“the Psyche must be executed in marble，” said the wealthy patrician. And those werewords of life for the dead clay and the heavy block of marble， and words of life likewise forthe deeply-moved artist. “When the work is finished I will purchase it，” continued the richnoble.
A new era seemed to have arisen in the poor studio. Life and cheerfulness gleamed there，and busy industry plied its work. The beaming Morning Star beheld how the work proGREssed.The clay itself seemed inspired since she had been there， and moulded itself， in heightenedbeauty， to a likeness of the well-known features.
“Now I know what life is，” cried the artist rejoicingly; “it is Love! It is the loftyabandonment of self for the dawning of the beautiful in the soul! What my friends call life andenjoyment is a passing shadow; it is like bubbles among seething dregs， not the pureheavenly wine that consecrates us to life.”
the marble block was reared in its place. The chisel struck GREat fragments from it; themeasurements were taken， points and lines were made， the mechanical part was executed，till gradually the stone assumed a human female form， a shape of beauty， and becameconverted into the Psyche， fair and glorious—a divine being in human shape. The heavy stoneappeared as a gliding， dancing， airy Psyche， with the heavenly innocent smile—the smilethat had mirrored itself in the soul of the young artist.
the Star of the roseate dawn beheld and understood what was stirring within the youngman， and could read the meaning of the changing color of his cheek， of the light thatFLASHed 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 delightedfriends; “soon shall the whole world admire thy Psyche.”
“My Psyche!” he repeated. “Yes， mine. She must be mine. I， too， am an artist， likethose GREat men who are gone. Providence has granted me the boon， and has made me theequal of that lady of noble birth.”
And he knelt down and breathed a prayer of thankfulnesss to Heaven， and then he forgotHeaven for her sake—for the sake of her picture in stone—for her Psyche which stood there asif formed of snow， blushing in the morning dawn.
He was to see her in reality， the living， graceful Psyche， whose words sounded likemusic in his ears. He could now carry the news into the rich palace that the marble Psyche wasfinished. He betook himself thither， strode through the open courtyard where the waters ransplashing from the dolphin's jaws into the marble basins， where the snowy lilies and the freshroses bloomed in abundance. He stepped into the GREat lofty hall， whose walls and ceilingsshone with gilding and bright colors and heraldic devices. Gayly-dressed serving-men，adorned with trappings like sleigh horses， walked to and fro， and some reclined at their easeupon the carved oak seats， as if they were the masters of the house. He told them what hadbrought him to the palace， and was conducted up the shining marble staircase， coveredwith soft carpets and adorned with many a statue. Then he went on through richly-furnishedchambers， over mosaic floors， amid gorgeous pictures. All this pomp and luxury seemed toweary him; but soon he felt relieved， for the princely old master of the house received himmost graciously，， almost heartily; and when he took his leave he was requested to step intothe Signora's apartment， for she， too， wished to see him. The servants led him throughmore luxurious halls and chambers into her room， where she appeared the chief and leadingornament.
She spoke to him. No hymn of supplication， no holy chant， could melt his soul like thesound of her voice. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. No rose was softer， but a firethrilled through him from this rose—a feeling of power came upon him， and words poured fromhis tongue—he knew not what he said. Does the crater of the volcano know that the glowinglava is pouring from it He confessed what he felt for her. She stood before him astonished，offended， proud， with contempt in her face， an expression of disgust， as if she hadsuddenly touched a cold unclean reptile. Her cheeks reddened， her lips GREw white， and hereyes FLASHed fire， though they were dark as the blackness of night.
“Madman!” she cried， “away! begone!”
And she turned her back upon him. Her beautifulface wore an expression like that of the stonycountenance with the snaky locks.
Like a stricken， fainting man， he tottered downthe staircase and out into the street. Like a manwalking in his sleep， he found his way back to hisdwelling. Then he woke up to madness andagony， and seized his hammer， swung it high inthe air， and rushed forward to shatter the beautifulmarble image. But， in his pain， he had not noticed that his friend Angelo stood beside him;and Angelo held back his arm with a strong grasp， crying，
“Are you mad What are you about”