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That was what, in my time, the mothers used to say on the eve of Epiphany and, zòu! all the children of the village would be off together to meet "les Rois Mages," who were coming with their pages and their camels and the whole of their glittering royal suite to adore the Christ-Child in our church in Maillane!
Then, of a sudden, a flood of radiant glory would be about us, and from the dark cloud above the mountains would burst forth a splendour of glowing crimson and of royal purple and of glittering gold! "Les Rois Mages! Les Rois Mages!" we would cry. "They are coming! They are here at last!" But it would be only the last rich dazzle of the sunset. Presently it would vanish. The owls would be hooting.
Among the occultists who maunder today in the universal decomposition of ideas he is the only one who interests me. "The others, the mages, the theosophists, the cabalists, the spiritists, the hermetics, the Rosicrucians, remind me, when they are not mere thieves, of children playing and scuffling in a cellar.
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