THE TRJUMPH OF LIFE 



ened. Blackened by fire? At once my mind 

 composes the picture. 



When I strike two pieces of this flint together 

 ft clear spark springs out. That being which 

 could chip out knives from flint had learned to 

 kindle a fire with those sparks. At this fire it 

 warmed itself in the cave so that its blood re- 

 mained warm instead of cooling down like that 

 of the stiffened marmot during its winter sleep. 

 Along with the blood, however, his mind re- 

 mained fresh, his hand movable. In the cozy 

 warmth of his hearth fire he could paint, to 

 break up the monotony of his existence by 

 bringing before him in fancy the summer with 

 its green pastures over which the mammoth 

 trotted. The red glow of flickering flames glis- 

 tened on the fresh painting. Now I know from 

 where the light came. This being did not need 

 to shine himself like a deep sea fish, the hearth 

 fire illuminated his cave night for him. 



How vivid becomes the picture in this Tar- 

 tarian abyss. Can you hear the storm howling 

 outside? Here no breath bends the kindly 

 flickering red flame. This being did not need 

 to get rid of any of his organs in order to ad- 

 just himself to the cave. He did not need to 

 lose his eye like the blind cave cricket, nor to 

 have the warmth of his blood squeezed out like 

 the marmot. He did not need to have the pow- 

 ers of his organs transformed into an ordinary 

 1S7 



