object, and yet young and fresh sufficiently, so far as concerns its novel one. Thus . . . 1st Student. Put Schramm's pipe into his mouth again! There, you see! Well, this Jules . . . a wretched fribble -oh, I watched his disportings at Possagno, the other day! Canova's gallery-you know there he marches first resolvedly past great works by the dozen without vouchsafing an eye: all at once he stops full at the Psiche-fanciulla-cannot pass that old acquaintance without a nod of encouragement "In your new place, beauty? Then behave yourself as well here as at Munich -I see you!" Next he posts himself deliberately before the unfinished Pietà for half an hour without moving, till up he starts of a sudden, and thrusts his very nose into-I say, into-the group; by which gesture you are informed that precisely the sole point he had not fully mastered in Canova's practice was a certain method of using the drill in the articulation of the knee joint—and that, likewise, has he mastered at length! Good-bye, therefore, to poor Canova-whose gallery no longer needs detain his successor Jules, the predestinatec novel thinker in marble! 5th Student. Tell him about the women: go on to the women! 1st Student. Why, on that matter he could never be supercilious enough. How should we be other (he said) than the poor devils you see, with those debasing habits we cherish? He was not to wallow in that mire, at least he would wait, and love only at the proper time, and meanwhile put up with the Psiche-fanciulla. Now, I happened to hear of a young Greek-real Greek girl at Malamocco; a true Islander, do you see, with Alciphron's "hair like sea-moss"-Schramm knows!—white and quiet as an apparition, and fourteen years old at farthest, —a daughter of Natalia, so she swears-that hag Natalia, who helps us to models at three lire an hour. We selected this girl for the heroine of our jest. So first, Jules received a scented letter-somebody had seen his Tydeus at the Academy, and my picture was nothing to it a profound admirer bade him persevere-would make herself known to him ere long. (Paolina, my little friend of the Fenice, transcribes divinely.) And in due time, the mysterious correspondent gave certain hints of her peculiar charms-the pale cheeks, the black hair-whatever, in short, had struck us in our Malamocco model: we retained her name, too-Phene, which is, by interpretation, sea-eagle. Now, think of Jules finding himself distinguished from the herd of us by such a creature! In his very first answer he proposed marrying his monitress and fancy us over these letters, two, three times a day, to receive and despatch! I concocted the main of it relations were in the way-secrecy must be observed-in fine, would he wed her on trust, and only speak to her when they were indissolubly united? Stst-Here they come ! 6th Student. Both of them! Heaven's love, speak softly, speak within yourselves! 5th Student. Look at the bridegroom! Half his hair in storm and half in calm,-patted down over the left temple, like a frothy cup one blows on to cool it: and the same old blouse that he murders the marble in. 2nd Student. Not a rich vest like yours, Hannibal Scratchy-rich, that your face may the better set it off. 6th Student. And the bride! Yes, sure enough, our Phene! Should you have known her in her clothes? How magnificently pale! Gottlieb. She does not also take it for earnest, I hope? 1st Student. Oh, Natalia's concern, that is! We settle with Natalia. 6th Student. She does not speak-has evidently let out no word. The only thing is, will she equally remember the rest of her lesson, and repeat correctly all those verses which are to break the secret to Jules? Gottlieb. How he gazes on her! Pity-pity! Ist Student. They go in : now, silence! You three,— not nearer the window, mind, than that pomegranate : just where the little girl, who a few minutes ago passed us singing, is seated! PART II. NOON. SCENE.-Over Orcana. The house of JULES, who crosses its threshold with PHENE: she is silent, on which JULES begins Do not die, Phene! I am yours now, you Are mine now; let fate reach me how she likes, If you 'll not die: so, never die! Sit here My work-room's single seat. I over-lean This length of hair and lustrous front; they turn Your chin-no, last your throat turns: 't is their scent This one way till I change, grow you—I could You by me, And I by you; this is your hand in mine, And side by side we sit: all 's true. I have spoken: speak you! Thank God! My Tydeus must be carved that's there in clay; Yet how be carved, with you about the room ? Get fairly into my old ways again, Bid each conception stand while, trait by trait, Will my mere fancies live near you, their truth The live truth, passing and repassing me, Sitting beside me? Now speak! Only first, See, all your letters! Was 't not well contrived? Their hiding-place is Psyche's robe; she keeps Your letters next her skin: which drops out foremost ? Again those eyes complete |