The theatre wherein was enacted the “Donkey's Skin,” very much amplified
and more elaborate, had now a permanent place in my aunt Claire's room.
Little Jeanne, more interested in it since the additions to the scenery
and the text, came over oftener; she painted backgrounds under my
direction, and the moments I enjoyed most were those in which I
impressed her with my great superiority. We had now a box full of
characters, each with a name and a role; and the fantastic processions
were made up of regiments of monsters, beasts and gnomes made out of
plaster and painted with water colors.
I recall our delight and enthusiasm when we tried for the first time the
effect of a scenic background which we had made to represent the “void
of heaven.” Delicate rosy clouds, bespeaking the dawn, floated over the
blue expanse that was softened and paled by the gauze hanging in
front of it. And the chariot of a silken-haired fairy, drawn by two
butterflies and suspended on invisible threads, advanced towards the
centre of the scene.
But in spite of our efforts our work was never finished, for we took
no account of limitations; every day we had new ideas and ever more and
more wonderful projects, and the great comprehensive representation was
deferred from day to day, was postponed to a future that never came.
Every undertaking of my life will be, or has already been, left
unfinished and incomplete as was that little play of the “Donkey's
Skin.”