Little Poems in Prose

Twilight excites the mad. I remembered that I myself have had two friends that twilight positively afflicted; for the first, he lost under- standing of all the relations of friendship and politeness and ill-treated the first-comer as a savage does. I have seen him throw an excel- lent fowl at the waiter’s head because he thought he saw in it some insulting hiero- glyph—how should I say what? The evening, forerunner of profoundest pleasures, spoilt the most toothsome things for him. The second, a man of wounded ambition, became, as the day fell, more bitter, more gloomy, more teasing; indulgent and sociable enough all day, in the evening he was pitiless, and it was not only upon others, but upon him- self also, that his twilight mania was wont to wreak its rage. The first died insane, unable to recognize his wife and child; the second bears in himself the inquietude of everlasting little-ease, and though he were dowered with all the honours that republics can bestow, I think that the twi- light would still inflame in him a burning desire of imaginary distinctions. The night which brings shadows, which brought shadows into their minds, makes light in mine. And though it is not so rare to see the same cause beget two