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 LET US FOLLOW HIM.
 
 ' He rested His gaze on her pale suffering face." Page 67.
 
 Ue*w^yXL '**&~JL^L**+-U~ / 
 
 Q ** () 
 
 Let Us Follow Him 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 By the Author of 
 
 QUO VADIS 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH BY 
 
 Vatslaf A. Hlasko & Thos. H. Bullick 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 
 
 9 AND ii EAST 1 6-TH STREET
 
 Copyright, 1897 
 
 BY 
 R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 
 
 Let Us Follow Him
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 This little book is dedicated to the one from 
 whom we first received encouragement in our work, 
 and whose sympathy and assistance has enabled 
 us to transform a passing fancy into a reality, 
 
 V. A. H. and T. H. B.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LET Us FOLLOW HIM 9 
 
 SlELANKA 87 
 
 BE BLESSED 129 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS 139 
 
 ORSO.. 163 
 
 MEMORIES OF MARIPOSA .217
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "HE who would bring to life a real 
 work of art," says Tolstoi, " must possess 
 these three things: a true, moral attitude 
 toward the subject; clear expression, or, 
 what is the same thing, beauty of form; 
 and, thirdly, sincerity unfeigned love or 
 unfeigned hatred for what he depicts." 
 
 Faithfulness, beauty, sincerity: add to 
 these insight; the power of intending the 
 mind on things, and thus discerning in 
 them qualities of truth and joy unseen 
 by others and we have a standard and 
 measure for a new work like " Quo Vadis." 
 
 A true moral attitude toward his sub- 
 ject Sienkiewicz certainly has; he has also 
 great vividness and beauty the power of 
 natural magic, that makes words live.
 
 vi Introduction. 
 
 Perfect sincerity unfeigned love and hate 
 none can deny him; yet his success is 
 due rather to another gift that power to 
 discern new qualities of truth and beauty, 
 where others, looking long, have not seen 
 them. He has touched with new light the 
 things that have held our eyes for centuries 
 the life and times of the G-alilean Teacher. 
 The return of art to early Christian 
 times is the most remarkable spiritual fact 
 in the culture of the modern Slavs. It is as 
 earnest and universal as was the socialism 
 of the last generation, with its Hertzens, 
 its Bakunins, its "Virgin Soil," its " House 
 of Death." The Teuton and the Slav di- 
 vide the modern world. The Teuton is 
 all for thought; the Slav, for feeling and 
 a visible outcome in conduct. The Teu- 
 ton weaves a theory; the Slav, a revolu- 
 tion, or a new religion. So in matters 
 of faith: the Teuton seeks to discern the 
 truth of past ages; the Slav, to follow the
 
 Introduction. vii 
 
 truth to-day. The Teuton asks: Did 
 Jesus teach thus? The Slav asks: Can 
 we live the message and follow Him? 
 
 The first story in the present volume 
 illustrates this; it illustrates, yet more 
 powerfully, that quality of insight which 
 we have found in Sienkiewicz; that power 
 of touching the old and familiar with a 
 strangely vivid light. Note the treatment 
 of Pilate; the urbanity and ripeness of the 
 Roman world, and its futility; very fair 
 and beautiful but lacking the heart of 
 the matter. The contrast between the 
 two worlds is strongly dramatic; it is the 
 Last Supper, with the Banquet of the 
 Satires as pendant. 
 
 Slavonic writers love to begin a story 
 with the wide, sunlit sky; the abounding 
 whiteness of the horizon; the vast over- 
 hanging firmament. Under that limit- 
 less light human life loses its bitter real' 
 ism; grows soft and transparent, and at
 
 viii Introduction. 
 
 the same time takes on a hue of sadness 
 and fatalism the Nemesis of the Greeks 
 under a veil of Christian resignation. 
 
 The first quality love of light and wide 
 spaces of air fills Sienkiewicz's tale, "Sie- 
 lanka" an idyl, full of the morning 
 gladness and mystery of the forests; the 
 second sadness, resignation, the mes- 
 sage of death inspires his "Light in 
 Darkness. " 
 
 The fable of Valmiki and Krishna, with 
 the lady of the lotus, shows that Sienkie- 
 wicz has caught the light of the Indian 
 Eenaissance; something of the message of 
 that marvelous vanished past, that glows 
 with the sunset splendor of an older world. 
 
 Finally, the tale of the circus children 
 brings us to scenes of Sienkiewicz's own 
 life in California; while the religious spirit 
 that breathes through all his works is here 
 too. 
 
 The Slavonic school are quite earnest in
 
 Introduction. ix 
 
 their endeavor to give the modern world a 
 true picture of the Man of Sorrows; yet 
 their sad fatalism does not satisfy our 
 wills. There is humility there are also 
 power and valor, and we yet await the 
 message of the Man of Joy. 
 
 CHAELES JOHNSTON.
 
 LET US FOLLOW HIM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CAIUS SEPTIMUS CLNNA was a Roman 
 patrician. His youth was spent in the 
 hard life of the camp. Later he returned 
 to Rome to enjoy his honors and to spend, 
 in luxurious living, his large but rapidly 
 diminishing fortune. He enjoyed to his 
 full bent all that the great city could give 
 him. His nights were spent at feasts in 
 magnificent suburban villas; his days were 
 passed in polemical controversies with the 
 lanists, in discussions with the rhetors at 
 the trepidaria, where they had debates in- 
 terspersed with gossip of the city and the 
 world; at the circuses, at the races, at the 
 fights of the gladiators, with the Thracian 
 fortune-tellers, and with the wonderful
 
 10 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 dancing girls brought from the islands of 
 the archipelago. 
 
 Being a relative, on his mother's side, 
 of the famous Lucullus, he inherited the 
 tastes of an epicure. At his table were 
 served Greek wines, oysters from Neapo- 
 lis, locusts from Numidia, preserved in 
 honey from Pontus, and all that Rome 
 possessed he obtained, beginning with the 
 fishes from the Red Sea, to the white birds 
 from the banks of the Boristenes. He 
 used the good things of this world not 
 only as a soldier who boisterously feasts, 
 but also as a patrician who daintily selects. 
 He persuaded himself to, or perhaps 
 awakened within himself an admiration 
 for beautiful things; for statues excavated 
 from the ruins of Corinth, for the epi- 
 lychnia from Attica, for Etruscan vases 
 or those brought from the misty Sericum, 
 for Roman mosaics, for textile fabrics 
 from the vicinity of the Euphrates, for
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 11 
 
 Arabian incense, and for all those small 
 objects which go to fill up the emptiness 
 of patrician life. He knew how to speak 
 of them as a connoisseur with the older 
 patricians who ornamented their bald 
 heads with garlands of roses, and who 
 chewed heliotrope after their feasts. He 
 felt equally the beauty of the periods of 
 Cicero, of the verses of Horace or Ovid. 
 Being educated by an Athenian rhetor, he 
 spoke Greek fluently, memorized whole 
 chapters of the Iliad, and during the 
 feasts would sing the songs of Anacreon 
 until he was either drunk or hoarse. 
 Through his master and the rhetors he 
 became familiar with the philosophies to 
 such an extent that he understood the 
 architecture of the different mental struct- 
 ures reared in Hellas and the Colonies; he 
 further understood that they were lying 
 in ruing He knew personally a great 
 many stoics who were not congenial to
 
 12 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 him because he regarded them rather as a 
 political party, and also as tetrics who are 
 opposed to the joys of life. The skeptics 
 were often seated at his table, where be- 
 tween courses they npset whole systems of 
 philosophy, proclaiming, by the craters 
 filled with wine, that the delights of life 
 were vanity, that truth was something 
 unattainable, that absolute quietude was 
 the true aim of all sages. 
 
 He heard all this, but it made no deep 
 impression on him. He did not profess 
 any particular principles, and did not care 
 to do so. He looked upon life as upon 
 the sea, where the wind blew as it pleased, 
 and wisdom to him was the art of trim- 
 ming his sails. Besides, he valued the 
 broad shoulders which he possessed, his 
 healthy stomach, his handsome Roman 
 head, with its strong profile and mighty 
 jaws; with these he felt sure he could pass 
 safely through the world.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 13 
 
 Although not belonging to the school 
 of the skeptics he practically was a skep- 
 tic, and also a hedonist, though he knew 
 that luxury was not happiness. Being 
 ignorant of the true teachings of Epicurus 
 he regarded himself as an epicurean. 
 Generally he looked upon this philosophy 
 as a kind of mental gymnastics as good as 
 that taught by the lanists. When he was 
 tired of debates he went to the circus to 
 see blood flow at the gladiatorial contests. 
 
 In the gods he did not believe, nor in 
 virtue, truth or happiness. He believed 
 only in auguries; he had his superstitions, 
 and the mysterious faiths of the orient 
 aroused his curiosity. He was of the 
 opinion that life was a great amphora, 
 the better the quality of the wine it con- 
 tained the richer it looked, so he was try- 
 ing to fill his amphora with the richest 
 wine. He loved no one, but he liked 
 many things, and amongst them his mag-
 
 14 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 nificent head and his handsome patrician 
 foot. 
 
 In the first years of his elegantly riotous 
 leisure he was ambitious to astonish all 
 Home, and he succeeded in this several 
 times. Later he became indifferent to 
 such conquests. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN the end, by his manner of living he 
 ruined himself. His property was seized 
 by his creditors and in its place was left 
 to Cinna a sense of great weariness, as if 
 exhausted after hard labor, satiety, and 
 one more very unexpected thing, namely, 
 a feeling of deep unrest. Had he not en- 
 joyed riches, love, as it was understood by 
 his surrounding world, luxury, the glory 
 of war and military honors, dangers? 
 Had he not obtained a knowledge, more 
 or less, of the Circle of human thought;
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 15 
 
 had he not come in contact with poetry 
 and art? Now he thought that he had 
 gleaned from life all that it had to give. 
 Yet he had the feeling that something had 
 elnded him and that something of most 
 importance. He knew not what it was, 
 and vainly he questioned himself and tried 
 to solve the enigma. Often he tried to 
 free himself from these obtruding thoughts 
 which increased his restlessness; he tried 
 to convince himself that life contained 
 nothing more than that which he had 
 tasted, but his restlessness instead of de- 
 creasing grew to such an extent that it 
 seemed to him that he was not only dis- 
 turbed on his own behalf, but also on be- 
 half of all Eome. He envied the skep- 
 tics, at the same time condemning them 
 for their opinion that the yearnings of 
 life could be satisfied with vacuity. In 
 him were two personalities: one of which
 
 16 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 seemed to be astonished at his restlessness 
 and the other recognized its justness. 
 
 Shortly after the loss of his property, 
 through the powerful influence of his 
 family, Cinna was appointed to a govern- 
 ment post at Alexandria, in order that in 
 this rich country he might regain his for- 
 tune. His restlessness embarked with 
 him on a ship at Brundisium and was his 
 associate during the sea voyage. In Alex- 
 andria Cinna thought that his govern- 
 mental occupation, meeting with new 
 people, another world, fresh impressions, 
 would free him from this importunate as- 
 sociate, but he was mistaken. One month 
 passed two then as the grain of Deme- 
 tra brought from Italy waxed stronger in 
 the rich soil of the Delta, so this restless- 
 ness from a small bush grew into a mighty 
 cedar tree, and threw dark and darker 
 shadows on Cinna's soul. 
 
 At the beginning Cinna tried to sup-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 17 
 
 .press this feeling by indulging in the same 
 kind of life that he had led in Rome. 
 Alexandria was a luxurious city, full of 
 Greek maidens with golden hair and light 
 complexions, which the Egyptian suns 
 coated with amber-colored transparent 
 hues. In their embraces he sought sur- 
 cease. 
 
 Even this satiated him, and he began to 
 contemplate suicide. By this means many 
 of his friends had escaped the troubles of 
 life, and at much less provocation than 
 Cinna's often from ennui, emptiness, or 
 for absence of desire for further enjoy- 
 ments. A slave, holding in his hand a 
 sword, strongly and dexterously, in one 
 moment would finish all. Cinna was 
 haunted by these thoughts, and when he 
 had nearly decided to follow their beckon- 
 ing, a wonderful dream he had restrained 
 him. It seemed to him that he was cross- 
 ing a river and there on the opposite bank
 
 18 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 was his restlessness awaiting him, in the 
 form of an emaciated old slave, who bowed 
 low before him and said, " I came before 
 yon so that I might meet you." For the 
 first time in his life Cinna was sore afraid, 
 because he understood that inasmuch as he 
 could not think of a future life without 
 this restlessness they would be there to- 
 gether. As a last resort he decided to 
 approach the philosophers who swarmed 
 in the Serapeum, thinking that perhaps 
 with them he would find a solution of the 
 problem. Truly they were unable to an- 
 swer him, and they titled him " ton mou- 
 seiou," which title they often gave to Ro- 
 mans of high birth and station. At this 
 time it was very little consolation to him; 
 the stamp of wisdom given to one who 
 was unable to answer a most vital question 
 seemed to Cinna ironical. Yet he thought 
 the Serapeum might unveil its wisdom
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 19 
 
 gradually, and he did not entirely lose 
 hope. 
 
 Most active among the philosophers in 
 Alexandria was noble Timon the Athen- 
 ian, a man of great wealth and a Koman 
 citizen. He had lived over a decade in 
 Alexandria, where he came to study the 
 mysterious Egyptian sciences. It was said 
 of him that there was not a manuscript or 
 papyrus in the Biblioteka which he had 
 not read, and that he was possessed of all 
 human wisdom. He was a man of pleas- 
 ant and reasonable temperament. Out of 
 a multitude of pedants and small com- 
 mentators Cinna at once recognized his 
 worth and associated with him, which re- 
 lation after a time ripened into a near 
 intimacy and even friendship. The young 
 Roman admired his skill in dialectics, the 
 eloquence and logic with which the old 
 man spoke of the sublime things pertain- 
 ing to the destiny of mankind and the
 
 20 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 world. It appeared to him as if his logic 
 were combined with a certain melancholy. 
 Later, when their relations had become 
 closer, Cinna often desired to inquire of 
 the old man the cause of this melancholy 
 and at the same time to open his heart to 
 him. Somehow in the end he came to it. 
 One evening, after a heated discussion 
 on the question of the transmigration of 
 souls, they remained alone on a terrace 
 overlooking the sea, and Cinna, taking 
 Timon by the hand, openly confessed to 
 him the great torture of his life and the 
 cause that led him to seek near relations 
 with the scientists and philosophers of the 
 Serapeum: "At last I have gained this 
 much," he said in the end; "I have got 
 to know thee, Timon, and now I am sure 
 if thou canst not solve the problem of my 
 life, no one else can." Timon, who had 
 been watching the reflection of the new
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 21 
 
 moon on the smooth surface of the sea, 
 said : 
 
 " Dost thou see, oh, Cinna, the flocks of 
 birds which come from the dreary north, 
 dost thou know what they seek in 
 Egypt?" 
 
 "I know they seek warmth and light." 
 
 " The human soul also seeks warmth, 
 which is love, and tight, which is truth. 
 But the birds know where to fly for their 
 good; human souls fly in the desert, are 
 astray, restless, and melancholy." 
 
 " Noble Timon, why can they not find 
 the way?" 
 
 " Formerly people found peace and rest 
 in the gods, but now faith in the gods is 
 burned out like the oil in the lamp. 
 Later they thought that philosophy would 
 be the sun of truth for human souls to- 
 day, as you know best yourself, on its 
 ruins in Rome, in the academy at Athens, 
 and here, sit the skeptics, and it seems to
 
 22 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 them that they have brought peace, but 
 they have brought only unrest. For to 
 renounce the warmth and light is to leave 
 the soul in darkness, which is restlessness. 
 So with outstretched hands we gropingly 
 seek the exit." 
 
 "Have you found it yourself ?" 
 
 " I sought and did not find it. Thou 
 soughtest it in luxury, I in meditation, 
 and both of us are surrounded with dark- 
 ness. Know, therefore, that not only 
 thon sufferest, but that in thee suffers 
 the soul of the whole world. No doubt, 
 long ago thou didst cease to believe in the 
 gods/' 
 
 " In Home they worship the gods still 
 publicly, and even get new ones from 
 Asia and Egypt, but perhaps only the 
 vegetable venders, who in the morning 
 come from the country to the city, believe 
 sincerely in them." 
 
 "And they alone are peaceful."
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 23 
 
 "Just as they who here bow to cats 
 and onions." 
 
 "Just as the animals who after gorging 
 themselves desire sleep. " 
 
 " In such a case is life worth living?" 
 
 " Do you know where death will bring 
 us?" 
 
 "So what is the difference between the 
 skeptics and you?" 
 
 " Skeptics accept the darkness or they 
 pretend to accept, while I am tortured in 
 it." 
 
 "And you see no salvation?" 
 
 Timon remained silent for a time, then 
 answered slowly and with a certain hesi- 
 tation. " I wait for it." 
 
 " Where from?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 He leaned his head upon his hand, and 
 as influenced by the silence that reigned 
 upon the terrace, he began to speak in a 
 low, gentle voice:
 
 24 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 " It is a wonderful thing and it seems 
 to me sometimes that if the world had 
 contained nothing more than that which 
 we now know, and if we could be noth- 
 ing more than that which we now are, rest- 
 lessness would not be in us. Thus in sick- 
 ness we have the hope of health. The 
 faith in Olympus and philosophy is dead, 
 but the health is perhaps some new truth 
 which I know not. 
 
 Contrary to his expectation, to Cinna 
 this conversation brought great relief. 
 Learning that not only he, but the whole 
 world, was weighed down with sin and 
 sorrow, he experienced the feeling as if a 
 heavy load was taken from his shoulders 
 and shared by thousands of others.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SINCE then the friendship between 
 Cinna and the old Greek became closer. 
 They visited each other more frequently 
 and shared their thoughts as bread is 
 divided at a feast. Although Cinna felt 
 that sense of weariness which always fol- 
 lows enjoyment, still he was too young a 
 man for life to lose all its attractions, and 
 such an attraction he found in Anthea, 
 the only daughter of Timon. 
 
 Her fame in Alexandria was not less 
 than that of her father. She was adored 
 by honorable Romans, who visited the 
 house of Timon. She was adored by the 
 Greeks, she was adored by the philoso- 
 phers of the Serapeum, and she was 
 adored by the people. Timon did not 
 shut her up in the gynaceum as other 
 women were confined, and he carefully 
 instructed her in all his knowledge.
 
 26 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 When she had passed her childhood he 
 read with her Greek books, and even 
 Roman and Hebrew; being gifted with an 
 extraordinary memory, and reared in 
 polyglot Alexandria, she had learned to 
 speak these languages fluently. She was 
 his companion in his thoughts, often 
 took part in discussions, which in the 
 time of the Symposiums took place in the 
 house of Timon, often in the labyrinth of 
 difficult problems, she never lost herself, 
 and like Ariadne, she safely led out others. 
 Her father regarded her with great admi- 
 ration and honor. Besides, she was sur- 
 rounded by a mysterious enchantment 
 verging on holiness, for the reason that 
 she had prophetic dreams and visions in 
 which she saw things invisible to the eyes 
 of mortals. The old sage loved her as his 
 own soul, and for that reason he was 
 afraid to lose her, because she often said 
 that in her dreams appeared some malig-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 27 
 
 nant spirits and a wondrous light. She 
 knew not whether it were the fountain of 
 life or death. 
 
 Meanwhile she was surrounded by love. 
 Egyptians who visited the house of Timon 
 called her Lotus, because that flower was 
 worshipped on the banks of the Nile, or 
 perhaps because he who saw her once 
 might forget the whole world. 
 
 Her beauty was equal to her wisdom. 
 Egyptian suns had not bronzed her face, 
 in which the rosy rays of dawn seemed to 
 be inclosed in the transparency of a 
 pearly shell; her eyes were as blue as the 
 Nile, and her glances seemed to come 
 from distances as unknown as do the 
 waters of this mysterious river. "When 
 Cinna saw and heard her the first time, on 
 returning to his home, he felt inclined to 
 rear an altar to her honor in the atrium 
 of his house, and sacrifice on it white 
 doves. He had met in his life thousands
 
 28 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 of women, beginning from the maidens of 
 the far north, with white eyelashes and 
 hair of the color of ripened corn, to 
 Numidians, black as lava, but until now 
 he had never met such a form, nor such a 
 soul. The more he saw of her, the better 
 he knew her; the more he heard her 
 speak, the greater grew his astonished ad- 
 miration. Sometimes he who did not 
 believe in the gods thought that Anthea 
 could not be the daughter of Timon, but 
 of some god, and that she was half a woman 
 and half an immortal. 
 
 Soon Cinna found that he loved her 
 with a great and unconquerable love, as 
 different from any feeling awakened 
 before as Aiithea was different from all 
 other women. He wanted to possess her 
 only to worship her. For this he was 
 ready to give his life. He felt that he 
 would rather be a pauper with her than 
 Caesar without her. And as the vortex of
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 29 
 
 an ocean whirlpool eugnlf s with its irresist- 
 ible power all that approaches its circle, 
 so Cinna's love absorbed his soul, heart, 
 thoughts; his days, nights, and all that 
 composed his life. 
 
 At last this great love engulfed 
 Anthea. 
 
 "Tu felix, Cinna," said his friends to 
 him. " Tu felix, Cinna" he repeated to 
 himself. And when at last he wedded 
 her, and her divine lips had uttered the 
 sacramental words: "Where thou art, 
 Caius, there am I, Caia," then it seemed 
 to him that his happiness would be as an 
 inexhaustible and limitless sea. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A YEAR passed and the young wife con 
 tinued to receive honor and homage as it 
 accorded to one divine. She was to her 
 husband as the apple of his eye, love.
 
 30 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 wisdom, light. But Cinna comparing his 
 happiness to the sea forgot that the sea 
 ebbs and flows. After a year Anthea was 
 afflicted with a cruel and unknown dis- 
 ease. Her dreams changed into terrible 
 visions which exhausted her life. In her 
 face died out the light of dawn and there 
 only remained the transparency of the 
 pearly shells: her hands became translu- 
 cent, her eyes sank away, and the rosy 
 lotus became as white as a marble statue. 
 It was observed that the buzzards hovered 
 over Cinna's house, which was considered 
 an omen of death in Egypt. Her terrify- 
 ing visions increased. When in the mid- 
 day hours the sun flooded the world with 
 its brilliant whiteness and the city was 
 submerged in silence, it appeared to An- 
 thea that she heard around herself the 
 quick steps of some invisible beings, and 
 that in the depths of the air she saw a dry, 
 yellow, corpse-like face, looking on her
 
 " Save me, Caius ! Defend me ! " Page 31.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 31 
 
 with its black eyes. Those eyes looked 
 into hers piercingly, as if calling her to 
 follow it somewhere into gloomy darkness, 
 full of mystery and terror. Then Anthea's 
 body began to tremble, as if in a fever, 
 her forehead was covered with pallor and 
 drops of cold sweat, and this worshipped 
 priestess of the fireside was changing into 
 a defenseless and frightened child, who, 
 hiding herself on the breast of her hus- 
 band, repeated with whitened lips, " Save 
 me, Caius ! defend me !" 
 
 Caius was ready to fight every specter 
 from the subterranean caves of Proser- 
 pine, but vainly his eyes searched space. 
 As usual at the noon hour the place was 
 deserted. The white light flooded the city; 
 the sea seemed to burn in the sun, and 
 in the silence was only heard the cry of 
 the buzzards, circling over the house. 
 
 The visions became more frequent, then 
 they occurred daily. They persecuted
 
 32 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 Anthea no less outside of the house than 
 they did in the atrium and living rooms. 
 China, by the advice of physicians, 
 brought Egyptian Sambucins and Be- 
 douins to play on porcelain flutes, so that 
 their noisy music might drown the voices 
 of the invisible beings. But this was of 
 no avail. Anthea heard these voices in 
 the midst of the greatest noise, and when 
 the sun was so high in the heavens that 
 shadows lay around the feet as a robe 
 dropped from the shoulders, there in the 
 heated, trembling air appeared the corpse- 
 like face gazing on Anthea with its beady 
 eyes receding slowly, as if saying "follow 
 me." 
 
 Sometimes it seemed to Anthea as if the 
 lips of the corpse moved slowly. Some- 
 times it seemed that there issued from 
 them black, repulsive beetles, which flew 
 to her through the air. The very memory 
 of this vision filled her eyes with terror,
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 33 
 
 and in the end her life became so frightful 
 a torture that she implored Cinna to hold 
 his sword so that she might kill herself, or 
 that he would let her partake of poison. 
 
 This he knew he could not do. He was 
 willing with his sword to let out his own 
 life's blood, but kill her he could not. 
 When he imagined her dead face, with 
 closed eyelids, pale with the cold quietude 
 of death and her breast torn with his 
 sword, he felt that to do so he must first 
 become mad. 
 
 A certain Greek physician said to him 
 that it was Hecate who appeared to An- 
 thea, and that those invisible beings whose 
 rustlings terrified the patient belonged to 
 the band of that baneful divinity. Ac- 
 cording to him there was no helt) for 
 Anthea, since all those who saw Hecate 
 must die. 
 
 Then Cinna, who not long ago would 
 have sneered at a belief in Hecate, offered
 
 34: Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 to this goddess sacrifices of a hecatomb. 
 But the offering availed not, and the next 
 day the spectral eyes gazed at Anthea. 
 
 They tried to veil her head, but she saw 
 the corpse-like face even through the 
 thickest covering. When she was confined 
 in a darkened room the face looked upon 
 her from the walls, dispelling the darkness 
 with a pale, ghost-like phosphorescence. 
 In the evening-tide the patient felt better. 
 Then she lapsed into such a profound 
 sleep that it seemed to both Cinna and 
 Timon that she would never awaken 
 again. Soon she got so weak that she 
 could not walk unassisted. They carried 
 her in a litter. 
 
 The old restlessness of Cinna returned 
 again with a hundred-fold force, and com- 
 pletely took possession of him. There 
 was in him a great fear for Anthea's life, 
 and a strange feeling that somehow, in 
 some way, her sickness had a mysterious
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 35 
 
 relation to those unsolvable problems 
 which he had discussed with Timon in 
 their first serious conversation. It may 
 have been that the old sage thought like- 
 wise, but Cinna did not wish and was 
 afraid to question him about it. Mean- 
 while the patient was fading like a flower 
 in whose cup nestles the poisonous spider. 
 
 Cinna, battling with despair, yet tried 
 all means to save her. First, he carried 
 her to the plains in the vicinity of Mem- 
 phis, but when the deep silence of the 
 pyramids did not relieve her, he returned 
 to Alexandria and surrounded her with 
 fortune-tellers and magicians, soothsayers 
 and a motley crowd of pretenders, who 
 duped credulous people with their so-called 
 miraculous medicine. He had no choice 
 and grasped every means in sight. 
 
 At this time there arrived in Alexandria 
 from Caesarea a famous Jewish physician 
 by the name of Joseph, son of Khuza.
 
 36 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 Cinna brought him at once to his wife, 
 and for a moment hope returned to his 
 heart. Joseph, who did not believe in the 
 Greek and Komau gods, discarded with 
 derision every thought of Hecate. He 
 contended that it was demons that pos- 
 sessed the patient and advised them to 
 leave Egypt, where, beside demons, the 
 miasma of the swampy Delta impaired her 
 health. He advised also, perhaps for the 
 reason that he was a Jew, that they should 
 go to Jerusalem as a city to which demons 
 have no access, and where the air is dry 
 and healthy. 
 
 Cinna still more willingly followed this 
 advice, first, because he had no other ad- 
 vice to follow, and secondly, that over Je- 
 rusalem ruled a Procurator who was known 
 to him, and whose ancestors in the olden 
 times had been clients of the house of 
 Cinna. 
 
 When they arrived in Jerusalem, Pro-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 37 
 
 curator Pontius Pilate received them with 
 great hospitality, presented them his sum- 
 mer villa, near the walls of the city, in 
 which to reside. Even before his arrival 
 the hope of Cinna was shattered. The 
 corpse-like face looked on Anthea even on 
 the deck of the ship, and after their arri- 
 val at their destination the patient awaited 
 the noon hour with the same deadly fear 
 as previously in Alexandria. 
 
 Thus their days were passed with feel- 
 ings of oppression, fear, despair, and ex- 
 pectation of death. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN" the atrium, despite the fountain near 
 by, the shady portico and the early hour, 
 it was intensely hot; the marble radiated 
 the heat of the vernal sun, and close by 
 the house grew an old and large pistachio 
 tree, which threw its shade over a great
 
 38 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 space. The breeze played in the open 
 space, and Cinna commanded a chair, 
 decked with hyacinths and apple blossoms, 
 to be placed under the tree for Anthea. 
 Then seating himself by her side he placed 
 his palm on her white and wasted hand, 
 and said: 
 
 " Is it good for thee here, Carissima ?" 
 
 " It is good/' answered she in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 She closed her eyes as if sleeping gen- 
 tly. Silence ensued : the breeze sighed 
 through the branches of the pistachio tree 
 and on the ground around the chair played 
 golden circlets of light falling through the 
 leaves, and the locusts chirped in the 
 crevices of the stones. 
 
 Shortly the patient opened her eyes. 
 " Caius," she said, " is it true that in this 
 land appeared a philosopher who healed 
 the sick?" 
 
 " Here they call this one a prophet,*
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 39 
 
 answered China. "I have heard of him 
 and intended to call him to thee, but it 
 appears that he was a false miracle-worker. 
 Besides he blasphemed against the temple 
 and the law of the land, therefore Pilate 
 gave him up to death, and to-day he will 
 be crucified/' 
 
 Anthea bowed her head. 
 
 " Time will heal thee," said Ulnna, see- 
 ing her sorrow, which was reflected on his 
 face. 
 
 "Time is in the service of death, not 
 life/' answered she slowly. 
 
 Again silence ensued; around her con- 
 stantly played the golden circlets; the lo- 
 custs chirped still louder, and from the 
 crevices of the rocks glided small lizards 
 and chameleons seeking sunny spots. 
 
 Cinna's glance rested tenderly on An- 
 thea and for the thousandth time despair- 
 ing thoughts passed through his mind, 
 that all means of help were exhausted,
 
 40 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 that not a spark of hope remained, and 
 that soon this loved form would become 
 only a fleeting shadow and a handful of 
 dust inurned in a columbarium. 
 
 Keclining there in the blossom-bedecked 
 chair she looked as if death had called her 
 his own. 
 
 " I will follow thee, too," thought Cinna. 
 
 Suddenly was heard the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps. Anthea's face be- 
 came at once deadly white, her half-parted 
 lips breathed convulsively, her breast 
 heaved quickly the unhappy martyr felt 
 that it was the band of her invisible tor- 
 mentors which always heralded the appear- 
 ance of the hideous corpse with the horri- 
 ble glaring eyes. But Cinna, taking her 
 hand, reassured her, saying: 
 
 "Anthea, fear not. I also hear the 
 footsteps." 
 
 Shortly he added: 
 
 "This is Pontius, coming to visit ns."
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 41 
 
 And truly there appeared in a bend of 
 the path the Procurator, accompanied by 
 two slaves. He was not a young man. 
 He had a round, carefully shaven face, 
 which showed an assumption of authority 
 commingled with an air of weariness. 
 
 " I salute thee, noble Cinna, and thee, 
 divine Anthea !" said he, entering under 
 the shade of the pistachio. " After the 
 cool night the day is now warm. Oh, that 
 it would be fortunate to you both that the 
 health of Anthea would blossom as the 
 hyacinths and apple buds that adorn her 
 chair." 
 
 " Peace to thee, and welcome, " answered 
 Cinna. 
 
 The Procurator, seating himself upon a 
 fragment of rock, looked at Anthea anx- 
 iously and said : 
 
 " Loneliness gives birth to melancholy 
 and sickness, and in the midst of crowds 
 one cannot be afraid, so I will give thee
 
 42 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 counsel. To our misfortune this is neither 
 Antioch nor Caesarea, there are no gladia- 
 torial contests or races, and if a circus 
 should appear these fanatics would tear it 
 to pieces the second day. Here you hear 
 only the one word, 'law/ and this 'law' 
 opposes everything. I would rather be in 
 Scythia than here." 
 
 "What speaketh thou about, Pilate?" 
 " True it is, I wandered away from the 
 subject. But my troubles are the cause 
 of it. I said that in the midst of crowds 
 there was no place for fear. To-day you 
 have a chance of witnessing a sight. In 
 Jerusalem we should be satisfied with that 
 which we can get, and above all it is nec- 
 essary that at noon-time Anthea should be 
 amidst the crowd. To-day will die on the 
 cross three men. It is better to see this 
 than nothing. Besides, on account of the 
 Passover, there has gathered in the city a 
 strange, grotesque crowd of religious fa-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 43 
 
 natics from all over the country; you can 
 observe them. I will order a good posi- 
 tion reserved for you near the crosses. I 
 hope the condemned men will die bravely. 
 One of them is a strange Character : he 
 says he is the Son of God. He is sweet 
 as a dove, and truly has done nothing for 
 which he could deserve death." 
 
 "And thou condemuedst him to the 
 cross ?" 
 
 "I wished to drop trouble from my 
 hands, and at the same time not to arouse 
 the nest of hornets that swarmed around 
 the temple. They are sending complaints 
 to Rome about me anyway. Besides, why 
 bother about one who is not a Roman 
 citizen?" 
 
 " He will not suffer the less on that 
 account." 
 
 The Procurator did not answer and 
 shortly began to speak, as if to himself : 
 '* There is one thing I do not like; that is,
 
 44 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 extremism. When this is proclaimed to 
 me it robs me of my pleasure for the whole 
 day. The golden mean, according to my 
 opinion, is what common-sense commands 
 us to observe. There is no place in the 
 world where this principle is more neg- 
 lected than here. Oh, how all this tortures 
 me! Oh, how it tortures me! There is no 
 quietness, no equilibrium, either in man 
 or nature; for instance, now it is spring, 
 the nights are cold, and in the daytime it is 
 so hot that one cannot walk on the stones. 
 Noon is far off look how it is! And as 
 for people let us not speak of them! I 
 am here since I cannot help it why speak 
 of it? I would again wander from the 
 subject. Go and see the crucifixion* I am 
 sure that this Nazarene will die bravely. 
 I ordered him scourged, thinking by this 
 to save him from death. I am not a cruel 
 man. When he was scourged he was as 
 patient as a lamb and blessed the people.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 45 
 
 vfhen his blood was dripping he lifted 
 his eyes upward and prayed. He is the 
 most wonderful man I have seen in my 
 life. On his account my wife did not give 
 me any peace or one moment's rest. ' Do 
 not let the innocent die/ from the early 
 dawn she constantly said. I wished to 
 save him. Twice I climbed the Bima and 
 addressed the fanatical priests and this 
 unclean crowd. They clamored with one 
 voice, throwing back their heads and 
 opening wide their mouths, ' Crucify him! 
 Crucify him V" 
 
 "And thou didst yield?" said Cinna. 
 
 " Because in the city would have oc- 
 curred turbulent riots, and I am placed 
 here to preserve the peace. I must do 
 my duty. I do not like excesses, and be- 
 sides I am very tired; but when I once de- 
 cide to do something I do not hesitate to 
 sacrifice, for the general good, the life of 
 one man, especially if he is an unknown
 
 46 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 man about whom none will inquire. It 
 is bad for him that he is not a Eoman 
 citizen." 
 
 " The sun shines not over Rome alone, " 
 whispered Anthea. 
 
 " Divine Anthea/' replied the Procura- 
 tor, "I would answer thee that over this 
 whole earth the sun shines on the Roman 
 Empire, and for its good it behooves us to 
 sacrifice all, and riots undermine our dig- 
 nity. But before all I pray thee, do not 
 ask from me that I change my decree. 
 Cinna will tell thee also that it cannot be, 
 and when a decree is once promulgated 
 Csesar alone could change it. Even if I 
 desired I could not. Is not that the truth, 
 Caius?" 
 
 " It is so." 
 
 To Anthea these words caused a visible 
 agitation, and she said, thinking perhaps 
 of herself :
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 47 
 
 " So, then, it is possible to suffer and 
 die without guilt." 
 
 " No one is without guilt," answered 
 Pontius. " This Nazarene did not com- 
 mit any crime, therefore as Procurator I 
 washed my hands. But as a man I con- 
 demned his doctrine. For a purpose, I 
 conversed with him freely, desiring to 
 examine him, and I was convinced he 
 proclaimed unheard-of things. It is dif- 
 ficult! The world must rest on cool rea- 
 son. Who denies that virtue is needed ? 
 Certainly not I. But only the stoics teach 
 us to bear adversity with serenity,' and 
 they do not require us to renounce every- 
 thing from our estates to our dinner. 
 China, thou art a reasonable man, what 
 wouldst thou think of me if I should give 
 this house in which thou livest to the rag- 
 ged beggars who sun themselves at the 
 city gates? And this is what he requires. 
 Again he says that we should love all peo-
 
 48 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 pie equally: Jews the same as Komans, 
 Eomans as Egyptians, Egyptians as Afri- 
 cans. I confess I have had enough of it. 
 At the critical time when I spoke with 
 him he did not seem concerned about his 
 life, but he behaved as if the question 
 concerned some one else; he was preach- 
 ing and praying. I am not called upon to 
 save a man who cares little to save him- 
 self. Then, he calls himself the Son of 
 God, and destroys the foundation upon 
 which the world rests, and therefore harms 
 men. Let him think what he pleases in 
 his own mind, but not destroy. As a man 
 I protest against his doctrine. If I do 
 not believe, for instance, in the gods, 'tis 
 my affair. Yet, I acknowledge the need 
 of religion, and announce it publicly, 
 since I recognize that religion for the peo' 
 pie is a bridle. The horses must be 
 securely fastened. Besides, to this Naza-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 49 
 
 rene death should have no terrors, for he 
 affirms that he will rise from the dead." 
 
 Cinna and Anthea looked at each other 
 with astonishment. 
 
 "That he will arise from the dead?" 
 
 " No more, no less : after three days. 
 So at least announce his disciples. I for- 
 got to ask him. That is of little conse- 
 quence, as death frees us from all prom- 
 ises. Even if he does not arise from the 
 dead he will lose nothing, for according to 
 his teachings true happiness, together 
 with life eternal, begins only after death. 
 He really speaks of it as one who is cer- 
 tain. His hades is more bright than our 
 sunny world, and the more one suffers 
 here the more surely he will enter there; 
 he must only love, love, and love." 
 
 " A wonderful doctrine," said An- 
 thea. 
 
 " And they clamored to thee, ' Crucify 
 him?*" queried Cinna.
 
 /O Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 "I even do not wonder hatred is the 
 soul of these people. What then, if not 
 hatred, would clamor for the cross, for 
 love?" 
 
 Anthea placed her wasted hand upon 
 her forehead. 
 
 " And is he sure that we will live and 
 be happy after death ?" 
 
 " On this account neither the cross nor 
 death affrights him." 
 
 " How good that would be, Cinna." 
 
 Shortly she asked again: 
 
 " How does he know all this?" 
 
 The Procurator, making a dissenting 
 gesture with his hand, answered: 
 
 "He says that he knows it from the 
 Father of all men, which is for the Jews 
 the same as Jupiter is to us, with this dif- 
 ference, according to the Nazarene, that 
 he is One alone and all merciful." 
 
 "How good that would be, Caius," re- 
 peated the patient.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 51 
 
 Cinna opened his lips as if he would 
 speak, but remained silent, and the con- 
 versation ceased. 
 
 Pontius evidently meditated further on 
 the strange teachings of the Nazarene, 
 for he shook his head negatively, and at 
 intervals shrugged his shoulders. At 
 last he rose and began saying farewell. 
 
 Suddenly Anthea said: 
 
 " Caius, let us go hence and see this 
 Nazarene." 
 
 " Hasten," said the departing Pilate, 
 " soon the procession will start." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE day, which in the morning had 
 been hot and clear, became overcast at 
 noon. From the northeast came dark 
 and coppery clouds, not very large, but 
 ominous and pregnant with storm. 
 Between them could yet be seen frag-
 
 52 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 ments of the blue sky, but it could be 
 easily foreseen that they would soon all 
 come together and veil the horizon. 
 Meanwhile the sun tinged the side of the 
 clouds with gold and fire. Over the city 
 itself, and adjoining hills, was still out- 
 stretched an expanse of blue sky, and 
 beneath the wind was still. 
 
 On a high plateau, called Golgotha, 
 stood, here and there, small crowds of 
 people who had come in advance of the 
 procession. The sun shone on the wide, 
 rocky spaces, desolate, barren, and melan- 
 choly. Their gray, monotonous color was 
 interrupted here and there with a black 
 net of crags and fissures, which seemed 
 more black in contrast with the brightness 
 of the plateau, which was flooded with 
 sunshine. Far away were seen higher 
 hills, equally desolate, veiled in the blue 
 mist of the distance. 
 
 Lower, between the walls of the city
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 53 
 
 and the plateau of Golgotha, lay a plain, 
 broken in places with terraces of rock, 
 but less barren. From out the fissures of 
 the rocks in which rich loam had collected 
 grew fig trees, with leaves scarce and poor. 
 Occasionally arose buildings fastened like 
 swallows' nests to the rocks, or white 
 painted graves glistening in the sunlight. 
 The influx of people from the country for 
 the holy days caused them to rear close 
 to the walls of the city multitudes of huts 
 and tents, thus creating many camps, full 
 of men and camels. 
 
 The sun rose higher and higher in the 
 clear part of the sky. The hour was ap- 
 proaching when deep silence reigned on 
 these hills, and all nature sought the 
 shade. And even now, in great contrast 
 to the living crowds, sorrow seemed to 
 brood over this place where the blinding 
 light fell not on the green turf, but on 
 the masses of gray desolate rock. The
 
 54: Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 murmur of far distant voices coming from 
 the walls, changed as if into the ripple of 
 the waves, and seemed to be absorbed in 
 the silence. 
 
 The scattered groups of people, who 
 from the early morn had awaited on Gol- 
 gotha, now turned their faces toward the 
 city, from whence they expected the pro- 
 cession to start every moment. 
 
 Anthea now arrived, carried in a litter, 
 escorted by soldiers who were sent by the 
 Procurator, to clear the way and protect 
 her against the fanatical crowds who hated 
 all foreigners. Near to the litter walked 
 Cinna, in the company of the centurion 
 Kufilus. 
 
 Anthea was more quiet and less terri- 
 fied at the approach of the noon time, 
 threatening her with those frightful vis- 
 ions which sapped her life. The mem- 
 ory of what the Procurator had said to her 
 of the young Nazarene absorbed her
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 55 
 
 thoughts and turned her attention away 
 from her own misery. It all seemed to 
 her wonderful, and she could not under- 
 stand. In her world many men died as 
 quietly as dies the funeral pyre when the 
 fuel is done. But their peace arose from 
 courage, or a philosophical indifference to 
 the unheeding fates; their light seemed 
 changing into darkness; true life into 
 some misty, fantastic and indescribable 
 existence. Until now, no one blesses 
 death, no one dies with the absolute 
 surety that after the pyre or grave begins 
 a true existence and happiness so mighty 
 and infinite, such as only a being all-pow- 
 erful and omnipotent can give. 
 
 He, then, who hath to be crucified an- 
 nounced this as undoubted truth. This 
 doctrine not only impressed Anthea, but 
 seemed to her the only fountain of hope 
 and consolation. She knew that he must 
 die, and a great sympathy filled her soul.
 
 56 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 What was death to her? It was abandon- 
 ment of Cinna, abandonment of her 
 father, abandonment of the world and 
 love; emptiness, coldness, nothingness, 
 gloom. 
 
 Sweet was life to her, bitter was her 
 regret to leave it. If death could be of 
 some avail, or if it could be possible to 
 take with one even the memory of love, 
 she would more easily be resigned to the 
 inevitable. 
 
 Expecting from death nothing, now she 
 suddenly learns that it can give her all. 
 
 And who announces this? Some won- 
 derful man a teacher, a philosopher, a 
 prophet who commended love as the 
 highest virtue, who, while suffering ago- 
 nies under the lash, blessed his perse- 
 cutors, who intended to crucify him. So 
 Anthea thought, " Why did he teach so, 
 if the cross is his only reward? Others 
 desired power he cared naught for it;
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 57 
 
 others desired property he remained poor; 
 others desired palaces, feasts, luxuries, 
 purple robes, chariots inlaid with mother- 
 of-pearl and ivory he lived as a shepherd. 
 Again he commended love, pity, poverty, 
 so he could not be bad, or purposely mis- 
 lead others. If that which he spoke is 
 truth, then death be blessed as an end of 
 earthly misery, as a change from small to 
 large and better happiness, as a light to 
 fading eyes, and as wings with which to 
 fly into eternal joy!" Now Anthea un- 
 derstood what meant the assurance of the 
 resurrection. 
 
 The mind and heart of the poor sufferer 
 clung with all her force to this doctrine. 
 She recalled the words of her father, who 
 often said, that only some new truth can 
 free the tortured human soul from its 
 darkness and chains. And lo! here was a 
 new truth. It defeated death, therefore 
 it brought salvation. Anthea's whole be-
 
 58 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 ing was so submerged in these thoughts, 
 that Cinna, for the first time in many 
 days, failed to observe terror on her face 
 before approaching midday. 
 
 The procession had at last started from 
 the city to Golgotha, and from the prom- 
 inence upon which Anthea rested it could 
 be plainly seen. The multitude of peo- 
 ple was large, but in contrast with the 
 vast plain it seemed smaller. From the 
 open gates of the city the crowd kept 
 pouring out, and the number was being 
 augmented by those waiting outside the 
 walls. First appeared a long file, which 
 widened out like a river as it proceeded. 
 At the flanks ran swarms of children. 
 The procession was spotted with the white 
 garments and scarlet and blue headdresses 
 of the women. In the midst glistened 
 the bright armor and spears of the Roman 
 cohort, which reflected the flying rays of 
 the sun. The murmur of mixed voices
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 59 
 
 came from afar and became more and 
 more distinct. 
 
 At last they approached nearer, and the 
 first rows commenced ascending the hill. 
 The crowd hurried up to secure good 
 places, so that they might better view the 
 spectacle, thus leaving in the rear the 
 company of soldiers who guarded the con- 
 demned. First to arrive were half-naked 
 children, mostly boys, whose loins only 
 were covered with a cloth, with closely 
 cropped heads, save two locks of hair in 
 front, blue-eyed, swarthy, and loud-voiced. 
 With wild uproar they tore out loose 
 pieces of rock from the crevices with 
 which to stone the condemned. Behind 
 them the hill swarmed with the grizzled 
 rabble, most of whose faces expressed a 
 fierce burning expectation. There were 
 seen no traces of pity. Although Anthea 
 was accustomed in Alexandria to the ani- 
 mated speech of the Greeks, yet she was
 
 60 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 astounded at the loud, sharp tones of their 
 voices, the volubility of their cries, and 
 their wild, excited gestures and actions. 
 The crowd seemed as if about to engage 
 in a fight, shouting as if their lives were 
 at stake, and wrangling as if in danger of 
 being torn limb from limb. 
 
 Centurion Eufilus approached the litter 
 and quietly gave some instructions to the 
 soldiers. Meanwhile, from the city the 
 crowds grew in numbers, like the waves of 
 the sea. The pressure increased every 
 minute. In the multitude could be seen 
 well-to-do citizens of Jerusalem, clothed 
 in striped robes, who kept aloof from the 
 mob of the purlieus; also came numerous 
 husbandmen, accompanied by their fami- 
 lies, who came to the city for the holy 
 days. Also there were laborers whose 
 loins were clad in bagging, and herdsmen 
 clad in goatskins, with good-natured won- 
 derment depicted on their faces. In the
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 61 
 
 crowds could be seen many women, but as 
 the ladies of the upper classes remained 
 at home they were mostly the women of 
 the people, the wives of husbandmen and 
 laborers, or the women of the street, ar- 
 rayed in flaming colors, with dyed hair 
 and eyebrows, tinted finger nails and car- 
 mined cheeks, scented with nard which 
 one could smell from afar, large earrings 
 and necklaces made of coins. At last 
 arrived a sanhedrim of the scribes and 
 elders, and in their midst walked Hanaan, 
 an old man with the face of a vulture and 
 red eyelids, the high priest Caiaphas, with 
 a two -cornered headdress and golden 
 breastplate. Together with them walked 
 different Pharisees: first, the "foot drag- 
 gers," who purposely stumbled at every 
 obstacle, the "bleeding heads/' who struck 
 their heads against the walls, and the 
 "bowed backs," who pretended to be 
 weighed down with the sins of the whole
 
 62 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 city. Their ascetic gloom and rigorous 
 countenances distinguished them from the 
 noisy crowd of the common people. 
 
 Cinna regarded the multitude with the 
 cold, haughty glance of the dominant 
 class, Anthea with surprise and alarm. 
 Many Jews inhabited Alexandria, but 
 there they were half Hellenes, here for 
 the first time she saw them as described 
 by Pilate and as they indeed were, in their 
 own nest. Her young face, on which 
 death had already put its seal, and her 
 shadowy form, attracted attention. They 
 eyed her as persistently as the soldiers sur- 
 rounding her litter would admit; so great 
 was their hatred and abhorrence for all 
 foreigners that their faces showed no pity, 
 but rather joy that she could not escape 
 death. Anthea now understood why these 
 men could clamor to crucify the prophet 
 who preached love. 
 
 Suddenly it appeared to her as if this
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 63 
 
 Nazarene were very near and dear to her. 
 He must die and so must she. Naught 
 could save him after the decree of death 
 was issued, and now her decree was irre- 
 vocable, so it seemed to Anthea that they 
 were joined together in the bonds of suf- 
 fering and of death. He went to the 
 cross with a sublime faith in the hereafter, 
 while she, possessing none, had come here 
 to view him, hoping thereby to obtain it. 
 Meanwhile, from afar spread the wild, 
 howling tumult, and then came a deep 
 silence. Then was heard the clanking of 
 armor and the heavy tread of the legion- 
 aries. The crowd wavered, opened, and 
 the body of soldiers preceding the con- 
 demned began to file past the litter. 
 From the front, sides, and rear marched 
 the soldiers, with regular and even tread, 
 and in the middle could be seen, borne 
 aloft, the timbers for three crosses, which 
 seemed to go alone because they were car-
 
 64 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 ried by three men who were bent under 
 their weight. It was easy to see that none 
 of these three was the Nazarene, for two 
 of them had the shameless and unabashed 
 faces of criminals, and the third was a 
 middle-aged countryman whom the sol- 
 diers forced as a substitute. The Naza- 
 rene walked behind the crosses, having a 
 guard of two soldiers. Around his shoul- 
 ders and over his robe was placed a purple 
 mantle, and on his head a crown of thorns, 
 from under whose sharp points exuded 
 drops of blood. Some were trickling 
 slowly down his face, and some hardened 
 in globules like the red berries of the wild 
 rose or coral beads. He was pale and 
 walked with slow, weak, wavering foot- 
 steps. Amid the jeers of the crowd he 
 moved unconsciously, as if wrapt in the 
 contemplation of another world, unheed- 
 ing the cries of hate and derision, or as if, 
 forgiving beyond the measure of human
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 65 
 
 forgiveness, and compassionate beyond the 
 measure of human compassion, because, 
 already he was encompassed by infinity, 
 already exalted above this human sphere, 
 full of peace, sweet, and sad only over 
 the great sin and sorrow of this world. 
 
 "Thou art truth," whispered Authea, 
 with trembling lips. 
 
 The procession was now passing close to 
 the litter. There was a moment when the 
 procession stopped to allow the soldiers to 
 clear the way through the mob; then An- 
 thea saw the ISTazarene standing a few 
 footsteps off. She saw how the breeze 
 played with the locks of his hair, saw the 
 purple reflection from his mantle on his 
 pale, translucent face. The crowd now 
 pressed eagerly forward to reach him, 
 forming a narrow semicircle around the 
 soldiers, who were compelled to make a 
 barrier with their spears to defend him 
 from its rage. Everywhere were seen
 
 66 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 arms stretched forth and clenched fists, 
 glaring eyes, snarling teeth, bristling 
 beards, and foaming lips that vomited 
 forth hoarse imprecations over his head. 
 He glanced around as if saying, " What 
 have I done to thee?" Then lifting his eyes 
 to heaven he prayed and forgave them. 
 
 "Anthea! Anthea!" at this moment 
 called Cinna. 
 
 Anthea heard not. Great tears welled 
 up in her eyes and flowed down her 
 cheeks. She forgot her illness, forgot 
 that for days she had not arisen from her 
 litter, arising suddenly, trembling and 
 half -unconscious, from sorrow, compassion 
 and indignation at the blind clamors of 
 the crowd, she began hurriedly plucking 
 hyacinths and apple blossoms from her 
 litter and cast them at the feet of the 
 Nazarene. 
 
 For one moment there was silence. The 
 crowd was astounded at the spectacle of
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 67 
 
 this high-born Roman lady honoring the 
 condemned. He rested his gaze on her 
 pale, suffering face, and his lips moved as 
 if blessing her. Anthea, falling on the 
 pillows of the litter, felt that there was 
 flowing upon her a sea of light, goodness, 
 mercy, comfort, hope, happiness, and she 
 whispered again: 
 
 "Thou art truth." 
 
 Again the tears welled up within her 
 and flowed afresh. 
 
 The Nazarene was now pushed forward 
 a number of paces, to where already stood 
 the upright timbers of the crosses, se- 
 curely imbedded in the fissures of the 
 rocks. For a moment the crowd ob- 
 structed her view, but as the place where 
 the crosses were erected was on higher 
 ground, she again saw his pale face, sur- 
 mounted with the crown of thorns. The 
 soldiers again with the butt ends of their 
 spears drove back the crowds, so that they
 
 68 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 would not interfere with the execution. 
 They now commenced to fasten the two 
 thieves to their crosses. The third cross 
 stood in the middle, with a white tablet 
 nailed to the top, which shook and rattled 
 in the increasing wind. When the sol- 
 diers approached the Nazarene to disrobe 
 him the crowd resounded with mocking 
 exclamations : " King ! king ! surrender 
 not thyself ! King ! where are now thy 
 hosts? Defend thyself I" And then burst 
 forth a mighty derisive laugh, which was 
 taken up and echoed by the rocky hills. 
 Meanwhile the soldiers had stretched him 
 on the ground to prepare to nail his hands 
 to the crosspiece, and then together with 
 it to raise him to the upright timber. 
 
 At this instant a man who was standing 
 near Anthea's litter, dressed in a white 
 simar, threw himself on the ground, cast 
 dust on his head, and wailed forth with 
 despairing voice :
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 69 
 
 "I was a leper he healed me why 
 crucify him?" 
 
 The face of Anthea became as white as 
 linen. 
 
 " He healed him ! Dost thon hear, 
 Cains?" she said. 
 
 "Dost thou wish to return?" asked 
 Cinna. 
 
 "No, I shall remain here." 
 
 Cinna was now filled with a wild and 
 immeasurable despair, because he had 
 not besought the Nazarene to heal 
 Anthea. 
 
 At this moment the soldiers placed the 
 nails against the palms of his hands, and 
 began to strike them. At first was heard 
 the dull clang of the hammers on the 
 iron, which changed into a clearer sound 
 as the nails penetrated the wood. The 
 crowd again became quiet, the better to 
 hear the cries which they expected the
 
 70 Let TJs Follow Him. 
 
 pain would wring from the lips of the 
 Nazarene. 
 
 But he remained silent and naught 
 could be heard save the ominous strokes 
 of the hammer. 
 
 At last they finished the work, and the 
 crosspiece, together with the body, was 
 raised up. The centurion, who was watch- 
 ing their work, sang out monotonous 
 words of command, upon which a soldier 
 began to nail the feet. Meanwhile the 
 clouds, which from the morning were 
 spreading over the horizon, obscured the 
 sun. The distant rocks and hills were ex- 
 tinguished. The earth darkened as if 
 before night. An ominous copper-colored 
 gloom covered the land, and became deep- 
 er and deeper, as the sun sank further 
 behind the somber banks of clouds. It 
 seemed as if some power from above were 
 passing through a sieve red darkness on 
 the earth. Then came a hot gust of wind
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 71 
 
 once, twice then stopped. The air 
 became stifling. 
 
 Suddenly the remnants of ruddy gleams 
 darkened; clouds, dismal as night, rolled 
 as a gigantic wall toward the plateau, 
 and the city. The storm was arising. 
 The world was filled with a great un- 
 rest. 
 
 " Let us return/' repeated Cinna. 
 
 11 Again and again I must see him," 
 answered Anthea. 
 
 As the darkness bedimmed the hanging 
 bodies, Cinna commanded the litter to be 
 brought nearer the place of suffering. 
 They approached so near that only a few 
 steps separated them from the cross. On 
 the dark tree was seen the white body of 
 the crucified, which in the gathering 
 gloom looked as if woven from silvery 
 moonbeams. His breast rose and fell with 
 quick breaths, his head and eyes he held 
 turned upward.
 
 72 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 From out the clouds there issued a low, 
 deep, rumbling murmur. The thunder 
 awoke, arose, rolled with a terrific crash 
 from east to west, and then, as if falling 
 into a bottomless pit, resounded lower 
 and lower, weaker, then louder, and in 
 the end the thunderbolt exploded with a 
 deafening report, which shook the earth 
 to its foundation. 
 
 Blue, lurid, gigantic lightning tore 
 through the clouds, illuminating heaven, 
 earth, the crosses, the soldiers' armor; the 
 mob huddled like a flock of sheep, restless 
 and frightened. 
 
 After the lightning the darkness deep- 
 ened. 
 
 Near the litter could be heard the 
 weeping of many women, who had striven 
 to approach the cross. There was some- 
 thing indescribably affecting in this sound 
 amid the silence. They, who had been 
 separated by the crowd, began to hail
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 73 
 
 each other. Here and there arose fright- 
 ened voices. 
 
 "Oyah! Oy lanoo! Is not the just cru- 
 cified?" 
 
 " Who gave witness to the truth? 
 Oyah!" 
 
 " Who raised the dead? Oyah!" 
 
 Another cries: 
 
 " Woe to thee, oh, Jerusalem!" 
 
 Another again: 
 
 "The earth trembleth!" 
 
 The second lightning opened the 
 depths of heaven, and showed in them 
 Titanic, fiery figures. The voices were 
 silenced, or rather perished in the whist- 
 ling of the wind, which suddenly arose with 
 a mighty force, tearing the headgear and 
 mantles from the multitude, and scatter- 
 ing them broadcast over the plateau. 
 
 The multitude again cried forth: 
 
 "The earth trembleth!" 
 
 Some started to run; others were riveted
 
 74: Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 to the spot with terror, and they stood 
 stupefied, without thought, with the dull 
 impression only that something terrible 
 had occurred. 
 
 The darkness began to redden. The 
 storm rolled in the clouds, turning them 
 over and tearing them into fragments. 
 The light gradually increased, the dark 
 dome of the heavens opened, and through 
 the rift suddenly poured a stream of 
 bright sunlight. It made everything 
 visible the plateau, the frightened faces, 
 and the crosses. 
 
 The head of the Nazarene had fallen on 
 his breast, pale and waxen; his eyelids 
 were closed and his lips were blue. 
 
 "He is dead," whispered Anthea. 
 
 " He is dead," repeated Cinna. 
 
 At this moment the centurion raised 
 his spear, and pierced the side of the 
 dead one. It was wonderful. The 
 return of light and the sight of this death
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 75 
 
 seemed to quiet the crowd. Now the peo- 
 ple approached nearer to the cross, the 
 soldiers not hindering them. Now there 
 were heard voices: 
 
 "Descend from the cross! descend from 
 the cross !" 
 
 Anthea, resting her eyes once more on 
 this pale, reclining head, whispered, as if 
 to herself: 
 
 " Will he arise from the dead?" 
 
 In the presence of death, which had set 
 its blue mark on his eyes and lips, in the 
 presence of those outstretched arms, in 
 the presence of this motionless body, sag- 
 ging downward with a dead weight, her 
 voice trembled with despair and doubt. 
 
 A no less sorrow was tugging at the soul 
 of Cinna. He also did not believe that 
 the Nazarene would arise from the dead, 
 but he did believe, that if he had lived, 
 he, with his good or evil power, could 
 have healed Anthea.
 
 76 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 Meanwhile some of the multitude clam- 
 ored again: 
 
 "Descend from the cross! descend from 
 the cross!" 
 
 "Descend!" repeated Cinna, in the de- 
 spair of his soul, "heal her for me, and 
 take for it my life." 
 
 It became clearer. The hills were yet 
 in mist, but over the plateau and city the 
 sky was bright. " Turris Antonia" 
 blazed in the sky, as if it were a sun it- 
 self. The air became fresh and swarmed 
 with swallows. Cinna gave command to 
 return. 
 
 The hour was after the noon time. 
 Near the house, Anthea said suddenly: 
 
 "Hecate did not come to-day/' 
 
 Cinna also thought of this.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE haunting specter did not appear 
 the next day. The patient was more 
 cheerful than usual, because there arrived 
 from Caesarea, Timon, who, being anxious 
 for his daughter's life, and alarmed by 
 Cinna's letters, had a few days before left 
 Alexandria, to behold once more his only 
 child, before death claimed her. To Cin- 
 na's heart again came hope, knocking as 
 if calling for admittance. He dared not 
 open the door to this guest; he feared to 
 hope. Never before had there been a 
 cessation of these visions which tortured 
 Anthea for two days in succession, though 
 these visions had ceased for one day at 
 Alexandria, and once in the desert. The 
 present improvement Cinna ascribed to 
 the arrival of Timon and the impression
 
 78 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 of the cross, which so filled the thoughts 
 of the patient, that even in the presence 
 of her father she could speak of naught 
 else. 
 
 Timon heard all this with great atten- 
 tion, contradicted not, pondered deeply, 
 and seriously inquired into the doctrine 
 of the Nazarene, of which Anthea knew 
 only what Pilate had told her. 
 
 She felt better and somewhat stronger, 
 and when noon came and went, in her 
 eyes shone true hope. Several times she 
 called this day fortunate, and asked her 
 husband to make a note of it. 
 
 The day was indeed somber and gloomy. 
 The rain fell all the morning, copiously 
 at first, then in a lesser degree, until it 
 drizzled out of the low overhanging 
 clouds. In the evening the clouds lifted, 
 and the great fiery globe of the sun 
 looked out of the mist, painted with pur- 
 ple and gold the clouds, the gray rocks,
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 79 
 
 the white portico of the villa, and sank 
 below the horizon amid these glorious 
 colors into the Mediterranean. 
 
 The day following the weather was 
 beautiful. It prophesied heat, but the 
 morning was fresh, the sky was cloudless, 
 and the air so submerged in the blue bath 
 that everything seemed to be blue. An- 
 thea ordered herself carried beneath the 
 favorite pistachio tree, so that from the 
 eminence upon which it stood she might 
 drink in the view of the joyful and azure 
 expanse. Cinna and Timon did not leave 
 the side of the litter for one instant, care- 
 fully watching the face of the invalid. It 
 bore an expression of wistful expectancy. 
 There was an absence of that dreadful 
 terror which previously had enveloped her 
 before the coming of midday. Her eyes 
 were clear and bright, and her cheeks 
 were mantled with a delicate rosy flush. 
 At moments Cinna indeed thought that
 
 80 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 Anthea might regain her health, and at 
 this thought he felt like throwing himself 
 on the ground and blessing the gods; 
 again, fear possessed him that this might 
 be the last gleam of the flickering lamp. 
 Desiring to gain some assurance from 
 Timon he looked at him, but like thoughts 
 were passing in the mind of Timon, and 
 he avoided Cinna's gaze. Cinna, watch- 
 ing the shadows, marked with beating 
 heart that they became more and more 
 short. 
 
 They all sat immersed in thought. The 
 least perturbed of all was Anthea herself. 
 Eeclining in the open litter, with her head 
 resting on a purple pillow, she breathed 
 with joy the pure air which the western 
 breeze brought from the sea ; but before 
 noon this breeze fell. The heat became 
 greater; warmed by the sun, the wild 
 flower of the rocks and the bushes of nard 
 exhaled a fragrance, strong and intoxica-
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 81 
 
 ting. Over the clusters of anemones hov- 
 ered bright butterflies. From out the fis- 
 sures of the rocks stole small lizards, 
 which had already become accustomed to 
 the litter and people, venturing, as usual, 
 one after another, yet timid and cautious 
 of every movement. The whole world 
 was resting in the soothing balm of the 
 radiant silence, warmth, pure sweetness, 
 blue dreaminess. 
 
 Timon and Cinna seemed equally sunk 
 in this profound azure peace. Anthea 
 closed her eyes as if drifting into slumber; 
 the silence was unbroken save by the faint 
 sighs which animated her bosom. 
 
 Cinna now observed that his shadow 
 had shortened and lay around his feet. 
 
 It was noon. 
 
 Anthea slowly opened her eyes, broke 
 the silence in a strange tone, saying: 
 
 " Cinna, give me thy hand." 
 
 Cinna started to her side, the blood con-
 
 82 Let Us Follow Him. 
 
 gealed in his veins as if his heart was ice: 
 the hour for the terrible vision had come. 
 
 Her eyes opened wider. 
 
 "Seest thou," she said, "over there, a 
 light, gathering and forming in the air? 
 See how it shines, trembles, and ap- 
 proaches me!" 
 
 "Anthea! look not there !" exclaimed 
 Cinna. 
 
 Wonderful ! No terror appeared on her 
 face, her lips slightly parted, her eyes 
 widened and a measureless joy illuminated 
 her face. 
 
 " The pillar of light approaches me," 
 she further said. 
 
 "I see; it is he, it is the Nazarene! 
 he smiles! Oh, sweet! Oh, merciful! 
 His pierced hands he stretches forth to 
 me as a mother. Cinna ! he brings 
 me health, salvation, and calls me unto 
 Him." 
 
 Cinna, becoming very pale, said:
 
 " Seest thou," she said, " over there, a light gathering 
 ind forming in the air ?" Page 82.
 
 Let Us Follow Him. 83 
 
 " Whithersoever He calleth us Let us 
 follow Him." 
 
 A moment later, from the other side, on 
 the stony pathway leading from the city, 
 appeared Pontius Pilate. Before he ap- 
 proached it could be seen from his face 
 that he brought great tidings, which as a 
 sensible man he regards as a new, fantas- 
 tical invention of the credulous and igno- 
 rant multitude. From afar off he called 
 out aloud, as he wiped the sweat from his 
 brow: 
 
 "Imagine what they now say: that He 
 has risen from the dead!"
 
 SIELANKA.
 
 SIELANKA. 
 
 An Idyll. 
 
 IN the woods, in the deep woods, was 
 an open glade in which stood the house of 
 the forester Stephan. The house was 
 built of logs packed with moss, and the 
 roof was thatched with straw; hard by 
 the house stood two outbuildings; in 
 front of it was a piece of fenced-in ground, 
 and an old well with a long, crooked sweep; 
 the water in the well was covered with a 
 green vegetation at the edges. 
 
 Opposite the windows grew sunflowers 
 and wild hollyhocks, high, stately, and 
 covered with blossoms as if with a swarrn 
 of gorgeous butterflies; between the sun- 
 flowers there peeped the red heads of the 
 poppy; around the hollyhocks entwined
 
 88 Sielanka. 
 
 sweet peas with pink blossoms and morn- 
 ing-glories; close to the ground grew 
 nasturtiums, marigolds, primroses, and 
 asters, pale because they were shaded from 
 the sunlight by the leaves of the holly- 
 hocks and sunflowers. 
 
 The fenced ground on either side of the 
 pathway leading to the house was planted 
 with vegetables carrots, beets, and cab- 
 bage; further off in a separate fenced-in 
 lot there waved with each breath of wind 
 the tender blue flower of the flax; still be- 
 yond could be seen the dark green of the 
 potato patch; the rest of the clearing was 
 checkered with the variegated shades of 
 the different cereals that ran to the edge 
 of the lake which touched the glade on 
 one side. 
 
 Near to the house a few trees were 
 growing. Some were cherry trees, and 
 one was a birch, with long, slender 
 branches which swayed in the wind, and
 
 Sielanka. 89 
 
 with every breeze its leaves touched the 
 dilapidated moss-covered straw thatch of 
 the roof; when the stronger gusts of wind 
 bent its boughs to the wall, and pressed 
 its twigs and the waves of leaves against 
 the roof, it would seem as if the tree loved 
 the house and embraced it. 
 
 In this tree the sparrows made their 
 home; the rustling of the leaves and twigs 
 commingled with the chirp and joyous 
 noise of the birds; in the eaves of the 
 house the doves had built their nests, and 
 the place was filled with their speech, 
 cooing and calling to each other, entreat- 
 ing and discussing as is customary between 
 doves, these noisy and talkative people. 
 
 At times it happened that they were 
 startled by some unknown cause; then 
 around the house was heard a loud flap- 
 ping, the air was filled with the whirl of 
 wings and a multitude of white-feathered 
 breasts; you could hear tumult, noise av.-. 1
 
 90 Sielanka. 
 
 excited cries the whole flock flew out 
 suddenly, circled round the house, now 
 near, now far off. Sometimes they melted 
 in the blue, sometimes their white feathers 
 reflected the sunlight, again they hung 
 over the house, undulating in the air, and 
 alighting at last like a downfall of snow- 
 flakes on the gray straw of the roof. 
 
 If this occurred in the rosy morning or 
 in the splendor of the red setting sun, 
 then in the glory of the air these doves 
 were not white, but tinted pink, and 
 settled on the roof and birch tree as flames 
 or scattered rose leaves. 
 
 At twilight, when the sun had hidden 
 itself beyond the woods, this cooing under 
 the roof and chirping in the birch tree 
 became gradually quiet. The sparrows 
 and the doves shook the dew from their 
 wings and prepared to sleep; sometimes 
 one of them gave voice once more, but 
 more rarely, more softly, more drowsily,
 
 Sielanka. 91 
 
 and then all was silent the dusk was fall- 
 ing from the heavens upon the earth. 
 The house, cherry trees, and birch were 
 losing their form, mingling together, 
 melting, and veiled in a mist which rose 
 from the lake. 
 
 Around the glade, as far as the eyo 
 could reach, there stretched the wall of 
 dark pine trees and thick undergrowth. 
 This wall was broken in one place by a 
 wide dividing line, which reached to the 
 edge of the lake. The lake was a very 
 large one, the opposite side was nearly 
 lost to view, and in the mist could be 
 hardly discerned the red roof and steeple 
 of a church, and the black line of the 
 woods closing the horizon beyond the 
 church. 
 
 The pines were looking from the high 
 sandy banks upon their reflection in the 
 lake as if in a mirror, and it seemed as if 
 there was another forest in the water; arc]
 
 92 Sielanka. 
 
 when the trees wore swaying on the earth 
 they were also swaying in the water, and 
 when they quivered on the earth they 
 seemed to quiver in the water; as they 
 stood in the still air motionless, then 
 every needle of the pines was painted dis- 
 tinctly on the smooth, unruffled surface, 
 and the straight trunks of the trees stand- 
 ing like rows of pillars reaching ufar off 
 into infinity. In the middle of the lake 
 the water in the daytime reflected the 
 sun, and in the morning and the evening 
 the glories of its rising and its setting; at 
 night the moon and stars; and it seemed 
 to be as deep as the dome of the sky 
 above us is high, beyond the sun, moon, 
 and stars. 
 
 In the house dwelt the forester, named 
 Stephan, and his daughter, Kasya, a 
 maiden of sixteen. Kasya was the light 
 of the household, as bright and fresh as 
 the morning. She was brought up in
 
 Sielanka. 93 
 
 great innocence and in the fear of God. 
 Her uncle, who was now dead, and who was 
 a poor but devout man, the organist of the 
 neighboring church, had taught her to 
 read her prayer book, and her education 
 was perfected by her communing with 
 nature. The bees taught her to work, 
 the doves taught her purity, the happy 
 sparrows to speak joyfully to her father, 
 the quiet water taught her peace, the 
 serenity of the sky taught her contempla- 
 tion, the matin-bell of the distant church 
 called her to devotion, and the universal 
 good in all nature, which reflected the 
 love of God, sank deep into her soul. 
 
 Therefore the father and Kasya led a 
 peaceful and happy life, surrounded by 
 the silence and solitude of the woods. 
 
 One noon, before Ascension Day, 
 Stephan came home to his dinner. He 
 had visited a large tract of the forest, so 
 he arrived weary, having returned through
 
 94 Sielanka. 
 
 the thickets of the swamp. Kasya placed 
 the dinner on the table, and after they 
 had finished and she had fed the dog and 
 washed the dishes, she said: 
 
 " Papa." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I shall go into the woods." 
 
 " Go, go," adding jestingly, " and let 
 some wolf or wild beast devour yon." 
 
 " I shall go and gather herbs. To-mor- 
 row is Ascension Day and they will be 
 needed in the church." 
 
 " If so, yon can go." 
 
 She covered her head with a yellow 
 kerchief embroidered with bine flowers, 
 and looking for her basket she began 
 singing: 
 
 " The falcon came flying, the falcon came grey." 
 
 The old man began to grumble: " If 
 you were as fond of working as you, are of 
 singing."
 
 Sielanka. 95 
 
 Kasya, who was standing on her tip- 
 toes to look on a shelf, turned her head to 
 her father, laughed merrily, and showing 
 her white teeth, sang again as if to tease 
 him: 
 
 "He hoots in the woods and the cuckoo's his prey." 
 
 " You would be glad yourself to he a 
 cuckoo until a falcon came/' said the old 
 man. " Perhaps 'tis falcon who is at the 
 turpentine works? but this is folly. You 
 can't earn a piece of bread by singing." 
 
 Kasya again sang: 
 
 " Hoot not thou, my falcon, unhappy thy quest, 
 In the depths of the lake thy cuckoo doth rest." 
 
 Then she said: 
 
 " Wilt thou decorate the room with the 
 evergreens for to-morrow? I shall return 
 in time to milk the cows, but they should 
 be brought from the pasture." 
 
 She found her basket, kissed her father,
 
 96 Sielanka. 
 
 and went out. Old Stephan got his un- 
 finished fishing-net, and seated himself 
 on a bench outside the door. He gath- 
 ered his twine, and half-closing one eye 
 he tried to thread his netting needle; after 
 several attempts he succeeded and began 
 to work. 
 
 From time to time he watched Kasya. 
 She was walking on the left side of the 
 lake; against the background of the sandy 
 banks she stood out in relief as if in a 
 picture. Her white waist and red striped 
 skirt and yellow kerchief glistened in the 
 sunlight like a variegated flower. Though 
 it was spring the heat was unbearable. 
 After she had gone about half a mile she 
 turned aside and disappeared into the 
 woods. The afternoon hours were hot in 
 the sun, bat in the shade of the trees it 
 was quite cool. Kasya pressed forward, 
 suddenly stopped, smiled, and blushed like 
 a rose.
 
 Sielanka. 97 
 
 In front of her in the pathway stood a 
 youth about eighteen years of age. 
 
 This youth was the turpentine worker, 
 from the edge of the woods, who was now 
 on his way to visit Stephan. 
 
 " The Lord be praised !" said he. 
 
 " Forever and ever/' answered she, and 
 in her confusion she covered her face with 
 her apron, peeping shyly out of a corner 
 of it and smiling at her companion. 
 
 " Kasya," said he. 
 
 "What is it, John?" 
 
 " Is your father at home?" 
 
 "He is." 
 
 The turpentine worker, poor fellow, 
 perhaps desired to speak of something 
 else beside the father, but somehow he 
 was frightened and unconsciously inquired 
 for him; then he became silent and waited 
 for Kasya to speak to him first. She 
 stood confused, twisting the corners of 
 her apron.
 
 08 Sielanka. 
 
 At last she spoke. 
 
 "John?" 
 
 " What is it, Kasya?" 
 
 "Does the turpentine works smoke to- 
 day?" She also wished to speak of some- 
 thing else. 
 
 "Why should it not? The turpentine 
 works never stop. I left lame Frank 
 there; but dost thou wish to go there?" 
 
 " No, I go to gather plants." 
 
 " I will go with thee, and on our re- 
 turn, if thou dost not chase me away, I 
 will come to thy house." 
 
 " Why should I chase thee away ?" 
 
 "If thou dost like me thou wilt not 
 chase me away, and if thou dost not, then 
 thou wilt. Tell me, Kasya, dost thou like 
 me?" 
 
 " Fate, my fate," and Kasya covered her 
 face with her hands. " What can I say 
 to thee? I like thee, John, very much I 
 like thee/' she whispered faintly.
 
 Sielanka. 99 
 
 Then before he could reply she uncov- 
 ered her blushing face and cried out, 
 "Let us go and gather plants; let us 
 hurry/' 
 
 And so went they, John and Kasya. 
 The radiance of love surrounded them, 
 but these simple children of nature dared 
 not speak of it. They felt it, although 
 they knew not what they felt; they were 
 embarrassed but happy. Never before 
 had the forest sung so wonderfully over 
 their heads, never was the wind so sweet 
 and caressing, never at any time had the 
 noises of the forest, the rustling of the 
 breeze in the trees, the voices of the birds, 
 the echoes of the woods, seemed to merge 
 into such an angelic choir, so sweet and 
 grand, as at this moment, full of uncon- 
 scious happiness. 
 
 Oh, holy power of love ! how good an 
 angel of light thou art, how rosy an
 
 100 Sielanka. 
 
 aureole in the dusk, how bright a rain- 
 bow on the cloud of human tears! 
 
 Meanwhile, in the woods resounded 
 echoes from pine to pine, the barking of 
 the dog, Bnrek, who had escaped from 
 the house and ran on the pathway after 
 Kasya. He came panting heavily, and 
 with great joy he jumped with his big 
 paws on Kasya and John, and looked from 
 one to the other with his wise and mild 
 eyes, as if wishing to say: 
 
 " I see that you love one another; this 
 is good." 
 
 He wagged his tail and ran quickly 
 ahead of thsrn, then circled round to them, 
 then stopped, barked once more with joy, 
 and rushed into the woods, looking back 
 from time to time on the boy and girl. 
 
 Kasya put her hand to her forehead, 
 and looking upward upon the bright sun 
 between the leaves she said : 
 
 " Just think, the sun is two hours be-
 
 Sielanka. 101 
 
 yond noontime and we have not yet gath- 
 ered any plants. Go thon, John, to the 
 left side and I shall go the right, and let 
 us begin. We should hasten, for the dear 
 Lord's sake." 
 
 They separated and went into the woods, 
 bat not far from one another and in a 
 parallel direction, so that they could see 
 each other. Among the ferns between 
 the pine trees could be seen fluttering the 
 vari-colored skirt and yellow kerchief of 
 Kasya. The slender, supple maiden 
 seemed to float amid the berry-laden 
 bushes, mosses and ferns. You would 
 say it was some fairy wila or rusalka of 
 the woods; every moment she stooped and 
 stood erect again, and so, further and 
 further, passing the pine trees, she en- 
 tered deeper into the forest as some 
 spritely nymph. 
 
 Sometimes the thick growth of young 
 hemlocks and cedars would conceal her
 
 102 Sielanka. 
 
 from view, then John stopped, and put- 
 ting his hand to his mouth would shout, 
 "Halloo! Halloo!" 
 
 Kasya heard it; she stopped with a 
 smile, and pretending that she did not 
 see him, answered in a high, silvery 
 voice: 
 
 "John I" 
 
 The echo answers: 
 
 "John! John !" 
 
 Meanwhile Burek had espied a squirrel 
 tip a tree, and, standing before it looking 
 upward, barked. The squirrel sitting on 
 a branch covered herself with her tail in a 
 mocking manner, lifted her forepaws to 
 her mouth and rubbed her nose, seemed 
 to play with her forefingers, make gri- 
 maces, and laugh at the anger of Burek. 
 Kasya, seeing it, laughed with a resound- 
 ing, silvery tone, and so did John, and so 
 the woods were filled with the sound of
 
 Sielanka. 103 
 
 human voices, echoes, laughter and sunny 
 
 joy- 
 Sometimes there was a deep silence, and 
 then the woods seemed to speak; the 
 breeze struck the fronds of the ferns, 
 which emitted a sharp sound; the trunks 
 of the pines swayed and creaked, and 
 there was silence again. 
 
 Then could be heard the measured 
 strokes of the woodpecker. It seemed as 
 if some one kept knock knocking at a 
 door, and you could even expect that 
 some mysterious voice would ask: 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 Again, the wood thrush was whistling 
 with a sweet voice; the golden-crowned 
 hammer plumed his feathers. In the 
 thicket the pheasants clucked and the 
 bright green humming birds flitted be- 
 tween the leaves; sometimes on the top of 
 the pine tree a crow, hiding itself from
 
 104: Sielanka. 
 
 the heat of the sun, lazily flapped its 
 wings. 
 
 On this afternoon the weather was most 
 clear, the sky was cloudless, and above the 
 green canopy of the leaves there spread 
 out the blue dome of the heavens im- 
 mense, limitless, transparently gray-tinted 
 on the sides and deep blue above. In the 
 sky stood the great golden sun; the space 
 was flooded with light; the air was bright 
 and serene, and far-oif objects stood out 
 distinctly, their forms clearly defined. 
 From the height of heaven the eye of the 
 great Creator embraced the whole earth; 
 in the fields the grain bowed to Him with 
 a golden wave, rustled the heavy heads of 
 the wheat, and the delicate tasseled oats 
 trembled like a cluster of tiny bells. In 
 the air, filled with brightness here and 
 there, floated the spring thread of the 
 spider's web, blue from the azure of the 
 sky and golden from the sun, as if a veri-
 
 Sielanka. 105 
 
 table thread from the loom of the Mother 
 of God. 
 
 In the vales between the fields of the 
 waving grain stood dark-green meadows; 
 here and there were crystal springs, around 
 whose edges the grass was greener still; 
 the whole meadows were sprinkled with 
 yellow buttercups and dandelions which 
 struck the eye with a profusion of golden 
 brightness. In the wet places there thrived 
 cypress trees, which had an air of coldness 
 and moisture. 
 
 In the woods among the pine trees there 
 were now both heat and silence. It seemed 
 as if a dreamy stillness enveloped the 
 whole world. Not a breath of wind stirred; 
 the trees, grain, and grass were motion- 
 less. The leaves hung on the trees as if 
 rocked to sleep; the birds had ceased their 
 noises, and the moment of rest had come. 
 But this rest seemed to come from an in- 
 effable sweetness, and all nature seemed
 
 106 Sielanka. 
 
 to meditate. Only the great expanse of 
 heaven seemed to smile, and somewhere, 
 high in the unknowable depths of its bine, 
 the great and beneficent God was glad 
 with the gladness of the fields, the woods, 
 the meadows, and the waters. 
 
 Kasya and John were still busy in the 
 woods collecting herbs, laughing gleefully 
 and speaking to each other joyfully. Man 
 is as artless as a bird; he will sing when 
 he can, for this is his nature. John now 
 began to sing a simple and touching song. 
 
 As Kasya and John sang in unison the 
 last refrain of the song ended mournfully, 
 and as if in accompaniment the echo re- 
 peated it in the dark depths of the woods; 
 the pines gave resonance as the words 
 ran between their trunks and died away in 
 the far distance like a sigh, less distinct, 
 light, ethereal; then silence. 
 
 Later Kasya sang a more cheerful song, 
 beginning with the words:
 
 Sielanka. 107 
 
 " I shall become a ring of gold now." 
 
 This is a good song. A willful young 
 girl quarrels with her lover and enumerates 
 the means she intends to use to escape 
 from him. But it is useless. "When she 
 says that she will be a golden ring and 
 will roll away on the road, he says that he 
 will quickly see and recover her. When 
 she wants to be a golden fish in the water 
 he sings to her of the silken net; when 
 she wants to be a wild fowl on the lake he 
 appears before her as a hunter. At last 
 the poor maiden, seeing she is unable to 
 hide herself from him on the earth, 
 sings: 
 
 " I shall become a star in heaven, 
 Light to earth by will be given. 
 My love to thee I shall not render, 
 Nor my sweet will to thee surrender." 
 
 But the undaunted youth answers:
 
 108 Sielanka. 
 
 " Then shall I pray to the saint's grace 
 ' That the star may fall from its heavenly place. 
 Thy love to me thou then wilt render, 
 And thy sweet will to me surrender." 
 
 The maiden, seeing there is no refuge 
 either in heaven or on earth for her, 
 accepts the view of Providence and sings: 
 
 " I see, I see, fate's decree doth bind me; 
 Where'er I hide, thou sure wilt find me. 
 My love to thee I must now render, 
 And my sweet will to thee surrender." 
 
 John, turning to Kasya, said: 
 " Do you understand?" 
 "What, John? 
 He began to sing: 
 
 " Thy love to me thou must now render, 
 And thy sweet will to me surrender." 
 
 Kasya was troubled, and laughed loudly 
 to cover her confusion; and wishing to 
 speak, she said:
 
 Sielanka. 109 
 
 " I have gathered a large lot of plants; 
 it would be well to dip them in water, for 
 in this heat they will wither." 
 
 Verily the heat was great; the wind had 
 entirely ceased. In the woods, though in 
 the shade, the air vibrated with moist 
 heat, the pines exuding a strong, resin- 
 ous odor. The delicate, golden-tinted 
 face of Kasya was touched with perspira- 
 tion, and her blue eyes showed traces of 
 weariness. She removed the kerchief 
 from her head, and began to fan herself. 
 John, taking the basket from her, said: 
 
 " Here, Kasya, stand two aspen trees, 
 and between them a spring. Come, let us 
 drink." 
 
 Both went. After a short interval they 
 noticed that the ground of the forest 
 began to slope here. Among the trees, 
 instead of bushes, ferns and dry mosses, 
 there was a green, damp turf, then one 
 aspen tree, then another, and after them
 
 110 Sielanka. 
 
 whole rows. They entered into this dark, 
 humid retreat, where the rays of the sun, 
 passing through the leaves, took on their 
 color and reflected on the human face a 
 pale green light. John and Kasya de- 
 scended lower and lower into the shadows 
 and dampness; a chilliness breathed upon 
 them, refreshing after the heat of the 
 woods; and in a moment, between the 
 rows of the aspen trees, they espied in 
 the black turf a deep stream of water 
 winding its way under and through canes 
 and bushy thickets, and interspersed 
 with the large, round leaves of the water- 
 lilies, which we call " nenufars," and by 
 the peasants are called " white flowers. " 
 
 Beautiful was this spot, quiet, secluded, 
 shady, even somewhat sombre and solemn. 
 The transparent stream of water wound 
 its way between the trees. The nenufars, 
 touched by the light movement of the 
 water, swayed gently backward and for-
 
 Sielanka. Ill 
 
 ward, leaning toward each other as if kiss- 
 ing. Above their broad leaves, lying like 
 shields on the surface of the water, 
 swarmed indigo-colored insects with wide, 
 translucent, sibilant wings, so delicate and 
 fragile that they are justly called water- 
 sprites. Black butterflies, with white- 
 edged, mournful wings, rested on the 
 sharp, slender tops of the tamarack. On 
 the dark turf blossomed blue forget-me- 
 nots. On the edge of the stream grew 
 some alder trees, and under the bushes 
 peeped out heads of the lily-of-the- 
 valley, bluebells and honeysuckles. The 
 white heads of the biedrzenica hung over 
 the waters; the silvery threads of the 
 strojka spread out upon the current of 
 the stream and weaved themselves into 
 thin and long strands; besides seclusion 
 a wild spot, forgotten by men, peace- 
 ful, peopled only with the world of birds, 
 flowers and insects.
 
 112 Sielanka. 
 
 In such places generally dwell nymphs, 
 rusalki, and other bad or good forest 
 sprites. Kasya, who was in advance, 
 stood first on the banks of the stream and 
 looked upon the water in which was re- 
 flected her graceful form. She verily ap- 
 peared as one of those beautiful forest 
 spirits as they are seen sometimes by the 
 woodsmen or lumber men who float on 
 their rafts down the rivers through the 
 woods. She had no covering upon her 
 head, and the wind gently played with 
 her locks and ruffled her ray-like hair. 
 Sunburned she was, blond-haired, and 
 her eyes, as blue as turquoise, were as 
 laughing as her lips. Besides, she was 
 a divinely tall, slender, and fairy-like 
 maiden. No one could swear, if she was 
 suddenly startled, that she would not jump 
 into the water would not dissolve into 
 mist into rainbow rays would not turn 
 quickly into a water-lily or kalina tree,
 
 Sielanka. 113 
 
 which, when robbed of its flowers, remon- 
 strates with a voice so human, yet recall- 
 ing the sigh of the forest: 
 " Don't touch me/' 
 
 
 
 Kasya, bending over the water so that 
 her tresses fell on her shoulders, turned 
 toward John and said: 
 
 "How shall we drink? 1 
 
 "As birds/' answered John, pointing 
 to some silver pheasants on the opposite 
 side of the stream. 
 
 John, who knew how to help himself 
 better than the birds, plucked a large leaf 
 from a tree, and, making a funnel out of 
 it, filled it with water and gave it to 
 Kasya. 
 
 They both drank, then Kasya gathered 
 some forget-me-nots, and John with his 
 knife made a flute from the willow bark, 
 on which, when he had finished, he began 
 to play the air which the shepherds play 
 in the eventide on the meadows. The
 
 114 Sielanka. 
 
 soft notes floated away with ineffable ten- 
 derness in this secluded spot. Shortly 
 he removed the flute and listened intently 
 as if to catch an echo returning from the 
 aspen trees, and it seemed that the clear 
 stream, the dark aspen trees, and the birds 
 hidden in the canes listened to these notes 
 with him. 
 
 All became silent, but shortly, as if in 
 answer as if a challenge came the first 
 faint note of the nightingale, followed by 
 a stronger trill. The nightingale wanted 
 to sing it challenged the flute. 
 
 Now he began to sing. All nature was 
 listening to this divine singer. The lilies 
 lifted their heads above the water; the 
 forget-me-nots pressed closer together; the 
 canes ceased to rustle; no bird dared to 
 peep except an unwise and absent-minded 
 cuckoo, who with her silent wing alighted 
 near by on a dry bough, lifted her head,
 
 Sielanka. 115 
 
 widely opened her beak, and foolishly 
 called aloud: 
 
 "Cuckoo! cuckoo!" 
 
 Afterward it seemed as if she was 
 ashamed of her outbreak, and she quietly 
 subsided. 
 
 Vainly Kasya, who stood on the edge of 
 the stream with the forget-me-nots in her 
 hand, turned to the side from whence 
 came the voice of the cuckoo and queried: 
 
 "Cuckoo, blue-gray cuckoo, how long 
 shall I live?" 
 
 The cuckoo answered not. 
 
 " Cuckoo, shall I be rich?" 
 
 The cuckoo was silent. 
 
 Then John: "Cuckoo, gray cuckoo, 
 how soon will I wed?" 
 
 The cuckoo replied not. 
 
 " She cares not to answer us," said 
 John; " let us return to the forest." 
 
 On returning they found the large stone 
 by which they had placed the basket and
 
 116 Sielanka. 
 
 bunches of herbs. Kasya, seating herself 
 beside it, began to weave garlands, and 
 John helped her. Burek lay near them, 
 stretched his hairy forepaws, lolled out his 
 tongue and breathed heavily from fatigue, 
 looking carefully around to see if he could 
 not spy some living thing to chase and 
 enjoy his own noise. But everything in 
 the woods was quiet. The sun was travel- 
 ing toward the west, and through the 
 leaves and the needles of the pines shot 
 his rays, becoming more and more red, 
 covering the ground of the woods in places 
 with great golden circles. The air was 
 dry; in the west were spreading great 
 shafts of golden light, which flooded all 
 like an ocean of molten gold and amber. 
 The wondrous beauties of the peaceful, 
 warm spring evening were glowing in the 
 sky. In the woods the daily work was 
 gradually ceasing. The noise of the wood- 
 pecker had stopped; black and bronzed
 
 Sielanka. 117 
 
 aiits returned in rows to their hills, which 
 were red in the rays of the setting sun. 
 Some carried in their months pine needles 
 and some insects. Among the herbs here 
 and there circled small forest bees, hum- 
 ming joyfully as they completed their last 
 load of the sweet flower-dust. From the 
 fissures in the bark of the trees came 
 gloomy and blind millers; in the streams 
 of the golden light circled swarms of midg- 
 ets and gnats scarcely visible to the eye; 
 mosquitoes began their mournful song. 
 On the trees the birds were choosing their 
 places for the night; a yellow bird was 
 softly whistling; the crows flapped their 
 wings, crowding all on one tree and 
 quarreling about the best places. But 
 these voices were more and more rare, and 
 became fainter; gradually all ceased, and 
 the silence was interrupted by the evening 
 breeze playing among the trees. The 
 poplar tree tried to lift her bluish-green
 
 118 Sielanka. 
 
 leaves upward; the king-oak murmured 
 softly; the leaves of the birch tree slightly 
 moved silence. 
 
 Now the sky became more red; in the 
 east the horizon became dark blue, and all 
 the voices of the woods merged into a 
 chorus, solemn, deep and immense. 
 Thus the forest sings its evening song of 
 praise, and says its prayers before it sleeps; 
 tree speaks to tree of the glory of God, 
 and you would say that it spoke with a 
 human voice. 
 
 Only very innocent souls understand 
 this great and blessed speech. Only very 
 innocent hearts hear and understand 
 when the first chorus of the parent oaks 
 begins its strain: 
 
 " Rejoice, sister pines, and be glad. 
 The Lord hath given a warm and peaceful 
 day, and now above the earth He makes 
 the starry night. Great is the Lord, and 
 mighty, powerful and good is He, so let
 
 Sielanka. 119 
 
 there be glory to Him upon the heights, 
 upon the waters, upon the lands, and upon 
 the air." 
 
 And the pines pondered a moment upon 
 the words of the oaks, and then they 
 raised their voices together, saying: 
 
 " Now, Lord, to thy great glory, we, 
 as censers, offer to Thee the incense of 
 our sweet-smelling balsam, strong, resinous 
 and fragrant. ' Our Father, who art in 
 heaven, hallowed be Thy Name/" 
 
 Then the birches said : 
 
 " Thy evening brightness illumines the 
 heavens, Lord! and in Thy splendors 
 our small leaves golden are and burning. 
 Now with our golden leaves we sing to 
 Thee, Lord, and our delicate twigs play 
 as the strings of the harp, good Father 
 of ours!" 
 
 Again the sorrowing cypress said: 
 
 "Upon our sad foreheads, exhausted 
 with the heat, softly falls the evening dew.
 
 120 Sielanka. 
 
 Praise be to Thee, Lord; brothers and 
 sisters rejoice, because there falls the cool- 
 ing dew." 
 
 Amid this chorus of trees the aspen 
 alone trembles and is afraid; for it gave 
 the wood for the Cross of the Saviour of 
 the world; at times it faintly groans: 
 
 " Lord, have mercy upon me. 
 Have mercy upon me, Lord." 
 
 Again, sometimes, when the oaks and 
 pines cease for a moment, there rises from 
 under their feet a faint, modest voice, low 
 as the murmur of insects, silent as silence 
 itself, which says: 
 
 "A small berry am I, Lord, and 
 hidden in the moss. But Thou wilt hear, 
 discern and love me; though small, de- 
 vout am I, and sing Thy glory." 
 
 Thus every evening prays the forest, 
 and these orchestral sounds rise at every 
 sunset from earth to heaven and float 
 high, high, reaching where there is no
 
 Sielanka. 121 
 
 creature, where there is nothing only the 
 silvery dust and the milky way of the 
 stars, and above the stars God. 
 
 At this moment the sun hides his 
 radiant head in the far-distant seas; the 
 farmer turns upward his plowshares and 
 hastens to his cottage. From the pastures 
 return the bellowing herds; the sheep 
 raise clouds of the golden dust. The twi- 
 light falls; in the village creek the well 
 sweeps; later the windows shine, and 
 from the distance comes the barking of 
 the dogs. 
 
 The sun had not gone beyond the woods 
 when Kasya had seated herself under the 
 mossy stone to weave her garlands. Its rays 
 were thrown upon her face, broken by the 
 shadows of the leaves and twigs. The 
 work did not proceed rapidly, for Kasya 
 was tired from heat and running in the 
 woods. Her sunburnt hands moved slowly 
 at her work. The warm breeze kissed her
 
 122 Sielanka. 
 
 temples and face, and the voices of the 
 forest lulled her to sleep. Her large eyes 
 became heavy and drowsy; her eyelashes 
 began to close slowly; she leaned her head 
 against the stone, opened her eyes once 
 more as a child looking upon the divine 
 beauty of the world; then the noise of the 
 trees, the rows of the stumps, the ground 
 full of pine needles, and the skies that 
 could be seen between the branches all 
 became indistinct, darkened, dissolved, 
 disappeared and she smiled and slept. 
 Her head was hidden in a soft shade, but 
 the covering of her breast shone all rosy 
 and purple. Her soft breathing lifted 
 her bosom gently; so wonderful and 
 beautiful she looked in this quiet sleep in 
 the evening rays that John looked upon 
 her as if upon the image of a saint, glorious 
 with gold, and colored as the rainbow. 
 
 Kasya's hands were clinging yet to the 
 unfinished garland of herbs. She slept
 
 Sielanka. 123 
 
 with a sleep light and sweet, for she smiled 
 through her dreams as a child who speaks 
 with the angels. Perhaps she verily con- 
 versed with angels, for pure she was as a 
 child, and had dedicated her whole day to 
 the service of God by gathering and weav- 
 ing the garlands for His temple. 
 
 John was sitting by her side, but he did 
 not sleep. His simple breast could not 
 contain the feelings that arose there; he 
 felt as if his soul had got wings and was 
 preparing to fly away to the realms of 
 heaven. He knew not what was happen- 
 ing to him, and he only raised his eyes to 
 the skies and was motionless; you would 
 say that love had transfigured him. 
 
 Kasya slumbered on, and for a long 
 time they both remained there. Mean- 
 while the dusk came. The remnants of 
 the purple light fought with the darkness. 
 The interior of the woods deepened be- 
 came dumb. From the canes of the lake
 
 124: Sielanka. 
 
 near the glade with its cottage came the 
 buzzing of a night beetle. 
 
 Suddenly on the other side of the lake 
 from the church rang out the Angelus 
 bell. Its tones floated on the wings of the 
 evening breeze over the face of the quiet 
 waters, clear, resonant, and distinct. It 
 called the faithful to prayer, and also pro- 
 claimed: "Rest! Enough of work and 
 the heat of the day," spoke the bell. 
 " "Wrap yourself to sleep in the wing of 
 God. Come, come ye weary to Him in 
 Him is joy! Here is peace! here gladness! 
 here sleep! here sleep! here sleep!" 
 
 John took off his hat at the sound of 
 the bell, Kasya shook the sleep from her 
 eyes, and said: 
 
 " The bell rings." 
 
 " For the Angel of the Lord." 
 
 Both kneeled near by the mossy stone 
 as if before an altar. Kasya, began to 
 pray with a low, soft voice;
 
 Sielanka. 125 
 
 " The Angel of the Lord declared unto 
 Mary," 
 
 "And she conceived by the Holy 
 Ghost," answered John. 
 
 "Behold the handmaiden of the Lord; 
 may it be done to me according to Thy 
 word." 
 
 Thus kneeling, prayed these children of 
 God. The silent summer lightning shone 
 from the east to the west, and upon its 
 light flew down from heaven a radiant 
 host of winged angels, and hovered above 
 their heads. Then they blended with the 
 angels and were themselves as if angels, 
 for upon earth there were no two souls 
 more bright, more pure, more innocent.
 
 BE BLESSED.
 
 BE BLESSED. 
 
 ONCE, on a bright moonlight night, 
 wise and great Krishna, meditating deep- 
 ly, said: "I thought that man was the 
 most beautiful creature on earth. I was 
 mistaken. Here I see a lotus flower 
 swayed by the night breeze. Oh, how 
 much more beautiful it is than any living 
 being! Its petals are now opened to the 
 silvery light of the moon, and I cannot 
 take my eyes from it. 
 
 "Yes, there is nothing like it among 
 men," repeated he, with a sigh; but after 
 awhile he thought: "Why could not I, 
 being a god, by the power of a word create 
 a being that would be the same among 
 men as is the lotus among flowers? For 
 a joy to men on earth, therefore, let it be
 
 130 Be Blessed. 
 
 so. Lotus, transform thyself into a living 
 maiden, and stand before me." 
 
 Then the water vibrated tenderly, as if 
 touched by the wing of a swallow, the 
 night became clearer, the moon beamed 
 brighter, stronger trilled the note of the 
 nightingale, followed by a deep silence, 
 and the miracle was done. 
 
 There before Krishna stood the lotus in 
 human form divine. 
 
 The god himself was astonished. 
 
 " Thou wert a flower of the lake/* he 
 said; " be now a flower of my thought and 
 speak." 
 
 And the maiden began to whisper as 
 softly as the rustling of the white petals 
 of the lotus kissed by the summer breeze. 
 
 "Lord, thou hast changed me into a 
 being endowed with life; where wilt thou 
 command me to abide? Eemember, Lord, 
 that when I was a flower I trembled and 
 folded my leaves before every breath of
 
 Be Blessed. 131 
 
 wind. I feared, Lord, the rains and tem- 
 pest; I feared the thunder and lightning; 
 I feared even the scorching rays of the 
 sun. Thou hast told me to be an embod- 
 iment of the lotus, therefore I have pre- 
 served my former nature; and now I fear, 
 Lord, the earth and all there is thereon. 
 Where wilt thou command me to abide ?" 
 
 Krishna lifted his wise eyes to the stars, 
 mused awhile, then said: 
 
 " Do you wish to dwell on the moun- 
 tain-tops?'* 
 
 " Snow and cold are there ; I fear 
 them." 
 
 " Then I will build thee a crystal palace 
 in the clear depths of the lake." 
 
 " In abysses of water there move ser- 
 pents and other monsters; I fear them, 
 Lord." 
 
 "Do you wish the endless plains?*' 
 
 " Oh, Lord! Storms and tempests tram- 
 ple the plains like wild herds."
 
 182 Be Blessed. 
 
 " What, then, will I do with thee, em- 
 bodied flower? Ah! In the caves of Ellora 
 live holy anchorites. Dost thou wish to 
 dwell there far away from the world in a 
 cave with them?" 
 
 "It is dark there, Lord, I fear." 
 
 Krishna seated himself on a stone and 
 leaned his head upon his hand; the 
 maiden stood before him, trembling and 
 afraid. 
 
 Slowly the dawn commenced to spread 
 its light in the eastern heavens, the golden 
 glow covered the lake, palms, and bamboo 
 groves. The choir of birds burst forth 
 with their morning song, the rosy stork, 
 the bine crane, the white swan on the 
 waters, the peacocks and bengali in the 
 woods, and, as if in accompaniment, there 
 came the sound of strings fastened to 
 pearly shells and the words of human 
 song.
 
 Be Blessed. 133 
 
 Krishna awoke from his deep thought 
 and said: 
 
 "It is the poet Valmiki, greeting the 
 sunrise. " 
 
 Then parted the curtain of purple flow- 
 ers covering the vines, and on the edge of 
 the lake appeared Valmiki. 
 
 Seeing the embodied lotus, he ceased 
 playing, the pearly shells slipped slowly 
 from his hands, his arms drooped by his 
 side, and he stood speechless, as if great 
 Krishna had transformed him into a tree; 
 and the god was glad to see admiration for 
 his work, and said: 
 
 "Awake, Valmiki, and speak." 
 
 And Valmiki spoke: " I love " This 
 was the only word he remembered and the 
 only word he could utter. 
 
 The face of Krishna suddenly bright- 
 ened. "Wondrous maiden, I have found 
 in the world the place worthy of theej 
 dwell in the heart of the poet."
 
 134 Be Blessed. 
 
 Valmiki repeated the second time, " I 
 love." 
 
 The will of the mighty Krishna, the 
 will of divinity impelled the maiden to 
 the heart of the poet. The god made, 
 also, the heart of Valmiki as clear as crys- 
 tal. Radiant as a summer day, quiet as a 
 wave of the Ganges, the maiden was enter- 
 ing into her appointed dwelling-place; but 
 suddenly, as she was looking into the 
 heart of Valmiki, her face paled, and as a 
 chilling wind a great fear enveloped her, 
 and Krishna wondered. 
 
 "Embodied flower/' questioned he, 
 " dost thou fear even the heart of the 
 poet?" 
 
 "Lord," answered the maiden, ''where 
 dost thou command me to dwell? Behold 
 in this one heart I see the snowy moun- 
 tain-tops, the watery depths full of won- 
 drous creatures, the plains with the storms
 
 Be Blessed. 135 
 
 and tempests, and the dark Ellora cave; 
 so I fear again, oh, Lord." 
 But good and wise Krishna said: 
 " Peace be unto thee, embodied flower; 
 if in Valmiki's heart lie the desolate 
 snows, be thon a warm breath of the 
 spring which will them melt; if there be 
 watery depths, be thou a pearl in those 
 depths; if there be the desert plains, plant 
 thou in them the flowers of happiness; if 
 there be the dark Ellora cave, be thon in 
 that darkness a sunny ray." 
 
 And Valmiki, who had now regained 
 his speech, added: "And be blessed."
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS.
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 Lux in Tencbris Lucet. 
 
 THERE come sometimes in the autumn, 
 especially in November, days so wet, cold 
 and overcast that life even to the robust is 
 dreary. Since Kamiouka fell ill and had 
 stopped working on his statue of "Mercy," 
 the bad weather annoyed him more than 
 his illness. Every morning, dragging 
 himself from his bed, he rubbed off the 
 moisture on his studio window and looked 
 up, hoping to see even a small bit of blue 
 sky, but every morning he was disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 Heavy, leaden mist hung over the earth; 
 there was no rain, yet even the cobble- 
 stones looked like wet sponges. Every- 
 thing was damp and clammy, soaked
 
 14:0 Light in Darkness. 
 
 through with moisture, and the water 
 slowly dripping from the eaves sounded 
 with a monotony of despair, as if measur- 
 ing the weary, slowly dragging hours of 
 gloom. 
 
 The window of his studio faced the yard 
 which merged into the garden. The grass 
 beyond the fence was of a sickly green color, 
 breathing death and decomposition. The 
 trees, with their few remaining yellow leaves 
 and branches black from moisture, seemed 
 ghost-like through the mist. Every even- 
 ing the migrating crows would roost upon 
 the trees and add to the desolation by their 
 cawing and the napping of their wings. 
 
 On such days the studio became as dis- 
 mal as a sepulchre. Marble and plaster 
 require bright weather, but in this leaden 
 light they appeared somber; images of 
 dark terra cotta, having lost distinctness 
 of outline, seem to change into grewsome 
 and hideous shapes.
 
 Light in Darkness. 141 
 
 Dust and disorder added to the general 
 melancholy; the floor was covered with a 
 thick layer of dirt, caused by the mixture 
 of crushed terra cotta with mud from the 
 streets. The walls were dark, ornamented 
 here and there with plaster models of 
 hands and feet. Not far from the win- 
 dow hung a mirror, and over it was the 
 skeleton head of a horse and a bunch of 
 makart everlasting flowers, totally black- 
 ened by dust. 
 
 In a corner stood a bed with an old 
 cover, and by its side a bureau with an 
 iron candlestick on it. For the sake of 
 economy Kamionka slept in his studio; 
 generally the bed was concealed by screens, 
 but now they were removed to allow the 
 sick man to look out of the window. The 
 larger window in the roof was so covered 
 with grime and dirt that the light that 
 filtered through it even in bright weather 
 was gray and melancholy.
 
 142 Light in Darkness. 
 
 Still good weather did not come. After 
 several days of gloom, the clouds lowered 
 and a heavy, dark mist settled over the 
 laud. Kamionka, who was lying on his 
 bed with his clothes on, feeling worse, got 
 up and removed his clothes and went to 
 bed. 
 
 Properly speaking, he was not suffering 
 so much from any particular disease as he 
 was depressed, discouraged, exhausted, 
 and desponding. He had no desire to 
 die, yet he felt he had hardly strength 
 enough to live. 
 
 The long hours of the murky day seemed 
 still longer because he was alone. His 
 wife had died twenty years ago; his rela- 
 tives dwelt in other parts of the country, 
 and he kept aloof from his colleagues; his 
 acquaintances gradually ceased all inter- 
 course with him on account of his ever- 
 increasing irritability of temper. In the 
 beginning his disposition amused people,
 
 Light in Darkness. 143 
 
 but later he became more and more 
 morose, so that even the slightest pleas- 
 antry provoked lasting umbrage, and his 
 nearest friends were compelled to break 
 all relations with him. 
 
 About this time he became devout in 
 his religious observances; but his intimates 
 questioned his sincerity, and evil-disposed 
 persons said that he spent his time in 
 churches so as to influence the priests to 
 give him orders for sculpturing. That 
 was not true. It may have been that his 
 devotion did not arise from a deep and 
 settled conviction, but it was not self- 
 seeking. 
 
 If there was any grounds for these sus- 
 picions against him, it was strengthened 
 by the fact that Kamionka became a 
 miser. For the sake of economy, he lived 
 for several years in his studio, denying 
 himself proper nourishment. His face 
 became transparent and yellow as if made
 
 144 Light in Darkness. 
 
 of wax; he concealed himself from others, 
 BO that he might not be called upon to 
 perform any small service. 
 
 Generally speaking, he was a man of 
 distorted character, bitter, and very un- 
 happy. Yet he was not a common 
 nature, for even his evil side possessed 
 artistic qualities. They were mistaken who 
 thought that, owing to his miserly habits, 
 he had accumulated a large fortune, for 
 in truth, Kamionka was a poor man, for 
 all that he earned he spent on mosaics, of 
 which he had a large collection in the 
 bottom of his bureau, and which from 
 time to time he looked over and counted 
 with the secrecy and avidity of a usurer 
 counting his treasures. This weakness 
 he carefully concealed from others, per- 
 haps owing to the fact that it thrived on 
 the soil of a great sorrow and a great 
 love. 
 
 About a year after the death of his wife
 
 Light in Darkness. 145 
 
 he once saw in the shop of an antiquarian 
 an old engraving representing Armida, 
 and in the face of Armida he traced a 
 likeness to that of his wife. He bought 
 the engraving, and afterward he became 
 an enthusiastic collector of engravings 
 representing not only Armida, but other 
 subjects also. 
 
 Those who have lost their dear ones must 
 interest themselves in something, otherwise 
 they could not exist. Concerning Kami- 
 onka, no one could guess that this strange, 
 selfish man, had loved his wife more than 
 his own life; perhaps if she had not died, 
 the current of his life would have flowed 
 peacefully, broadly, and humanly; as it 
 was, this love survived his happier days, 
 his youth and even his art. 
 
 This devotion to church at first grew 
 out of his love, but afterward became a 
 matter of habit to him, observing merely 
 the outward forms.
 
 146 Light in Darkness. 
 
 Kamionka was not one who possessed a 
 realizing faith. Yet, after the death of 
 his wife he began to pray for the repose 
 of her soul, as it seemed the only thing 
 he conld do for her, and thus his love 
 reached across the narrow rill of death. 
 
 Some natures, outwardly cold, often 
 possess the quality of a strong and endur- 
 ing love. After her death, his whole life 
 and all his thoughts entwined around her 
 memory and fed upon it as the parasite 
 plant thrives on the dead tree to which it 
 is attached. A memory thus fashioned 
 upon raw regrets and suffering can but 
 have a baneful influence upon the human 
 soul, and Kamionka, who completely suc- 
 cumbed to these influences, was rapidly 
 breaking up. 
 
 Had he not been an artist, he could not 
 have survived his loss so long, but his 
 calling served him in this wise, that after 
 her death he began to sculpture figures
 
 Light in Darkness. 147 
 
 for her monument. It is useless to tell 
 the living that the dead care little where 
 they lie. Kamionka desired that the last 
 resting place of his Sophia should be very 
 beautiful, and his work on her monu- 
 ment was a labor of love. This was the 
 reason that he did not become insane in 
 the first six months of his deep anguish, 
 and he gradually learned to live with his 
 despair. 
 
 The man's life was warped and un- 
 happy, but the art saved the artist. From 
 that time on, Kamionka existed only for 
 his art. Those who observe statuary and 
 pictures in the galleries, rarely think that 
 an artist can serve his art honestly or dis- 
 honestly. He did not possess great 
 genius, but had an ability somewhat above 
 the average, and perhaps on this account 
 his art did not fill his life absolutely nor 
 replace his loss, yet he respected it deeply 
 and always was sincere regarding it.
 
 14:8 Light in Darkness. 
 
 Through the long years of his calling he 
 never cheated or wronged it; not for 
 glory, not for money, not for praise or 
 for blame. According to his inspiration, 
 he created in his happier days, when he 
 lived like other men; he spoke of art with 
 gloomy eloquence, showing discrimination 
 and knowledge; and in later days, when 
 forsaken by his friends, alone in his 
 studio, he meditated upon it with honesty 
 and reverence. 
 
 Human relations must hold some 
 strange secret which cause friends to de- 
 sert the unhappy, who for the same reason 
 become overgrown with idiosyncrasies 
 just as a stone thrown out from the stream 
 becomes covered with moss, having ceased 
 to have friction with other stones. When 
 Kamionka became sick, no one called 
 upon him except his servant, who came 
 to make tea for him. At every call she
 
 Light in Darkness. 149 
 
 entreated him to get a doctor, but he, 
 fearing the expense, refused to do so. 
 
 He became very -weak at last, perhaps 
 because he took no nourishment, except 
 tea. He had no inclination to either eat, 
 work, or live. His thoughts were as life- 
 less as the faded leaves on the trees out- 
 side, and corresponded with autumnal 
 leaden darkness and desolation. 
 
 There are no sadder moments than 
 those in which a man realizes that what 
 he had to do he has done, that he has 
 lived his life, and nothing remains for him 
 in this world. For the last fifteen years, 
 Kamionka lived in constant fear that his 
 talents were fading. Now he was sure of 
 it, and in the bitterness of his heart he 
 felt his art escaping him, and besides he 
 was exhausted and weak in every bone. 
 He did not expect an early death, but he 
 despaired of ever regaining his health and
 
 150 Light in Darkness. 
 
 o 
 
 strength, and did not possess a solitary 
 ray of hope. 
 
 The only desire that he really had was 
 that the weather would clear up, and the 
 sun shine again in his studio. He thought 
 perhaps that would cheer him; he always 
 was especially sensitive to dark, dull, 
 damp weather and in such days his grief 
 and depression increased. 
 
 Every morning when the servant 
 brought him his tea, he asked her: 
 
 " Is there any indication of the weather 
 clearing?" 
 
 She replied: 
 
 " The fog is so thick that we cannot 
 see each other." 
 
 The sick man after hearing such an 
 answer would shut his eyes and remain 
 motionless for hours. 
 
 Outside all was still, except the monot- 
 onous dropping of water from the eaves. 
 
 At three o'clock in the afternoon it was
 
 Light in Darkness. 151 
 
 so dark, that Kamionka was compelled to 
 light a candle, which he did with great 
 difficulty, owing to his weakness. As he 
 reached for the matches he observed the 
 emaciated condition of his arms, and 
 their appearance wounded his artistic 
 sense. 
 
 The flickering of the candle light filled 
 his studio with weird shapes and shadows. 
 The light of the candle fell directly on 
 Kamionka's forehead, from which it was 
 reflected as if from a polished yellow sur- 
 face. The rest of the room was in a dark 
 shadow which every moment deepened. 
 When it became totally dark outside, the 
 statuary in the studio assumed an anima- 
 tion of outline, as if standing out in relief 
 from the blackness, and in the rising and 
 falling beams of the candle, the statues 
 seemed to be rising on tiptoe, as if to 
 peer in the emaciated face of the sculptor 
 to find out if their creator were yet alive.
 
 152 Light in Darkness. 
 
 Indeed, his face bore the fixedness of 
 death, though occasionally the thin blue 
 lips of the sick man moved slightly as if 
 praying, or perhaps cursing his. loneliness, 
 and the exasperating regularity of the 
 dripping eaves, which seemed to slowly 
 measure ofE the dreary hours of his ill- 
 ness. 
 
 That evening his servant appeared 
 slightly tipsy, which made her more 
 loquacious than usual. 
 
 She said to him: 
 
 " I have so much work to do that I can 
 only come twice a day to attend you, had 
 you not better call in a good Sister of 
 Mercy? it will cost you nothing and she 
 will nurse you better than I can/* 
 
 Although Kamionka was inwardly 
 pleased with this suggestion, so contra- 
 dictory was his disposition that he re- 
 jected it. 
 
 After the departure of the servant he
 
 Light in Darkness. 153 
 
 began to think of it. " Sister of Mercy. 
 Ay! she does not cost anything, and be- 
 sides what a help and comfort!" Like all 
 sick people Kamionka conjured up a 
 multitude of imaginary ills, and combated 
 a thousand of petty miseries, all of which 
 added to his annoyance and impatience. 
 For hours he would lie with his head in a 
 most uncomfortable position before he 
 would make any attempt to change his 
 pillow. Often when he was cold at night 
 he longed for a cup of tea, but if it was 
 difficult for him to light a candle how 
 much more so would it be for him to boil 
 water. A Sister of Mercy would do all 
 this for him with her usual kind thought- 
 fulness; such help would rob his sickness 
 of half its terrors; he at last arrived at the 
 conclusion that illness under such con- 
 ditions would be -desirable and fortunate, 
 and he wondered iu his heart if this poor 
 happiness were accessible to him.
 
 154 Light in Darkness. 
 
 It seemed to him that if a good Sister 
 would only bring to his studio her peace- 
 ful serenity and quiet cheer then perhaps 
 the weather might clear up and the eternal 
 drip-dripping of the eaves would cease to 
 persecute him. 
 
 He regretted at last that he had riot ac- 
 cepted the advice of the servant. The 
 long and dreary night was approaching. 
 She would not appear until the following 
 morning. He felt that this night would 
 be worse than others. 
 
 Then he thought what a great sufferer 
 he was, and compared his present with the 
 happy years of long ago, which stood out 
 vividly In his mind. As previously he 
 had connected the good Sister in his 
 weakened mind with fair, bright weather, 
 the memory of those bygone happy days 
 conjured up scenes of sunshine, light and 
 
 joy- 
 He began then to meditate upon his
 
 Light in Darkness. 155 
 
 dead wife, and talked to her as if she were 
 present, as he always used to do when he 
 felt badly. In the end he got tired, felt 
 weaker, and dozed off. 
 
 The candle standing on the bureau 
 burned low in the socket, its flame became 
 blue, then flickered strongly, and at last 
 went out. The studio was filled with 
 darkness. 
 
 Meanwhile the eaves kept dripping; 
 drop by drop the water fell with dismal 
 regularity as if distilling all the sin, 
 sorrow and sadness that pervades nature. 
 
 Kamionka had a long and refreshing 
 sleep; he awoke suddenly with a feeling 
 that something extraordinary had hap- 
 pened in the studio. The morning had 
 dawned brightly. The marble and plaster 
 looked white. The wide Venetian window 
 opposite his bed transmitted the glorious 
 light.
 
 156 Light in Darkness. 
 
 Bathed in this brightness Kamionka 
 saw a figure sitting by his bedside. 
 
 He opened wide his eyes and gazed 
 intently; it was a Sister of Mercy. Sit- 
 ting there motionless, her face turned 
 slightly toward the window, her head 
 bent, her hands were folded in her lap and 
 she seemed to pray. The patient could 
 not discern her face, but instead he saw 
 clearly her white hood and the dark out- 
 line of the delicate arms. 
 
 His heart commenced to beat quickly 
 and rapidly, as through his brain ran these 
 questions: 
 
 " When did the servant bring this Sister, 
 and how did she enter?" 
 
 Again he thought that it was an optical 
 illusion, owing to his weakness, and he 
 shut his eyes. 
 
 A moment later he opened them again, 
 
 The Sister was sitting in the same place,
 
 Light in Darkness. 157 
 
 motionless as before, as if absorbed in 
 prayer. 
 
 A strange feeling, composed of fear and 
 great joy, arose in him. Some unknown 
 force attracted his gaze to this figure. It 
 seemed to him as if he had seen it some- 
 where before, but where and when he 
 could not recall. Then arose in him an 
 irresistible desire to behold the face, but 
 the white hood concealed it. Kamionka, 
 without knowing why, did not dare to 
 speak, to move, or breathe. The feeling 
 of fear and joy grew stronger in him, and 
 he mentally queried, "What is it?" 
 
 Meanwhile the dawn had merged into a 
 radiant morning. How beautiful all nature 
 must look outside! Suddenly the studio 
 was filled with a glorious supernatural 
 light. The waves of golden brightness as 
 of some mighty tide inundated the room 
 so powerfully that the marble statuary 
 was drowned and melted in its glow, and
 
 158 Light in Darkness. 
 
 the walls receded and disappeared, and 
 Kamionka found himself in a luminous, 
 limitless space. 
 
 Then he saw the white hood of the nun 
 lose its shape, vibrate on its edges, fade 
 and float away as a bright mist submerged 
 with sunlight. 
 
 The Sister slowly turned her face toward 
 him, and suddenly this lonely, despairing 
 sufferer saw in a brilliant aureole the well- 
 known and beloved face of his wife. 
 
 He sprang from his bed, and a cry 
 escaped him in which were embodied all 
 those years of sorrow, suffering and de- 
 spair. 
 
 "Sophia! Sophia!" He pressed her 
 closely to his breast and she put her arms 
 around his neck. 
 
 The light became more glorious still. 
 
 " You have not forgotten me," she said 
 at last. " Having gained by my prayers; 
 an easy death for you, I have, come s "'
 
 Light in Darkness. 159 
 
 Kamionka held her tightly in his em- 
 brace, as if fearing this blessed vision, to- 
 gether with this wondrous light, would 
 escape him. 
 
 " I am ready to die," he answers, " if 
 you only remain with me." 
 
 She smiled with an angelic smile; re- 
 moving one hand from his neck and point- 
 ing downward, she said: 
 
 "You have died already; look yonder!" 
 
 Kamionka followed the direction of her 
 finger. There, under his feet, through 
 the window in the roof, he saw the inside 
 of his gloomy, lonesome studio, and on his 
 bed lay his own body, with mouth wide 
 open and staring eyes. 
 
 He looked on this emaciated body as 
 something foreign to him, and shortly all 
 this receded from his view. The bright- 
 ness surrounding them, as if impelled by 
 a wind from an unseen world, lifted them 
 together into infinitude.
 
 ORSO.
 
 ORSO. 
 
 THE last days of autumn in Anaheim, a 
 town situated in Southern California, are 
 days of joy and celebration. The grape 
 gathering is finished and the town is 
 crowded with the vineyard hands. There 
 is nothing more picturesque than the 
 sight of these people, composed partly of 
 a sprinkling of Mexicans, but mainly of 
 Cahuilla Indians, who come from the 
 wild mountains of San Bernardino to earn 
 some money by gathering grapes. They 
 scatter through the streets and market 
 places, called lolas, where they sleep in 
 tents or under the roof of the sky, which 
 is always clear at this time of the year. 
 This beautiful city, surrounded with its 
 growths of eucalyptus, olive, castor, and
 
 164: Orso. 
 
 pepper trees, is filled with the noisy 
 conf nsion of a fair, which strangely con- 
 trasts with the deep and solemn silence 
 of the plains, covered with cacti, just be- 
 yond the vineyards. In the evening, when 
 the sun hides his radiant head in the 
 depths of the ocean, and upon the rosy 
 sky are seen in its light the equally rosy- 
 tinted wings of the wild geese, ducks, 
 pelicans and cranes, descending by the 
 thousands from the mountains to the 
 ocean, then in the town the lights are lit 
 and the evening amusements begin. The 
 negro minstrels play on bones, and by the 
 campfires can be heard the picking of 
 the banjo; the Mexicans dance on an out- 
 spread poncha their favorite bolero; In- 
 dians join in the dance, holding in their 
 teeth long white sticks of kiotte, or beat- 
 ing time with their hands, and exclaiming, 
 "E viva;" the fires, fed with redwood, 
 crackle as they blaze, sending up clouds
 
 Orso. 165 
 
 of bright sparks, and by its reflection 
 can be seen the dancing figures, and 
 around them the local settlers with their 
 comely wives and sisters watching the 
 scene. 
 
 The day on which the juice from the 
 last bunch of grapes is trampled out by 
 the feet of the Indians is generally cele- 
 brated by the advent of Hirsch's Circus, 
 from Los Angeles. The proprietor of the 
 circus is a German, and besides owns a 
 menagerie composed of monkeys, jaguars, 
 pumas, African lions, one elephant, and 
 several parrots, childish with age " TJie 
 greatest attraction of the world" The 
 Cahuilla will give his last peso, if he has 
 not spent it on drink, to see not only wild 
 animals for these abound in the San 
 Bernardino Mountains but to see the 
 circus girls, athletes, clowns, and all its 
 wonders, which seem to him as " a great 
 medicine " that is, magical feats, impossi-
 
 166 Orso. 
 
 ble of accomplishment except by the aid 
 of supernatural powers. 
 
 Mr. Hirsch, the proprietor of the circus, 
 would be very angry with any one who 
 would dare to say that his circus only at- 
 tracted Mexicans, Indians, and Chinese. 
 Certainly not; the arrival of the circus 
 brings hither not only the people of the 
 town and vicinity, but even those of the 
 neighboring towns of Westminster, Or- 
 ange, and Los Nietos. Orange Street is 
 crowded with buggies and wagons of divers 
 shapes, so that it is difficult to get through. 
 The whole world of settlers come as one 
 man. Young, bright girls, with their 
 hair prettily banged over their eyes, sitting 
 on the front seats, drive some of these 
 vehicles, and gracefully upset passing pe- 
 destrians, chatter and show their white 
 teeth; the Spanish senoritas from Los 
 Nietos cover you with their warm, ardent 
 glances from under their lace mantillas;
 
 Orso. 167 
 
 the married women from the country, 
 dressed in their latest and best fashions, 
 lean with pride on the arms of the snn- 
 burned farmers, who are dressed in old 
 hats, jean pants, and flannel shirts, fas- 
 tened with hook and eye, and without 
 neckties. 
 
 All these people meet and greet each 
 other, gossip, and the women inspect with 
 critical eye the dresses of their neighbors, 
 to see if they are " very fashionable." 
 
 Among the buggies are some covered 
 with flowers, which look like huge bou- 
 quets; the young men, mounted on mus- 
 tangs, bend from their high Mexican 
 saddles and peer under the hats of the 
 young girls; the half-wild horses, fright- 
 ened by the noise and confusion, look here 
 and there with their bloodshot eyes, curvet, 
 rear, and try to unseat their riders, but 
 the cool riders seem to pay no attention to 
 them.
 
 168 Orso. 
 
 They all speak of " the greatest attrac- 
 tion/' which was about to excel every- 
 thing that had been seen before. Truly 
 the flaming posters announced genuine 
 wonders. The proprietor, Hirsch, that 
 renowned ' ' artist of the whip," will in the 
 arena give a contest with a fierce, untamed 
 African lion. The lion, according to the 
 programme, springs upon the proprietor, 
 whose only defense is his whip. This 
 simple weapon in his hands (according to 
 the programme) will change itself into a 
 fiery sword and shield. The end of this 
 whip will sting as a rattlesnake, flash as 
 lightning, shoot as a thunderbolt, and 
 keep at a proper distance the enraged 
 monster, who vainly roars and tries to 
 jump on the artist. This is not the end 
 yet: sixteen-year-old Orso, an "American 
 Hercules," born of a white father and In- 
 dian mother, will carry around six people, 
 three on each shoulder; besides this, the
 
 Orso. 169 
 
 management offers one hundred dollars 
 to any man, regardless of color, who 
 can throw Orso in a wrestling match. A 
 rumor arose in Anaheim that from the 
 mountains of San Bernardino comes for 
 this purpose the "Grizzly Killer," a 
 hunter who was celebrated for his bravery 
 and strength, and who, since California 
 was settled, was the first man who attacked 
 these great bears single-handed and armed 
 only with a knife. It is the probable vic- 
 tory of the " Grizzly Killer" over the six- 
 teen-year-old athlete of the circus that 
 highly excites the minds of the males of 
 Anaheim, because if Orso, who until now, 
 from the Atlantic to the Pacific, had over- 
 thrown the strongest Americans, will be 
 defeated, great glory will cover all Cali- 
 fornia. The feminine minds are not 
 less excited by the following number of 
 the programme: Orso will carry, on a pole 
 thirty feet high, a small fairy, the "Won-
 
 1TO Orso. 
 
 der of the World," of which the poster 
 says that she is the most beautiful girl 
 that ever lived on this earth since the be- 
 ginning of the " Christian Era." Though 
 she is only thirteen years of age, the man- 
 agement also offers one hundred dollars 
 to every maiden, " without regard to 
 color of skin," who will dare to compete 
 and wrest the palm of beauty from this 
 "Aerial Angel." The maidens of Ana- 
 heim, both great and small, make grimaces 
 on reading this, and say that it would 
 not be ladylike to enter such a contest. 
 Nevertheless they gladly surrender the 
 comfort of their rocking chairs rather than 
 miss the show and the chance of seeing 
 their childish rival, in whose beauty, in 
 comparison with the sisters Bimpa, for in- 
 stance, none of them believed. The two 
 sisters Bimpa, the elder Refugio, and the 
 younger Mercedes, sitting gracefully in a 
 handsome buggy, are now reading the
 
 Oreo. 1Y1 
 
 posters; their faces show no trace of emo- 
 tion, though they feel that the eyes of 
 Anaheim are on them, as if supplicating 
 them to save the honor of the whole 
 county, and with a patriotic pride, founded 
 upon the conviction that there is none 
 more beautiful than these two California 
 flowers in all the mountains and canons 
 of the whole world. Oh, beautiful indeed 
 are the sisters Ref ugio and Mercedes ! 
 Not in vain does the pure Castilian blood 
 flow in their veins, to which their mother 
 constantly refers, showing her disdain 
 for all colored races, as well as for the 
 Americans. 
 
 The figures of the sisters are slender, 
 subtle, and full of mysterious grace, quiet, 
 and so luxurious that they greatly im- 
 press all young men who come near 
 them. From Donnas Eefugio and Mer- 
 cedes exhales a charm as the fragrance 
 from the magnolia and the lily. Their
 
 172 Orso. 
 
 faces are delicate, complexions transparent 
 with a slight rosy tint, as if illumed with 
 the dawn; the eyes dark and dreamy, 
 sweet, innocent, and tender in their 
 glances. "Wrapped in muslin rebosos, they 
 sit in their buggy adorned with flowers, 
 pure and innocent, unconscious of their 
 own beauty. Anaheim looked upon them, 
 devoured them with its eyes, was proud of 
 them, and loved them. Who then is this 
 "Jenny," that can win victory over these? 
 " Truly," the Saturday Review wrote, 
 " when little Jenny had climbed to the top 
 of the mast, resting on the powerful shoul- 
 ders of Orso, and from this eminence, 
 suspended above the earth, in danger of 
 death, she outstretched her arms and 
 poised like a butterfly, the circus became 
 silent and all eyes and hearts followed with 
 trembling the movements of this wonder- 
 ful child. That he who saw her on the 
 mast or on a horse/' concluded the Satur*
 
 Orso. 173 
 
 day Review, "will never forget her, be- 
 cause the greatest painter in the world, 
 even Mr. Harvey, of San Francisco, who 
 decorated the Palace Hotel, could paint 
 nothing equal to it." 
 
 The youths of Anaheim who were en- 
 amored by the Misses Bimpa were skep- 
 tical of this, and affirmed that it was a 
 " humbug," but this question will be set- 
 tled in the evening. Meanwhile, the 
 commotion around the circus is increas- 
 ing each moment. From among the 
 long, low wooden buildings surrounding 
 the canvas circus there comes the roar of 
 the lions and elephant; the parrots, fas- 
 tened to rings hanging to the huts, fill the 
 air with their cries and whistles; the mon- 
 keys swing suspended by their tails or 
 mock the public, who are kept at a dis- 
 tance by a rope fence. At last, from the 
 main inclosure the procession emerges for 
 the purpose of whetting and astonishing
 
 174 Orso. 
 
 the curiosity of the public to a greater 
 extent. The procession is headed by a 
 gaudy band-wagon, drawn by six prancing 
 horses with fine harness, and feathers on 
 their heads. The riders on the saddles 
 are in the costume of French postilions. 
 On the other wagons come cages of lions, 
 and in every cage is seated a lady with an 
 olive branch in her hand. Then follows 
 an elephant, covered with a carpet, and a 
 tower on its back, which contains several 
 men arrayed as East Indian hunters. The 
 band is playing, the drums are beating, the 
 lions are roaring, the whips are cracking; 
 in a word, this cavalcade moves forward 
 with great noise and uproar. But this is 
 not all : behind the elephant there follows 
 a machine on wheels, with a locomotive 
 pipe, somewhat resembling an organ, 
 which, blown by steam, emits the most 
 discordant yells and whistles intended for 
 the national "Yankee Doodle." The
 
 Orso. 175 
 
 Americans cry "Hurrah I" the Germans, 
 "Hoch!" the Mexicans, "E viva!" and 
 the Cahuillas howl for joy. 
 
 The crowds follow the procession, the 
 place around the circus becomes deserted, 
 the parrots cease their chatter, and the 
 monkeys their gymnastics. But "the 
 greatest attractions " do not take part in 
 the procession. The "incomparable 
 artist of the whip/' the manager, the 
 "unconquerable Orso," and the "Aerial 
 Angel, Jenny," are all absent. All this is 
 preserved for the evening so as to attract 
 the crowds. 
 
 The manager is somewhere in one of 
 the wooden buildings, or looks into the 
 ticket seller's van, where he pretends to 
 be angry. Orso and Jenny are in the ring 
 practicing some of their feats. Under its 
 canvas roof reigns dust and silence. In 
 the distance, where the seats are arranged, 
 it is totally dark; the greatest part of the
 
 1Y6 Orso. 
 
 light falls through the roof on the ring, 
 with its sand and sawdust covering. With 
 the help of the gray light which filters 
 through the canvas can be seen a horse 
 standing near the parapet. The big horse 
 feels very lonely, whisks the flies with his 
 tail, and often sways his head. Gradually 
 the eye, becoming accustomed to the dim 
 light, discerns other objects for instance: 
 the mast upon which Orso carries Jenny, 
 the hoops pasted with paper for her to 
 jump through. All these lie on the 
 ground without order, and the half-lighted 
 arena and nearly dark benches give an 
 impression of a deserted building with 
 battened windows. The terrace of seats, 
 only here and there broken with a stray 
 glimmer of light, look like ruins. The 
 horse, standing with drooping head, does 
 not enliven the picture. 
 
 Where are Orso and Jenny? One of the 
 rays of light that stream through an
 
 Orso. 177 
 
 aperture of the canvas, in which floats 
 the golden dust, falls on a row of distant 
 seats. This body of light, undulating 
 with the swaying canvas, at last falls upon 
 a gronp composed of Orso and Jenny. 
 
 Orso sits on top of the bench, and near 
 to him is Jenny. Her beautiful childish 
 face leans against the arm of the athlete 
 and her hand rests on his neck. The 
 eyes of the girl are lifted upward, as if 
 listening intently to the words of her com- 
 panion, who bends over her, moving his 
 head at times, apparently explaining some- 
 thing. 
 
 Leaning as they are against each other, 
 you might take them for a pair of lovers, 
 but for the fact that the girl's uplifted 
 eyes express strong attention and intense 
 thought, rather than any romantic feel- 
 ing, and that her legs, which are cov- 
 ered with pink fleshings, and her feet in 
 slippers, sway to and fro with a childish
 
 178 Orso. 
 
 abandon. Her figure has just begun to 
 blossom into maidenhood. In everything 
 Jenny is still a child, but so charming and 
 beautiful that, without reflecting upon 
 the ability of Mr. Harvey, who decorated 
 the Palace Hotel, of San Francisco, it 
 would be difficult even for him to imagine 
 anything to equal her. Her delicate face 
 is simply angelic; her large, sad blue eyes 
 have a deep, sweet and confiding expres- 
 sion; her dark eyebrows are penciled with 
 unequaled purity on her forehead, white 
 and reposeful as if in deep thought, and the 
 bright, silky hair, somewhat tossed, throws 
 a shadow on it, of which, not only Master 
 Harvey, but a certain other painter, named 
 Eembrandt, would not have been ashamed. 
 The girl at once reminds you of Cinder- 
 ella and Gretchen, and the leaning posture 
 which she now maintains suggests timidity 
 and the need of protection. 
 
 Her posture, which strongly reminds
 
 Orso. 179 
 
 you of those of Greuz, contrasts strangely 
 with her circus attire, composed of a short, 
 white muslin skirt, embroidered with 
 small silver stars, and pink tights. Sit- 
 ting in a golden beam of light with the 
 dark, deep background, she looks like 
 some sunny and transparent vision, and 
 her slender form contrasts with the square 
 and sturdy figure of the youth. 
 
 Orso, who is dressed in pink tights, 
 appears from afar as if he were naked, 
 and the same ray of light distinctly re- 
 veals his immense shoulders, rounded 
 chest, small waist, and legs too short in 
 proportion to the trunk. 
 
 His powerful form seems as if it were 
 hewn out with an ax. He has all the fea- 
 tures of a circus athlete, but so magnified 
 that they make him noticeable; besides, 
 his face is not handsome. Sometimes, 
 when he raises his head, yon can see his 
 face, the lines of which are regular, per-
 
 180 Orso. 
 
 haps too regular, and somewhat rigid, as 
 if carved from marble. The low fore- 
 head, with the hair falling on it, like the 
 mane of a horse, straight and black, in- 
 herited from his squaw mother, gives to 
 his face a gloomy and threatening expres- 
 sion. He has a similarity to both the 
 bull and the bear, and he personifies a 
 terrible and somewhat evil force. He is 
 not of a good disposition. 
 
 When Jenny passes by the horses, those 
 gentle creatures turn their heads and look 
 at her with intelligent eyes, and neigh and 
 whinny, as if wishing to say: " How do 
 yon do, darling?" while at the sight of 
 Orso they shudder with fear. He is a 
 reticent and gloomy youth. Mr. Hirsch's 
 negroes, who are his hostlers, clowns, min- 
 strels, and rope-walkers, do not like Orso 
 and tease him as much as they dare, and 
 because he is half-Indian they think noth- 
 ing of him, and plague and mock him.
 
 Orso. 181 
 
 Truly, the manager, who offers the hun- 
 dred dollars to any one who can defeat 
 him, does not risk much; he dislikes and 
 fears him, as the tamer of the wild ani- 
 mals fears a lion, and whips him on the 
 slightest provocation. 
 
 Mr. Hirsch feels that, if he does not 
 keep the youth in subjection by constantly 
 beating him, he will be beaten himself, 
 and he follows the principle of the Creole 
 woman, who considered beating a punish- 
 ment, and no beating a reward. 
 
 Such was Orso. Eecently he began to 
 be less sullen, because little Jenny had a 
 good influence over him. It happened 
 about a year ago that when Orso, who 
 was then the attendant of the wild ani- 
 mals, was cleaning the cage of the puma, 
 the beast put its paws through the bars of 
 the cage and wounded his head severely. 
 Then he entered the cage, and after a ter- 
 rible fight between them, he alone re-
 
 182 Orso. 
 
 mained alive. But he was so badly hurt 
 that he fainted from loss of blood. He was 
 ill a long time, which was greatly aggra- 
 vated by a severe whipping which the 
 manager gave him for breaking the spine 
 of the puma. 
 
 When he was ill Jenny took great care 
 of him, and dressed his wounds, and when 
 she had leisure, read the Bible to him. 
 That is a " good book " which speaks of 
 love, of forgiveness, of mercy in a word, 
 of things that are never mentioned in Mr. 
 Hirsch's circus. Orso, listening to this 
 book, pondered long in his Indian head 
 and at last came to the conclusion that if 
 it would be as good in the circus as in this 
 book, perhaps he would not be so bad. He 
 thought also that then he would not be 
 beaten so often, and some one would be 
 found who would love him. But who? 
 Not negroes and not Mr. Hirsch; little 
 Jenny, whose voice sounded as sweetly in
 
 Orso. 183 
 
 his ears as the voice of the mavis, might 
 be the one. 
 
 One evening, under the influence of 
 this thought, he began to weep and kiss 
 the small hands of Jenny, and from this 
 time on he loved her very much. During 
 the performance in the evening, when 
 Jenny was riding a horse, he was always in 
 the ring and carefully watching over her 
 to prevent any accident. When he held 
 the paper hoops for her to jump through 
 he smiled on her; when to the sound of 
 the music be balanced her on the top of 
 the high mast, and the audience was 
 hushed with fright, he felt uneasy him- 
 self. He knew very well if she should 
 fall that no one from the " good book " 
 would be left in the circus'; he never re- 
 moved his eyes from her, and the evident 
 caution and anxiety expressed in his 
 movements added to the terror of the 
 people. Then, when recalled into the
 
 184 Orso. 
 
 ring by the storm of applause, they would 
 run in together, he would push her for- 
 ward, as if deserving of all the praise, and 
 murmur from joy. This reticent youth 
 spoke only to Jenny, and to her alone he 
 opened his mind. He hated the circus 
 and Mr. Hirsch, who was entirely different 
 from the people in the "good book." 
 Some thing always attracted him to the edge 
 of the horizon, to the woods and plains. 
 When the circus troupe in their constant 
 wanderings chanced to pass through wild, 
 lonely spots, he heard voices awakening 
 the instincts of a captive wolf, who sees 
 the woods and plains for the first time. 
 This propensity he inherited not only 
 from his mother, but also from his father, 
 who had been a frontiersman. He Chared 
 all his hopes with Jenny, and often nar-c 
 rated to her how fully and untrammeled 
 live the people of the plains. Most of this 
 he guessed or gleaned from the hunters of
 
 Orso. 185 
 
 the prairies, who came to the circus with 
 wild animals which they had captured for 
 the menagerie, or to try their prowess for 
 the hundred-dollar prize. 
 
 Little Jenny listened to these Indian 
 visions, opening widely her blue eyes and 
 falling into deep reveries. For Orso 
 never spoke of going alone to the desert; 
 she was always with him, and it was very 
 good for them there. Every day they 
 saw something new; they possessed all they 
 needed, and it seemed right to make all 
 their plans carefully. 
 
 So now they sit in this beam of light, 
 talking to each other, instead of practicing 
 and attempting new feats. The horse 
 stands in the ring and feels lonely. Jenny 
 leans on Orso's arm, thoughtfully con- 
 templating and looking with wistful, won- 
 dering eyes into the dim space, swinging 
 her feet like a child and musing how it
 
 186 Orso. 
 
 will be on the plains, and asking questions 
 from Orso. 
 
 " How do they live there?" says she, 
 raising her eyes to the face of her friend. 
 
 " There is plenty of oaks. They take 
 an ax and build a house." 
 
 " Well," says Jenny, " but until the 
 house is built?" 
 
 "It is always warm there. The 
 ' Grizzly Killer' says it is very warm." 
 
 Jenny begins to swing her feet more 
 lively, as if the warmth there has settled 
 the question in her mind; but shortly she 
 remembers that she has in the circus a 
 dog and a cat, and that she would like to 
 take them with her. * She calls her dog 
 Mister Dog and her cat Mister Cat. 
 
 "And will Mr. Dog and Mr. Cat go 
 with us?" 
 
 " They will," answers Orso, looking 
 pleased.
 
 Orso. 187 
 
 " Will we take with ns the ( good 
 book T 
 
 " "We will/' says Orso, still more pleased. 
 
 "Well," says the girl in her innocence, 
 "Mr. Cat will catch birds for us; Mr. 
 Dog will drive away bad people with his 
 bark; yon will be my husband and I will 
 be your wife, and they will be our 
 children." 
 
 Orso feels so happy that he cannot 
 speak, and Jenny continues: 
 
 " There, there will be no Mr. Hirsch, 
 no circus, we will not work, and basta! 
 But no!" she adds a moment later, " the 
 ' good book ' says that we should work, and 
 I sometimes will jump through one 
 through the two hoops, the three, the four 
 hoops." 
 
 Jenny evidently does not imagine work 
 under any other form than jumping 
 through hoops. 
 
 Shortly she says again:
 
 188 Orso. 
 
 "Orso, will I indeed be always with 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes, Jen, for I love you very much." 
 
 His face brightens as he says so, and 
 becomes almost beautiful. 
 
 And yet he does not know himself how 
 dear to him has become this small bright 
 head. 
 
 He has nothing else in this world but 
 her, and he watches her as the faithful 
 dog guards his mistress. By her fragile 
 side he looks like Hercules, but he is 
 unconscious of this. 
 
 " Jen," says he after a moment, "listen 
 to what I tell you." 
 
 Jenny, who shortly before had got up 
 to look at the horse, now turns and, 
 kneeling down before Orso, puts her two 
 elbows on his knees, crosses her arms and, 
 resting her chin on her wrists, uplifts 
 her face and is all attention. 
 
 At this moment, to the consternation of
 
 Orso. 189 
 
 the children, the "artist of the whip" 
 enters the ring in a very bad humor, be- 
 cause his trial with a lion had entirely 
 failed. 
 
 This lion, who was bald from old age, 
 desired only to be let alone, had no incli- 
 nation to attack the " artist," and hid 
 himself from the lash of the whip in a far 
 corner of the cage. The manager thought 
 with despair that if this loyal disposition re- 
 mained with the lion until the evening the 
 contest with the whip would be a failure; 
 for to fight a lion who slinks away needs 
 no more art than to eat a lobster from his 
 tail. The bad temper of the proprietor 
 became still worse when he learned from 
 the ticket seller that he was disposing of 
 no seats in the "gods;" that the Cahuillas 
 evidently had spent all their money that 
 they had earned in the vineyards for drinks, 
 and that they came to his window and 
 offered their blankets, marked " IT. S.,"
 
 190 Orso. 
 
 or their wives, especially the old ones, in 
 exchange for tickets of admission. The 
 lack of money among the Cahuillas was no 
 small loss for the " artist of the whip;" 
 for he counted on a " crowded house/' and 
 if the seats in the "gods" were not sold no 
 "crowded house " was obtainable; there- 
 fore the manager wished at this moment 
 that all the Indians had but one back, and 
 that he might give an exhibition of his 
 skill with the whip on that one back, in the 
 presence of all Anaheim. Thus he felt as 
 he entered the ring, and seeing the horse 
 standing idle under the parapet, he felt 
 like jumping with anger. Where are Orso 
 and Jenny? Shading his eyes with his 
 hand he looked all around the circus, and 
 observed in a bright beam, Orso, and Jenny 
 kneeling before him with her elbows rest- 
 ing on his knees. At this sight he let 
 the lash of his whip trail on the grouncU 
 " Orso!"
 
 Orso. 191 
 
 If lightning had struck in the midst of 
 the children they could not have been 
 more startled. Orso jumped to his feet and. 
 descended in the passageway between the 
 benches with the hasty movement of an 
 animal who comes to his master at his 
 call; behind him followed Jenny with eyes 
 wide open from fright, and clutching the 
 benches as she passed them. 
 
 Orso, on entering the ring, stopped by 
 the parapet, gloomy and silent, the gray 
 light from above bringing into relief his 
 Herculean trunk upon its short legs. 
 
 " Nearer/' cried out the manager in a 
 hoarse voice; meanwhile the lash of his 
 long whip moved upon the sand with a 
 threatening motion, like the tail of a 
 tiger watching his approaching prey. 
 
 Orso advanced several steps, and for a 
 few minutes they looked into each others 
 eyes. The manager's face resembled that 
 of the tamer who enters the cage, intend-
 
 192 Orso. 
 
 ing to subdue a dangerous animal, and at 
 the same time watches it. 
 
 His rage overcame his caution. His 
 legs, incased in elk riding breeches and 
 high boots, pranced under him with anger. 
 Perhaps it was not the idleness alone of 
 the children which increased his rage. 
 Jenny, from above, looked at both of them 
 like a frightened hare watching two 
 lynxes. 
 
 "Hoodlum! dog catcher, thou cur!" 
 hissed the manager. 
 
 The whip with the velocity of light- 
 ning whistled through the air in a circle, 
 hissed and struck. Orso winced and 
 howled a little, and stepped toward the 
 manager, but the second stroke stopped 
 him at once, then the third, fourth 
 tenth. The contest had begun, although 
 there was no audience. The uplifted 
 hand of the " great artist " scarcely moved, 
 but his wrist revolved^ as if a part of some
 
 Orso. 193 
 
 machinery, and, with each revolution, the 
 sharp point of the lash stung the skin of 
 Orso. It seemed as if the whip, or rather 
 its poisonous fang, filled the whole space 
 between the athlete and the manager, who 
 in his increasing excitement reached the 
 genuine enthusiasm of the artist. The 
 " master " simply improvised. The crack- 
 ing end flashing in the air twice had 
 written down its bloody trace on the bare 
 neck of the athlete. Orso was silent in 
 this dance. At every cut he stepped one 
 step forward and the manager one step 
 backward. In this way they circled the 
 arena, and at last the manager backed out 
 of the ring as a conqueror from the cage, 
 and disappeared through the entrance to 
 the stables, still as the conqueror. As he 
 left his eye fell on Jenny. 
 
 " Get on your horse/' he cried; " I will 
 settle with you later/' 
 
 His voice had scarcely ceased before her
 
 194: Orso. 
 
 white skirt flashed in the air, and in a 
 moment she was on the back of the horse. 
 The manager had disappeared, and the 
 jorse began to gallop around the ring, oc- 
 casionally striking the side with its hoofs. 
 
 "Hep! Hep!" agitatedly said Jenny to 
 he horse with her childish voice: "Hep! 
 hep I" but this "hep, hep," was at the 
 same time a sob. The horse increased his 
 speed, clattering with his hoofs as he 
 leaned more and more to the center. The 
 girl, standing on the pad with her feet 
 close together, seemed scarcely to touch it 
 with the ends of her toes; her bare rosy 
 arms rose and fell as she maintained her 
 balance; her hair and light muslin dress 
 floated behind her sapple figure, which 
 looked like a bird circling m the air. 
 
 "Hep! hep!" she kept exclaiming. 
 Meanwhile her eyes were filled with tears, 
 and to see she had to raise her head; the 
 movement of the horse made her dizzy;
 
 Orso. 195 
 
 the terrace of seats and the ring seemed to 
 revolve around her; she wavered once, 
 twice, and then fell down into the arms of 
 Orso. 
 
 " Oh! Orso, poor Orso!" cried the child. 
 
 "What's the matter, Jen? why do you 
 cry? I don't feel the pain, I don't feel 
 it." 
 
 Jenny threw both her arms around his 
 neck and began to kiss his cheeks. Her 
 whole body trembled, and she sobbed 
 convulsively. 
 
 " Orso, oh, Orso," she sobbed, for she 
 could not speak, and her arms clung closer 
 to his neck. She could not have cried more 
 if she had been beaten herself. So, in the 
 end, he began to pet and console her. 
 Forgetting his own pain he took her in his 
 arms and pressed her to his heart, and his 
 nerves being excited by the beating, he 
 now felt for the first time that he loved 
 her more than the dog loved his mistress.
 
 196 Orso. 
 
 He breathed heavily, and his lips panted 
 out the words: 
 
 " I feel no pain. When you are with 
 me, I am happy, Jenny, Jenny!" 
 
 When this was transpiring the manager 
 was walking in the stables, foaming with 
 rage. His heart was filled with jealousy. 
 He saw the girl on her knees before Orso; 
 recently this beautiful child had awakened 
 the lower instincts in him, but as yet un- 
 developed, and now he fancied that she 
 and Orso loved each other, and he felt re- 
 vengeful, and had a wild desire to punish 
 her to whip her soundly. This desire 
 he could not resist. Shortly he called to 
 her. 
 
 She at once left Orso, and in a moment 
 had disappeared in the dark entrance to 
 the stables. Orso stood stupefied, and 
 instead of following her he walked with 
 unsteady steps to a bench, and, seating 
 himself, began to breathe heavily.
 
 Orso. 197 
 
 When the girl entered the stables she 
 could see nothing, as it was much darker 
 there than in the ring. Yet, fearing that 
 she would be suspected of having delayed 
 her coming, she cried out in a faint voice: 
 
 " I am here, master, I am here." 
 
 At the same moment the hand of the 
 manager caught hers, and he hoarsely 
 said: 
 
 "Comer 
 
 If he had shown anger or badly scolded 
 her she would have felt less frightened 
 than at this silence with which he led her 
 to the circus wardrobe. She hung back, 
 resisting him, and repeating quickly: 
 
 "Oh, dear Mr. Hirsch, forgive me! for- 
 give me!" 
 
 But forcibly he dragged her to the long 
 room where they stored their costumes, 
 and turned the key in the door. 
 
 Jenny fell down on her knees. "With 
 uplifted eyes and folded hands, trembling
 
 198 Orso. 
 
 as a leaf, the tears streaming down her 
 cheeks, she tried to arouse his mercy; in 
 answer to her supplications, he took from 
 the wall a wire whip, and said: 
 
 " Lie down." 
 
 With despair she flung herself at his 
 feet, nearly dying from fright. Every 
 nerve of her body quivered; but vainly she 
 pressed her pallid lips to his polished 
 boots. Her alarm and pleading seemed to 
 arouse the demon in him more than ever. 
 Grasping her roughly, he threw her 
 violently on a heap of dresses, and in an 
 instant, after trying to stop the kicking 
 of her feet, he began beating her cruelly. 
 
 "Orso! Orso!" she shouted. 
 
 About this moment the door shook on 
 its hinges, rattled, creaked and gave way, 
 and half of it, pushed in with a tremen- 
 dous force, fell with a crash upon the 
 ground. 
 
 In this opening stood Orso.
 
 Orso. 199 
 
 The wire whip fell from the hand of the 
 manager, and his face became deadly pale, 
 because Orso looked ferocious. His eyes 
 were bloodshot, his lips covered with 
 foam, his head inclined to one side like a 
 bull's, and his whole body was crouched 
 and gathered, as if ready to spring. 
 
 " Get out!" cried the manager, trying to 
 hide his fear behind a show of authority. 
 
 The pent-up dam was already broken. 
 Orso, who was usually as obedient to every 
 motion as a dog, this time did not move, 
 but leaning his head still more to one side, 
 he moved slowly and threateningly toward 
 the "artist of the whip," his iron muscles 
 taut as whipcords. 
 
 "Help! help!" cried the manager. 
 
 They heard him. 
 
 Four brawny negroes from the stables 
 ran in through the broken door and fell 
 upon Orso. A terrible fight ensued, upon 
 which the manager looked with chattering
 
 200 Orso. 
 
 teeth. For a long time you could see 
 nothing but a tangled mass of dark bodies 
 wrestling with convulsive movements, 
 rolling on the ground in a writhing heap; 
 in the silence which followed sometimes 
 was heard a groan, a snort, loud short 
 breathing, the gritting of teeth. 
 
 In a moment one of the negroes, as if 
 by a superhuman force, was sent from 
 this formless mass, whirling headlong 
 through the air, and fell at the feet of the 
 manager, striking his skull with great 
 force on the ground; soon a second flew 
 out; then from the center of this turbulent 
 group Orso's body alone arose, covered 
 with blood and looking more terrible than 
 before. His knees were still pressing 
 heavily on the breasts of the two fainting 
 negroes. He arose to his feet and moved 
 toward the manager. 
 
 Hirsch closed his eyes. 
 
 The next moment he felt that his feet
 
 Orso. 201 
 
 had left the ground, that he was flying 
 through the air then he felt nothing; 
 his whole body was dashed with monstrous 
 force into the remaining half of the door, 
 and he fell to the earth unconscious. 
 
 Orso wiped his face, and, coming over 
 to Jenny, said: 
 
 " Let us go." 
 
 He took her by the hand and they 
 went. 
 
 The whole town was following the circus 
 procession and the steam calliope, playing 
 " Yankee Doodle," and the place around 
 the circus was deserted. The parrots 
 only, swinging in their hoops, filled the 
 air with their cries. Hand in hand, Orso 
 and Jenny went forward ; from the end of 
 the street could be seen the immense plains, 
 covered with cacti. Silently they passed 
 by the houses, shaded by the eucalyptus 
 trees; then they passed the slaughter- 
 houses, around which had gathered thou-
 
 202 Orso. 
 
 sands of small black birds with red-tipped 
 wings. They jumped over the large irri- 
 gation ditches, entered into an orange 
 grove, and on emerging from it found 
 themselves among the cacti. 
 
 This was the desert. 
 
 As far as the eye could reach these 
 prickly plants rose higher and higher; 
 thick leaves growing from other leaves 
 obstructed the path, sometimes catching 
 on Jenny's dress. In places they grew to 
 such a great height that the children 
 seemed to be as much lost here as if they 
 were in the woods, and no one could find 
 them there. So they kept threading 
 their way through them, now to the right 
 and then to the left, but careful always to 
 go from the town. Sometimes between the 
 cacti they could see on the horizon the 
 blue mountains of Santa Ana. They 
 went to the mountains. The heat was 
 great. Gray-colored locusts chirped in
 
 Orso. 203 
 
 the cacti; the sun's rays poured down 
 upon the earth in streams; the dried-up 
 earth was covered with a network of 
 cracks; the stiff leaves of the cacti seemed 
 to soften from the heat, and the flowers 
 were languid and half-wilted. The chil- 
 dren proceeded, silent and thoughtful. 
 But all that surrounded them was so new 
 that they surrendered themselves to their 
 impressions, and for the moment forgot 
 even their weariness. Jenny's eyes ran 
 from one bunch of cacti to another; again 
 she looked to the farther clusters, saying 
 to her friend: 
 
 "la this the wilderness, Orso?" 
 But the desert did not appear to be 
 deserted. From the farther clumps came 
 the calling of the male quail, and around 
 sounded the different murmurs of cluck- 
 ing, of twittering, of the ruffling of 
 feathers: in a word, the divers voices of 
 the small inhabitants of the plains. Some-
 
 204: Orso. 
 
 times there flew up a whole covey of 
 quail; the gaudy-topped pheasants scat- 
 tered on their approach; the black squirrels 
 dived into their holes; the rabbits disap- 
 peared in all directions; the gophers were 
 sitting on their hind legs beside their 
 holes, looking like fat German farmers 
 standing in their doorway. 
 
 After resting an hour the children pro- 
 ceeded on their journey. Jenny soon felt 
 thirsty. Orso, in whom had awakened 
 his Indian inventive faculties, began to 
 pluck cactus fruits. They were in abun- 
 dance, and grew together with the flowers 
 on the same leaves. In plucking them 
 they pricked their fingers with the 
 sharp points, but the fruit was luscious. 
 Their sweet and acid flavor quenched at 
 once their thirst and appeased their 
 hunger. The prairies fed the children 
 as a mother; thus strengthened they could 
 proceed further. The cacti arose higher,
 
 Orso. 205 
 
 and yon could say that they grew on the 
 head of one another. The ground on 
 which they walked ascended gradually and 
 continuously. Looking backward once 
 more they saw Anaheim, dissolving in the 
 distance and looking like a grove of trees 
 upon the low plains. Not a trace of the 
 circus could be distinguished. They still 
 pressed steadily onward to the mountains, 
 which now became more distinct in the 
 distance. The surroundings assumed 
 another phase. Between the cacti ap- 
 peared different bushes and even trees; 
 the wooded portion of the foothills of 
 Santa Ana had commenced. Orso broke 
 one of the saplings, and, clearing off its 
 branches, made a cudgel of it, which, in 
 his hands, would prove a terrible weapon. 
 His Indian instincts whispered to him 
 that in the mountains it was better to be 
 provided, even with a stick, than to go 
 unarmed, especially now that the sun had
 
 206 Orso. 
 
 lowered itself into the west. Its great 
 fiery shield had rolled down far beyond 
 Anaheim, into the blue ocean. After a 
 while it disappeared, and in the west there 
 gleamed red, golden, and orange lights, 
 similar to ribbons and gauzy veils, stretched 
 over the whole sky. The mountains up- 
 lifted themselves in this glow; the cacti 
 assumed different fantastical shapes, re- 
 sembling people and animals. Jenny felt 
 tired and sleepy, but they still hastened to 
 the mountains, although they knew not 
 why. Soon they saw rocks, and on reach- 
 ing them they discovered a stream; they 
 drank some water and continued along its 
 course. The rocks, which were at first 
 broken and scattered, then changed into 
 a solid wall, which became higher and 
 higher, and soon they entered into a 
 canon. 
 
 The rosy lights died away; deeper and 
 deeper dusk enveloped the earth. In
 
 Orso. 207 
 
 places immense vines reached from one 
 side of the cafion to the other, covering 
 it like a roof, and making it dark and un- 
 canny. On the mountain side, above 
 them, could be heard the voices of the 
 swaying and creaking forest trees. Orso 
 implied that now they were in the depths of 
 the wilderness, where certainly there were 
 many wild animals. From time to time 
 his ear detected suspicious sounds, and 
 when night fell he distinctly heard the 
 hoarse mewing of the lynxes, the roar of 
 the pumas, and the melancholy howling of 
 the coyotes. 
 
 " Are you afraid, Jen?" asked Orso. 
 
 "No," replied the girl. 
 
 But she was already very tired, and 
 could proceed no farther, so Orso took her 
 in his arms and carried her. He went 
 forward with the hope that he would reach 
 the house of some squatter, or should meet 
 some Mexican campers. Once or twice it
 
 208 Orso. 
 
 seemed to him that he saw the gleam of 
 some wild animal's eyes. Then with one 
 hand he pressed Jenny, who had now 
 fallen asleep, to his breast, and with the 
 other he grasped his stick. He was very 
 tired himself; notwithstanding his great 
 strength Jenny began to prove heavy to 
 him, especially as he carried her on his 
 left arm; the right one he wished to have 
 free for defense. Occasionally he stopped 
 to regain his breath and then continued 
 on. Suddenly he paused and listened 
 intently. It seemed to him as if he heard 
 the echoes of the small bells which the 
 settlers tie for the night to the neck of 
 their cows and goats. Rushing forward, 
 he soon reached a bend in the stream. 
 The sound of the bells became more dis- 
 tinct, and joined with them in the dis- 
 tance was heard the barking of a dog. 
 Then Orso was sure that he was nearing 
 some settlement. It was high time that
 
 Orso. 209 
 
 he did, for he was exhausted by the events 
 of the day, and his strength had begun to 
 fail him. On turning another bend he 
 saw a light; as he moved forward his 
 quick eyes discerned a campfire, a dog, 
 evidently tied to a stump, tearing and 
 barking, and at last the figure of a man 
 seated by the fire. 
 
 "God send that this may be a man 
 from the * good book 'I" thought he. 
 
 Then he resolved to awaken Jenny. 
 
 "Jen!" called he, "awake, we shall 
 eat." 
 
 "What is it?" asked the girl; "where 
 are we?" 
 
 "In the wilderness." 
 
 She was now wide awake. 
 
 "What light is that?" 
 
 " A man lives there; we shall eat." 
 
 Poor Orso was very hungry. 
 
 Meanwhile they were nearing the fire. 
 The dog barked more violently, and the
 
 210 Orso. 
 
 old man, sitting by the fire, shaded his 
 eyes and peered into the gloom. Shortly 
 he said: 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 "It is us," answered Jenny in her 
 delicate voice, "and we are very hungry." 
 
 " Come nearer," said the old man. 
 
 Emerging from behind a great rock, 
 which had partly concealed them, they 
 both stood in the light of the fire, holding 
 each other's hands. The old man looked 
 at them with astonishment, and involun- 
 tarily exclaimed: 
 
 " What is that?" 
 
 For he saw a sight which, in the 
 sparsely populated mountains of Santa 
 Ana, would astonish any one. Orso and 
 Jenny were dressed in their circus attire. 
 The beautiful girl, clothed in pink tights 
 and short white skirt, appearing so sud- 
 denly before him, looked in the firelight 
 like some fairy sylph. Behind her stood
 
 Orso. 211 
 
 the youth with his powerful figure, covered 
 also with pink fleshings, through which 
 you could see his muscles standing out 
 like knots on the oak. 
 
 The old squatter gazed at them with 
 wide-open eyes. 
 
 "Who are you?" he inquired. 
 
 The girl, relying more on her own elo- 
 quence than on that of Orso, began to 
 speak. 
 
 "We are from the circus, kind sir! 
 Mr. Hirsch beat Orso very much and then 
 wanted to beat me, but Orso did not let 
 him, and fought Mr. Hirsch and four 
 negroes, and then we ran off on the plains, 
 and went a long distance through the 
 cacti, and Orso carried me; then we came 
 here and are very hungry/' 
 
 The face of the old man softened and 
 brightened as he listened to her story, and 
 he looked with a fatherly interest on this 
 charming child, who spoke with great
 
 212 Orso. 
 
 haste, as if she wished to tell all in one 
 breath. 
 
 "What is your name, little one?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Jenny." 
 
 " Welcome, Jenny! and you, Orso! 
 people rarely come here. Come to me, 
 Jenny." 
 
 Without hesitation the little girl put 
 her arms around the neck of the old man 
 and kissed him warmly. He appeared 
 to her to be some one from the "good 
 book." 
 
 "Will Mr. Hirsch find us here?" she 
 said, as she took her lips from his face. 
 
 "If he comes he will find a bullet here," 
 replied the old man; then added, "you 
 said that you wanted to eat?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, very much." 
 
 The squatter, raking in the ashes of the 
 fire, took out a fine leg of venison, the
 
 Orso. 213 
 
 pleasant odor of which filled the air. 
 Then they sat down to eat. 
 
 The night was gorgeous; the moon came 
 out high in the heavens above the cafion; 
 in the thicket the mavis began to [sing 
 sweetly; the fire burned brightly, and 
 Orso was so filled with joy that he chanted 
 with gladness. Both he and the girl ate 
 heartily. The old man had no appetite; he 
 looked upon little Jenny, and, for some 
 unknown cause, his eyes were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 Perhaps he had been once a father, or, 
 perhaps, he so rarely saw people in these 
 deserted mountains. 
 
 Since then these three lived together.
 
 MEMORIES OF MARIPOSA.
 
 MEMORIES OF MARIPOSA. 
 
 I MADE a flying trip to Mariposa, 
 and hurriedly inspected its surroundings. 
 I would have stayed longer had I 
 known that several miles from the town 
 there lived in the woods a prototype of 
 my " Lighthouse Keeper of Aspinwall." 
 Not long ago Mr. M., who was with me 
 in California, after having read the 
 " Lighthouse Keeper/' narrated to me 
 his meeting with a Polish squatter who 
 had similar characteristics. This narrative 
 I faithfully repeat here. 
 
 On the road to the Big Trees, those 
 giants of California, I visited Mariposa. 
 That town contained a few years ago fif- 
 teen thousand inhabitants; now it has a 
 great deal less. It is observed in the New
 
 218 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 World that cities grow up like mushrooms, 
 but often they are as short-lived as butter- 
 flies. So it was with Mariposa. As long 
 as the bed of the small river, Mariposa, 
 shone with gold, and set on her banks the 
 greenish nuggets of the precious metal, 
 here swarmed the American miners, 
 "gambusinos" from Mexico, and mer- 
 chants from the whole world. Later they 
 all left. These " golden " cities do not 
 endure, because earlier or later the gold 
 must become exhausted. To-day the 
 town of Mariposa has but one thousand 
 inhabitants, and the banks of the river 
 have dressed themselves again with the 
 thickets of weeping willow, cottonwood, 
 and smaller trees. Where before the 
 miners sang at evening, "I Crossed the 
 Mississippi," now sing the coyotes. The 
 town consists of one street, on which the 
 best building is a schoolhouse, the second 
 best is the town hall, the third the
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 219 
 
 hotel of Mr. Biling; there are also a 
 grocery, saloon, and bakery. A few more 
 stores exhibit their goods in their windows. 
 The trade here is very small. The stores 
 supply the needs of the town only, for in 
 its vicinity are but few farmers. The 
 whole country is very sparsely populated, 
 and is filled mostly with gigantic woods, 
 wherein, at great intervals, have settled 
 squatters. 
 
 When our stagecoach entered the town 
 it seemed very crowded, for we arrived on 
 Friday and this was the market-day. 
 Settlers bring their honey to the grocery 
 stores, where they get divers articles of 
 food. Others bring herds of stock, and 
 farmers furnish grain. Though immi- 
 gration comes to Mariposa very slowly, 
 yet there was to be seen several wagons of 
 the immigrants, which could be recog- 
 nized by their high white canvas cover- 
 ing, and between the wheels is generally
 
 220 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 tied a dog. There was quite a crowd be- 
 fore the hotel, and the proprietor moved 
 around lively, dispensing gin, whisky, 
 and brandy. At the first glance he recog- 
 nized that I was a foreigner going to visit 
 the Big Trees, and, because tourists made 
 his best clientele, he showed me special 
 attention. 
 
 He was not a young man, but he was 
 lively and energetic. It could be easily 
 seen from his movements and his coun- 
 tenance that he was not a Prussian. With 
 great politeness he showed me to my room, 
 explaining that it was now after breakfast 
 time, but, if I wished, they would serve 
 me in the dining-room. 
 
 " Do you come from San Francisco?" 
 " Oh, no. From a farther country." 
 " All right. Bound for the Big Trees, 
 I suppose?" 
 "Yes, sir." 
 " If you wish to see the photographs of
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 221 
 
 the trees you will find them in the room 
 below." 
 
 " Very well, I'll soon come down." 
 " Will you stay long in Mariposa?" 
 "Several days. I want to rest, and, 
 besides, to see the neighboring woods." 
 
 "The hunting here is excellent. A 
 few days ago they killed a puma." 
 
 "That is good. I will take a nap 
 now." 
 
 " Good-by. Downstairs there is a reg- 
 ister, in which you will please write your 
 name." 
 
 "Certainly, with pleasure. Good-by." 
 I lay down and slept till the dinner hour, 
 which was announced by the strokes of a 
 stick on a miner's tin pan. I came down 
 and registered, not neglecting to add after 
 my name, "from Poland." Then I went 
 to the dining-room. The trade certainly 
 was ended for the day, and the traders 
 dispersed to their homes, because few
 
 222 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 people sat down to the table: two farmers 
 with their families, a man with but one 
 eye and without a necktie, a lady, who 
 was the schoolteacher, and who probably 
 lived in the hotel, and an old man, a 
 squatter, as far as I could judge from his 
 dress and bearing. We ate in silence, 
 in terrnpted only with short remarks: "I 
 would thank you for the bread," or "for 
 the butter/' or "for salt." Thus did 
 those who sat far from these things ask 
 their neighbors to help them. I was very 
 tired and did not care to enter into a con- 
 versation, so instead I examined the room, 
 whose walls, as Mr. Biling said, were 
 decorated with the photographs of the 
 gigantic trees. So, then, "the Father of 
 the Forest "is overthrown; he could not 
 bear the weight of the four thousand 
 years upon his back. 
 
 Length, four hundred and fifty feet, 
 circumference, one hundred and twelve,
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 223 
 
 feet. Quite a Father! You can scarcely 
 believe your eyes and the signed names. 
 The Grizzled Giant: fifteen yards in 
 diameter. Indeed! Even our Jews would 
 be perplexed how to ship such a plant to 
 Dantzic. My heart was thrilled with the 
 thought that soon I should see, in reality, 
 with my own eyes, this group of trees, or 
 rather colossal towers, standing lonely in 
 the woods .... from the flood. 
 
 That I, a "Warsawian, should see " the 
 father," touch his bark, and should, per- 
 haps, take a piece back to Warsaw as a 
 proof to the skeptics that I had been indeed 
 in California! A man who wanders so far 
 away from his home appears to himself 
 strange, and unconsciously is gladdened 
 with the thought of what he will narrate on 
 his return, and that the local skeptics will 
 not believe that there are in the world trees 
 fifty-six yards in circumference. My med-
 
 224: Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 itations were interrupted by the voice of 
 the colored servant. 
 
 " Will you have milk with your coffee, 
 or black?" 
 
 " Black, as you are yourself," I had an 
 impulse to say, but such an answer would 
 have been improper, because the old ne- 
 gro's hair was as white as milk, and he 
 was so feeble that he could scarcely move 
 his feet. 
 
 Shortly the dinner was ended and all 
 arose. The farmer put some chewing to- 
 bacco into his mouth, and his wife, seating 
 herself in a rocking-chair, began to rock 
 vigorously; and the daughter, the bright 
 and vivacious Polly or Kate, went to the 
 piano, and presently I heard: 
 
 " Yankee Doodle came to town." 
 
 "You can't catch me with Yankee 
 Doodle," I thought to myself. From 
 New York to Mariposa the girls had 
 played it to me on the piano, the soldiers
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 on their brass instruments, the negroes on 
 their banjos, and the children on xylo- 
 phones. 
 
 I lighted my cigar and went out on 
 the street. A slight dusk had settled 
 upon the air. The immigrants' wagons 
 had departed. It was still and charming. 
 The west was red with the sunset, the east 
 was getting dark. I felt easy and buoy- 
 ant. Life appeared very pleasant, light, 
 and free. From the cottages and gardens 
 came to me the sound of songs; at times 
 among the bushes there glistened a white 
 dress, a pair of bright eyes. What a beau- 
 tiful evening! only it is to be regretted 
 that Americans have the habit in the even- 
 ings of burning garbage on the streets. 
 The smell of the smoke unnecessarily 
 mixes with the fragrance of roses and the 
 odor of the near woods. At intervals, 
 from the fields and thickets adjacent to 
 the town, could be heard the sound of
 
 226 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 shooting: nearly all the inhabitants of 
 Mariposa are hnnters. 
 
 All movement on the street had ceased 
 and the garbage heaps had burned out. I 
 met several persons, and, perhaps, I un- 
 consciously transferred to them something 
 of my feeling, for in the soft light of the 
 sunset all their faces seemed to me con- 
 tented, quiet, and happy. 
 
 Maybe, I thought, life is quiet, peace- 
 ful, and happy here, in this unknown, 
 lost-in-the-woods corner of the world. 
 Perhaps, also, in this American freedom 
 the soul becomes bright and shines with a 
 mild light, as the firefly. Besides, there 
 is no cold and hunger here, and there is 
 room enough, where you can spread your- 
 self and stretch your hands and feet. And 
 these woods are so peaceful, oh, so peaceful! 
 
 Several negroes coming to ward me sang, 
 with quite melodious voices, " The Silver 
 Threads." " Good-evening, sir," said they
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 227 
 
 cheerfully, as they passed me by. People 
 are well meaning and polite here. Verily, 
 when old age shall come, I shall look back 
 and think of this quiet Mariposa. From 
 the sky there floated to me the voices of 
 the cranes flying toward the ocean. This 
 quiet picture lulled me and made me 
 dream. Strange bundle of impressions ! 
 
 I returned to the hotel, and in my 
 room, filled with a spirit of meditation 
 and of sweet and touching emotions, I be- 
 gan to think of home and my dear ones, 
 and started to sing. 
 
 Some one knocked at the door. 
 
 " I wonder who it can be?" thought I. 
 
 " Come in/' I said. 
 
 Whereupon the proprietor entered. 
 "What is it? "What kind of country is 
 this? His face showed signs of great 
 emotion. He grasped my hand warmly 
 and squeezed it tightly, and, without let- 
 ting it go, stepped back to his arm's
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 length and looked at me as if he wished 
 to bless me. 
 
 I opened my lips, and my astonishment 
 equaled his fervency. 
 
 " I saw in the hotel register," said he, 
 ' ' that yon are from Poland/' 
 
 " It is so are you also a Pole?" 
 
 " Oh, no. I am from Baden." 
 
 "Then you were in Poland?" 
 
 "Oh, no never!" 
 
 "Then?" 
 
 My eyes were as wide open as my lips. 
 
 " Sir," said the proprietor, " I was in 
 the army under Mieroslawski." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 " He was a hero. He was the greatest 
 general in the world. Does he live yet?" 
 
 "No, he is dead." 
 
 "Dead!" echoed the German, and, sit- 
 ting down, dropped his hands heavily on 
 his knees and his head on his breast. 
 
 I did not know what to do. I did not
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 229 
 
 share the enthusiasm of Mr. Biling for 
 Mieroslawski, but at this time and in this 
 place this enthusiasm was dear to and 
 flattered me. Mr. Biling conquered his 
 sorrow, and his eloquent admiration of 
 Mieroslawski streamed like a waterfall in 
 comparison to which Niagara or Yosemite 
 Falls are nothing. Soon I heard the names 
 of several heroes of antiquity, several from 
 the middle ages, then those of "Washing- 
 ton, Lafayette, Kosciusko, and Mieros- 
 lawski. Then I heard such expressions as 
 these: " Liberty, progress, civilization. " 
 I heard hundreds and thousands of these 
 words. The eloquent general had, evi- 
 dently, eloquent soldiers. 
 
 "He was an ideal man," in the end my 
 landlord exclaimed. 
 
 " He was, or he was not let us omit 
 the question," I thought to myself, " but it 
 is a fact, that if you, a typical German, pos- 
 sess an ideal, you are indebted for it to a
 
 230 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 Pole, and if to him, ergo, why not to us? 
 Your thoughts, perhaps, never would have 
 risen above the dollars and the profits of 
 your hotel ; you would have tried only to 
 entice the tourists going to the 'Big 
 Trees/ and bow and scrape to them as you 
 did to me; and now a higher spirit per- 
 vades you, and you utter words which be- 
 came long ago in Europe as stale as old 
 beer, but which have never ceased to be the 
 most noble words that the human tongue 
 can pronounce. In Europe there is, per- 
 haps, only one corner where they are yet 
 taken seriously sometimes spoken with a 
 tear and sometimes with pain, that others 
 desecrate these treasures or whistle upon 
 them, as upon a hollow nut. But it is 
 difficult, even in that corner, sometimes 
 it is difficult oh, so difficult! What an 
 honest fellow this German is! Neither 
 Sadowa nor Sedan impresses him, and he 
 only mentions Mieroslawski and Baden.
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 231 
 
 Biling*s Hotel, Mariposa, California. It 
 is well to note the address of such a Ger- 
 man, but it is necessary to go as far as 
 Mariposa to meet him." 
 
 He kept repeating, "Oh, this Mie- 
 roslawski!" Surely he wiped his eyes. A 
 golden soul! 
 
 " Seeing yon makes me feel as good as if 
 I had taken a drink of whisky with ginger 
 in it," he said to me. He grasped my 
 hand, squeezed it again, and started toward 
 the door; near to the door, he struck his 
 hand to his forehead with a loud slap. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " I had nearly forgot- 
 ten there is a countryman of yours here." 
 
 " In Mariposa?" 
 
 " No, he lives in the woods; on Fridays 
 he comes to the market with his honey 
 and remains over night. A very good old 
 man. He has been here more than twenty 
 year?. No one was here when he came. 
 To-morrow I will bring him to you."
 
 232 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 The German stopped and began to 
 scratch his head, like any Polish bartek 
 (peasant). 
 
 " Oh, I don't know; something very 
 difficult/' 
 
 Next morning, just after rising and be- 
 fore breakfast, my German friend brought 
 my countryman to me. 
 
 He was of great stature, quite tall, and 
 somewhat bent. He had a white head, 
 white beard, and blue eyes, which he fixed 
 on me with a strange intentness. 
 
 "I will leave you gentlemen alone," 
 said the German. 
 
 We were left alone and looked at each 
 other a long time in silence. I felt some- 
 what confused seeing the old man, who 
 reminded me more of Wernyhora (the cele- 
 brated prophet-singer of the Cossacks), 
 than of an average countryman of mine. 
 
 " I am called Putrament," said the old
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 233 
 
 man; "doth my name sound strange to 
 thine ears?" 
 
 "My name is M.," I replied. "Yours 
 is familiar to me; I think you are from 
 Lithuania?" 
 
 Something indeed came to my mind 
 from the poem, " Pan Taddheus," about a 
 story of "Putrament with a picture/' 
 where Protazy speaks of different law- 
 suits. 
 
 The old man raised his hand to his 
 ear. 
 
 "Eh?" said he. 
 
 "I suppose you are from Lithuania?" 
 
 " Lift thy voice, for old age has spoiled 
 my ears, and deaf is this old age of mine," 
 he said. 
 
 "Does he mock me or am I a fool?" 
 thought I to myself, but somehow this 
 man speaks with the language of the 
 prophets; what eccentric people I meet 
 here!
 
 234: Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 " You came here long ago from our 
 country?" I inquired. 
 
 " Twenty years abide I here, and verily 
 thou art the first whom I see from my 
 native land, and, because of that, moved 
 is my heart, and my soul rejoices within 
 me." 
 
 Indeed, the old man spoke with a trem- 
 bling voice, and was very much affected. 
 I was surprised. I had not been sitting 
 twenty years in the woods, and I had met 
 Poles not long ago in San Francisco, so I 
 had no cause to be emotional. Instead, I felt 
 some desire to exclaim: "What a style!" 
 If somebody would keep on speaking to 
 me in that manner the whole day I would 
 become wild. The old man still kept 
 looking at me intently, and his mind 
 seemed to be busy. Several times he at- 
 tempted to speak and then stopped 
 abruptly. It was evident that he felt that 
 he did not express his thoughts as others
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 235 
 
 do. He spoke, nevertheless, very cor- 
 rectly, but with difficulty. 
 
 "In this far country my tongue has 
 stiffened and my jaws are bound." 
 
 " The truth is no sin," I thought, but 
 my mirth was leaving me; I felt somewhat 
 awkward, and my conscience pricked me. 
 
 "As he speaks, so let him speak," I 
 thought, " for he speaks with great feel- 
 ing, deep sadness, and sincerely; it is I 
 who mock him." 
 
 Involuntarily I stretched out both my 
 hands to him. He took them, and pressed 
 them to his breast, repeating: 
 
 "A countryman! a countryman!" 
 
 His voice vibrated with so strong an 
 emotion that it touched my heart. 
 
 In any event I had before me a strange 
 puzzle, and, perhaps, a very sad one. I 
 began to look upon him as if upon an old 
 father. I seated him with reverence upon
 
 236 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 the chair and sat beside him while he kept 
 continually looking at me. 
 
 " "What is heard in our land?" said he. 
 
 I set my tongue in motion, trying to 
 speak loudly and distinctly. In this 
 manner I spoke half an hour, and to the 
 measure of my words his head bowed sadly, 
 or the smile came to his lips. He re- 
 peated once more the sentence of Galileo, 
 and often questioned me, and always with 
 the same grave, strange and unexplainable 
 style. 
 
 Everything I said interested him im- 
 mensely. All his soul gathered in his 
 eyes and lips. Living alone among the 
 woods, perhaps at another time he would 
 meditate for whole days upon that which 
 now streamed from my lips. 
 
 Oh! wonderful old man! and wonderful 
 race of men, who takest with thee to the 
 farthest corners of the world one thought 
 and one feeling. Thou livest with it in the
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 237 
 
 woods, in the desert, and over the seas; 
 thy body floats away, bat thou canst not 
 shake off thy soul, and walkest as strayed 
 sheep among a strange people. But this 
 race dies slowly. I will now tell you about 
 one of its last representatives. 
 
 This narrative may seem to be an in- 
 vention but it is in truth a reality 
 Putrament perhaps yet lives in his forest 
 retreat in the vicinity of Mariposa. From 
 his statement I found out what follows. 
 
 He was a beekeeper, as are a majority 
 of the squatters. He was not very poor. 
 The bees worked for his living. When he 
 got old he took a young Indian to assist 
 him to attend to them. He went hunting 
 every day. There is plenty of game in the 
 woods near Mariposa deer, antelope, 
 and an inexhaustible quantity of every j 
 kind of fowl. 
 
 The bears are now more rare. 
 
 His caflon is one of the most beautiful
 
 238 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 in the vicinity. Near to the house is an 
 enchanting stream falling in thousands of 
 cascades; the place consists chiefly of 
 rocks and mountains, and upon them 
 forests, and again impenetrable forests 
 silence, peace. 
 
 He invited me urgently to visit him, 
 but as I could not get back until the fol- 
 lowing Friday, I had to decline his invi- 
 tation with regret. 
 
 He spoke as some Abraham or Jacob. 
 The words "yea, verily, furthermore, 
 thence, wherewith, thee and thou, say- 
 est," were repeated every moment by him. 
 Sometimes it seemed as if I had before me 
 a man from the time of Gornicki or 
 Skarga, who had traveled under the 
 ground to Mariposa, and arose here from 
 the dead ; or who began to live simul- 
 taneously with the Big Trees. But, 
 besides this ancient form of language, there 
 was also in his speech a strange solemnity
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 239 
 
 expressed in the construction of his 
 phrases, by the multitude of pleonasms, 
 by certain special definitions. I decided 
 to solve the puzzle. 
 
 " Tell me, my dear sir, what is the 
 origin of this language of yours? It is 
 not a modern speech," but an old one 
 nobody now speaks so in Poland. " 
 
 lie smiled. 
 
 " I have only one book at home the 
 Bible edited by Wujek, which I read 
 every day, so that I would not forget my 
 native speech, and did not become deaf in 
 the language of my fathers/' 
 
 Now I understood it all. For twenty 
 years in this far-off Mariposa he had not 
 seen a single Pole, did not speak with one. 
 He read the Bible only, and no wonder 
 that his words and even his thoughts con- 
 formed themselves to it. He did not 
 know how to speak Polish otherwise, 
 neither could he learn now. He did not
 
 240 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 wish to forget his native tongue for any- 
 thing in the world, so he used to read his 
 Bible every morning. Besides, nothing 
 reached him from his native land noth- 
 ing from anywhere only the voices of 
 the California forests may have reminded 
 him of the forests of Lithuania. 
 
 At our parting I said: 
 
 "In a month I return home. Have 
 you any relatives a brother, or anybody 
 to whom you wish to send news of your- 
 self?" 
 
 He sank into deep thought, as if 
 searching in his memory for some rela- 
 tives, then began to shake his head. 
 
 " None none none." 
 
 And yet this old man was reading the 
 Bible of the Wujek edition, and did not 
 want to forget. 
 
 At last we said "Good-by." 
 
 " Lord protect and lead thee," said he 
 to me, as a blessing for my journey.
 
 Memories of Mariposa. 
 
 He at once rode to the forest. And I, 
 two days later, to the " Big Trees." When 
 I was entering the stagecoach Mr. Biling 
 shook my hand, as if he desired to keep it 
 for a souvenir, and repeated: 
 
 " Mieroslawski was a great man. Good- 
 by ! Good-by ! Selir grosser mann !" 
 
 A quarter of an hour later the forests 
 of Mariposa surrounded me. Next day, 
 early in the morning, I thought to myself: 
 " Old Putrament at this time is reading 
 his Bible aloud in the canon," 
 
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