Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - V. Purgatory
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May 19th.—I don’t venture to go to the café.
May 20th.—I have slunk round the terrace of
the Lilas, and at last found my corner unoccupied.
One must fight the evil spirits and begin
the war oneself. The absinthe is made, the cigarette
glows, and the Temps has important news.
Then (I speak the truth, reader), a chimney of
the café over my head takes fire! There is a
universal panic. I remain sitting, but a stronger
will than mine directs a cloud of soot with such
a good aim on me, that two large flakes settle
on my glass. Disconcerted, but as unbelieving
and sceptical as ever, I depart.
June 1st.—After long abstinence, the longing
for my chestnut again awakes. My table is
occupied, and I sit down at a vacant one standing
somewhat apart. Then there comes a middle-class
family, and sits near me. There seems to
be no end of them. Women push against my
chair, children do their little businesses before
my eyes, young men take away my matches without
asking leave. Thus I sit in the midst of a
noisy, shameless throng, but do not waver nor
yield. Then occurs something which, without
any doubt, shows the skilful hand of the
unseen, for there is no room for suspecting these
people to whom I am entirely unknown.
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