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280 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
they were neither pretty nor poisonous, like the spit-devils ;
they were merely useful.
Denser and darker grew the wood ; the Scotch firs
mingled their branches with the moss which covered the
ground, embraced the stones and built cool little huts for
the yellow merulius which grew embedded in the moss and
enjoyed a short life, protected alike from scorching sun
and preying insects.
The ground became damp ; the bog-myrtle, in times
gone by highly valued and eagerly gathered on account
of its medicinal qualities, grew undisturbed between tiny
hillocks, at the foot of degenerated grey pines which had
died of superabundance. A woodpecker hammered high
above and stopped every now and then to listen whether
the sound betrayed a hollow. The sun’s rays were
scorching ; the ground became stony, the wood opened
again ; he could hear a low, muffled roar ; fresh breezes,
laden with the smell of oysters, cooled his face ; he caught
glimpses of a shining blue expanse through the lower
branches of the Scotch firs.
A few more steps up the incline—and before him
lay the sea—the sea ! The waves leaped up the cliffs
and were thrown down again, only to begin their game
afresh.
Off with the clothes and down into the deep ! What
was it that he saw down there for the space of a moment ?
A different world, where the trees were red like seaweed
and the air emerald green like the waves ; now he was
again on the surface amid the bellowing, fighting breakers ;
he fought with them until he was tired ; he lay on his
back and floated; they threw him up sky-high, they
dragged him down into dark chasms, as if they meant to
throw him into the abyss ; he ceased to wish, he ceased
to will ; he made no resistance ; his body had lost all
weight ; the law of gravity no longer applied to him ; he
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