing of a thousand snakes ;
the dry rustling of the branches of the birch trees recalled
to me memories of my childhood, Avith its mingled griefs
and pleasures ; the rustling of the dead leaves clinging to
the branches of the oaks sounded like the rustling of paper ;
the muttering of the junipers was almost like the whisper-
ing voices of women, telling each other secrets. The gale
tore off the branch of an alder tree, and it crashed to the
ground with a hollow thud. I could have distinguished
a pine cone from the cone of a Scotch fir by the
sound it made in falling ; my sense of smell detected the
proximity of a mushroom, and the nerves of my large
toe seemed to feel whether it trod on soil, clubmoss or
maidenhair.
Guided by the acuteness of my sensations, I came to the
enclosure of the graveyard, and walked up the wooden
steps. I felt a momentary pleasure in the sound of the
weeping willoAv lashing the tombstones which they over-
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