He soared with an inexplicable joy when he got to the square. The tender air and the ancient palace, rectilinear and dreamlike, seemed to have drifted in from the happy realms of a forgotten childhood. He couldn’t understand what it was about the square that made him feel as if he had come home after years of wandering.
The palace dominating the square was of ochred stone, and it rose high up into the maternal darkness. It was so huge that it seemed to be part of the night, and seemed to belong to the substance of all dreams. And yet it was like a spectacular stage set, lit up with coloured flares. Banners and bunting and a night-coloured flag fluttered in the breeze from its highest battlements. Pennants shone below. The palace gate was of the finest and oldest bronze. And on the gate had been carved the most extraordinary shapes of gods, and angels, and sleeping women.