THE BLACK SPIDER
The sun rose in brilliant majesty above the mountains and shone into a peaceful, narrow valley, awaking to joyful living the creatures who were made to delight in the sunshine of their life. The blackbird warbled its morning song from the edge of the sun-gilded forest; the monotonous love song of the longing quail sounded among sparkling blossoms in dew-laden grass glistening in the sunrise, and amorous crows danced their nuptial round above dark pines or cawed their tender cradle songs over the prickly cradles of their unfeathered chicks.
Nature had carved out a fertile, well-tended soil in the middle of the sun-drenched mountain slope; right in the middle of it stood a fine house, bright and imposing, surrounded by a luxuriant orchard, in which some alpine apple trees still lately dazzled in their flowered dress. Half of the lush grass irrigated from the house well was still standing, while the other half was already stored for fodder. The newly built house was bathed in a Sunday splendour. This was not a lustre that can be produced with a few broom strokes in the twilight of Saturday evening. It is a testimony to the precious heritage of traditional cleanliness, which must be cherished every day, in much the same way as a family’s honour. Even a single unguarded hour can sully the family honour, leaving blemishes like bloodstains that remain indelible from generation to generation, mocking all attempts at whitewash.
The earth built by the Hand of God and this house built by the hands of man have good reason to radiate in the purest ornamentation. Over both a star shone today in the blue sky. It was a high festive holiday. It was a day to commemorate the Ascension of Christ, the day on which the Son had returned to the Father, to bear witness that the heavenly ladder still stood in place, on which angels ascend and descend, and also the soul of man that has freed itself from the body, if its salvation and focus was
