THE DRYAD

 WE are travelling to the Paris Exhibition．

Now we are there！ it was a flight， a rush， but quitewithout witchcraft；we came by steam， in a ship and on a high road．

Our time， is the fairy-tale time．

We are in the midst of Paris，in a great hotel，allthe staircase is decorated with flowers， and soft carpetscover the steps．

Our room is comfortable， the balcony door is stand-ing open to a big square．Down there the spring lives． Ithas driven to Paris arriving at the same time as we； it hascome in the shape of a big， young chestnut tree， with finenewly-opened leaves． How it is clothed in all the glory ofspring， far beyond all the other trees in the square！ Oneof these has gone out of the number of the living trees，and lies prostrate on the ground， torn up by the roots．

There， where it stood， the new chestnut tree shall be planted and grow．

As yet it stands high up in the heavy cart which brought it to Paris this morning from the country， severalmiles away． There it had stood for years，close beside a mighty oak， under which sat often the kindly old priest， who told stories to the listening children．The young chestnut tree listened with them： the Dryad inside it， whowas still a child，could remember the time when the treewas so small that it only reached a little higher than the ferns and long blades of grass．They were then as big asthey could be， but the tree grew and increased everyyear， drank air and sunshine， received dew and rain， andwas shaken and lashed by the rough winds：this is neces- sary for education．

The Dryad rejoiced in her life and experiences， in the sunshine and the song of birds， but happy most of all at the voices of men；she understood their language quiteas wall as she understood that of animals．

Butterflies，dragon-flies， and common flies-everthing that could fly， paid her a visit； they all gos-sipped together；told about the village，the vineyard，the wood， the old castle with the park， in which were canals and dams； down there in the water， dwelt also living things，which in their own way could also fly from place to place under the water，beings with thought and knowledge；

they said nothing，so wise were they．

And the swallow， which had dipped down into thewater，told about the lovely gold-fish，about the fat bream，the thick tench， and the old， moss-grown carp ． The swal- low gave a very good description，" but one can see better for oneself，" she said； but how should the Dryad ever getto see these beings？She must content herself with being able to look out over the beautiful landscape and see the busy activity of men．That was lovely，but most lovely ofall， when the old priest stood here under the oak， and toldabout France， find about the great deeds of men and wom- en，whose names are named with admiration throughout all times．

The Dryad heard of the shepherdess Joan of Arc， of Charlotte Corday； she heard of olden times， of the times ofHenry Ⅳ， and of Napoleon Ⅰ ， and of greatness and talent，right up to the present day． She heard names， each of which rang in the hearts of the people． France is a world-wide land； a soil of intellect with a crater of freedom．

The village children listened devoutly， and the Dryad not less so； she was a school-child like the others． She sawin the forms of the sailing clouds picture after picture of what she had heard told． The cloudy sky was her picture book．

She felt herself so happy in the lovely France；buthad still a feeling that the birds，and every animal whichcould fly，were much more favoured than she．Even the flycould look about himself， far and wide， much farther than the Dryad's horizon. France was so extensive and so glorious， but she could only see a little bit of it； like a world， the countrystretched out with vineyards，woods，and great towns，and of all of these Paris whs the mightiest，and the most bril-liant；thither the birds could go，but never she．

Amongst the village children was a little girl，sopoor and so ragged，but lovely to look it；she was alwayslaughing and singing，and wreathing red flowers in her black hair．

"Do not go to Paris！" said the old priest．" Poorchild！ if you go there， it will be your ruin！"

And yet she went．

The Dryad often thought about her，for they had both the same desire and longing for the great city．

Spring came，summer，autumn，winter；two or three years passed．

The Dryad's tree bore its first chestnut blossoms，the birds twittered about it in the lovely sunshine．Thenthere came along the road a grand carriage with a statelylady；she， herself，drove the beautiful prancing horses；asmart little groom sat behind her． The Dryad knew heragain，the old priest knew her again，shook his head，and said sorrowfully， "You did go there！ it was your ruin！Poor Marie！"

"She poor！"thought the Dryad．" Why，what a change！ she is dressed like a duchess！ she became likethis in the city of enchantment． Oh， if I were only there in all the splendour and glory！ it even throws a light up into the clouds at night， when I look in the di-rection where I know the city is．

Yes，thither，towards that quarter，the Dryad looked every evening， every night． She saw the glim- mering mist on the horizon ；she missed it in the bright，moonlight nights； she missed the floating clouds whichshowed her pictures of the city and of history．

The child grasps at its picture-book； the Dryad grasped at the cloud world， her book of thoughts．

The warm summer sky， free from clouds， was for her a blank page， and now for several days she hadseen such sky．

It was the warm summer-time， with sultry days without a breath of air．

Every leaf， every flower， lay as in a doze， and men were like that too．

Then clouds arose， and that in the quarter where at night the glimmering mist announced，" Here is Paris."

The clouds arose， forming themselves like a whole mountain range， and scudded through the air， out over the whole landscape as far as the Dryad could see．

The clouds lay like enormous purple rocks， layer on layer high up in the sky．Flashes of lightning darted forth；

" they also are servants of God the Lord，" the old priest hadsaid． And there came a bluish dazzling flash， a blaze as if the sun itself had burst the purple rocks， and the lightning came down， and splintered the mighty old oak tree to the roots；its crown was rent，its trunk was rent，it fell split asunder as if it spread itself out to embrace the messenger of light． No metal cannon can boom through the air and over the land at the birth of a royal child， as the thunderruwbled here at the death of the old oak tree． The rainstreamed down： a refreshing breeze blew， the storm was past， and a Sunday calm fell on everything．The village people gathered round the fallen old oak； the venerablepriest spoke words in its praise， and an artist made a sketch of the tree itself as a lasting memorial．

"Everything passes away！ "said the Dryad，" passes away like the clouds，and returns no more．"

The old priest came there no more； the school roofhad fallen， and the teachers'chair was gone． The childrencame no more， but the autumn came， winter came， andthe spring came too， and in all the changing seasons the Dryad gazed towards the quarter where every evening and night，far away on the horizon， Paris shone like a shim- mering mist．Out from it sped engine after engine， the onetrain after the other， rushing and roaring， at all hours； inthe evening and at midnight， in the morning， and through the whole of the daytime came the trains， and from every one and into every one crowded people from all the coun- tries in the world； a new wonder of the world had calledthem to Paris． How did this wonder reveal itself？

" A splendid flower of art and industry，" they said， " has sprung up on the barren soil of the Field of Mars； a gigantic sunflower，from whose leaves one can learn geog- raphy and statistics， get the learning of a guild-master， be elevated in art and poetry， and learn the size and greatness of different countries."

" A fairy-blossom，" said others，" a many coloured lo- tus-plant， which spreads its green leaves over the sand， like a velvet carpet，which has sprung forth in the early spring． The summer shall see it in all its glory ；the autumnstorms will sweep it away； neither root nor leaf shall beleft．"

Outside the military school stretches the arena of war in times of peace ；the field without grass and stalk， apiece of sandy plain cut out of the African desert，whereFata Morgana shows her strange castles in the air and hang- ing gardens； on the Field of Mars they now stand morebrilliant and more wonderful， because genius had madethem real．

" The present-day Palace of Aladdin is reared，" it wassaid．Day by day，and hour by hour，it unfolds its rich splendour more and more． Marble and colours adorn its endless halls．" Master Bloodless " here moves his steel andiron limbs in the great machinery-hall．Works of art in metal， in stone， in weaving， proclaim the mental life which is stirring in all the countries of the world． Picture-galleries，masses of flowers， everything that intellect andhand can create in the workshops of the craftsman is here displayed to view. Even relics of ancient days from old castles and peat-mosses have met here．

The overwhelmingly great and varied sight must be re- duced and condensed to a toy in order to be reproduced， understood， and seen as a whole．

The Field of Mars， like a great Christmas table， had on it an Aladdin's Palace of industry and art，and roundabout it were little articles from all countries； every nationfound something to remind it of home． Here stood theEgyptian royal palace， here the caravanserai of the desert，the Bedouin coming from his sunny land swung past on his camel； here extended Russian stables with magnificent fierysteeds from the steppes． The little thatched farm-house from Denmark stood with its"Dannebrog" flag beside Gus- tav Vasa's beautifully carved wooden house from Dalarne inSweden； American huts；English cottages， French pavil- ions， kiosks， churches，and theatres lay oddly strewn about，and amidst all that，the fresh green turf，the clear，running water，flowering shrubs，rare trees，glass-houses where one could imagine oneself in a tropical forest； wholerose-gardens，as if brought from Damascus，bloomed under the roof；what colours，what fragrance！ Stalactite caves，artificially made， enclosing fresh and salt lakes，gave anexhibition from the kingdom of fish． One stood down on thebottom of the sea among fish and polypi．

All this， they said， the Field of Mare now bears andpresents to view， and over this great richly-decked table moves， like a busy swarm of ants， the whole crowd of peo-ple， either on foot or drawn in little carriages； all legs can-not stand such an exhausting promenade．

They come here fron early morning until late in the evening. Steamer after steamer， full of people， glides downthe Seine． The number of carriages is constantly increasing， the crowds of people both on foot and on horse-back are increasing， omnibuses and tramcars are stuffed and filled and covered with people—all these streams moveto one goal，"The Paris Exhibition！" All the entrances aredecorated with the French flag； round about the bazaar-buildings wave the flags of all nations； from the machinery-hall there is a whirring and humming；the bells chime in melody from the towers ； the organs play inside the church-es；hoarse， snuffing songs from the Oriental cafe's minglewith the music． It is like the kingdom of Babel， the lan-guage of Babel， a Wonder of the World．

It was such indeed——so the reports about it said； whodid not hear them？ The Dryad knew everything that has been said here about the" new wonder" in the city ofcities．

"Fly， ye birds！ fly thither to look， come again andtell！" was the prayer of the Dryad．

The longing swelled to a wish， and became a life's thought； and then one still silent night， when the full moonwas shining， there flew out from its disk—the Dryad saw it—a spark，which fell glittering like a meteor；and be- fore the tree， whose branches shook as in a blast of wind，stood a mighty， radiant figure．It spoke in tones so soft and yet as strong as the trump of the Last Day，which kisses to life and calls to judgement．

" Thou shalt enter that place of enchantment， thou shalt there take root，feel the rushing currents，the air and the sunshine there． But thy lifetime shall be short-ened，the series of years which awaited thee out here in the open， will shrink there to a small number of seasons．Poor Dryad； it will be thy ruin！ thy longing will grow，thy yearning and thy craving will become stronger！ The tree itself will become a prison for thee； thou wilt forsakethy dwelling， forsake thy nature， and fly away and mixwith human beings， and then thy years will dwindle downto half the lifetime of the ephemeral fly， only a singlenight thy life shall be extinguished ，the leaves of the tree shall wither and be blown away， to return no more．"

Thus it sounded，thus it sang， and the brightness vanished，but not the longing and desire of the Dryad；she trembled with expectation， in a fever of wild anticipa- tion．

" I shall go to the city of cities！" she exultingly cried．" Life begins，gathers like the cloud， and no one knows where it goes．"

In the grey dawn， when the moon grew pale and the clouds red， the hour of fulfilment struck， and the promisewas redeemed．

People came with spades and poles ；they dug round the roots of the tree，deep down， right under it． Then a cart was brought up， drawn by horses， the tree， with the roots and clods of earth hanging to them， was lifted， wrapped in matting which made a warm foot-bag for it， then it was placed on the cart and bound fast． It was to go on a journey to Paris， to grow and remain there in thegrandest city of France—the city of cities. The leaves and branches of the chestnut tree trem- bled in the first moment of motion； the Dryad trembled inthe delight of expectation.

"Away！ away！"rang in every pulse-beat．"Away！away！" came the echo in trembling， fluttering words．TheDryad forgot to say " Farewell " to her native place， to thewaving grasses and the innocent daisies， which had lookedup to her as to a great lady in our Lord's garden， a youngPrincess who played the shepherdess out in the country．

The chestnut tree was on the cart， it nodded with its branches " Farewell "，or" Away"，the Dryad knew notwhich； she thought and dreamt of the wonderful， new， andyet so familiar scenes which should be unfolded before her．No childish heart in innocent delight， no passion filled soul， has ever begun its journey to Paris more full of thought than she．"Farewell！" became " Away！ away！"

The wheels of the cart went round， the distant be- came near and was left behind； the country changed as theclouds change ；new vineyards， forests， villages，villas，and gardens sprang up， came in sight， and rolled away again． The chestnut tree moved forward， the Dryad forward with it， engine after engine rushed close past each other and crossed each other； the engines sent out clouds， whichformed figures that told of the Paris they came from， and towhich the Dryad was bound. Everything round about knew and must understand whither her way led ； she thought that every tree she went past stretched out its branches to her，and begged："Takeme with you！ take me with you！" In every tree there wasalso a Dryad full of longing．

What changes！ What a journey！It seemed as if hous- es shot up out of the earth， more and more，closer andcloser． Chimneys rose like flower-pots， placed above each other and side by side along the roofs；great inscriptions with letters a yard long，painted figures on the walls from the ground-floor to the cornice shone forth．

" Where does Paris begin， and when shall I be in it？"the Dryad asked herself．

The crowds of people increased， the noise and bustlegrew greater， carriage followed carriage， men on foot fol-lowed men on horse， and all round was shop upon shop， music and song， screaming and talking. The Dryad in her tree was in the midst of Paris．

The great，heavy cart stopped in a little square， planted with trees， surrounded by high houses， where ev- ery window had its balcony．People looked down from there upon the young， fresh chestnut tree which was driv- en up，and which was now to be planted here， in place ofthe worn-out， uprooted tree， which lay stretched along theground． People stood still in the square， and looked atthe spring verdure， smiling and delighted； the older trees， still only in bud，greeted her with rustling branch-es，" Welcome！welcome！"and the fountain which threwits jets of water into the air， letting them splash again intothe broad basin， allowed the wind to carry drops over tothe newly-arrived tree， as if it would offer it a cup of wel-come．

The Dryed felt that its tree was lifted from the cartand placed in its future position．The tree's roots werehidden in the earth， fresh turf was laid over them； blos-soming shrubs and pots of flowers were planted like thetree；here was a whole garden plot right in the middle of the square．

The dead， uprooted tree， killed by gas-fumes， kitchen-fumes， and all the plant-killing vapours of a town， was laid on the cart and driven away． The crowd looked on， children and old people sat on benches on thegrass， and looked up among the leaves of the newly- planted tree. And we， who tell about it， stood on thebalcony， looked down on the young spring verdure just come from the fresh country air， and said， as the oldpriest would have said："Poor Dryad！"

"How happy I am！" said the Dryad，"and yet I can-not quite realize it， nor quite express what I feel ；every-thing is as I expected it！and yet not quite as I expected！"

The houses were so high， and so close： the sunshone properly only upon one wall， and it was pastedover with posters and placards， before which the peoplestood and made the place crowded． Vehicles wentpast， light and heavy ； omnibuses， those over-filledhouses on wheels， rolled along．riders trotted ahead， carts and carriages claimed the right to do the same．

The Dryad wondered whether the tall houses， which stood so close， would also flit away， change their shapes like the clouds and glide aside， so that shecould see into Paris， and out over it． Notre-Dame mustshow itself， and the Vendme Column， and the Wonder which had called and was calling so many strangers hither．But the houses did not move．

It was still day， when the lamps were lighted， the gasrays shone out from the shops and up among the branch- es of the tree； it was like summer sunshine． The stars cameout overhead， the same ones the Dryad had seen in her na- tive place ；she thought she felt a breeze from there， sopure and mild． she felt herself elevated and strengthened，and found she had the power of seeing right out through all the leaves of the tree， and had feeling to the farthest tips ofthe roots． She felt herself in the living human world，looked at with kindly eyes；round about were bustle and music，colours and lights．

From a side street sounded wind-instruments， and thedance-inspiring tunes of the barrel-organ． Yes， to the dance，to the dance！ it sounded—to gladness and the pleasure of life．

It was a music that must set men， horses， carriages， trees，and houses dancing，if they could dance．An intoxi- cating joy arose in the Dryad's breast．

" How delightful and beautiful！" she cried joyfully，" Iam in Paris！"

The day which came， the night which followed， andagain the next day， offered the same sights， the same stir，the same life， changing and yet always the same．

"Now I know every tree and every flower in the square here！ I know every house， balcony and shop here， where Iam placed in this little cramped corner which hides the great， mighty town from me. Where are the triumphal arches， the boulevards， and the Wonder of the World？

None of all these do I see！ I am imprisoned as in a cage amongst the tall houses， which I now know by heart， withtheir placards， and posters， and sign-boards， all theseplaster sweetmeats， which I have no taste for any longer．Where is all that I heard about， know about， longed for， and for the sake of which I wished to come here？ What have I grasped，won， or found！ I am longing as before， I see a life which I must grasp and live in！ I must enter theranks of the living！I must revel there，fly like the birds，see and understand， become wholly human， seize half aday of that in place of years of life in everyday fatigue andtediousness， in which I sicken and droop， and vanish likethe mist on the meadow． I must shine like the cloud，shine in the sunlight of life， look out over everything likethe cloud， and pass away like it，—no one knows whither！"

This was the Dryad's sigh， which lifted itself in prayer. "Take my lifetime ， and give me the half of the Ephemera's life！ Free me from my imprisonment，give me human life， human joy for a short space，only this single night， if it must be so， and punish me thus for mypresumptuous spirit， my longing for life！ Annihilate me；let the fresh， young tree that encloses me then wither andfall， become ashes， and be scattered to the winds．"

A rustling passed through the branches of the tree；there came a titillating feeling， a trembling in every leaf，as if fire ran through it or out of it， a blast went throughthe crown of the tree， and in the midst of it arose a wom- an's form，—the Dryad herself． In the same instant shesat under the gas-illumined， leafy branches， young and beautiful， like poor Marie， to whom it was said，" The great city will be thy ruin！"

The Dryad sat by the foot of the tree， by the door ofher house， which she had locked and of which she hadthrown away the key． So young， so beautiful！ The stars saw her and twinkled． The gas-lamps saw her and beamed and beckoned！ How slender she was and yet strong， a child and yet a full-grown maiden．Her clothes were fineas silk， and green as the fresh， newly-unfolded leaves inthe crown of the tree； in her nut-brown hair hung a half-blown chestnut blossom； she looked like the goddess of Spring．

Only a short minute she sat motionless and still， then she sprang up， and ran like a gazelle from the place， and disappeared round the corner. She ran，she sprang like the light from a mirror which is carried in thesunshine， the light which with every motion is cast nowhere and now there； and if one had looked closely， andbeen able to see what there was to see， how wonderful！

At every place where she stopped for a moment， her clothes and her figure were changed according to the char-acter of the place， or the house whose lamp shone uponher．

She reached the Boulevards； a sea of light streamedfrom the gas in the lamps， shops， and cafes. Young and slender trees stood here in rows； each one hid its Dryadfrom the beams of the artificial sunlight． The whole of the long， never-ending pavement was like one great assembly room； tables stood spread with refreshments of all kinds，from champagne and chartreuse down to coffee and beer．

There was a display of flowers， of pictures， statues，books， and many coloured fabrics．

From the throng under the tall houses she looked out over the alarming stream under the rows of trees： thererushed a tide of rolling carriages，cabriolets，coaches，om- nibuses， and cabs， gentlemen on horseback， and marching regiments，—it was risking life and limb to cross over to the opposite side． Now shone a blue light， then the gas- lights were supreme， and suddenly a rocket shot up；whence and whither？

Certainly，it was the highway of the great city of theworld．

Here sounded soft Italian melodies， there Spanish songs， accompanied by the beating of castanets，but strongest，and swelling above all，sounded the musical-box melodies of the moment， the tickling can- can music， un- known to Orphous， and never heard by beautiful Helen；even the wheelbarrow must have danced on its one wheel if it could have danced． The Dryad danced， floated， flew，changing in colour like the honey-bird in the sunshine；each house and the world within it gave fresh tints to her．

As the gleaming lotus-flower， torn from its root， is borne by the stream on its eddies， she difted； and wherevershe stood， she was again a new shape， therefore no onecould follow her，recognize and watch her．

Like cloud-pictures everything flew past her， face af- ter face， but not a single one did she know； she saw noform from her own home. There shone in her thoughts two bright eyes， and she thought of Marie，poor Marie！ the happy ragged child with the red flower in her black hair．

She was in the city of the world， rich， and dazzling， aswhen she drove past the priest's house， the Dryad's tree，and the old oak．

She was here， no doubt，in the deafening noise；

perhaps she had just got out of that magnificent coach waiting yonder；splendid carriages stood here with laced coachmen， and silk-stockinged footmen． The grand peo- ple alighting were all women，richly dressed ladies．They went through the open lattice-door， up the high， broad stairs， which led to a building with white marble columns． Was this perhaps the"Wonder of the World"？Then certainly Marie was there！

" Sancta Maria！" they sang within； the clouds of in-cense floated under the lofty painted and gilded arches，where twilight reigned．It was the Church of the Madeleine． Dressed in black， in costly materials made af- ter the latest fashion，ladies of the highest society glided over the polished floor． Coats of arms were on the silver clasps of the prayer books bound in velvet， and on thefine， strongly-scented handkerchiefs trimmed with costly Brussels lace． Some of the ladies knelt in silent prayerbefore the altars， others sought the confessionals．

The Dryad felt a restlessness， a fear，as if she had entered a place where she ought not to have set foot．Herewas the home of silence， the palace of secrets； all waswhispered and confided without a sound being heard．

The Dryad saw herself disguised in silk and veil，re- sembling in form the other rich and high-born ladies；waseach of them a child of longing like herself？

There sounded a sigh， so painfully deep；did itcome from the confessional corner， or from the breast of the Dryad？ She drew her veil closer round her．She breathed the incense and not the fresh air． Here was noplace for her longing．

Away！away！in flight without rest！ The Ephemera has no rest ； its flight is its life！

She was again outside under the blazing gas-lamps by the splendid fountain．" All the streams of water will not be able to wash away the innocent blood which has been shed here．" So it has been said．

Foreigners stood here and talked loudly and with an- imation，as no one dared to do in the High Court of Mys- tery，from which the Dryad came.

A large stone-slab was turned and lifted up； she did not understand this；she saw an open entrance to the depthe of the earth； into ths people descended from the starlit sky，from the sunshiny gas-flames， from all the stir-ring life．

" I am afraid of this！" said one of the women who stood there；"I dare not go down；I don' t care either aboutseeing the sight！Stay with me！"

" And go back home，" said the man，"go from Paris without having seen the most remarkable thing， the real wonder of the present time， called into being by the talentand will of a single man！"

"I shall not go down there，" was the answer．

" The wonder of the present age，" they said． TheDryad heard and understood it； the goal of her greatestlonging was reached， and here was the entrance， down inthe depths under Paris ；she had not thought of this，but when she heard it now ，and saw the foreigners going down， she followed them． The spiral staircase was of cast iron，broad and commodious．A lamp gleamed down there，and another one still farther down．

They stood in a labyrinth of endlessly long intersect- ing halls and arched passages； all the streets and lanes ofParis were to be seen here， as in a dim mirror， the names could be read， every house above had its number here， itsroot，which struck down under the empty， macadamized footway，which ran along by a broad canal with a stream of rolling mud． Higher up， along the arches，was led the fresh running water，and above all hung，like a net，gas- pipes and telegraph wires．Lamps shone in the distance， like reflected images from the metropolis above． Now andthen was heard a noisy rumbling overhead；it was the heavy wagon which drove over the bridges above．

Where was the Dryad？

You have heard of the catacombs； they are but the faintest of outlines compared to this new subterranean world， the wonder of the present day， the drains of Paris．Here stood the Dryad and not out in the world's exhibitionon the Field of Mars． She heard exclamations of astonish-ment， admiration and appreciation．

"From down here，" they saia，"healtn and years of life are growing for thousands and thousands up above！ Our time is the time of progress with all its blessings."

That was the opinion and the talk of the people， butnot of the creatures who lived and dwelt and had been born here， the rats；they squeaked from the rifts in apiece of old wall，so clearly，distinctly and intelligibly tothe Dryad．

A big old he-rat， with his tail bitten off， piercingly squeaked his feelings，his discomfort， and his honestopinion， and the family gave him support for every word．

" I am disgusted with this nonsense，this human nonsense， this ignorant talk！ Oh yes， it is very fine here now with gas and petroleum！I don' t eat that kind ofthing！ It has become so fine and bright here that one is ashamed of oneself，and does not know why．If we only lived in the time of tallow-candlles！ it isn't so far back either！ That was a romantic time，as they call it！"

" What is that you are talking about？" said the Dryad．" I did not see you before． What are you talking about？"

"The good old days，" said the rat，"the happy days of great-grandfather and great-grand-mother，rats！In those days it was something to come down here． It was a rat'snest different from the whole of Paris！ Mother Plaguelived down here；she killed people， but never rats． Rob-bers and smugglers breathed from down here. Here was the place of refuge the most interesting personages， who are now only seen in melodramas in the theatre up above． The time of romance is gone in our rat's nest too ；we have got fresh air and petroleum down here．

So squeaked the rat！squeaked against the new times in favour of the old days with Mother Plague．

A carriage stood there， a kind of open omnibus with swift， little horses； the party got into it， and rushed alongthe Boulevard Sebastopol， the subterranean one：rightabove stretched the well-known Parisian one full of people．

The carriage disappeared in the dim light； the Dryadalso vanished，rose up into the gas-light and the fresh free air； there， and not down in the crossing arches and their suffocating air， could the wonder be found， the Wonder of the World， that which she sought in her short night of life； it must shine stronger than all the gas-lights up here， stronger than the moon which now glided forth．

Yes， certainly！ and she saw it yonder， it beamed be- fore her， it twinkled and glittered like the star of Venus inthe sky．

She saw a shining gate，opening into a little garden，full of light and dancing melodles． Gas-jets shone here asborders round little quiet lakes and pools， where artificialwater-plants， cut out of tin-plate bent and painted， glit-tered in the light， and threw jets of water yard-high out oftheir chalices． Beautiful weeping-willows， real weeping-willows of the spring-time， drooped their fresh brancheslike a green transparent yet concealing veil．

Here， amongst the bushes， blazed a bonfire； its redglow shone over small， half-dark， silent arbours， permeat-ed， with tones， with a music thrilling to the ear， captivat-ing， alluring， chasing the blood through the veins. She saw young women，beautiful in festal attire， withtrusting smiles， and the light laughing spirit of youth， a" Marie"， with a rose in the hair， but without carriage andfootmen． How they floated， how they whirled in the wilddance！ As if bitten by the Tarantella，they sprang and laughed and smiled， blissfully happy， ready to embrace thewhole world．

The Dryad felt herself carried away in the dance．

About her slender little foot fitted the silken shoe，chest-nut-brown，like the ribbon which floated from her hair overher uncovered shoulders． The green silk garment waved ingreat folds， but did not conceal the beautifully formed limbwith the pretty foot， which seemed as if it wished to de-scribe magic circles in the air．Was she in the enchantedgarden of Armida？ What was the place called？ The name shone outside in gas-jets， "MABILLE"

Sounds of music and clapping of hands， rockets， andmurmuring water， popping of champagne corks mingled here． The dance was wildly bacchanalian， and over the whole sailed the moon， with a rather wry face， no doubt．The sky was cloudless，clear and serene； it seemed as ifone could see straight into Heaven from"Mabille"．

A consuming desire of life thrilled through the Dryad；it was like an opium trance．

Her eyes spoke， her lips spoke， but the words werenot heard for the sound of flutes and violins． Her partnerwhispered words in her ear， they trembled in time to the music of the can-can； she did not understand them，—we do not understand them either． He stretched his arms out towards her and about her， and only embraced the trans- parent， gas-filled air．

The Dryad was carried away by the stream of air， as the wind bears a rose-leaf．On high before her she saw a flame， a flashing light， high up on a tower． The light shone from the goal of her longing，from the red light- house on the " Fata Morgana"of the Field of Mars． She fluttered about the tower； the workmen thought it was abutterfly which they saw dropping down to die in its all too early arrival．

The moon shone，gas-lights and lamps shone in the great halls and in the scattered buildings of all lands， shone over the undulating greensward， and the rocks made by the ingenuity of men， where the waterfall poured down by the strength of" Mr．Bloodless．" The depths of theocean and of the fresh water， the realms of the fishes wereopened here； one was at the bottom of the deep pool， onewas down in the ocean， in a diving-bell． The water pressed against the thick glass walls above and around．

The polypi， fathom-long， flexible， winding，quivering，living arms， clutched， heaved， and grew fast to the bot-tom of the sea．

A great flounder lay thoughtfully close by， stretcheditself out in comfort and ease： the crab crawled like anenormous spider over it， whilst shrimps darted about witha haste， a swiftness， as if they were the moths and but-terflies of the sea．

In the fresh water grew water-lilies， sedges， and rushes． The gold-fishes had placed themselves in rows， like red cows in the field， all with the heads in the samedirection， so as to get the current in their mouths． Thickfat tench stared with stupid eyes towards the glass walls；they knew that they were at the Paris Exhibition；they knew that they had made the somewhat difficult journey hither， in barrels filled with water， and had been land- sick on the railway， just as people are sea-sick on the sea． They had come to see the Exhibition， and so theysaw it from their own fresh or salt water box， saw thethrong of men which moved past from morning to night．All the countries of the world had sent and exhibited their na- tives， so that the old tench and bream， the nimble perch and the moss-grown carp should see these beings and give their opinions upon the species．

" They are shell-fish！" said a muddy little bleak．"They change their shells two or three times in the day， and make sounds with their mouths—talking， they call it．

We don't change，and we make ourselves understood in an easier way； movements with the corners of the mouth， anda stare with the eyes！We have many points of superiority over mankind！"

" They have learnt swimming， though，" said a littlefreshwater fish．"I am from the big lake； men go into thewater in the hot season there， but first they put off their shells， and then they swim． The frogs have taught them that， they push with the hind-legs， and paddle with the fore-legs； they can't keep it up long．They would like toimitate us， but they don't get near it． Poor men！"

And the fishes stared； they imagined that the whole crowd of people they had seen in the strong daylight was still moving here； yes， they were convinced that they stillsaw the same forms which，so to speak，first struck their nerves of apprehension．

A little perch， with beautifully striped skin， and anenviable round back， asserted that the " human mud" wasthere still； he saw it．

"I also see it； it is so distinct！" said a jaundice-yel-low tench．" I see plainly the beautiful well-shaped humanfigure，'high-legged lady' or whatever it was they called her； she had our mouth and staring eyes， two balloons be- hind， and an umbrella let down in front， a great quantity ofhanging duck-weed dingling and dangling.She should put it all off， go like us in the guise of nature ， and she would look like a respectable tench， as far as human beings can do so！"

"What became of him—he on the string， the male—

they dragged？"

"He rode in a bath-chair， sat with paper， pen and ink，and wrote everything down．What was he doing？They called him a reporter．"

" He is riding about there still，" said a moss-grownmaiden carp， with the trials of the world in her throat， sothat she was hoarse with it；she had once swallowed afisk-hook， and still swam patiently about with it in her throat. "A reporter， "she said，"that is， speaking plainlyand fishily， a kind of cuttle fish among men．"

So the fishes talked in their own manner． But in the midst of the artificial grotto sounded the blows of hammersand the songs of the work-people； they must work at night， so that everything might be finished as soon as possible．They sang in the Dryad's summer night' s dream ， she herself stood there， ready to fly and vanish．

"They are gold-fish！" said she， and nodded tothem．" So I have managed to see you after all！ I know you！ I have known you a long time！ The swallow has told me about you in my home country． How pretty you are，how glittering and charming ！ I could kiss each and all of you！ I know the others also！That is certainly the fat tench； that one there， the dainty bream； and here， the old moss-grown carp！I know you！ but you don' t knowme！"

The fish stared and did not understand a single word； they stared out into the dim light． The Dryad wasthere no longer，she stood out in the open air，where the world's " wonder-blossoms from the different countries gave out their fragrance， from the land of rye-bread， fromthe coast of the stock-fish， the empire of Russia leather，the riverbanks of Eau-de-Cologne， and from the eastern land of the essence of roses．

When， after a ball， we drive home， half-asleep， the tunes we have heard still sound distinctly in our ears；we could sing each and all of them． And as in the eye ofa murdered man ， the last thing the glance rested on is said to remain photographed on it for a time， so here in the night the bustle and glare of the day was not extin- guished．The Dryad felt it and knew that it would roll onin the same way through the coming day．

The Dryad stood amongst the fragrant roses， thinkingthat she recognized them from her home， roses from the park of the castle and from the priest's garden． She alsosaw the red pomegranate flower here； Marie had worn onelike it in her coal－black hair．

Memories from the home of her childhood out in the country flashed through her mind； she drank in the sightsround about her with greedy eyes， whilst feverish restless- ness possessed her， and carried her through the wonderfulhalls．

She felt tired， and this tiredness increased． She hada longing to rest upon the soft Eastern cushions and carpetsspread around ， or to lean against the weeping-willow downby the clear water， and plunge herself into that．

But the Ephemera has no rest．The day was only a few minutes from the end．

Her thoughts trembled， her limbs trembled， she sankdown on the grass， by the rippling water．

" Thou springest from the earth with lasting life！" saidshe；" cool my tongue， give me refreshment！"

"I am not the living fountain！"answered the water．" I flow by machinery！"

" Give me of thy freshness， thou green grass， beggedthe Dryad．"Give me one of the fragrant flowers！"

" We die when we are broken off！" answered the grass and flowers．

" Kiss me thou fresh breeze！ Only one single kiss oflife！"

" Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red，" said thewind，" and then wilt thou be amongst the dead， passed away， as all the splendour here will pass away， before the year is gone， and I can again play with the light， loose sand in the square here， and blow the dust along over the ground， dust in the air， dust！ All dust！"

The Dyrad felt a dread， like that of the woman whoin the bath has cut an artery and is bleeding to death， but while bleeding wishes still to live． She raised her-self， came some steps forward and again sank down in front of a little church． The door stood open， candles burned on the altar， and the organ pealed．

What music！ such tones the Dryad had never heard， and yet she seemed to hear in them well-known voices．They came from the depths of the heart of the whole creation．She thought she heard the rustling of the old oak tree， she thought she heard the old priest talking about great deeds， and about famous names， and of whatGod's creatures had power to give as a gift to future times， and must give it in order to win， by that means，eternal life for itself．

The tones of the organ swelled and pealed， and spoke in song：" Thy longing and desire uprooted thee from thy God-given place． It became thy ruin，poor Dryad！"

The organ tones， soft and mild， sounded as if weep- ing， dying away im tears. The clouds shone red in the sky．The wind whistled and sang，" Pass away， ye Dead， the sun is rising！"

The first beam fell on the Dryad． Her form shone in changing colours， like the soap-bubble when it breaks，vanishes and becomes a drop， a tear which falls to the ground and disappears．

Poor Dryad！ a dew-drop， only a tear， shed， van- ished！

The sun shone over the "Fata Morgana "on the Field of Mars， shone over the Great Paris， over the little squarewith the trees and the splashing fountain，amongst the tall houses， where the chestnut tree stood， but with droopingbranches， withered leaves， the tree which only yesterday lifted itself as fresh and full of life as the spring itself．

Now it was dead， they said． The Dryad had gone，passedaway like the cloud， no one knew whither．

There lay on the ground a withered， broken chestnut flower； the holy water of the Church had no power to call it to life． The foot of man soon trod it down into the dust．

The whole of this actually happened， we saw it our- selves at the Paris Exhibition in 1867， in our own time ， in the great， wonderful， time of fairy-tale．

树精

 

我们旅行去，去看巴黎的展览会。

我们现在就到了！这是一次飞快的旅行，但是并非凭借什么魔力而完成的。我们是凭着蒸汽的力量，乘船或坐火车去的。

我们的时代是一个童话的时代。

我们现在是在巴黎的中心，在一个大旅馆里面。整个的楼梯上都装饰着花朵；所有的梯级上都铺满了柔软的地毯。

我们的房间是很舒服的；阳台的门是朝着一个宽大的广场开着的。春天就住在那上面。它是和我们乘车子同时到来的。它的外表是一株年轻的大栗树，长满了新出的嫩叶子。它的春天的新装是多么美丽啊！它穿得比广场上任何其他的树都漂亮！这些树中有一棵已经不能算是有生命的树了，它直直地倒在地上，连根都拔起来了。在它过去立着的那块地方，这棵新的栗树将会被栽进去，生长起来。

到目前为止，它还是立在一辆沉重的车子里。是这辆车子今天从许多里以外的乡下把它运进巴黎来的。在这以前，有好几年，它一直是立在一棵大的栎树旁边。一位和善的老牧师常常坐在这棵栎树下，讲故事给那些聚精会神的孩子们听。这棵年轻的栗树也跟着他们一起听。住在它里面的树精那时也还不过是一个孩子。她还记得这树儿童时代的情景。那时它很小，还没有草叶或凤尾草那么高。这些草类可以说是大得不可再大了，但是栗树却在不断地生长，每年总要增大一点。它吸收空气和太阳光，喝着露水和雨点，被大风摇撼和吹打，这是它的教育的一部分。

树精喜欢自己的生活和环境、太阳光和鸟儿的歌声。不过她最喜欢听人类的声音。她懂得人类的语言，也同样懂得动物的语言。

蝴蝶啦、蜻蜒啦、苍蝇啦——的确，所有能飞的东西都来拜访她。他们到一起就聊天。他们谈论着关于乡村、葡萄园、树林和带花园的皇宫——宫里还有一个大花园——这类的事情。皇宫的花园之中还有溪流和水坝。水里也住得有生物，而且这些生物也有自己的一套办法在水里从这里飞到那里。它们都是有知识、有思想的生物，但是它们不说话，因为它们非常聪明。

曾经钻进水里去过的燕子谈论着美丽的金鱼、肥胖的鲫鱼、粗大的鲈鱼和长得有青苔的老鲤鱼。它把它们描写得非常生动，但是它说：“最好你还是亲自去看看吧。”不过树精怎样能看到这些生物呢？她能看到美丽的风景和忙碌的人间活动——她也只能满足于这些东西了。这是很美丽的事情。不过最美丽的事情还是听那位老牧师在栎树下谈论法兰西和许多男人和女人的伟大事迹——这些人的名字，任何时代的人一提起来就要表示钦慕。

树精听着关于牧羊女贞德的事情和关于夏洛·哥戴的事情。她听着关于远古时代的事情——从亨利四世和拿破仑一世，一直到我们这个时代的天才和伟大的事迹。她听着许多在人民心里引起共鸣的名字。法兰西是一个具有世界意义的国家，是一块抚育着自由精神的理智的土地。

村里的孩子聚精会神地听着；树精也聚精会神地听着。她像别的孩子一样，也是一个小学生。凡是她所听到的东西，她都能在那些移动着的浮云中看出具体的形象。

白云朵朵的天空就是她的画册。

她觉得住在美丽的法国是非常幸福的。但是她也觉得鸟儿和各种能飞的动物都比她幸运得多法国是那么广阔和可爱，但是她只能看到它的一个小片段。这个国家是一个世界，有葡萄园、树林和大城市。在这方面，巴黎要算是最美丽，最伟大的了。鸟儿可以飞进它里面去，但是她却不能。

这些乡下孩子中有一个小女孩。她穿着一身破烂的衣服，非常穷苦，但是她的样子却非常可爱。她不是在笑，就是在唱歌；她喜欢用红花编成花环戴在她的黑发上。

“不要到巴黎去吧！”老牧师说。“可怜的孩子，如果你去，你就会毁灭！”

但是她却去了。

树精常常想念着她。的确，她们俩对这个伟大的城市有同样的向往和渴望。

春天来了；接着就是夏天、秋天和冬天。两、三年过去了。

树精所住的这棵树第一次开出了栗花，鸟儿在美丽的阳光中喃喃地歌颂这件事情。这时路上有一辆漂亮的马车开过来了。车里坐着一位华贵的太太。她亲自赶着那几匹美丽的快马，一个俊秀的小马车夫坐在她的后面。树精认出了她，那个老牧师也认出了她。牧师摇摇头，惋惜地说：

“你到那儿去！那会带给你毁灭呀！可怜的玛莉啊！”

“她可怜吗？”树精想。“不，这是一种多么大的改变啊！她打扮得像一位公爵夫人！这是因为她到了一个迷人的城市才改变得这样。啊，我希望我自己也能到那豪华富贵的环境中去！当我在夜里向我所知道的这个城市所在的方向望去的时候，我只见它射出光来，把天空的云块都照亮了。”

是的，每天黄昏，每天夜里，树精都向那个方向望。她看见一层充满了光的薄雾，浮在地平线上。但是在月明之夜她就看不见它了；她看不见显示着这城的形象和历史的那些浮云。

孩子喜欢自己的画册；树精喜欢自己的云世界——她的思想之书。

没有云块的、酷热的夏日的天空，对她说来，等于是一本没有字的书。现在一连有好几天她只看到这样的天空。

这是一个炎热的夏天，一连串闷人的日子，没有一点风。

每一片树叶，每一朵花，好像是昏睡过去了一样，都垂下了；人也是这样。

后来云块出现了，而且它出现的地方恰恰是夜间光彩的雾气所笼罩着的地方：这是巴黎。

云块升起来了，形成一整串连绵的山脉。它们在空中，在大地上飞驰，树精一眼都望不着边际。

云块凝结成为紫色的庞大石块，一层一层地叠在高空中。闪电从它们中间射出来。“这是上帝的仆人，”老牧师说。接着一道蓝色的、耀眼的光——一道像太阳似的光——出现了。它射穿石块；于是闪电打下来，把这株可敬的老栎树连根劈成两半。它的顶裂开了，它的躯干裂开了；它倒下来，伏在地上，好像是它想要拥抱光的使者似的。

一个王子诞生时向天空和全国所放的炮声，怎样也赶不上这株老栎树死亡时的雷轰。雨水在向下流；一阵清新的和风在吹。暴风雨已经过去了；处处都笼罩着礼拜日一样的宁静气氛。村里的人在这株倒下的老栎树周围聚集起来。那位可尊敬的老牧师说了几句赞美它的话；一位画家把这株树绘下来。留作永久的纪念。

“一切都会逝去！”树精说，“像那些云块一样消逝，再也不回来！”

老牧师不再来了，学校的屋顶塌下来了，老师的坐位也没有了，孩子们也不再来了。但是秋天来了，冬天来了，春天也来了。在这些变换的季节中，树精遥遥地向远方望——在那远方，巴黎每夜像一层放光的薄雾似的，在地平线上出现。火车头一架接着一架、车厢一串接着一串，时时刻刻地从巴黎开出来，发出隆隆的吼声。火车在晚间和半夜开行，在早晨和白天开行。世界各国来的人，有的钻进车厢里去，有的从车厢里走出来。一件世界的奇观把他们吸引到巴黎来了。

这是怎样的一种奇观呢？

“一朵艺术和工业的璀璨的花，”人们说，“在马尔斯广场的荒土上开出来了。它是一朵庞大的向日葵。它的每片花瓣都使我们学习到关于地理和统计的知识，了解到各行师傅的技术，把我们提高到艺术和诗的境地，使我们认识到各个国家的面积和伟大。”

“这是一朵童话之花，”另外有些人说，“一朵多彩的荷花。它把它在初春冒出的绿叶铺在沙土上，像一块天鹅绒的地毯。它在夏天表现出它的一切美丽。秋天的风暴会把它连根带叶全部都扫走。”

军事学校面前是一片和平时的战争演习场。这一片土地没有长草和粮食。它是从非洲沙漠里割下来的一块沙洲。在那个沙漠上， 莫甘娜仙女常常显示出她的奇异的楼阁和悬空的花园。现在这块马尔斯广场显得更美丽，更奇异，因为人类的天才把幻景变成了真实。

“现在正在建筑的是一座近代阿拉丁之宫，”人们说。“每过一天，每过一点钟，它就显露出更多和更美丽的光彩。”

大理石和各种色彩把那些无穷尽的大厅装饰得非常漂亮。“没有血液”的巨人在那巨大的“机器馆”里动着它的钢铁的四肢。钢铁制成的、石头雕成的和手工织成的艺术品说明了在世界各个国家所搏动着的精神生活。画廊、美丽的花朵、手艺人在他们的工作室里用智慧和双手所创造出来的东西，现在全都在这儿陈列出来了。古代宫殿和沼泽地的遗物现在也在这儿展览出来了。

这个庞大的、丰富多彩的展览，不得不复制成为模型，压缩到玩具那么大小，好使人们能够看到和了解它的全貌。

马尔斯广场上，像个巨大的圣诞餐桌一样，就是这个工业和艺术的阿拉丁之宫。宫的周围陈列着来自世界各国的展品；每个民族都能在这儿找到一件令他们想起他们的国家的东西。

这儿有埃及的皇宫，这儿有沙漠的旅行商队。这儿有从太阳的国度来的，骑着骆驼走过的贝杜因人，这儿有养着草原上美丽烈马的俄国马厩。挂着丹麦国旗的、丹麦农民的茅屋，跟瑞典达拉尔的古斯达夫·瓦萨时代的精巧的木雕房子，并排站在一起。美国的木房子、英国的村屋、法国的亭子、清真寺、教堂和戏院都很艺术地在一起陈列了出来。在它们中间有清新的绿草地、清澈的溪流、开着花朵的灌木丛、珍奇的树和玻璃房子——你在这里面可以想象你是在热带的树林中。整片整片的玫瑰花畦像是从大马士革运来的，在屋顶下盛开着的花朵，多么美的色彩！多么芬芳的香气！人工造的钟乳石岩洞里面有淡水湖和咸水湖；它们代表鱼的世界。人们现在是站在海底，在鱼和珊瑚虫的中间。

人们说，这一切东西现在马尔斯广场都有了，都陈列出来了。整群的人，有的步行，有的坐在小马车里，都在这个丰盛的餐桌上移动，像一大堆忙碌的蚂蚁一样。一般人的腿子是无法支持这种疲劳的参观的。

参观者从大清早一直到深夜都在不停地到来。装满了客人的轮船，一艘接着一艘地在塞纳河上开过去。车子的数目在不断地增加，步行和骑马的人也在不断地增加。公共马车和电车上都挤满了人。这些人群都向同一个目的地汇聚：巴黎展览会！所有的入口都悬着法国的国旗，展览馆的周围则飘扬着其他国家的国旗。“机器馆”发出隆隆的响声；塔上的钟声奏起和谐的音乐。教堂里有风琴在响；东方的咖啡馆飘出混杂着音乐的粗嘎的歌声。这简直像一个巴别人的王国，一种巴别人的语言，一种世界的奇观。

一切的确是这个样子——关于展览会的报道是这样说的。谁没有听过这些报道呢？所有这儿一切关于这个世界名城的“新的奇迹”的议论，树精都听到过。

“你们这些鸟儿啊，飞吧！飞到那儿去看看，然后再回来告诉我吧！”这是树精的祈求。

这种向往扩大成为一个希望——成为生活的一个中心思想。于是在一个静寂的夜里，当满月正在照着的时候，她看到一颗火星从月亮上落下来了。这火星像一颗流星似地发着亮。这时有一个庄严、光芒四射的人形在这树前出现——树枝全在动摇，好像有一阵狂风吹来似的。这人形用一种柔和而强有力的调子，像唤醒人的生命的、催人受审的末日号角一样，对她说：

“你将到那个迷人的城市里去，你将在那儿生根，你将会接触到那儿潺潺的流水、空气和阳光，但是你的生命将会缩短。你在这儿旷野中所能享受到的一连串的岁月，将会缩为短短的几个季节。可怜的树精啊，这将会是你的灭亡！你的向往将会不断地增大，你的渴望将会一天一天地变得强烈！这棵树将会成为你的一个监牢。你将会离开你的住处，你将会改变你的性格，你将会飞走，跟人类混在一起。那时你的寿命将会缩短，缩短得只有蜉蝣的半生那么长——只能活一夜。你的生命的火焰将会熄灭，这树的叶子将会凋零和被吹走，永远再也不回来。”

声音在空中这样响着，引起回音。于是这道强光就消逝了；但是树精的向往和渴望却没有消逝。她在狂热的期盼中颤抖着：

“我要到这个世界的名城里去！”她兴高采烈地说。“我的生命开始了。它像密集的云块；谁也不知道它会飘向什么地方去。”

在一个灰色的早晨，当月亮发白、云块变红的时候，她的愿望实现的时刻到来了。诺言现在成为了事实。

许多人带着铲子和杠子来了。他们在这树的周围挖，挖得很深，一直挖到根底下。于是一辆马拉的车子开过来了。这树连根带土被抬起来，还包上一块芦席，使它的根能够保持温暖。接着，它就被牢牢地系在车上。它要旅行到巴黎去，在这个法国的首都，世界的名城里长大。

在车子最初开动的一瞬间，这棵栗树的枝叶都颤抖起来。树精在幸福的期待中也颤抖起来。

“去了！去了！”每一次脉搏都发出这样一个声音。“去了！去了！”这是一个震荡、颤抖的回响。树精忘记了对她的故乡、摇动的草儿和天真的雏菊告别。这些东西一直把她看作是我们上帝花园里的一位贵妇人——一位扮作牧羊女下乡的公主。

栗树坐在车子上，用它的枝子点头表示“再会”和“去了”的意思。树精一点也不知道这些事情。她只是梦想着将要在她眼前展开的那些新奇而又熟悉的事物。没有任何充满了天真幸福感的孩子的心，没有任何充满了热情的灵魂，会像她动身到巴黎去时那样，是那么地思绪万端。

“再会！”成为“去了！去了！”

车轮在不停地转动着；距离缩短了，落在后面。景色在变幻，像云块在变幻一样。新的葡萄园、树林、村庄、别墅和花园跃入视线，又消逝了。栗树在向前进，树精也在向前进。火车彼此在旁经过或彼此对开。火车头吐出一层烟云。烟云变成种种的形象，好像是巴黎的缩影——火车离开了的和树精正在奔赴的巴黎。

她周围的一切知道、同时也必须懂得，她的旅行的目的地。她觉得，她所经过的每一棵树都在向她伸出枝子，同时恳求她说：“把我带去吧！把我带去吧！”每一株树里面也住着一位怀着渴望心情的树精。

真是变幻莫测！真是急驶如飞！房子好像是从地上冒出来的一般，越冒越多，越聚越密。烟囱一个接着一个，一排接着一排，罗列在屋顶上，像许多花盆一样。由一码多长的字母所组成的字，绘在墙上的图画，从墙脚一直伸到屋檐，射出光彩。

“巴黎是从什么地方开始的呢？我什么时候才算是到了巴黎呢？”树精问着自己。

人越来越多了，闹声和噪音也扩大了。车子后面跟着车子，骑马的人后面跟着步行的人。前后左右全是店铺、音乐、歌声、叫声和讲话声。

坐在树里的树精现在来到了巴黎的中心。

这辆沉重的大马车在一个小广场上停下来。广场上种满了树。它的周围全是些高房子，而且每个窗子都有一个阳台。阳台上的人望着这棵新鲜年轻的栗树；它现在被运来，而且要栽在这里，来代替那棵连根拔起的、现在倒在地上的老树。广场上的人们，带着微笑和愉快的心情，静静地望着这代表春天的绿色。那些刚刚冒芽的老树，摇动着它们的枝叶，对它致敬：“欢迎！欢迎！”喷泉向空中射着水，水又哗啦哗啦地落到它宽广的池里。它现在叫风儿把它的水点吹到这新来的树上，作为一种欢迎的表示。

树精感觉到，她的这株树已经从车子上被抬下来了，而且被栽在它未来的位置上。树根被埋在地里，上面还盖了一层草土。开着花的灌木也像这株树一样被栽下来了；四周还安放了许多盆花。这么着，