Glory! I didn’t chase it yesterday, irrefutably, and I took no interest in those called by somebody in that way.

A hundred posters absorbing the days’ misunderstood gold, the letter’s betrayal, fled, to all the city limits, my eyes even with the horizon, departing by rail, pulling away before spending a moment in silence, in a pride hard to understand, which yielded to an approach to a forest at its time of apotheosis.

If discordant, amid the exaltation of the hour, a shout distorted this name, known to unfold the continuity of the trees’ points later to disappear, Fontainebleau, of which I thought, despite the broken window of the compartment, to jam my fist against the throat of the interrupter: Be quiet! Do not disclose the fact of a barking indifferent shadow creeping into my mind here, the car doors flying in an inspired and egalitarian wind, and the omnipresent tourists vomited out. The deceptive tranquility of rich woods suspends some extraordinary state of illusion. How do you answer me? These travelers, they have left the capital to come to your train station, good employee, vociferous in your duty, and for which I expect, far from seizing drunkenness to all apportioned by the joint generosities of nature and of the State, nothing but a prolonged silence, time to isolate myself from the urban delegation toward the ecstatic torpor of the foliage below, too immobilized so that a crisis soon flutters them in the air. Here, without disturbing your integrity, is a coin.

An inadvertent uniform invited me toward some barrier. I hand over, without saying a word, instead of the metal seducer, my ticket.

Obeyed, even so, yes, seeing only the asphalt spread unevenly, because I cannot even imagine that this pompous October, these million lives piling up their emptiness in the monotony of the enormous capital, who will erase here the obsession with the whistle blast under the haze, none of which is going to fade secretly as I felt it, this year, of bitter and bright sobs, many a vague floating idea, leaving the fates as branches, such as shivering and what looks like autumn under the heavens.

Nobody is, the arms of doubt flown away like one who carries also a prize of a secret splendor, too pricelessly magnificent to appear! But without the sudden rush forward in this veiled day of immortal trunks discharging on superhuman arrogance (now, should we not view it for what it is?), nor cross the threshold where torches burn away, under heavy guard, all dreams prior to the purple glow reverberating in the clouds of the universal sacred royal intruder who has only come. I waited, for that being, who slowly started the common movement again, reduced to the proportions of a childish chimera carrying the world somewhere, and the train let me off there alone.