“And the World, the faithful sentinel of Sin, does not know how thou hast entered here?” “I did not come that Sin should know me.” “_I_ do not know thee.” “So John will say.” “By what door didst thou enter?” “By that of Divine Love, who accompanies me.” “What is thy office?” “I was once an Artist in a certain allegory, and must still be the same.” “Artist?” “Yes, since I came to retouch a figure of mine which an error has blotted.” “Since thou art a painter thou canst do me a favor.…” “What is it?” The World then informs him that there is a certain Spouse who has been carried away from her husband, and is now in the power of a Tyrant, who is endeavoring to force her to accompany him to another world, the seat of his rule. The Artist weeps, because he remembers his own Spouse, whose fate is similar to that of this one. The world begs the Artist to make a portrait of this fair disconsolate one, that he (the World) may wear it on his breast. The Artist consents, and conceals himself in order to work unobserved. The World goes in search of Human Nature, while the Artist looks about for some hiding-place. Love points to a cross near by, and says that as the first offence was committed in a tree, this one will witness his vengeance. The Artist calls for his colors, and Love presents him with a box, in opening which his hands are stained a bloody red. “Take this!” “It is all carmine.” “I have no other color.” “Do not let it afflict thee, Love, that blood must retouch what Sin has blotted. The brushes!” Love hands him three nails--“Here they are!” “How sharp and cruel! What can be the canvas for such brushes!” Love gives him a canvas in the shape of a heart--“a heart.” “Of bronze?” “Yes.” “How I grieve to see it so hardened, when I intended to form in it a second figure! Give me the mall-stick.” Love presents him with a small lance. “Here it is.” “The point is steel! Less cruel instruments Innocence, Grace, and Knowledge once gave me!” “Be not astonished if these are more cruel than those; for then thou didst paint as God, and now as Man!” While the Artist is working Nature, Free-will, and Sin enter, and later Lucifer, who, wearied of Nature’s continual lamentation, comes to drag her to his realm. ARTIST. “Why should I delay my vengeance, seeing them together? Give me, Love, the weapons which I brought for this occasion!” “Thy voice is the lightning, this weapon only its symbol; but I deliver it to thee with sorrow!” “When my offended honor is so deeply concerned?” “I am Love, and _she_ is weeping; but I will direct my gaze to thy wrongs, and without fail shall hit the mark.” “My hand cannot err, traitrous adulterers, who conspired against me; the honor of an insulted man obliges me to this! I am the Painter of his own Dishonor; die both at one stroke!” (Fires. Lucifer and Sin both fall.) LOVE. “Thou hast hit Sin, and not Human Nature!”