I will not take you through the various windings of this marvellous open-eyed dream; the monotonous harmony of the tarabouck and the rebek faintly reached my ear, and served as rhythm to this wonderful poem, which will, henceforth, make Homer, Virgil, Ariosto and Tasso as wearisome to read as a table of logarithms.  All my senses had changed places; I saw music and heard colors; I had new perceptions, as the denizens of a planet superior to ours must have; at will, my body was composed of a ray, a perfume or a sweet savor; I experienced the ecstasy of the angels fused in divine light, for the effect of hashisch bears no resemblance whatever to that of wine and alcohol, by the use of which the people of the North debase and stupefy themselves; its intoxication is purely intellectual.

Little by little order was established in my brain.  I began to observe objects around me.

The candles had burned down to the socket; the musicians slept, tenderly embracing their instruments.  The handsome negress lay at my feet.  I had taken her for a cushion.  A pale ray of light appeared on the horizon; it was three o’clock in the morning.  All at once a smoke-stack, puffing forth black smoke, crossed the bar; it was the Ontario leaving its moorings.

A confusion of voices was heard in the next room; my mother, having in some way learnt of my projected exile, had broken through Granson’s orders to admit no one, and was calling for me.

I was rather mortified at being caught in such an absurd dress; but my mother observed nothing; she had but one thought, that I was about to leave her for ever.  I do not remember what she said, such things cannot be written, the endearments she bestowed upon me when I was only five or six years old; finally she wept.  I promised to stay and return to Paris.  How can you refuse your mother anything when she weeps?  Is she not the only woman whom we can never reproach?

After all, as you have said, Paris is the wildest desert; there you are completely alone.  Indifferent and unknown people may value sands and swamps.

If my sorrow prove too tenacious, I shall ask my friend Arthur Granson for the address of the old Teriaki, and I shall send to Cairo for some boxes of forgetfulness.  We will share them together if you wish.  Farewell, dear Roger, I am yours mind and heart,

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

XXXI.

RAYMOND DE VILLIERS to MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,
Hotel of the Prefecture, Grenoble (Isere).

PARIS, July 30th 18—.

O day of bliss unutterable!  I have found her, it is she!  As you have opened your heart to my sadness, madame, open it to my joy.  Forget the unhappy wretch who, a few days ago, abandoned himself to his grief, who even yesterday bade an eternal farewell to hope.  That unfortunate has ceased to exist; in his place appears a young being intoxicated with love, for whom life is full of delight and enchantment.  How does it happen that my soul, which should soar on hymns of joy, is filled with gloomy forebodings?  Is it because man is not made for great felicity, or that happiness is naturally sad, nearer akin to tears than to laughter, because it feels its fragility and instinctively dreads the approaching expiation?