THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE 



begins to run false and threatens to stand still. 

 Entombed in the shelter of this abyssraal waste, 

 we recall the limited region of the lower air — 

 there where the medusa swims and the human 

 ship steers — the protoplasmic human membrane 

 is only possible in this layer, this thin bark over 

 the stone and water colossus. Already we have 

 cut through it in our flight from the world 

 space, through the atmosphere, into this water 

 depths. To be sure yonder feeler of man, the 

 deep sea lead goes down below us here. But it 

 is only an indirectly animated implement. We 

 can imagine how a human body, the delicate 

 wonder flower of nature, woven of light and air, 

 would be pitifully crushed and suff^ocated here 

 below. As on the moon, the mind must wander 

 here, not the body. 



Our eyes burrow into the watery night while 

 our feet are in the loathsome cold slime of the 

 ground. Suddenly a little blue flame appears. 

 It moves along with zigzag strokes, it is gone. 

 Now it appears far away, it comes nearer. Twice 

 yes three times, it turns, it races, it plays. A 

 larger pale red and green double light inter- 

 venes, as quick as lightning the other vanishes. 

 This time it is certainly not Llic waves that 

 glisten. They are little flames. From whence 

 come these flames in this motionless mass of 

 water? They must be lanterns carried by some 



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