he repeated. "Yes, mine. She must be mine. I, too, aman artist, like those great men who are gone. Providence has grantedme the boon, and has made me the equal of that lady of noble birth."
  And he knelt down and breathed a prayer of thankfulnesss toHeaven, and then he forgot Heaven for her sake- for the sake of herpicture in stone- for her Psyche which stood there as if formed ofsnow, blushing in the morning dawn.
  He was to see her in reality, the living, graceful Psyche, whosewords sounded like music in his ears. He could now carry the news intothe rich palace that the marble Psyche was finished. He betook himselfthither, strode through the open courtyard where the waters ransplashing from the dolphin's jaws into the marble basins, where thesnowy lilies and the fresh roses bloomed in abundance. He stepped intothe great lofty hall, whose walls and ceilings shone with gildingand bright colors and heraldic devices. Gayly-dressed serving-men,adorned with trappings like sleigh horses, walked to and fro, and somereclined at their ease upon the carved oak seats, as if they werethe masters of the house. He told them what had brought him to thepalace, and was conducted up the shining marble staircase, coveredwith soft carpets and adorned with many a statue. Then he went onthrough richly-furnished chambers, over mosaic floors, amid gorgeouspictures. All this pomp and luxury seemed to weary him; but soon hefelt relieved, for the princely old master of the house received himmost graciously,, almost heartily; and when he took his leave he wasrequested to step into the Signora's apartment, for she, too, wishedto see him. The servants led him through more luxurious halls andchambers into her room, where she appeared the chief and leadingornament.
  She spoke to him. No hymn of supplication, no holy chant, couldmelt his soul like the sound of her voice. He took her hand and liftedit to his lips. No rose was softer, but a fire thrilled through himfrom this rose- a feeling of power came upon him, and words pouredfrom his tongue- he knew not what he said. Does the crater of thevolcano know that the glowing lava is pouring from it? He confessedwhat he felt for her. She stood before him astonished, offended,proud, with contempt in her face, an expression of disgust, as ifshe had suddenly touched a cold unclean reptile. Her cheeksreddened, her lips grew white, and her eyes flashed fire, thoughthey were dark as the blackness of night.
  "Madman!" she cried, "away! begone!"
  And she turned her back upon him. Her beautiful face wore anexpression like that of the stony countenance with the snaky locks.
  Like a stricken, fainting man, he tottered down the staircaseand out into the street. Like a man walking in his sleep, he found hisway back to his dwelling. Then he woke up to madness and agony, andseized his hammer, swung it high in the air, and rushed forward toshatter the beautiful marble image. But, in his pain, he had notnoticed that his friend Angelo stood beside him; and Angelo heldback his arm with a strong grasp, crying,
  "Are you mad? What are you about?"
  They struggled together. Angelo was the stronger; and, with a deepsigh of exhaustion, the young artist threw himself into a chair.
  "What has happened?" asked Angelo. "Command yourself. Speak!"
  But what could he say? How could he explain? And as Angelo couldmake no sense of his friend's incoherent words, he forbore to questionhim further, and merely said,
  "Your blood grows thick from your eternal dreaming. Be a man, asall others are, and don't go on living in ideals, for that is whatdrives men crazy. A jovial feast will make you sleep quietly andhappily. Believe me, the time will come when you will be old, and yoursinews will shrink, and then, on some fine sunshiny day, wheneverything is laughing and rejoicing, you will lie there a fadedplant, that will grow no more. I do not live in dreams, but inreality. Come with me. Be a man!"