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all romances. It's a pity one can't read the first volume of it, because it is written in alanguage that we don't understand. One must read in the differentstrata, in the pebble-stones, for each separate period. Yes, it is aromance, a very wonderful romance, and we all have our place in it. We grope and ferret about, and yet remain where we are; but the ballkeeps turning, without emptying the ocean over us; the clod on whichwe move about,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], holds, and does not let us through. And then it's astory that has been acting for thousands upon thousands of years andis still going on. My best thanks for the book about the boulders.Those are fellows indeed! They could tell us something worthhearing, if they only knew how to talk. It's really a pleasure now andthen to become a mere nothing, especially when a man is as highlyplaced as I am. And then to think that we all, even with patentlacquer, are nothing more than insects of a moment on that ant-hillthe earth, though we may be insects with stars and garters, places andoffices,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! One feels quite a novice beside these venerablemillion-year-old boulders. On last New Year's eve I was reading thebook, and had lost myself in it so completely,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], that I forgot myusual New Year's diversion, namely, the wild hunt to Amack. Ah, youdon't know what that is!"The journey of the witches on broomsticks is well enough known-that journey is taken on St. John's eve, to the Brocken; but we have awild journey, also which is national and modern,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and that is thejo
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