Pheidias, to him, may have been little more than
an amateur, struggling with brute material in the infancy of his trade
or calling. No, my friend! I am glad not to be coeval with Pericles. I
am glad to recognize Hellenic achievements at their true worth. I am
glad to profit by that wedge of time which has enabled me to reverence
things fair and eternal."
"Things fair and eternal," echoed Keith, who was getting too thirsty
and restless to discuss art-matters. "Come with me! I will show you
things fair and eternal."
He led the way to a distant arbour, overhung with a canopy of blood-red
passion-flowers and girt about by design dangled from the clustering
foliage in its roof. Within, directly under the beams, all by itself,
on an upright chair beside a small table, sat an incongruous,
startling, awe-inspiring apparition--a grimy old man of Mongolian
aspect. He might have been frozen to stone, so immobile, so lifeless
were his features. Belated visitors passed near the entrance of the
shrine, peered within as at some outlandish and sinister freak of
nature, and moved on with jocular words.
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