XXXI 
  
THE JOYS OF THE SOUL 
  
  
IN a fair garden, where the rays of the au-
tumnal sun seemed to linger in enjoyment, be-
neath a sky already greenish where golden 
clouds floated like travelling continents, four 
lovely children, boys, tired without a doubt of 
playing, were talking among themselves. One 
of them said: “Yesterday Papa took me to the 
theatre. There are big, sad palaces, beyond 
which one sees the sea and the sky, and in 
them there are men and women very serious 
and very sad too; but much more beautiful and 
better dressed than the people we see about, 
and they talk in a singing voice. They threaten 
each other, they beseech, they lament, they 
often put their hand to daggers that they have 
in their sashes; oh, but it is beautiful! The la-
dies are much lovelier and taller than the ones 
that come to see us at home, and though they 
look terrible with their big hollow eyes and 
flaming cheeks, you cannot help loving them; 
you are afraid, you want to cry, and yet all the 
time you are happy. . . . And then, funnier