Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part IV - V
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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 285
right on the summit, there hung a golden cloud ; a few
more steps and the stunted beeches and brushwood shone
and glittered, dazzling splashes of gold, copper, bronze
and silver, wherever a stream of broken sunlight fell on
the faded foliage which was still clinging to the branches.
I was standing in an autumn landscape looking out into
a sun-bathed summerland ; through my mind flashed the
memory of a sail on the Lake of Malar ; I remembered
liow I was sitting in the sunshine, watching the passing
of a black hail-storm no further off than a cable-length
to leeward. And now I, too, stood in the sunlight,
gazing at a northern landscape made up of firs and birch
trees, green fields and red cattle, little brown cottages
with old women on the thresholds, knitting socks for
father, who was toiling far down in the canton of Tessin ;
my eyes rested on potato fields and lavender bushes,
dahlias and marigolds.
The sun dried my hair and coat, and warmed my
shivering limbs ; I bared my head before the glowing orb,
source and preserver of all there is, completely indifferent
whether I was worshipping unquenchable flames of burn-
ing hydrogen, or the not yet scientifically acknowledged
primordial substance, helium. Was it not the All-Father,
who had given birth to the Cosmos, the Almighty, the
Lord of life and death, ice and heat, summer and winter,
dearth and plenty?
My eyes, which had been feasting on summer joy and
green fields, plunged into the gloom of the abyss whence
I had climbed. The mantle of cold and darkness which
had been lying on the surface of the lake was cold and
dark no longer ; dazzling clouds, like snoAvy, sunlit piles
of wool, hid from my gaze the twilight and the polluted
earth ; above them rose snow-clad peaks, glistening and
sparkling, fashioned of condensed silver fog, a crystal-
lised solution of air and sunlight, drift-ice on a sea of
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