THE WINTER NIGHT 423 



" The sun mounts up and bathes the ice-plain with its 

 radiance. Spring is coming, but brings no joys with it. 

 Here it is as lonely and cold as ever. One's soul freezes. 

 Seven more years of such life — or say only four — how 

 will the soul appear then } And she . . .} If I dared to 

 let my longings loose — to let my soul thaw. Ah ! I long 

 more than I dare confess. 



" I have not courage to think of the future. . . . And 

 how will it be at home, when year after year rolls by and 

 no one comes } 



" I know this is all a morbid mood ; but still this 

 inactive, lifeless monotony, without any change, wrings 

 one s very soul. No struggle, no possibility of struggle ! 

 All is so still and dead, so stiff and shrunken, under 

 the mantle of ice. Ah I . . . the very soul freezes. What 

 would I not give for a single day of struggle — for even a 

 moment of danger ! 



" Still I must wait, and watch the drift ; but should it 

 take a wrong direction, then I will break all the bridges 

 behind me, and stake everything on a northward march 

 over the ice. I know nothing better to do. It will be a 

 hazardous journey — a matter, maybe, of life or death. But 

 have I any other choice } 



"It is unworthy of a man to set himself a task, and 

 then give in when the brunt of the battle is upon him. 

 There is but one way, and that is Fram — forward. 



" Tuesday, March 27th. We are again drifting 

 southward, and the wind is northerly. The midday ob- 



