HASSI-INIFEL, NOVEMBER 8, 1903
If the following pages are ever to see the light of day it will be
because they have been stolen from me. The delay that I exact before
they shall be disclosed assures me of that.[1] [Footnote 1: This letter, together with the manuscript which
accompanies it, the latter in a separate sealed envelope, was
entrusted by Lieutenant Ferrières, of the 3rd Spahis, the day of the
departure of that officer for the Tassili of the Tuareg (Central
Sahara), to Sergeant Chatelain. The sergeant was instructed to deliver
it, on his next leave, to M. Leroux, Honorary Counsel at the Court of
Appeals at Riom, and Lieutenant Ferrières' nearest relative. As this
magistrate died suddenly before the expiration of the term of ten
years set for the publication of the manuscript here presented,
difficulties arose which have delayed its publication up to the
present date.] As to this disclosure, let no one distrust my aim when I prepare for
it, when I insist upon it. You may believe me when I maintain that no
pride of authorship binds me to these pages. Already I am too far
removed from all such things. Only it is useless that others should
enter upon the path from which I shall not return.
Four o'clock in the morning. Soon the sun will kindle the hamada with
its pink fire. All about me the bordj is asleep. Through the half-open
door of his room I hear André de Saint-Avit breathing quietly, very
quietly.
In two days we shall start, he and I. We shall leave the bordj. We
shall penetrate far down there to the South. The official orders came
this morning.
Now, even if I wished to withdraw, it is too late. André and I asked
for this mission. The authorization that I sought, together with him,
has at this moment become an order. The hierarchic channels cleared,
the pressure brought to bear at the Ministry;--and then to be afraid,
to recoil before this adventure!...
To be afraid, I said. I know that I am not afraid! One night in the
Gurara, when I found two of my sentinels slaughtered, with the
shameful cross cut of the Berbers slashed across their stomachs--then
I was afraid. I know what fear is. Just so now, when I gazed into the
black depths, whence suddenly all at once the great red sun will rise,
I know that it is not with fear that I tremble. I feel surging within
me the sacred horror of this mystery, and its irresistible attraction.
Delirious dreams, perhaps. The mad imaginings of a brain surcharged,
and an eye distraught by mirages. The day will come, doubtless, when I
shall reread these pages with an indulgent smile, as a man of fifty is
accustomed to smile when he rereads old letters.