iar world.

Those who still had the desire to speak, expressed their feelings thus:

"All things tangible and visible grew hollow, light, and
transparent,--similar to lightsome shadows in the darkness of night;

"for, that great darkness, which holds the whole cosmos, was dispersed
neither by the sun or by the moon and the stars, but like an immense
black shroud enveloped the earth and, like a mother, embraced it;

"it penetrated all the bodies, iron and stone,--and the particles of
the bodies, having lost their ties, grew lonely; and it penetrated into
the depth of the particles, and the particles of particles became
lonely;

"for that great void, which encircles the cosmos, was not filled by
things visible: neither by the sun, nor by the moon and the stars, but
reigned unrestrained, penetrating everywhere, severing body from body,
particle from particle;

"in the void hollow trees spread hollow roots threatening a fantastic
fall; temples, palaces, and horses loomed up and they were hollow; and
in the void men moved about restlessly but they were light and hollow
like shadows;

"for, Time was no more, and the beginning of all things came near their
end: the building was still being built, and builders were still
hammering away, and its ruins were already seen and the void in its
place; the man was still being born, but already funeral candles were
burning at his head, and now they were extinguished, and there was the
void in place of the man and of the funeral candles.

"and wrapped by void and darkness the man in despair trembled in the
face of the Horror of the Infinite."

Thus spake the men who had still a desire to speak. But, surely, much
more could have told those who wished not to speak, and died in
silence.

IV

At that time there lived in Rome a renowned sculptor. In clay, marble,
and bronze he wrought bodies of gods and men, and such was their beauty,
that people called them immortal. But he himself was discontented and
asserted that there was something even more beautiful, that he could not
embody either in marble or in bronze. "I have not yet gathered the
glimmers of the moon, nor have I my fill of sunshine," he was wont to
say, "and there is no soul in my marble, no life in my beautiful
bronze." And when on moonlight nights he slowly walked along the road,
crossing the black shadows of cypresses, his white tunic glittering in
the moonshine, those who met him would laugh in a friendly way an