oroughly and
estimated correctly, now disclosed many a secret which had previously
remained concealed.

How defective his visual perception had been! how necessary it now seemed
to subject his judgment to a new test! Doubtless a wealth of artistic
subjects had come to him from the world of reality which he had placed
far above everything else, but a greater and nobler one from the sphere
which he had shunned as unfruitful and corrupting.

As if by magic, the world of ideality opened before him in this exquisite
silence. He again found in his own soul the joyous creative forces of
Nature, and the surrounding stillness increased tenfold his capacity of
perceiving it; nay, he felt as if creative energy dwelt in solitude
itself.

His mind had always turned toward greatness. The desire to impress his
works with the stamp of his own overflowing power had carried him far
beyond moderation in modelling his struggling Maenads.

Now, when he sought for subjects, beside the smaller and more simple ones
appeared mighty and manifold ones, often of superhuman grandeur.

Oh, if a higher power would at some future day permit him to model with
his strong hands this battle of the Amazons, this Phoebus Apollo, radiant
in beauty and the glow of victory, conquering the dragons of darkness!

Arachne, too, returned to his mind, and also Demeter. But she did not
hover before him as the peaceful dispenser of blessings, the preserver of
peace, but as the maternal earth goddess, robbed of her daughter
Proserpina. How varied in meaning was this myth!--and he strove to follow
it in every direction.

Nothing more could come to the blind artist from Nature by the aid of his
physical vision. The realm of reality was closed to him; but he had found
the key to that of the ideal, and what he found in it proved to be no
less true than the objects the other had offered.

How rich in forms was the new world which forced itself unbidden on his
imagination! He who, a short time before, had believed whatever could not
be touched by the hands was useless for his art, now had the choice among
a hundred subjects, full of glowing life, which were attainable by no
organ of the senses. He need fear to undertake none, if only it was
worthy of representation; for he was sure of his ability, and difficulty
did not alarm him, but promised to lend creating for the first time its
true charm.

And, besides, without the interest of animated conversation, without