Henry of Ofterdingen: A Romance.

by Novalis

CHAPTER III.

There is another story, continued the merchants after a pause, certainly less wonderful and taken from later times, which yet may please you and give you a clearer insight into the operations of that wonderful art. There was once an old king, whose court was the most splendid of his age. People streamed thither from far and near, in order to share in the splendor of his mode of life. There was not wanting the greatest abundance of costly delicacies at his daily entertainments. There was music, splendid decorations, a thousand different dramatic representations, with other amusements to pass away the time. Nor did intellect fail to be represented there in the persons of sage, pleasant, and learned men, who added to the entertainment and inspiration of the conversation. Finally, there were added many chaste and beautiful youth of both sexes, who constituted the real soul of the charming festivals. The old king, otherwise a strict and stern man, entertained two inclinations, which were the true causes of the splendor of his court, and to which it owed its thanks for its beautiful arrangement. The first of these inclinations was his love for his daughter, who was infinitely dear to him, as a pledge of the love of his wife, who had died in her youth, and to whom, for her marvellous loveliness, he would have sacrificed all the treasures of nature, and all the powers of human minds, in order to create for her a heaven upon earth. The other was a real passion for poesy and her masters. He had from his youth read the works of the poets with heart-felt delight, and had spent much labor and great sums of money in the collection of the poetical works of every tongue, and the society of minstrels was especially dear to him. He invited them from all quarters to his court, and loaded them with honors. He never grew wearied with their songs, and for the sake of some new and splendid production often forgot the most important business affairs, and even the necessaries of life. Amidst such strains had his daughter grown up, and her soul became, as it were, a tender song, the artless expression of longing and of sadness. The beneficent influence, which the protected and honored poets exerted, showed itself through the whole land, but particularly at the court. Life, like some precious potion, was enjoyed in lingering and gentle draughts, and in its purer pleasures; because all low and hateful passions were shunned, as jarring discords to the harmony which ruled all minds. Peace of soul, and beautiful contemplations of a self-created happy world, had become the possession of this wonderful time, and dissension appeared only in the old legends of the poets, as a former enemy of man. It seemed as if the spirits of song could have given no lovelier token of their gratitude to their protector, than his daughter, who possessed all that the sweetest imagination could unite in the tender form of a fair maiden. When you beheld her at the beautiful festivals, amid a band of charming companions in glittering white dress, intensely listening to the rival songs of the inspired minstrels, and with blushes placing the fragrant garland around the locks of the happy one, who had won the prize, you would have taken her for the beautiful and embodied spirit of this art, conspiring with its magic language; and you would cease to wonder at the ecstasies and melodies of the poets.

Yet a mysterious fate seemed to be at work in the midst of this earthly paradise; The sole concern of the people of that country was about the marriage of the blooming princess, upon which the continuation of their blissful times, and the fate of the whole land, depended. The king was growing old. This care lay heavy at his heart; and yet no opening for marriage showed itself, that was agreeable to the wishes of all. A holy reverence for the royal family forbade any subject to harbor the idea of proposing for the hand of the princess. She was hardly regarded as a creature of this earth, and all the princes, who had appeared at court with proposals, seemed so inferior to her, that no one thought that the princess or the king could fix their eye on any one of them. A sense of inferiority had by degrees deterred any suitors from visiting the court, and the wide-spread report of the excessive pride of the royal family seemed to take away from all others the desire to see themselves equally humbled. Nor was this report entirely without foundation. The king, with all his mildness of disposition, had almost unconsciously imbibed a feeling of lofty superiority, which rendered every thought of a connexion of his daughter with a man of lower rank and obscurer origin unendurable and impossible to be entertained. Her high and unparalleled worth had heightened this feeling within him. He was descended from a very old royal family of the East. His consort had been the last of the descendants of the renowned hero Rustan. His minstrels continually sang to him of his relationship to those superhuman beings, who formerly ruled the world. In the magic mirror of their art the difference between the origin of his family and that of other men, and the splendor of his descent, appeared yet clearer, so that it seemed to him that he was connected with the rest of the human family through the nobler class of the poets alone. He looked around in vain for a second Rustan, whilst he felt that the heart of his blooming daughter, the situation of his kingdom, and his increasing age rendered her marriage, in all points of view, most desirable. Not far from the capital, there lived, upon a retired country-seat, an old man, who occupied himself exclusively with the education of his only son, except that he occasionally assisted the country people by his advice in cases of dangerous sickness. The young man was of a serious disposition, and devoted himself exclusively to the study of nature, in which his father had instructed him from childhood. The old man many years before had arrived from a distance at this peaceful and blooming region, and was content while enjoying the beneficent peace, which the king had spread abroad through this retreat. He took advantage of this peace to search into the powers of nature, and impart the pleasing knowledge to his son, who gave evidence of much talent for the pursuit, and to whose penetrating mind nature willingly confided her secrets. Without a lofty power of understanding, the secret expression of his noble face, and the peculiar brilliancy of his eyes, you would have called the appearance of this youth ordinary and insignificant. But the longer you gazed upon him, the more attractive he became; and you could scarcely tear yourself from him, when you had once beard his soft impressive voice, and the utterances which his glorious talents prompted. One day, the princess, whose pleasure-garden adjoined the forest, which concealed the country house of the old man in a little valley, had betaken herself thither alone on horseback, that she might follow out her fancies undisturbed, and sing to herself her favorite songs. The fresh air of the lofty trees enticed her gradually deeper into their shade, until at last she came to the house where the old man lived with his son. Happening to feel thirsty, she alighted, fastened the horse to a tree, and stepped into the house, to ask for a glass of milk. The son was present, and was well nigh confounded by the enchanting appearance of a majestic female form, which seemed almost immortal, adorned as it was by all the charms of youth and beauty, and by that indescribable fascinating transparency, revealing the tender, innocent, and noble soul. While he hastened to gratify her desire, the old man addressed her with modest respect, and invited her to be seated at their simple hearth, which was placed in the middle of the house, and on which there glimmered noiselessly a light blue flame. Immediately on entering, the princess was struck with the varied ornaments of the room, the order and cleanliness of the whole, and the peculiar sanctity of the place; and her impression was heightened yet more by the venerable appearance of the old man, poorly clad as he was, and by the modest behavior of the son. The former recognised her immediately as a lady of the court, judging this from her costly dress and noble carriage. While the son was absent, the princess asked him about some curiosities which had caught her eye, and especially concerning some old and singular pictures, which stood at her side over the hearth, and which he kindly undertook to explain to her. The son soon returned with a pitcher of fresh milk, which he artlessly and respectfully handed her. After some interesting conversation with the hosts, she gracefully thanked them for their hospitality, and with blushes asked the old man's permission to visit his house again, that she might enjoy his instructive conversation concerning his wonderful curiosities. She then rode back without having divulged her rank, as she noticed that neither the father nor the son knew her. Although the capital was situated thus near, they were both so buried in their studies, that they strove to shun the busy world; and the young man had never been seized with the desire of being present at the festivities of the court. He had never been accustomed to leave his father alone for more than an hour at the utmost, while roaming through the woods searching for insects and plants, and sharing the inspiration of the mute spirit of nature through the influence of its various outward charms. The simple occurrences of this day were equally important to the old man, the princess, and the youth. The first easily perceived the novel and deep impression, which the unknown lady had made upon his son. He knew his character perfectly, and was fully aware that such a deep impression would last as long as his life. His youth, and the nature of his heart, would of necessity render the first feeling of this nature an unconquerable passion. The old man had for a long time looked forward to such an occurrence. The exceeding loveliness of the stranger excited an involuntary sympathy in the soul of his son, and his unsuspicious mind harbored no troublesome anxiety about the issue of this singular adventure. The princess had never been conscious of experiencing such emotions as arose in her mind, while riding slowly homeward. She could form no exact idea of the curiously mixed, wondrously stirring feelings of a new existence. A magical veil was spread in wide folds over her clear consciousness. It seemed to her that, when it should be withdrawn, she would find herself in a more spiritual world than this. The recollection of the art of poetry, which hitherto had occupied her whole soul, seemed now like a far distant song, connecting her peculiarly delightful dream with the past. When she reached the palace, she was almost frightened at its varied splendor, and yet more at the welcome of her father, for whom for the first time in her life she experienced a distant respect. She thought it impossible for her to mention her adventure to him. Her other companions were too much accustomed to her reveries, and her deep abstractions of thought and fancy, to notice anything extraordinary in her conduct. She seemed now to lose some of her affable sweetness of disposition. She felt as if she were among strangers, and a peculiar anxiety harassed her until evening, when the joyful song of some minstrel, who chanted the praises of hope, and sang with magic inspiration of the wonders which follow faith in the fulfilment of our wishes, filled her with consolation, and lulled her with the sweetest dreams.

As soon as the princess had taken leave, the youth plunged into the forest. He had followed her among the bushes as far as the garden gate, and then sought to return by the road. As he was walking along, he saw some bright object shining before his feet. He stooped and picked up a dark red stone, one side of which was wonderfully brilliant, and the other was graved with ciphers. He knew it to be a costly carbuncle, and thought that he had observed it in the middle of the necklace which the unknown lady wore. He hastened with winged footsteps home, as if she were yet there, and brought the stone to his father. They decided that the son should return next morning to the road, and see whether any one was sent to look for it; if not, they would keep it till they received a second visit from the lady, and then return it to her. The young man passed much of the night gazing at the carbuncle, and felt towards morning irresistibly inclined to write a few words upon the paper in which he wrapt it. He hardly knew himself the meaning of the words which he wrote:

A mystic token deeply graved is beaming

Within the glowing crimson of the stone,

Like to a heart, that, lost in pleasant dreaming,

Keepeth the image of the fair unknown.

A thousand sparks around the gem are streaming,

A softened radiance in the heart is thrown;

From that, the light's indwelling essence darts.

But ah, will this too have the heart of hearts?

As soon as the morning dawned, he took his way in haste to the garden gate.

In the mean while the princess in undressing on the previous evening, had missed the jewel from her necklace. It was a memento from her mother, and moreover a talisman, the possession of which insured to her the liberty of her person, since with it she could never fall into another's power against her will.

This loss surprised more than it frightened her. She remembered that she had it the day before when riding, and was quite certain that it was lost, either in the house of the old man, or on the way back through the woods. She still remembered the exact road she had taken, and concluded to go in search of it as soon as the day should break. This idea caused her so much joy, that it seemed as if she was not at all sorry for her loss, in the good pretence it gave to take the same road once more. At daybreak she passed through the garden to the forest; as she walked with unwonted speed, it was natural that her bosom should feel oppressed, and her heart beat faster than usual. The sun was beginning to gild the tops of the old trees, which moved with a gentle whispering, as if they would waken each other from their drowsy night-faces, in order to greet the sun together; when the princess, startled by a rustling at some distance, looked down the road, and saw the young man hastening towards her. He at the same time observed her.

He remained a while standing as if enchained, and gazed fixedly upon her, as if to assure himself that her appearance was real and no illusion. They greeted each other with subdued expressions of joy at their meeting, as if they had long known and loved each other. Before the princess could explain to him the reason of her early walk, he handed her with blushes and a beating heart the stone in the inscribed billet. It seemed as if the princess anticipated the meaning of the lines. She took the billet silently and with a trembling hand, and almost unconsciously hung a golden chain, which she wore about her neck, upon him, as a reward for his fortunate discovery. He knelt abashed before her, and could hardly find words to answer her inquiries about his father. She told him in a half whisper, and with downcast eyes, that she would with pleasure soon visit them again, and take advantage of his father's promise to make her acquainted with his curiosities.

She thanked the young man again with unusual feeling, and returned slowly on her way without once looking back. The youth was speechless. He bowed respectfully and gazed after her for a long time, until she vanished behind the trees. In a few days she visited them again, and after this her visits became frequent. The youth by degrees became the companion of her walks. He accompanied her from the garden at an appointed hour, and escorted her back again. She observed a strict silence with respect to her rank, confiding as she otherwise was to her attendant, from whom no thought of her heavenly soul was ever hidden. The loftiness of her descent seemed to pour a secret fear into her. The young man gave up to her likewise his whole soul. Both father and son considered her a maiden of quality from the court. She clung to the old man with the tenderness of a daughter. Her caresses lavished upon him were the rapturous prophets of her tenderness towards his son. She was soon perfectly at home in the wonderful house; and while she sang to her lute her charming song with an unearthly voice, the old man and the son sitting at her feet, the latter of whom she instructed in the divine art; she learned on the other hand from his inspired lips the solution of those riddles, which everywhere abound in the secrets of nature. He taught her how by a mysterious sympathy the world had arisen, and the stars been united in their harmonious order. The history of the past became clear to her mind from his holy fables; and how delightful it became, when in the height of his inspiration her scholar seized the lute, and broke out with incredible skill into the most admirable songs. One day, when seized by a peculiar romance of feeling, she was in his company, and her powerful, long-cherished love overcame at returning her customary, maiden timidity; they both almost unconsciously sank into each other's arms, and the first glowing kiss melted them into one forever. As the sun was setting, the roaring of the trees gave notice of a mighty tempest. Threatening thunder-clouds with their deep, night-like darkness gathered over them. The young man hastened to carry his charge in safety from the fearful hurricane and the crashing branches. But through the darkness and his fear for his beloved, he missed the road, and plunged deeper and deeper into the forest. His fear increased when he perceived his mistake. The princess thought of the terror of the king and of the court. An unutterable anxiety pierced at times like a consuming ray into her soul; and the voice of her lover, who continually spoke consolation to her heart, alone restored courage and confidence, and eased her oppressed bosom.

The storm raged on; all endeavors to find the road were in vain, and they both thought themselves fortunate, when, by a flash of lightning, they discovered a cave near at hand on the declivity of a woody hill, where they hoped to find a safe refuge from the dangers of the tempest, and a resting place from their fatigue. Fortune realized their wishes. The cave was dry and overgrown with clean moss. The young man quickly lighted a fire of brushwood and moss, by which they could dry their garments; and the two lovers saw themselves thus strangely separated from the world, saved from a dangerous situation, and alone at each other's side in a warm and comfortable shelter.

A wild almond branch, loaded with fruit, hung down into the cave; and a neighboring stream of trickling water quenched their thirst. The youth had preserved his lute; and now they were entertained by its consoling and cheering music, as they sat by the crackling fire. A higher power seemed to have taken upon itself to loosen the knot more quickly, and to have brought them under peculiar circumstances into this romantic situation. The innocence of their hearts, the magic harmony of their minds, the united, irresistible power of their sweet passion, and their youth, soon made them forget the world and their relations to it, and lulled them, under the bridal song of the tempest and the nuptial torches of the lightning, into the sweetest intoxication, by which a mortal couple ever has been blessed. The break of the light blue morning was to them the awakening of a new, blissful world. Nevertheless a stream of hot tears, which soon gushed forth from the eyes of the princess, revealed to her lover the thousand-fold anxieties, which were awakening in her heart. In one night he had grown old in years, and had passed from youth to manhood. With an inspiring enthusiasm, he consoled his mistress, reminded her of the holiness of true love, and of the high faith which it inspired, and prayed her to look forward with confidence from the good spirit of her heart to the brightest future. The princess felt that his consolation was founded on truth, revealed to him that she was the daughter of the king, and that she feared only on account of the pride and anxiety of her father. After mature consideration, they concluded what course to pursue, and the young man immediately started to seek his father, and to make him acquainted with their plan. He promised to be with her again soon, and left her lost in sweet imaginings of what would be the issue of these occurrences. The youth soon reached the dwelling of his father, who was right glad to see his son return to him in safety. He listened to the story and the plans of the lovers, and seemed willing to assist them. His house was retired, and contained some subterraneous chambers, which could not easily be discovered. Here the princess was to dwell. She was brought thither at twilight, and received by the old man with deep emotion. She afterwards often wept in her solitude, when her thoughts reverted to her mourning father; yet she concealed her grief from her lover, and told it only to the old man, who consoled her kindly, and painted to her imagination her early return to her father.

In the mean time the court had fallen into the greatest alarm, when, at evening, the princess was missing. The king was entirely beside himself, and sent people in every direction to seek her. No man could explain her absence. No one mistrusted that she was entangled in a love affair, and therefore an elopement was not thought of. Moreover no other person of the court was missing, nor was there any cause for the remotest suspicion. The messengers returned without having accomplished anything, and the king sank into the deepest dejection. It was only at evening, when his minstrels came before him, bringing with them their beautiful songs, that his former pleasure appeared renewed to him; his daughter seemed near him, and he conceived the hope that he should soon behold her again. But when he was again alone, his heart seemed like to break, and he wept aloud. Then he thought within himself; "of what advantage to me now is all this splendor and my high birth? Without her, even these songs are mere words and delusions. She was the charm that gave them life and joy, power and form. Would rather that I were the lowest of my subjects. Then my daughter would still be with me; perhaps also I should have a son-in-law, and my grandson would sit upon my knees; then indeed I should be another king than I am now. It is not the crown or the kingdom that makes the king; it is the full, overflowing feeling of happiness, the satiety of earthly possessions, the consciousness of perfect satisfaction and content. In this way am I now punished for my pride. The loss of my wife did not sufficiently humble me; but now my misery is boundless." Thus complained the king in his hours of ardent longing. Yet at times his old austerity and pride broke forth. He was angry with his own complaints; he would endure and be silent as becomes a king. He thought even then that he suffered more than all others, and that royalty was burdened with heavy care; but when it became darker, and stepping into the chamber of his daughter he beheld her clothes hanging there, and her little effects scattered around, as if she had but a moment before left the chamber; then he forgot his resolutions, exhibited all the gestures of sorrow, and called upon his lowest servant for sympathy. All the city and country wept and condoled with him, with their whole hearts. It is worthy of remark, that it was noised abroad that the princess yet lived, and would soon return with a husband. No one knew whence this report arose; but every one clung to it with joyous belief, and awaited her return with impatient expectation. Thus several months passed on, until spring again drew nigh. "What will you wager," said some of sanguine disposition, "that the princess will not return also?" Even the king grew more serene and hopeful. The report seemed to him like a promise from some kind power. The accustomed festivals were again renewed, and nought seemed wanting but the princess to fill up the bloom of their former splendor. One evening, exactly a year from the time when she disappeared, the whole court was assembled in the garden. The air was warm and serene; and no sound was heard but that of the gentle wind in the tops of the old trees, announcing, as it were, the approach of some far off joy. A mighty fountain, arising amid the torches, which with their innumerable lights relieved the duskiness of the sighing tree-tops, accompanied the varied songs with melodious murmurs sounding through the forest. The king sat upon a costly carpet, and the court in festal dress was gathered around him. The multitude filled the garden, and encircled the splendid scene. The king at this moment was sitting plunged in profound thought. The image of his lost daughter appeared before him with unwonted clearness. He thought of the happy days, which ended with the last year about that time. A burning desire overpowered him, and the tears flowed fast down his venerable cheeks; yet he experienced a hope, as clear as it was unusual. It seemed as if the past year of sorrow were but a heavy dream, and he raised his eyes as if seeking her lofty, holy, captivating form amidst the people and the trees. The minstrel had just ended, and deep silence gave evidence of deep emotion; for the poets had sung of the joys of meeting, of spring, and of the future, as hope is accustomed to adorn them.

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the low sound of an unknown but beautiful voice, which seemed to proceed from an aged oak. All looks were directed towards it, and a young man in simple, but peculiar dress, was seen standing with a lute upon his arm. He continued his song, yet saluted the king, as he turned his eyes towards him, with a profound, bow. His voice was remarkably fine, and the song of a nature strange and wonderful. He sang the origin of the world, the stars, plants, animals, and men, the all-powerful sympathy of nature; the remote age of gold, and its rulers Love and Poesy; the appearance of hatred and barbarism, and their battles with these beneficient goddesses; and finally, the future triumph of the latter, the end of affliction, the renovation of nature, and the return of an eternal golden age. Even, the old minstrels, wrapped in ecstasy, drew nearer to the singular stranger. A charm, they had never before felt, seized all listeners, and the king was carried away in feeling, as upon a tide from Heaven. Such music had never before been heard. All thought that a heavenly being had appeared among them; and especially so, because the young man appeared, during his song, continually to grow more beautiful and resplendent, and his voice more powerful. The gentle wind played with his golden locks. The lute in his hands seemed inspired, and it was as if his intoxicated gaze pierced into a secret world. The child-like innocence and simplicity of his face appeared to all transcendant. Now the glorious strain was finished. The elder poets pressed the young man to their bosoms with tears of joy. A silent inward exultation shot through the whole assembly. The king, filled with emotion, approached him. The young man threw himself reverently at his feet. The king raised him up, embraced him, and bade him ask for any gift. Then, with glowing cheeks he prayed the king to listen to another song, and to decide as to his request. The king stepped a few paces back, and the young stranger began:--

Through many a rugged, thorny pass,

With tattered robe, the minstrel wends;

He toils through flood and deep morass,

Yet none a helping hand extends.

Now lone and pathless, overflows

With bitter plaint his wearied heart;

Trembling beneath his lute he goes,

And vanquished by a deeper smart.

There is to me a mournful lot,

Deserted quite I wander here;--

Delight and peace to all I brought,

But yet to share them none are near.

To human life, and everything

That mortals have, I lent a bliss;

Yet all, with slender offering

My heart's becoming claim dismiss.

They calmly let me take my leave,

As spring is seen to wander on;

And none she gladdens, ever grieve

When quite dejected she hath gone.

For fruits they covetously long,

Nor wist she sows them in her seed;

I make a heaven for them in song,

Yet not a prayer enshrines the deed.

With joy I feel that from above

Weird spirits to these lips are bann'd,

O, that the magic tie of love

Were also knitted to my hand!

But none regard the pilgrim lone,

Who needy came from distant isles;

What heart will pity yet his own,

And quench his grief in winning smiles?

The lofty grass is waving, where

He sinks with tearful cheeks to rest;

But thither winnowing the air,

Song-spirits seek his aching breast;

Forgetting now thy former pain,

Its burden early cast behind,--

What thou in huts hast sought in vain,

Within the palace wilt thou find.

Awaiteth thee a high renown,

The troubled course is ending now;

The myrtle-wreath becomes a crown,

Hands truest place it on thy brow.

A tuneful heart by nature shares

The glory that surrounds a throne;

Up rugged steps the poet fares,

And straight becomes the monarch's son.

So far he had proceeded in his song, and wonder held the assembly spell-bound; when, during these stanzas, an old man with a veiled female of noble stature, carrying in her arms a child of wondrous beauty, who playfully eyed the assembly, and smilingly outstretched its little hands after the diadem of the king, made their appearance and placed themselves behind the minstrel. But the astonishment was increased, when the king's favorite eagle, which was always about his person, flew down from the tops of the trees with a golden headband, which he must have stolen from the king's chamber, and hovered over the head of the young man, so that the band fastened itself around his tresses. The stranger was frightened for a moment; the eagle flew to the side of the king, and left the band behind. The young man now handed it to the child, who reached after it; and sinking upon one knee towards the king, continued his song with agitated voice:--

From fairy dreams the minstrel flies

Abroad, impatient and elate;

Beneath the lofty trees he hies

Toward the stately palace-gate.

Like polished steel the walls oppose,

But over swiftly climb his strains;

And seized by love's delicious throes,

The monarch's child the singer gains.

They melt in passionate embrace,

But clang of armor bids them flee;

Within a nightly refuge place

They nurse the new-found ecstasy.

In covert timidly they stay,

Affrighted by the monarch's ire;

And wake with every dawning day

At once to grief and glad desire.

Hope is the minstrel's soft refrain,

To quell the youthful mother's tears;

When lo, attracted by the strain,

The king within the cave appears.

The daughter holds in mute appeal

The grandson with his golden hair;

Sorrowed and terrified they kneel,

And melts his stern resolve to air.

And yieldeth too upon the throne

To love and song a Father's breast;

With sweet constraint he changes soon

To ceaseless joy the deep unrest.

With rich requital love returns

The peace it lately would destroy,

And mid atoning kisses burns

And blossoms an Elysian joy.

Spirit of Song! oh, hither come,

And league with love again to bring

The exiled daughter to her home,

To find a father in the king!

To willing bosom may he press

The mother and her pleading one,

And yielding all to tenderness,

Embrace the minstrel as his son.

The young man, on uttering these words, which softly swelled through the dark paths, raised with trembling hand the veil. The princess, her eyes streaming with tears, fell at the feet of the king, and reached to him the beauteous child. The minstrel knelt with bowed head at her side. An anxious silence seemed to hold the breath of every one suspended. For a few moments the king remained grave and speechless; then he took the princess to his bosom, pressed her to himself with a warm embrace, and wept aloud. He also raised the young man, and embraced him with heart-felt tenderness. Exulting joy flew through the assembly, which began to crowd eagerly around them. Taking the child, the king raised it towards Heaven with touching devotion; and then kindly greeted the old man. Countless tears of joy were shed. The poets burst forth in song, and the night became a sacred festive eve of promise to the whole land, where life henceforth was but one delightful jubilee. No one can tell whither that land has fled. Tradition only whispers us that mighty floods have snatched Atlantis from our eyes.