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: