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10 ARIADNE.breaking loose Hke a river long pent-up and"breakingits banks. Look! From alittle lad,allIcared for was art. Going behind my muleover the stony ground,Isaw only the imagesIhad seen in the churches and the faces of thegods and the saints. Starving and homeless inParis,Iwas happy as abird of the air, becausethe day showed mebeautiful shapes, and bynightin sleepIsaw loveHer stiU. When fame came tome, and the praises of men and their triumphs,Iwas glad because by such meansIcould giveray years to the studiesIloved,and the visionsof mybrainin palpable form to the people. Neveronce wasIproud with the pride of a fool; butIwas glad — ah,God!Iwas glad. The stubbornstone obeyed me, submissive as a slave;Idelightedinmystrength;Iknew my mastery; mylabour wasbeautiful to me,and wakingIthoughtof it and went to it as to the sweetest mistressthat could smile on earth. When oneloves anart,itis the love of the creator and of the offspringbothin one;itis thej 03- of the lover andof the child;whenit fails us, what can the wholeworld give ? And now inmeitis dead — dead —