ne of the Pacific Islands. And I remain
close to it, ardent, feverish and tormented, knowing that its death is
near, and watch it fading away, while that in thought, I possess it,
aspire to its love, drink it in, and then pluck its short life with an
inexpressible caress.

* * * * *

When he had finished the reading of these fragments, the advocate
continued:

"Decency, gentlemen of the jury, hinders me from communicating to you the
extraordinary avowals of this shameless, idealistic fool. The fragments
that I have just submitted to you will be sufficient, in my opinion, to
enable you to appreciate this instance of mental malady, less rare in our
epoch of hysterical insanity and of corrupt decadence than most of us
believe.

"I think, then, that my client is more entitled than any women whatever
to claim a divorce, in the exceptional circumstances in which the
disordered senses of her husband has placed her."

WHO KNOWS?

I

My God! My God! I am going to write down at last what has happened to me.
But how can I? How dare I? The thing is so bizarre, so inexplicable, so
incomprehensible, so silly!

If I were not perfectly sure of what I have seen, sure that there was not
in my reasoning any defect, no error in my declarations, no lacune in the
inflexible sequence of my observations, I should believe myself to be the
dupe of a simple hallucination, the sport of a singular vision. After
all, who knows?

Yesterday I was in a private asylum, but I went there voluntarily, out of
prudence and fear. Only one single human being knows my history, and that
is the doctor of the said asylum. I am going to write to him. I really do
not know why? To disembarrass myself? For I feel as though I were being
weighed down by an intolerable nightmare.

Let me explain.

I have always been a recluse, a dreamer, a kind of isolated philosopher,
easy-going, content with but little, harboring ill-feeling against no
man, and without even having a grudge against heaven. I have constantly
lived alone, consequently, a kind of torture takes hold of me when I find
myself in the presence of others. How is this to be explained? I for one
cannot. I am not averse from going out into the world, from conversation,
from dining with friends, but when they are near me for any length of
time, even the most intimate friends, they bore me, fatigue me, enervate
me, and I experience an overwhelming torturing desire