<h2><SPAN name="chap16"></SPAN>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
<p class="poem">
“Ev’n the Styx, which ninefold her infoldeth<br/>
Hems not Ceres’ daughter in its flow;<br/>
But she grasps the apple—ever holdeth<br/>
Her, sad Orcus, down below.”<br/>
S<small>CHILLER</small>, <i>Das Ideal und das Leben</i>.</p>
<p>Ever as I sang, the veil was uplifted; ever as I sang, the signs of life grew;
till, when the eyes dawned upon me, it was with that sunrise of splendour which
my feeble song attempted to re-imbody.</p>
<p>The wonder is, that I was not altogether overcome, but was able to complete my
song as the unseen veil continued to rise. This ability came solely from the
state of mental elevation in which I found myself. Only because uplifted in
song, was I able to endure the blaze of the dawn. But I cannot tell whether she
looked more of statue or more of woman; she seemed removed into that region of
phantasy where all is intensely vivid, but nothing clearly defined. At last, as
I sang of her descending hair, the glow of soul faded away, like a dying
sunset. A lamp within had been extinguished, and the house of life shone blank
in a winter morn. She was a statue once more—but visible, and that was
much gained. Yet the revulsion from hope and fruition was such, that, unable to
restrain myself, I sprang to her, and, in defiance of the law of the place,
flung my arms around her, as if I would tear her from the grasp of a visible
Death, and lifted her from the pedestal down to my heart. But no sooner had her
feet ceased to be in contact with the black pedestal, than she shuddered and
trembled all over; then, writhing from my arms, before I could tighten their
hold, she sprang into the corridor, with the reproachful cry, “You should
not have touched me!” darted behind one of the exterior pillars of the
circle, and disappeared. I followed almost as fast; but ere I could reach the
pillar, the sound of a closing door, the saddest of all sounds sometimes, fell
on my ear; and, arriving at the spot where she had vanished, I saw, lighted by
a pale yellow lamp which hung above it, a heavy, rough door, altogether unlike
any others I had seen in the palace; for they were all of ebony, or ivory, or
covered with silver-plates, or of some odorous wood, and very ornate; whereas
this seemed of old oak, with heavy nails and iron studs. Notwithstanding the
precipitation of my pursuit, I could not help reading, in silver letters
beneath the lamp: “<i>No one enters here without the leave of the
Queen</i>.” But what was the Queen to me, when I followed my white lady?
I dashed the door to the wall and sprang through. Lo! I stood on a waste windy
hill. Great stones like tombstones stood all about me. No door, no palace was
to be seen. A white figure gleamed past me, wringing her hands, and crying,
“Ah! you should have sung to me; you should have sung to me!” and
disappeared behind one of the stones. I followed. A cold gust of wind met me
from behind the stone; and when I looked, I saw nothing but a great hole in the
earth, into which I could find no way of entering. Had she fallen in? I could
not tell. I must wait for the daylight. I sat down and wept, for there was no
help.</p>
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