When the divers came within range, sticky tentacles tried to seize them; but the divers, with wide-open knives, cut off the tentacles, which stuck to their bodies even after they surfaced. The saffron-skinned men were naked, but from their necks hung reticulated sacks for holding shells. They gathered the shells with their great knives, then, their sacks filled, quickly surfaced. When they emerged once more in the open air, their chests shriveled slightly and a fillet of blood which spilled from their mouths and embellished their golden skin almost made them faint.*

We threw new coins into the water; they scintillated as they sank; and when they were about to disappear, the men, leaping from the boat and plunging into the sea, smothered them as one would snuff out a candle. But if it had not been for the joy of looking at the bottom of the sea and seeing the men’s blood, these games would not have entertained us; after a while, we came back to the town.

We bathed in excessively warm pools in which children swam and chased each other. Mosaics could be seen on the bottom through the green water, and two symmetrically arranged figures of pink marble spilled perfumes into round basins; the perfumes fell into the water in delicate cascades, with soft sound. Coming up to the statues, we stretched out our hands toward the basins, and the perfumes ran down the length of our arms and trickled over our hips. When we dived back into the water, it seemed to scald us. A scented vapor rose to the translucid ceiling; it condensed and formed droplets that made the light turn blue and from the ceiling these droplets fell one by one into the water.

And since we were overcome by torpor when we breathed in this warm vapor, we remained motionless, suspended, hopelessly entranced in the wondrous green and blue water, with only a soft light spilling over it and the arms of the slender children turning blue in the light as droplets fell from the ceiling and splashed monotonously into the pool.

… At nightfall the sea became phosphorescent; fires along the bank leaped at each other, as did the waves. The night was aflame; the sailors and the spurious men went back to their women, and the thought of their embraces tormented us, for the night was truly too passionate. An enormous blushing moon rose above the waves and cast its reflection over the already luminous sea. Brown boats cut through its furrows on their way back to the shores. Only the sound of waves and flickering fires was heard in the night.

And from the forests vampires came on broad wings and hovered near the bare feet, near the lips of drowsy fishermen, sucked out their lives and lulled them to sleep with the silent beating of their wings.*

Morgain was feverish. He asked us to put eternal snow on his forehead.

We put into port alongside an island dominated by a very high mountain. We went ashore; Nathanael, Ydier, Alain, Axel and I walked toward the snows. For a long time afterwards, we were still thinking of the island, for it was calm and enticing; because of glaciers that had moved all the way down to the valley, the air that circulated was almost cool. We walked along, happy to experience such calm.

On reaching the foot of a translucid glacier, we saw a clear fountain. It flowed softly from beneath the ice; a polished sheet of quartz, which it had hollowed out in the shape of a chalice, served as a receptacle. We filled our crystal vial in order that we might take some of the water back to Morgain.

Cold water of ineffable purity! In the goblets from which we drank, it still retained its sky-color. It was so limpid and so blue that it seemed to have lost none of its depth. It was still as fresh as hiemal water. It was as pure and intoxicating as the early morning air in the mountains. As we drank the water, a seraphic happiness enraptured us; we dipped our hands in it; we dampened our eyelids; it washed away the ravages of fevers, and its subtle virtue penetrated even our thoughts, as lustral water. Afterwards, the countryside seemed to us more beautiful, and we marveled at everything around us.

Toward noon we returned to the sea and walked along the shoreline. From the sand we gathered golden pebbles and rare shells washed ashore by the tide, and on the tamarisks along the beach we found emerald-colored beetles.

Near the sea grew a plant whose flowers were always crowned with butterflies. The butterflies were indistinguishable from the petals, and this made the flowers seem to have wings. We knew that spring butterflies, the first butterflies in May, are white and yellow, like primroses and hawthorns; summer butterflies variegated, like all flowers, and autumn butterflies the color of dead leaves; but these, on pink flowers, had the transparent wings of butterflies from high summits, and the corollas of the flowers were visible through their wings.

As we walked along the shoreline, we came upon a mysterious child who was sitting on the sand, lost in revery. His huge eyes were as blue as a glacial sea; his skin shimmered like lilies and his hair was like a cloud struck by the sun at dawn.* He was trying to understand some words that he had traced on the sand. He spoke; his voice spilled from his lips like the morning bird shaking off the dew and taking flight; we would gladly have given him our shells, our insects and our pebbles, all that we had, so sweet was his charming voice. He smiled with infinite sadness.