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The old crone had on a mantle, on which
were wrought flowers, animals, and human
beings, entwined in an arabesque manner. She
had large spectacles on, and beside her lantern
she held a bag filled with old gilt cards –
apparatus for witchcraft, and all the amulets of
superstition: leaning on her crutch, wrinkled
and shivering, she was, however, soaring, like
the mist over the meadow.
"Come with me, and you shall see the
world, so that a poet can have benefit from it,"
said she. "I will light my lantern; it is better
than that which Diogenes bore; I shall lighten
your path."
And the light shone; the old crone lifted
her head, and stood there strong and tall,
a powerful female figure. She was
Superstition.
"I am the strongest in the region of romance,"
said she, – and she herself believed it.
And the lantern’s light gave the lustre of
the full moon over the whole earth; yes, the
earth itself became transparent, as the still
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