ch was become the Park-hill. The carriages dashed by each
other as at a race; the people shouted and sung, if not as melodiously
as the barcarole of the fisher men below Lido, still with the thorough
carnival joy of the south. The steamboat moved along the coasts. From
the gardens surrounding the pretty country-houses arose rockets into the
blue sky, the Moccoli of the north above the Carnival of the Park.

Wilhelm remained with his young friends in the wood, and there they
intended, with the stroke of twelve, to drink out of Kirsten's well.
Men and women, girls and boys of the lower class, and jovial young men,
meet, after this manner, to enjoy St. John's Eve. Still sounded the
music, the swings were in motion, lamps hung out, whilst the new moon
shone through the thick tree boughs. Toward midnight the noise died
away; only a blind peasant still scratched upon the three strings which
were left on his violin; some servant-girls wandered, arm-in-arm, with
their sweethearts, and sang. At twelve o'clock all assembled about
the well, and drank the clear, ice-cold water. From no great distance
resounded, through the still night, a chorus of four manly voices. It
was as if the wood gods sang in praise of the nymph of the well.

Upon the hill all was now deserted and quiet. Bajazzo and il Padrone
slept behind the thin linen partition, under a coverlid. The moon set,
but the night was clear; no clear, frosty winter night has a snore
beautiful starry heaven to exhibit. Wilhelm's party was merry, quickly
flew the hours away; singing in chorus, the party wandered through the
wood, and down toward the strand. The day already dawned; a red streak
along the horizon announced its approach.

Nature sang to them the mythos of the creation of the world, even as she
had sung it to Moses, who wrote down this voice from God, interpreted
by Nature. Light banished the darkness, heaven and earth were parted; at
first birds showed themselves in the clear air; later rose the beasts of
the field; and, last of all, appeared man.

"The morning is fairly sultry," said Wilhelm; "the sea resembles a
mirror: shall we not bathe?"

The proposal was accepted.

"There we have the Naiades already!" said one of the party, as a
swarm of fishermen's wives and daughters, with naked feet, their green
petticoats tucked up, and baskets upon their backs, in which they
carried fish to Copenhagen, came along the road. The gay young fellows
cast toward the prett