Sorrow looked at me pityingly, and gave no answer, but led me into a hall that was vast and high and airy, filled with wondrous strains of music, glorious pictures, and statues. I wandered among them bewildered. There was nothing to fear here.
"See," said Sorrow, "here live the Arts; you may choose one of them. But of your own accord you must select that which suits you; and it will help you on the road to Truth."
Then I laid my hand on an instrument—
"Music tempts me," I said; "I will sing and play like a god, and it cost me my life and my happiness."
With what ardor, what fire did I begin to play! I followed music like an adored mistress. I besought her to lead me to Truth. But she ever went too fast or soared above my head, while I played till my hands failed me. Song sounded weak and small in my throat, instead of sobbing and storming. Then I ran into the Wood in my distress, and it comforted me.
One day Sorrow touched my shoulder.
"You still play badly, you still sing feebly; let us go further: you are no artist."
I laid aside my instrument and wept.
"Hush!" said Sorrow; "you wanted to carry a mountain."