A strange rumbling noise greeted his ears; the clank of ponderous machines, the whirr of enormous belts, as the earth turned on her axis. The wind, which had been bitterly cold, grew gradually warmer; a strange, dreamy lassitude stole over him, a wavy, half-light helped to soothe his senses.
On—on, he floated; how long he knew not; days—weeks—he had no idea as to time. A desperate hunger assailed him; he fancied that trees loaded with luscious fruits mocked him as he was swept by; odors strange but delightful seemed to fill his whole being with longing; his mouth dripped with moisture. Oh, how dreadful the onward sweeping! Would it never end?
All sound had died away—I should say—had been left behind; no more creaking and groaning of the horribly ponderous machinery; but a silence still more horrible reigned. We have little realization of what perfect silence would be. Our world is one vast hubbub. Who ever knew the day or night, the time or place, that we did not hear the rush of the wind among the treetops; the calls of birds; the lowing of cattle; the bark of a dog, or the blow of an ax; perhaps the crack of a whip? Noise, noise everywhere, and at all times. Were perfect silence to reign for one hour, the tones of the human voice would strike upon the ear with the force of a blow.
Nordhung must have swooned; how long he remained in this unconscious state he had no means of knowing; indeed, he felt that here time was not. As his faculties once more became active, he noticed, first, that he was being carried forward much more slowly; secondly, that instead of going straight ahead, he was describing an immense circle, with an occasional sharp turn. He also observed that the wavering light had increased to a steady white glow, a brilliancy almost blinding to his unaccustomed eyes; faint sounds came to him from time to time, not like the ponderous noises which had affrighted him, but human sounds—laughter—a child’s cry—but with something strange in the tone. His heart swelled rapturously! Was he nearing the earth’s surface again? Oh, that he might once more sit on the crags of Norway, and look upon his beautiful land!
We are prone to consider that most beautiful which we looked upon while the heart was young; then, all the world was fair, and we loved much.
When disappointments have come to us, and hope has grown jaded, we look back, even upon a rocky desolation, and say in all sincerity, “How beautiful it was,” not knowing that it was but our hearts’ hopes that were beautiful. Alas, that were!
Nordhung sadly thought: “My father was right, and I am well punished for prying into the unknown.”
Sounds became more distinctly audible; the wind had fallen to a gentle breeze, and he felt himself settling, settling as you have seen a balloon descend as the gas gradually escaped.
Gently he floated into the midst of an excited group, who scattered with cries of fear and wonder. Strange sounds issued from these strange beings; tones of dismay, and astonishment, in which no one voice differed from another; a thin sound, lacking timbre; as the wind blows with the angry force of the storm, or gently sighs of a placid summer day—so these voices were in anger high and shrill, in joy softly reaching the consciousness. Their bodies—if that could be called a body which possessed no substance—were as strange as their voices, being but a vapor surrounding the soul—the shadow of a form; each emotion, thought or impulse was therefore plainly discernible. Of speech there was no need, consequently there was none; all sound emitted was but that of spontaneity; laughter, cries of wonder, horror, and the like.
The shriek of amazement that greeted his ears; the strange appearance of the people; the weird surroundings so impressed Nordjansen that little, cold shivers chased each other down his spine. He saw their thought, their wonder and fear; as I have said, there was no need of language; each spirit saw, and perfectly comprehended the thought of the other; it was cause of amazement to these people that they could not see his thought—the working of his mind; this wonderful fact—much more than the mode of his advent, or of his presence—dominated each intelligence.