hoped to find in the wilderness.
His whole past life passed before him as if by its own volition. All
that he had ever experienced, learned, thought, felt, rose before his
mind with wonderful distinctness, and when he overlooked all his mental
possessions, as if from a high watch-tower in the bright sunshine, he
began to consider how he had used the details and how he could continue
to do so.

Whatever he had seen incorrectly forced itself resistlessly upon him,
yet here also the Greek nature, deeply implanted in his soul, guarded
him, and it was easy for him to avoid self-torturing remorse. He only
desired to utilize for improvement what he recognised as false.

When in this delicious silence he listened to the contradictory demands
of his intellect and his senses, it often seemed as though he was
present at a discussion between two guests who were exchanging their
opinions concerning the subject that occupied his mind.

Here he first learned to deepen sound intellectual power and listen to
the demands of the heart, or to repulse and condemn them.

Ah, yes, he was still blind; but never had he observed and recognised
human life and its stage, down to the minutest detail, which his eyes
refused to show him, so keenly as during these clays. The phenomena
which had attracted or repelled his vision here appeared nearer and more
distinctly.

What he called "reality" and believed he understood thoroughly 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 on