But we can't suppose that Artemidorus worshipped or believed in
those gods. They are there because they are splendid decoration and
perfectly appropriate in character. The real feeling of those who loved
the dead man breaks out in the inscription." She pointed to a band below
the pectoral, where, in gilt capital letters, was written the two words,
"[Greek: ARTEMIDORE EUPsUChI]."
"Yes," I said, "it is very dignified and very human."
"And so sincere and full of real emotion," she added. "I find it
unspeakably touching. 'O Artemidorus, farewell!' There is the real note
of human grief, the sorrow of eternal parting. How much finer it is than
the vulgar boastfulness of the Semitic epitaphs, or our own miserable,
insincere make-believe of the 'Not lost but gone before' type. He was
gone from them for ever; they would look on his face and hear his voice
no more; they realised that this was their last farewell. Oh, there is a
world of love and sorrow in those two simple words!"
For some time neither of us spoke. The glamour of this touching memorial
of a long-buried grief had stolen over me, and I was content to stand
silent by my beloved companion and revive, with a certain pensive
pleasure, the ghosts of human emotions over which so many centuries had
rolled.
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