Christian experienced a feeling of unspeakable content, of inward peace, during this exciting race.
“I cannot express to you,” he said to the good major, who was really like a brother in his kindness and devotion, “how happy I am to-day!”
“God be praised! dear Christian, for last night you were melancholy.”
“It was the darkness that made me so: the lake, whose beautiful covering of snow had been soiled by the race, and which looked like a mass of lead under our feet. It was the hogar, lighted by torches as gloomy as funereal torches gleaming over a tomb. It was that barbarous statue of Odin, which, with its threatening hammer and its formless arm, seemed to be hurling down some mysterious malediction upon the new world—no longer subject to his power—and upon our profane band! The whole scene was beautiful, but yet terrible; my imagination is vivid, and then—”
“And then, confess,” said the major; “something was troubling you.”
“Perhaps so; a dream, a foolish fancy which the return of the sun has dissipated. Yes, major, the sun exerts as beneficent an influence upon the spirit of man as upon his body. It illumines the soul as well as the natural world. This strangely beautiful and fantastic sun of the north is still the same as the glowing sun of Italy, and the mild sun of France. It does not give so much heat, but I imagine that it gives even more light than elsewhere, in this country of silver and crystal! All nature is its mirror, even the atmosphere, in these regions of immaculate ice. Blessed be the sunshine! Don’t you agree with me, major? And blessed be you, also, for bringing me with you on this revivifying drive, which inspires and strengthens me. Yes, yes, this is the life that suits me!—movement, air, warmth, cold, light! The world before you, a horse, a sleigh, a ship—pshaw! still less, legs, wings, liberty!”
“You are a strange being, Christian! For my part, I should prefer, to all that, a woman whom I loved.”
“Well,” said Christian, “and I too, perhaps! I am not strange at all; but you must be able to support your family, or else remain a bachelor. What would you have me do with nothing? Unable to dream of happiness, I have at least the consolation of knowing how to forget my deprivations, and of feeling a sincere enthusiasm for the austere joys that are within my reach. Do not talk to me about a family, and the corner of a fireside. Let me dream of the free wind wafting you towards unknown shores—I know, dear friend, that man is made to love! I feel it deeply at this very moment, by the side of a person who has received me like a brother, and whom I must leave to-morrow, perhaps forever; but, since it is my destiny to be unable to establish any ties, in any place, since I have neither country, nor family, nor position in this world, the whole secret of my courage lies in the faculty I have acquired of enjoying happiness on the wing, and of forgetting that the morrow will inevitably sweep it away like a beautiful dream. And besides, I have reflected a great deal since we drank our punch in the grotto of the hogar.”
“Poor fellow! you must be in love, for you have not slept.”
“Whether in love or not, I slept the sleep of the innocent; but one reflects quickly when he has not many hours to lose in life. While dressing myself, and while coming from Stollborg to join you, I was deeply impressed by one plain and simple truth. This is that I have made a mistake in trying to solve the problem of the wandering artist’s career. I have reasoned like a spoiled child of civilization, and have been unwilling to resign the enjoyments of the sybarite. But let me explain myself more clearly—”