Such was the abrupt close of one of my Arabian Nights; but there were
yet a thousand nights left.
Then followed a great discord between my days and nights. During the
day I would go to my work worn and tired, cursing the bewitching night
and her empty dreams, but as night came my daily life with its bonds and
shackles of work would appear a petty, false, ludicrous vanity.
After nightfall I was caught and overwhelmed in the snare of a strange
intoxication, I would then be transformed into some unknown personage of
a bygone age, playing my part in unwritten history; and my short English
coat and tight breeches did not suit me in the least. With a red velvet
cap on my head, loose paijamas, an embroidered vest, a long flowing silk
gown, and coloured handkerchiefs scented with attar, I would complete my
elaborate toilet, sit on a high-cushioned chair, and replace my
cigarette with a many-coiled narghileh filled with rose-water, as if in
eager expectation of a strange meeting with the beloved one.
I have no power to describe the marvellous incidents that unfolded
themselves, as the gloom of the night deepened.
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