264 “FIELD' AND REDGEROW:. 
cold light from the windows. Without there were only 
houses, the city of Paris—a city above all other cities 
farthest from woods and meads. Here, nevertheless, 
there came back to me this old thought born in the 
midst of flowers and wind-rustled leaves, and I saw that 
with it the statue before me was in concord. The living 
original of this work was the human impersonation of 
the secret influence which had beckoned me on in the 
‘forest and by running streams, She expressed in love- 
liness of form the colour and light of sunny days; she 
expressed the deep aspiring desire of the soul for the 
perfection of the frame in which it is encased, for the 
perfection of its own existence. 
The sun rolls on in the far dome of heaven, and now 
day and now night sweeps with alternate bands over the 
surface of hill, and wood, and sea; the sea beats in end- 
less waves, which first began to undulate a thousand thou- 
sand years ago, starting from the other rim of Time; the 
green leaves repeat the beauty that gladdened man in 
ancient days. But for themselves they are, and not for 
us. Their glory fills the mind with rapture but fora while, 
and it learns that they are, like carven idols, wholly care- 
less and indifferent to our fate. Then is the valley in- 
complete, and the void sad! Its hills speak of death as 
well as of life, and we know that for man there is nothing 
on earth really but man; the human species owns and 
possesses nothing. but its species. When I saw this I 
turned with threefold concentration of desire and love 
towards that expression of hope which is called beauty, 
such as is worked in marble here. For I think beauty is 
truthfully an expression of hope, and that is why it is so 
enthralling—because while the heart is absorbed in its 
contemplation, unconscious but powerful hope is filling 
the breast. So powerful is it as to banish for the time 
