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of a people doomed to live on in the stale repetition of memories； like
deposed and superannuated kings in their regal gold…inwoven tatters。
The city looked so thirsty that the broad river seemed to me a sheet of
metal； and the blackened statues； as I passed under their blank gaze； along
the unending bridge； with their ancient garments and their saintly crowns；
seemed to me the real inhabitants and owners of this place； while the busy；
trivial men and women； hurrying to and fro； were a swarm of ephemeral
visitants infesting it for a day。 It is such grim； stony beings as these； I
thought； who are the fathers of ancient faded children； in those tanned
time…fretted dwellings that crowd the steep before me； who pay their court
in the worn and crumbling pomp of the palace which stretches its
monotonous length on the height； who worship wearily in the stifling air
of the churches； urged by no fear or hope； but pelled by their doom to
be ever old and undying； to live on in the rigidity of habit； as they live on
in perpetual midday； without the repose of night or the new birth of
morning。
A stunning clang of metal suddenly thrilled through me； and I became
conscious of the objects in my room again： one of the fire… irons had
fallen as Pierre opened the door to bring me my draught。 My heart was
palpitating violently； and I begged Pierre to leave my draught beside me； I
would take it presently。
As soon as I was alone again； I began to ask myself whether I had
been sleeping。 Was this a dreamthis wonderfully distinct vision… …
minute in its distinctness down to a patch of rainbow light on the
pavement； transmitted through a coloured lamp in the shape of a starof a
strange city； quite unfamiliar to my imagination？ I had seen no picture of
Prague： it lay in my mind as a mere name； with vaguely…remembered
historical associationsill…defined memories of imperial grandeur and
religious wars。
Nothing of this sort had ever occurred in my dreaming experience
before； for I had often been humiliated because my dreams were only
saved from being utterly disjointed and monplace by the frequent
terrors of nightmare。 But I could not believe that I had been asleep； for I
remembered distinctly the gradual breaking…in of the vision upon me； like
the new images in a dissolving view； or the growing distinctness of the
landscape as the sun lifts up the veil of the morning mist。 And while I
was conscious of this incipient vision； I was also conscious that Pierre
came to tell my father Mr。 Filmore was waiting for him； and that my father
hurried out of the room。 No； it was not a dream； was itthe thought was
full of tremulous exultationwas it the poet's nature in me； hitherto only a
troubled yearning sensibility； now manifesting itself suddenly as
spontaneous creation？ Surely it was in this way that Homer saw the
plain of Troy； that Dante saw the abodes of the departed； that Milton saw
the earthward flight of the Tempter。 Was it that my illness had wrought
some happy change in my organizationgiven a firmer tension to my
nervescarried off some dull obstruction？ I had often read of such
effectsin works of fiction at least。 Nay； in genuine biographies I had
read of the subtilizing or exalting influence of some diseases on the mental
powers。 Did not Novalis feel his inspiration intensified under the
progress of consumption？
When my mind had dwelt for some time on this blissful idea； it
seemed to me that I might perhaps test it by an exertion of my will。 The
vision had begun when my father was speaking of our going to Prague。 I
did not for a moment believe it was really a representation of that city； I
believedI hoped it was a picture that my newly liberated genius had
painted in fiery haste； with the colours snatched from lazy memory。
Suppose I were to fix my mind on some other placeVenice； for example；
which was far more familiar to my imagination than Prague： perhaps the
same sort of result would follow。 I concentrated my thoughts on Venice；
I stimulated my imagination with poetic memories； and strove to feel
myself present in Venice； as I had felt myself present in Prague。 But in
vain。 I was only colouring the Canaletto engravings that hung in my old
bedroom at home； the picture was a shifting one； my mind wandering
uncertainly in search of more vivid images； I could see no accident of
form or shadow without conscious labour after the necessary conditions。
It was all prosaic effort； not rapt passivity； such as I had experienced half
an hour before。 I was discouraged； but I remembered that inspiration
was fitful。
For several days I was in a state of excited expectation； watching for a
recurrence of my new gift。 I sent my thoughts ranging over my world of
knowledge； in the hope that they would find some object which would
send a reawakening vibration through my slumbering genius。 But no； my
world remained as dim as ever； and that flash of strange light refused to
e again； though I watched for it with palpitating eagerness。
My father acpanied me every day in a drive； and a gradually
lengthening walk as my powers of walking increased； and one evening he
had agreed to e and fetch me at twelve the next day； that we might go
together to select a musical box； and other purchases rigorously demanded
of a rich Englishman visiting Geneva。 He was one of the most punctual
of men and bankers； and I was always nervously anxious to be quite ready
for him at the appointed time。 But； to my surprise； at a quarter past twelve
he had not appeared。 I felt all the impatience of a convalescent who has
nothing particular to do； and who has just taken a tonic in the prospect of
immediate exercise that would carry off the stimulus。
Unable to sit still and reserve my strength； I walked up and down the
room； looking out on the current of the Rhone； just where it leaves the
dark…blue lake； but thinking all the while of the possible causes that could
detain my father。
Suddenly I was conscious that my father was in the room； but not
alone： there were two persons with him。 Strange！ I had heard no
footstep； I had not seen the door open； but I saw my father； and at his right
hand our neighbour Mrs。 Filmore； whom I remembered very well； though
I had not seen her for five years。 She was a monplace middle…aged
woman； in silk and cashmere； but the lady on the left of my father was not
more than twenty； a tall； slim； willowy figure； with luxuriant blond hair；
arranged in cunning braids and folds that looked almost too massive for
the slight figure and the small…featured； thin…lipped face they crowned。
But the face had not a girlish expression： the features were sharp； the
pale grey eyes at once acute； restless； and sarcastic。 They were fixed on
me in half…smiling curiosity； and I felt a painful sensation as if a sharp
wind were cutting me。 The pale…green dress； and the green leaves that
seemed to form a border about her pale blond hair； made me think of a
Water…Nixiefor my mind was full of German lyrics； and this pale； fatal…
eyed woman； with the green weeds； looked like a birth from some cold
sedgy stream； the daughter of an aged river。
〃Well； Latimer； you thought me long；〃 my father said 。 。 。
But while the last word was in my ears； the whole group vanished； and
there was nothing between me and the Chinese printed folding… screen that
stood before the door。 I was cold and trembling； I could only totter
forward and throw myself on the sofa。 This strange new power had
manifested itself again 。 。 。 But WAS it a power？ Might it not rather be a
diseasea sort of intermittent delirium； concentrating my energy of brain
into moments of unhealthy activity； and leaving my saner hours all the
more barren？ I felt a d