it. By a thousand phenomena they force themselves
into the world which surrounds us and our emotional life. Epicurus, who
denied their power, saw in them at least immortal beings who possess in
stainless perfection everything which in mortals is disfigured by errors,
weaknesses, and afflictions. To him they are the intensified, reflected
image of our own nature, and I think we can do nothing wiser than to
cling to that, because it shows us to what heights of beauty and power,
intellect, goodness, and purity we may attain. To completely deny their
existence would hardly be possible even for you, because their persons
have found a place in your imagination. Since this is the case, it can
only benefit you to recognise in them magnificent models, by whose means
we artists, if we imitate, perfect, and model them, will create works far
more sublime and beautiful than anything visible to our senses which we
meet here beneath the sun."

"It is this very superiority in sublimity and beauty which I, and those
who pursue the same path with me, oppose," replied Hermon. "Nature is
sufficient for us. To take anything from her, mutilates; to add anything,
disfigures her."

"But not," replied Myrtilus firmly, "when it is done only in a special
sense, and within the limits of Nature, to which the gods also belong.
The final task of art, fiercely as you and your few followers contend
against it, lies in the disentanglement, enhancing, and ennobling of
Nature. You, too, ought not to overlook it when you undertake to model a
Demeter; for she is a goddess, no mortal like yourself. The rest or I
ought rather to say the alteration which converts the mortal woman into
the immortal one, the goddess--I miss, and with special regret, because
you do not even deem it worth consideration."

"That I shall never do," retorted Hermon irritably, "so long as it is a
changing chimera which presents itself differently to every mind."

"Yet, should it really be a chimera, it is at any rate a sublime one,"
Myrtilus protested, "and whoever among us artists wanders through Nature
with open eyes and heart, and then examines his own soul, will find it
worth while to attempt to give his ideal form."

"Whatever stirs my breast during such walks, unless it is some unusual
human being, I leave to the poet," replied Hermon. "I should be satisfied
with the Demeter yonder, and you, too, probably, if--entirely apart from
that--I had only succeeded fully and entirel