In my fireplace I burn coals which, because of their round and regular shape, are called "monks' heads." One day when the fire is nearly extinguished I take out a mass of coal of fantastic shape. It resembles a cock's head with a splendid comb joined to what looks like a human trunk with twisted limbs. It might have been a demon from some mediæval witches' sabbath.
The second day I take out again a fine group of two gnomes or drunken dwarfs, who embrace each other while their clothes flutter in the wind. It is a masterpiece of primitive culture.
The third day it is a Madonna and Child in the Byzantine style, of incomparable beauty of outline. After I have drawn copies of all three in black chalk, I place them on my table. A friendly painter visits me; he regards the three statuettes with growing curiosity, and asks who has "made" them. In order to try him, I mention the name of a Norwegian sculptor. "No," he says, "I should rather be inclined to ascribe them to Kittelsen, the famous illustrator of the Swedish legends."
I do not believe in demons, and yet I wish to see the impression which my little figures make on the sparrows who generally take their crumbs from my window-sill. So I place them there. The sparrows are frightened and remain aloof. There is then some likeness in the figures which they can distinguish, and some reality in this conjunction of dead material and fire.
The sun, as it warms my little figures, makes the demon with the cock's head collapse. This reminds me of the country-people's saying that if the dwarfs wait too long till sunrise, they die.
Things happen in the hotel which disquiet me. The morning after my arrival I find on the board where the keys of the rooms are hung up, on the ground-floor, a letter addressed to a Mr. X., a student, who has the same name as my wife. The postmark is "Dornach," the name of the Austrian village where my wife and child live. But since I am certain that there is no post-office at Dornach, the matter remains mysterious. This letter, placed in such a conspicuous position as to challenge the eye, is followed by others. The second bears the postmark "Vienna," and is addressed to a Dr. Bitter; the third displays the Polish pseudonym, "Schmulachowsky."