" And Venus heard.
Home to his house of dreams went the sculptor, loath to be parted for a
day from his statue, Galatea. There she stood, looking down upon him
silently, and he looked back at her. Surely the sunset had shed a flush
of life upon her whiteness.
He drew near in wonder and delight, and felt, instead of the chill air
that was wont to wake him out of his spell, a gentle warmth around her,
like the breath of a plant. He touched her hand, and it yielded like
the hand of one living! Doubting his senses, yet fearing to reassure
himself, Pygmalion kissed the statue.
In an instant the maiden's face bloomed like a waking rose, her hair
shone golden as returning sunlight; she lifted her ivory eyelids and
smiled at him. The statue herself had awakened, and she stepped down
from the pedestal, into the arms of her creator, alive!
There was a dream that came true.
OEDIPUS.
Behind the power of the gods and beyond all the efforts of men, the
three Fates sat at their spinning.
No one could tell whence these sisters were, but by some strange
necessity they spun the web of human life and made destinies without
knowing why. It was not for Clotho to decree whether the thread of a
life should be stout or fragile, nor for Lachesis to choose the fashion
of the web; and Atropos herself must sometimes have wept to cut a life
short with her shears, and let it fall unfinished.
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