SOPHENE AND SOPHOCLES. 133 



left my mind in an easier state than it would have been had she 

 been present. 



That day had nothing- remarkable in it; it passed away as the pre- 

 ceding one. The visits being over, we went to see the upper part 

 of the garden that we had not yet seen ; the beauties there were of a 

 different kind, and what they borrowed from art, only contributed to 

 render them more pleasant to the eye. We mounted a spacious 

 terrace on the right hand ; raised upon pedestals of white marble 

 appeared eight brazen groups, the work of Vulcan or of his most 

 favoured scholars ; on the left hand ran a balustrade of Parian marble. 

 The eyes wandered over fertile plains and distant hills; there Ceres, 

 overpaying the vows of the greedy husbandman, unfolded all her trea- 

 sures ; the golden ears fell beneath the sickle, and the ground was 

 covered with them. Astonished at his own riches, the possessor of 

 so much plenty poured out his thanks to the goddess for them. A 

 swarm of necessitous poor find in what he gives up to them where- 

 withal to relieve their misery. There sun-burnt slaves quickly 

 erected mountains of heaped up sheaves, while the oxen groaned 

 under the weight of those they dragged away with slow step. 



While I was taken up with that scene, Imlacca admired the sta- 

 tues. I had given them only a slight glance ; I was then unexpe- 

 rienced, and only moved by the objects that from my eyes passed 

 rapidly, of their own accord, to my heart. But he who had traversed 

 over all Greece, who had formed his taste amidst the wonders of 

 Athens, Delphos, and Egypt, could not refrain from speaking loudly 

 in their praise. " Sophocles," said he, " do you see that Hercules 

 yonder? what strength, what expression, what truth in his attitude! 

 How calm he is! how firm his gait! his arm alone can bear that 

 enormous club wherewith he seems to play. The lion with a fiery 

 look and bristling mane falls upon him ; his mouth is full of gore ; his 

 bloody claws make it spout from all the parts of the hero's body. 

 Son of Alcmena, redouble your efforts ; 'tis after victory only that you 

 will be acknowledged the son of Jupiter. A dreadful blow has 

 made an end of that fight ; the fierce animal, his head crushed, is 

 lying at your feet; you are victorious. There is, continued he, a 

 more smiling piece. Venus receives the apple from the hands of 

 Paris. Do you think it possible to contemplate Venus, and yet dare 

 to dispute with her the palm of beauty? joy sparkles in her eyes ; 

 it does not increase her charms, but it sets them off to the best ad- 

 vantage. There Cupids sport with her zone. 



They applaud her triumph, and laugh at the confusion of her 

 rivals. Paris, less sensible of the happiness that must attend him, 

 than dazzled by all he sees, seemed to thank the goddess for the 

 present he gave her. Who is that other deity? her majestic and 

 stern look at once impresses respect and awe, it is Minerva who 

 punishes Arachne's pride. She is no more that audacious mortal 

 who durst defy her ; she is a timorous girl ; her look is the true pic- 

 ture of terror, and she struggles in vain to escape from the revenge- 

 ful hand that strikes her to the ground. 



Examine her robe, which she embroidered herself. What elegance 

 in the design of it ! What fineness in the performance ! Would not one 



