XXX.
April 13th.
… STILL the vérette does not attack the native whites. But the
whole air has become poisoned; the sanitary condition of the city
becomes unprecedentedly bad; and a new epidemic makes its
appearance,—typhoid fever. And now the békés begin to go,
especially the young and strong; and the bells keep sounding for
them, and the tolling bourdon fills the city with its enormous
hum all day and far into the night. For these are rich; and the
high solemnities of burial are theirs—the coffin of acajou, and
the triple ringing, and the Cross of Gold to be carried before
them as they pass to their long sleep under the palms,—saluted
for the last time by all the population of St. Pierre, standing
bareheaded in the sun. …
… Is it in times like these, when all the conditions are
febrile, that one is most apt to have queer dreams?
Last night it seemed to me that I saw that Carnival dance
again,—the hooded musicians, the fantastic torrent of peaked
caps, and the spectral masks, and the swaying of bodies and
waving of arms,—but soundless as a passing of smoke. There were
figures I thought I knew;—hands I had somewhere seen reached out
and touched me in silence;—and then, all suddenly, a Viewless
Something seemed to scatter the shapes as leaves
are blown
by a wind. … And waking, I thought I heard again,—plainly as
on that last Carnival afternoon,—the strange cry of fear:—
"C'est Bon-Dié ka passé!" …
