The softclay was fashioned under his fingers into forms of beauty, but thenext day he broke what he had fashioned, according to his wont.
  "One day he walked past one of those rich palaces of which Romehas many to show. He stopped before the great open portal, andbeheld a garden surrounded by cloistered walks. The garden bloomedwith a goodly show of the fairest roses. Great white lilies with greenjuicy leaves shot upward from the marble basin in which the clearwater was splashing; and a form glided past, the daughter of theprincely house, graceful, delicate, and wonderfully fair. Such aform of female loveliness he had never before beheld- yet stay: he hadseen it, painted by Raphael, painted as a Psyche, in one of theRoman palaces. Yes, there it had been painted; but here it passed byhim in living reality.
  "The remembrance lived in his thoughts, in his heart. He went hometo his humble room, and modelled a Psyche of clay. It was the richyoung Roman girl, the noble maiden; and for the first time he lookedat his work with satisfaction. It had a meaning for him, for it wasshe. And the friends who saw his work shouted aloud for joy; theydeclared that this work was a manifestation of his artistic power,of which they had long been aware, and that now the world should bemade aware of it too.
  "The clay figure was lifelike and beautiful, but it had not thewhiteness or the durability of marble. So they declared that thePsyche must henceforth live in marble. He already possessed a costlyblock of that stone. It had been lying for years, the property ofhis parents, in the courtyard. Fragments of glass, climbing weeds, andremains of artichokes had gathered about it and sullied its purity;but under the surface the block was as white as the mountain snow; andfrom this block the Psyche was to arise."
  Now, it happened one morning- the bright Star tells nothingabout this, but we know it occurred- that a noble Roman company cameinto the narrow lane. The carriage stopped at the top of the lane, andthe company proceeded on foot towards the house, to inspect theyoung sculptor's work, for they had heard him spoken of by chance. Andwho were these distinguished guests? Poor young man! or fortunateyoung man he might be called. The noble young lady stood in the roomand smiled radiantly when her father said to her, "It is your livingimage." That smile could not be copied, any more than the look couldbe reproduced, the wonderful look which she cast upon the youngartist. It was a fiery look, that seemed at once to elevate and tocrush him.
  "The Psyche must be executed in marble," said the wealthypatrician. And those were words of life for the dead clay and theheavy block of marble, and words of life likewise for the deeply-movedartist. "When the work is finished I will purchase it," continuedthe rich noble.
  A new era seemed to have arisen in the poor studio. Life andcheerfulness gleamed there, and busy industry plied its work. Thebeaming Morning Star beheld how the work progressed. The clay itselfseemed inspired since she had been there, and moulded itself, inheightened beauty, to a likeness of the well-known features.
  "Now I know what life is," cried the artist rejoicingly; "it isLove! It is the lofty abandonment of self for the dawning of thebeautiful in the soul! What my friends call life and enjoyment is apassing shadow; it is like bubbles among seething dregs, not thepure heavenly wine that consecrates us to life."
  The marble block was reared in its place. The chisel struckgreat fragments from it; the measurements were taken, points and lineswere made, the mechanical part was executed, till gradually thestone assumed a human female form, a shape of beauty, and becameconverted into the Psyche, fair and glorious- a divine being inhuman shape. The heavy stone appeared as a gliding, dancing, airyPsyche, with the heavenly innocent smile- the smile that hadmirrored itself in the soul of the young artist.
  The Star of the roseate dawn beheld and understood what wasstirring within the young man, and could read the meaning of thechanging color of his cheek, of the light that flashed from his eye,as he stood busily working, reproducing what had been put into hissoul from above.
  "Thou art a master like those masters among the ancient Greeks,"exclaimed his delighted friends; "soon shall the whole world admirethy Psyche."
  "My Psyche!"