that a complete imbroglio, worthy of a romance, seems ever
threatening to appear upon my monotonous horizon; a regular intrigue
seems ever ready to explode in the midst of this little world of
mousmes and grasshoppers: Chrysantheme in love with Yves; Yves with
Chrysantheme; Oyouki with me; I with no one. We might even find here,
ready to hand, the elements of a fratricidal drama, were we in any other
country than Japan; but we are in Japan, and under the narrowing and
dwarfing influence of the surroundings, which turn everything into
ridicule, nothing will come of it all.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE HEIGHT OF SOCIABILITY!

In this fine town of Nagasaki, about five or six o'clock in the evening,
one hour of the day is more comical than any other. At that moment every
human being is naked: children, young people, old people, old men, old
women--every one is seated in a tub of some sort, taking a bath. This
ceremony takes place no matter where, without the slightest screen, in
the gardens, the courtyards, in the shops, even upon the thresholds, in
order to give greater facility for conversation among the neighbors
from one side of the street to the other. In this situation visitors
are received; and the bather, without any hesitation, leaves his tub,
holding in his hand his little towel (invariably blue), to offer
the caller a seat, and to exchange with him some polite remarks.
Nevertheless, neither the mousmes nor the old ladies gain anything by
appearing in this primeval costume. A Japanese woman, deprived of her
long robe and her huge sash with its pretentious bows, is nothing but a
diminutive yellow being, with crooked legs and flat, unshapely bust;
she has no longer a remnant of her little artificial charms, which have
completely disappeared in company with her costume.

There is yet another hour, at once joyous and melancholy, a little
later, when twilight falls, when the sky seems one vast veil of yellow,
against which stand the clear-cut outlines of jagged mountains and
lofty, fantastic pagodas. It is the hour at which, in the labyrinth
of little gray streets below, the sacred lamps begin to twinkle in the
ever-open houses, in front of the ancestor's altars and the familiar
Buddhas; while, outside, darkness creeps over all, and the thousand and
one indentations and peaks of the old roofs are depicted, as if in black
festoons, on the clear golden sky. At this moment, over merry, laughing
Japan, suddenly passes a s