From this time forth, act after act, the troubles and sorrows and misfortunes and humiliations of life beat upon him without pity or respite; but he will not give up, he will not confess his mistake. Whenever he meets Death he still furiously defies him--but Death patiently waits. He, the healer of sorrows, is man's best friend: the recognition of this will come. As the years drag on, and on, and on, the friends of the Master's youth grow old; and one by one they totter to the grave: he goes on with his proud fight, and will not yield. At length he is wholly alone in the world; all his friends are dead; last of all, his darling of darlings, his son, the lad Nymphas, who dies in his arms. His pride is broken now; and he would welcome Death, if Death would come, if Death would hear his prayers and give him peace. The closing act is fine and pathetic. Appelles meets Zenobia, the helper of all who suffer, and tells her his story, which moves her pity. By common report she is endowed with more than earthly powers; and since he cannot have the boon of death, he appeals to her to drown his memory in forgetfulness of his griefs--forgetfulness 'which is death's equivalent'. She says (roughly translated), in an exaltation of compassion:
'Come to me!
Kneel; and may the power be granted me To cool the fires of this poor tortured brain, And bring it peace and healing.'
He kneels. From her hand, which she lays upon his head, a mysterious influence steals through him; and he sinks into a dreamy tranquility.
'Oh, if I could but so drift Through this soft twilight into the night of peace, Never to wake again!
(Raising his hand, as if in benediction.)
O mother earth, farewell! Gracious thou were to me. Farewell! Appelles goes to rest.'
Death appears behind him and encloses the uplifted hand in his. Appelles shudders,
