ersations fresh, just as salt keeps food fresh. The
question is not _why_ we say them, but _how_ we say them. It would be
rude indeed to talk with a charming lady as if she were a sexless
Amphibium. It is a duty and an obligation to allude constantly to what
she is and is going to be. It is really a comical situation,
considering how indelicate, stiff and guilty society is, to be an
innocent girl."

"That reminds me of the famous Buffo, who, while he was always making
others laugh, was so sad and solemn himself."

"Society is a chaos which can be brought into harmonious order only by
wit. If one does not jest and toy with the elements of passion, it
forms thick masses and darkens everything."

"Then there must be passion in the air here, for it is almost dark."

"Surely you have closed your eyes, lady of my heart! Otherwise the
light in them would brighten the whole room."

"I wonder, Julius, who is the more passionate, you or I?"

"Both of us are passionate enough. If that were not so, I should not
want to live. And see! That is why I could reconcile myself to
jealousy. There is everything in love--friendship, pleasant
intercourse, sensuality, and even passion. Everything must be in it,
and one thing must strengthen, mitigate, enliven and elevate the
other."

"Let me embrace you, darling."

"But only on one condition can I allow you to be jealous. I have often
felt that a little bit of cultured and refined anger does not
ill-become a man. Perhaps it is the same way with you in regard to
jealousy."

"Agreed! Then I do not have to abjure it altogether."

"If only you always manifest it as prettily and as wittily as you did
today."

"Did I? Well, if next time you get into so pretty and witty a passion
about it, I shall say so and praise you for it."

"Are we not worthy now to conciliate the offended gods?"

"Yes, if your discourse is entirely finished; otherwise give me the
rest." [32]

METAMORPHOSES

The childlike spirit slumbers in sweet repose, and the kiss of the
loving goddess arouses in him only light dreams. The rose of shame
tinges his cheek; he smiles and seems to open his lips, but he does
not awaken and he knows not what is going on within him. Not until
after the charm of the external world, multiplied and reinforced by an
inner echo, has completely permeated his entire being, does he open
his eyes, reveling in the sun, and recall to mind the magic world
which he saw in the gleam of the pa