s of a giant butterfly. The Sphinx is staring at you, and
yet through and beyond, as though her eyes rested on some inaccessible
horizon. Cities crumble, nations rise and subside, and still that
undeviating stare! And in her face the unroutable calm of fabulous
beauty. I want those eyes, I want that face. You never heard the duo
which Flaubert gives, did you? It runs somewhat this way: The motionless
Sphinx calls: 'Here, Chimera, rest a while.'

"The Chimera answers: 'Rest? Not I.'

"_The Sphinx._ Whither goest thou in such haste?

"_The Chimera._ I gallop in the corridors of the labyrinth. I soar to
the mountain-tops. I skim the waves. I yelp at the foot of precipices. I
cling to the skirt of clouds. With my training tail I sweep the shores.
The hills have taken their curve from the form of my shoulders. But
thou--I find thee perpetually immobile, or else with the end of thy claw
drawing alphabets in the sand.

"_The Sphinx._ I am guarding my secret, I calculate and I dream.

"_The Chimera._ I--I am joyous and light of heart. I discover to man
resplendent perspectives, Utopias in the skies, and distant felicities.
Into his soul I pour the eternal follies, projects of happiness, plans
for the future, dreams of fame, and the vows of love and virtuous
resolutions. I incite to perilous journeys, to great undertakings. It is
I that chiselled the marvels of architecture. It is I that hung bells on
the tomb of Porsenna, and surrounded with an orchalc wall the quays of
the Atlantides. I seek new perfumes, larger flowers, and pleasures
unenjoyed. If anywhere I perceive a man whose mind rests in wisdom, I
drop from space and strangle him.

"_The Sphinx._ All those whom the desire of God torments, I have
devoured."

Yorke had repeated these snatches from the duo in French. He had
repeated them well, bringing out the harmony of the words in a manner
which in our harsher tongue would have been impossible. And now he felt
parched, and ordered some drink of the steward.

"It is the face of that Sphinx that I want," he continued. "If I were a
composer I would put the duo itself to music. I know of no prose more
admirable. I have the scene on canvas, all of it, that is, except the
Sphinx's face, and that, of course, is the most important. I want a face
that she alone could possess. I may find it, I may not. At all events,
you see that just at present I too am in pursuit of the intangible. But
there, tell me of the artist who i