1In all the sorrows of my changed fortune, this is the heaviest grief: that I once was happy.
2While I was silently pondering within myself, and recording my sorrowful complaint with my pen, there appeared standing above me a woman of majestic countenance, whose eyes were full of fire and keen beyond the common power of men.
3Her stature was of a doubtful kind, for at one moment it exceeded not the measure of a common man, at another it seemed to touch with her crown the very heavens.
4In her right hand she carried books, and in her left was a sceptre. And when she saw that the Muses of poetry stood beside my bed, dictating the words for my tears, she was moved awhile to wrath.
5‘Who,’ said she, ‘has allowed these wanton stage-players to approach this sick man? Not only have they no remedies for his pains, but with their sweet poison they make them worse.’
6‘These are they who choke the rich harvest of the fruits of reason with the barren thorns of passion. They accustom men’s minds to disease, instead of setting them free.’
7Then she spoke: ‘But it is rather time for healing than for lamentation.’ And fixing her eyes earnestly upon me, she said: ‘Art thou not he who was once nourished with my milk and brought up with my food?’
8‘I had given thee such weapons as would have preserved thee with unconquerable power, if thou hadst not thrown them away. Dost thou know me? Why art thou silent?’
9‘Is it shame or astonishment that has struck thee dumb? I would it were shame, but I see that astonishment has overwhelmed thee.’
10When she saw that I was not only silent but utterly unable to speak, she laid her hand gently upon my breast and said: ‘There is no danger; he is suffering from drowsiness, that disease common to deceived minds. He has forgotten himself for a moment; he will easily remember, if only he has known me before. That he may do so, let me brush away from his eyes the cloud of mortal things.’
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