CHAPTER XXXII
THE WAKING
HEN Franz returned to himself, exterior objects seemed a second portion of his dream. He thought himself in a sepulcher, into which scarcely penetrated (and then like a look of pity) a ray of the sun. He stretched forth his hand and, touched stone; he rose to his seat, and found himself lying on his bournous in a bed of dry heather, very soft and odoriferous, The vision had entirely fled; and as if the statues had been but shadows coming from their tomb during his dream, they vanished at his waking.
He advanced several paces toward the point whence the light came, and to all the excitement of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality. He found that he was in a grotto, went toward the opening, and through a kind of narrow portal saw a blue sea and an azure sky. The air and water were shining in the beams of the morning sun; on the shore the sailors were sitting, chatting, and laughing; and at ten yards from them the bark was at anchor, undulating gracefully on the water.
There for some time he enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his brow, and listened to the dash of the waves on the beach, leaving against the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was for some time without reflection or thought for the divine charm which is in the things of nature, especially after a fantastic dream; then gradually this outward life, so calm, so pure, so grand, reminded him of the illusiveness of a dream, and remembrance became busy again in his memory. He recalled his arrival on the island, his presentation to a smuggler chief, a subterranean palace full of splendor, an excellent supper, and a spoonful of hashish.
It seemed, however, even in the very face of open day, that at least a year had elapsed since all these things had passed, so deep was the impression made in his mind by the dream, and so strong a hold had it
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