six. But a sort of laziness kept me glued to my sofa:
while thus stretched out I felt a physical pleasure
amidst a great mental depression. I had to make a
strenuous effort to free myself from this languor and
to go into my bedroom. I found it impossible to fall
asleep. No sooner did I close my eyes than it seemed
to me that I had been thrown into a black and very
deep pit, and suddenly I awoke, panting and perspiring. I again lit my lamp, tried to read. . . . I could
not concentrate my mind on the lines of the text which
seemed to swerve, to cross one another, to abandon
themselves to a fantastic dance under my very eyes.
What a stupid life mine is! . . . Why am I so different, preyed upon by obnoxious chimeras? Who has poured into my soul this deadly poison of weariness and discouragement? Before others there stretches a vast horizon illumined by the sun! But I am walking in the darkness, stopped on every side by walls which obstruct my way and against which I vainly beat my head and knees. . . . Perhaps it is because they possess love! Love, ah yes! If I could only love!
And again I saw the beautiful virgin of Saint-Michel, the radiant virgin of plaster of paris with its robe adorned with stars and its golden nimbus descending from heaven. All around her suns were revolving, inclining themselves like celestial flowers, and doves in the exaltation of prayers were flying about, brushing her with their wings. . . . I recalled the ecstasies, the fits of mystic adoration which she evoked in me; all the sweet joys which I had experienced came back to me at the mere contemplation of her. Did she not also speak to me, then, at the chapel? And those unuttered words which poured into my childish soul such ineffable tenderness, this language more harmonious than angels' voices and the music of golden harps, this language more fragrant than the
