Behind the weeping willow there rose out of the waters of the lake a marble statue of the goddess. She was white and of life-size; her head, like that of every other Venus, was too small and had the beauty of this imperfection. Her hair was partly bound to her nape, partly hanging on her neck. The water came up to her waist, hiding the lower part of her body; under the surface, reeds and other aquatic plants formed a pedestal for the white bust. The full-throated Venus leant forward to gaze placidly into the water, her still bosom inflated with delight, as if she had no cause of complaint against it, or the plants held her bound in their enchantments. When Lucia turned from the apparition to Andrea, her expression had undergone a change. Thought was on her brow, in her eyes, on her lips.
“And what is there over there, Andrea?”
“Come and see.”
It was something hidden in the trees. They went round the lake to it and found the ruin of a mock portico, with eight or ten columns, falling into utter decay, and a hole made in the roof through which the weeds grew in abundance. The cracked walls, after the antique, were peeling; the ivy was devouring the mock ruin in good earnest; some of its stones had fallen. Under the damp shelter of the portico there was a musty smell that made one shudder, like the air of a vault.
“And this, Andrea?”
“The ruin of a portico.”
“There must have been a temple?”
“Yes; the temple of Venus.”
“Venus, who at night descends from her altar to bathe in the lake,” she said, dreamily. “One night, jealous Dian enchanted her and bound her in the waters. Never more did Venus return to the temple; the temple, reft of the goddess, fell, and was no more. All that is left of it is the portico; that will also fall. For all eternity, through the moon’s spell, Venus is a prisoner amid the waters that gnaw her feet and the reeds that pierce her sides. One fatal day the rotten pedestal will give way, and fallen Venus will lie drowned at the bottom of the lake.”
She was silent.