nger to the
praise and honour of a single one.

What marvel if they should choose him for the target of their resentment
and revenge?

He had just believed that the heaviest misfortune which can befall a man
and an artist had already stricken him. Now he felt that this, too, had
been an error; for, like a physical pain, he realized the collapse of the
proud delusion of being independent of every power except himself, freely
and arbitrarily controlling his own destiny, owing no gratitude except to
his own might, and being compelled to yield to nothing save the
enigmatical, pitiless power of eternal laws or their co-operation, so
incomprehensible to the human intellect, called "chance," which took no
heed of merit or unworthiness.

Must he, who had learned to silence and to starve every covetous desire,
in order to require no gifts from his own uncle and his wealthy kinsman
and friend, and be able to continue to hold his head high, as the most
independent of the independent, now, in addition to all his other woe, be
forced to believe in powers that exercised an influence over his every
act? Must he recognise praying to them and thanking them as the demand of
justice, of duty, and wisdom? Was this possible either?

And, believing himself alone, since he could not see Thyone and Daphne,
who were close by him, he struck his scorched brow with his clinched
fist, because he felt like a free man who suddenly realizes that a rope
which he can not break is bound around his hands and feet, and a giant
pulls and loosens it at his pleasure.

Yet no! Better die than become for gods and men a puppet that obeys every
jerk of visible and invisible hands.

Starting up in violent excitement, he tore the bandage from his face and
eyes, declaring, as Thyone seriously reprimanded him, that he would go
away, no matter where, and earn his daily bread at the handmill, like the
blind Ethiopian slave whom he had seen in the cabinetmaker's house at
Tennis.

Then Daphne spoke to him tenderly, but her soothing voice caused him
keener pain than his old friend's stern one.

To sit still longer seemed unendurable, and, with the intention of
regaining his lost composure by pacing to and fro, he began to walk; but
at the first free step he struck against the little table in front of
Thyone's couch, and as it upset and the vessels containing water fell
with it, clinking and breaking, he stopped and, as if utterly crushed,
groped his way back, wi