midnight
Round this run the eight walls of the house proper , the inner 10 ft. from the outer , each parallel two forming a single long corridor-like chamber , except the front -LRB- east -RRB- two , which are divided into three apartments ; in each side of the house are six panels of massive plain silver , half-an-inch thinner in their central space , where are affixed paintings , 22 or else 21 taken at the burning of Paris from a place called ` The Louvre , ' and 2 or else 3 from a place in England : so that the panels have the look of frames , and are surrounded by oval garlands of the palest amethyst , topaz , sapphire , and turquoise which I could find , each garland being of only one kind of stone , a mere oval ring two feet wide at the sides and narrowing to an inch at the top and bottom , without designs . The galleries are five separate recesses in the outer walls under the roofs , two in the east façade , and one in the north , south , and west , hung with pavilions of purple , blue , rose and white silk on rings and rods of gold , with gold pilasters and banisters , each entered by four steps from the roof , to which lead , north and south , two spiral stairs of cedar . On the east roof stands the kiosk , under which is the little lunar telescope ; and from that height , and from the galleries , I can watch under the bright moonlight of this climate , which is very like lime-light , the for-ever silent blue hills of Macedonia , and where the islands of Samothraki , Lemnos , Tenedos slumber like purplish fairies on the Aegean Sea : for , usually , I sleep during the day , and keep a night-long vigil , often at midnight descending to bathe my coloured baths in the lake , and to disport myself in that strange intoxication of nostrils , eyes , and pores , dreaming long wide-eyed dreams at the bottom , to return dazed , and weak , and drunken . Or again -- _ twice _ within these last void and idle six months -- I have suddenly run , bawling out , from this temple of luxury , tearing off my gaudy rags , to hide in a hut by the shore , smitten for one intense moment with realisation of the past of this earth , and moaning : ` alone , alone ... all alone , alone , alone ... alone , alone ... ' For events precisely resembling eruptions take place in my brain ; and one spangled midnight -- ah , how spangled ! -- I may kneel on the roof with streaming , uplifted face , with outspread arms , and awe-struck heart , adoring the Eternal : the next , I may strut like a cock , wanton as sin , lusting to burn a city , to wallow in filth , and , like the Babylonian maniac , calling myself the equal of Heaven . * * * * * But it was not to write of this -- of all this -- ! Of the furnishing of the palace I have written nothing ... .