It was Christmas Day, on May 1st. From the sky fell men of snow and barrels full of thunder. Over the world floated the last three caulked hearts: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. It was the last day of the new year. The tree of idealism, that sentimental tree in which the nests of the materialistic philosophers swayed, was struck down by a single helium thunder. The men had become boiled onions, with a toothpick between their toes and a flag of sacred colors in the right buttonhole of the left trousers. Ten minutes later, the men had disappeared, and the last woman chewed her Oriental pills, seated on the keys of the highest mountain on earth, and beautiful or sublime.