Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XI. Hell Let Loose
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hours or minutes of that happiness which can
be won only by tribulation and a tolerably clean
conscience?
I feel little inclination to descend into the
valley of sorrows again, and walk about on the
mountain plateau, wondering at the beauty of
the earth. On the summit is a rock shaped by
nature like an Egyptian Sphinx. On its gigantic
head is a heap of stones in which stands a stick
bearing a white piece of linen attached, like a
flag. Without troubling myself about its significance,
an uncontrollable desire to seize the flag
takes possession of me. Despising death, I
clamber up the steep rock, and lay hold of
it. At the same moment the sound of a
bridal march sung by triumphant voices arises
from the Danube below. It is a marriage
party; I cannot see it, but the musket shots
customarily fired on such occasions place it
beyond a doubt. Childish enough and unhappy
enough to give a poetical colouring to the most
ordinary occurrences, I take this as a good
omen.
Reluctantly and slowly I descend again into
the valley of sorrows, of death, of sleeplessness,
and of demons, where my little Beatrice awaits
me and the promised piece of mistletoe, the green
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