translated by Helen Zimmern (1846-1934) & Alice Zimmern (1855-1939)

      In order to avoid the presence of any uncalled for spectators, the ascent took place at early dawn. The beautiful girl stood by looking on with suppressed excitement while the balloon was being filled. She could scarcely control her beating heart, and the foreboding expectation of the things that were to come. For such bystanders as there were, it was an anxious moment when the insignificant-looking silk swelled into a gigantic ball, and tightened the mighty cords with which it was confined to earth. Curious instruments and contrivances were fastened into the compartments of the car. A fine tall man — usually he was gentle, cheerful, and good-humoured, but to-day pale and grave — went round the machine several times, and tested its soundness at various points. At length he asked the girl whether she persisted in her desire; and on her answering "Yes," he gave her a strange look of admiration, and helped her deferentially into the car, remarking, that he would not weary her by a repetition of the warnings which he had given her a fortnight before, since she had doubtless well considered them. He waited a few moments, and as no answer came, he also got in. An old man was the last to enter; she took him to be some gray-headed scientific assistant.

      Now every one was ready, and the machine prepared. Cornelia cast one more glance towards the trees of the garden that stood around masked in the morning mist, and looked on. Then, from the lips of her companions, sounded the cry: "Now, in God's name, let the good Condor fly — loosen the ropes!" It was done; the thousand invisible arms of the air seized and propelled the gigantic ball; it trembled, staggered, tottered for a moment, then gently rising, it loosened the little car from the motherly lap of earth, and, gaining speed with every breath, it shot at last with an arrow's swiftness right up into the morning stream of light. In a moment the flames of the morning sun darted on to the ball and among the ropes. Cornelia was startled, and thought the whole balloon was on fire; for the lines of the ropes stood out like glowing rods against the indigo-blue heavens, and its dome shone like a gigantic sun. The retreating earth was still quite black and indistinguishable, fading away into darkness. Far in the west, on a bank of mist, lay the fading moon. Thus they soared, higher and higher, gaining a wider and wider vista. Two hearts — and, perhaps, the third old one too — were beating high at the grandeur of the moment. The rolls of sublimity were beginning to be unfurled, and the conception of space began to tell with all its power. The sailors were just rising towards a whole archipelago of clouds, which, at that very moment, were scattering their morning roses upon the earth; but up here were only white gleaming icy lands, swimming in the terribly blue brooks of the air, and cleft by abysses and cracks that yawned towards the ship. And as they came nearer, the icy lands stirred and moved as white wavy mists. At that instant the sun rose over the earth, and this earth became once more visible in the distance. It still wore the accustomed motherly aspect, such as we behold it from lofty mountain peaks, only that it was blushing sweetly under its network of morning sunbeams.

      "How far, Coloman?" asked the aeronaut.

      "Almost the height of Mont Blanc," replied the old man; "rather over 14,000 feet, my lord."

      "It is well."

      At these words Cornelia peeped cautiously over the edge of the car, and bent her looks straight down through the airy abyss on to the dear earth left behind, now glimmering with light, to see whether she could discover any known spot. But, behold, all strange, the familiar habitable aspect was already gone, and with it the little links that bind us to some loved spot which we call home. Like great shadows the woods stretched out towards the horizon, a wonderful structure of mountains spread far and wide like crowding waves, inclining towards bare spots that were probably plains. Only a stream was distinctly visible, a thin trembling silver thread, such as is often seen on a dark heath in late autumn. A strange yellow light seemed to float over the whole.

      When she withdrew her eyes from below, she met Lord Richard's calm glance, which reassured her. He was adjusting a telescope, and was setting it firm.

      The balloon travelled westward, borne along by a gentle current of air without rising. For the last twenty minutes the mercury in the tube had fallen no further. The two men were occupied with their instruments; Cornelia pressed her wraps more tightly about her, and shrank into the corner of her seat. The flowing air played round her curls, and the vessel rocked gently.

      The silence was broken by the monotonous utterances of the men, as the one dictated while the other wrote. Once upon the horizon there appeared in the nebulous distance immense shimmering snowfields, which Cornelia could not comprehend.

      "It is the Mediterranean, dear madam," said Coloman; "and we only want to pump a few more samples of air into the compartments, and to test the electricity up here, and then you shall see the surface look still more beautiful — no longer silver, but of pure sparkling gold."

      Meantime the young aeronaut had filled a vial with strong coffee, and placed it in unslacked lime, on which he poured water, and thus warmed the fluid. He then added a little rum, and handed the young girl a glass of this hot and heating drink. In the intense cold she felt the beneficent effect instantly flowing like new life through her nerves. The men drank also. Then they whispered together, and the younger nodded. Hereupon the elder began to empty sacks of sand, which stood in the car, out over its sides. The Condor swayed in its air-bath, and with its namesake's mighty wings it swung itself, slowly and solemnly, into the highest ether. Here the scene underwent a sudden and overwhelming change.

      Cornelia's first glance was once more down to earth; but it was no longer the well-known home. It seemed to be reeling backwards, gleaming in a strange golden vapour; bearing on its forehead the Mediterranean, like a narrow shining band of gold; it swam along over unknown fantastic masses. The startled girl turned away her eyes as though she had seen a monster; but about their boat too whirled far around thin white shrouds, which when seen from the earth are the fleecy clouds of heaven. Up to this heaven she now turned her gaze wistfully; but, lo, it was no longer there! The whole vault of heaven, the beautiful blue bell over our earth, had become a black abyss of measureless limitless depth. That gladness which we enjoy so thoughtlessly below, the full flood of light upon our beautiful earth, had completely vanished up here. As if in mockery, the stars became visible tiny impotent golden specks, scattered at random through the solitude; and the sun too — a threatening star, without warmth, without rays, a sharply-outlined disk of wavy swollen metal smelted to a white heat. Thus it glared forth from the abyss with destructive lustre, and yet without retaining a breath of light in these empty regions. Only on to the balloon and car shone a glaring light that marked off the machine in a spectral manner from the surrounding night, and gave a deathly hue to the faces of its occupants, as though they were seen in a magic-lantern.

      And yet, though fancy could scarcely grasp it, it was our own dear gentle air in which they were sailing, the same air that to-morrow will fan the infant's cheeks. As the old man remarked, the balloon was entering the upper trade-wind, and must be moving along with terrible speed, as was proved by the very slanting position of the ship, and by the powerful pulling and tugging at the silk, which, in spite of all, gave forth no louder sounds than a child's whining; for the domain of sound was at an end too up here; and when the ship turned away from the sun there was nothing, nothing but the dreadful stars, looking like ghosts that walk by day.

      Now, after a long silence, two lips, pale as snow, opened and spoke in low frightened tones, "I am giddy."

      But they did not hear her. She wrapped her furs more tightly round her to keep off the cold that was shaking her with ague-like force. The men were still working at things she did not understand; only the young, handsome, appalling man seemed to her now and anon to turn his majestic gaze towards the magnificent darkness, and play, poet-like, with danger and grandeur. Not one sign of emotion was perceptible in the old man.

      After a long, long time of oblivion, the younger man at length bent his face towards the girl to see how she was. She was staring around her with calm senseless eyes, and on her lips stood drops of blood.

      "Coloman," he cried, as loudly as he could up here, "Coloman, we must descend; the lady is very unwell."

      The old man rose from his instruments and looked towards her. It was a look full of wrath, and his countenance was deeply indignant. With a voice of startling strength he exclaimed,

      "I told you so, Richard; woman cannot endure the heavens. The undertaking that has cost so much is now incomplete. Such a splendid journey! The easiest and calmest of my whole life is lost for nothing. We must descend, it is true, otherwise the girl will die. Open the valves!"

      After these words he sat down again, seized a rope, and drew together the folds of his cloak. The younger man gave a sharp tug to a green silken cord; and, like a giant falcon, the Condor plunged down a hundred fathoms through the air, and then sank slowly more and more.

      The lord held the fainting Cornelia in his arms.

(THE END)