"There can be nothing really new to say until man climbs up to another planet or until creatures of another planet climb down to this one."
"A doctrine of despair."
"Not at all—unless for the materialist."
"How is that?"
"Would you trammel the soul with the shackles of the flesh?"
"You mean that literature and art persistently look in the gutter for subjects when they would be more worthily employed in questioning the stars?"
"I mean that if literature and art were not trades, inspiration might have a chance."
"And you regard inspiration as a spiritual journey?"
"Certainly; and imagination as the memory of the soul. There is no such thing as intellectual creation. We are instruments only. John Newman did not invent The Dream of Gerontius; he remembered it. There is a strain in the music of Samson et Dalila which was sung in the temples of Nineveh, where it must have been heard by Saint Saëns. The wooing of Tarone in your Francesca of the Lilies is a faithful account of a scene enacted in Florence during the feuds between the Amidei and Buondelmonti."
Paul Mario fell silent. The storm was passing, and now raged over the remote hills which looked out upon the sea; but the darkness prevailed, and he became aware of a vague disquiet which stirred within him. The conversation of Jules Thessaly impressed him strangely, not because of its hard brilliance, but because of a masterful certainty in that quiet voice. His words concerning Newman and Saint Saëns were spoken as though he meant them to be accepted literally—and there was something terrifying in the idea. For he averred that which many have suspected, but which few have claimed to know. Presently Paul found speech again.