Explore "Four Phases of Love" by Paul Heyse on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The next evening Theodore read, from an old Italian "Ovid," the fable of the Medusa, as he had promised. He looked from time to time over his book towards Bianchi, whose eyes were fixed upon the ceiling. Theodore's calm voice seemed to bind him with a spell; the tale which he read, to move his innermost soul -- so the other read on. When he arose, Bianchi drew a deep breath, and cried, "You are going! -- you do not know how I have enjoyed it! These tales were to me but mutilated old statues, the limbs scattered about, the head far from the trunk, and all weather-beaten and decayed. As you read it, all drew itself together again, and now stands entire before me. Oh! that my arms were but sound again -- my fingers tremble at the thought of kneading a piece of clay -- but that is not to be -- and you go -- you smile! I can guess where you are going! well -- enjoy your youth. But now I think for the first time of the nights I have made you pass."
"They would have been more lonely than they have been here -- and you cannot guess where I go, Bianchi. I am going to pay court to two old people, and only now and then the soft hand of their daughter touches my arm in secret. All my enjoyment is seeing -- hoping."