Urien's Voyage by André Gide Read Free Book Online Page A

boredom. The stolid storks were again fishing for mud-worms… I shall not relate the monotonous scene again; it was too trying to relate the first time. I shall not bewail the lack of proportions in the history; however for if it took as long to retrace the lethargic stream as to ascend it the first time, I was not aware of this fact; I no longer watched the cheerless banks and dour water glide by; only the thought of Ellis made me oblivious to the passage of the hours; or, leaning over the reflection of my unknown self in the water, I sought in my sad eyes to gain a better understanding of my thoughts, and I read in my tight lips the bitterness of regret that tightens them. Ellis! do not read these lines! I am not writing them for you! You would never understand the despair that grips my soul.
    But the stream of boredom came to an end; the waters again became clearer; the low banks disappeared, and again we were at sea. Ellis was slightly delirious in the enlarged boat. The seawater gradually became so limpid that we could see the rocks on the bottom. Reflecting on all the boredom of the previous day, on the perfumed baths of the past, I studied the underwater plain; I recalled that Morgain, in the gardens of Haïatalnefus, had gone beneath the waves and walked in the algae. I was about to speak when I glimpsed among the algae on the sand, like an ethereal vision, a sunken city. Still uncertain, I kept looking, not daring to utter a word; the boat was advancing slowly. The walls of the city were visible; sand had filled most of the streets; some, however, still looked green like deep valleys between the raised walls. The whole town was green and blue. Algae reached from balconies down to the fucus-lined squares. One could see the shadow of the church. The shadow of the boat glided over the tombs of the cemetery; green mosses slept on, undisturbed. The sea was silent; fish played in the waves.
    â€œMorgain! Morgain! Look!” I shouted.
    He was already looking.
    â€œWill you be sorry?” he inquired. As was my custom, I did not reply; but giving way suddenly to a burst of lyricism occasioned by the boredom we had experienced and the joy of seeing once more a town, a silent town, I exclaimed:
    â€œWe should be, oh! so comfortable under the cool water on the porch of the sunken church! The taste of the shadows and the humidity. The sound of bells under the waves. And the calm, Morgain!…Morgain, you can not know what torments me. She was waiting, but I was mistaken; Ellis is not like that. No Ellis is not a blond; I was sadly mistaken; I remember now that her hair was black and that her eyes sparkled as bright as her soul. Her soul was vivacious and violent, and yet her voice was very calm for she was contemplative. And the waif that I found on the bank was frail and forlorn. Why? First her parasol displeased me; then her shawl; then all her books irritated me. Yet one does not travel to recover one’s old thoughts; and then she cried when I brought these things to her attention. First I said to myself: ‘Oh! How she has changed!’ but I see clearly now that she is not the same person. And this is still the most absurd episode of the voyage. As soon as I saw her on the bank, I felt that she was misplaced. But what shall I do now? This is all very distracting, Morgain, and I dislike sentimental states of dejection.”
    But Morgain seemed not to understand; then I started over in a milder manner.…
    It was on the same day, a little after this serious conversation, that thin sheets of ice first appeared on the horizon. A current was carrying them toward temperate waters; they came from frozen seas. They were not melting, I suppose, but dissolving into the blue air, imperceptibly more fluid; They subtilized like fog. And the first sheets encountered, because the water was still almost warm, had become so thin, so diaphanous and diluted that the boat had moved along without our noticing them