Access Online - The European Library
Access Online - The European Library Access Online - The European Library
8 ARIADNE.cheat the world. It cannot cheat you or me. Itis aHe. Look atit;it is the first thingIeversoldto anyman that hasno shadow of myself putinto it, no beautyin my sight, no preciousnessorgladness for me, no thought or soul of mineblent withit to make it as strong and holy as aman's labours canbe. Itis alie. It is not art;—it is cold, hard,joyless, measured,mechanicalHke any stone creature that the copyist sits andchips from some plaster model of the galleries,and caUs a god!Ialways thought so, felt so.Who knows our work as we, the makers, do ?And nowIam certain, looking on your face.Hush! Do not speak. Tell me no Hes. Thething is lie enough."Iwas silent.Itwas of no use to seek to foist on him theempty phrases of an artificial compHment;hewould have seen through them and despisedme.The light from above fell on the half-shroudedgroup and on his face; his eyeshad a terribleanguishin them, such as one could picture in awounded lion's that feels his mighty strengthebbing awayand cannot rise again.
ARIADNE. 9The lamp that he held he dashed upon thefloor;the flame was extinguished on the stone." Look at that light!" he said." A moment,less than a moment, and it is quenched — justfalling; that is the light inus, who think ourselvesthe Hght of the world. One blow, andwe are in darkness for ever. We make Zeusin rage,and Christ with pity; we should makethem both only laughing; anygod must laugh-Look !men have called me great,and strongerthan most of themImay have been; and theywill go oncalling me great and great everythingthatIdo, sheerly from habit's sake, and theforce of memories, and the imitation of numbers-But for me,Iknow very weUIshall never begreat any more. The cunning may stay in myhand,but the soul is gone out of my body, andthe art in me is dead.Iam an artist no more.No more! "He was silent alittle while,gazingout throughthe unshuttered windows into the starless night;the quenchedlamp lay at his feet."Look! " he said suddenly, all the long-imprisonedsuffering of so manymonths of silence
- Page 5 and 6: ARIADNE
- Page 7 and 8: AriadneTHE STORY OF A DREAM.By OUID
- Page 9 and 10: ABIADNE:THE STORY OF A DREAM.CHAPTE
- Page 11 and 12: ARIADNE. 3and its porphyry^ and its
- Page 13 and 14: ARIADNE. 5like the moorlands of the
- Page 15: ARIADNE. 7whiteness. We had walked
- Page 19 and 20: ARIADNE. 11dead. Icare for the marb
- Page 21 and 22: ARIADNE. 13silvery aboutmy feet, an
- Page 23 and 24: ARIADNE. 15before the genius of his
- Page 25 and 26: ARIADNE. 17that is never dim. But m
- Page 27 and 28: ARIADNE. 19laid bare all the jewels
- Page 29 and 30: ARIADNE. 21it, but only saw the loc
- Page 31 and 32: ARIADNE. 23times; nervous depressio
- Page 33 and 34: ARIADNE. 25forgot them: what matter
- Page 35: ARIADNE. 27tered many curses and fe
- Page 38 and 39: 30ARIADNE.Would the wealth all fall
- Page 40 and 41: 32ARIADNE.their cuirasses of steel,
- Page 42 and 43: CHAPTER IVIwent to Pippo, andIsaid
- Page 44 and 45: 36ARIADNE.AndItook the other things
- Page 46 and 47: 38 ARIADNE.must have been, all alon
- Page 48 and 49: 40 ARIADNE.Ifelt my head whirl;I, w
- Page 50 and 51: 42 ARIADNE.at a line of the poem no
- Page 52: 44 ARIADNE.me, and stayed on in Par
- Page 55 and 56: ARIADNE. 47had been able to hear no
- Page 57 and 58: ARIADNE. 49aside in a little passag
- Page 59 and 60: ARIADNE. 51Myheart stood stUl. Ihad
- Page 61 and 62: ARIADNE. 53" Oh, my dear! Oh, my de
- Page 63 and 64: ARIADNE. 55He breathed quickly, the
- Page 65 and 66: ARIADNE. 57think he was cruel to he
ARIADNE. 9<strong>The</strong> lamp that he held he dashed upon thefloor;the flame was extinguished on the stone." Look at that light!" he said." A moment,less than a moment, and it is quenched — justfalling; that is the light inus, who think ourselvesthe Hght of the world. One blow, andwe are in darkness for ever. We make Zeusin rage,and Christ with pity; we should makethem both only laughing; anygod must laugh-Look !men have called me great,and strongerthan most of themImay have been; and theywill go oncalling me great and great everythingthatIdo, sheerly from habit's sake, and theforce of memories, and the imitation of numbers-But for me,Iknow very weUIshall never begreat any more. <strong>The</strong> cunning may stay in myhand,but the soul is gone out of my body, andthe art in me is dead.Iam an artist no more.No more! "He was silent alittle while,gazingout throughthe unshuttered windows into the starless night;the quenchedlamp lay at his feet."Look! " he said suddenly, all the long-imprisonedsuffering of so manymonths of silence
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