Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces;: or, the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Burgh of Kuhschnappel.Jean Paul
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Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces;: or, the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Burgh of Kuhschnappel.
Jean Paul
German fiction -- Translations into English
But we must first look after her husband a little, and see how he is
getting on, and whither he bends his steps. At first among the market
stalls; for the many-throated roaring, and the Olla Podrida of cheap
pleasures, and the displayed pattern cards of all the rags out of, and
upon, which we human clothes moths construct our covering cases and our
abodes--all these caused his mind to sink deep into a sea of
humoristic-melancholy reflections concerning this mosaic picture of a
life of ours, made up as it is of so many little bits, many-tinted
moments, motes, atoms, drops, dust, vapours. He laughed, and listened,
with an emotion incomprehensible by many of my readers, to a ballad
singer, bawling, with his rhapsodist's staff in his right hand pointed
at a big, staring picture of a horrible murder, and his left full of
smaller, printed pictures, for sale, in which the misdeed and the
perpetrator of it were displayed to the German public in no brighter
colours than those of poetry. Siebenkæs bought two copies, and put them
in his pocket, to read in the evening.
This tragic murder picture evoked in the background of his fancy that
of the poor girl he had defended, and the gallows, on to which fell
those burning tears which had flowed from his wounded heart--that heart
which nobody on earth, save one, understood--when last it had been
lacerated. He left the noisy market-place, and sought all-peaceful
nature, and that isolatorium, destined alike for friendship and for
guilt, the gallows. When we pass from the stormy uproar of a fair into
the still expanse of wide creation, entering into the dim aisles of
nature's hushed cathedral, the strange sudden calm, is to the soul as
the caressing touch of some beloved hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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