sleep, rising, sinking again, as though
rocked in a hammock. I was in England once more--at intervals there
came a sharp click that exactly resembled the sound that one hears in
an English village on a summer afternoon when they are playing cricket
in the field near by--oneself at one's ease in the garden, half
sleeping, half building castles in the air, the crack of the ball on
the bat, the cooing of some pigeons on the roof.... Once again that
sharp pleasant sound, again the flight of the bird above one's head,
again the rustle of some leaves behind one's head ... soon there will
be tea, strawberries and cream, a demand that one shall play tennis,
that saunter through the cool dark house, up old stairs, along narrow
passages to one's room where one will slowly, happily change into
flannels--hearing still through the open window the crack of the bat
upon the ball from the distant field....

But as I lay there I was unhappy, rebellious. The confidence and
splendour of Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov had driven me into exile. I
hated myself that afternoon. That pursuit--the excitement of the
penetration into the dark forest--the thrill of the chase--those
things were for the strong men, the brave women--not for the halt and
maimed ... not love nor glory, neither hate nor fierce rebellion were
for such men as I.... I cursed my fate, my life, because I loved, not
for the first time, a woman who was glad that I did not love her and
was so sure that I did not and could not, that she could proclaim her
satisfaction openly to me!

I had an hour of bitterness--then, as I had so often done before, I
laughed, drove the little devil into his cage, locked it, dropped the
thick curtain in front of it.

I claimed the company of M. Francois Jammes.

He has a delightful poem about donkeys and as I read it I regained my
tranquillity. It begins:

_Lorsqu'il faudra aller vers Vous, o mon Dieu, faites
Que ce soit par un jour ou la campagne en fete
Poudroiera. Je desire, ainsi que je fis ici-bas,
Choisir un chemin pour aller, comme il me plaira,
Au Paradis, ou sont en plein jour les etoiles.
Je prendrai mon baton et sur la grande route
J'irai et je dirai aux anes, mes amis:
Je suis Francois Jammes et je vais au Paradis,
Car il n'y a pas d'enfer au pays du Bon Dieu.
Je leur dirai: Venez, doux amis du ciel bleu,
Pauvres betes cheries qui d'un brusque mouvement d'oreilles,
Chassez les mouch