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ARIADNE. 165silent andlookinginto vacancy, striving,no doubt,to recall that power which had passed away fromher; that mystical power of artistic creationwinch is nomore tobe commanded thanitcan beexplained.SometimesIwas half afraid of whatIhaddone, for she grew weaker and more feverish,it seemed to me and woulcl not stir from theplace inthe heavy torrid weather, when the verydogs in the streets could scarcely drag theirlimbs from sun to shadow; and sometimesIcould have beaten out my brains against tliewaU becauseIhad had that accursed dream inBorghese, and now had to watch its slow fulfilmentand could do nothing: " for the Romanwoman had said,justly, Either the temple ofLubentina,or death."There was no middle course between the two.And who could wish her less faithful even tothe faithless, since by fidelity alone is loveliftedfrom the beastinto the god?So months passed by,and she remained allthelong empty clays shut there with the dumb claysand the Carrara marbles, that woulcl lie there