turn back upon
myself. For want of a real object, by the power of my vague desires, I
evoked a phantom which never quitted me more. I know not whether the
history of the human heart furnishes another example of this kind.

I pictured then to myself an ideal beauty, moulded from the various
charms of all the women I had seen. I gave her the eyes of one young
village girl, and the rosy freshness of another. This invisible
enchantress constantly attended me; I communed with her as with a real
being. She varied at the will of my wandering fancy. Now she was Diana
clothed in azure, now Aphrodite unveiled, now Thalia with her laughing
mask, now Hebe bearing the cup of eternal youth.

A young queen approaches, brilliant with diamonds and flowers--this was
always my sylph. She seeks me at midnight, amidst orange groves, in the
corridors of a palace washed by the waves, on the balmy shore of Naples
or Messina; the light sound of her footsteps on the mosaic floor mingles
with the scarcely heard murmur of the waves.

Awaking from these my dreams, and finding myself a poor little obscure
Breton, who would attract the eyes of no one, despair seized upon me. I
no longer dared to raise my eyes to the brilliant phantom which I had
attached to my every step. This delirium lasted for two whole years. I
spoke little; my taste for solitude redoubled. I showed all the symptoms
of a violent passion. I was absent, sad, ardent, savage. My days passed
on in wild, extravagant, mad fashion, which nevertheless had a peculiar
charm.

I have now reached a period at which I require some strength of mind to
confess my weakness. I had a gun, the worn-out trigger of which often
went off unexpectedly. I loaded this gun with three balls, and went to a
spot at a considerable distance from the great Mall. I cocked the gun,
put the end of the barrel into my mouth, and struck the butt-end against
the ground. I repeated the attempt several times, but unsuccessfully.
The appearance of a gamekeeper interrupted me in my design. I was a
fatalist, though without my own intention or knowledge. Supposing that
my hour was not yet come, I deferred the execution of my project to
another day.

Any whose minds are troubled by these delineations should remember that
they are listening to the voice of one who has passed from this world.
Reader, whom I shall never know, of me there is nothing--nothing but
what I am in the hands of the living God.

A few weeks later I