"All my spirits were in a state of ebullition. I ascended the heights behind Stresa. I was impelled along a pathless course through vineyards and chestnut groves; the sky was again overcast. Gloomily lay the surface of the lake, but it was as though, beneath the covering of clouds, a hotter breath brooded over the earth. "I inhaled deep draughts of the burning air of that voluptuous nature--my pulses were at fever height. "At the same time I was possessed with a sick dread of losing the key, and every moment I felt if it were still in my pocket. "The evening hour struck from the church tower of the little town on the shore. For half-an-hour already I had been wandering round the villa, in which no lights were shining. "The marble balustrades and pillars gazed gloomily into the cloudy night, but the air was perfumed with a hundred invisible flowers. "Then something like a will-o'-the-wisp quivered in the pavilion! a little lamp illuminated the branches of the red fir-tree which kept guard before it. I opened the garden door and entered the leafy walks. "She was waiting for me at the entrance of the dainty little round building. Mats covered the floor; ottomans with soft cushions were spread round the walls, which higher up were wreathed with garlands of flowers. "The air wafted an exquisite perfume inside and through the open window. "She appeared more beautiful to me than ever; she was a night-flower, created for night and moonlight. Her complexion was of that _morbidezza_ of the Venetian women, which lends them such a melancholy charm; and by day, too, she wore her hair in the artistic manner of the Venetians, plaited at the side, behind a daintily-coiled head-dress. But now it flowed in dark abundance over the yellow shimmering moiré dress. She received me sadly: was not the coming parting hovering over our bliss of the present moment as restless foreboding hovers over every happiness? "I have often read in books written by those who are learned in art, that all beauty is a self-sufficing copy of the eternal idea, whose enjoyment alone can grant harmonious contentment, that its reign ceases when the will's emotion desecrates its impalpable glory. "It is heresy to think otherwise about it, and yet I do think otherwise. Even that people of god-like beauty, the Hellenes, thought otherwise, else they would never have invented the legend of Pygmalion: that is the solution of the enigma--beauty which does not only satisfy the ideal senses, which overpowers the whole man, so that without volition he is seized by its magic power. "Amongst the Lemures of the East Prussian exorcists, woman, in her magical power, had first crossed my path; and that spirit of adoration which so long had held me in its bondage, was vanquished for evermore. "Here, beneath Italy's laurels and myrtles, I was Pygmalion; but it was no cold marble that I folded in my arms. Was I ever a poet, I was one then; hymns of rapture flowed through my soul.