very disagreeable fancy.

My memoirs,--composed of incongruous details, minute observations of
colors, shapes, scents, and sounds.

It is true that a complete imbroglio, worthy of a romance, seems ever
threatening to appear upon my monotonous horizon; a regular intrigue
seems ever ready to explode in the midst of this little world of
mousmés and grasshoppers: Chrysanthème in love with Yves; Yves with
Chrysanthème; Oyouki with me; I with no one. We might even find here,
ready to hand, the elements of a fratricidal drama, were we in any
other country than Japan; but we are in Japan, and under the narrowing
and dwarfing influence of the surroundings, which turn everything into
ridicule, nothing will come of it all.




XXXVIII.


There is, in this good town of Nagasaki, towards five or six o'clock
in the evening, one hour of the day more comical than any other. At
this moment every living being is naked: children, young people, old
people, old men, old women, every one is seated in a tub of some sort,
taking a bath. This takes place no matter where, without the slightest
screen, in the gardens, the courtyards, in the shops, even upon the
thresholds, in order to give greater facility for conversation among
the neighbors from one side of the street to the other. In this
situation visitors are received; and the bather, without any