[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D. W. ]

ARACHNE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 5. 

While the market place in Tennis was filling, Archias's white house hadbecome a heap of smouldering ruins. Hundreds of men and women werestanding around the scene of the conflagration, but no one saw the statueof Demeter, which had been removed from Hermon's studio just in time. The nomarch had had it locked up in the neighbouring temple of thegoddess. 

It was rumoured that the divinity had saved her own statue by a miracle;Pamaut, the police officer, said that he had seen her himself as, surrounded by a brilliant light, she soared upward on the smoke thatpoured from the burning house. The strategist and the nomarch used everymeans in their power to capture the robbers, but without the leastsuccess. 

As it had become known that Paseth, Gula's husband, had cast off his wifebecause she had gone to Hermon's studio, the magistrates believed thatthe attack had been made by the Biamites; yet Paseth was absent from thecity during the assault, and the innocence of the others could also beproved. 

Since, for two entire years, piracy had entirely ceased in thisneighbourhood, no one thought of corsairs, and the bodies of theincendiaries having been consumed by the flames with the white house, it could not be ascertained to what class the marauders belonged. 

The blinded sculptor could only testify that one of the robbers was anegro, or at any rate had had his face blackened, and that the size ofanother had appeared to him almost superhuman. This circumstance gaverise to the fable that, during the terrible storm of the previous clay, Hades had opened and spirits of darkness had rushed into the studio ofthe Greek betrayer. 

The strategist, it is true, did not believe such tales, but thesuperstition of the Biamites, who, moreover, aided the Greeks reluctantlyto punish a crime which threatened to involve their own countrymen, putobstacles in the way of his measures. 

Not until he heard of Ledscha's disappearance, and was informed by thepriest of Nemesis of the handsome sum which had been found in theoffering box of the temple shortly after the attack, did he arrive at aconjecture not very far from the real state of affairs; only it was stillincomprehensible to him what body of men could have placed themselves atthe disposal of a girl's vengeful plan. 

On the second day after the fire, the epistrategus of the whole Delta, who had accidentally come to the border fortress, arrived at Tennis onthe galley of the commandant of Pelusium, and with him Proclus, thegrammateus of the Dionysian artists, the Lady Thyone, Daphne, and hercompanion Chrysilla. 

The old hero Philippus was detained in the fortress by the preparationsfor war. 

Althea had returned to Alexandria, and Philotas, who disliked her, hadgone there himself, as Chrysilla intimated to him that he could hope forno success in his suit to her ward so long as Daphne had to devoteherself to the care of the blinded Hermon. 

The epistrategus proceeded with great caution, but his efforts alsoremained futile. He ordered a report to be made of all the vessels whichhad entered the harbours and bays of the northeastern Delta, but thosecommanded by Satabus and his sons gave no cause for investigation; theyhad come into the Tanite arm of the Nile as lumber ships from Pontus, andhad discharged beams and planks for the account of a well-knowncommercial house in Sinope. 

Yet the official ordered the Owl's Nest to be searched. In doing this hemade himself guilty of an act of violence, as the island's right ofasylum still existed, and this incensed the irritable and refractoryBiamites the more violently, the deeper was the reverent awe with whichthe nation regarded Tabus, who, according to their belief, was over ahundred years old. The Biamites honoured her not only as an enchantressand a leech, but as the ancestress of a race of mighty men. By molestingthis aged woman, and interfering with an ancient privilege, theepistrategus lost the aid of the hostile fishermen, sailors, and weavers. Any information from their ranks to him was regarded as treachery; and, besides, his stay in Tennis could be but brief, as the King, on accountof the impending war, had summoned him back to the capital. 

On the third day after his arrival he left Tennis and sailed from Tanisfor Alexandria. He had had little time to attend to Thyone and herguests. 

Proclus, too, could not devote himself to them until after the departureof the epistrategus, since he had gone immediately to Tanis, where, ashead of the Dionysian artists of all Egypt, he had been occupied inattending to the affairs of the newly established theatre. 

On his return to Tennis he had instantly requested to be conducted to theTemple of Demeter, to inspect the blinded Hermon's rescued work. 

He had entered the cella of the sanctuary with the expectation of findinga peculiar, probably a powerful work, but one repugnant to his taste, andleft it fairly overpowered by the beauty of this noble work of art. 

What he had formerly seen of Hermon's productions had prejudiced himagainst the artist, whose talent was great, but who, instead ofdedicating it to the service of the beautiful and the sublime, chosesubjects which, to Proclus, did not seem worthy of artistic treatment, or, when they were, sedulously deprived them of that by which, in hiseyes, they gained genuine value. In Hermon's Olympian Banquet he--whoalso held the office of a high priest of Apollo in Alexandria--had evenseen an insult to the dignity of the deity. In the Street Boy EatingFigs, the connoisseur's eye had recognised a peculiar masterpiece, but hehad been repelled by this also; for, instead of a handsome boy, itrepresented a starving, emaciated vagabond. 

True to life as this figure might be, it seemed to him reprehensible, forit had already induced others to choose similar vulgar subjects. 

When recently at Althea's performance he had met Hermon and saw howquickly his beautiful travelling companion allowed herself to be inducedto bestow the wreath on the handsome, black-bearded fellow, it vexed him, and he had therefore treated him with distant coldness, and allowed himto perceive the disapproval which the direction taken by his art hadawakened in his mind. 

In the presence of Hermon's Demeter, the opinion of the experienced manand intelligent connoisseur had suddenly changed. 

The creator of this work was not only one of the foremost artists of hisday, nay, he had also been permitted to fathom the nature of the deityand to bestow upon it a perfect form. 

This Demeter was the most successful personification of the divinegoodness which rewards the sowing of seed with the harvest. When Hermoncreated it, Daphne's image had hovered before his mind, even if he hadnot been permitted to use her as a model, and of all the maidens whom heknew there was scarcely one better suited to serve as the type for theDemeter. 

So what he had seen in Pelusium, and learned from women, was true. Theheart and mind of the artist who had created this work were not filledwith the image of Althea--who during the journey had bestowed many a markof favour upon the aging man, and with whom he was obliged to work handin hand for Queen Arsinoe's plans--but the daughter of Archias, and thiscircumstance also aided in producing his change of view. 

Hermon's blindness, it was to be hoped, would be cured. 

Duty, and perhaps also interest, commanded him to show him frankly howhighly he estimated his art and his last work. 

After the arrival of Thyone and Daphne, Hermon had consented to accompanythem on board the Proserpina, their spacious galley. True, he hadyielded reluctantly to this arrangement of his parents' old friend, andneither she nor Daphne had hitherto succeeded in soothing the fierceresentment against fate which filled his soul after the loss of his sightand his dearest friend. As yet every attempt to induce him to bear histerrible misfortune with even a certain degree of composure had failed. 

The Tennis leech, trained by the Egyptian priests at Sais in the art ofhealing, who was attached as a pastophorus to the Temple of Isis, in thecity of weavers, had covered the artist's scorched face with bandages, and earnestly adjured him never in his absence to raise them, and to keepevery ray of light from his blinded eyes. But the agitation which hadmastered Hermon's whole being was so great that, in spite of the woman'sprotestations, he lifted the covering again and again to see whether hecould not perceive once more at least a glimmer of the sunlight whosewarming power he felt. The thought of living in darkness until the endof his life seemed unendurable, especially as now all the horrors which, hitherto, had only visited him in times of trial during the nightassailed him with never-ceasing cruelty. 

The image of the spider often forced itself upon him, and he fancied thatthe busy insect was spreading its quickly made web over his blinded eyes, which he was not to touch, yet over which he passed his hand to free themfrom the repulsive veil. 

The myth related that because Athene's blow had struck the ambitiousweaver Arachne, she had resolved, before the goddess transformed her intoa spider, to put an end to her disgrace. 

How infinitely harder was the one dealt to him! How much better reasonhe had to use the privilege in which man possesses an advantage over theimmortals, of putting himself to death with his own hand when he deemsthe fitting time has come! What should he, the artist, to whom his eyesbrought whatever made life valuable, do longer in this hideous blacknight, brightened by no sunbeam?

He was often overwhelmed, too, by the remembrance of the terrible endof the friend in whom he saw the only person who might have given himconsolation in this distress, and the painful thought of his poverty. 

He was supported solely by what his art brought and his wealthy uncleallowed him. The Demeter which Archias had ordered had been partiallypaid for in advance, and he had intended to use the gold--a considerablesum--to pay debts in Alexandria. But it was consumed with the rest ofhis property--tools, clothing, mementoes of his dead parents, and a fewbooks which contained his favourite poems and the writings of his master, Straton. 

These precious rolls had aided him to maintain the proud conviction ofowing everything which he attained or possessed solely to himself. Ithad again become perfectly clear to him that the destiny of earth-bornmortals was not directed by the gods whom men had invented after theirown likeness, in order to find causes for the effects which theyperceived, but by deaf and blind chance. Else how could even worsemisfortune, according to the opinion of most people, have befallen thepure, guiltless Myrtilus, who so deeply revered the Olympians andunderstood how to honour them so magnificently by his art, than himself, the despiser of the gods?

But was the death for which he longed a misfortune?

Was the Nemesis who had so swiftly and fully granted the fervent prayerof an ill-used girl also only an image conjured up by the power of humanimagination?

It was scarcely possible!

Yet if there was one goddess, did not that admit the probability of theexistence of all the others?

He shuddered at the idea; for if the immortals thought, felt, acted, howterribly his already cruel fate would still develop! He had denied andinsulted almost all the Olympians, and not even stirred a finger to thepraise and honour of a single one. 

What marvel if they should choose him for the target of their resentmentand revenge?

He had just believed that the heaviest misfortune which can befall a manand an artist had already stricken him. Now he felt that this, too, hadbeen an error; for, like a physical pain, he realized the collapse of theproud delusion of being independent of every power except himself, freelyand arbitrarily controlling his own destiny, owing no gratitude except tohis own might, and being compelled to yield to nothing save theenigmatical, pitiless power of eternal laws or their co-operation, soincomprehensible to the human intellect, called "chance, " which took noheed of merit or unworthiness. 

Must he, who had learned to silence and to starve every covetous desire, in order to require no gifts from his own uncle and his wealthy kinsmanand friend, and be able to continue to hold his head high, as the mostindependent of the independent, now, in addition to all his other woe, beforced to believe in powers that exercised an influence over his everyact? Must he recognise praying to them and thanking them as the demandof justice, of duty, and wisdom? Was this possible either?

And, believing himself alone, since he could not see Thyone and Daphne, who were close by him, he struck his scorched brow with his clinchedfist, because he felt like a free man who suddenly realizes that a ropewhich he can not break is bound around his hands and feet, and a giantpulls and loosens it at his pleasure. 

Yet no! Better die than become for gods and men a puppet that obeysevery jerk of visible and invisible hands. 

Starting up in violent excitement, he tore the bandage from his face andeyes, declaring, as Thyone seriously reprimanded him, that he would goaway, no matter where, and earn his daily bread at the handmill, like theblind Ethiopian slave whom he had seen in the cabinetmaker's house atTennis. 

Then Daphne spoke to him tenderly, but her soothing voice caused himkeener pain than his old friend's stern one. 

To sit still longer seemed unendurable, and, with the intention ofregaining his lost composure by pacing to and fro, he began to walk;but at the first free step he struck against the little table in front ofThyone's couch, and as it upset and the vessels containing water fellwith it, clinking and breaking, he stopped and, as if utterly crushed, groped his way back, with both arms outstretched, to the armchair he hadquitted. 

If he could only have seen Daphne press her handkerchief first to hereyes, from which tears were streaming, and then to her lips, that hemight not hear her sobs, if he could have perceived how Thyone's wrinkledold face contracted as if she were swallowing a colocynth apple, while atthe same time she patted his strong shoulder briskly, exclaiming withforced cheerfulness: "Go on, my boy! The steed rears when the hornetstings! Try again, if it only soothes you! We will take everything outof your way. You need not mind the water-jars. The potter will make newones!"

Then Hermon threw back his burning head, rested it against the back ofthe chair, and did not stir until the bandage was renewed. 

How comfortable it felt!

He knew, too, that he owed it to Daphne; the matron's fingers could notbe so slender and delicate, and he would have been more than glad toraise them to his lips and thank her; but he denied himself the pleasure. 

If she really did love him, the bond between them must now be severed;for, even if her goodness of heart extended far enough to induce her tounite her blooming young existence to his crippled one, how could he haveaccepted the sacrifice without humiliating himself? Whether such amarriage would have made her happy or miserable he did not ask, but hewas all the more keenly aware that if, in this condition, he became herhusband, he would be the recipient of alms, and he would far rather, hementally repeated, share the fate of the negro at the handmill. 

The expression of his features revealed the current of his thoughts toDaphne, and, much as she wished to speak to him, she forced herself toremain silent, that the tones of her voice might not betray how deeplyshe was suffering with him; but he himself now longed for a kind wordfrom her lips, and he had just asked if she was still there when Thyoneannounced a visit from the grammateus Proclus. 

He had recently felt that this man was unfriendly to him, and again hisanger burst forth. To be exposed in the midst of his misery to the scornof a despiser of his art was too much for his exhausted patience. 

But here he was interrupted by Proclus himself, who had entered thedarkened cabin where the blind man remained very soon after Thyone. 

Hermon's last words had betrayed to the experienced courtier how wellhe remembered his unkind remarks, so he deferred the expression of hisapproval, and began by delivering the farewell message of theepistrategus, who had been summoned away so quickly. 

He stated that his investigations had discovered nothing of importance, except, perhaps, the confirmation of the sorrowful apprehension that theadmirable Myrtilus had been killed by the marauders. A carved stone hadbeen found under the ashes, and Chello, the Tennis goldsmith, said he hadhad in his own workshop the gem set in the hapless artist's shoulderclasp, and supplied it with a new pin. 

While speaking, he took Hermon's hand and gave him the stone, but theartist instantly used his finger tips to feel it. 

Perhaps it really did belong to the clasp Myrtilus wore, for, althoughstill unpractised in groping, he recognised that a human head was carvedin relief upon the stone, and Mrytilus's had been adorned with thelikeness of the Epicurean. 

The damaged little work of art, in the opinion of Proclus and Daphne, appeared to represent this philosopher, and at the thought that hisfriend had fallen a victim to the flames Hermon bowed his head andexerted all his strength of will in order not to betray by violent sobshow deeply this idea pierced his heart. 

Thyone, shrugging her shoulders mournfully, pointed to the sufferingartist. Proclus nodded significantly, and, moving nearer to Hermon, informed him that he had sought out his Demeter and found the statueuninjured. He was well aware that it would be presumptuous to offerconsolation in so heavy an affliction, and after the loss of his dearestfriend, yet perhaps Hermon would be glad to hear his assurance that he, whose judgment was certainly not unpractised, numbered his work among themost perfect which the sculptor's art had created in recent years. 

"I myself best know the value of this Demeter, " the sculptor broke inharshly. "Your praise is the bit of honey which is put into the mouth ofthe hurt child. "

"No, my friend, " Proclus protested with grave decision. "I shouldexpress no less warmly the ardent admiration with which this noble figureof the goddess fills me if you were well and still possessed your sight. You were right just now when you alluded to my aversion, or, let us say, lack of appreciation of the individuality of your art; but this noblework changes everything, and nothing affords me more pleasure than that Iam to be the first to assure you how magnificently you have succeeded inthis statue. "

"The first!" Hermon again interrupted harshly. "But the second andthird will be lacking in Alexandria. What a pleasure it is to pour thegifts of sympathy upon one to whom we wish ill! But, however successfulmy Demeter may be, you would have awarded the prize twice over to the oneby Myrtilus. "

"Wrong, my young friend!" the statesman protested with honest zeal. "All honour to the great dead, whose end was so lamentable; but in thiscontest--let me swear it by the goddess herself!--you would have remainedvictor; for, at the utmost, nothing can rank with the incomparable savea work of equal merit, and--I know life and art--two artists rarely ornever succeed in producing anything so perfect as this masterpiece at thesame time and in the same place. "

"Enough!" gasped Hermon, hoarse with excitement; but Proclus, withincreasing animation, continued: "Brief as is our acquaintance, you haveprobably perceived that I do not belong to the class of flatterers, andin Alexandria it has hardly remained unknown to you that the youngerartists number me, to whom the office of judge so often falls, among thesterner critics. Only because I desire their best good do I franklypoint out their errors. The multitude provides the praise. It will soonflow upon you also in torrents, I can see its approach, and as thisblindness, if the august Aesculapius and healing Isis aid, will pass awaylike a dreary winter night, it would seem to me criminal to deceive youabout your own ability and success. I already behold you creating otherworks to the delight of gods and men; but this Demeter extorts boundless, enthusiastic appreciation; both as a whole, and in detail, it isfaultless and worthy of the most ardent praise. Oh, how long it is, my dear, unfortunate friend, since I could congratulate any otherAlexandrian with such joyful confidence upon the most magnificentsuccess! Every word--you may believe it!--which comes to you incommendation of this last work from lips unused to eulogy is sincerelymeant, and as I utter it to you I shall repeat it in the presence of theKing, Archias, and the other judges. "

Daphne, with hurried breath, deeply flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes, had fairly hung upon the lips of the clever connoisseur. She knewProclus, and his dreaded, absolutely inconsiderate acuteness, and wasaware that this praise expressed his deepest conviction. Had he beendissatisfied with the statue of Demeter, or even merely superficiallytouched by its beauty, he might have shrunk from wounding the unfortunateartist by censure, and remained silent; but only something grand, consummate, could lead him to such warmth of recognition. 

She now felt it a misfortune that she and Thyone had hitherto beenprevented, by anxiety for their patient, from admiring his work. Had itstill been light, she would have gone to the temple of Demeter at once;but the sun had just set, and Proclus was obliged to beg her to havepatience. 

As the cases were standing finished at the cabinetmaker's, the statue hadbeen packed immediately, under his own direction, and carried on boardhis ship, which would convey it with him to the capital the next day. 

While this arrangement called forth loud expressions of regret fromDaphne and the vivacious matron, Hermon assented to it, for it would atleast secure the ladies, until their arrival in Alexandria, from apainful disappointment. 

"Rather, " Proclus protested with firm dissent, "it will rob you for sometime of a great pleasure, and you, noble daughter of Archias, probably ofthe deepest emotion of gratitude with which the favour of the immortalshas hitherto rendered you happy; yet the master who created this genuinegoddess owes the best part of it to your own face. "

"He told me himself that he thought of me while at work, " Daphneadmitted, and a flood of the warmest love reached Hermon's ears in heragitated tones, while, greatly perplexed, he wondered with increasinganxiety whether the stern critic Proclus had really been serious in theextravagant eulogium, so alien to his reputation in the city. 

Myrtilus, too, had admired the head of his Demeter, and--this he himselfmight admit--he had succeeded in it, and yet ought not the figure, withits too pronounced inclination forward, which, it is true, correspondedwith Daphne's usual bearing, and the somewhat angular bend of the arms, have induced this keen-sighted connoisseur to moderate the exalted strainof his praise? Or was the whole really so admirable that it would haveseemed petty to find fault with the less successful details? At anyrate, Proclus's eulogy ought to give him twofold pleasure, because hisart had formerly repelled him, and Hermon tried to let it produce thiseffect upon him. But it would not do; he was continually overpowered bythe feeling that under the enthusiastic homage of the intriguing QueenArsinoe's favourite lurked a sting which he should some day feel. Orcould Proclus have been persuaded by Thyone and Daphne to help themreconcile the hapless blind man to his hard fate?

Hermon's every movement betrayed the great anxiety which filled his mind, and it by no means escaped Proclus's attention, but he attributed it tothe blinded sculptor's anguish in being prevented, after so great asuccess, from pursuing his art further. 

Sincerely touched, he laid his slender hand on the sufferer's musculararm, saying: "A more severe trial than yours, my young friend, canscarcely be imposed upon the artist who has just attained the highestgoal, but three things warrant you to hope for recovery--your vigorousyouth, the skill of our Alexandrian leeches, and the favour of theimmortal gods. You shrug your shoulders? Yet I insist that you have wonthis favour by your Demeter. True, you owe it less to yourself than toyonder maiden. What pleasure it affords one whom, like myself, taste andoffice bind to the arts, to perceive such a revolution in an artist'scourse of creation, and trace it to its source! I indulged myself in itand, if you will listen, I should like to show you the result. "

"Speak, " replied Hermon dully, bowing his head as if submitting to theinevitable, while Proclus began:

"Hitherto your art imitated, not without success, what your eyes showedyou, and if this was filled with the warm breath of life, your worksucceeded. All respect to your Boy Eating Figs, in whose presence youwould feel the pleasure he himself enjoyed while consuming the sweetfruit. Here, among the works of Egyptian antiquity, there is imminentdanger of falling under the tyranny of the canon of proportions which canbe expressed in figures, or merely even the demands of the style hallowedby thousands of years, but in a subject like the 'Fig-eater' such areproach is not to be feared. He speaks his own intelligible language, and whoever reproduces it without turning to the right or left has won, for he has created a work whose value every true friend of art, no matterto what school he belongs, prizes highly. 

"To me personally such works of living reality are cordially welcome. Yet art neither can nor will be satisfied with snatches of what isclose at hand; but you are late-born, sons of a time when the two greattendencies of art have nearly reached the limits of what is attainableto them. You were everywhere confronted with completed work, and youare right when you refuse to sink to mere imitators of earlier works, and therefore return to Nature, with which we Hellenes, and perhaps theEgyptians also, began. The latter forgot her; the former--we Greeks--continued to cling to her closely. "

"Some few, " Hermon eagerly interrupted the other, "still think it worththe trouble to take from her what she alone can bestow. They savethemselves the toilsome search for the model which others so successfullyused before them, and bronze and marble still keep wonderfully well. Bring out the old masterpieces. Take the head from this one, the armfrom that, etc. The pupil impresses the proportions on his mind. Onlyso far as the longing for the beautiful permits do even the better onesremain faithful to Nature, not a finger's breadth more. "

"Quite right, " the other went on calmly. "But your objection onlybrings one nearer the goal. How many who care only for applause contentthemselves to-day, unfortunately, with Nature at second hand! Withoutreturning to her eternally fresh, inexhaustible spring, they draw fromthe conveniently accessible wells which the great ancients dug for them. "

"I know these many, " Hermon wrathfully exclaimed. "They are the brothersof the Homeric poets, who take verses from the Iliad and Odyssey to pieceout from them their own pitiful poems. "

"Excellent, my son!" exclaimed Thyone, laughing, and Daphne remarked thatthe poet Cleon had surprised her father with such a poem a few weeksbefore. It was a marvellous bit of botchwork, and yet there was acertain meaning in the production, compiled solely from Homeric verses. 

"Diomed's Hecuba, " observed Proclus, "and the Aphrodite by Hippias, whichwere executed in marble, originated in the same way, and deserve nobetter fate, although they please the great multitude. But, praised bemy lord, Apollo, our age can also boast of other artists. Filled withthe spirit of the god, they are able to model truthfully and faithfullyeven the forms of the immortals invisible to the physical eye. Theystand before the spectator as if borrowed from Nature, for their creatorshave filled them with their own healthy vigour. Our poor Myrtilusbelonged to this class and, after your Demeter, the world will includeyou in it also. "

"And yet, " answered Hermon in a tone of dissent, "I remained faithful tomyself, and put nothing, nothing at all of my own personality, into theforms borrowed from Nature. "

"What need of that was there?" asked Proclus with a subtle smile. "Yourmodel spared you the task. And this at last brings me to the goal Idesired to reach. As the great Athenians created types for eternity, soalso does Nature at times in a happy hour, for her own pleasure, and sucha model you found in our Daphne. -No contradiction, my dear young lady!The outlines of the figure--By the dog! Hermon might possibly havefound forms no less beautiful in the Aphrosion, but how charming andlifelike is the somewhat unusual yet graceful pose of yours! And thenthe heart, the soul! In your companionship our artist had nothing to doexcept lovingly to share your feelings in order to have at his disposaleverything which renders so dear to us all the giver of bread, thepreserver of peace, the protector of marriage, the creator and supporterof the law of moderation in Nature, as well as in human existence. Wherewould all these traits be found more perfectly united in a single humanbeing than in your person, Daphne, your quiet, kindly rule?"

"Oh, stop!" the girl entreated. "I am only too well aware--"

"That you also are not free from human frailties, " Proclus continued, undismayed. "We will take them, great or small as they may be, into thebargain. The secret ones do not concern the sculptor, who does not orwill not see them. What he perceives in you, what you enable him torecognise through every feature of your sweet, tranquillizing face, isenough for the genuine artist to imagine the goddess; for the distinctionbetween the mortal and the immortal is only the degree of perfection, andthe human intellect and artist soul can find nothing more perfect in thewhole domain of Demeter's jurisdiction than is presented to them in yournature. Our friend yonder seized it, and his magnificent work of artproves how nearly it approaches the purest and loftiest conception weform of the goddess whom he had to represent. It is not that he deifiedyou, Daphne; he merely bestowed on the divinity forms which he recognisedin you. "

Just at that moment, obeying an uncontrollable impulse, Hermon pulled thebandage from his eyes to see once more the woman to whom this warm homagewas paid. 

Was the experienced connoisseur of art and the artist soul in the right?

He had told himself the same thing when he selected Daphne for a model, and her head reproduced what Proclus praised as the common possession ofDaphne and Demeter. Truthful Myrtilus had also seen it. Perhaps hiswork had really been so marvellously successful because, while he wasengaged upon it, his friend had constantly stood before his mind in allthe charm of her inexhaustible goodness. 

Animated by the ardent desire to gaze once more at the beloved face, towhich he now owed also this unexpectedly great success, he turned towardthe spot whence her voice had reached him; but a wall of violet mist, dotted with black specks, was all that his blinded eyes showed him, andwith a low groan he drew the linen cloth over the burns. 

This time Proclus also perceived what was passing in the poor artist'smind, and when he took leave of him it was with the resolve to do hisutmost to brighten with the stars of recognition and renown the darknight of suffering which enshrouded this highly gifted sculptor, whoseunexpectedly great modesty had prepossessed him still more in his favour. 

CHAPTER II. 

After the grammateus had retired, Daphne insisted upon leaving Tennis thenext day. 

The desire to see Hermon's masterpiece drew her back to Alexandria evenmore strongly than the knowledge of being missed by her father. 

Only the separation from Thyone rendered the departure difficult, for themotherless girl had found in her something for which she had longyearned, and most sorely missed in her companion Chrysilla, who fromexpediency approved of everything she did or said. 

The matron, too, had become warmly attached to Daphne, and would gladlyhave done all that lay in her power to lighten Hermon's sad fate, yet shepersisted in her determination to return speedily to her old husband inPelusium. 

But she did not fully realize how difficult this departure would be forher until the blind man, after a long silence, asked whether it wasnight, if the stars were in the sky, and if she really intended to leavehim. 

Then burning sympathy filled her compassionate soul, and she could nolonger restrain her tears. Daphne, too, covered her face, and imposedthe strongest restraint upon herself that she might not sob aloud. 

So it seemed a boon to both when Hermon expressed the desire to spendpart of the night on deck. 

This desire contained a summons to action, and to be able to bestirthemselves in useful service appeared like a favour to Thyone and Daphne. 

Without calling upon a slave, a female servant, or even Chrysilla for thesmallest office, the two prepared a couch on deck for the blind man, and, leaning on the girl's stronger arm, he went up into the open air. 

There he stretched both arms heavenward, inhaled deep breaths of the coolnight breeze, and thirstily emptied the goblet of wine which Daphne mixedand gave him with her own hand. 

Then, with a sigh of relief, he said: "Everything has not grown blackyet. A delightful feeling of pleasure takes possession even of the blindman when the open air refreshes him and the wine warms his blood in thesunshine of your kindness. "

"And much better things are still in prospect, " Daphne assured him. "Just think what rapture it will be when you are permitted to see thelight again after so long a period of darkness!"

"When--" repeated Hermon, his head drooping as he spoke. 

"It must, it must be so!" rang with confident assurance from Thyone'slips. 

"And then, " added Daphne, gazing sometimes upward to the firmament strewnwith shining stars, sometimes across the broad, rippling expanse of thewater, in which the reflection of the heavenly bodies shimmered inglittering, silvery radiance, "yes, Hermon, who would not be glad toexchange with you then? You may shake your head, but I would take yourplace quickly and with joyous courage. There is a proof of the existenceof the gods, which so exactly suits the hour when you will again see, enjoy, admire what this dreary darkness now hides from you. It was aphilosopher who used it; I no longer know which one. How often I havethought of it since this cruel misfortune befell you! And now--"

"Go on, " Hermon interrupted with a smile of superiority. "You arethinking of Aristotle's man who grew up in a dark cave. The conditionswhich must precede the devout astonishment of the liberated youth when hefirst emerged into the light and the verdant world would certainly existin me. "

"Oh, not in that way, " pleaded the wounded girl; and Thyone exclaimed:"What is the story of the man you mention? We don't talk about Aristotleand such subjects in Pelusium. "

"Perhaps they are only too much discussed in Alexandria, " said the blindartist. "The Stagirite, as you have just heard, seeks to prove theexistence of the gods by the man of whom I spoke. "

"No, he does prove it, " protested Daphne. "Just listen, Mother Thyone. A little boy grows up from earliest childhood into a youth in a darkcave. Then suddenly its doors are opened to him. For the first time hesees the sun, moon, and stars, flowers and trees, perhaps even abeautiful human face. But at the moment when all these things rush uponhim like so many incomprehensible marvels, must he not ask himself whocreated all this magnificence? And the answer which comes to him--"

"There is only one, " cried the matron; "the omnipotent gods. Do youshrug your shoulders at that, son of the pious Erigone? Why, of course!The child who still feels the blows probably rebels against his earthlyfather. But if I see aright, the resentment will not last when you, likethe man, go out of the cave and your darkness also passes away. Then thepower from which you turned defiantly will force itself upon you, and youwill raise your hands in grateful prayer to the rescuing divinity. As tous women, we need not be drawn out of a cave to recognise it. A motherwho reared three stalwart sons--I will say nothing of the daughters--cannot live without them. Why are they so necessary to her? Because welove our children twice as much as ourselves, and the danger whichthreatens them alarms the poor mother's heart thrice as much as her own. Then it needs the helping powers. Even though they often refuse theiraid, we may still be grateful for the expectation of relief. I havepoured forth many prayers for the three, I assure you, and after doing sowith my whole soul, then, my son, no matter how wildly the storm hadraged within my breast, calmness returned, and Hope again took her placeat the helm. In the school of the denier of the gods, you forgot theimmortals above and depended on yourself alone. Now you need a guide, or even two or three of them, in order to find the way. If your motherwere still alive, you would run back to her to hide your face in her lap. But she is dead, and if I were as proud as you, before clasping thesustaining hand of another mortal I would first try whether one would notbe voluntarily extended from among the Olympians. If I were you, I wouldbegin with Demeter, whom you honoured by so marvellous a work. "

Hermon waved his hand as if brushing away a troublesome fly, exclaimingimpatiently: "The gods, always the gods! I know by my own mother, Thyone, what you women are, though I was only seven years old when Iwas bereft of her by the same powers that you call good and wise, and whohave also robbed me of my eyesight, my friend, and all else that wasdear. I thank you for your kind intention, and you, too, Daphne, forrecalling the beautiful allegory. How often we have argued over itsmeaning! If we continued the discussion, perhaps it might pleasantlyshorten the next few hours, which I dread as I do my whole futureexistence, but I should be obliged in the outset to yield the victory toyou. The great Herophilus is right when he transfers the seat of thoughtfrom the heart to the head. What a wild tumult is raging here behind mybrow, and how one voice drowns another! The medley baffles description. I could more easily count with my blind eyes the cells in a honeycombthan refute with my bewildered brain even one shrewd objection. It seemsto me that we need our eyes to understand things. We certainly do totaste. Whatever I eat and drink--langustae and melons, light Mareoticwine and the dark liquor of Byblus my tongue can scarcely distinguish it. The leech assures me that this will pass away, but until the chaos withinmerges into endurable order there is nothing better for me than solitudeand rest, rest, rest. "

"We will not deny them to you, " replied Thyone, glancing significantly atDaphne. "Proclus's enthusiastic judgment was sincerely meant. Begin byrejoicing over it in the inmost depths of your heart, and vividlyimagining what a wealth of exquisite joys will be yours through your lastmasterpiece. "

"Willingly, if I can, " replied the blind man, gratefully extending hishand. "If I could only escape the doubt whether the most cruel tyrantcould devise anything baser than to rob the artist, the very person towhom it is everything, of his sight. "

"Yes, it is terrible, " Daphne assented. "Yet it seems to me that aricher compensation for the lost gift is at the disposal of you artiststhan of us other mortals, for you understand how to look with the eyes ofthe soul. With them you retain what you have seen, and illumine it witha special radiance. Homer was blind, and for that very reason, I think, the world and life became clear and transfigured for him though a veilconcealed both from his physical vision. "

"The poet!" Hermon exclaimed. "He draws from his own soul what sight, and sight alone, brings to us sculptors. And, besides, his spiritremained free from the horrible darkness that assailed mine. Joy itself, Daphne, has lost its illuminating power within. What, girl, what is tobecome of the heart in which even hope was destroyed?"

"Defend it manfully and keep up your courage, " she answered softly; buthe pressed her hand firmly, and, in order not to betray how self-compassion was melting his own soul, burst forth impetuously: "Sayrather: Crush the wish whose fulfilment is self-humiliation! I will goback to Alexandria. Even the blind and crippled can find ways to earntheir bread there. Now grant me rest, and leave me alone!"

Thyone drew the girl away with her into the ship's cabin. 

A short time after, the steward Gras went to Hermon to entreat him toyield to Thyone's entreaties and leave the deck. 

The leech had directed the sufferer to protect himself from draughts anddampness, and the cool night mists were rising more and more densely fromthe water. 

Hermon doubtless felt them, but the thought of returning to the closecabin was unendurable. He fancied that his torturing thoughts wouldstifle him in the gloom where even fresh air was denied him. 

He allowed the careful Bithynian to throw a coverlet over him and drawthe hood of his cloak over his head, but his entreaties and warnings werefutile. 

The steward's watchful nursing reminded Hermon of his own solicitude forhis friend and of his faithful slave Bias, both of whom he had lost. Then he remembered the eulogy of the grammateus, and it brought up thequestion whether Myrtilus would have agreed with him. Like Proclus, hiskeen-sighted and honest friend had called Daphne the best model for thekindly goddess. He, too, had given to his statue the features of thedaughter of Archias, and admitted that he had been less successful. Butthe figure! Perhaps he, Hermon, in his perpetual dissatisfaction withhimself had condemned his own work too severely, but that it lacked theproper harmony had escaped neither Myrtilus nor himself. Now he recalledthe whole creation to his remembrance, and its weaknesses forcedthemselves upon him so strongly and objectionably that the extravagantpraise of the stern critic awakened fresh doubts in his mind. 

Yet a man like the grammateus, who on the morrow or the day following itwould be obliged to repeat his opinion before the King and the judges, certainly would not have allowed himself to be carried away by merecompassion to so great a falsification of his judgment. 

Or was he himself sharing the experience of many a fellow-artist? Howoften the creator deceived himself concerning the value of his own work!He had expected the greatest success from his Polyphemus hurling the rockat Odysseus escaping in the boat, and a gigantic smith had posed for amodel. Yet the judges had condemned it in the severest manner as a workfar exceeding the bounds of moderation, and arousing positive dislike. The clay figure had not been executed in stone or metal, and crumbledaway. The opposite would probably now happen with the Demeter. Herbending attitude had seemed to him daring, nay, hazardous; but the acutecritic Proclus had perceived that it was in accord with one of Daphne'shabits, and therefore numbered it among the excellences of the statue. 

If the judges who awarded the prize agreed with the verdict of thegrammateus, he must accustom himself to value his own work higher, perhaps even above that of Myrtilus. 

But was this possible?

He saw his friend's Demeter as though it was standing before him, andagain he recognised in it the noblest masterpiece its maker had evercreated. What praise this marvellous work would have deserved if his ownreally merited such high encomiums!

Suddenly an idea came to him, which at first he rejected asinconceivable; but it would not allow itself to be thrust aside, and itsconsideration made his breath fail. 

What if his own Demeter had been destroyed and Myrtilus's statue saved?If the latter was falsely believed to be his work, then Proclus'sjudgment was explained--then--then---

Seized by a torturing anguish, he groaned aloud, and the steward Grasinquired what he wanted. 

Hermon hastily grasped the Bithynian's arm, and asked what he knew aboutthe rescue of his statue. 

The answer was by no means satisfying. Gras had only heard that, afterbeing found uninjured in his studio, it had been dragged with greatexertion into the open air. The goldsmith Chello had directed the work. 

Hermon remembered all this himself, yet, with an imperious curtness inmarked contrast to his usual pleasant manner to this worthy servant, hehoarsely commanded him to bring Chello to him early the next morning, andthen again relapsed into his solitary meditations. 

If the terrible conjecture which had just entered his mind should beconfirmed, no course remained save to extinguish the only new light whichnow illumined the darkness of his night, or to become a cheat. 

Yet his resolution was instantly formed. If the goldsmith corroboratedhis fear, he would publicly attribute the rescued work to the man whocreated it. And he persisted in this intention, indignantly silencingthe secret voice which strove to shake it. It temptingly urged thatMyrtilus, so rich in successes, needed no new garland. His lost sightwould permit him, Hermon, from reaping fresh laurels, and his friendwould so gladly bestow this one upon him. But he angrily closed his earsto these enticements, and felt it a humiliation that they dared toapproach him. 

With proud self-reliance he threw back his head, saying to himself that, though Myrtilus should permit him ten times over to deck him self withhis feathers, he would reject them. He would remain himself, and wasconscious of possessing powers which perhaps surpassed his friend's. He was as well qualified to create a genuine work of art as the bestsculptor, only hitherto the Muse had denied him success in awakeningpleasure, and blindness would put an end to creating anything of his own. 

The more vividly he recalled to memory his own work and his friend's, the more probable appeared his disquieting supposition. 

He also saw Myrtilus's figure before him, and in imagination heard hisfriend again promise that, with the Arachne, he would wrest the prizeeven from him. 

During the terrible events of the last hours he had thought but seldomand briefly of the weaver, whom it had seemed a rare piece of goodfortune to be permitted to represent. Now the remembrance of her tookpossession of his soul with fresh power. 

The image of Arachne illumined by the lamplight, which Althea had showedhim, appeared like worthless jugglery, and he soon drove it back into thedarkness which surrounded him. Ledscha's figure, however, rose beforehim all the more radiantly. The desire to possess her had flown to thefour winds; but he thought he had never before beheld anything morepeculiar, more powerful, or better worth modelling than the Biamitegirl as he saw her in the Temple of Nemesis, with uplifted hand, invokingthe vengeance of the goddess upon him, and there--he discovered it now--Daphne was not at all mistaken. Images never presented themselves asdistinctly to those who could see as to the blind man in his darkness. If he was ever permitted to receive his sight, what a statue of theavenging goddess he could create from this greatest event in the historyof his vision!

After this work--of that he was sure--he would no longer need theborrowed fame which, moreover, he rejected with honest indignation. 

CHAPTER III. 

It must be late, for Hermon felt the cool breeze, which in this regionrose between midnight and sunrise, on his burned face and, shivering, drew his mantle closer round him. 

Yet it seemed impossible to return to the cabin; the memory of Ledschaimploring vengeance, and the stern image of the avenging goddess in thecella of the little Temple of Nemesis, completely mastered him. In theclose cabin these terrible visions, united with the fear of having reapedundeserved praise, would have crouched upon his breast like harpies andstifled or driven him mad. After what had happened, to number the swiftgranting of the insulted Biamite's prayer among the freaks of chance wasprobably a more arbitrary and foolish proceeding than, with so manyothers, to recognise the incomprehensible power of Nemesis. Ledscha hadloosed it against him and his health, perhaps even his life, and heimagined that she was standing before him with the bridle and wheel, threatening him afresh. 

Shivering, as if chilled to the bone, overwhelmed by intense horror, he turned his blinded eyes upward to the blackness above and raised hishand, for the first time since he had joined the pupils of Straton in theMuseum, to pray. He besought Nemesis to be content, and not add toblindness new tortures to augment the terrible ones which rent his soul, and he did so with all the ardour of his passionate nature. 

The steward Gras had received orders to wake the Lady Thyone if anythingunusual happened to the blind man, and when he heard the unfortunateartist groan so pitifully that it would have moved a stone, and saw himraise his hand despairingly to his head, he thought it was time to utterwords of consolation, and a short time after the anxious matron followedhim. 

Her low exclamation startled Hermon. To be disturbed in the firstprayer after so long a time, in the midst of the cries of distress of adespairing soul, is scarcely endurable, and the blind man imposed littlerestraint upon himself when his old friend asked what had occurred, andurged him not to expose himself longer to the damp night air. 

At first he resolutely resisted, declaring that he should lose his sensesalone in the close cabin. 

Then, in her cordial, simple way, she offered to bear him company in thecabin. She could not sleep longer, at any rate; she must leave him earlyin the morning, and they still had many things to confide to each other. 

Touched by so much kindness, he yielded and, leaning on the Bithynian'sarm, followed her, not into his little cabin, but into the captain'sspacious sitting room. 

Only a single lamp dimly lighted the wainscoting, composed of ebony, ivory, and tortoise shell, the gay rug carpet, and the giraffe andpanther skins hung on the walls and doors and flung on the couches andthe floor. 

Thyone needed no brilliant illumination for this conversation, and theblinded man was ordered to avoid it. 

The matron was glad to be permitted to communicate to Hermon so speedilyall that filled her own heart. 

While he remained on deck, she had gone to Daphne's cabin. 

She had already retired, and when Thyone went to the side of the couchshe found the girl, with her cheeks wet with tears, still weeping, andeasily succeeded in leading the motherless maiden to make a frankconfession. 

Both cousins had been dear to her from childhood; but while Myrtilus, though often impeded by his pitiable sufferings, had reached by a smoothpathway the highest recognition, Hermon's impetuous toiling and strivinghad constantly compelled her to watch his course with anxious solicitudeand, often unobserved, extend a helping hand. 

Sympathy, disapproval, and fear, which, however, was always blended withadmiration of his transcendent powers, had merged into love. Though hehad disdained to return it, it had nevertheless been perfectly evidentthat he needed her, and valued her and her opinion. Often as their viewsdiffered, the obstinate boy and youth had never allowed any one exceptherself a strong influence over his acts and conduct. But, far as heseemed to wander from the paths which she believed the right ones, shehad always held fast to the conviction that he was a man of noble nature, and an artist who, if he only once fixed his eyes upon the true goal, would far surpass by his mighty power the other Alexandrian sculptors, whatever names they bore, and perhaps even Myrtilus. 

To the great vexation of her father who, after her mother's death, in anhour when his heart was softened, had promised that he would never imposeany constraint upon her in the choice of a husband, she had hithertorejected every suitor. She had showed even the distinguished Philotas inPelusium, without the least reserve, that he was seeking her in vain; forjust at that time she thought she had perceived that Hermon returned herlove, and after his abrupt departure it had become perfectly evident thatthe happiness of her life depended upon him. 

The terrible misfortune which had now befallen him had only bound hermore firmly to the man she loved. She felt that she belonged to himindissolubly, and the leech's positive assurance that his blindness wasincurable had only increased the magic of the thought of being andaffording tenfold more to the man bereft of sight than when, possessinghis vision, the world, life, and art belonged to him. To be able tolavish everything upon the most beloved of mortals, and do whatever herwarm, ever-helpful heart prompted, seemed to her a special favour of thegods in whom she believed. 

That it was Demeter, to the ranks of whose priestesses she belonged, whowas so closely associated with his blinding, also seemed to her no merework of chance. The goddess on whom Hermon had bestowed the features ofher own face had deprived him of sight to confer upon her the happinessof brightening and beautifying the darkness of his life. 

If she saw aright, and it was only the fear of obtaining, with herself, her wealth, that still kept him from her, the path which would finallyunite them must be found at last. She hoped to conquer also her father'sreluctance to give his only child in marriage to a blind man, especiallyas Hermon's last work promised to give him the right to rank with thebest artists of his age. 

The matron had listened to this confession with an agitated heart. She had transported herself in imagination into the soul of the girl'smother, and brought before her mind what objections the dead woman wouldhave made to her daughter's union with a man deprived of sight; butDaphne had firmly insisted upon her wish, and supported it by many asensible and surprising answer. She was beyond childhood, and her three-and-twenty years enabled her to realize the consequences which so unusuala marriage threatened to entail. 

As for Thyone herself, she was always disposed to look on the brightside, and the thought that this vigorous young man, this artist crownedwith the highest success, must remain in darkness to the end of his life, was utterly incompatible with her belief in the goodness of the gods. But if Hermon was cured, a rare wealth of the greatest happiness awaitedhim in the union with Daphne. 

The mood in which she found the blind man had wounded and troubled her. Now she renewed the bandage, saying: "How gladly I would continue to usemy old hands for you, but this will be the last time in a long while thatI am permitted to do this for the son of my Erigone; I must leave youto-morrow. "

Hermon clasped her hand closely, exclaiming with affectionate warmth:"You must not go, Thyone! Stay here, even if it is only a few dayslonger. "

What pleasure these words gave her, and how gladly she would havefulfilled his wish! But it could not be, and he did not venture todetain her by fresh entreaties after she had described how her agedhusband was suffering from her absence. 

"I often ask myself what he still finds in me, " she said. "True, so longa period of wedded life is a firm tie. If I am gone and he does not findme when he returns home from inspections, he wanders about as if lost, and does not even relish his food, though the same cook has prepared itfor years. And he, who forgets nothing and knows by name a large numberof the many thousand men he commands, would very probably, when I amaway, join the troops with only sandals on his feet. To miss my ugly oldface really can not be so difficult! When he wooed me, of course Ilooked very different. And so--he confessed it himself--so he alwayssees me, and most plainly when I am absent from his sight. But that, Hermon, will be your good fortune also. All you now know as young andbeautiful will continue so to you as long as this sorrowful blindnesslasts, and on that very account you must not remain alone, my boy--thatis, if your heart has already decided in favour of any one--and that isthe case, unless these old eyes deceive me. "

"Daphne, " he answered dejectedly, "why should I deny that she is dear tome? And yet, how dare the blind man take upon himself the sin of bindingher young life--"

"Stop! stop!" Thyone interrupted with eager warmth. "She loves you, andto be everything to you is the greatest happiness she can imagine. "

"Until repentance awakes, and it is too late, " he answered gravely. "But even were her love strong enough to share her husband's misfortunepatiently--nay, perhaps with joyous courage--it would still becontemptible baseness were I to profit by that love and seek her hand. "

"Hermon!" the matron now exclaimed reproachfully; but he repeated withstrong emphasis: "Yes, it would be baseness so great that even her mostardent love could not save me from the reproach of having committed it. I will not speak of her father, to whom I am so greatly indebted. It maybe that it might satisfy Daphne, full of kindness as she is, to devoteherself, body and soul, to the service of her helpless companion. But I?Far from thinking constantly, like her, solely of others and theirwelfare, I should only too often, selfish as I now am, be mindful ofmyself. But when I realize who I am, I see before me a blind man who ispoorer than a beggar, because the scorching flames melted even the goldwhich was to help him pay his debts. "

"Folly!" cried the matron. "For what did Archias gather his boundlesstreasures? And when his daughter is once yours--"

"Then, " Hermon went on bitterly, "the blinded artist's poverty will beover. That is your opinion, and the majority of people will share it. But I have my peculiarities, and the thought of being rescued from hungerand thirst by the woman I love, and who ought to see in me the man fromwhom she receives the best gifts--to be dependent on her as the recipientof her alms--seems to me worse than if I were once more to lose my sight. I could not endure it at all! Every mouthful would choke me. Justbecause she is so dear to me, I can not seek her hand; for, in return forher great self-sacrificing love, I could give her nothing save the keendiscontent which seizes the proud soul that is forced constantly toaccept benefits, as surely as the ringing sound follows the blow uponthe brass. My whole future life would become a chain of humiliations, and do you know whither this unfortunate marriage would lead? My teacherStraton once said that a man learns to hate no one more easily than theperson from whom he receives benefits which it is out of his power torepay. That is wise, and before I will see my great love for Daphnetransformed to hate, I will again try the starving which, while I was asculptor at Rhodes, I learned tolerably well. "

"But would not a great love, " asked Thyone, "suffice to repay tenfold theperishable gifts that can be bought with gold and silver?"

"No, and again no!" Hermon answered in an agitated tone. "Something elsewould blend with the love I brought to the marriage, something that mustdestroy all the compensation it might offer; for I see myself becoming aresentful misanthrope if I am compelled to relinquish the pleasure ofcreating and, condemned to dull inaction, can do nothing except allowmyself to be tended, drink, eat, and sleep. The gloomy mood of herunfortunate husband would sadden Daphne's existence even more than myown; for, Thyone, though I should strive with all my strength to bearpatiently, with her dear aid, the burden imposed upon me, and move onthrough the darkness with joyous courage, like many another blind man, I could not succeed. "

"You are a man, " the matron exclaimed indignantly, "and what thousandshave done before you--"

"There, " he loudly protested, "I should surely fail; for, you dearwoman, who mean so kindly by me, my fate is worse than theirs. Do youknow what just forced from my lips the exclamation of pain which alarmedyou? I, the only child of the devout Erigone, for whose sake you are sowell disposed toward me, am doomed to misfortune as surely as the victimdragged to the altar is certain of death. Of all the goddesses, there isonly one in whose power I believe, and to whom I just raised my hands inprayer. It is the terrible one to whom I was delivered by hate and thedeceived love which is now dragging me by the hair, and will rob andtorture me till I despair of life. I mean the gray daughter of Night, whom no one escapes, dread Nemesis. "

Thyone sank down into the chair by the blind artist's side, askingsoftly, "And what gave you into her avenging hands, hapless boy?"

"My own abominable folly, " he answered mournfully and, with the feelingthat it would relieve his heart to pour out to this true friend what hewould usually have confided only to his Myrtilus, he hurriedly relatedhow he had recognised in Ledscha the best model for his Arachne, how hehad sought her love, and then, detained by Althea, left her in the lurchand most deeply offended and insulted her. Lastly, he gave a brief butvivid description of his meeting with the vengeful barbarian girl in theTemple of Nemesis, how Ledscha had invoked upon him the wrath of theterrible goddess, and how the most horrible punishment had fallen uponhim directly after the harsh accusation of the Biamite. 

The matron had listened to this confession in breathless suspense. Nowshe fixed her eyes on the floor, shook her gray head gently, and saidanxiously: "Is that it? It certainly puts things in a different light. As the son of your never-to-be-forgotten mother, you are indeed dear tomy heart; but Daphne is not less dear to me, and though in your marriageI just saw happiness for you both, that is now past. What is poverty, what is blindness! Eros would reconcile far more difficult problems, buthis arrows are shattered on the armour of Nemesis. Where there is a pairof lovers, and she raises her scourge against one of them, the other willalso be struck. Until you feel that you are freed from this persecutor, it would be criminal to bind a loving woman to you and your destiny. Itis not easy to find the right path for you both, for even Nemesis and herpower do not make the slightest change in the fact that you need faithfulcare and watching in your blindness. Daylight brings wisdom, and we willtalk further to-morrow. "

She rose as she spoke; but Hermon detained her, while from his lipsescaped the anxious question, "So you will take Daphne away from me, andleave me alone in my blindness?"

"You in your blindness?" cried Thyone, and the mere reproachful tone ofthe question banished the fear. "I would as quickly deprive my own sonof my support as I would you just at this time, my poor boy; but whethermy conscience will permit me to let Daphne remain near you only grant me, I repeat it, until sunrise to-morrow for reflection. My old heart willthen find the right way. "

"Yet whatever you may decide concerning us, " pleaded the blind man, "tellDaphne that, on the eve of losing her, I first felt in its full power howwarmly I love her. Even without Nemesis, the joy of making her minewould have been denied me. Fate will never permit me to possess her; yetnever again to hear her gentle voice, never more to feel her dearpresence, would be blinding me a second time. "

"It need not be imposed upon you long, " said the matron soothingly. 

Then she went close to him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said: "Thepower of the goddess who punishes the misdeeds of the reckless is calledirresistible and uncontrollable; but one thing softens even her, andchecks her usually resistless wheel: it is a mother's prayer. I heardthis from my own mother, and experienced it myself, especially in myoldest son Eumedes, who from the wildest madcap became an ornament of hisclass, and to whom the King--you doubtless know it--intrusted the commandof the fleet which is to open the Ethiopian land of elephants to theEgyptian power. You, Hermon, are an orphan, but for you, too, the soulsof your parents live on. Only I do not know whether you still honour andpray to them. "

"I did until a few years ago, " replied Hermon. 

"But later you neglected this sacred duty, " added Thyone. "Yet how wasthat possible? In our barren Pelusium I could not help thinking hundredsof times of the grove which Archias planted in your necropolis for thedead members of his family, and how often, while we were in Alexandria, it attracted me to think in its shade of your never-to-be-forgottenmother. There I felt her soul near me; for there was her home, and inimagination I saw her walking and resting under the trees. And you--herbeloved child--you remained aloof from this hallowed spot! Even at thefestival of the dead you omitted prayers and sacrifices?"

The blind artist assented to this question by a silent bend of the head;but the matron indignantly exclaimed: "And did not you know, unhappy man, that you were thus casting away the shield which protects mortals fromthe avenging gods? And your glorious mother, who would have given herlife for you? Yet you loved her, I suppose?"

"Thyone!" Hermon cried, deeply wounded, holding out his right hand as ifin defence. "Well, well!" said the matron. "I know that you revere hermemory. But that alone is not sufficient. On memorial festivals, andespecially on the birthdays, a mother's soul needs a prayer and a giftfrom the son, a wreath, a fillet, fragrant ointment, a piece of honey, a cup of wine or milk--all these things even the poor man spares from hispenury--yet a warm prayer, in pure remembrance and love, would suffice torob the wrath of Nemesis, which the enraged barbarian girl let loose uponyou, of its power. Only your mother, Hermon, the soul of the noble womanwho bore you, can restore to you what you have lost. Appeal for aid toher, son of Erigone, and she will yet make everything right. "

Bending quickly over the artist as she spoke, she kissed his brow andmoved steadily away, though he called her name with yearning entreaty. 

A short time after, the steward Gras led Hermon to his cabin, and whileundressing him reported that a messenger from Pelusium had announced thatthe commandant Philippus was coming to Tennis the next morning, beforethe market place filled, to take his wife with him to Alexandria, wherehe was going by the King's command. 

Hermon only half listened, and then ordered the Bithynian to leave him. 

After he had reclined on the couch a short time, he softly called thenames of the steward, Thyone, and Daphne. As he received no answer, andthus learned that he was alone, he rose, drew himself up to his fullheight, gazed heavenward with his bandaged eyes, stretched both handstoward the ceiling of the low cabin, and obeyed his friend's bidding. 

Thoroughly convinced that he was doing right, and ashamed of having solong neglected what the duty of a son commanded, he implored his mother'ssoul for forgiveness. 

While doing so he again found that the figure which he recalled to hismemory appeared before him with marvellous distinctness. Never had shebeen so near him since, when a boy of seven, she clasped him for the lasttime to her heart. She tenderly held out her arms to him, and he rushedinto her embrace, shouting exultantly while she hugged and kissed him. Every pet name which he had once been so glad to hear, and during recentyears had forgotten, again fell from her lips. As had often happened indays long past, he again saw his mother crown him for a festival. Pleased with the little new garment which she herself had woven for himand embroidered with a tiny tree with red apples, beneath which stood abright-plumaged duckling, she led him by the hand in the necropolis tothe empty tomb dedicated to his father. 

It was a building the height of a man, constructed of red Cyprianmarble, on which, cast in bronze, shield, sword, and lance, as well asa beautiful helmet, lay beside a sleeping lion. It was dedicated to thememory of the brave hipparch whom he had been permitted to call hisfather, and who had been burned beside the battlefield on which he hadfound a hero's death. 

Hermon now again beheld himself, with his mother, garlanding, anointing, and twining with fresh fillets the mausoleum erected by his uncle Archiasto his brave brother. The species of every flower, the colour of thefillets-nay, even the designs embroidered on his little holiday robe--again returned to his mind, and, while these pleasant memories hoveredaround him, he appealed to his mother in prayer. 

She stood before him, young and beautiful, listening without reproach orcensure as he besought her forgiveness and confided to her his sins, andhow severely he was punished by Nemesis. 

During this confession he felt as though he was kneeling before thebeloved dead, hiding his face in her lap, while she bent over him andstroked his thick, black hair. True, he did not hear her speak; but whenhe looked up again he could see, by the expression of her faithful blueeyes, that his manly appearance surprised her, and that she rejoiced inhis return to her arms. 

She listened compassionately to his laments, and when he paused pressedhis head to her bosom and gazed into his face with such joyous confidencethat his heart swelled, and he told himself that she could not look athim thus unless she saw happiness in store for him. 

Lastly, he began also to confide that he loved no woman on earth moreardently than the very Daphne whom, when only a pretty little child, shehad carried in her arms, yet that he could not seek the wealthy heiressbecause manly pride forbade this to the blind beggar. 

Here the anguish of renunciation seized him with great violence, and whenhe wished to appeal again to his mother his exhausted imagination refusedits service, and the vision would not appear. 

Then he groped his way back to the bed, and, as he let his head sink uponthe pillows, he fancied that he would soon be again enwrapped in thesweet slumber of childhood, which had long shunned his couch. 

It was years since he had felt so full of peace and hope, and he toldhimself, with grateful joy, that every childlike emotion had not yet diedwithin him, that the stern conflicts and struggles of the last years hadnot yet steeled every gentle emotion. 

CHAPTER IV. 

The sun of the following day had long passed its meridian when Hermon atlast woke. The steward Gras, who had grown gray in the service ofArchias, was standing beside the couch. 

There was nothing in the round, beardless face of this well-fed yetactive man that could have attracted the artist, yet the quiet tones ofhis deep voice recalled to memory the clear, steadfast gaze of his grayeyes, from which so often, in former days, inviolable fidelity, soundsense, caution, and prudence had looked forth at him. 

What the blind man heard from Gras surprised him--nay, at first seemedimpossible. To sleep until the afternoon was something unprecedented forhis wakeful temperament; but what was he to say to the tidings that thecommandant of Pelusium had arrived in his state galley early in themorning and taken his wife, Daphne, and Chrysilla away with him toAlexandria?

Yet it sounded credible enough when the Bithynian further informed himthat the ladies had left messages of remembrance for him, and said thatArchias's ship, upon which he was, would be at his disposal for anylength of time he might desire. Gras was commissioned to attend him. The Lady Thyone especially desired him to heed her counsel. 

While the steward was communicating this startling news as calmly as ifeverything was a matter of course, the events of the preceding night cameback to Hermon's memory with perfect distinctness, and again the fearassailed him that the rescued Demeter was the work of Myrtilus, and nothis own. 

So the first question he addressed to Gras concerned the Tennisgoldsmith, and it was a keen disappointment to Hermon when he learnedthat the earliest time he could expect to see him would be the followingday. The skilful artisan had been engaged for weeks upon the goldornaments on the new doors of the holy of holies in the Temple of Amon atTanis. Urgent business had called him home from the neighbouring cityjust before the night of the attack; but yesterday evening he hadreturned to Tanis, where his wife said he would have only two days'work to do. 

This answer, however, by no means appeased Hermon's impatience. He commanded that a special messenger should be sent to summon thegoldsmith, and the Bithynian received the order with a slight shakeof his round head. 

What new trouble had befallen the usually alert young artist that hereceived this unexpected change in his situation as apathetically as ahorse which is led from one stall to another, and, instead of questioninghim, thought only of hastening his interview with the goldsmith? If hismistress, who had left him full of anxiety from the fear that herdeparture would deeply agitate the blind man, should learn howindifferently he had received it! He, Gras, certainly would not betrayit. Eternal gods--these artists! He knew them. Their work was dearerto their hearts than their own lives, love, or friendship. 

During breakfast, of which the steward was obliged to remind him, Hermonpondered over his fate; but how could he attain any degree of clearnessof vision until he secured accurate information concerning the statue ofDemeter? Like a dark cloud, which sweeps over the starry sky andprevents the astronomer from seeing the planets which he desires toobserve, the fear that Proclus's praise had been bestowed upon the workof Myrtilus stood between him and every goal of his thought. 

Only the fact that he still remained blind, and not even the faintestglimmer of light pierced the surrounding darkness, while the suncontinued its course with glowing radiance, and that, blinded andbeggared, he must despise himself if he sought to win Daphne, wascertain. No reflection could alter it. 

Again the peace of mind which he thought he had regained during slumberwas destroyed. Fear of the artisan's statement even rendered itimpossible to pray to his mother with the affectionate devotion he hadfelt the day before. 

The goldsmith had directed the rescue of the Demeter, yet he wouldscarcely have been able to distinguish it from the statue by Myrtilus;for though, like his friend, he had often employed his skilful hands inthe arrangement of the gold plates at the commencement of the work, theEgyptian had been summoned to Tennis before the statues had attainedrecognisable form. He had not entered the studios for several months, unless Bias had granted him admittance without informing his master. This was quite possible, for the slave's keen eyes certainly had notfailed to notice how little he and Myrtilus valued the opinion of thehonest, skilful, but extremely practical and unimaginative man, who couldnot create independently even the smallest detail. 

So it was impossible to determine at present whether Chello had seen thefinished statues or not, yet Hermon desired the former with actualfervour, that he might have positive certainty. 

While reflecting over these matters, the image of the lean Egyptiangoldsmith, with his narrow, brown, smooth-shaven face and skull, prominent cheek bones, receding brow, projecting ears and, with allits keenness, lustreless glance, rose before him as if he could seehis bodily presence. Not a single word unconnected with his trade, theweather, or an accident, had ever reached the friends' ears from Chello'sthick lips, and this circumstance seemed to warrant Hermon in theexpectation of learning from him the pure, unadulterated truth. 

Rarely had a messenger of love been awaited with such feverish suspenseas the slave whom Gras had despatched to Tanis to induce the goldsmith toreturn home. He might come soon after nightfall, and Hermon used theinterval to ask the Bithynian the questions which he had long expected. 

The replies afforded little additional information. He learned only thatPhilippus had been summoned to Alexandria by the King, and that the LadyThyone and her husband had talked with the leech and assented to hisopinion that it would be better for Hermon to wait here until the burnson his face were healed before returning to Alexandria. 

For Daphne's sake this decision had undoubtedly been welcome to thematron, and it pleased him also; for he still felt so ill physically, and so agitated mentally, that he shrank from meeting his numerousacquaintances in the capital. 

The goldsmith! the goldsmith! It depended upon his decision whether hewould return to Alexandria at all. 

Soon after Hermon had learned from Gras that the stars had risen, he wasinformed that he must wait patiently for his interview with the Egyptian, as he had been summoned to the capital that very day by a messenger fromProclus. 

Then the steward had fresh cause to marvel at his charge, for this newsaroused the most vehement excitement. 

In fact, it afforded the prospect of a series--perhaps a long one--of themost torturing days and nights. And the dreaded hours actually came--nay, the anguish of uncertainty had be come almost unendurable, when, onthe seventh day, the Egyptian at last returned from Alexandria. They hadseemed like weeks to Hermon, had made his face thinner, and mingled thefirst silver hairs in his black beard. 

The calls of the cheerful notary and the daily visits of the leech, anelderly man, who had depressed rather than cheered him by informing himof many cases like his own which all proved incurable, had been his solediversion. True, the heads of the Greek residents of Tennis had alsosometimes sought him: the higher government officials, the lessees of theoil monopoly and the royal bank, as well as Gorgias, who, next to Archiasthe Alexandrian, owned the largest weaving establishments, but the talesof daily incidents with which they entertained Hermon wearied him. Helistened with interest only to the story of Ledscha's disappearance, yethe perceived, from the very slight impression it made upon him, howlittle he had really cared for the Biamite girl. 

His inquiries about Gula called down upon him many well-meant jests. She was with her parents; while Taus, Ledscha's young sister, was stayingat the brick-kiln, where the former had reduced the unruly slaves tosubmission. 

Care had been taken to provide for his personal safety, for the attackmight perhaps yet prove to have been connected with the jealousy of theBiamite husbands. 

The commandant of Pelusium had therefore placed a small garrison ofheavily armed soldiers and archers in Tennis, for whom tents had beenpitched on the site of the burned white house. 

Words of command and signals for changing the guards often reached Hermonwhen he was on the deck of his ship, and visitors praised the wisecaution and prompt action of Alexander the Great's old comrade. 

The notary, a vivacious man of fifty, who had lived a long time inAlexandria and, asserting that he grew dull and withered in littleTennis, went to the capital as frequently as possible, had often calledupon the sculptor at first, and been disposed to discuss art and theother subjects dear to Hermon's heart, but on the third day he again setoff for his beloved Alexandria. When saying farewell, he had beenunusually merry, and asked Hermon to send him away with good wishes andoffer sacrifices for the success of his business, since he hoped to bringa valuable gift on his return from the journey. 

The blind artist was glad to have other visits for a short time, but hepreferred to be alone and devote his thoughts to his own affairs. 

He now knew that his love was genuine. Daphne seemed the veryincarnation of desirable, artless, heart-refreshing womanliness, but hismemory could not dwell with her long; anxiety concerning Chello's reportonly too quickly interrupted it, as soon as he yielded to its charm. 

He did not think at all of the future. What was he to appoint for a timewhich the words of a third person might render unendurable?

When Gras at last ushered in the goldsmith, his heart throbbed soviolently that it was difficult for him to find the words needed for thequestions he desired to ask. 

The Egyptian had really been summoned to Alexandria by Proclus, not onaccount of the Demeter, but the clasp said to belong to Myrtilus, foundamid the ruins of the fallen house, and he had been able to identify itwith absolute positiveness as the sculptor's property. 

He had been referred from one office to another, until finally the Tennisnotary and Proclus opened the right doors to him. 

Now the importance of his testimony appeared, since the will of thewealthy young sculptor could not be opened until his death was proved, and the clasp which had been found aided in doing so. 

Hermon's question whether he had heard any particulars about this willwas answered by the cold-hearted, dull-brained man in the negative. 

He had done enough, he said, by expressing his opinion. He had gone toAlexandria unwillingly, and would certainly have stayed in Tennis if hecould have foreseen what a number of tiresome examinations he would beobliged to undergo. He had been burning with impatience to quit theplace, on account of the important work left behind in Tanis, and he didnot even know whether he would be reimbursed for his travelling expenses. 

During this preliminary conversation Hermon gained the composure heneeded. 

He began by ascertaining whether Chello remembered the interiorarrangement of the burned white house, and it soon appeared that herecollected it accurately. 

Then the blind man requested him to tell how the rescue of the statue hadbeen managed, and the account of the extremely prosaic artisan describedso clearly and practically how, on entering the burning building, hefound Myrtilus's studio already inaccessible, but the statue of Demeterin Hermon's still uninjured, that the trustworthiness of his story couldnot be doubted. 

One circumstance only appeared strange, yet it was easily explained. Instead of standing on the pedestal, the Demeter was beside it, and eventhe slow-witted goldsmith inferred from this fact that the robbers hadintended to steal it and placed it on the floor for that purpose, butwere prevented from accomplishing their design by the interference ofHermon and the people from Tennis. 

After the Egyptian, in reply to the artist's inquiry concerning whatother works of art and implements he had seen in the studio, had answeredthat nothing else could be distinguished on account of the smoke, hecongratulated the sculptor on his last work. People were already makinga great stir about the new Demeter. It had been discussed not only inthe workshop of his brother, who, like himself, followed their father'scalling, but also in the offices, at the harbour, in the barbers' roomsand the cookshops, and he, too, must admit that, for a Greek goddess, that always lacked genuine, earnest dignity, it really was a pretty bitof work. 

Lastly, the Egyptian asked to whom he should apply for payment for theremainder of his labour. 

The strip of gold, from which Hermon had ordered the diadem to be made, had attracted his attention on the head of his Demeter, and compensationfor the work upon this ornament was still due. 

Hermon, deeply agitated, asked, with glowing cheeks, whether Chelloreally positively remembered having prepared for him the gold diademwhich he had seen in Alexandria, and the Egyptian eagerly assured himthat he had done so. Hitherto he had found the sculptors honest men, and Hermon would not withhold the payment for his well-earned toil. 

The artist strenuously denied such an intention; but when, in his desireto have the most absolute assurance, he again asked questions about thediadem, the Egyptian thought that the blind sculptor doubted the justiceof his demand, and wrathfully insisted upon his claim, until Gras managedto whisper, undetected by Hermon, that he would have the money ready forhim. 

This satisfied the angry man. He honestly believed that he had preparedthe gold for the ornament on the head of the Demeter in Alexandria; yetthe statue chiselled by Myrtilus had also been adorned with a diadem, andChello had wrought the strip of gold it required. Only it had escapedhis memory, because he had been paid for the work immediately after itsdelivery. 

Glad to obey his mistress's orders to settle at once any debts which theartist might have in Tennis, the steward followed the goldsmith whileHermon, seizing the huge goblet which had just been filled with wine andwater for him drained it at one long draught. Then, with sigh of relief, he restored it to its place, raised his hand and his blinded eyesheavenward, and offered a brief, fervent thanksgiving to his mother'ssoul and the great Demeter, whom, he might now believe it himself, he hadhonoured with a masterpiece which had extorted warm admiration even froma connoisseur unfriendly his art. 

When Gras returned, he said, with a grin of satisfaction, that thegoldsmith was like all the rest of his countrymen. The artists did notowe him another drachm; the never-to-be-forgotten Myrtilus had paid forthe work ordered by Hermon also. 

Then, for the first time since he had been led on board the ship, a gaylaugh rang fro the blind man's lips, rising in deep, pure, joyous tonesfrom his relieved breast. 

The faithful gray eyes of honest Gras glittered with tears at the musicaltones, and how ardently he wished for his beloved mistress when thesculptor, not content with this, exclaimed as gleefully as in happierdays: "Hitherto I have had no real pleasure from my successful work, oldGras, but it is awaking now! If my Myrtilus were still alive, and thesemiserable eyes yet possessed the power of rejoicing in the light and inbeautiful human forms, by the dog! I would have the mixing vesselsfilled, wreath after wreath brought, boon companions summoned, and withflute-playing, songs, and fiery words, offer the Muses, Demeter, andDionysus their due meed of homage!"

Gras declared that this wish might easily be fulfilled. There was nolack of wine or drinking cups on the vessel, the flute-players whom hehad heard in the Odeum at Tanis did not understand their business amiss, flowers and wreaths could be obtained, and all who spoke Greek in Tenniswould accept his invitation. 

But the Bithynian soon regretted this proposal, for it fell like a hoar-frost upon the blind man's happy mood. He curtly declined. He would notplay host where he was himself a guest, and pride forbade him to use theproperty of others as though it were his own. 

He could not regain his suddenly awakened pleasure in existence beforeGras warned him it was time to go to rest. Not until he was alonein the quiet cabin did the sense of joy in his first great successoverpower him afresh. 

He might well feel proud delight in the work which he had created, forhe had accomplished it without being unfaithful to the aims he had setbefore him. 

It had been taken from his own studio, and the skilful old artisan hadrecognised his preliminary work upon the diadem which he, Hermon, hadafterward adorned with ornaments himself. But, alas! this first must atthe same time be his last great success, and he was condemned to live onin darkness. 

Although abundant recognition awaited him in Alexandria, his quicklygained renown would soon be forgotten, and he would remain a beggaredblind man. But it was now allowable for him to think secretly ofpossessing Daphne; perhaps she would wait for him and reject othersuitors until he learned in the capital whether he might not hope torecover his lost sight. He was at least secure against external want;the generous Archias would hardly withhold from him the prize he hadintended for the successful statue, although the second had beendestroyed. The great merchant would do everything for his fame-crownednephew, and he, Hermon, was conscious that had his uncle been in hissituation he would have divided his last obol with him. Refusal of hisassistance would have been an insult to his paternal friend and guardian. 

Lastly, he might hope that Archias would take him to the most skilfulleeches in Alexandria and, if they succeeded in restoring his lost powerof vision, then--then Yet it seemed so presumptuous to lull himself inthis hope that he forbade himself the pleasure of indulging it. 

Amid these consoling reflections, Hermon fell asleep, and awoke fresherand more cheerful than he had been for some time. 

He had to spend two whole weeks more in Tennis, for the burns healedslowly, and an anxious fear kept him away from Alexandria. 

There the woman he loved would again meet him and, though he could assureThyone that Nemesis had turned her wheel away from him, he would havebeen permitted to treat Daphne only with cool reserve, while every fibreof his being urged him to confess his love and clasp her in his arms. 

Gras had already written twice to his master, telling him with whatgratifying patience Hermon was beginning to submit to his greatmisfortune, when the notary Melampus returned from Alexandria with newswhich produced the most delightful transformation in the blind artist'souter life. 

More swiftly than his great corpulence usually permitted the jovial manto move, he ascended to the deck, calling: "Great, greater, the greatestof news I bring, as the heaviest but by no means the most dilatory ofmessengers of good fortune from the city of cities. Prick up your ears, my friend, and summon all your strength, for there are instances of thefatal effect of especially lavish gifts from the blind and yet often sureaim of the goddess of Fortune. The Demeter, in whom you proved somarvellously that the art of a mortal is sufficient to create immortals, is beginning to show her gratitude. She is helping to twine wreaths foryou in Alexandria. "

Here the vivacious man suddenly hesitated and, while wiping his plumpcheeks, perspiring brow, and smooth, fat double chin with his kerchief, added in a tone of sincere regret: "That's the way with me! In one thingwhich really moves me, I always forget the other. The fault sticks to melike my ears and nose. When my mother gave me two errands, I attended tothe first in the best possible way, but overlooked the second entirely, and was paid for it with my father's staff, yet even the blue wales madeno change in the fault. But for that I should still be in the city ofcities; but it robbed me of my best clients, and so I was transferred tothis dullest of holes. Even here it clings to me. My detestableexultation just now proves it. Yet I know how dear to you was the deadman who manifests his love even from the grave. But you will forgive methe false note into which my weakness led me; it sprang from regard foryou, my young friend. To serve your cause, I forgot everything else. Like my mother's first errand, it was performed in the best possible way. You will learn directly. By the lightnings of Father Zeus and the owl ofAthene, the news I bring is certainly great and beautiful; but he whoyearned to make you happy was snatched from you and, though his noblelegacy must inspire pleasure and gratitude, it will nevertheless fillyour poor eyes with sorrowful tears. "

Melampus turned, as he spoke, to the misshapen Egyptian slave whoperformed the duties of a clerk, and took several rolls from thedrumshaped case that hung around his neck; but his prediction concerningHermon was speedily fulfilled, for the notary handed him the will of hisfriend Myrtilus. 

It made him the heir of his entire fortune and, however happy theunexpected royal gift rendered the blind man, however cheering might bethe prospects it opened to him for the future and the desire of hisheart, sobs nevertheless interrupted the affectionate words whichcommenced the document Melampus read aloud to him. 

Doubtless the tears which Hermon dedicated to the most beloved of humanbeings made his blinded eyes smart, but he could not restrain them, and even long after the notary had left him, and the steward hadcongratulated him on his good fortune, the deep emotion of his tenderheart again and again called forth a fresh flood of tears consecratedto the memory of his friend. 

The notary had already informed the grammateus of the disposition whichMyrtilus had made of his property in Hermon's favour a few days before, but, by the advice of the experienced Proclus, the contents of the willhad been withheld from the sculptor; the unfortunate man ought to bespared any disappointment, and proof that Myrtilus was really among thevictims of the accident must first be obtained. 

The clasp found in the ruins of the white house appeared to furnish this, and the notary had put all other business aside and gone to Alexandria tosettle the matter. 

The goldsmith Chello, who had fastened a new pin to the clasp, and couldswear that it had belonged to Myrtilus, had been summoned to the capitalas a witness, and, with the aid of the influential grammateus of theDionysian games and priest of Apollo, the zeal of Melampus hadaccomplished in a short time the settlement of this difficult affair, which otherwise might perhaps have consumed several months. 

The violent death of Myrtilus had been admitted as proved by themagistrate, who had been prepossessed in Hermon's favour by hismasterpiece. Besides, no doubts could be raised concerning the validityof a will attested by sixteen witnesses. The execution of this lasttestament had been intrusted to Archias, as Myrtilus's nearest relative, and several other distinguished Alexandrians. 

The amount of the fortune bequeathed had surprised even these wealthymen, for under the prudent management of Archias the property inheritedby the modest young sculptor had trebled in value. 

The poor blind artist had suddenly become a man who might be termed"rich, " even in the great capital. 

Again the steward shook his head; this vast, unexpected inheritance didnot seem to make half so deep an impression upon the eccentric blind manas the news received a short time ago that his trivial debt to thegoldsmith Chello was already settled. But Hermon must have dearly lovedthe friend to whom he owed this great change of fortune, and grief forhim had cast joy in his immense new wealth completely into the shade. 

This conjecture was confirmed on the following morning, for the blind manhad himself led to the Greek necropolis to offer sacrifices to the godsof the nether world and to think of his friend. 

When, soon after noon, the lessee of the royal bank appeared on the shipto offer him as many drachmae or talents as he might need for presentuse, he asked for a considerable sum to purchase a larger death-offeringfor his murdered friend. The next morning he went with the architect ofthe province to the scene of the conflagration, and had him mark the spotof ground on which he desired to erect to his Myrtilus a monument to bemade in Alexandria. 

At sunset, leaning on the steward's arm, he went to the Temple ofNemesis, where he prayed and commissioned the priest to offer a costlysacrifice to the goddess in his name. 

On the return home, Hermon suddenly stood still and mentioned to Gras thesum which he intended to bestow upon the blind in Tennis. He knew nowwhat it means to live bereft of light, and, he added in a low tone, to bealso poor and unable to earn his daily bread. 

On the ship he asked the Bithynian whether his burned face had becomepresentable again, and no longer made a repulsive impression. 

This Gras could truthfully assure him. Then the artist's featuresbrightened, and the Bithynian heard genuine cheerfulness ring in thetones of his voice as he exclaimed: "Then, old Gras, we will set out forAlexandria as soon as the ship is ready to sail. Back to life, to thesociety of men of my own stamp, to reap the praise earned by my owncreations, and to the only divine maiden among mortals--to Daphne!"

"The day after to-morrow!" exclaimed the steward in joyous excitement;and soon after the carrier dove was flying toward the house of Archias, bearing the letter which stated the hour when his fame-crowned blindnephew would enter the great harbour of Alexandria. 

The evening of the next day but one the Proserpina was bearing Hermonaway from the city of weavers toward home. 

As the evening breeze fanned his brow, his thoughts dwelt sadly on hisMyrtilus. Hitherto it had always seemed as if he was bound, and mustcommit some atrocious deed to use the seething power condemned toinaction. But as the galley left the Tanitic branch of the Nile behind, and the blind man inhaled the cool air upon the calm sea, his heartswelled, and for the first time he became fully aware that, though thelight of the sun would probably never shine for him again, and thereforethe joy of creating, the rapture of once more testing his fetteredstrength, would probably be forever denied him, other stars might perhapsillumine his path, and he was going, in a position of brilliantindependence, toward his native city, fame, and--eternal gods!--love. 

Daphne had conquered, and he gave only a passing thought to Ledscha andthe hapless weaver Arachne. 

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Chance, which took no heed of merit or unworthinessDeceived himself concerning the value of his own workGods whom men had invented after their own likenessHate the person from whom he receives benefits