er to lower the parasol of ostrich plumes, and thus conceal her
yet more from the curious gaze of the crowd.

Candaules had vainly begged of her to lay aside her veil, even for that
solemn occasion. The young barbarian had refused to pay the welcome of
her beauty to his people. Great was the disappointment. Lamia declared
that Nyssia dared not uncover her face for fear of showing her double
pupil. The young libertine remained convinced that Theano of Colophon
was more beautiful than the queen of Sardes; and Gyges sighed when he
beheld Nyssia, after having made her elephant kneel down, descend upon
the inclined heads of Damascus slaves as upon a living ladder, to
the threshold of the royal dwelling, where the elegance of Greek
architecture was blended with the fantasies and enormities of Asiatic
taste.

CHAPTER II

In our character of poet we have the right to lift the saffron-coloured
_flammeum_ which concealed the young bride, being more fortunate in this
wise than the Sardians, who after a whole day's waiting were obliged
to return to their houses, and were left, as before, to their own
conjectures.

Nyssia was really far superior to her reputation, great as it was. It
seemed as though Nature in creating her had resolved to exhaust her
utmost powers, and thus make atonement for all former experimental
attempts and fruitless essays. One would have said that, moved by
jealousy of the future marvels of the Greek sculptors, she also had
resolved to model a statue herself, and to prove that she was still
sovereign mistress in the plastic art.

The grain of snow, the micaceous brilliancy of Parian marble, the
sparkling pulp of balsamine flowers, would render but a feeble idea
of the ideal substance whereof. Nyssia had been formed. That flesh,
so fine, so delicate, permitted daylight to penetrate it, and modelled
itself in transparent contours, in lines as sweetly harmonious as music
itself. According to different surroundings, it took the colour of the
sunlight or of purple, like the aromal body of a divinity, and seemed
to radiate light and life. The world of perfections inclosed within the
nobly lengthened oval of her chaste face could have been rendered by no
earthly art--neither by the chisel of the sculptor, nor the brush of the
painter, nor the style of any poet--though it were Praxiteles,
Apelles, or Mimnernus; and on her smooth brow, bathed by waves of
hair amber-bright as molten electrum and sprinkled w