ry, where he had had a magnificent monument erected for his dead
mother. If his head ached after a nocturnal carouse, or the disagreeable
alarming chill stole over him which he had felt for the first time when
he falsely answered Thyone that he was still under the ban of Nemesis,
he went to the family monuments, supplied them with gifts, had
sacrifices offered to the souls of the beloved dead, and in this way
sometimes regained a portion of his lost peace of mind.

The banquet in the evening always dispelled whatever still oppressed
him on his return home from these visits, for, though months had elapsed
since his brilliant reception, he was still numbered, especially in
artist circles, with the most honoured men; he, the blind man, no longer
stood in any one's way; conversation gained energy and meaning through
the vivacity of his fervid intellect, which seemed actually deepened by
his blindness when questions concerning art were at issue, and from a
modest fellow-struggler he had become a patron bestowing orders.

The sculptor Soteles, who had followed his footsteps since the
apprenticeship in Rhodes, was intrusted with the erection of the
monument to Myrtilus in Tennis, and another highly gifted young
sculptor, who pursued his former course, with the execution of the one
to his mother.

From a third he ordered a large new mixing vessel of chased silver for
the society of Ephebi, whose members had lauded him, at the magnificent
festival given in his honour, with genuine youthful fervour.

In the designs for these works his rich and bold gift of invention and
the power of his imagination proved their full value, and even his older
fellow-artists followed him with sincere admiration when, in spite of
his darkened eyes, he brought before them distinctly, and often even
with the charcoal or wax tablet in his hand, what he had in mind. What
magnificent things might not this man have created had he retained his
sight, what masterpieces might not have been expected! and his former
works, which had been condemned as unlovely, offensive, and exaggerated,
were now loudly admired; nay, the furious Maenads struggling on
the ground and the Street Boy Eating Figs, which were no longer his
property, were sold at high prices. No meeting of artists was complete
without Hermon, and the great self-possession which success and wealth
bestowed, besides his remarkable talent and the energy peculiar to him,
soon aided him to great influe