 Book 2, Chapter 7 of Arachne. Hermon entered his house with a drooping head. There he was informed that the Gramatius of the Dionsean artists had already called twice to speak to him concerning an important matter. When he came from the bath, Proclus visited him again. His errand was to invite him to a banquet, which was to take place that evening at his residence in a wing of the royal palace. But Hermon was not in the mood to share a joyous revel, and he frankly said so, although immediately after his return he had accepted the invitation to the festival, which the whole fellowship of artists would give the following day in honor of the seventeenth birthday of the old sculptor Euphrainer. The Gramatius alluded to this, and most positively insisted that he could not release him, for he came not only by his own wish, but in obedience to the command of Queen Arsino, who desired to tell the creator of the Demeter how highly she esteemed his work and his art. She would appear herself at dessert, and the banquet must therefore begin at an unusually early hour. He, Proclus, was to have the high honor of including the royal lady among his guests solely on Hermon's account, and his refusal would be an insult to the Queen. So the artist found himself obliged to relinquish his opposition. He did this reluctantly, but the Queen's attention to him and his art flattered his vanity, and, if he was to abandon the intoxicating and barren life of pleasure, it could scarcely be done more worthily than at a festival where the King's consort intended to distinguish him in person. The banquet was to begin in a few hours, yet he could not let the day pass without seeing Daphne and telling her the words of the Oracle. He longed, with ardent yearning, for the sounder for voice, and still more to unburden his sorely troubled soul to her. Oh, if only his Mertilus still walked among the living, how totally different, in spite of his lost vision, would his life have been. Daphne was now the only one whom he could put in his place. Since his return from the Oracle, the fear that the rescue demeter might yet be the work of Mertilus had again mastered him. However loudly outward circumstances might oppose this, he now felt, with a certainty which surprised him, that this work was not his own. The approval, as well as the doubts, which had arised in others strengthened his opinion, although even now he could not succeed in bringing it into harmony with the facts. How deep had been the intoxication in which he had so long reeled from one day to the next, since it had succeeded in keeping every doubt of the authorship from his work far from him. Now he must obtain certainty, and Daphne could help him to it. For, as a priestess of Demeter, she possessed the right to procure him access to the cellar, and get admission for him to climb the lofty pedestal and feel the statue with his fingers, whose sense of touch had become much keener. He would frankly inform her of his fear, and her truthful nature would find the doubt that gnawed his heart as unendurable as he himself. There would have been a grave crime to woo her before he was relieved of this uncertainty, and he would utter the decisive words that very day, and ask her whether her love was great enough to share the joys and sorrows of life with him, the blind man, who perhaps must also divest himself of false fame. Time pressed. He called at Archaus' house with a wreath on his head and in festival robes. But Daphne was in the temple, with her old Philippus and Thione had gone, and his uncle was attending a late session of the council. He would have liked to follow Daphne to the sanctuary, but the late hour forbade it, and he therefore only charged Grace to tell his young mistress that he was going to Proculus' banquet, and would return early the next morning to discuss a most important subject with her. Then he went directly to the neighboring palace. The queen might have appeared already, and it would not do to keep her waiting. He was aware that she lived at Rurians with her husband, but how could he have suspected that she cherished the more than bold design of hurling the sovereign from his throne and seizing the Egyptian crown herself? Proculus and Althea were among the conspirators who supported Arsino, and the queen thought it would be an easy matter to win over to her cause and herself they had some sculptor whom she remembered at the last Dionysia. The wealthy blind artist, so highly esteemed among the members of his profession, might become valuable to the conspiracy, for she knew what enthusiastic devotion the Alexandrian artists felt for the king, and everything depended upon forming a party in her own favor among them. This task was to fall to Hermon, and also another, still more important one, for he, his nephew, and future son-in-law, if anyone, could persuade the wealthy archaiists to lend to the plot his valuable aid. Hitherto the merchant had been induced. It is true to advance large sums of money to the queen, but the loyal devotion which he showed to her royal husband had rendered it impossible to give him even a hint of the conspiracy. Althea, however, declared that the blind man's marriage to Daphne was only a question of time, and Proclus added that the easily excited nephew would show himself more pliant than the uncle if Arsinoe exerted upon him the irresistible charm of her personality. When Hermon entered the residence of the Gramatius in the palace, the guests had already assembled. The queen was not to appear until after the feast, when the mixing jars were filled. The place by Hermon's side, which Althea had chosen for herself, would then be given up to Arsinoe. The sovereign was as unaccustomed to the society of a blind artist as Hermon was to that of a queen, and both eagerly anticipated the approaching meeting. Yet it was difficult for Hermon to turn a bright face toward his companion. The sources of anxiety and grief which had previously burdened his mind would not vanish, even under the roof of the royal palace. Althea's presence reminded him of Tennis, Ledxia, and Snemesis, who for a long time seemed to have suspended her persecution. But since he had returned from the abode of the oracle was again asserting the old right to him. During many a sleepless hour of the night, he had once more heard the rolling of her terrible wheel. Even before the journey to the oasis of Amon, everything life could offer him, the ideal rank in his perpetual darkness, had seemed shallow and scarcely worth stretching out his hand for it. True, an interesting conversation still had power to charm him, but often during its continuance, the full consciousness of his misfortune forced itself upon his mind, for the majority of the subjects discussed by the artists came to them through the medium of sight and referred to new creations of architecture, sculpture, and painting from whose enjoyment his blindness deburred him. When returning home from a banquet, if his way lay through the city, he was reminded of the superb buildings, marble terraces, and fountains, statues, and porticoes, which had formerly satiated his eyes with delight, and must now be illuminated with a brilliant radiance by the morning sun beams, though a hostile fate shut them out from his eyes, starving and thirsting for beautiful forms. But it seemed harder to him still to bear that his blinded eyes refused to show him the most beautiful of all beautiful things, the human form, when he lingered among the aphibai, or the spectators of a fissile possession, or visited the gymnasium, the theater, the aphrodosium, or the panium gardens, where the beautiful women met at sunset. The queen was to appear immediately, and when she took her place near him, his blindness would again deprive him of the sight of her delicately cut features, prevent his returning the glances from her sparkling eyes, and admiring the noble outlines of her thinly veiled figure. Would his troubled spirit at least permit him to enjoy and enter without restraint into the play of her quick wit? Perhaps her rival would relieve him from the discomfort which oppressed him here. A stranger, out of his own sphere, he felt chilled among these closely united men and women, to whom no tie bound him save the presence of the same host. He was not acquainted with the single individual except the mythographed crates, who for several months had been one of the members of the museum, and who had attached himself to Hermon at Straton's Lectures. The artist was surprised to find this man in such a circle, but he learned from Athena that the young member of the museum was a relative of Proculus, and a suitor of the beautiful Nyko, one of the queen's ladies in waiting, who was among the guests. Crates had really been invited in order to win him over to the queen's cause. But charming fair Herod Nyko had been commissioned by the conspirators to persuade him to sing Arsenault's praises among his professional associates. The rest of the men present stood in close connection with Arsenault, and were fellow conspirators among her husband's thrown in life. The ladies whom Proculus had invited were all confidence of Arsenault, the wives and daughters of his other guests. All were members of the highest class of society, and their manners showed the entire freedom from restraint that existed in the queen's immediate circle. Althea profited by the advantage of being Hermon's only acquaintance here. So when he took his place on the cushion at her side, she greeted him familiarly and cordially, and she had treated him for a long time, wherever they met, and in a low voice told him, sometimes in a kindly tone, sometimes with a biting sarcasm, the names and characters of the other guests. The most aristocratic was Amintas, who stood highest of all in the queen's favor because he had good reason to hate the other Arsenault, the sister of the king. His son had been the royal dame's first husband, and she had deserted him to marry Lysimacus, the aged king of Thrace. The Rodney and Tricypus, her legion trusted counselor, also possessed great influence over the queen. The noble lady, whispered Althea, needs the faithful devotion of every well-disposed subject, for perhaps you have already learned how cruelly the king embitters the life of the mother of his three children. Many a caprice can be forgiven the suffering Ptolemy, who recently expressed a word that he could change places with the common workmen, whom he saw eating their meal with a good appetite, and who is now tortured by the gout. Yet he watches the hapless woman with a jealousy of a tiger, though he himself is openly faithless to her. What is the queen to him, since the widow of Lysimacus returned from Thrace? No, from Cassandria, Ephesus, and sacred Samothrace, or whatever other places there are which would no longer tolerate the murderous? The king's sister, the object of his love, cried Hermon incredulously, she must be forty years old now. Very true, Althea scented. But we are in Egypt where marriages between brothers and sisters are pleasing to gods and men, and besides we make our own mortal loss here. Her age? We women are only as old as we look, and the leeches and tiring women of this beauty of forty practice arts which give her the appearance of twenty-five, yet perhaps the king values her intellect more than her person, and the wisdom of a hundred serpents is certainly united in this woman's head. She will make our poor queen suffer unless real friends guard her from the worst. The three most trustworthy ones are here. The leech chrysopus, and the admirable proclas. Let us hope that you will make this three-leaved clover the luck-promising four-leaved one. Your uncle, too, has often with praise worthy generosity helped also know in many an embarrassment. Only make the acquaintance of this beautiful royal lady, and the last drop of your blood will not seem too precious to shed for her. Besides, proclas told me so in confidence. Of little flavour to expect from the king. How long he kept you waiting from the first word concerning a work which justly transported the whole city with delight? When he did finally summon you, he said things which must have wronged you. That is going too far, replied Hermon. Then he kept back his real opinion, Althea protested. Had I not made it a rule to maintain absolute silence concerning everything I hear and conversation from those with whom I am closely associated, here she was interrupted by Trisipus, who asked if Althea had told her neighbour about his Rodney and I South. He winked at her and made a significant gesture as he spoke, and then informed the blind artist how graciously Arseneau had remembered him when she heard of the remedy by whose aid many a wonderful cure of blind eye had been made in Rhodes. The royal lady had inquired about him and his sufferings, with almost sisterly interest, and Althea eagerly confirmed the statement. Hermon listened to the pair in silence. He had not been able to see, it is true, yet he had perceived their design as if the loss of sight had sharpened his mental vision. He imagined that he could see the favourite and Althea nudged each other with sneering gestures, and believed that their sole purpose was to render him. He knew not for what subject, the obedient tool of the queen, who had probably also succeeded in persuading his usually clashes uncle to render her great services. The remembrance of Arseneau's undignified conduct at the Dionysia and the shameful stories of her which he had heard have returned to his mind. At the same time he saw Daphne rise before him in her aristocratic dignity and kindly goodness, and a smile of satisfaction hovered around his lips as he said to himself, despite her Althea again, but in spite of my blindness I will be caught neither in her net nor in the queen's. They are the last to bar the way which leads to Daphne in real happiness. The Radeon was just beginning to praise Arseneau also as a special friend and connoisseur of the sculpture's art when crates, Hermon's fellow student, asked the blind artist in behalf of his beautiful companion why his demeanor was placed upon a pedestal which, to others as well as himself, seemed too high for the size of the statue. Hermon replied that he had heard several make this criticism, but the priests of the goddess refused to take it into account. Here he hesitated, for, like a blow from an invisible hand, the thought darted through his mind that perhaps, on the morrow, he would see himself compelled before the whole world to cast aside the crown of fame which he owed to the statue on the lofty pedestal. He did not have even the remotest idea of continuing to deck himself with false renown if his dread was realized, yet he doubtless imagined how this whole aristocratic circle, with the Queen, Althea, and Proclus at its head, would turn with reckless haste from the hapless man who had let them into such a shameful error. Yet what mattered it, even if these miserable people considered themselves deceived and pointed the finger of scorn at him? Better people would thereby be robbed of the right to accuse him of faithlessness to himself. This thought darted through his heated brain like a flash of lightning, and when, in spite of his silence, the conversation was continued, and Althea told the others that only Hermon's blindness had prevented the creation of a work which could have been confidently expected far to surpass the demeanor. Since it seemed to have been exactly suited to his special talent, he answered his beautiful companion's remark currently and absently. She perceived this with annoyance and perplexity. A woman who yearns for the regard of all men and makes love a toy easily lessens the demands she imposes upon individuals. Only, even though love has wholly disappeared, she still claims consideration, and Althea did not wish to lose Hermon's regard. One amantus, the head of the conspirators, attracted the attention of the company by malicious remarks about the king's sister, the thresh she in later hand on the blind artist's arm, whispering, has the image of the arachne which, a tennis, charmed you in the presence of the angry Zeus, completely vanished from your memory. How indifferent you look, but I tell you, her deep blue eyes flashed as she spoke, that so long as you were still a genuine creating artist, the case was different, even while putting the last touches of the file to the demeanor for which archaic's devout daughter poses your model, another whom you could not banish from your mind filled your imagination. Though so loud a denial is written on your face, I persist in my conviction, and that no idle delusion and snaz me I can prove. Hermon raised her sightless eyes to her inquiringly, but she went on with eager positiveness. Or, if you did not think of the weaver while carving the goddess, how did you happen to engrave a spider on the ribbon twined around the ears of grain into Mita's hand, not the smallest detail of a work produced by the hand of a valued friend escapes my notice, and I perceived it before the demeanor came to the temple and the lofty pedestal. Now I would scarcely be able to discover it in the dusky cellar, yet at that time I took pleasure in the sight of the ugly insect, not only because it is cleverly done, but because it reminded me of something. Here she lowered her voice still more. That pleased me, though probably it would seem less flattering to the daughter of Racaus, who perhaps is better suited to act as guide to the blind. How bewildered you look, eternal gods! Many things are forgotten after long months have passed, but it will be easy for me to sharpen your memory. At the time, Hermon had finished the demeanor. The spider called to me. He scratched me on the gold. But at that very time, yes, my handsome friend, I can reckon accurately, you had met me, Althea, in tennis. I had brought the spider-woman before your eyes. Was it really nothing but foolish vanity that led me to the conviction that you were thinking of me also when you engraved on the ribbon the despised spider-fore, which, however, I always felt a certain regard, with the delicate web beneath its slender legs? Hither too, Hermon had listened to every word in silence, laboring for breath. He was transported, as if by magic, to the hour of his return from Pelusium. He saw himself enter a mortillus' studio and watch his friend scratch something. He did not know what, upon the ribbon which fastened the bunch of gold and grain. It was, nay, it could have been nothing else, that very spider. The honoured work was not his, but his dear friends. How the exchange had occurred he could not now understand, but to disbelieve that it had taken place would have been madness or self-deception. Now he also understood the doubts of Sautilus and the king. Not he, mortillus, and he alone, was the creator of the much-lotted demeanor. His conviction raised a hundred-pound weight from his soul. What was applause? What was recognition? What was the fame and laurel wreaths? He desired clearness and truth for himself in all the world, and, as frantic, he suddenly sprang from his cushions, shouting to the startled guests. I myself and this whole great city were deceived. The demeanor is not mine, not the work of Hermon. The dead mortillus created it. Then pressing his hand to his brow, he called to student friend to his side, and, as the scholar anxiously laid his arm at his shoulder, whispered, Away, away from here, only let me get out of doors into the open air. Crates, bewildered and prepared for the worst, obeyed his wish. But Althea and the other guests left behind felt more and more impressed by the subtly awakened conviction that the hapless blind mad had now also become the victim of madness. End of Book 2, Chapter 7, Recording by Nastasia S. Without a word of explanation, Hermon dragged his guide along in breathless haste. No one stopped them. The atrium, usually swarming with guards, servants, and officials until a far later hour, was completely deserted when the blind man hurried through it with his friend. The door leading into the outer air stood open, but Hermon, leading on the scholar's shoulder, had scarcely crossed the threshold and entered the little courtyard encircled with ornamented plants which separated this portion of the palace from the street when both were surrounded by a band of armed Macedonian soldiers, whose commander exclaimed, In the name of the king, not a sound, if you value your lives. Incensed, and believing that there was some mistake, Hermon announced himself as a sculptor and Crates as a member of the museum. But this statement did not produce the slightest effect upon the warrior. Nay! When the friends answered the officer's inquiry whether they were coming from Prokles's banquet in the affirmative, he currently commanded them to be put in chains. To offer resistance would have been madness, for even Hermon perceived by the loud clanking of weapons around them the greatly superior power of the enemy, and they were acting by the orders of the king. To the prison near the place of execution, cried the officer, and now not only the mythograph, but Hermon also was straddled, this dungeon opened only to those sentenced to death. Was he to be led to the executioner's block? A cold shutter ran through his frame, but the next moment he threw back his waving locks and his chest heaved with a long breath. What pleasure had life to offer him, the blind man, who was already dead to his art? Art he not to greet his sudden end as a boom from the immortals? Did it not spare him a humiliation as great and painful as could be imagined? He had already taken care that the false renown should not follow him to the grave, and myrtilus should have his just done, and he would do whatever else lay in his power to further this object. Wherever the beloved dead might be, he desired to go there also. Whatever might await him, he desired no better fate. If he had passed into annihilation he, Hermon, wished to follow him thither, and annihilation certainly meant redemption from pain and misery. But if he were destined to meet his myrtilus and his mother in the world beyond the grave, what had he not to tell them? How sure he was of finding a joyful reception there from both. The power which delivered him over to death just at that moment was not nemesis, no, it was a kindly deity. Only his heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving Daphne to the tireless wooer Philotus, or some other, everything else from which it is usually hard to part, seemed like a burden that we gladly cast aside. Forward! He called blithely and boldly to the officer. While crates, with loud lamentations, was protesting his innocence to the warrior who was putting fetters upon him. A chain was being clasped around Hermon's wrists, also when he suddenly started. His keen ear could not deceive him, and yet a demon must be mocking him, for the voice that had called his name was the girls of whom, in the presence of welcome death, he had thought with longing regret. Yet it was no illusion that deceived him. Again he heard the beloved voice, and this time it addressed not only him, but with the utmost haste the commander of the soldiers. Sometimes with touching and treaty, sometimes with imperious command, she protested, after giving him her name, that this matter could be nothing but an unfortunate mistake. Lastly, with earnest warmth, she besought him, before taking the prisoners away, to permit her to speak to the commanding general. Philotus, her father's guest, who, she was certain, was in the palace. The blood of these innocent men would be on his head if he did not listen to her representations. Daphne cried her mind in grateful agitation, but she would not listen to him, and followed the soldier whom the captain detailed to guide her into the palace. After a few moments, which the blind artist used to inspire the despairing scholar with courage, the girl returned, and she did not come alone. The gray-haired comrade of Alexander accompanied her, and after a few minutes both prisoners were released from their fetters. Philotus hastily refused their thanks, and after a few words to the officer, he changed his tone, and his deep voice sounded paternally cordial as he exclaimed to Daphne, Fifteen minutes more, you dear, fool-hardly girl, and it would have been too late. Tomorrow you shall confess to me who treacherously directed you to this dangerous path. Lastly she turned to the prisoners to explain that they would be conducted to the adjacent barracks of the Deodaci, and spend the night there. Early the next morning they should be examined, and, if they could clear themselves from the suspicion of belonging to the ranks of the conspirators, released. Daphne again pleaded for the liberation of the prisoners, but Philip has silenced her with a grave exclamation, the order of the king. The old commander offered no objection to her wish to accompany her on to prison. Daphne now slipped her arm through her cousins and commanded the steward grass who had brought her here to follow them. The goal of the nocturnal walk, which was close at hand, was reached at the end of a few minutes, and the prisoners were delivered to the commander of the Deodaci. This kindly disposed officer had served under Hermon's father, and when the names of the prisoners were given, and the officer reported to him that General Philipus recommended them to his care as innocent men, he had a special room open for the sculptor and his fair guide, in order to create to enter another. He could permit the beautiful daughter of the honored archaic to remain with Hermon for half an hour, then he must beg her to allow herself to be escorted to her home, as the barracks were closed at that time. As soon as the captive artist was alone with the woman he loved, he clasped her hand, pouring forth incoherent words of the most ardent gratitude, and when he felt her warmly return the pressure, he could not restrain the desire to clasp her to his heart. For the first time his lips met hers, he confessed his love, and that he had just regarded death as a deliverer, but his life was now gaining new charm through her affection. Then Daphne herself threw her arms around his neck with fervent devotion. The love that resistlessly drew his heart to her was returned with equal strength and ardor. In spite of his deep mental distress, he could have shouted aloud in his delight and gratitude. He might now have been permitted to bind forever to his life the woman who had just rescued him from the greatest danger, but the confession he must make to his fellow artist in the polluster the following morning still sealed his lips. Yet in this hour he felt that he was united to her, and art not to conceal what awaited him, so obeying a strong impulse he exclaimed, You know that I love you, words cannot express the strength of my devotion, but for that very reason I must do what duty commands before I ask the question, will you join your fate to mine? I love you and have loved you always, Daphne exclaimed tenderly, What more is needed? But Hermon, with drooping head murmured, Tomorrow I shall no longer be what I am now, wait until I have done what duty enjoins, when that is accomplished, you shall ask yourself what worth the blind artist still possesses, who bought her a spurious fame for mockery and disgrace and order not to be a hypocrite. Then Daphne raised her face to his, asking, So the demeanor is the work of Myrtilus? Certainly, he answered firmly, It is the work of Myrtilus. Oh, my poor, deceived love, cried Daphne, strongly agitated in a tone of the deepest sorrow, what a terrible ordeal again awaits you. It must indeed distress me, and yet do not misunderstand me. It seems nevertheless as if I ought to rejoice, for you and your art have not spoken to me even a single moment from this much-laden work. And therefore, he interrupted with passion and delight, therefore alone you withheld the enthusiastic praise with which the others intoxicated me, and I, full, blinded also in mind, could be vexed with you for it. But only wait, wait, soon to-morrow even, there will be no one in Alexandria who can accuse me of deserting my own honest aspiration, and, if the gods will only restore my sight and the ability to use my hands as a sculpture, then, girl, then. Here he was interrupted by loud knocking at the door. The time allowed had expired. Then again warmly embraced Daphne, saying, Then go! Nothing can cloud what these brief moments have bestowed. I must remain blind, but you have restored the lost sight to my poor darkened soul. Tomorrow I shall stand in the plaster before my comrades and explain to them what a malicious accident deceived me, and with me this whole great city. Many will not believe me, and even your father will perhaps consider it a disgrace to give his arm to his scorned, illuminated nephew to guide him home. Bring this before your mind, and everything else that you must accept with it. If you consent, when the time arrives, to become mine. Conceal and paleotnuffing. But should the Lady Theon speak of the human eyes who pursued me, tell her that they had probably again extended their arms to Toadme, but when I return to Morrow from the palestra I shall be freed from the terrible things. Lastly he asked to be told quickly how she had happened to come to the palace at the right time at so late an hour, and daphne informed him as briefly and modestly as of the hazardous venture which, in strong opposition to her retiring, womanly nature, she had undertaken, was a mere matter, of course. When Theon and her presence heard from grass that Hermon intended to go to Proclus' banquet, she started up in horror, exclaiming, Then the unfortunate man is lost! Her husband, who had long trusted even the gravest secrets to his discreet old wife, had informed her of the terrible office the king had confided to him. All the male guests of Proclus were to be executed. The woman, the queen at their head, would be sent into exile. Then daphne, on her knees, besought the maitrant to tell her what threatened Hermon and succeeded in persuading her to speak. The terrified girl, accompanied by grass, went first to her lover's house, and, when she did not find him there, hastened to the king's palace. If Hermon could have seen her with her fluttering hair, to shovel it by the night breeze, and she explanched by excitement and terror, if he had been told how she struggled with Theon, who tried to detain her and lock her up before she left her father's house, he would have perceived with still prouder joy, had that been possible, what he possessed in the devoted love of this true woman. Grateful and moved by joyous hopes, he informed daphne of the words of the oracle, which had imprinted themselves upon his memory. She too quickly retained them, and murmured softly, noise and dazzling gradients are hostile to the pure light, mourning and day will rise quietly from the starving sand. What could the verse mean, except that the blind man would regain the power to behold the light of clay and with the sands of the silent desert? Perhaps it would be well for him to leave Alexandria now, and she described how much benefit she had received while hunting from the silence of the wilderness, when she had left the noise of the city behind her. But before she had quite finished, the knocking of the door was repeated. The lovers took leave of each other with one last kiss, and the final words of the departing girl echoed consolingly in the blind man's heart. The more that they take from you, the more closely I will cling it to you. Hermann spent the latter portion of the night rejoicing in the consciousness of a great happiness, yet also troubled by the difficult task which she could not escape. When the marketplace was filling, Gray-haired Philippus visited him. He desired for the examination, for which every preparation had been made, to understand personally the relation of this dead comrade's son to the defeated conspiracy, and he soon perceived that Hermann's presence at the banquet was due solely to unlucky accident or in consequence of the queen's desire to win him over to her plot. Yet he was forced to advise the blind sculptor to leave Alexandria, the suspicion that he had been associated with the conspirators was the more difficult to refute, because his uncle Arcaias had imprudently allowed him to be persuaded by Proclus and Arsenault to lend the queen large sums, which had undoubtedly been used to promote her abominable plans. Philippus also informed him that he had just come from Arcaias, whom he had earnestly urged to fly as quickly as possible from the persecution which was inevitable. Four, secure as Hermann's uncle felt in his innocence, the receipts for the large sums loaned by him, which had just been found in Proclus's possession, would bear witness against him, and Vian Illwill would also have a share in this affair, and the usually benevolent king knew no mercy when crime against his own person was concerned. So Arcaias intended to leave the city on one of his own ships that very day. Daphne, of course, would accompany him. The prisoner listened in surprise and anxiety. His uncle driven from his secure possessions to distant lands. Daphne taken from him. He knew not wither nor for how long a time, after he had just been assured of her great love. He himself on the way to expose himself to the malice and mockery of the whole city. His heart contracted painfully, and his solicitude about his uncle's fate increased when Philippus informed him that the conspirators had been arrested at the banquet and, headed by Amiens, Therodian, Chrysopus, and Proclus, had perished by the executioner's sword at sunrise. The queen, Althea, and the older ladies were already on the way to Coptos in Upper Egypt, whither the king had exiled them. Ptolemy had entrusted the execution of this severe punishment to Alexander's former comrade as the most trustworthy and discreet of his subjects, but rejected, with angry curtness, Philippus' attempt to uphold the innocence of his friend Arcaias. The old man's conversation with Hermon was interrupted by the functionaries who subjected him and crates to the examination. It lasted a long time, and referred to every incident in the artist's life since his return to Alexandria. The result was favorable, and the prisoner was dismissed from confinement with a learned companion of his fate. When, accompanied by Philippus, Hermon reached his house. It was so late that the artist's festival in honor of the sculptor Euphrainer, who entered his seventieth year of life that day, must have already commenced. On the way the blind man told the general what a severe trial awaited him, and the latter approved his course and, on bidding him farewell, with sincere motion, urged Hermon to take courage. After hastily strengthening himself with a few mouthfuls of food and a drink of wine, his slave, Patron, who understood writing, wished to put on the full, laurel breath, but Hermon was seized with a painful sense of dissatisfaction, and angrily waved it back. Without a single green leaf on his head, he walked, leaning on the Egyptian's arm, with a palesture which was diagonally opposite to the house. Doubtless he longed to hasten a once to Daphne, but he felt that he could not take leave of her until he had first cast off, as his heart and mind dictated the terrible burden which oppressed his soul. Besides, he knew that the object of his love would not part from him without granting him one last word. On the way his heart throbbed almost to bursting. Even Daphne's image and what threatened her father and her with him receded far into the background. He could think only of his design and how he was to execute it. Yet ought he not to have the laurel breath put on in order after removing it to bestow it to the genius of the Myrtleis? Yet no. Did he still possess the right to award this noble branch to anyone? He was appearing before his companions only to give truth. It's just due. It was repulsive to endow this explanation of an unfortunate error with a captivating aspect by any theatrical adornment. To be honest, even for the porter was a single requirement of duty, and no praise worthy merit. The guide forced a path for him through the carriages, litters, and whole throngs of slaves and common people who had assembled before the neighbouring palestra. The doorkeepers admitted the blind man, who was well known here without delay. But he called to the slave, quick, patron, and not among the spectators, in the centre of the arena. The Egyptian obeyed, and his master crossed the wide space, strewn with sand, and approached the stage which had been erected for the feastal performances. He even had his eyes retain the power of sight. His blood was coursing so widely through his veins that he might perhaps have been unable to distinguish the statues around him, and the thousands of spectators who, crowded closely together, richly garlanded, their cheeks glowing with enthusiasm, surrounded the arena. Hermon shouted his friend Sotilus in joyful surprise in the midst of his painful walk. Hermon, resounded here, there, and everywhere as, leaning on his friend's arm, he stepped upon the stage, and the acclimations grew louder and louder as Sotilus fulfilled the sculpture's request and led him to the front of the platform. Obeying a sign from the director of the festival was the chorus, which had just sung a hymn to the muses, was silent. Now the sculpture began to speak, and noise the applause thundered around him as he concluded the well-chosen words of homage with which he offered cordial congratulations to the esteemable Euphraner, to whom the festival was given. But the shout soon ceased, for the audience had heard his modest entreaty to be permitted to say a few words, concerning a personal matter, to those who were his professional colleagues as well as to the others who had honored him with their interest and, only too loudly, with undeserved applause. The more closely would he had to say concerned himself, the briefer he would make his story. And in fact, he did not long claim the attention of his members. Clearly and curtly he stated how it had been possible to mistake Merturilus' work for his, how the tennis goldsmith had dispelled his first suspicion, and how vainly he had besought the priests of Demeter to be permitted to feel his statue. Then, without entering into detail, he informed them that, through an accident, he had now reached the firm conviction that he had long worn wreaths which belonged to another. But, though the latter could not rise from the grave, he still owed it to truth, to whose service he had dedicated his art from the beginning, and to the simple honesty, dear like to the peasant and the artist, to divest himself of the fame to which he was not entitled. Even while he believed himself to be the creator of the Demeter, he had been seriously troubled by the praise of so many critics, because it had exposed him to the suspicion of having become faithful to his art and his nature. In the name of the dead, he thanked his dear comrades for the enthusiastic appreciation his masterpiece had found. Honor to Myrtilus and his art, but he trusted the snowball feast-tale assemblage would pardon the unintentional deception, and aid his prayer for recovery. If it should be granted, he hoped to show that Hermon had not been wholly unworthy to adorn himself for a short time with the rests of Myrtilus. When he closed, deep silence reigned for a brief interval, and one man looked at another irresolutely until the hero of the day, gray hair to your refrainer, rose, and, leaning on the arm of his favorite pupil, walked through the center of the arena to the stage, mounted it, embraced Hermon with paternal warmth, and made him happy by the words, The deception that has fallen to your lot, my poor young friend, is a lamentable one, but honor to everyone who honestly means to uphold the truth. We will beseech the immortals with the prayers and sacrifices to restore sight to your artist eyes. If I am permitted, my dear young comrade, to see you continue to create, it will be a source of joy to me and all of us. Get the muses, even though unasked, lead to the eternal realm of beauty, the elect, who consecrates his art to truth with the right anisness. The embrace with which the venerable hero of the festival seemed to absolve Hermon was greeted with loud applause, but the kind words which you, freiner, in the weak voice of age, had addressed to the blind man had been unintelligible to the large circle of guests. When he again descended to the arena, new plowed its rose, but soon hisses and other signs of disapproval blended with them, which increased in strength a number when a well-known critic, who had written a learned treatise concerning the relation of the Demeter to Hermon's earlier works, expressed his annoyance in a loud whistle. The dissatisfied and disappointed spectator is now wide with one another to silence those who were cheering by hideous uproar, while the latter expressed more and more loud the sincere esteem with which they were inspired by the confession of the artist who, though cruelly prevented from winning fresh fame, cast aside the wrath which a dead man had, as were, proffered from his tomb. Probably every man thought that, in the same institution, he would have done the same, yet not only justice, nay, compassion, dictated showing the blind artist that they believed in and would sustain him. The ill-disposed insisted that Hermon had only done what duty commanded the meanest man, and the fact that he had deceived all Alexandries still remained. Not a few joined this party, for a larger possession, excite, and be perhaps even more frequently than greater fame. Soon the approving and opposing voices mingled in an actual conflict, but before the famous sculptor Charles, the great and venerable artist Nikias, and several younger friends of Hermon, quelled this unpleasant disturbance of the beautiful festival, the blind man, leading on the arm of his fellow artist Sodilus, had left the palestra. At the exit he parted from his friend, who had been made happy by the ability to absolve his more distinguished leader from the reproach of having been faithless to their common purpose, and who intended to incite further in his behalf in the palestra. Hermon no longer needed him. Before, besides the slave patron, he found the Stuart grass, who, by his master's order, guided the blind man to archaic's closed Harma Maxa, which was waiting outside the building. End of Book 2, Chapter 8, Recording by Nistassia S. Book 2, Chapter 9, Everakny. This is a LibriBox recording. All LibriBox recordings are in the public domain. From all information or to volunteer, please visit LibriBox.org, Recording by Anna Simone. Everakny, by George Evers. Translated by Mary J. Safford. Book 2, Chapter 9. The sculptor's head was burning feverishly when he entered the vehicle. He had never imagined that the consequences of his explanation would be so terrible. During the drive, by no means a long one, to the great harbor, he strove to collect his thoughts. Growning aloud, he covered his ears with his hands to shut out shouts and hisses from the palestra, which in reality were no longer audible. True, he would not need to expose himself to this uproar a second time. Yet, if he remained in Alexandria due it seems, mockery and jives of the old city, though in a gentler form, would echo hundreds of times around him. He must leave the city. He would have preferred to go on board the staunch Takeia and be born far away with his uncle and Daphne, but he was obliged to deny himself the fulfillment of this desire. He must now think solely of regaining his sight. With him to the oracle, he would go to the desert where, from the starving sand, the radiant daylight was to rise anew for him. There he would, at any rate, be permitted to recover clearness of perception and feeling which he had lost in the delirium of the dissolute life of pleasure that he had led in the past. Pythagoras had already forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse, and he, too, did not do this. It would have been repardonant to his genuinely Greek nature, instead of looking backward with pivish regret, his purpose was to look with life-confidence toward the future and to do its best to render it better and more fruitful than the months of revel which lay behind him. He could no longer imagine a life worth living without Daphne, and thought that if his uncle were robbed of his wealth he would become her support cheer this heart. If the oracle did not fulfill its promise, he would again appeal to medical skill and submit even to the most severe suffering which might be imposed upon him. The drive to the Great Harbor was soon over, but the boat which lay waiting for him had a considerable distance to traverse. For the decay was no longer at landing place, but was tacking outside the pharaohs in order if the warrant of arrest were issued, not to be stopped at the channel dominated by the lighthouse. He found the slender tree ram profited by a restless stir. His uncle had long been expecting him with burning impatience. He knew, through Philippus, that duty still detained the deceived artist, but he learned, at the same time, that his own imprisonment had been determined, and it would be advisable for him to leave the city behind him as quickly as possible. Yet neither Daphne nor he was willing to depart without saying farewell to Herman. But the danger was increasing every moment, and, warm as was departing, the last glass of the hand and kiss swiftly followed the first words of greeting. So the blind artist learned only that Arcaias was going to the island of Lesbos, his mother's home, and that he had promised his daughter to give Herman time to recover his sight. The property bequeathed to him by Martilius had been placed by the merchant into royal bank, and he had also protected himself against any chance of poverty. Herman was to send news of his health to Lesbos from time to time, if a safe opportunity offered, and, when Daphne knew where he was to be found, she could let him have tidings. Of course, for the present great caution must be exercised in order not to betray the both of the fugitives. Herman too ought to evade pursuit of the incense king as quickly as possible. Not only Daphne's eyes, but her father's also, overflowed with tears at his parting, and Herman perceived more plainly than ever that he was as dear to his uncle as though he were his own son. The low words which the artist exchanged with the woman whose love, even during the period of separation, would shed light and warmth upon his darkened life were deeply impressed upon the souls of both. For the present, faithful Grace was to remain in charge of his master's house in Alexandria. Leaning on his arm, the blind man left Takeia, which, as soon as both had entered the boat, was urged forward by powerful strokes of the oars. The Bitheans informed Herman that Greshives were waiving him a farewell from the trirem, that sales had been unfurled, and the wind was driving the swift vessel before it like a swallow. At the ferocious Grace reported that the royal galley was just passing them, undoubtedly in pursuit of Takeia, but latter was swift as of old Greek vessels, and they need not fear that she would be overtaken by the warship. With a sore heart and desolate feeling of being now utterly alone, Herman again landed and ordered that his uncle's armamacha should convey him to the necropolis. He desired to seek peace at his mother's grave, and to take leave at his beloved tombs. Guided by the steward, he left them children with fresh confidence in the future, and faithful servants' account of the energy with which Daphne had aided the preparations for departure benefited him like a refreshing bath. When he was again at home, one visitor after another was announced, who came there from the festival in the palestra, and, in spite of his great reluctance to receive them, he denied no one admittance, but listened even to the ill-disposed and spiteful. In the battle which he had commenced, he must not shrink from wounds, and he was struck by many poisoned shafts. But, to make immense, a clear understanding was affected between him and those whom he esteemed. The last caller left him just before midnight. Herman now made many preparations for departure. He intended to go into the desert with very little luggage, as the oracle seemed to direct. How long the time his absence would extend could not be estimated, and the many poor people whom he had fed and supported must not suffer through his departure. The arrangements required to affect this he dictated to the slave, who understood writing. He had gained in him an extremely capable servant, and Petrán expressed his readiness to follow him into the desert. The dry face which, sure that blind men could not see him, he made while saying so, seemed to prove the contrary. Wary, and yet too excited to find sleep, for a minute last went to rest. If his merciless have been with him now, what would he not have to say to express his gratitude, to explain? How overjoyed would have been at fulfillment of his wish to see him united to Daphne, at least in heart? With what fiery ardour he would have abraded those who believed him capable of having appropriated what belonged to another. But merciless was no more. And who could tell whether his body had not remained unburied, and this soul was therefore condemned to be born restlessly between heaven and earth, like a leaf driven by the wind? Yet, if the earth covered him, where was the spot on which sacrifices could be offered to his soul, his tombstone could be anointed, and he himself remembered. Then a doubt which had never before entered his mind, suddenly took possession of airmen. Since for so many months he had firmly believed his friend's work to be his own, he might also have fallen into another delusion, and merciless might still dwell among living. As he thought, the blind man, with a swift movement, sat erect up on his couch. It seemed as if a bright light blazed before his eyes in the dark room. The reasons which had levy authorities to pronounce merciless dead rendered his early and probable it is true, yet by no means proved it absolutely. He must hold fast to that. He who, ever since he returned to Alexandria from Tennis, had squandered precious time as is possessed by evil demons, would now make a better use of it. Besides, he longed to leave the capital. What? Suppose he should now, even though it were necessary to delay obeying the Oracle's command, search trevace, train through the world in pursuit of merciless, even if it must be to the uttermost thule. But he fell back up on the couch as quickly as he had started up. Blind, blind, he groan in dull despair. How could he, was not able even to see his hand before his eyes, succeed in finding his friend? And yet, yet, have his mind been darkened with his eyes, that his thought came to him now for the first time, that he had not sent messengers to all quarters of the globe to find some trace of these sailors, and with them of the lost men. Perhaps it was Lechel who had him in their power, and, while he was pondering and forming plans for the best way of conduct investigations, the dimmed image of the pymite, again returned stinking to his mind, and with it that of a raking and spider, into which the goddess transformed the weaver. Half overcome by sleep he saw himself, staff in hand, led by Daphne, cross green meadows and deserts, valleys and mountains, to seek his friend. Yet, whenever he fancied, he caught sight of him, and Lechel, with him in the distance, spider descended from above, and, with magical speed, woven net which concealed both from his gaze. Growning and deeply disturbed, half awake, he struggled onward, always toward one goal, to find his merciless again, when suddenly the sound of knocker on the entrance door and the parking of Lechels, his Arabian greyhound, shook the house. Recall to waking life, he started up and listened. Had the men who were to rest him, or inquisitive visitors, not allow themselves to be deterred even by late hour, he listened angrily at old porter, sternly accosted late guest. But, directly after, the grey-haired native, at the region near the first caturact, burst into the strange Nubian hoods, which he leveraged liberally, whenever anything stirred his aged soul. The dog, which Herman had earned only a few months, continued to bark. But above his hostile buying, the blind man thought he recognized a name whose sound blood surged hardly into his cheeks. Yet he could scarcely have heard right. Silly sprang from the couch, groped his way to the door, opened it, and entered the implevium that adjoined his bedroom. The cool night air blew up on him from the open ceiling. A strong strout showed that the door leading from the atrium was being opened, and now a shout, half-shocked by weeping, greeted him. Herman, my clear, my poor beloved master. Beas, faithful beas, fell from the blind man's lips, and when he felt the returned slaves sink down before him, cover his hands with kisses, and wet it with tears, he raised him in his strong arms, clasped him in a warm embrace, kissed his cheeks, and gasped. And my my my my, is he alive? Yes, yes, yes, sobs Beas. But you, my lord, blind, blind, can it be true? When Hermes released him to inquire again about his friend, Beas stammered. He isn't fairing so badly, but you, you, bereft of light, and also the joy of seeing your faithful beas again, an immortal sprawl on one's ears to experience such evils. Two grieves always belong to one joy, like two horses to a chariot. My wise beas, just as you were of old, cried Herman in joyful excitement. Then he quieted the hound and ordered one of the tenants, who came hurrying in, to bring out whatever dainty vines the house contained and the chariot's best Bible-less wine from the cellar. Meanwhile, he did not cease his inquiries about his friend's health, and ordered a goblet to be brought him also, that he might pledge the slave and give brief answers to his sympathizing questions about the cause of the blindness, the noble Arceus, the gracious young mistress Daphne, the famous Philippus and his wife, which companion Priscilla, and the steward Gras. Amid all this, he resolved to free the faithful fellow, and, while Beas was eating, he could not refrain from telling him that he had found a mistress for him, that Daphne was the wife whom he had chosen, but the wedding was still a long way off. He controlled his impatience to learn the particulars concerning his friend's fate, until Beas had partially satisfied his anger. A short time ago, Herman would have declared it impossible that he could ever become so happy during this period of conflict and separation from the object of his love. The thought of his lost inheritance doubtless flitted through his mind, but it seemed merely like worthless dust, and certainty that myrtles still walked among the living, filled him with unclouded happiness. Even though he could no longer see him, he might expect to hear his beloved voice again. Oh, what delight that he was permitted to have his friend once more, as well as Daphne, that he could meet him so freely and joyously, and keep the laurel, which had rested with such slaving weight upon his head, for much less, and for him alone. But where was he? What was the name of the miracle which had saved him, and yet kept him away from his embrace so long? How had myrtles and Beas escaped flames and death on that night of horror? A thought of questions assailed the slave before he could begin a connected account, and Hormann constantly interrupted it to ask for details concerning his friend and his elf at each period and on every occasion. Much surprised by his discreet manner, the artist listened to the bond man's narrative. Fordo Beas had formerly allowed himself to indulge in various little familiarities toward his master, who refrained from them entirely in this story, and the blind man's misfortune invested him in his eyes with a peculiar sacredness. And of Book 2, Chapter 9, Recording by Anna Simão from Portugal Book 2, Chapter 10 of Ragnie. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org, recording by Anna Simão. A Ragnie by George Ebers, translated by Mary J. Seffard. Book 2, Chapter 10. He had arrived wounded on the pirate ship with his master's friend. The return bond man began. When he had regained consciousness, he met Letcha on board the Hydra as the wife of the pirate Hanno. She had nursed Myrtles with tireless solicitude, and also often cared for his bias wounds. After the recovery of the prisoners, she became their protectress, and placed Beas in service of the Greek artist. They, the Golucharius and one of the sculptor's slaves, were the only ones who had been brought on board the Hydra alive from the attack in Tennis, but later soon succumbed to his wounds. Herman, who lived solely to the British builder that he had escaped from the vengeance of his bayonet foe, for the tall Gol, whose thick beard resembled Herman's in length and blackness, was mistaken by Hanno for the person who Letcha had directed him to deliver alive into her power. The pirate had surrendered the wrong captive to the woman he loved and, as Beas declared, to a serious disadvantage. For, though Hanno and the bayonet girl were husband and wife, no one could help perceiving the cold dislike with which Letcha rebuffed Giant, who read her every witch in her eyes. Finally, the captain of the pirate ship, a silent man by nature, often did not open his lips for days except to give orders to the crew. Frequently he even refused to be relieved from duty and remained all night at the helm. Only when, at his own risk, or with the vests of his father and brother, he attacked merchant ships or defended himself against the war-galley, did he wake to vigorous life and rush with gallant recklessness into battle. A single man on the Hydra was little inferior to him in strength and airing, the Golutarius. He had been enrolled among the pirates, and when Hanno was wounded in an engagement with the Syrian war-galley, was left his representative. During this time Letcha faithfully performed her duty as her young husband's nurse, but afterwards treated him as coldly as before. Yet she devoted herself equally to the ship and the crew, and fierce, lawless fellows, cheerfully submitted to the sensible arrangements of their captain's beautiful energetic wife. At this period Bayas had often met Letcha, engaged in secret conversations with the Gol, yet if any tender emotion really attracted her toward anyone other than her husband, Murtless would have been suspected rather than the black-bearded bridge-builder. For she not only showed the sculpture the kindest consideration, but often entered into conversation with him and even persuaded him, when the sea was calm, or the Hydra lay at anchor in one of the hidden bays known to the pirates to practice his art, and at last to make a bust of her. She had succeeded in getting him clay, wax, and tools for the purpose. After asking which goddess had ill-treated the weaver Arachne, she commanded him to make a head of Athenae, adorned with the helmet modeled from her own. During this time she frequently inquired whether her features really were not beautiful enough to be copied for the continence of a goddess, and when he eagerly assured her of the fact, made him swear that he was not sieving her with flattery. Neither Beas nor Murtless had ever been allowed to remain on shore, but on the whole the slave protested. Murtless' health, thanks to the pure sea air on the Hydra, had improved in spite of the longing which often assailed him, and the great excitements to which he was sometimes exposed. There had been ancient hours when Anna's father and brothers visited the Hydra to induce her captain to make money out of captive sculpture, and either sell him at the high price or extort a large ransom from him. But Beas had overheard her resolutely led to oppose these proposals, and represented to old set of us of what priceless importance Murtless might be come to them if either should be captured and imprisoned. The greatest excitements, of course, have been connected with the battles of the pirates. Murtless, who, in spite of his feeble health, by no means lacks courage, found it especially hard to bear that during the conflict he was locked up with bias, but even led she could neither prevent nor restrict these measures. Beas could not tell what sees the Hydra had sailed, nor at what, usually desolate shores, she had touched. He only knew that she had gone to Synope in Pontius, passed through the properties, and then sought booty near the coast of Age Minor. Lettia had refused to answer every question that referred to these things. Laterally, the young wife had become very grave, and apparently completely severed her relations with her husband. But she also studiously avoided the Gaul, and, if they talked which uttered all, it was in her at whispers. So events went on until something occurred which was to affect lives of prisoners deeply. It must have been just beyond outlet from the Alice Pont into the Age and Sea, for, in order to pass through the narrow straits, leaving theater from Pontius, the Hydra had been most skillfully given the appearance of a peaceful merchant vessel. The slave's soul must have been greatly agitated by this experience, for, while, Itherto, whenever he was interrupted by Irmin, he had retained his composure, and could not refrain from occasionally connecting a practical application with this report. Now, measured by the power of the remembrance, he uttered what he wished to tell his master in an oppressed tone, while bright drops of perspiration beswed the speaker's role. A large merchant ship had approached them, and three men came on board the Hydra. Old Satovus, Issaem Lavacha, and the gray-haired, beardish seafarer of tall stature and dignified bearing, charlotte, Lavacha's father. The meeting between the biomed ship owner and this child, after so long a separation, was the singular one. For the young wife held out her hand to her father timidly, with downcast eyes, and he refused to take it. Directly after, however, as is constrained by an irresistible impulse, he threw his unruly daughter toward him and kissed her brow and cheeks. Roast meat and the best wine had been served in the large ship's cabin. But though murteless and beas had been locked up as if a bloody battle was expected, the loud angry uproar of men's deep voices reached them, and Lavacha's shrill tones, streaking in passionate breath, blended in the strife. Furniture must have been upset and dishes broken, yet the giants who were disputing here did not come to blows. At last the savage turmoil subsided. When bias and this master were again released, Lavacha was standing, in the dusk of evening, at foot of the main mast, pressing her brow against the wood as if she needed some support to save herself from falling. She checked murteless words with an imperious, let me alone. The next day she had faced restlessly up and down the deck, like a caged beast of prey, and would permit no one to speak to her. At noon Hannah was about to get into a boat to go to her father's ship, and she insisted upon accompanying him. But this time the corsair seemed completely transformed, and with a pitless turness, which she so well knew how to use in issuing commands, order her to remain on the hydra. She, however, by no means obeyed her husband's mandate without resistance, and at the recollection of the conflict which now occurred between the pair, in which she raged like a tyress, the narrator's cheeks crimson'd. The quarrel was ended by the powerful seaman, taking in his arms his slith, slender wife, who resisted him with all her strength, and had already touched the side of the boat with her foot, and putting her down on the desk of his ship. Then Hannah leaped back into the skiff, while Ledge, groaning with rage, retired to the cabin. An hour after she again appeared on deck, called murteless and fierce, and, showing them her eyes, reddened by tears, told them, as if in apology for weakness, that she had not been permitted to be their father farewell. Then, pallid as a corpse, she had turned the conversation upon herman, and informed Murteless that an Alexandrian pilot had told her father that he was blind, and her brother-in-law Labadja had heard the same thing. While saying this, her lips curled scornfully, but when she saw how deeply their friend's misfortune moved her to prisoners, she waved her hand, declaring that he did not need their sympathy. The pilot had reported that he was living in magnificence and pleasure, and the people in the capital honoured and praised him as if he were a god. There happened, she had left shrilly, and reviled so bitterly the contemptible blind fortune that remains most loyal to those who deserve to perish in the deepest misery, that, by us, avoided repeating her words to his master. The news of Murteless's legacy had not reached their ears, and B.S. II had just heard of it for the first time. Letcher's object had been to relieve her troubled soul by attacks upon the man whom she hated, but she suddenly turned to the master and servant to ask if they desired to obtain their liberty. Oh, how quickly and hopeful, yes, reached the ears of the gloomy woman. How ready both were to swear by a solemn oath to fulfill the conditions the biomet desired to impose. As soon as opportunity offered, B.S. II lived idre with one other person who, like bias and herself, understood how to manage the boat. The favourable moment soon came. One moonless night, when the steering of the idre was entrusted to the goal, Letcher waked the two prisoners and, with the goal of chariots, Murteless and the slave, entered the boat, which conveyed them to the shore without accident or interruption. B.S. knew the name of the place where it had anchored, it is true, but oath which Letcher had made him swear there was so terrible that he would not have broken it at any cost. This oath required the slave, who, three days after their landing, was sent to Alexandria by the first ship that sailed for that port, to maintain the most absolute secrecy concerning Murteless's hiding place until he was authorized to speak. B.S. was to go to Alexandria without delay, and there obtained from Archaeus, who managed Murteless's property, the sums which Letcher intended to use in the following manner. Two attic talents B.S. was to bring back. These were for the goal, probably in payment for its assistance. Two more would be taken by the slave to the Temple of Nemesis. Lastly, B.S. was to deliver five talents to all Tabos, who kept the treasure of the pirate family on the owl's nest, and tell her that Letcher, in this money, sent back the bridal dowry which Hanno had paid her father for his daughter. With this she release herself from the husband who inspired her with feelings very unlike love. Herman asked to have this commission repeated, and received the direction Murteless had given to the slave. The blind men hoped that they must also include greetings and news from his friend's hand was destroyed by B.S., whom Murteless, in leisure hours on the idra, had thought to read. This was not so difficult a task for the slave, who longed for knowledge, and had already tried it before. But with writing, on the other hand, it could make no headway. He was too old, and this hand had become too clumsy to acquire this difficult art. In reply to Herman's ancient question whether his friend needed anything in his present abode, the slave reported that he was at liberty to move about at will, and was not even obliged to share Letcher's lodgings. He lacked nothing, for the biomass, besides some gold, had left with him also gems and pearls of such great value that they would suffice to support him several years. As for himself, she had supplied him more than abundantly with money for traveling expenses. Murteless was awaiting his return in the city prospering under rich and wise regent, and sent all cargos of affectionate remembrances. The sculpture, too, was firmly resolved to keep the oath imposed upon him. As soon as he, Bias, had performed the commission entrusted to him, he and Murteless would be released from their vows, and Herman would learn his friend's residence. Chapter 11 When returned slave, as finished his report, the sun was already shining into his master's room. Without lying down again, the latter went at once to the tennis notary, who had moved to Alexandria two months before, and, with his assistance, raised the money which his friend needed. World in Olympus had received news that Murteless was still alive in a very singular manner. Even now he could grasp only one thing at a time, and he left Herman with sincere devotion. Therefore, the lawyer, who had so jealously striven to expedite blind man's entering into possession of his friend's inheritance, would very willingly have permitted Murteless, doubtless and invalid, to continue to rest quietly among the dead. Yet his kind heart rejoiced at the deliverance of the famous young artist, and so, during Herman's story, he had passed from sincere regret to lot expressions of joyous sympathy. Lastly, he had placed his old property at the disposal of Herman, who had paid him liberally for his work to provide for the blind sculpture's future. This generous offer had been declined, but he now assisted Herman to prepare the emancipation papers for his faithful bias, who found a ship that was bound to tennis. Toward evening he accompanied Herman to the harbor, and, after a cordial farewell from his helpful friend, the artist, with new fridment, Beas and slave clerk Patron, went on board vessel, now ready to sail. The voyage was one of the speediest, yet the end came too soon for both master and servant. Herman had not yet heard enough of the friend beyond his reach, and Beas was far from having related everything he desired to tell about Myrtles and Ledger. Yet he was now permitted to express every opinion that entered his mind, and this had occupied a great deal of time. Beas had also sought to know much more about Herman's past and future than he had yet learned, not merely from curiosity, but because he foresaw that Myrtles would not cease to question him about his blind friend. The misfortune must have produced a deep and lasting effect upon the artist's joyous nature, for his old bearing was provuded by such earnestness and dignity that years instead of months seemed to have elapsed since their separation. It was characteristic of Daphne that her lover's blindness did not alienate her from him. Yet why had not the girl, who still desired to become his wife, been able to wed the helpless man who had lost his sight? If father did not wish to be separated from his daughter, surely he could live with the young couple. A home was quickly made everywhere for the rich, and, if Archies was tired of his house in Alexandria, as Herman had intimated, there was room enough in the world for a new one. But that was the way with things here below. Man was the cause of man's misfortune. Daphne and Herman remained the same, but Archies, from an affectionate father, had become transformed into an entirely different person. If formal had been allowed to follow their inclinations, they would now be united and happy, while, because a third person so willed, they must go their way solitary and wretched. He expressed his view to his master, and insisted upon his opinion until Herman confided to him what had driven Archies from Alexandria. Patron, be a successor, was by no means satisfactory to him. Had Herman retained his side, he certainly would not have possessed him, in spite of his skill as a scribe, for the egyptian had a bad face. Oh, if home he could have been permitted to stay with his benefactor instead of this sullen man, how carefully he would have removed stones from his darkened pathway. During the voyage he was obliged to undergo severe struggles to keep the oath of secrecy imposed upon him. But purgatory threatened him with most horrible tortures, not to mention the sorceress taboos whom he was to meet. So much lessable remained unknown to Herman, because approved his master's intention of going into the desert. He had often seen the oracle of Ammon tested, and himself had experienced the healthfulness of the desert air. Besides, it made him proud to see that Herman was disposed to follow his dejectant of pitching his tent in a spot which he designated. This was at the end of the Armored Sea at Chrysma. Several trees grew there, besides small springs, and a peaceful family of amylochites raised vegetables in their little garden, situated on higher ground, watched by the desert wells. When a boy, before the doom of slavery had been pronounced upon him and his father, his mother, by the priest's advice, took him there to recover from severe attack of fever which he could not shake off amid the damp papyrus plantations surrounding his parents' house. In the dry pure air of the desert he recovered, and he would guide Herman there before returning to Myrtleus. From Tannis they reached Tannis in a few hours, and found shelter in the home of the superintendent of Arcgia's weaving establishments, whose hospitality Myrtleus and Herman had enjoyed before their installation in the White House, now burned to the ground. The Alexandria bills of exchange were paid in gold by the lease of the royal bank, who was a good friend of Herman. Toward the evening both rode to the Owl's Nest, taking the five talents with which a runaway wife intended to purchase freedom from her husband. As the men approached the central door of the parrot's house, a midi-aged, bayamite woman appeared and rudely urged them to leave the island. Tannis was weak, and refused to see visitors. But she was mistaken, for when Beas, in the dialect of his tribe, shouted loudly that the messengers from the wife of her grandson Hanno had arrived, there was a movement at the back of the room, and broken sentences gasped with difficulty expressed the old dam's wish to receive the strangers. On a sheep's wool couch, over which was spread the wolf's skin, the last gift of her son, Satebus, laid the sorcerers, who raised herself as Herman passed through the door. After his greeting she pointed to her death here and begged him to speak louder. At the same time she gazed into his eyes with a keen, penetrating glance, and interrupted him by the question. The Greek sculpture whose studio was worn over his head, and blind, blind still, in both eyes, Beas answered for his master. And you, fellow, the old dam asked, then, recollecting herself, stopped to reply on servant's lips with a hasty remark. You are the black-peered slave, a biamite. Oh, I remember perfectly. It has appeared with the burning house. Then she gazed intently and thoughtfully from one to the other, and at last pointed to Beas, muttered in a whisper. Here alone come from Hanno and Lacha, and were with them on the idra. Very well. What news have you for the old woman from the young couple? The three men began to relate what brought him to the owl's nest, and the gray-haired groaned, listened eagerly, until he said that Lacha lived unhappily with her husband, and therefore had left him. She sent back to her, as the head of Hanno's family, the brothel-dory, with which Hanno had bought her from her father as his wife. Then Thabo struggled into a little more erect posture and asked, What does this mean? The five talents and gold, not silver talents, and she sends the money to me, to me, and she ran away from her husband, but no, no. Once more. You are a biamite, repeated in our own language, and loudly. This ear is the better one. Beas obeyed, and the old dame listened to the end without interrupting him. Then, raising her brown-right hand, covered with a network of blue-black veins, she clashed it into a fist, which she shook far more violently than Beas would have believed possible in her weak condition. At the same time, she pressed her lips so tightly together, that her toothless mouth deepened into a hole, and her dim eyes show knew the keen, menacing light. For some time she found a reply, though strange, rippling, gasping sounds escaped her having breast. At last she succeeded in uttering words, and shrieked shrily. This, this, away with the golden trash, with the brothel-dory of the final rejected, and once more free, the Beas' fold thinks she would be like the captive fox that gnawed the rope. Oh, this age, this people! This, this is the art, the strong Letchia, Thor of the Biamates, who, there stands the blood-girl, the seaver, who shall admirably avenge herself. Here her voice failed, and her men began to speak to assure her that she understood Letchia's witch a right. Then he asked her for a token, by which she acknowledged the receipt of the gold, which he handed her in a stout, blinding bag. But his purpose was not fulfilled, for suddenly, flaming with passionate wrath, she thrust the purse aside, groaning. Not an oval of the accursed destruction of souls shall come back to Anno, nor even into the family's door. Until his heart and hers stopped beating, the most indesolable bond would unite both. She desires to ransom herself from a lawful marriage concluded by her father, as if she were a captive of war. Perhaps she even wants to follow another. Anno, brave Letch, was ready to go to death for her sake, and she rewards him by bringing shame on his head, and his grace on us all. Oh, these times, this world, everything that is available and wholly trampled into dust. But they are not all so. In spite of Christian infidelity, marriage is still honored among our people. But she, who mocks what is sacred, and tramples holy customs under foot, shall be accursed, executed, given over to want, hunger, disease, death. With dreadling breath and closed eyes, she leaned further back against the cushions that supported her. But Pius, in their common language, tried to soothe her, and informed her that, though Letch had probably run away from her husband, she had, by no means, renounced her vengeance. He was bringing two talents with him to place in the temple of Nemesis. Of Nemesis, repeated the old dame, then she tried to raise herself, and, as she constantly sank back again, B.S. aided her. But she had scarcely recovered her sitting posture when she gave to the freedmen. Nemesis, who helped, and is to continue to help her to destroy her foe. Well, well, five talents, a great sum, a great sum. But the more the better. To Nemesis with them, to Hattie, and the Irinias. The talents of the avenging goddess shall chew the beautiful face, the heart, and deliver the cursed one, a twofold malediction on her who has wronged the son of my Satebus. While speaking, her head nodded swiftly up and down, and when at last she bowed it thoroughly, her visitors heard her murmured names of Satebus and Anno, sometimes tenderly, sometimes mournfully. Finally, she asked whether anyone else was concerned in Letch's flight, and when she learned that a Celtic bridge-builder accompanied the fugitive wife, she again started up as a frantic, exclaiming, Yes, to Nemesis with the cold, we neither need nor wanted, and Satebus my son, he will bless me for enunciation. Here exhaustion again silenced her. She gazed mutedly and thoughtfully into vacancy, until at last, turning to bias, she became more calmly. He will see her again, man, and must tell her what decline of taboos bought with her talents. Take her, my curse, and let her know that her friends would be my foes, and her foes should find in taboos a benefactress. Then, deeply buried in thought, she again fixed her eyes on the floor, but at last she called to Ehrman, saying, You, blind Greek, am I not right? The torch was dropped into your face, and you laced sight of both eyes. The artist sent it to this question, but she bathed him sit down before her, and when he bent his face near her, she raised one leaf after the other with trembling fingers, yet lightly and skillfully gazed long and intently into his eyes and murmured, like black sati and lolasimian, and they are both cured. Can you restore me, Hermon, now as in great excitement? Answer me honestly, you experienced woman. Give me back my sight and demand whatever cold and valuable I still possess. Keep them. Taboos contemptuously interrupted. Not for gold or good will I restore you the best gift men can lose. I will cure you, because you are the person to whom the infamous wretch most ardently wished to so restrain. When she hoped to destroy you, she perceived in this deed the happiness which had been promised to her on a night when the full moon was shining. Today, this very night, this between a starter's horns round again and presently, wait a little while, presently you shall have what life restores you. Then she called the biomed woman, ordered her to bring the medicine chest, and took from it one vessel after another. The bulk she was seeking was among the last, and, while handing it to Beas, she murmured, Oh yes, certainly, it is one good to destroy a foe, but no less to make her foe happy. Turning to the freedman, she went on in a lousy chun. Earslave shall inform Hanno's wife that old Taboos gave the sculpture, whose blindness she caused, the remedy which restored the sight of Black Psarty, whom she knew. Here she paused, gaze upward, and murmured almost unintelligibly. Set up Hanno, if this is the last act of the old mother, it will give you a pleasure. Then she told Hermon to kneel again, and ordered the slave to hold the lamp, which her nostalgia adjusts life with her to earth fire. The last, she said, looking into the box. But it will be enough. The odor of the earth in the salve is as strong as if it hadn't prepared yesterday. She laid the first bandage on Hermon's eyes, with her own weak fingers, at the same time moturing an incantation. But it did not seem to satisfy her. Great excitement had taken possession of her, and as silver life with full moon shone into her room, she waved her hands before the artist's eyes, and fixed her gaze upon the threshold illuminated by the moon-beams, ejaculating sentences incomprehensible to the blind man. Bea supported her, for she had risen to a full high, and he felt how she tottered and trembled. Yet her strength held out to whisper to Hermon. Nearer, still nearer, but light of the August one, whose rays greet us, let it be said, she will see again. A wager recovery patiently in a quiet place in the pure air, north in the city, refrain from everything with which the Greeks intoxicate themselves. Shen wine, and whatever eats the blood. Recovery is coming. I see it turning near. It will see again as surely as I now curse the woman, who appended the husband to whom she vowed fatality. She rejoiced over her blindness, and she will gnash her teeth with rage and grief, when she hears that it was Tavuz who brought light into the darkness that surround you. With these words, she pushed off the fridment supporting arms, and sank back up in the couch. Again Hermon tried to thank her, but she would not permit it, and said in an almost inaudible tone, I really did not give the soft to you good. The last act of all. Finally, she mourned a few words of direction for its use, and added that he must keep the sunlight from his blind eyes by bandages and shades as if it were a cruel foe. When she passed, and Beas asked her another question, she pointed to the door, exclaiming as loudly as her weakness permitted. Go, I tell you, go! Hermon obeyed her and left her, accompanied by the fridment, who carried the box of salt so full of precious promise. The next morning, Beas delivered to the astonished priest of Nemesis the large gifts intended for the avenging goddess. Before Hermon entered the boat with him and his Egyptian slave, the fridment told this master that Gula was again living in perfect harmony with a husband who had cast her off, and Taos, Lecce's younger sister, was half of the young Biomed, who, she had feared, would give up his wooing on account of her visit to Hermon's studio. After a long voyage through the canal, which had been dug a short time before, connecting the Mediterranean with Red Sea, the three men reached the glisma. Opposite to east, on the eastern shore of the narrow northern point, at the Eurythian Sea, Red Sea, laid the call of their journey, and fitter Beas led his blind master, followed by the slave, on shore. End of Book 2, Chapter 11 Recording by Anasimau, from Pentecost, Book 2, Chapter 12 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 Joyce Martin. Arachne by George Ebers Translated by Mary J. Safford Book 2, Chapter 12 It was long since Hermon had felt so free and lighthearted as during this voyage. He firmly believed in his recovery. A few days before, he had escaped death in the royal palace as if by a miracle, and he owed his deliverance to the woman he loved. In the Temple of Nemesis at Tennis, the conviction that the goddess had ceased to persecute him took possession of his mind. True, his blind eyes had been unable to see her menacing statue, but not even the slightest thrill of horror had seized him in its presence. In Alexandria, after his departure from Proclusi's banquet, she had desisted from pursuing him. Else how would she have permitted him to escape uninjured when he was already standing upon the verge of an abyss, and a wave of her hand would have sufficed to hurl him into the death-dealing gulf? But his swift confession and the transformation which followed it had reconciled him not only with her, but also with the other gods, for they appeared to him in forms as radiant and friendly as in the days of his boyhood. When, while Bias took the helm on the long voyage through the canal and the bitter lakes, he recalled the visible world to his memory, and, from the rising sun, Phoebe, Apollo, the lord of light and purity, gazed at him from his golden chariot, drawn by four horses, and Aphrodite, the embodiment of all beauty, rose before him from the snowy foam of the azure waves. Demeter in the form of Daphne appeared, dispensing prosperity, above the swaying golden waves of the ripening grain fields, and bestowing peace beside the domestic hearth. The whole world once more seemed peopled with deities, and he felt their rule in his own breast. The place of which Bias had told him was situated on a lofty portion of the shore. Beside the springs, which there gushed from the soil of the desert, grew green palm trees and thorny acaches. Further on flourished the fragrant Bitharan. About a thousand paces from this spot the faithful freedman pitched the little tent obtained in tennis under the shade of several tall palm trees and a sea-jowl acacia. Not far from the springs lived the family of Amalekites, whom Bias had known from boyhood. They raised a few vegetables in little beds, and the men acted as guards to the caravans which came from Egypt through the peninsula of Sinai to Petra and Hebron. The daughter of the aged cheek, whose men accompanied the trains of goods, a pleasant middle-aged woman, recognized the behemite, who, when a boy, had recovered under her mother's nursing, and promised Bias to honor his blind master as a valued guest of the tribe. Not until after he had done everything in his power to render life in the wilderness adorable, and had placed a fresh bandage over his eyes would Bias leave his master. The freedman entered the boat weeping, and her men, deeply agitated, turned his face toward him. When he was left alone with his Egyptian slave, with whom he rarely exchanged a word, he fancied that amid the murmur of the waves washing the strand of his feet blended the sounds of the street which led past his house in Alexandria and with them all sorts of disagreeable memories crowded upon him, but soon he no longer heard them, and the next night brought refreshing sleep. Even on the second day he felt that the profound silence which surrounded him was a benefit, the stillness affected him like something physical. The life was certainly monotonous, and at first there were hours when the course of the new existence, so devoid of any change, oppressed him. But he experienced no tedium. His mental life was too rich, and the unburdening of his anxious soul too great a relief for that. He had shunned serious thoughts since he left the philosopher's school, but here it soon afforded him the highest pleasure, for never had his mind moved so freely, so undisturbed by any limit or obstacle. He did not need to search for what he hoped to find in the wilderness. His whole past's life passed before him as if by its own volition, all that he had ever experienced learned, thought, felt, rose before his mind with wonderful distinctness, and when he overlooked all his mental possessions, as if from a high watchtower in the bright sunshine, he began to consider how he had used the details and how he could continue to do so. Whatever he had seen incorrectly forced itself resistlessly upon him, yet here also the Greek nature deeply implanted in his soul guarded him. And it was easy for him to avoid self-torturing remorse. He only desired to utilize for improvement what he recognized as false. When in this delicious silence he listened to the contradictory demands of his intellect and his senses, it often seemed as though he was present at a discussion between two guests who were exchanging their opinions concerning the subject that occupied his mind. Here he first learned to deepen sound intellectual power and listen to the demands of the heart, or to repulse and condemn them. Ah, yes! He was still blind, but never had he observed and recognized human life at its stage down to the minutest detail which his eyes refused to show him so keenly as during those days. The phenomenal, unwavering, unwavering, unwavering the phenomena which had attracted or repelled his vision here appeared nearer and more distinctly. What he called reality, and believed he understood thoroughly and estimated correctly, now disclosed many a secret which had previously remained concealed. How defective his visual perception had been! How necessary it now seemed to subject his judgment to a new test! Doubtless a wealth of artistic subjects had come to him from the world of reality which he had placed far above everything else, but a greater and nobler one from the sphere which he had shunned as unfruitful and corrupting. As if by magic the world of ideality opened before him in this exquisite silence. He again found in his own soul the joyous creative forces of nature and the surrounding stillness increased tenfold his capacity of perceiving it. Nay, he felt as if creative energy dwelt in solitude itself. His mind had always turned toward greatness. The desire to impress his work with the stamp of his own overflowing power had carried him far beyond moderation in modeling his struggling main acts. Now, when he sought for subjects, beside the smaller and more simple ones, appeared mighty and manifold ones, often of superhuman grandeur. Oh, if a higher power would at some future day permit him to model with his strong hands this battle of the Amazons, this Phoebe Apollo, radiant in beauty and the glow of victory conquering the dragons of darkness, Arachne too returned to his mind and also Dementor, but she did not hover before him as the peaceful dispenser of blessings, the preserver of peace, but as the maternal earth goddess robbed of her daughter Procepina, how varied a meaning was this myth and he strove to follow it in every direction. Nothing more could come to the blind artist from nature by the aid of his physical vision. The realm of reality was close to him, but he had found the key to that of the ideal, and what he found in it proved to be no less true than the objects the other had offered. How rich in forms was the new world which forced itself unbidden on his imagination. He, who a short time before had believed whatever could not be touched by the hands was useless for his art, now had the choice among a hundred subjects full of glowing life which were attainable by no organ of the senses. He need fear to undertake none, if only it was worthy of representation, for he was sure of his ability and difficulty did not alarm him, but promised to lend creating for the first time its true charm. And, besides, without the interest of animated conversation, without festal scenes where, with garlanded head and intoxicating pleasure soaring upward from the dust of earth, existence had seemed to him shallow and not worth the trouble it imposed upon mortals, solitude now offered him hours as happy as he had ever experienced while reveling with gay companions. At first many things had disturbed them, especially the dissatisfied, almost gloomy disposition of his Egyptian slave, who, born in the city and accustomed to its life, founded unbearable to stay in the desert with the strange blind master who lived like a porter, and ordered him to prepare his wretched fare with the hand skilled in the use of a pen. But this living disturber of the peace was not to annoy the recluse long, scarcely a fortnight after bias's departure the slave patron, who had cost so extravagant a psalm, vanished one morning with the sculptor's money and silver cup. This rascally trick of a servant whom he had treated with almost brotherly kindness wounded Herman, but he soon regarded the morose fellow's disappearance as a benefit. When for the first time he drank water from an earthen jug instead of a silver goblet, he thought of Diogenes, who cast his cup aside when he saw a boy raise water to his lips in his hand, yet with whom the great Macedonian conqueror of the world would have changed places if he had not been Alexander, the active, merry son of bias's Amelokite friend, gladly rendered him the help and guidance for which he had been reluctant to ask his ill tempered slave, and he soon became accustomed to the simple fare of the nomads. Bread and milk, fruits and vegetables from his neighbor's little garden, satisfied him, and when the wine he had drunk was used he contended himself obedient to old Tabas's advice with pure water. As he still had several gold coins on his person and wore two costly rings on his finger he doubtless thought of sending to Calisma for meat, poultry, and wine, but he had refrained from doing so through the advice of the Amelokite woman, who anointed his eyes with Tabas's salve, and protected him by a shade of fresh leaves from the dazzling rays of the desert sun. She, like the sorceress on the owl's nest, warned him against all vians that inflamed the blood, and he willingly allowed her to take away what she and her gray-haired father, the experienced head of the tribe, pronounced detrimental to his recovery. At first the beggar's fare seemed repulsive, but he soon felt it was benefiting him after the riotous life of the last few months. One day when the Amelokite took off his bandage he thought he saw a faint glimmer of light and how his heart exalted at this faint foretaste of the pleasure of sight. In an instant hope sprung up with fresh power in his excitable soul, and his lost cheerfulness returned to him like a butterfly to the newly opened flower. The image of his beloved Daphne rose before him in sunny radiance, and he saw himself in his studio, in the service of his art. He had always been fond of children, and the little ones in the Amelokite family quickly discovered this and crowded around their blind friend, who played all sorts of games with them, and in spite of the bandage eyes over which a broad shade of green leaves could make whistles with his skilful artist hands from the reeds and willow branches they brought. He saw before him the object to which his heart still clung as distinctly as if he needed only stretch out his hand to draw it nearer. Then perhaps, surely and certainly, the Amelokite said, the time would come when he would behold it also with his bodily eyes. If the longing should be fulfilled, if his eyes were again permitted to confate to him what formerly filled his soul with a delight, yes, beauty was entitled to a higher place than truth, and if it again unfolded itself to his gaze how gladly and gratefully he would pay homage to it with his art. The hope that he might enjoy it once more now grew stronger for the glimmer of light became brighter, and one day when his skilful nurse again took the bandage from his milk-white pupils, he saw something long appear as if through a mist. It was only the thorny acacia tree at his tent, but the sight of the most beautiful of beautiful things never filled him with more joyful gratitude. Then he ordered the less valuable of his two rings to be sold to offer a sacrifice to health bestowing Isis, who had a little temple in Calisma. How fervently he now prayed also to the great Apollo, the foe of darkness and the Lord of everything light and pure! How yearningly he besought Aphrodite to bless him again with the enjoyment of eternal beauty and eras to heal the wound which his arrow had inflicted upon his heart and Daphne's, and bring them together after so much distress and need. When, after the last of another week the bandage was again removed, his inmost soul rejoiced, for Isis showed him the rippling emerald-green surface of the Red Sea and the outlines of the palms, the tents, the Amelokite woman, her boy and her two long-eared goats. How ardently he thanked the gracious deities who, in spite of Stratton's precepts, were no mere figments of human imagination, and, as if he had become a child again, poured forth his overflowing heart with mute gratitude to his mother's soul. The artist's nature, yearning to create, began to stir within more ceaselessly than ever before. Already he saw clay and wax, assuming forms beneath his skilful hands. Already he imagined himself, with fresh power and delight, cutting majestic figures from blocks of marble or, by hammering, carving, and filing, shaping them from golden ivory. And he would not take what he intended to create solely from the world of reality, perceptible to the senses. Oh, no! He desired to show through his art the loftiest of ideals. How could he still shrink from using the liberty which he had formerly rejected, the liberty of drawing from his own inner consciousness what he needed in order to bestow upon the ideal images he longed to create, the grandeur, strength, and sublimity in which he beheld them rise before his purified soul? Yet, with all this, he must remain faithful to truth. Copy from nature what he dared to represent. Every finger, every lock of hair must correspond with reality to the minutest detail, and yet the whole must be pervaded and penetrated as the blood flows through the body by the thought that filled his mind and soul. A reflected image of the ideal and of his own mood faithful to truth, free, and yet obedient to the demands of moderation. In this sentence, Hermann summed up the result of his solitary meditations upon art and works of art. Since he had found the gods again he perceived that the muse had confided to him a sacri-dotal office. He intended to perform its duties, and not only attract and please the beholder's eyes through his works, but elevate his heart and mind as beauty, truth, grandeur, and eternity uplifted his own soul. He recognized in the tireless creative power which keeps nature ever new, fresh, and bewitching, the presence of the same deity whose rule manifested itself in the life of his own soul. So long as he denied its existence he had recognized no being more powerful than himself. Now that he again felt insignificant beside it he knew himself to be stronger than ever before, that the greatest of all powers had become his ally. Now it was difficult for him to understand how he could have turned away from the deity. As an artist he too was a creator and, while he believed those who considered the universe had come into existence of itself, instead of having been created, he had robbed himself of the most sublime model. Besides the greatest charm of his noble profession was lost to him. Now he knew it and was striving toward the goal attainable by the artist alone among mortals, to hold intercourse with the deity, and by creations full of its essence elevate the world to its grandeur and beauty. One day at the end of the second month of his stay in the desert, when the amelokite woman removed the bandage, her boy, whose form he distinguished as if through a veil, suddenly exclaimed, The white cover on your eyes is melting. They are beginning to sparkle a little, and soon they will be perfectly well and you can carve the lion's head on my cane. Perhaps the artist might really have succeeded in doing so, but he forbade himself the attempt. He thought that the time for departure had now arrived, and an irresistible longing urged him back to the world and Daphne, but he could not resist the entreaties of the old sheik and his daughter not to risk what he had gained. So he continued to use the shade of leaves and allowed himself to be persuaded to defer his departure until the dimness which still prevented his seeing anything distinctly passed away. True, the beautiful piece which he had enjoyed of late was over, and besides anxiety for the dear ones in distant lands was constantly increasing. He had had no news of them for a long time, and when he imagined what fate might have overtaken Archaus and his daughter with him, if he had been carried back to the enraged king in Alexandria a terrible dread took possession of him, which scattered even joy in his wonderful recovery to the forewinds, and finally led him to the resolution to return to the world at any risk, and devote himself to those whose fate was nearer to his heart than his own wheel and well.