"God sends His favorite daughter, the bride of the winds; she sings
a derisive song to men; she shows them how weak, how pitiful they
are. She sweeps away their possessions--touches them on that point
where alone they are sensitive. I rejoice in the howling, whistling
tempest! This is the voice of the great world-spirit, dashing by in
the thunder, and making the cowardly hearts of men tremble. They
deserve this punishment; they are utterly unworthy and contemptible.
I hate, I despise them all! Only when I see them suffer can I be
reconciled to them. Aha! the storm has seized a beautifully-dressed
lady. How it whirls and dashes her about! Look how it lifts her
robe, making rare sport of her deceitful, affected modesty.
Miserable, variegated butterfly that you are, you think yourself a
goddess of youth and beauty. This wild tempest teaches you that you
are but a poor, pitiful insect, tossed about in the world like any
other creeping thing--a powerless atom. The storm first takes
possession of your clothes, now of your costly hat. Wait, my lady,
wait! one day it will take your heart; it will be crushed and broken
to pieces--there will be none to pity.
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