I ran away from him and came home, bawling
all the way with streaming eyes, and I related the
story of the stick and denounced what I called
my uncle's brutality, adding that he treated me
thus from jealousy lest I should surpass him in
his art. My mother was greatly incensed, and
called her brother all manner of hard names, and
when night came I fell asleep, still in tears, and
my mind was busy all night long.

 

Now, up to this point all that I have told is
the laughable history of a hobbledehoy; but listen, my friends, to a sequel no longer contemptible, but calling for close attention. For, to quote
Homer,

 The gods sent me a vision in my sleep
through the ambrosial night, 

so vivid that it fell
in nowise short of reality. To this day, after so
great a lapse of time, the forms I saw remain in
my eyes and the sounds I heard ring in my ears,
and this shows how distinct it all was.

 

Two
women laid hold of me, each taking a hand and
dragging me towards herself with great energy
and strength; indeed, they almost tore me asunder in their contention. For first one of them


 



would prevail and all but get possession of me,
and then I would be plucked away again by her
rival. And they screamed in concert, one of
them crying that it was her property she wished
to get hold of, and the other that the first was
vainly striving for what did not belong to her.
This first woman was masculine and workmanlike, with rough hair and callous hands. Her garments were girded up and full of marble chips,
just as my uncle's were wont to be when he was
polishing stone. But the other was of a very fair
countenance, and her figure was shapely and her
clothing well-ordered. Now at last they left it
to me to decide which of them I would fain join.
And first the harsh, man-like one spoke: