Leaping, floating, flying down those endless stairs through the
dark house; racing mindlessly out into the narrow, steep, and
ancient street of steps and tottering houses; clattering down
steps and over cobbles to the lower streets and the putrid
canyon-walled river; panting across the great dark bridge to
the broader, healthier streets and boulevards we know; all
these are terrible impressions that linger with me. And I recall
that there was no wind, and that the moon was out, and that
all the lights of the city twinkled.
Despite my most careful searches and investigations, I have
never since been able to find the Rue d'Auseil. But I am not
wholly sorry; either for this or for the loss in undreamable
abysses of the closely written sheets which alone could have
explained the music of Erich Zann. H
HYLAND
