Page:Gide - Strait is the Gate.pdf/139

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133 STRAIT IS THE GATE

on me, oppresses me. Another two months! It seems longer than all the rest of the time which has already gone by without you! Everything I take up to while away the hours, seems nothing but an absurd stop-gap, and I cannot set myself to anything. My books are without virtue and without charm; my walks have no attraction; Nature has lost her glamour; the garden is emptied of colour, of scent. I envy you your fatigue - parties and your compulsory drills which are constantly dragging you out of yourself, tiring you, hurrying along your days, and, at night, flinging you, wearied out, to your sleep. The stirring description you gave me of the manæuvres, haunts me. For the last few nights I have been sleeping badly, and several times I have been woken up with a start by the bugles sounding reveille . . . I actually heard them. I can so well imagine the intoxication of which you speak, the morning rapture, the lightheadedness almost ... How beautiful the plateau of Malzéville must have been in the icy radiance of dawn! "I have not been quite so well lately; oh! nothing serious. I think I am just looking forward to your coming a little too much. " And six weeks later:

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