"Frantic creature! Away, away!" said she, as she turned her back upon him. Her face of beauty seemed turned to stone, like unto the Medusa's head with its serpent locks. He descended to the street, a weak, lifeless thing; he entered his room like a night-walker, and in the rage of his grief, he seized his hammer, brandished it high in the air and sought to destroy the beautiful marble form. He did not observe--so excited was he--that Angelo, his friend, stood near him, and arrested his arm with a firm grasp.
"Have you become mad? What would you do?" They struggled with each other. Angelo was the stronger, and with a deep drawn breath, he threw the young artist on a chair.
"What has occurred?" asked Angelo, "Collect yourself! Speak!"
What could he say? What could he tell? As Angelo could not seize the thread of his discourse, he let it drop.
"Your blood grows thick with this eternal dreaming! Be human, like others and live not in the clouds! Drink, until you become slightly intoxicated, then you will sleep well! The young girl from the Campagna, is as beautiful as the princess in the marble palace, they are both daughters of Eve, and can not be distinguished one from the other in Paradise! Follow your Angelo! I am your good angel, the angel of your life! A time will come when you are old, when the body will dwindle and some beautiful sunshiny day, when everything laughs and rejoices, you will lie like a withered straw! I do not believe what the priests say, that there is a life beyond the grave! It is a pretty fancy, a fairy tale for children, delightful to think upon. I do not live in imagination, but in reality! Come with me! Become a man!"
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.