I grabbed her vanity case; in it were three memorandum-books, The Life of Franklin, a little treatise on temperate climates, and Desjardins’ Present Duty. Even as I searched the vanity case, I was preparing an apostrophe; when everything was ready, I threw down the case. It sank in the river. Two huge tears ran down Ellis’ cheeks. Not because I was moved but because I sensed our common misery, my irritation suddenly vanished and censure gave way to compassion.

“We are indeed miserable,” I cried out. “So far our voyage has been a failure. What does our cheerless plain mean at this moment in our history? Or what is the significance of our being on the plain? Any suspicion of futility will torment our hearts and allow their virtue to be diffused. Lord! In the face of futility, we shall no longer have either faith or courage. Now we are going to weaken—or must we embrace piety? We have cherished our pride, and our nobility has suffered from the asperity of our victories. Our virtue derives solely from resistance; but around us now everything gives way, everything crumbles, and we are no longer aware of our courage. Our tranquil past resurges in us like a regret. Majestic and profound night of wild ecstasy! Texts of truth where often there flickered a metaphysical flame! Algebras and theodicies, studies! We had left you for something else. Oh, for something else indeed! We set out one morning because we had learned through study that we must manifest our essence; we went off into the world in search of revealing actions, knowing nothing of the tenebrous valley that connected the lofty room where we dreamed to the world where men lived—the valley so terrible and so mysterious that I expected death there, so tenebrous that my eyes mistook the waves for lights when finally I stood before the long-sought sea. Afterwards we saw beaches, profuse vegetation, gardens traversed by warm streams, palaces, imposing terraces whose memory causes despair; we saw every smile, heard every plea, and still we resisted; not even Queen Haïatalnefus, deceitful and perfumed, could overcome our resistance. We were preserving ourselves for something else. Through a calculated—indeed, I ought to say esthetic—progression, our courage and desire grew with our resistance; and we were anticipating a climactic event. Now our boat is going to founder in the mire. Oh! Ours is truly a history of failure, abject failure. What can happen next? Nothing matters to us, such is the pall cast on the future by our boredom; our noble souls will succumb to disinterest in their task. No matter what happens, it will always be unimportant. Logical sequences are broken; we have left the salutary paths. Let us remember the detached islands; they floated like abandoned ships, no longer linked to the world. That is the saddest thing that can happen. One can not start all over when futility lies ahead. We are completely lost. We are more miserable by far than my inept words can suggest to you; more miserable by far than we are aware, for the apathy that engulfs us is beginning to dull our souls. I have spoken too long and said too much. Disordered things require incoherent statements; I shall conclude with a few alliterations.” Letting my voice fall suddenly until it was only a murmur, I whispered this cadence:

“… The grasshopper of the sands will sing.”

All those sitting on the bank had heard me out; but my peroration seemed to them incongruous and they shook with undissimulated laughter; I had hoped that it would awaken us from our torpor.* Ellis had understood nothing; I felt suddenly irritated but showed no sign of it. She opened wide her inquisitive eyes; she was waiting for me to continue.

“I have finished, dear Ellis,” I said. “Let’s walk through the grass. You are sweet and delightful today.