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He drew him away, he could do this now, for there was a fire in the
young artist’s blood, a change in his soul; an ardent desire to tear
himself away from all his wonted ways, from all accustomed thoughts;
to forget his old self–and to-day he followed Angelo.

In the suburbs, lay an osteria, which was much frequented by artists;
it was built in the ruins of a bathing chamber. Amongst the dark
shining foliage, hung large yellow lemons which covered a portion of
the old reddish-yellow wall. The osteria was a deep vault, almost
like a hollow in the ruins; within, a lamp burned before the image of
the Madonna; a large fire flamed on the hearth, for here they roasted,
cooked and prepared the dishes for the guests. Without, under the
lemon and laurel trees, stood tables ready set.

They were received merrily and rejoicingly by their friends; they ate
little and drank much and became gay; they sang, and played on the
guitar; the Saltarello sounded and the dance began. Two Roman girls,
models of the young artists, joined in the dance and merriment; two
pretty Bacchante! They had no Psyche forms, they were not delicate
beautiful roses, but fresh, healthy flaming pinks.

How warm it was on this day, even warm at sundown! Fire in the blood,
fire in the air, fire in every glance. The air swam in gold and
roses, life was gold and roses.

“Now you have at last joined us! Allow yourself to be carried away by
the current within and without you!”

“I never felt so well and joyous before!” said the young artist. “You
are right, you are all of you right. I was a fool, a dreamer; man
belongs to reality and not to fancy!”

The young man left the osteria, in the clear starry evening, with song
and tinkling guitars, and passed through the narrow streets. The
daughters of the Campagna, the two flaming pinks, were in their train.

In Angelo’s room, the voices sounded more suppressed but not less
fiery, amongst the scattered sketches, the outlines, the glowing,
voluptuous paintings; amongst the drawings on the floor there was many
a sketch of vigorous beauty, like unto the daughters of the Campagna,
yet they themselves were much more beautiful. The six-armed lamp
glowed brightly, and the human forms warmed and shone like gods.

“Apollo! Jupiter! I elevate myself to your heaven, to your glory!
Methinks, that the flower of my life has unfolded within my heart!”
Yes, it did unfold–it withered and fell to pieces; a stunning,
loathsome vapour arose, dazzling the sight, benumbing the thoughts,
extinguishing his sensual, fiery emotions, and all was dark. He went
home, sat down on his bed, and thought. “Fie!” sounded from his lips,
from the bottom of his heart. “Miserable wretch! away! away!”–and he
sighed sorrowfully.

“Away! Away!” These, her words, the words of the living Psyche,
weighed upon him, and flowed from his lips. He bowed his head upon
the pillows, his thoughts became confused and he slept.

At the dawn of day he started up.–What was this? Was it a dream? Were
her words, the visit to the osteria, the evening with the purple red
pinks of the Campagna but a dream?–No, all was reality; he had not
known this before.

The clear star beamed in the purple-tinted air, its rays fell upon
him, and upon the marble Psyche; he trembled whilst he contemplated
the image of immortality, his glance even appeared impure to him. He
threw a covering over it, he touched it once more in order to veil its
form, but he could not view his work.

Still, sombre, buried in his own meditations, he sat there the whole
day; he took no heed of what passed around him, no one knew what was
agitating this human heart. Days passed by, weeks passed by; the
nights were the longest. One morning, the twinkling star saw him rise
from his couch–pale–trembling with fever; he walked to the marble
statue, lifted the cover, gazed upon his work with a sorrowful, deep,
long look, and then almost sinking under the weight, he drew the
statue into the garden. There was a sunken, dried-up well, within it,
into which he lowered the Psyche, threw earth upon it and covered the
fresh grave with small sticks and nettles.