 Book II. Chapter III. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eddie Winter. A Rackney by George Abers. Translated by Mary J. Safford. Book II. Chapter III. It must be late, for Hermon felt the cool breeze, which in this region rose between midnight and sunrise on his burned face, and shivering through his mantle close around him. It it seemed impossible to return to the cabin. The memory of Ledshar employing vengeance and the stern image of the avenging goddess in the cellar of the Little Temple of Nemesis completely mastered him. In the close cabin these terrible visions united with the fear of having reaped undeserved praise would have crouched upon his breast like harpies, and stifled or driven him mad. After what had happened to number this swift granting of the insulted by a might's prayer among the freaks of chance was probably a more arbitrary and foolish proceeding than, with so many others, to recognise the incomprehensible power of Nemesis. Ledshar had loosed it against him, and his health perhaps even his life, and he imagined that she was standing before him, with the bridal and wheel threatening him afresh. Shivering as if chilled to the bone, overwhelmed by intense horror, he turned his blinded eyes upward to the blackness above, and raised his hand for the first time since he had joined the pupils of Stratton in the museum to pray. He besought Nemesis to be content, and not had to blindness new tortures to augment the terrible ones which went his soul, and he did so with all the ardour of his passionate nature. The stirred grass had received orders to wake the Lady Thione, if anything unusual happened to the blind man, and when he heard the unfortunate artist groan so pitifully that it would have moved us down, and saw him raise his hand dispomely to his head. He thought it was time to utter words of consolation, and a short time after the anxious mation followed him. Her low exclamation startled Hermann. To be disturbed in the first prayer after so long a time in the midst of the cries of distress of a despairing soul is scarcely injurable, and the blind man imposed little restraint upon himself when his old friend asked what had occurred, and urged him not to expose himself longer to the damp night air. At first he resolutely resisted, declaring that he should lose his senses alone in the closed cabin. Then in her cordial simple way she offered to bear him company in the cabin. She could not sleep longer at any rate. She must leave him early in the morning, and they still have many things to confide to each other. Touched by so much kindness he yielded, and leaning on the Pythinian's arm followed her not into his little cabin, but into the captain's spacious sitting-room. Only a single lamp dimly lighted the wendskettin composed of ebony ivory and tortoise shell, the gay-rugged carpets and the giraffe and panther-skins hung on the walls and doors, and flung on the couches and the floor. Thony needed no brilliant elimination for this conversation, and the blinded man was ordered to avoid it. The maestro was glad to be permitted to communicate to Herman so speedily, all that filled her own heart. While he remained on deck she had gone to Daphne's cabin. She had already retired, and when Thony went to the side of the couch she found the girl with her cheeks wet with sears still weeping, and easily succeeded in leading the motherless maiden to make a frank confession. Both cousins had been dear to her from childhood, but while motorless though often impeded by his pitiful sufferings had reached by a smooth pathway the highest recognition, Herman's impetuous toiling and striving had constantly compelled her to watch his course with anxious solicitude, and often unobserved, extend a helping hand. Sympathy, disapproval, and fear which, however, was always blended with admiration of his transcendent powers had merged into love. Though he had disdained to return it, it had nevertheless been perfectly evident that he needed her, and valued her, and her opinion. Often as their views differed, the obstinate boy and youth had never allowed anyone except herself a strong influence over his acts and conduct. But far as he seemed to wander from the paths which she believed the right ones, she had always held fast to the conviction that he was a man of noble nature as an artist who, if he only once fixed his eyes upon the true goal, would far surpass by his mighty power the other Alexandrian sculptures, whatever names they bore, and perhaps even murderless. To the great vexation of her father, who, after her mother's death, in an hour when his heart was softened, had promised that he would never impose any constraint upon her in the choice of her husband, she had hitherto rejected at every suitor. She had showed even the distinguished philistus in Pelusium without the least reserve that he was seeking her in vain, for just at that time she thought she had perceived that her man returned her love, and after his abrupt departure it had become perfectly evident that the happiness of her life depended upon him. The terrible misfortune which had now befalled him had only bound her more firmly to the man she loved. She felt that she belonged to him indissolubly, and the leach's positive assurance that his blindness was incurable had only increased the magic of the thought of being an affording tenfold more to the man bereft of sight than when, possessing his vision, the world, life and art belonged to him. To be able to lavish everything upon the most beloved of mortals, and do whatever her warm, ever-helpful heart prompted seemed to her a special favour of the gods in whom she believed. That it was Demeter, to the ranks of whose priestesses she belonged, who was so closely associated with his blinding, also seemed to her no mere work of chance. The goddess, on whom Herman had bestowed the features of her own face, had deprived him of sight to confer upon her the happiness of writing and beautifying darkness of his life. If she saw a right, and it was only the fear of obtaining with herself her wealth that still kept him from her, the path which would finally unite them must be found at last. She hoped to conquer also her father's reluctance to give his only child in marriage to a blind man, especially as Herman's last work promised to give him the right to rank with the best artists of his age. The matron had listened to this confession with an agitated heart. She had transported herself in imagination into the soul of the girl's mother, and brought before her mind what objections the dead woman would have made to her daughter's union with a man deprived of sight. But Daphne had firmly insisted upon her wish, and supported it by many a sensible and surprising answer. She was beyond childhood, and her three and twenty years enabled her to realise the consequences which so unusual of marriage threatened to entail. As for Thione herself, she was always disposed to look on the bright side, and the thought that this vigorous young man, this artist crowned with the highest success, must remain in darkness to the end of his life, was utterly incompatible with her belief in the goodness of the gods. But if Herman was cured, a rare wealth of the greatest happiness awaited him in the union with Daphne. The mood in which she found the blind man had wounded and troubled her. Now she renewed the bandage, Sanne. How gladly I would continue to use my old hands for you, but this will be the last time in a long while that I am permitted to do this for the son of my Eragonie. I must leave you to-morrow. Herman clasped her hand closely, exclaiming with affectionate warmth, You must not go, Thione, stay here, even if it is only a few days longer. What pleasure these words gave her, and how gladly she would have fulfilled his wish. But it could not be, and he did not venture to detain her by fresh entreaties after she had described how her aged husband was suffering from her absence. After I asked myself what he still finds in me, she said, True, so long a period of wedded life is a firm tie. If I am gone and he does not find me when he returns home from inspections, he wonders about as if lost, and does not even relish his food, though the same cook has prepared it for years. And he, who forgets nothing and knows by name a large number of the many thousands of men he commands, would very probably, when I am away, join the troops with only sandals on his feet. To miss my ugly old face really cannot be so difficult. When he wooed me, of course, I looked very different, and so, he confested himself, so he always sees me, and most plainly when I am absent from his sight. But that, Herman, will be your good fortune also. All you now know, as young and beautiful, will continue so to you, as on sister's soulful blindness lasts, and on that very account you must not remain alone, my boy. That is, if your heart has already decided in favour of any one. And that is the case, unless these old eyes deceive me. Finally he answered dejectedly, why should I deny that she is dear to me? And yet, how dare the blind man take upon himself the sin of binding her young life. Stop, stop, thou only interrupted with eager warmth. She loves you, and to be everything to you is the greatest happiness she can imagine. And to repentance awakes and it is too late, he answered gravely. But even were her love strong enough to share her husband's misfortune patiently, may perhaps with joyous courage it will still be contemptible baseness were I to profit by that love, and seek her hand. Herman the matron there exclaimed reproachfully, but he repeated with strong emphasis, Yes, it would be baseless, so great that even her most ardent love could not save me from the reproach of having committed it. I will not speak of her father, to whom I am so greatly indebted. It may be that it might satisfy Daphne full of kindness as she is to devote herself body and soul to the service of her helpless companion, but I, far from thinking constantly like her, solely of others and their welfare, I should only too often, selfish as I now am, be mindful of myself. But when I realise who I am, I see before me a blind man who is poorer than a beggar because the scorching flames melted even the gold which was to help him pay his debts. Folly cried the matron, for what did Archaus gather his boundless treasures, and when his daughter is once yours then, Herman went on bitterly, the blinded artist's poverty will be over. That is your opinion, and the majority of people will share it, but I have my peculiarities, and the thought of being rescued from hunger and thirst by the woman I love, and who ought to see in me the man from whom she receives the best gifts, to be dependent on her as a recipient of her arms, seems to me worse than if I were once more to lose my sight. I could not endure it at all. Every mouthful would choke me, just because she is dear to me I cannot seek her hand, for in return for her great self-sacrifice in love I could give her nothing, save the keen discontent which ceases the proud soul that is forced constantly to accept benefits, as surely as the ringing sound follows a blow upon the brass. My whole future life would become a chain of humiliations, and you know whether this unfortunate marriage would lead. My teacher Stratton once said that a man learns to hate no one more easily than the person from whom he receives benefits, which it is out of his power to repay. This is wise, and before I will see my great love for Daphne transformed to hate, I will again try the starving which, while I was a sculptor at Rhodes, I learned tolerably well. But would not great love I say only, suffice to repay tenfold the perishable gifts that can be bought with golden silver? No, and again no, Hermann answered, in an agitated tone. Something else would blend with the love I bought to the marriage, something that must destroy all the compensation it might offer. For I see myself becoming a resentful misanthrope if I am compelled to relinquish the pleasure of creating, and condemned to dull inaction, can do nothing except allow myself to be tended, drink, eat, and sleep. The gloomy mood of her unfortunate husband would sudden Daphne's existence even more than my own, forth I only, though I should strive with all my strength to bear patiently with her dear aid, the burden imposed upon me, and move on through the darkness with joyous courage like many another blind man, I would not succeed. You are a man, the motron exclaimed indignantly, and what thousands have done before you, there, he loudly protested, I should surely fail. For you, dear woman, who means so kindly by me, my fate is worse than theirs. Do you know what just forced from my lips the exclamation of pain which alarmed you? I, the only child of the devout Eragonie, for whose sake you are so well disposed toward me, am doomed to misfortune, as surely as the victim dragged to the altar is certain of death. Of all the goddesses there is only one in whose power I believe, and to whom I just raised my hands in prayer. It is the terrible one to whom I was delivered by hate, and the deceived love which is now dragging me by the hair, and will rob and torture me till I despair of life. I mean the grey daughter of night, whom no one escapes, dread nemesis. Flowny sank down into the chair by the blind artist's side, asking softly, and what gave you into her avenging hands, hapless boy? My own abominable folly, he answered mournfully, and with the feeling that it would relieve his heart to pour out to this true friend what he would usually have confided, only to his merciless, he hurriedly related how he had recognised in Ledger the best model for his arachne. How he had sought her love, and then, detained by El Thea, left her in the lurch, and most deeply offended and insulted her. Lastly he gave a brief but vivid description of his meeting with a vengeful barbarian girl in the temple of nemesis, how Ledger had invoked upon him the wrath of the terrible goddess, and how the most horrible punishment had fallen upon him directly after the harsh accusation of the biomass. The matron had listened to this confession in breathless suspense. Now she fixed her eyes on the floor, shook her grey head gently, and said anxiously, Is that it? It certainly puts things in a different light. As a son of your never-to-be-forgotten mother you are indeed dear to my heart, but definitely is not less dear to me, and though in your marriage I just saw a happiness for you both, that is now past. What is poverty? What is blindness? Darkness would reconcile formal difficult problems, but its arrows are shattered on the armour of nemesis. Where there is a pair of lovers and she raises her scourge against one of them, the other will also be struck. Until you find that you are freed from this persecutor it will be criminal to bind a loving woman to you and your destiny. It is not easy to find the right path for you both, for even nemesis and her power do not make the slightest change in the fact that you need faithful care and watching in your blindness. Daylight brings wisdom, and we will talk further tomorrow. She rose as she spoke, but Herman detained her, while from his lips escaped the anxious question. So you will take Daphne away from me, and leave me alone in my blindness. You in your blindness cried so only, and the mere reproachful tone of the question banished the fear. I would as quickly deprive my own son of my support, as I would you just at this time, my poor boy. But whether my conscience will permit me to let Daphne remain near you, only grant me I repeat it until sunrise tomorrow for reflection. My old heart will then find the right way. Yet whatever you may decide concerning us, pleaded the blind man, tell Daphne that, in the eve of losing her, I first felt, in its full power, how warmly I love her. Even the outnemesis, the joy of making her mine, would have been denied me. Fate will never permit me to possess her, yet, never again to hear her gentle voice, never more to feel her dear presence will be blinding me a second time. It need not be imposed upon you long, said the matron soothingly. Then she went close to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said, The power of the goddess who punishes the misdeeds of the reckless is called irresistible and uncontrollable. But one thing softens even her, and checks her usually resistless will. It is a mother's prayer. I heard this from my own mother, and experienced it myself, especially in my oldest son, his, who from the wildest madcap, became an ornament of his class, and to whom the king, you doubtless know it, entrusted the command of the fleet, which is to open the Ethiopian land of elephants to the Egyptian power. You, Hermon, are an orphan, but for you, too, the souls of your parents live on. Only I do not know whether you still honor and pray to them. I did until a few years ago, replied Hermon. But later you neglected this sacred duty, I did so only. Yet how was that possible? In our barren palusium I could not help thinking hundreds of times of the grove which our chai has planted in your necropolis for the dead members of his family, and how often, while we were in Alexandria, it attracted me to think in its shade of your never-to-be-forgotten mother. There I felt her soul near me. Over there was her home, and in imagination I saw her walking and resting under the trees, and you, her beloved child, you remained aloof from this hallowed spot. Even at the festival of the dead you omitted prayers and sacrifices. The blind artist assented to this question by a silent bend of the head, but the motron indignantly exclaimed, I did not you know, unhappy man, that you were thus casting away this shield which protects mortals from the avenging gods, and your glorious mother who would have given her life for you. Yet you loved her, I suppose. Thione, Hermon, cried deeply wounded, holding at his right hand, as if in defence. Well, well said the motron, I know that you revere her memory, but that alone is not sufficient. On memorial festivals, and especially on the birthdays, a mother's soul needs a prayer and a gift from the sun, a wreath, a phallit, a fragrant ointment, a piece of honey, a cup of wine or milk. All these things even the poor man spares from his penury. It a warm prayer in pure remembrance and love, which suffice to rub the wrath of Nemesis, which the enraged barbarian girl let loose upon you of its power. And your mother, Hermon, the soul of the noble woman who bore you, can restore to you what you have lost. Appeal for aid to her, son of Oregoni, and she will yet make everything right. Bending quickly over the artist as she spoke, she kissed his braille, and moved steadily away, though he called her name with yearning in treaty. A short time after the steward grass led Hermon to his cabin, and one undressing him reported that a messenger from Pelusium had announced that the commandant Philipus was coming to Tennis the next morning before the marketplace filled to take his wife with him to Alexandria where he was going by the king's command. Hermon only half listened, and then ordered the Pythenian to leave him. After he had reclined on the couch a short time, he softly called the names of the steward Thione and Daphne. As he received no answer, and thus learned that he was alone, he rose, drew himself up to his full height, gazed heavenward, with his bandaged eyes, stretched both hands toward the ceiling of the low cabin, and obeyed his friend's bidding. Thoroughly convinced that he was doing right, and ashamed of having so long neglected what the duty of a son commanded, he implored his mother's soul for forgiveness. While doing so he again found that the figures which he recalled to his memory appeared before him with marvellous distinctness. However had she been so near him since, when a boy of seven she clasped him for the last time to her heart. She tenderly held out her arms to him, and he rushed into her embrace, shouting exultantly, while she hugged and kissed him. Every pet name which he had once been so glad to hear, and during recent years had forgotten again fell from her lips. As had often happened in days long past, he again saw his mother crown him for a festival, pleased with a little new garment which she herself had woven for him, and embroidered with a tiny tree with red apples, beneath which stood a bright plumage duckling. She let him by the hand in the necropolis to the empty tomb dedicated to his father. It was a building the height of a man constructed of red Cyprian marble, on which cast in bronze, shield, sword and lance, as well as a beautiful helmet lay beside a sleeping-line. It was dedicated to the memory of the brave Hipparch whom he had been permitted to call his father, and who had been burned beside the battlefield on which he had found a hero's death. Hermann now again beheld himself, with his mother, garlanding, anointing, entwining with fresh felids, the mausoleum erected by his uncaw archias to his brave brother. His breezes of every flower, the colour of the felids, nay, even the designs embroidered on his little holiday robe, again returned to his mind, and while these pleasant memories hovered around him, he appealed to his mother in prayer. She stood before him, young and beautiful, listening without reproach or censure, as he persoated her forgiveness, and confided to her his sins, at how severely he was punished by nemesis. In this confession he felt as though he was kneeling before the beloved dead, hiding his face in her lap, while she bent over him and stroked his thick black hair. True, he did not hear her speak, but when he looked up again he could see, by the expression of her faithful blue eyes, that his manly appearance surprised her, and that she rejoiced in his return to her arms. She listened compassionately to his laments, and when he paused, pressed his head to her bosom, and gazed into his face with such joyous confidence that his heart swelled, and he told himself that she could not look at him thus, unless she saw a happiness in store for him. Lastly he began also to confide that he loved no woman on earth more ardently than the very deafenly, whom, when only a pretty little child, she had carried in her arms, yet he could not seek the wealthy eras, because manly pride forbade this to the blind beggar. Here the anguish of renunciation seized him with great violence, and when he wished to appear again to his mother, his exhausted imagination refused its service, and the vision would not appear. Then he groped his way back to the bed, and as he let his head sink upon the pillows, he fancied that he would soon be again enwrapped in the sweet slumber of childhood, which had long shunned his couch. It was years since he had felt so full of peace and hope, and he told himself with grateful joy that every child-luck emotion had not yet died within him, that the stern conflicts and struggles of the last years had not yet stilled every gentle emotion. CHAPTER IV The sun of the following day had long passed its median when Herman at last woke. The steward grass, who had grown grey in the service of archias, were standing beside the couch. There was nothing in the round, beardless face of this wolf-ed yet active man that could have attracted the artist, yet the quiet tones of his deep voice recalled to memory the clearest, steadfast gaze of his grey eyes, from which so often, in former days, inviolable fidelity, sound sense, caution and prudence, had looked forth at him. What the blind man heard from grass surprised him, nay, at first seemed impossible. To sleep until the afternoon was something unprecedented for his wakeful temperament, but what was he to say to the tidings that the common dunce of Pelusium had arrived in his state gallery early in the morning, and taken his wife Daphne and Crusella away with him to Alexandria. Yet it sounded credibly enough, when the Pythinian further informed him that the ladies had left messages of remembrance for him, and said that archias' ship, upon which he was, would be at his disposal for any length of time he might desire. Gruss was commissioned to attend him. The Lady Thione especially desired him to heed her counsel. While the steward was communicating this startling news as calmly as if everything was a measure of course, the events of the preceding night came back to Hermon's memory with perfect distinctness, and again the fear assailed him that the rescued Demeter was the work of Myrtleus, and not his own. So the first question he addressed to Gruss concerned the tennis goldsmith, and it was a keen disappointment to Hermon when he learned that the earliest time he could expect to see him would be the following day. The skillful artisan had been engaged for weeks upon the gold ornaments on the new doors of the Holy of Holies in the Temple of Amon at Tannis. Urgent business had called him home from the neighbouring city just before the night of the attack, but yesterday evening he had returned to Tannis, where his wife said he would have only two days' work to do. This answer, however, by no means appeased Hermon's impatience. He commanded that a special messenger should be sent to summon the goldsmith, and the Pythenian received the order with a slight shake of his round head. What new trouble had befallen the unusually alert young artist that he received this unexpected change in his situation, as apathetically as a horse, which is led from one stall to another, and instead of questioning him, thought only of hastening his interview with the goldsmith. If his mistress, who had left him full of anxiety from the fear that Ergy Parcher would deeply agitate the blind man, should learn how indifferently he had received it. He, Gras, certainly would not betray it. Eternal gods these artists. He knew them. Their work was dearer to their hearts than their own lives, love, or friendship. During breakfast of which the steward was obliged to remind him, Hermon pondered over his fate. But how could he attain any degree of clearness or vision, until he secured accurate information concerning the statue of Demeter? Like a dark cloud which sweeps over the starry sky and prevents the astronomer from seeing the planets which he desires to observe, the fear that Proclus' praise had been bestowed upon the work of Myrtleus stood between him and every goal of his thought. Only the fact that he still remained blind, and not even the faintest glimmer of light pierced the surrounding darkness, while the sun continued its course with glowing radiance, and that, blinded and beggared, he must despise himself if he sought to win Daphne with certain. No reflection could alter it. Again, the peace of mind which he thought he had regained during slumber was destroyed. Fear of the artisan's statement even rendered it impossible to pray to his mother with the affectionate devotion he had felt the day before. The goldsmith had directed the rescue of the Demeter, and he was scarcely able to distinguish it from the statue by Myrtleus. For though, like his friend, he had often employed his skillful hands in the arrangement of the gold plates at the commencement of the work. The Egyptian had been summoned to tennis before the statues had attained recognisable form. He had not entered the studio for several months, unless bias had granted him admittance without informing his master. This was quite possible. For the slave's keen eyes certainly had not failed to notice how little he and Myrtleus valued the opinion of the honest, skillful, but extremely practical and unimaginative man who could not create independently even the smallest detail. So it was impossible to determine at present whether Cello had seen the finished statues or not. Determine desired the former, with actual fervour that he might have positive certainty. While reflecting over these matters, the image of the lean Egyptian goldsmith with his narrow, brown, smooth shaven face and skull, prominent cheekbones receding growl, projecting ears and, with all its keenness, lusterless glance rose before him as if he could see his bodily presence. Not a single word unconnected with his trade, the weather or an accident, had ever reached the friend's ears from Cello's thick lips, and this circumstance seemed to warn Terman in the expectation of learning from him the pure unadulterated truth. Really had a messenger of love been awaited with such fervourous suspense as the slave whom Gruss had dispatched to Tannis to induce the goldsmith to return home. He might come soon after nightfall, and Terman used the interval to ask the Pithinian the questions which he had long expected. The reply has afforded little additional information. He learned only that Philippus had been summoned to Alexandria by the king, and that the lady Thione and her husband had talked with the leech and ascended to his opinion that it would be better for Terman to wait here and to the bones on his face were healed before returning to Alexandria. For Daphnis' sake this decision had undoubtedly been welcome to the matron, and it pleased him also, for he still felt so ill physically and so agitated mentally that he shrank from meeting his numerous acquaintances in the capital. The goldsmith, the goldsmith, depended upon his decision whether he would return to Alexandria at all. Soon after, Terman had learned from Gruss that the stars had risen. He was informed that he must wait patiently for his interview with the Egyptian, as he had been summoned to the capital that very day by a messenger from Poclos. Then the steward had fresh calls to marvel at his charge. For this news aroused the most vehement excitement. In fact, it afforded the prospect of a series, perhaps the long one, of the most torturing days and nights, and the dreaded hours actually came, nay, the anguish of uncertainty had become almost unendurable, when on the seventh day the Egyptian had last returned from Alexandria. There had seemed like weeks to him, and had made his face thinner and mingled the first silver hairs in his black beard. The calls of the cheerful notary and the daily visits of the leech and elderly men who had depressed rather than cheered him by informing him of many cases like his own, which all proved incurable, had been his sole diversion. To the heads of the Greek residents of Tennis had also sometimes sought him, the higher government officials, the lesses of the old monopoly, and the royal bank, as well as Georgeus, who, next to archaic, the Alexandrian, owned the largest weaving establishments, but the tales of daily incidents with which they entertained Hermon wearied him. He listened with interest only to the story of Lech's disappearance, it he perceived from the very slight impression it made upon him, how little he had really cared for the Biomite girl. His inquiries about Gula called down upon him, many well-meant jests. She was with her parents, while Thaeus, Lech's young sister, was staying at the Brick kiln, where the former had reduced the unruly slaves to submission. Care had been taken to provide for his personal safety, for the tech might perhaps yet prove to have been connected with the jealousy of the Biomite husbands. The commandant of Pelusium had therefore placed a small garrison of heavily armed soldiers and archers in Tennis, for whom tents had been pitched on the site of the burned White House. Words of command and signals for changing the guards often reached Hermon when he was on the deck of his ship, and visitors praised the wise caution and prompt action of Alexander the Great's old comrade. The notary, a vivacious man of fifty, who had lived a long time in Alexandria, and a certain that he grew dull and withered in little tennis, went to the capital as frequently as possible, had often called upon the sculptor at first, and been disposed to discuss art and the other subjects dear to Hermon's heart, but on the third day he again set off for his beloved Alexandria. From saying farewell he had been unusually merry, and asked Hermon to send him away with good wishes, and offer sacrifices for the success of his business, since he hoped to bring a valuable gift on his return from the journey. The blind artist was glad to have other visits for a short time, but he preferred to be alone and devote his thoughts to his own affairs. He now knew that his love was genuine, definitely seeing the very incarnation of desirable, heartless, heart-refreshing womanliness, but his memory could not dwell with her long, anxiety concerning cello's report, and he too quickly interrupted it as soon as he yielded to its charm. He did not think at all of the future. What was he to a point for a time which the words of a third person might render unendurable? When Grasse had asked Asher in the Goldsmith, his heart shrubbed so violently that it was difficult for him to find the words needed for the questions he desired to ask. The Egyptian had really been summoned to Alexandria by Proclus, not on account of the Demeter, but the clasp said to belong to Myrtulus, found amid the ruins of the Fallen House, and he had been able to identify it with absolute positivness as the sculptor's property. He had been referred from one office to another until finally the tennis-notary, and Proclus opened the right doors to him. Now the importance of his testimony appeared, since the will of the wealthy young sculptor could not be opened until his death was proved, and the clasp which had been found aided in doing so. Herman's question whether he had heard any particulars about this will was answered by the cold-hearted, dull-brained men in the negative. He had done enough, he said, by expressing his opinion. He had gone to Alexandria unwillingly, and would certainly have stayed in tennis if he could have foreseen what a number of tiresome examinations he would be obliged to undergo. He had been burning with impatience to quit the place on account of the important work left behind in tennis, and he did not even know whether he would be reimbursed for his travelling expenses. During this preliminary conversation Herman gained the composure he needed. He began by ascertaining whether Cello remembered the interior arrangement of the burned White House, and it soon appeared that he recollected it accurately. Then the blind man requested him to tell how the rescue of the statue had been managed, and the account of the extremely Prusaic artisan described so clearly and practically how, on entering the burning building, he found Merthylose's studio already inaccessible, but the statue of Demeter in Herman's still uninjured, that the trustworthiness of his story could not be doubted. One circumstance only appeared strange, as it was easily explained. Instead of standing on the pedestal, the Demeter was beside it, and even the slow-witted goldsmith inferred from this fact that the robbers had intended to steal it, and placed it on the floor for that purpose, but were prevented from accomplishing their design by the interference of Herman and the people from Tennis. After the Egyptian in reply to the artist's inquiry concerning what other works of art and implements he had seen in the studio, he had answered that nothing else could be distinguished on account of the smoke. He congratulated the sculptor on his last work. People were already making a great stir about the new Demeter. It had been discussed not only in the workshop of his brother, who, like himself, followed their father's calling, but also in the offices at the harbour, in the barber's rooms and the cook's shops, and he too must admit that for a Greek goddess that always lacked genuine earnest dignity it really was a pretty bit of work. Lastly the Egyptian asked to whom he should apply for payment for the remainder of his labour. The strip of gold from which Herman had ordered the diadem to be made had attracted his attention on the head of his Demeter, and compensation for the work upon this ornament was still due. Herman deeply agitated, asked with glowing cheeks whether Cello really positively remembered having prepared for him the gold diadem which he had seen in Alexandria, and the Egyptian eagerly assured him that he had done so. He too had found the sculptor's honest men, and Herman would not withhold the payment for his well-earned oil. The artist generously denied such an intention, but when in his desire to have the most absolute assurance he again asked questions about the diadem, the Egyptian thought that the blind sculptor doubted the justice of his demand, and wrathfully insisted upon his claim, until Gruss managed to whisper undetected by Herman that he would have the money ready for him. This satisfied the angry man. He honestly believed that he had prepared the gold for the ornament on the head of the Demeter in Alexandria, yet the statue chiseled by Myrtleus had also been adorned with the diadem, and Cello had wrought the strip of gold it required, only to de-scape his memory because he had been paid for the work immediately after its delivery. Gled to obey his mistress's orders to settle at once any debts which the artist might have in tennis, the steward followed the goldsmith while Herman seized him the huge goblet which had just been filled with wine and water for him, drained it at one long draught. Then with sigh of relief he restored it to its place, raised his hand and his blinded eyes heavenward, and offered a brief fervent thanksgiving to his mother's soul, and the great Demeter, whom he might now believe it himself, he had honoured with a masterpiece which had extorted warm admiration, even from a connoisseur unfriendly to his art. When grass returned he said with a grin of satisfaction that the goldsmith was like all the rest of his countrymen. The artist did not owe him another drachma. The never-to-be-forgot Myrtleus had paid for the work ordered by Herman also. Then for the first time since he had been led on board the ship, a gay laugh rang from the blind man's lips, rising in deep, pure joyous tones from his relieved breast. The faithful grey eyes upon his grass glittered with tears at the musical tones, and how ardently he wished for his beloved mistress, when the sculptor not content with this, is claimed as gleefully as in happier days. Here, too, I have had no real pleasure from my successful work, old grass, but it is awakening now. If Myrtleus were still alive and these miserable eyes yet possessed the power of rejoicing in the light and in beautiful human forms by the dog, old have the mixing vessels filled, wreath after wreath brought, boon companion summoned, and with flute-playing songs and fiery words offer the muses, demeter, and Dionysus their dune mead of homage. Grust declared that this wish might easily be fulfilled. There was no lack of wine or drinking-cups on the vessel. The flute-players whom he had heard in the odium at Tannis did not understand their business amiss. Flowers and reeds could be obtained, and all who spoke Greek in Tannis would accept his invitation. But the Pythinians soon regretted this proposal, for it felt like a whore-frost upon the blind man's happy mood. He currently declined. He would not play a host where he was himself a guest, and pride forbade him to use the property of others, as though it were his own. He could not regain his suddenly awakened pleasure in existence before Grust warned him it was time to go to rest. Not until he was alone in the quiet cabin did the sense of drawing the first great success overpower him afresh. He might well feel proud delight in the work which he had created, for he had accomplished it without being unfaithful to the aims he had set before him. To be taken from his own studio, and the skilful old artisan had recognised his preliminary work upon the diadem, which he, Herman, had afterward adorned with ornaments himself, but alas this first must at the same time be his last great success, and he was condemned to live on in darkness. Although abundant recognition awaited him in Alexandria, his quickly gained renown would soon be forgotten, and he would remain a beggared blind man, but it was now allowable for him to think secretly of possessing Daphne. Perhaps he would wait for him, and reject other suitors until he learned in the capital whether he might not hope to recover his lost sight. He was at last secure against external want. The generous archiasse would hardly withhold from him the prize he had intended for the successful statue, although the second had been destroyed. The great merchant would do everything for his famed crown nephew, and he, Herman, was conscious that had his uncle been in his situation, he would have divided his last oval with him. Refusal of his assistance would have been an insult to his paternal friend and guardian. Lastly he might hope that archiasse would take him to the most skilful leeches in Alexandria, and if they succeeded in restoring his lost power of vision, then yet it seemed so presumptuous to allow himself in this hope that he forbade himself the pleasure of indulging it. Amid these consoling reflections, Herman fell asleep, and awoke fresher and more cheerful than he had been for some time. He had to spend two whole weeks more in Tennis for the burns healed slowly, and an anxious fear kept him away from Alexandria. There the woman he loved would again meet him, and, though he could assure Thione that Nemesis had turned a wheel away from him, he would have been permitted to treat Daphne only with cool reserve, while every fibre of his being urged him to confess his love and clasp her in his arms. Gras has already written twice to his master, telling him with what gratifying patience Herman was beginning to submit to his great misfortune, when the notary Malampus returned from Alexandria with news, which produced the most delightful transformation in the blind artist's outer life. More swiftly than his great corpulence usually permitted the jovial man to move, he ascended to the deck, calling, Great, greater, the greatest of news I bring, as a heaviest but by no means the most diligent of messengers of good fortune from the city of cities. Pick up your ears, my friend, and summon all your strength. There are instances of the fatal effect of especially lavish gifts from the blind and yet often sure aim of the goddess of fortune. The dimeter in whom you proved so marvellously that the art of immortal is sufficient to create immortals is beginning to show her gratitude. She is helping to twine wreaths for you in Alexandria. Here the vivacious man suddenly hesitated, and while wiping his blunt cheeks, perspiring brow, and smooth fat double chin with his kerchief, added in a tone of sincere regret. That's the way with me. In one thing what really moves me, I always forget the other. The fault sticks to me like my ears and nose. When my mother gave me two errands, I attended to the first in the best possible way, but overlooked the second entirely, and was paid for it with my father's staff, yet even the Blue Whales made no change in the fault. But for that I should still be in the city of cities, but it robbed me of my best clients, and so I was transferred to this dullest of holes. Even here it clings to me. My detestable exultation just now proves it, yet I know how dear to you was the dead man who manifests his love even from the grave. But you will forgive me the false note into which my weakness led me. It sprang from regard for you, my young friend. To serve your cause I forgot everything else. Like my mother's first errand, it was performed in the best possible way. You will learn directly. By the lightens of father's use and the owl of Athene, the news I bring is certainly great and beautiful, but he who yearned to make you happy was snatched from you, and though his noble legacy must inspire pleasure and gratitude, it will nevertheless fill your poor eyes with sorrowful tears. Malampas turned as he spoke to the misshapen Egyptian slave who performed the duties of a clerk, and took several rolls from the drum-shaped case that hung around his neck, but his prediction could sound in hermene with speedily fulfilled, for the notary handed him the will of his friend Myrtleus. It made him the heir of his entire fortune, and, however happy the unexpected royal gift rendered the blind man, however cheering might be the prospects that opened to him for the future, and the desire of his heart, sobs nevertheless interrupted the affectionate words which commenced the document Malampas read aloud to him. Doubtless the tears which Herman dedicated to the most beloved of human beings made his blinded eyes smart, but he could not restrain them, and even long after their notary had left him, and the steward had congratulated him on his good fortune, the deep emotion of his tender heart again and again, called forth of fresh blood of tears, consecrated to the memory of his friend. The notary had already informed the gromataeus of the disposition which Myrtleus had made of his property in Herman's favour a few days before, but by the advice of the experienced proclus, the contents of the will had been withheld from the sculptor. The unfortunate man ought to be spared any disappointment, and prove that Myrtleus was really among the victims of the accident must first be obtained. The clasp found in the ruins of the White House appeared to furnish this, and the notary had put all other business aside and gone to Alexandria to settle the matter. The goldsmith Cello, who had fastened a new pin to the clasp, and could swear that it belonged to Myrtleus, had been summoned to the capital as a witness, and with the aid of the influential gromataeus, of the Dionysian games and priest of Apollo, the zeal of Malampus had accomplished in a short time the settlement of this difficult affair, which otherwise might perhaps have consumed several months. The violent death of Myrtleus had been admitted as proved by the magistrate, who had been proved possessed in Herman's favour by his masterpiece. Besides, no doubts could be raised concerning the validity of a will attested by sixteen witnesses. The execution of this last testament had been entrusted to Archaus as Myrtleus' nearest relative and several other distinguished Alexandrians. The amount of the fortune bequeathed had surprised even these wealthy men, for under the prudent management of Archaus the property inherited by the modest young sculptor had travelled in value. The poor blind artist had suddenly become a man who might be termed rich, even in the great capital. Again, the steward shook his head. This fast, unexpected inheritance did not seem to make half so deep an impression upon the eccentric blind man as the news received a short time ago that his trivial debt to the Godsmith cello was already settled. But Herman must have dearly loved the friend to whom he owed this great change of fortune, and grieve for him had cast joy in his immense new wealth completely into the shade. This conjecture was confirmed on the following morning, for the blind man had himself led to the Greek Necropolis to offer sacrifices to the gods of the netherworld and to think of his friend. When soon afternoon the lessy of the royal bank appeared on the ship to offer him as many a drakma or talents as he might need for present use, he asked for a considerable sum to purchase a larger death offering for his murdered friend. The next morning he went with the architect of the province to the scene of the conflagration and had him mark the spot of ground on which he desired to erect to his myrtulus, a monument to be made in Alexandria. At sunset leaning on the steward's arm he went to the temple of Nemesis where he prayed and commissioned the priest to offer a costly sacrifice to the goddess in his name. On the return home Hermann suddenly stood still and mentioned to Grasse the sum which he intended to bestow upon the blind in tennis. He knew now what it means to live bereft of light, and he added in a low tone to be also poor and unable to earn his daily bread. On the ship he asked the Bithynian whether his burned face had become presentable again, and no longer made a repulsive impression. This Grasse could truthfully assure him. Then the artist's features brightened, and the Bithynian heard genuine cheerfulness ring in the tones of his voice, as he exclaimed, then, old Grasse, we will set out Alexandria as soon as the ship is ready to sail, back to life to the society of men of my own stamp, to reap the praise earned by my own creations, and to the only divine maiden among mortals, to Daphne. The day after tomorrow exclaimed the steward in joyous excitement, and soon after the carrier dove was flying towards the house of Archaus, bearing the letter which stated the hour when his famed crowned blind nephew would enter the great harbour of Alexandria. The evening of the next day but one, the prosopina was bearing Hermann away from the city of Weaver's toward home. As the evening breeze fanned his brow, his thoughts dwelt sadly on his myrtleus. His too it had always seemed as if he was bound, and must commit some atrocious deed to use the seething power, condemned to inaction. But as the gully left the tinnitic branch of the gnarl behind, and the blind man inhaled the cool air upon the calm sea, his heart swelled, and for the first time he became fully aware that, though the light of the sun would probably never shine for him again, and therefore the joy of creating, the rapture of once more testing his fetish strength, would probably be forever denied him. Other stars might perhaps illumine his path, and he was going in a position of brilliant independence toward his native city, fame and eternal gods, love. Daphne had conquered, and he gave only a passing thought to Ledger, and the hapless Weaver, Arachne. Chapter 4. Book 2, Chapter 5 of Arachne. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eddie Winter. Arachne by George Abes. Translated by Mary J. Saford. Book 2, Chapter 5. At the third hour after sunrise, a distinguished assemblage of people gathered at the landing-place east of the Temple of Poseidon, in the great harbour of Alexandria. Its members belonged to the upper classes. For many had come in carriages and litters, and numerous pedestrians were accompanied by slaves, bearing in delicately woven baskets and corny copias, laureth, a papyrus crown, or bright-hued flowers. The most aristocratic among the gentlemen had gathered on the western side of the great sanctuary, between the cellar and the long row of Doric columns, which supported the roof of the marble temple. The Macedonian council of the city was already represented by several of its members. Among their number was Archaus, Daphne's father, a man of middle height and comfortable portliness, from whose well-formed beardless face looked forth a pair of shrewd eyes, and to his quick movements revealed the slight irritability of his temperament. Several members of the council and wealthy merchants surrounded him, while the Gramataire's proclas first talked animatedly with other government officials and representatives of the priesthood, and then with Archaus. The head of the museum, who bore the title of High Priest, had also appeared there with several members of this famous centre of the intellectual life of the capital. They shared the shade of this part of the temple with distinguished masters of sculpture and painting, architecture and poetry, and conversed together with the graceful animation of Greeks endowed with great intellectual gifts. Among them been called distinguishable, neither by costume nor a language, and a number of prominent patrons of art in the great Jewish community. Their principal, the alabarke, was talking eagerly with a philosopher Hegeceus and the Rhodian leech, Chrysippus, Queen Arsino's favourite, whom at Althea's instigation she had sent with Proclas to receive the returning traveller. Sometimes all gazed toward the mouth of the harbour, where the expected ship must soon pass the recently completed masterpiece of Sostratus, the towering lighthouse still shining in its marble purity. Soon many Alexandrians also crowded the last platform in front of the temple of Poseidon, and the very wide marble staircase leading from it to the landing place. Beneath the bronze statues of the Diascuri, at the right and left of the topmost step, it also gathered the magnificent figures of the Phoebe, and the younger men from the wrestling school of Tamajites, with garlands on their curling locks, as well as many younger artists and pupils of the older masters. The statues of the gods and goddesses of the sea and their lofty pedestals, standing at the sides of the staircase cast upon the marble steps, gleaming in the radiance of the morning sun, narrow shadows which attracted the male and female chorus singers who also were in beautiful garlands, had come to greet the expected arrival with solemn dance. Several actors were just coming from rehearsal in the theatre of Dionysus, east of the temple of Poseidon, of which, like all the sages in the city, Foclus was chief manager. A pretty dancing girl who hung on the arms of the youngest, extended her hand with a graceful gesture toward the staircase, and asked, whom can they be expecting there? Probably some huge new animal for the museum, which has been caught somewhere for the king, for Yonder Stiffwehrer of a lower ground, who throws his head back as though he would like to eat the Olympians, and take the king for a luncheon into the bargain, his stratton, the denier of the gods, and the little man with the bullet head, is a grammarian zoilus. Of course, replied her companion, but there too is Apollodorus, the alabarque of the Jews, and the heavy money-bag Archaus. While I look at them, cried the younger mime, it's far better worthwhile to stretch your neck for those farther in front, they are genuine friends of the muses, the parrots, theocratus, and xenodotus. The great Athene, Apollo, and all his nine periodies, have sent their envoys, said the older actor, pathetically, for there too are the sculptures Euphrinor and Chariz, and the godlike builder of the lighthouse Sostratus in person. I hence a man-quiet-the-girl flute player, but vain, I tell you, vain. Self-conscious, you ought to say, corrected her companion. Certainly, added the older actor, patting his smooth cheeks and chin, with a rose he held in his hand, who can defend himself against the highest merit, self-knowledge. But the person who is to have this reception by the staff of Dionysus, if modesty flies away from him, like the bird from a girl, is old. Just look there, the tall, bald-shouldered fellow Yonder is chrysopus, the right hand of Arsino, as her gramatae's focus is her left, so probably some prince is expected. The gentleman of the museum and the great artist Yonder would not stir a foot, far less lose so precious a morning hour, for any mere wearer of a crown or scepter, protested the other actor. It must be that the king of the queen commanded it, interrupted the older player. Only Arsino is represented here. Or do you see any envoy of Ptolemy? Perhaps they will yet arrive. If there were ambassadors of the great Roman Senate, or, added the dancer, envoys from King Antiochus, but, guess that I am, then they would not be received here, but in the royal harbour at the Luccaeus. See if I don't prove to be right. Divine honours are to be paid to some newly attracted hero of the intellect. But, just follow my finger, there, Yonder, it comes floating along at the left of the island of Antirogis. That may be his galley, magnificent, wonderfully, beautiful, brilliant, like a swan, no no, like a swimming peacock, and the silver embroidery on the blue sails. It glitters and sparkles like stars in the azure sky. Meanwhile the older actor, shading his eyes with his hand, had been gazing at the harbour, where, amid the innumerable vessels, the expected one, whose sails were just being reefed, was steered by a skilful hand. Now he interrupted the blonde beauty with the exclamation, it is Arcaeus's prosopina, I know it well, then, in a declamatory tone, he continued, I too was permitted on the deck of the glittering vessel, lightly rocked by the crimson waves, to reach my welcome goal, as a guest of peerless Arcaeus, I mean. The most magnificent festival in his villa, there was a little performance there in which Menter, and I, allowed ourselves to be persuaded to take part, but just see how the beautiful ship uses a narrow passage between the two truems, as if it had the blood leeches power of contraction. But to return to the festival of Arcaeus, the oyster regus served there, the pheasant pasties here he interrupted himself, exclaiming in surprise by the club of Hercules, the prosopina is to be received with a full chorus, and there is Iona himself descending the stairs, whom is she bringing? Come, come, cried the dancing girl to her companion, dragging him after her, I shall die of curiosity. The singing and shouting of many voices greeted the actors, as they approached the platform with the temple of Poseidon. When from this spot the dancer fixed her eyes upon the landing-place, she suddenly dropped her companion's arm, exclaiming, It is the handsome blind sculptor, Herman, the heir of the wealthy Myrtilus. Do you learn this now for the first time, you jealous furcities? How hell divine, Herman! Hell noble victim of the ungrateful Olympians! Hell to thee, Herman, and thy immortal works! Hell, hell, hell! Meanwhile she waved her handkerchief with frenzied eagerness, as if she could thus force the blind man to see her, and a group of actors in focus, the gamatas of the Dionysian arts, attempted to receive Herman worthily, followed her example. But her cries were drowned by the singing of the chorus, and by thousands of shouting voices while Herman was embraced by Archaus, on board the galley, and then by his guidance stepped on shore and ascended the staircase of the temple of Poseidon. Before the ship entered the harbour, the artist had had a large goblet of unmixed wine given to him, that he might conquer the emotion that has overpowered him. Though his blind eyes did not show him even the faintest outline of a figure, he felt as if he was flooded with brilliant sunshine. While the porcelain was bearing him past the lighthouse, Crest told him that they had now reached the great harbour, and at the same time he heard the shouts, whistles, signals, and various sounds of the landing-place, with its crowded shipping, and of the capital. His blood surged in his veins, and before his mind rose the vision of the cornflower blue sky, mirrored in the calm surface of the bluest of seas. The pharaohs built by Sostratus towered in dazzling whiteness above the tide, and before him rose the noble temple buildings, palaces, and porticoes of the city of Alexandria, with which he was familiar, and before and between them, statue after statue of marble and bronze, the whole flooded with radiant golden light. True darkness sometimes swallowed this wonderful picture, but an effort of the will was sufficient to show it to him again. The temple of Poseidon cried grass. The prosopina is the land at the foot of the seps. And now Herman listened to the sounds from the shore, whose humming buzz transported him into the midst of the long mist city of commerce, knowledge, and arts. Then the captain's shouts of command fell imperiously upon his ears. The strokes of the oars ceased. The blades sank with loud splash into the water, and at the same instant from the temple steps, Herman was greeted by the solemn notes of the chorus, from whose rhythm his own name rang forth again and again, like so many shouts of victory. He thought his heart would fairly burst to his arch chest, and the passionate violence of its robin did not lessen when Grusse exclaimed, Half Alexandria has assembled to greet you, are, if you could only see it, how the kerchiefs are waving, lower after lower in every hand. All the distinguished people in the capital have gathered on the sacred soil of the temple of Poseidon. There is Archaus too. There are the artists, and the famous gentlemen of the museum, the members of the Ephebbe, and the priests of the great gods. Herman listened with his hand pressed on his breast, and modding so, the power of his imagination showed the vast, harmoniously noble structure of the many-pillared temple of Poseidon, surrounded by as many thousands as there were in reality hundreds. From all parts of the sanctuary, even from the tops of the roofs, he beheld lower branches and kerchiefs waving and tossing, and wreaths flung on the ground before him. If this picture was correct, the whole city was greeting him, headed by the men whom he honoured as great and meritorious, and in front of them all, Daphne, with drooping head full of feminine grace and heart-winning goodness. While the cross continued their song, and the welcoming shout grew louder, the brilliant picture faded away, but in return he felt friendly arms clasp him. First Archaus, then Proclus, and after him a succession of fellow artists. The greatest of all drew him into a warm embrace. Finally, who felt himself led away, placed his feet as his uncle Archaus whispered directions, and as they gropingly obeyed them, ascended the temple steps and stood in utter darkness, upon the platform listening to the speeches, which so many had prepared. All the distinguished men in the city expressed their sympathy, their pity, their admiration, their hopes, or sent assurances of them to him. The Rhodian chrysalis, dispatched by the queen, delivered the wreath, which the monarch bestowed and informed Hermon with her greetings, that Arsino deemed his demeter worthy of the laurel. The most famous masters of his art, the greatest scholars from the museum, the whole priesthood of Demeter, which included Daphne, the servant of Apollo, his dear Ephebi, the comrades of his physical exercises, all whom he honoured, admired, loved, loaded him with praises and good wishes, as well as the assurance of their pride in numbering him among them. No form, no colour from the visible world penetrated the darkness surrounding him, not even the image of the woman he loved. Only his ears enabled him to receive the praises, honours, congratulations, lavestire, and though he sometimes thought he had received enough, he again listened willingly and intently, when a new speaker addressed him in warm words of eulogy. What sheer compassion for his unprecedentedly soulful fate had in this extravagantly laudatory and cordial greeting he did not ask, he only felt with a throbbing heart, that he now stood upon a summit which he had scarcely ventured to hope ever to attain. His dreams of outward success which had not been realised because he deemed it treason to his art to deviate from the course which believed right and best adapted to it, he now, without having yielded to the demands of the old school, had praised as his well-earned possessions. He felt as if he breathed the lighter, purer air of the realms of the blessed, and the lower crown which Queen Zemroy pressed upon his brow, the wreath which his fellow artist presented to him, by hands no less distinguished than those of the great sculpture Protogenes and Lyceus, the most admired artist after the death of Appellese, seemed like the wings on the hats and shoes of Hermes, messenger of the gods, to raise him out of himself and into the air. Darkness surrounded him, yet a bright, dazzling light, issued from his soul, and illuminated his whole being with the warm, golden radiance of the sun. Not even the faintest shadow dimmed it, until Soteles, his fellow student at Rhodes, who sustained him with ardent earnestness in the struggle to prefer truth to beauty, greeted him. He welcomed him, and wished him that he might recover his lost sight, as warmly as his predecessors. He praised the dimeter too, but added that this was not the place to say what he missed in her. Yet that she did lack it awakened in him an emotion of pain, for this Hermes' last work apparently gave the followers of the ancients a right to number him in their ranks. His cautious expression of regret must refer to the head of his dimeter, yet surely it was not his fault that Daphnis's features bore the impress of that gentle-winning kindness which he himself and Soteles, imitating him, had often condemned as weak and characterless. The correctness of his belief was instantly proved to him by the address of grey-haired, highly praised euthanore, who spoke of the dimeter's countenance with warm admiration, and how ardently the poets Theocratus and Zenedotus extolled his work to the skies. Amid so much laudation, one faint word of dissatisfaction finished like a drop of blood, that falls into a clear stream. The welcome concluded with a final chant by the chorus, and continued to echo in Hermes' ears as he entered his uncle's chariot and drove away with him, crowned with lull and intoxicated as if by fiery wine, or if he could only have seen his fellow citizens, who so eagerly expressed their goodwill, their sympathy, their admiration. But the black and coloured mist before his eyes refilled no human figure, not even that of the woman he loved, who, in her learned for the first time from her father, had appeared among the priestesses of Demeter to greet him. Doubtless he was gladdened by the sound of her voice, the clasp of her hand, the faint fragrance of violets excelling from her fair hair, which he had often remembered with so much pleasure when alone in tennis. But the time to devote himself to her fully and completely had not yet come. For what many folden, powerful impressions, how much was elevating, delightful, and entertaining, awaited him immediately. The queen's envoy had expressed his mistress's desire to receive the creator of the Demeter, the Euphibe, and his fellow artists, and invited him to a festival which they desired to give in his honour. And on the way, Archives informed him that many of his wealthy friends in the Macedonian Council expected that he, the honoured hero of the day, would adorn with his presence a banquet in their houses. What a rich, brilliant life awaited him, in spite of his blindness, when he entered his uncle's magnificent city home, and not only all the servants and clients of the family, but also a select party of ladies and gentlemen, greeted him with flowers and hundreds of other tokens of affection and appreciation. He gave himself up without reserve to this novel excess of fame and admiration. Notwithstanding his blindness, he felt after the burns on his face had healed thoroughly well, as strong as a giant. Name more vigorous and capable of enjoyment than ever. What prevented him from reveling to the full in a superabundant kiss which fate, recently so cruel, now suddenly cast into his lap with lavish kindness. Yet many flattering and pleasant things as he had experienced that day, he was far from feeling satiety. On entering the hall of the men in his uncle's dwelling, the names of famous men and proud beauties had been repeated to him. Formerly they had taken little notice of him, yet now even the most renowned received him like an Olympian victor. What did all these vain women really care for him, yet their favour was part of the triumph, whose celebration he must permit today? His heart held but one being for whom it yearned, and with whom thus far he had been able only to exchange a few tender greetings. The time for long conversation had not yet arrived, but he asked Thay only to lead him to her, and, while she listened anxiously, described with feverish animation the incidents of the last few days, but he soon lowered his voice to assure her that he had not ceased to think of her even for a single hour, and the feeling of happiness which, in spite of his misfortune, had filled and lent wings to his soul was not least due to the knowledge of being near her again. And her presence really benefited him almost as much as he had anticipated during the hours of solitary yearning in tennis. He felt his great favour of fate to be permitted to strive to possess her, felt even during the delirium of this reception that he loved her. What a tremendous longing to clasp her at once in his arms as his betrothed pride overwhelmed him, but her father's opposition to the union of his only child with a brine-man must first be conquered, and the great agitation in his soul as well as the tumult around him seemed like a mockery of the quiet happiness which hovered before him when he thought of his marriage with Daphne. Not until everything was calmer with the time come to woo her. Until then both must be satisfied with knowing from each other's lips their mutual love, and he thought he perceived in the tone of her voice the deep emotion of her heart. Perhaps this had prevented Daphne's expressing her congratulations upon the success of his demeter as eagerly and fully as he had expected. Painfully disturbed by her reserve, he had just attempted to induce her to give a less superficial opinion of his work when the currents of the dining-room parted, the music of flutes singing and pleasant odours greeted him and the guests. Archaia summoned them to breakfast, and a band of beautiful boys with flowers and garlands of ivy obeyed the command to crown them. Then Thione approached the newly united pair, and after exchanging a few words of Daphne, whispered in an agitated voice to the blind sculptor over whose breast a brown-locked young slave was just twining a garland of roses. Poverty no longer stands between you and the object of your love. Is it Nemesis who even now still seals your lips? Hermann stretched out his hand to draw her nearer to him, and murmured softly that her council had aided him to break the power of the terrible goddess, but he grasped the empty air. At the same time the deep voice of his love's father, whose opposition threatened to cloud his new happiness, singing, flute playing, and the laughter of fair women, greeted him, and, only half-master of his own will, he assented by a slight bend of the head to the matron's question. A light shiver ran through his frame with a speed of lightning, and their pecurions maxed him that fear and cold our companions darted through his brain. But what should he fear? He had endured severe trials, it is true, for the sake of remaining faithful to truth, in art and life, but who probably ever reached the age of manhood without once deviating from it. Besides, he was surely aware, had he been obliged to answer theonian words, he would not have been guilty of the falsehood. His reply had consisted of a slight motion of the head, and it negative nothing, it was merely intended to defer for a short time, the thing he most desired. Yet the rash answer weighed heavily on his mind, but he could no longer be recalled that day, and was believed, for thy only whispered, we shall succeed in reconciling the terrible beam. Again the light shiver ran through him, but it lasted only an instant. For Crisela, the representative of the dead mistress of the house, whose duty it was to assign the guests their places, called to Herman. The beautiful glycera dodged you the honour of choosing you for a neighbour, and before the sentence was finished, Archaus himself seized his arm, and led him to the cushions at the side of the much-cultured beauty. The guests began the banquets in a very joyous mood. Greek gaiety and the quick intellect and keen wit of the Alexandrians, combined with the choicest vines of the luxurious capital, were the wines and dainties of all the countries of the Mediterranean, found cellos and buyers, and the cooked vocation was developed into a fine art, the spices banquets with a hundred charms for the mind and senses. Today the principal place in this distinguished circle of famous men, great and wealthy, noble, beautiful and aristocratic women, was awarded to the blind sculptor. He was pledged by everyone who admired his demeter, who compassionate his sad fate, or who desired to be agreeable to him or his host. Every kind remark about his person, his blindness and his masterpiece, was repeated to him, and after the wine and the effort to attract Daphne's attention and shine in the presence of his beautiful neighbour, had heated and winged his thoughts, he found an apt reply to each noteworthy word. When the dessert was finally eaten, and after sunset in the brilliant light of the lamps and candles, great attention was paid to the mixing vessels, all remained silent to listen to his fervid speech. Gisra had asked him at the beginning of the banquet to tell her about the attack in Tennis, and there he yielded to her wish, that he should repeat the captivating tale to the others, and the spirits of the wine helped him to perform the task with such animation that his hearers listened to his description in breathless suspense, and many eyes rested on the handsome face of the great blind artist as if spellbound. When he paused, loud applause rewarded him, and as it reached him from every part of the spacious room, his deep, resonant voice put him in communication, even with the more distant guests, and he might have been taken for the symposia or director of the banquet. This conspicuous position of the fated artist did not please everyone, and a rhetorician, famed for his sharp tongue, whispered to his neighbour one of Herman's older fellow artists. What his eyes have lost seems to benefit his tongue. The sculptor answered, at any rate, impetuous young artist might succeed better in proving himself by its assistance, a good entertainer than in creating more mediocre masterpieces like the Demeter. Similar remarks were made on other cushions, but when the philosopher E. G. C. S. asked the famous sculptor Eufrenor what he thought of Herman's Demeter, the kindly old man answered, I should lord this noble work as a memorable event, even if it did not mark the end, as well as the beginning, of its highly gifted creator's new career. Nothing of this kind was added near Herman. Everything that reached him expressed delight admiration, sympathy, and hope. A dessert, a beautiful glycera, divided her apple, whispering as she gave him one half, let the fruit tell you what the eyes can no longer reveal, you poor and yet so abundantly rich darling of the gods. He murmured in reply that this happiness would awake the envy of the immortals, if, in addition, you were permitted to feast upon the sight of her beauty. Had he been able to see himself, Herman, who, as a genuine Greek, was accustomed to moderate his feelings in intercourse with others, would have endeavored to express the emotions of joy, which filled his heart with more reserve, and to excel his companions at the festival less recklessly. His enthusiastic delight carried many away with him. Others, especially Daphne, especially Daphne, were filled with anxious forebodings by his conduct, and others still with grave displeasure. Among the latter was the famous leech, Irosistratus, who shared archaic discussions and had been solicited by the latter to try to restore his blind nephew's sight. But the kindly physician, who gladly aided even the poorest sufferer, curtly and positively refused, to devote his time and skill to a blind man, who, under the severest of visitations, held himself so contentedly in happiness, he considered unjust to others, who desired recovery more ardently. When the intoxication of this unbridled strength passes away, and is followed by a different mood, we mark the merchant, we will talk of this matter again, and the confident tone of his deep voice gave the simple sentence such significance that the learned leech, held at his hand, said, any red-deep earnest longing for recovery fills the sufferer's mind. Will the gods aid the physician? We will wait for the change which you predict, archaic. The guests did not disperse until late, and the best satisfied of all was the grand mater's focus, who had taken advantage of the rich merchant's happy mood, and his own warm intercession, in behalf of his nephew's work, to persuade archaists to advance Queen Arsenault a large sum of money, for an enterprise whose object he still carefully concealed. The highly honored blind artist spent the night under his uncle's roof. CHAPTER VI Herman rose from his couch the next morning, alert and ready for new pleasures. He had scarcely left the bath, when en-voiced from the aphibai, and the younger artists invited him to the festivities, which they had arranged in his honor. He joyously accepted, and also promised messengers, for many of archaic's friends, who wished to have the famous blind sculptor amongst their guests, to be present at their banquets. He still felt as if he were intoxicated, and found neither the disposition nor time for quiet reflection. His great strength, fettered as it were by his loss of sight, now also began to stir. Fate itself withheld him from the labor which he loved, yet in return it offered him a wealth of varying pleasure, whose stimulating power he had learned the day before. He still relished the drought from the beaker of homage proffered by his fellow citizens, nay it seemed as if it could not lose its sweetness for a long time. He joined the ladies before noon, and his newly awakened feeling of joy beamed upon them scarcely less radiantly than yesterday. Though Thayon might wonder that a man pursued by nemesis could allow himself to be borne along so thoughtlessly by the stream of pleasure, Daphne certainly did not grudge him the feastal season which, when it had passed, could never return to the blind artist. When it was over, he would yearn for the quiet happiness at her side, which gazed at him like the calm eyes of the woman he loved. With her he would cast anger for the remainder of his life, but first must come the period when he enjoyed the compensation now awarded to him for such severe sufferings. His heart was full of joy as he greeted Daphne and the Lady Thayon, whom he found with her, but his warm description of the happy emotion which had overpowered him at the abundant honor slavished upon him was interrupted by Archaus. In his usual quick brisk manner he asked whether Hermond wished to occupy the beautiful villa with a magnificent garden on Lake Mariotis, inherited from Myrtillus, which could scarcely be reached in a vehicle from the Berkeum in less than an hour, or the house situated in the center of the city, and Hermond promptly decided in favor of the latter. His uncle, and probably the ladies also, had expected the contrary. Their silence showed this plainly enough, and Hermond therefore added in a tone of explanation that latter the villa would perhaps suit his condition better, but now he thought it would be a mistake to retire to the quiet which half the city was conspiring to disturb. No one contradicted him, and he left the woman's apartment with a slight feeling of vexation which, however, was soon gestured away by the gay friends who sought him. When he removed to the city house the next day he had not yet found time for a serious talk with Daphne. His uncle, who had managed the estate of Myrtillus, and wished to give Hermond an account of his inheritance, was refused by the blind artist, who assured him that he knew Archaus had greatly increased rather than diminished his property, and thanked him sincerely and warmly. In the convenient and spacious city house the young sculptor very soon thought he had good reason to be satisfied with his choice. Most of his friends were busy artists, and what loss of time every visit to the remote villa would have imposed upon them, what haste he himself would have been obliged to use to reach home from the bath, where he often spent many hours, from the wrestling school, from the meetings of fashionable people in the panium gardens, and at sunset by the seashore on the royal highway in the Bruchia. All these places were very far from the villa. It would have required whole hours too to reach a famous cook shop in the Canopus, at whose table he liked to assemble beloved guests or revel with his friends. The theater, the odium, most of the public buildings, as well as the houses of his best friends, and especially the beautiful glycea, were easily reached from his city home, and among the temples that of Demeter, which he often visited to pray, offer sacrifices and rejoice in the power of attraction which his statue of the goddess exerted upon the multitude. It stood at the back of the cellar in a place accessible to the priesthood alone, visible only through the open doors, upon a pedestal which his fellow artists pronounced rather too high. Yet his offer to have it made smaller was not accepted, because had it been lower the devout supplicants who stood there to pray could not have raised their eyes to it. It was not only at the festivals of the dead that he went to the Greek cemetery, where he had had a magnificent monument erected for his dead mother. If his head ached after nocturnal carouse, or the disagreeable alarming chill stole over him, which he had felt for the first time when he falsely answered Thione, that he was still under the ban of nemesis, he went to the family monuments, supplied them with gifts, had sacrifices offered to the souls of the beloved dead, and in this way sometimes regained a portion of his lost peace of mind. The banquet in the evening always dispelled whatever still oppressed him on his return home from these visits, for, though months had elapsed since his brilliant reception, he was still numbered, especially in artist circles, with the most honored men. He, the blind man, no longer stood in any one's way. Conversation gained energy and meaning through the vivacity of his fervid intellect, which seemed actually deepened by his blindness when questions concerning art were at issue, and from a modest fellow struggler he had become a patron bestowing orders. These sculptors Otellus, who had followed his footsteps since the apprenticeship in Rhodes, was instructed with the erection of the monument to Martellus and Tennis, and another highly gifted young sculptor who pursued his former course with the execution of the one to his mother. From a third he ordered a large new mixing vessel of chaste silver for the society of Ephibi, whose members had lauded him at the magnificent festival given in his honor, with genuine youthful fervor. In the designs for these works his rich and bold gift of invention and the power of his imagination proved their full value, and even his older fellow artists followed him with sincere admiration when, in spite of his darkened eyes, he brought before them distinctly, and often even with a charcoal or wax tablet in his hand, what he had in mind. What magnificent things might not this man have created had he retained his sight. What masterpieces might not have been expected, and his former works, which had been condemned as unlovely, offensive, and exaggerated, were now loudly admired. Nay, the furious means struggling on the ground and the street boy eating figs, which were no longer his property, were sold at high prices. No meaning of artist was complete without Hermon, and the great self-possession, which success and wealth bestowed, besides his remarkable talent and the energy peculiar to him, soon aided him to great influence among the members of his profession. Nay, he would speedily have reached the head of their leaders, had not the passionate impetuosity of his warlike nature, but the more cautious to seek to restrain the powerful enthusiast. Archaus's wealthy friends had no such apprehension. To them, the lauded blind artist was not much more than a costly dish certain to please their guests. Yet this, too, was no trifle in social circles which spent small fortunes for rare fish. At the banquets of these princes of commerce he often met Daphne, still more frequently the beautiful Glycera, whose husband, an old ship owner of regal wealth, was pleased to see famous men harnessed to his young wife's chariot of victory. Hermon's heart had little to do with the flirtation to which Glycera encouraged him at every new meeting, and the Thracian Althea only served to train his intellect to sharp debates. But in this matter, he so admirably fulfilled her desire to attract attention that she more than once pointed out to the queen, her relative, the remarkably handsome blind man whose acquaintance she had made on a night of mad revel during the last Dionysia but one. Althea even thought it necessary to win him, in whom she saw the future son-in-law of the wealthy Archaus. For though the graminatious Proclus, the merchant had been persuaded to advance the king's wife, hundreds of talents, and Arseneau cherished plans which threatened to consume other large sums. Thyrone watched Hermon's conduct with increasing indignation, while Daphne perceived that these women had no more power to estrange her lover from her than the betties and beauties who were never absent from the artist's festivals. How totally different was his intercourse with her. His love and respect were hers alone, yet she saw in him a sole sick man and persistently rejected Philotus, who owed her with the same zeal as before, and the other suitors who were striving to win the wealthy Arras. She had confessed her feelings to her father, her best friend, and persuaded him to have patience a little longer and wait for the change which he himself expected in his nephew. This had not been difficult, for Archaus loved Hermon in spite of the many anxieties he had caused him, as if he were his own son, and, knowing his daughter, he was aware that she could be happy with the man who possessed her heart, though he was deprived of sight. The fame which Hermon had won by great genius and ability had gratified him more than he expressed, and he could not contradict Daphne when she asserted that, in spite of the aimless life of pleasure to which he devoted himself, he had remained the kind-hearted, noble man he had always been. In fact, he used, unasked and secretly, a considerable portion of his large revenues to relieve the distress of the poor in suffering. Archaus learned this as the steward of his nephew's property, and, when to do good, he made new demands upon him. He gladly fulfilled them, only he constantly admonished the blind man to think of his own severe sufferings and his cure. Daphne did the same, and he willingly obeyed her advice. For, loudly and recklessly, as he pursued pleasure in social circles, he showed himself tenderly devoted to her when he found her alone in her father's house. Then, as in better days, he opened his heart to her naturally and modestly, and, though he refrained from vows of love, he showed her that he did not cease to seek with her, and her alone, what his noisy pleasures denied. Then he also found the old tone of affection, and of late he came more frequently, and what he confided to no one else implied to her, at least by hints. Satiety and dissatisfaction were beginning to appear, and what he had attempted to do for the cure of his eyes had hithered tube and futile. The remedies of the Oculus, to whom he had been directed by Daphne herself, had proved ineffectual. The great physician Eris Distratus, from whom he first sought help, had refrained at her entreaty in her father's from refusing to aid him, but indignantly sent him away when he persisted in the declaration that it would be impossible for him to remain for months secluded from all society and subsist for weeks on scanty fare. He would submit even to that, he assured Daphne, after she represented to him what he was losing by such lack of resignation, when the time of rest had come for which he longed, but from which many things still withheld him. Yesterday the king had invited him to the palace for the first time, and to decline such an honour was impossible. In fact, he had long wished for this summons, because he had been informed that no representative of the sovereign had been present at his reception. Only his wife, Arseneau, had honoured him by a wrath and congratulations. This lack of interest on the part of the king had wounded him, and the absence of an invitation from the royal connoisseur had cast a shadow into the midst of many a mirthful hour. He had doubtless been aware what great and important affairs of state were claiming the conscientious sovereign just at this time, and how almost unbearable his restless, unloving spouse was rendering his domestic life. Yet Hermond thought Ptolemy might have spared a short time for an event in the art life of the city, as his demeanor had been called hundreds of times. Now the long desired command to appear before the sovereign had finally reached him, and in the secure belief that it would bring fresh recognition and rare honours, he entered the royal palace. Proculus, who neglected no opportunity of serving the nephew of the rich man whose aid he constantly required for the queen's finances, was his guide, and described the decoration of the inner apartments of the royal residence. Their unaustentatious simplicity showed the refined taste of the royal occupant. There was no lack of marble and other rare kinds of stone, and the numerous bass reliefs which covered the walls like the most ripe tapestry were worthy of special attention. In the oblong apartment through which the blind man was guided, these marble pictures represented in magnificent work scenes from the campaigns in which Ptolemy, the king's father, had participated as Alexander's general. Others showed Athene, Apollo, the Muses, and Hermes, surrounded or hasting toward the throne of the same monarch, and others again, Greek poets and philosophers. Magnificent coloured mosaic pictures covered the floor, and many flat specks above door and windows, but gold and silver had been sparingly used. Masterpieces of painting and sculpture were the ornaments of the room. In the antechamber, where Hermon, awaiting for the king, Proclus mentioned one of the finest statues of Alexander by Lysippus, and in exquisite arrows by Prec Sitalis. The period of waiting, however, became so long to the spoiled artist that he anticipated the monarch's appearance with painful discomfort, and the result of the few minutes which Ptolemy II devoted to his reception was far behind the hopes he had fixed upon them. In former days he had often seen the narrow-shouldered man of barely medium height who, to secure his own safety, had had two brothers killed and sent another into exile, but now ruled Egypt truly and prudently, and developed the prosperity of Alexandria with equal energy and foresight. Now, for the first time, Hermon heard him speak. He could not deny that his voice was unusually pleasant in tone, yet it unmistakably issued from the lips of a sufferer. The brief questions with which he recited the blind artist were kindly, and as natural as though addressing an equal, and even remark made in connection with Hermon's answers revealed a very quick and keen intellect. He had seen the demeanor and praised the conception of the goddess because it corresponded with her nature. The sanctity which, as it were, pervaded the figure of the divine woman pleased him, because it made the supplicants in the temple feel that they were in the presence of a being who was elevated far above them in superhuman majesty. True, he added, Your Demeter is by no means a powerful helper in time of need. She is a goddess such as Epicurus imagines the immortals. Without interfering with human destiny, she stands above it in sublime grandeur and typical dignity. You belong, if I see correctly, to the Epicureans? No, replied Hermon. Like my lord and king, I, too, number myself among the pupils of the wise Stratton. Indeed? asked Ptolemy in a drawing tone, at the same time casting a glance of astonishment at the blind man's powerful figure and well-informed intellectual face. Then he went on eagerly, I shall scarcely be wrong in the inference that you, the creator of the fig-eater, had experienced a far-reaching mental change before your unfortunate loss of sight? I had to struggle hard, replied Hermon, but I probably owe the success of the Demeter to the second stance that I found a model whose mind and nature correspond with those of the goddess to a rare degree. The monarch shook his fair head and protested in a tone of positive superior knowledge. As to the model, however well-selected it may be, it was not well chosen for this work, far less for you. I have watched your battle against beauty in behalf of truth, and rejoiced, though I often saw you and your little band of young disciples shoot behind the mark. You brought something new, whose foundation seemed to me sound, on which further additions might be erected. When the excrescences fell off, this Hermon, his shadow, Sotelus, who follow him, will perhaps open new paths to the declining art which is constantly going back to former days. Our time will become the point of departure of a new art. But for the very reason, let me confess it, I regret to see you fall back from your bold advance. You now claim for your work that it cleaves strictly to nature, because the mortal is taken from life itself. It does not become me to doubt this, yet the stamp of divinity which you are to meet abas is found no mortal woman. This is certainly no departure from the truth, for the ideal often deserves the lofty name better than anything the visible world offers to the eye. But hitherto you have done honor to another truth. If I comprehend your art aright, its essence is opposed to the addition of superhuman dignity and beauty, with which you, or the model you use, strove to noble and defile your demeanor. Admirely, as you succeeded in doing so, it forces your work out of the sphere of reality, whose boundary I never before saw you cross by a single inch. Whether this occurred unconsciously to you in an hour of mental ecstasy, or whether you felt that you still lack the means to represent the divine, and therefore return to the older methods, I do not venture to decide. But at the first examination of your work I was conscious of one thing. It means for you a revolution, a rupture with your former aspirations, and as I willingly confess it, you had been marvelously successful. It would have driven you had your sight been spared out of your own course and into the arms of the ancients, perhaps to your material profit, but scarcely the advantage of art, which needs a renewal of its vital energies. Let me assure you, my lord, Hermon protested, that had I remained able to continue to create, the success of the Demeter would never, never have rented me faithless to the conviction and method of creation, which I believed right. Nay, before losing my sight, my whole soul was absorbed in a new work, which would have permitted me to remain holy and completely within the boundaries of reality. The Arachne asked the king, Yes, my lord, cried Hermon ardently, with its completion I expected to render the greatest service, not only to myself, but to the cause of truth. Here Ptolemy interrupted with icy coldness. Yet you were certainly wrong, at least, if the Thracian Althea, who is the personification of falsehood, had continued to be the model. Then he changed his tone, and with the exclamation, you were protected from the needs of life, unless your rich uncle throws his property into the most insatiable of gulfs. May Straton's philosophy help you better sustain your courage in the darkness which surrounds you, that it has aided me to bear other trials. He loved the room. Thus ended the artist's conversation with the king, from which Hermon had expected such great results, and, deeply agitated, he ordered the driver of his horses to take him to Daphne. She was the only person to whom he could confide what disappointment this interview had caused him. Others had previously reproached him, as the king had just done, with having, in the Demeter, become faithless to his artistic past. How false and foolish this was! Many a remark from the critics would have been better suited to Matillus' work than to his. Yet his fear and tennis had not been true. Only Daphne's sweet face did not suit his more vigorous method of emphasizing distinctions. What a many-hued chameleon was the verdict upon works of plastic art. Once, on his return to the capital, thousands had united in the same one, and now how widely they differed again. His earlier works, which were now lauded to the skies, had formally invited censure in vehement attacks. What would he not have given for the possibility of seeing his admired work once more? As his way led past the temple of Demeter, he stopped near it and was guided to the sanctuary. It was filled with worshipers, and when, in his resolute matter, he told the curator and the officiating priest that he wished to enter the cellar and asked for a ladder to feel the goddess, he was most positively refused. What he requested seemed a profanation of a sacred image, and it would not do to disturb the devout throng. His desire to lower the pedestal could not be gratified. The high priest who came forward upheld his subordinates, and, after a short dispute, Hermon left the sanctuary with his wish unfulfilled. Never had he so keenly lamented his lost vision as during the remainder of the drive, and when Daphne received him, he described with passion and lamentation how terribly blindness embittered his life, and declared himself ready to submit to the severest suffering to regain his sight. She earnestly entreated him to apply to the great physician, Erastus Straitus again, and Hermon willingly consented. He had promised to attend a banquet given that day by the wealthy ship-owner Archon. The feast lasted until early morning, but toward noon Hermon again appeared in his uncle's house, and met Daphne full of joyous confidence as if he were completely transformed. While at Archon's table he had determined to place his curve in the hands of higher powers. This was the will of fate, for the guest whose cushioned he shared was Salinas, the host's son, and the first thing he learned from him was the news that he was going the next day, with several friends, to the Oracle of Ammon in the Libyan Desert, to ask it what should be done for his mother, who had been for several years and invalid whom no physician could help. He had heard from many quarters that the Council of the God, who had greeted Alexander the Great as his son, was infallible. Then Hermon had been most urgently pressed by the young man to accompany him. Every comfort would be provided. One of his father's fine ships would convey them to Piratunium, where tents, saddle horses, and guides for the short land journey would be ready. So he had promised to go with Salinas. Perhaps the God would show the blind man the right path to recovery. He would always be able to call the skill of the Alexandrian leeches to his aid. Soon after Hermon went on board Archon's splendidly equipped vessel and, instead of a terrorism journey, began a new and riotous period of festivity. Lavish provision had been made for gay companions of both sexes, merry entertainment by means of dancing, music, and song, well-filled dishes and mixing vessels, and life during the ride through the coast and desert regions was not less jovial and luxurious than on a ship. It seemed the blind man, like one vast banquet in the dark, interrupted only by sleep. The hope of Council from the Gods cheered the depressed mood which had weighed upon him for several weeks, and rich young Salinas praised the lucky fate which had enabled him to find a traveling companion whose intellect and wit charmed him and the others, and often detained them over the wine until late into the night. Here, too, Hermon felt himself the most distinguished person, the animating and attracting power, until it was said that the voyage was over, and the company pitched their tents in the famous oases near the temple of Amon. The musicians and dancers, with due regard to propriety, had been left behind in the seaport of Peritonium. Yet the young travelers were sufficiently gay while Salinas and Hermon waited for admission to the place of the oracle. A week after their arrival it was open to them, yet the words repeated to them by the priest satisfied neither Hermon nor Arcan's son, for the oracle advised the latter to bring his mother herself to the oases by the land road if she earnestly desired recovery, while to Hermon was shouted the ambiguous saying, Only night and darkness spring from the rang marsh of pleasure, morning and day rise brightly from the starving sand. Could Salinas's mother, who was unable to move, endured the desert journey, and what was the meaning of the sand from which morning and day, which were probably the fresh enjoyment of the light, were to rise for Hermon? The sentence of the oracle weighed heavily upon him, as well as on Arcan's son, who loved his mother, and the homeward journey became to the blind man by no means a cheerful, but rather a very troubled dream. Thoughtful, very disturbed, dissatisfied with himself, and resolved to turn his back upon the dreary life of pleasure which for so long a time had allowed him no rest, and now disgusted him, he kept aloof from his traveling companions, and rejoiced when, at Alexandria, he was led ashore in the arbors of Unostus.