mysterious symphony for the eyes; and from 
all things, from every corner, from the cracks 
of drawers and from the folds of the curtains 
escapes a strange perfume—a “Come-back-to-
me” from Sumatra—which is as it were the 
soul of the place. 
A true country of Cockaigne, I tell you, 
where all is rich, clean, glittering like a beauti-
ful conception, like magnificent plate, like 
splendid gold-work, like a mosaic of jewels. All 
the treasures of the world flow to it as in the 
house of a man who has well toiled and has 
deserved well of the whole world. Strange 
country, superior to all others, as Art is to Na-
ture, where nature is re-formed by dream, 
where she is corrected, beautified, re-moulded. 
Let them seek, let them still seek; let them 
ever push back the limits of their happiness, 
these alchemists of gardening; let them pro-
pose their prizes of sixty and one hundred 
thousand florins for whoever shall solve their 
ambitious problems; for me, I have found my 
black tulip and my blue dahlia. 
Incomparable flower, re-discovered tulip, al-
legorical dahlia! It is there, is it not, in this 
lovely country, so calm and so dreamy, that 
we must grow, live, and flourish? Are not you 
framed in your analogy, and can you not ad-