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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:17 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:17 -0700 |
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+} +.xd20e109width +{ +width:525px; +} +.xd20e116width +{ +width:482px; +} +.xd20e127width +{ +width:430px; +} +.xd20e280width +{ +width:480px; +} +.xd20e371width +{ +width:481px; +} +.xd20e1180width +{ +width:483px; +} +.xd20e1275width +{ +width:481px; +} +.xd20e1348width +{ +width:479px; +} +.xd20e1391width +{ +width:485px; +} +.xd20e1644width +{ +width:479px; +} +.xd20e1816width +{ +width:480px; +} +.xd20e2121width +{ +width:484px; +} +.xd20e2294width +{ +width:482px; +} +.xd20e2835width +{ +width:482px; +} +.xd20e2915 +{ +text-align:center;font-size:smaller; +} +.xd20e2919 +{ +font-size:larger; text-align:center; +} +.xd20e2924width +{ +width:153px; +} +.xd20e2928 +{ +font-size:small; text-align:center; +} +.xd20e4972width +{ +width:348px; +} +.xd20e4979 +{ +font-size:smaller; text-align:center; +} +.xd20e4998width +{ +width:24px; +} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Psyche, by Louis Couperus + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Psyche + +Author: Louis Couperus + +Illustrator: Dion Clayton Calthrop + +Translator: B. S. Berrington + +Release Date: November 13, 2011 [EBook #38005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PSYCHE *** + + + + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project +Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously +made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="front"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first"></p> +<div class="figure xd20e109width"><img src="images/frontcover.jpg" alt= +"Original Front Cover." width="525" height="720"></div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first"></p> +<div class="figure xd20e116width"><img src="images/p000.jpg" alt= +"Psyche and the Sphinx" width="482" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">Psyche and the Sphinx</p> +<p class="first">[<i>Frontispiece</i></p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first"></p> +<div class="figure xd20e127width"><img src="images/titlepage.gif" alt= +"Original Title Page." width="430" height="720"></div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="titlePage"> +<div class="docTitle"> +<div class="mainTitle">Psyche</div> +</div> +<div class="byline">By<br> +<span class="docAuthor">Louis Couperus</span><br> +Translated from the Dutch, with the author’s permission,<br> +By<br> +<span class="docAuthor">B. S. Berrington, B.A.</span><br> +<i>With Twelve Illustrations by Dion Clayton Calthrop</i></div> +<div class="docImprint">London: Alston Rivers, Ltd.<br> +Brooke Street, Holborn Bars, E.C.<br> +<span class="docDate">1908</span></div> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">“Cry no more now and go to sleep, and if you +cannot sleep, I will tell you a story, a pretty story of flowers and +gems and birds, of a young prince and a little princess. ... For in the +world there is nothing more than a story.” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb1" href="#pb1" name="pb1">1</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="body"> +<div id="ch1" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e171" class="super">Psyche</h2> +<h2 class="main">Chapter I</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Gigantically massive, with three hundred towers, on +the summit of a rocky mountain, rose the king’s castle high into +the clouds.</p> +<p>But the summit was broad, and flat as a plateau, and the castle +spread far out, for miles and miles, with ramparts and walls and +pinnacles.</p> +<p>And everywhere rose up the towers, lost in the clouds, and the +castle was like a city, built upon a lofty rock of basalt.</p> +<p>Round the castle and far away lay the valleys of the kingdom, +receding into the horizon, one after the other, and ever and ever.</p> +<p>Ever changing was the horizon: now pink, then silver; now blue, then +golden; now grey, then white and misty, and gradually fading away, and +never could the last be seen. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb2" href= +"#pb2" name="pb2">2</a>]</span></p> +<p>In clear weather there loomed behind the horizon always another +horizon. They circled one another endlessly, they were lost in the +dissolving mists, and suddenly their silhouette became more sharply +defined.</p> +<p>Over the lofty towers stretched away at times an expanse of +variegated clouds, but below rushed a torrent, which fell like a +cataract into a fathomless abyss, that made one dizzy to look at.</p> +<p>So it seemed as if the castle rose up to the highest stars and went +down to the central nave of the earth.</p> +<p>Along the battlements, higher than a man, Psyche often wandered, +wandered round the castle from tower to tower, from wall to wall, with +a dreamy smile on her face, then she looked up and stretched out her +hands to the stars, or gazed below at the dashing water, with all the +colours of the rainbow, till her head grew dizzy, and she drew back and +placed her little hands before her eyes. And long she would sit in the +corner of an embrasure, her eyes looking far away, a smile on her face, +her knees drawn up and her arms entwining them, and her tiny wings +spread out against the mossy stone-work, like a butterfly that sat +motionless. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb3" href="#pb3" name= +"pb3">3</a>]</span></p> +<p>And she gazed at the horizon, and however much she gazed, she always +saw more.</p> +<p>Close by were the green valleys, dotted with grazing sheep, soft +meadows with fat cattle, waving corn-fields, canals covered with ships, +and the cottage roofs of a village. Farther away were lines of woods, +hill-tops, mountain-ridges, or a mass of angular, rough-hewn +basalt.</p> +<p>Still farther off, misty towers with minarets and domes, cupolas and +spires, smoking chimneys, and the outline of a broad river. Beyond, the +horizon became milk-white, or like an opal, but not a line more was +there, only tint, the reflection of the last glow of the sun, as if +lakes were mirrored there; islands rose, low, in the air, aerial +paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and light +quivering nothingness!...</p> +<p>And Psyche gazed and mused.... She was the third princess, the +youngest daughter of the old king, monarch of the <i>Kingdom of the +Past</i>.... She was always very lonely. Her sisters she seldom saw, +her father only for a moment in the evening, before she went to bed; +and when she had the chance she fled from the mumbling old nurse, and +wandered along <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb4" href="#pb4" name= +"pb4">4</a>]</span>the battlements and dreamed, with her eyes far away, +gazing at the vast kingdom, beyond which was nothingness....</p> +<p>Oh, how she longed to go farther than the castle, to the meadows, +the woods, the towns—to go to the shining lakes, the opal +islands, the oceans of ether, and then to that far, far-off +nothingness, that quivered so, like a pale, pale light!... Would she +ever be able to pass out of the gates?—Oh, how she longed to +wander, to seek, to fly!... To fly, oh! to fly, to fly as the sparrows, +the doves, the eagles!</p> +<p>And she flapped her weak, little wings.</p> +<p>On her tender shoulders there were two wings, like those of a very +large butterfly, transparent membranes, covered with crimson and soft, +yellow dust, streaked with azure and pink, where they were joined to +her back. And on each wing glowed two eyes, like those on a +peacock’s tail, but more beautiful in colour and glistening like +jewels, fine sapphires and emeralds on velvet, and the velvet eye set +four times in the glittering texture of the wings.</p> +<p>Her wings she flapped, but with them she could not fly. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb5" href="#pb5" name="pb5">5</a>]</span></p> +<p>That, that was her great grief—that, that made her think, what +were they for, those wings on her shoulders? And she shook them and +flapped them, but could not rise above the ground; her delicate form +did not ascend into the air, her naked foot remained firm on the +ground, and only her thin, fine veil, that trailed a little round her +snow-white limbs, was slightly raised by the gentle fluttering of her +wings. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb6" href="#pb6" name= +"pb6">6</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch2" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e222" class="main">Chapter II</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">To fly! oh, to fly!</p> +<p>She was so fond of birds. How she envied them! She enticed them with +crumbs of bread, with grains of corn, and once she had rescued a dove +from an eagle. The dove she had hidden under her veil, pressed close to +her bosom, and the eagle she had courageously driven off with her hand, +when in his flight he overshadowed her with his broad wings, calling +out to him to go away and leave her dove unhurt.</p> +<p>Oh, to seek! to seek!</p> +<p>For she was so fond of flowers, and gladly in the woods and meadows, +or farther away still, would she have sought for those that were +unknown. But she cultivated them within the walls, on the rocky ground, +and she had made herself a garden; the buds opened when she looked at +them, the stems grew when she stroked them, and when she <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb7" href="#pb7" name="pb7">7</a>]</span>kissed a +faded flower it became as fresh again as ever.</p> +<hr class="tb"> +<p>To wander, oh, to wander!</p> +<p>Then she wandered along the battlements, down the steps, over the +court-yards and the ramparts, but at the gates stood the guards, rough +and bearded and clad in mail, with loud-sounding horns round their +shoulders.</p> +<p>Then she could go no farther and wandered back into the vaults and +crypts, where sacred spiders wove their webs; and then, if she became +frightened, she hurried away, farther, farther, farther, along endless +galleries, between rows of motionless knights in armour, till she came +again to her nurse, who sat ever at her spinning-wheel.</p> +<p>Oh! to glide through the air!</p> +<p>To glide in a steady wind, to the farthest horizon, to the +milk-white and opal region, which she saw in her dreams, to the +uttermost parts of the earth!</p> +<p>To glide to the seas, and the islands, which yonder, so far, far +away and so unsubstantial, changed every moment, as if a breeze could +alter their form, their tint; so unfirm, that no <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb8" href="#pb8" name="pb8">8</a>]</span>foot could +tread them, but only a winged being like herself, a bird, a fairy, +could gently hover over them, to see all that beautiful landscape, to +enjoy that atmosphere, that dream of Paradise....</p> +<p>Oh! to <i>fly</i>, to <i>seek</i>, to <i>wander</i>, to +<i>soar</i>!...</p> +<p>And for hours together she sat dreaming in an embrasure, her eyes +far off, her arms round her knees, and her wings spread out, like a +little butterfly that sat motionless. <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb9" href="#pb9" name="pb9">9</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch3" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e269" class="main">Chapter III</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Emeralda, that was the name of her eldest sister. +Surpassingly beautiful was Emeralda, dazzling fair as no woman in the +kingdom, no princess in other kingdoms. Exceedingly tall she was, and +majestic in stature; erect she walked, stately and proudly; she was +very proud, for after the death of the king she was to reign on the +throne of the Kingdom of the Past. Jealous of all the power which would +be hers, she rejected all the princes who sued for her hand. She never +spoke but to command, and only to her father did she bow. She always +wore heavy brocade, silver or gold, studded with jewels, and long +mantles of rustling silk, fringed with broad ermine; a diadem of the +finest jewels always glittered on her red golden hair and her eyes also +were jewels; two magnificent green emeralds, in which a black carbuncle +was the pupil; and people whispered secretly that her <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb10" href="#pb10" name="pb10">10</a>]</span>heart +was cut out of one single, gigantic ruby.</p> +<p>Oh, Psyche was so afraid of her!</p> +<p>When Psyche wandered through the castle and suddenly saw Emeralda +coming, preceded by pages, torches, shield-bearers, and +maids-in-waiting, who bore her train, and a score of halberdiers, then +she was struck with fear, and hastily concealed herself behind a door, +a curtain, no matter where, and then Emeralda rustled by with a great +noise of satin and gold and all the trampling of her retinue, and +Psyche’s heart beat loudly like a clock, tick! tick! tick! tick! +till she thought she would faint....</p> +<div class="figure xd20e280width"><img src="images/p010.jpg" alt= +"The Kingdom of the Past" width="480" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Kingdom of the Past</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 10</i></p> +</div> +<p>Then she shut her eyes so as not to see the cold, proud look of +Emeralda’s green emeralds, which pierced through the curtains, +and saw Psyche well enough, though she pretended not to see her. And +when Emeralda was gone, then Psyche fled upstairs, high up on to the +battlements, fetched a deep breath, pressed her hands to her bosom, and +long afterwards her little wings trembled from fear.</p> +<p>Astra, that was the name of the second princess. She wore a living +star upon her head; she was very wise and learned; she knew much more +than all the philosophers <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb11" href= +"#pb11" name="pb11">11</a>]</span>and learned men in the kingdom, who +came to her for counsel.</p> +<p>She lived in the highest tower of the castle, and sometimes, along +the bars of her window, she saw clouds pass by, like spirits of the +mist. She never left the tower. She sat, surrounded by rolls of +parchment, gigantic globes, which she turned with a pressure of her +finger; and after hours of contemplation she described, with great +compasses, on a slab of black marble, circle after circle, or reckoned +out long sums, with numbers so great that no one could pronounce +them.</p> +<p>Sometimes she sat surrounded by the sages of the land, and the king +himself came and listened to his daughter, as in a low, firm voice she +explained things. But because she possessed all the wisdom of the +earth, she despised all the world, and she had had constructed on the +terrace of her tower a telescope, miles long, through which she could +look to every part of the illimitable firmament. And when the sages +were gone, and she was alone, then she went on to the terrace and +peered through the giant, which she turned to all the points of the +compass. Through the diamond lenses, cut without facets, she saw +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb12" href="#pb12" name= +"pb12">12</a>]</span>new stars, unknown to men, and gave them +names.</p> +<p>Through the diamond lenses she saw sun systems, spirals of fire, +shrivel up through the illimitableness of the universe.... But she kept +gazing, for behind those sun systems, she knew, were other spheres, +other heavens, and there farther still, illimitably far, was the Mystic +Rose, which she could never see....</p> +<p>Sometimes, when Psyche wandered round the castle, she knocked +nervously, inquisitively at Astra’s door, who graciously allowed +her to enter. When Astra stood before the board and reckoned out long +sums, Psyche looked very earnestly at her sister’s star, which +glistened on her head, in her coal-black hair. Or she went on to the +terrace and peeped through the telescope, but she saw nothing but very +bright light, which made her eyes ache.... <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb13" href="#pb13" name="pb13">13</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch4" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e306" class="main">Chapter IV</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">In the evening, before she went to sleep, Psyche +sought the king.</p> +<p>A good hundred years old he was, his beard hung down to his girdle, +and generally he sat reading the historical scrolls of the kingdom, +which his ministers brought him every day.</p> +<p>But in the evening Psyche climbed on to his knees and nestled in his +beard, or sat at his feet in the folds of his tabard, and the scroll +fell to the ground, and crumpled up, and the withered hand of the +mighty monarch stroked the head of his third child, the princess with +the little wings.</p> +<p>“Father, dear,” asked Psyche once; “why have I +wings, and cannot fly?”</p> +<p>“You need not fly, child; you are much safer with me than if +you were a little bird in the air.”</p> +<p>“But why then have I wings?” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb14" href="#pb14" name="pb14">14</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I don’t quite know, my child....”</p> +<p>“Why have I wings, and Astra a living star upon her head, and +Emeralda eyes of jewels?”</p> +<p>“Because you are princesses; they are different from other +girls.”</p> +<p>“And why, dear father,” whispered Psyche, secretly, +“has Emeralda a heart of ruby?...”</p> +<p>“No child, that she has not. She has, it is true, eyes of +emerald, because she is a princess—as Astra has a star and you +two pretty wings—but she has a human heart.”</p> +<p>“No, father, dear, she has a heart of stone.”</p> +<p>“But who says so, my child?”</p> +<p>“The nurse does, father, her own pages, the guards at the +gates, and the wise men who come to Astra.”</p> +<p>The king was very sad. He and his daughter looked deep into each +other’s eyes, and embraced each other, for the king was sad, on +account of what he saw in the future, and Psyche was frightened: she +always trembled when she thought of Emeralda.</p> +<p>“Little Psyche,” said her old father, “will you +now promise me something?”</p> +<p>“Yes, father, dear.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb15" +href="#pb15" name="pb15">15</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Will you always stay with me, little Psyche? You are safe +here, are you not? and the world is so great, the world is so wicked. +The world is full of temptation and mystery. Winged horses soar through +the air; gigantic sphinxes lurk in the deserts; devilish fauns roam +through the forests.... In the world, tears are shed, which form +brooks, and in the world people give away their noblest right for the +lowest pleasure.... Stay with me, Psyche, never wander too far away, +for under our castle glows the Nether-world!... And life is like a +princess, a cruel princess with a heart of stone....”</p> +<p>Of precious stone, like Emeralda, thought Psyche to herself. Who +rides in triumph with her victorious chariot over the tenderest and +dearest, and presses them stone-dead into the deepest furrows of the +earth....</p> +<p>“Oh, Psyche, little Psyche, promise me always to stay here in +this high and safe castle: always to stay with your father!”</p> +<p>She did not understand him.</p> +<p>His eyes, very large and animated, looked over her into space, with +inexpressible sadness. Then she longed to console him, and threw her +white arms round his neck; she hid herself, as <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb16" href="#pb16" name="pb16">16</a>]</span>it were, +in his beard, and she whispered playfully:</p> +<p>“I will always stay with you, father dear....”</p> +<p>Then he pressed her to his heart, and thought that he would soon +die.... <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb17" href="#pb17" name= +"pb17">17</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch5" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e364" class="main">Chapter V</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Psyche was often very lonely, but yet she had much: +she had the flowers, the birds; she had the butterflies, which thought +that she was a bigger sister; she had the lizards, with which she +played, and which, like little things of emerald, she held against her +veil; she had the swans in the deep castle moats, which followed her +when she walked on the ramparts; she had the clouds, which came +floating from distant islands and paradises beyond; she had the wind, +which sang her ballads; the rain, which fell down wet upon her and +covered her wings with pearls. She would gladly have played with the +pages in the halls, have laughed with the shield-bearers in the +armoury, have listened to the martial tales of the bearded halberdiers +at the gates, but she was a princess and knew she could not do that, +and she always walked past them with great dignity, maidenly modest in +her fine, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb18" href="#pb18" name= +"pb18">18</a>]</span>thin veil, which left her tender limbs half +exposed. That was the noble Nakedness, which was her privilege as a +princess, a privilege given her at her cradle, together with her wings +by the Fairy of Births, as to Emeralda was given the Jewel and to Astra +the Star. For never might Psyche wear Jewel or Star, and never might +Emeralda or Astra go naked. Each princess had her own privilege, her +birthright. Adorable was Psyche as, unconscious of her maidenly, tender +purity, she was seen with her crimson glittering wings, naked in the +folds of her veil, walking past the armour-bearers and soldiers, who +presented their swords or halberds as the princess, nymph-white, +stepped past them.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e371width"><img src="images/p018.jpg" alt= +"The Ramparts" width="481" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Ramparts</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 18</i></p> +</div> +<p>Psyche was often very lonely, for her nurse was old and mumbled over +her spinning-wheel; playmates Psyche had not, because she was a +princess, and she would not get court-ladies till she was older and +more dignified. But with the birds and the clouds and the wind Psyche +could speak and laugh, and she was seldom dull, although she sometimes +wished she were no longer <i>Princess of Nakedness</i> with the wings, +but one of those very ordinary peasant-girls <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb19" href="#pb19" name="pb19">19</a>]</span>whom she +had seen milking the cows, or plucking the thick bunches of grapes in +the vineyard at harvest-time, whilst the pressers, handsome brown lads +with sturdy arms, encircled the girls and danced.</p> +<p>But Psyche wandered along the ramparts; she looked at the clouds and +spoke with the wind, and she asked the wind to give flight to her +wings, so that she could fly far off to the opal landscapes that kept +shifting and changing. But the wind rushed away with a flapping noise +of wings that Psyche envied, and her own wings flapped a little, but in +vain.</p> +<p>Psyche looked at the clouds. They floated along so stately in all +kinds of forms—in the forms of sheep, swans, horses—and the +form never remained: the seeming forms, thick-white in the blue ether, +were constantly changing. Now she saw three swans which were drawing a +boat, in which stood three women, who guided the swans; then she saw +the women become a tower, the swans a dragon; and from far, far away +came a knight, sitting on a winged horse. But now slowly the scene +changed into a flock of little silver-fleeced, downy sheep, which were +browsing <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb20" href="#pb20" name= +"pb20">20</a>]</span>far off in the sunshine as in a golden meadow. The +knight disappeared, but the horse glided nearer and flew on his wings, +high over the castle, towards the sheep.</p> +<p>Then Psyche dreamed at night of the swans, the tower, the dragon, +the knight, the horse; but the horse she liked best, because it had +strong wings. And next morning she gazed from the battlements to see if +the horse would come again.</p> +<p>But then the sky was either gloomy from the rain or blue from the +absence of clouds, or covered with white peacock’s feathers, +splendid plumes, but motionless, far, far away in the air. The wind +changed, when she said: “Away! blow now from the East again! +Begone, North wind, with your dark perils, begone! Begone, West wind, +with your rain-urns! Begone, South wind, with your peacock’s +feathers! Come now, wind from the East, with your treasures of +luxurious visions, ye dragons, ye horses, ye girls with +swans!...” Then the clouds began to shift, the winds to blow, and +play an opera high up in the air, and Psyche, enchanted, sat and +gazed.</p> +<p>Then after weeks, after she had missed it for weeks, came again the +winged horse. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb21" href="#pb21" name= +"pb21">21</a>]</span></p> +<p>And she beckoned to it to approach, to descend to her; but it flew +past over the castle. Then she missed it again for many days, and, +angry, she looked at the sky and scolded the wind. But then the horse +came again, and, laughing, she beckoned to it. The horse ascended high, +its wings expanded in the air, and oh, wonder! it beckoned to her to +come up, up to it. She gave a sign that she could not, shook her little +shoulders helplessly, and, trembling, flapped her wings and spread her +arms wide out to say that she could not. And the horse sped away on the +breath of the wind from the East.</p> +<p>Then Psyche wept, and, sad at heart, sat looking at the far, far-off +landscapes which she would never reach.</p> +<p>But weeks afterwards the treasure-bringing wind blew again, and +again appeared the horse in the horizon, and it flew near and beckoned +to Psyche, her heart heavy with hope and fear.... The horse mounted up; +it beckoned to her.... She gave a sign that she could not; and oh! she +feared that it would speed away again, the horse with the strong +wings.</p> +<p>No ... no ... the horse descended! <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb22" href="#pb22" name="pb22">22</a>]</span>Then Psyche uttered a +joyful cry, sprang up, danced with delight and clapped her little +hands. From the lofty, lofty sky the horse came down, gliding on its +broad wings. It came down.</p> +<p>And Psyche, the little, joyful, excited Psyche, saw it coming, +coming down to her. It descended—it approached. Oh, what a +beautiful horse it was! Greater than the greatest horses, and then with +wings! Fair it was, fair as the sun, with a long curly mane and long +flowing tail, like a streamer of sunny gold. The noble head on its +arched neck proudly raised and its eyes shone like fire, and a stream +of breath came from its expanded nostrils, cloud after cloud. Big, +powerful, muscular, its wings were stretched out like silvery quills, +as Psyche had never seen in a bird before. And its golden hoofs struck +the clouds and made them thunder; and sparks of fire shot forth in the +pure, clear daylight. Enraptured Psyche had never seen such a beautiful +horse before, never a bird so beautiful; and breathless, with her head +raised, she waited till it should descend, descend on the terrace.... +At last there it stood before her. Its nostrils steamed, and its hoofs +struck sparks from the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb23" href="#pb23" +name="pb23">23</a>]</span>basalt rock, and it waved its mane and +switched its tail.</p> +<p>“Splendid, beautiful horse,” said Psyche, “who are +you?”</p> +<p>“I am the Chimera,” answered the horse, and his voice +sounded deep as the clang of a brazen clock.</p> +<p>“Can you really speak?” asked Psyche, astonished. +“And fly? Oh, how happy you must be!!”</p> +<p>“Why have you called me, little princess?” said the +Chimera.</p> +<p>“I wanted to see you quite near,” replied Psyche. +“I only saw you dart like winged lightning through the air, so +soon were you away again; and I was always sorry when I could not see +you any more. Then I became, oh, so sad!”</p> +<p>“And why did you want to see me quite near, little princess +with the wings?”</p> +<p>“I find you so beautiful. I have never seen anything so +beautiful; I did not know that anything so beautiful existed. What are +you? A horse you are not. Nor a dragon either, nor a man. What are +you?”</p> +<p>“I am the Chimera.”</p> +<p>“Where do you come from?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb24" href="#pb24" name="pb24">24</a>]</span></p> +<p>“From far away. From the lands which are beyond the lands, +from the worlds beyond the worlds, from the heavens beyond the +heavens.”</p> +<p>“Where are you going?”</p> +<p>“Very far. Do you see those distant regions yonder, of silver +and opal? Well, thousands of times so far I am going.... I go from +illimitableness to illimitableness; I come from nothingness and I am +going to nothingness.”</p> +<p>“What is nothingness?”</p> +<p>“Everything. Nothingness is as far as your brains can think, +my little princess; and then still farther, and nothingness is more +than all that you see from this high tower....”</p> +<p>“Are you never tired?”</p> +<p>“No, my wings are strong; I can bear all mankind on my back, +and I could carry them away to the stars behind the stars.”</p> +<p>“If Astra knew that!”</p> +<p>“Astra knows it. But she does not want me. She reckons out the +stars with figures.”</p> +<p>“Why do you fly from one end to the other, O splendid Chimera? +What is your object? What are you for?” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb25" href="#pb25" name="pb25">25</a>]</span></p> +<p>“What is your own object, little Psyche? What are you yourself +for? For what are flowers, men, the stars? Who knows?”</p> +<p>“Astra....”</p> +<p>“No, Astra knows nothing. Her knowledge is founded on a +fundamental error. All her knowledge is like a tower, which will fall +down.”</p> +<p>“I should like to know much. I should like to know more. I +should like to seek far through the universe. I long for what is most +beautiful.... But I do not know what it is. Perhaps you yourself are +what is most beautiful, Chimera.... But why are you now spreading out +your wings?”</p> +<p>“I must go.”</p> +<p>“So soon? Whence? Oh, why are you going so soon, splendid +Chimera?”</p> +<p>“I must. I must traverse illimitableness. I have already +stayed here too long.”</p> +<p>“Stay a little longer....”</p> +<p>“I cannot. I may not.”</p> +<p>“Who compels you, O powerful horse, quick as +lightning?...”</p> +<p>“Power.”</p> +<p>“What is power?”</p> +<p>“God....” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb26" href= +"#pb26" name="pb26">26</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Who is God? Oh, tell me more! Tell me more! Don’t go +away yet! I want to ask you so much, to hear so much. I am so stupid. I +have longed so for you. Now you have come, and now you want to go away +again.”</p> +<p>“Do not ask me for wisdom; I have none. Ask the Sphinx for +wisdom; ask me for flight.”</p> +<p>“Oh, stay a little longer! Don’t flap so with your +flaming wings! Who is the Sphinx? O Chimera, do not give me wisdom, but +flight!”</p> +<p>“Not now....”</p> +<p>“When, then?”</p> +<p>“Later....”</p> +<p>“When is that?”</p> +<p>“Farewell.”</p> +<p>“O Chimera, Chimera...!”</p> +<p>The horse had already spread out his wings broad. He was ascending. +But Psyche suddenly threw both her arms round his neck and hung on to +his mane.</p> +<p>“Let me go, little princess!” cried the horse. “I +ascend quickly, and you will fall, to be dashed to pieces on the rock! +Loose me!” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb27" href="#pb27" name= +"pb27">27</a>]</span></p> +<p>And slowly he ascended....</p> +<p>Psyche was afraid; she let go her arms; she became dizzy, fell +against the pinnacle, and bruised one of her wings. That pained her ... +but she heeded it not; the horse was already high in the air, and she +followed his track with her eyes....</p> +<p>“He is gone,” thought she. “Will he come again? Or +have I seen him for the first and last time?”</p> +<p>“As a dream he came from far-off regions, and to still farther +regions he has gone.... Oh, how dull the world seems! How dead is the +horizon! And how dizzy I feel.... My wing pains me....”</p> +<p>With her hand she smoothed the wrinkle out of her wing; she stroked +it till it was smooth again, and tears ran down her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Horrid wings! They cannot fly, they cannot follow the strong +Chimera! I’m in such trouble, such trouble!! But ... no.... Is +that trouble? Is that happiness? I know not.... I am very happy...! I +am so sorrowful.... How beautiful he was! how strong, how sleek, how +splendid, how quick, how wise, how noble, how broad <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb28" href="#pb28" name="pb28">28</a>]</span>his +wings! how broad his wings!! How weak I am compared to him.... A child, +a weak child; a weak, naked child with little wings.... O Chimera, my +Chimera, O Chimera of my desire, come back! Come back!! Come back!! I +cannot live without you; and if you do not come again, Chimera, then I +will not live any longer lonely in this high castle. I will throw +myself into the cataract....”</p> +<p>She stood up, her eyes looking eagerly into the empty air. She +pressed her hands to her bosom, she wept, and her wings trembled as if +from fever.</p> +<p>Then suddenly she saw the king, her father, sitting at the +bow-window of his room. He did not see her, he was reading a scroll. +But anxious lest he should see her trouble, her despair, and longing +desire, she fled, along the battlements, the ramparts, through the +passages and halls of the castle, till she came to the tower, where her +nurse sat at her spinning-wheel, and then she fell down at the feet of +the old woman and sobbed aloud.</p> +<p>“What is it, darling?” asked the old crone, frightened. +“Princess, what is it?”</p> +<p>“I have hurt my wing!” sobbed Psyche. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb29" href="#pb29" name="pb29">29</a>]</span></p> +<p>And she showed the nurse the wrinkle in her wing, which was not yet +quite gone.</p> +<p>Then, with soothing voice and wrinkled hand, the old nurse slowly +stroked the painful wing till it became smooth. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb30" href="#pb30" name="pb30">30</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch6" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e538" class="main">Chapter VI</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The old king, assisted by pages, sat down slowly on +his throne; his ministers and courtiers gathered round him. Then there +was a great rustling of satin and gold, and in came Emeralda, the +Princess Royal, the Princess of the Jewel, as her title ran: first +pages, life-guards, and then she herself, glittering with splendour, in +her dress of silver-coloured silk; her bosom blazed with emeralds, a +tiara of emeralds adorned her temples; her red-golden tresses, +intertwined with emeralds, fell in three-fold plaits down each side of +her face, from which the eyes of emerald looked proud, soulless, +ice-cold, and arrogant. Court-ladies bore her train. A great retinue of +halberdiers surrounded her jewelled majesty, and as she passed along, +the trembling courtiers bowed lower to her than they did to the king, +because they were in deadly fear of her.</p> +<p>Astra, with dragging step, followed her. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb31" href="#pb31" name="pb31">31</a>]</span>She wore +a dress of azure covered with stars, a white mantle full of stars, and +her living star sparkled in her coal-black hair.</p> +<p>The sages of the country surrounded her: grey-haired men in velvet +tabards, with very long silver beards, dim eyes, and wise, +close-pressed lips.</p> +<p>The two princesses sat down on either side of the throne.</p> +<p>And for a moment the middle space of the hall between the waiting +crowd remained empty. But then appeared Psyche, the third daughter, the +Princess of Nakedness with the wings! Shyly she approached, looking +right and left, with the laugh of a child. She was naked: only a golden +veil was tied in a fold round her hips. Her wings were spread out like +a butterfly’s. She had no retinue: only her old nurse followed +her; and she was so pretty and charming that people forgot to bow as +she passed along, that the courtiers smiled and whispered, full of +admiration, because she was so beautiful in her pure chastity. Slowly +she walked along, shy and laughing a little; then close to the throne, +where her father saw her approaching hesitatingly, her bare foot got +entangled in her trailing golden veil, and to <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb32" href="#pb32" name="pb32">32</a>]</span>ascend +the steps she lifted it up, knelt down, and kissed the king’s +hand.</p> +<p>Then calmly she sat down on a cushion at his feet, and was no longer +shy. She looked round inquisitively and nodded a greeting here and +there, child as she was, till all at once, to the right of the throne, +she met the emerald look of Emeralda, and started and shivered; a cold +thrill shot through her limbs, and she hid herself in the ermine of her +father’s mantle to be safe and warm.</p> +<p>Then there was a flourish of trumpets, and at the door of the Hall +heralds announced Prince Eros, the youthful monarch of the Present. He +came in all alone. He was as beautiful as a god, with light-brown hair +and light-brown eyes. He wore a white suit of armour over a silver +shirt of mail, and his whole presence portrayed simplicity and +intelligence.</p> +<p>The courtiers were astonished at his coming without a suite; +Emeralda laughed scornfully aside with one of her court-ladies. She did +not find him a king, that plain youth in his plain dress. But Eros had +now approached and bowed low before the mighty monarch, and the latter +bade him welcome with fatherly condescension. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb33" href="#pb33" name="pb33">33</a>]</span></p> +<p>Then spoke the prince:</p> +<p>“Mighty Majesty of the Past, accept my respectful thanks for +your welcome. Diffident I come to your throne, for I am young in years, +have little wisdom, little power. You reign over an extensive kingdom, +the horizon of which is lost in illimitableness. I reign over a country +that is not larger than a garden. From my humble palace, that is like a +country-house, I can survey all my territory. Your Majesty possesses +lands and deserts, which you do not know. I know every flower in my +beds. And that your Majesty, in spite of my poverty and insignificance, +receives me with much honour and acknowledges me as sovereign in my +kingdom, fills my heart with joy. Will your Majesty permit me to kneel +and pay my homage to you as an obedient vassal?”</p> +<p>Then the old king nodded to Psyche, and the princess rose, because +Eros was about to kneel.</p> +<p>Then said the king: “Amiable Eros, I love you as a son. Tell +me, have you any wish that I can satisfy? If so, then it is granted +you.”</p> +<p>Then said Eros: “Your Majesty makes my heart rejoice by saying +that you love me as a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb34" href="#pb34" +name="pb34">34</a>]</span>son. Well, then, my greatest joy would be to +marry one of the noble princesses, who are your Majesty’s +daughters. But I am a poor prince, and whilst confessing to your +Majesty my bold desire, I fear that you may think me too arrogant in +presuming to cherish a wish that aims so high....”</p> +<p>“Noble prince,” said the king, “you are poor, but +of high birth and divine origin, higher and more divine than we. You +are descended from the god Eros; we from his beloved Psyche. The +history of the gods is to be read in the historical rolls of our +kingdom. It would make my heart rejoice if you found a spouse in one of +my princesses. But they are free in their choice, and you will have to +win their love. Permit me, therefore, first of all to present to you my +eldest daughter, the Princess Royal, Princess of the Jewel: +Emeralda....”</p> +<p>Emeralda rose, and bowed with a scornful sneer.</p> +<p>“And,” continued the monarch, “in the second +place, to my wise Astra, Princess of the Star....”</p> +<p>Astra rose and bowed, her look far away, as if lost in +contemplation. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb35" href="#pb35" name= +"pb35">35</a>]</span></p> +<p>“And would Emeralda permit me to sue for her love and her +hand?” asked the prince.</p> +<p>“Majesty of the Present,” replied Emeralda, “my +father says that you are of more divine origin than we. I, your humble +slave, consider it therefore too great an honour that you should be +willing to raise me to your side upon your throne. And I accept your +homage, but on one condition. That condition is: That you seek for me +the All-Sacred Jewel, Jewel of Mystery, the name of which may not be +uttered, the noble stone of Supremacy. The legends respecting this +jewel are innumerable, inexplicable and contradictory. But the Jewel +exists. Tell me, ye wise men of the land—tell me, Astra, my +sister, does the Jewel exist?”</p> +<p>“It exists!” said Astra.</p> +<p>“It exists!” said all the wise men after her.</p> +<p>“It exists!” repeated Emeralda. “Prince, I dare +ask much of you, but I ask you the greatest thing that our soul and +ambition can think of. If you find me beautiful and love me, then seek, +and bring me the Jewel, and I will be your wife, and together we shall +be the most powerful monarchs in the world.” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb36" href="#pb36" name="pb36">36</a>]</span></p> +<p>The prince bowed, and with imperceptible irony said:</p> +<p>“Royal Highness of the Jewel, your words breathe the splendour +of yourself, and I will weigh them in my mind. Your beauty is dazzling, +and to reign with you over the united kingdoms of the Past and the +Present, appears to me indeed a divine happiness....”</p> +<p>“For other kingdoms exist not,” added Astra, and the +wise men repeated her words.</p> +<p>“Yes,” murmured the king. “There is another +kingdom....”</p> +<p>“What kingdom?” asked all.</p> +<p>“The kingdom of the Future,” said the king, in a low +tone.</p> +<p>Emeralda laughed scornfully. Astra looked compassionately. The wise +men glanced at each other; the courtiers shook their heads.</p> +<p>“The king is getting old,” they whispered. “The +mind of His Majesty often wanders,” muttered the ministers.</p> +<p>“Our monarch has always had much imagination,” said the +wise men. “He is a poet....”</p> +<p>But then spoke the prince.</p> +<p>“And you, wise Astra, Royal Highness of <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb37" href="#pb37" name="pb37">37</a>]</span>the +Star, will you, like Emeralda, allow me to sue for your hand and +heart?”</p> +<p>“Most willingly, Prince Eros!” said Astra, with a +far-off look and in a vague tone. “But I have conditions to make +as well as Emeralda, the Princess Royal. Will you hear them? Then +listen. If you see any chance of lengthening my telescope, of +strengthening the lenses, that I can see through them to the confines +of the universe, to the last sun-system, to the Mystic Rose, to the +Godhead Himself, then I will be your wife, and together we shall be the +most powerful beings of the world, because then we are omniscient. For +the universe is limited....”</p> +<p>“The universe is limited!” said the wise men, after +her.</p> +<p>“Endless is the universe!” said the king, in a subdued +voice.</p> +<p>The people laughed and shook their heads. “The king is getting +very old,” was repeated everywhere.</p> +<p>“The king will soon die,” prophesied the wise men, in a +low tone. “He speaks like an old man, without reason; he will +soon die....”</p> +<p>“Royal Highness of the Star,” said the <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb38" href="#pb38" name="pb38">38</a>]</span>prince, +“your words, pregnant with wisdom, I will also consider. For to +be omniscient must indeed be the greatest power. But your Majesty has a +third princess,” he continued, addressing the king. “Where +is she?”</p> +<p>“She is here,” said the king. “She is the Princess +of Nakedness with the wings. But she is still a child, +Prince....”</p> +<p>Psyche blushed and bowed.</p> +<p>The prince looked long at her. Then he said to her, gently: +“Your Highness is called Psyche? You have the name of the +ancestress of your race, as I have the name of the god who begot mine. +Is it not true?”</p> +<p>“I believe so,” murmured Psyche, embarrassed.</p> +<p>“She is still a child, prince—forgive her!” +repeated the king.</p> +<p>“Will your Majesty not permit me to ask for the hand and heart +of your third daughter, the princess?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, prince; but she is still so young.... If she +leaves me I shall be very sad. But if she loves you, then I will give +her up to you, for then she will be happy....”</p> +<p>“Tell me, Psyche, will you be my wife?” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb39" href="#pb39" name="pb39">39</a>]</span></p> +<p>Psyche blushed exceedingly. Her naked limbs blushed, her wings +blushed.</p> +<p>“Prince,” said she hesitatingly and looked bashfully at +her father, “you do me much honour. But my sisters are more +beautiful and wiser than I. And my father would miss me if I went with +you to the kingdom of the Present.”</p> +<p>“But tell me, Psyche, what conditions do you impose upon +me?”</p> +<p>Psyche hesitated. She was about to exclaim joyfully: “Catch me +the Chimera, bind him in a meadow to graze, and give me power over him, +that I may mount his back and fly through the air as I like.”</p> +<p>But she durst not before the whole court and her father. And so she +only stammered: “None, prince....”</p> +<p>“Could you love me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, prince....”</p> +<p>Psyche was shy. She kept blushing, and all at once began to tremble +and weep.</p> +<p>And she looked round to the king, fled to his arms, hid her face in +his beard and sobbed.</p> +<p>“Prince Eros,” said the king, “forgive her. You +see she is a child. Seek for Emeralda’s Jewel, or seek for Astra +the Glass which <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb40" href="#pb40" name= +"pb40">40</a>]</span>will bring to view the confines of the universe; +but leave me my youngest child.”</p> +<p>Then the prince bowed. An indescribable sadness rose in his soul, +like a sea. And pale he stammered, “I obey your +Majesty.”</p> +<p>Then the king descended from his throne and embraced the prince. And +whilst the fanfares sounded, he put his arm through the arm of Eros, +took Psyche by the hand, and conducted his guest to the banquet, the +princesses following, surrounded by the whole court. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb41" href="#pb41" name="pb41">41</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch7" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e681" class="main">Chapter VII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">For days had Psyche watched in vain, and all hope died +out of her heart.</p> +<p>But one windy morning—the thick white clouds were speeding +through the air—she saw the desire of her heart again. Far away +appeared a cloud, but as it drew nearer it became a horse: it was the +Chimera.</p> +<p>She beckoned to it, and the Chimera came down.</p> +<p>“What do you want, little Psyche?”</p> +<p>She clasped her hands imploringly. “Take me with +you....”</p> +<p>“You will become dizzy....”</p> +<p>“No, no....”</p> +<p>He descended, stamping on the basalt rock; the terrace shook, sparks +flew up, and the steam of his breath shot out in clouds.</p> +<p>“Take me with you,” she implored.</p> +<p>“Where do you wish to go?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb42" href="#pb42" name="pb42">42</a>]</span></p> +<p>“To the islands of opal and silver.”</p> +<p>“They are too far away.”</p> +<p>“Take me, then, nearer to them; take me with you where you +will.”</p> +<p>“Are you not afraid?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Will you hold fast to my neck?”</p> +<p>“Yes, oh yes!”</p> +<p>“Come, then....”</p> +<p>She uttered a cry of joy. He bent his knees, and she got up with a +beating, thumping heart. Between his flaming wings, on his broad, broad +back, she sat almost as safe as in a nest of silver feathers.</p> +<p>“Trust not to my wings,” he warned her; “I move +them at every stroke. They open and shut, open and shut. Hold fast on +to my neck. Clasp my mane. If you are not frightened and do not become +giddy and sick, you will not fall, however high I go. <a id="xd20e725" +name="xd20e725"></a>Do you dare, Psyche?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She fastened his mane round her waist, as if it were strong rope of +golden flax. She put her arms round his neck.</p> +<p>“I am ready,” she said courageously.</p> +<p>He ascended, very slowly, with his broad <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb43" href="#pb43" name="pb43">43</a>]</span>wings. +Under him, under her, the terrace sank away.</p> +<p>She shut her eyes, she held her breath, and the blood left her +heart. Under her the castle sank away.</p> +<p>“Stop!” she implored. “I am dying....”</p> +<p>“I thought so, Psyche. You are much too weak. You cannot go up +with me....”</p> +<p>She opened her eyes slightly. She sat on his back in the silver +down, where his quills clave to his light-gold loins. And round her, +circles of light revolved, one after the other, and made her dizzy.</p> +<p>“Descend!” she implored. “Oh, descend! I cannot +endure it. I have no breath; I am dying.”</p> +<p>He descended.... He stood on the terrace. She slid along his wing to +the ground. She put her hands before her face, and when she opened her +eyes she was alone.</p> +<p>Then she was very, very sad. But next day, he appeared again. And, +more courageous, she wished to mount him again. He let her do as she +desired, and she got on his back. She shut her eyes, but smiled. He +went higher and higher with her, without her saying +“Descend.” She travelled for a time <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb44" href="#pb44" name="pb44">44</a>]</span>high up +in the air, she opened her eyes and kept smiling; she got accustomed to +the rarefied air. The third time he soared away with her; she saw, far +below, the royal castle, small as a toy, towers, ramparts; and then she +realised for the first time that she had left the castle.</p> +<p>She thought of the king.</p> +<p>“Take me back!” she said to the horse commandingly.</p> +<p>He obeyed her. He took her back. But as soon as he was gone, she +longed again for him and the lofty air. And she had but one thought, +the Chimera. She no longer cared for the flowers which she had planted +between the walls, and the flowers withered. She no longer cared for +the swans, and the swans, neglected, followed her in vain, in the green +moats; she forgot to crumble bread for them. And she looked at the +clouds and she gazed at the wind, thinking only of him, the light-gold +horse with the silver wings, because he came on the wind, on the +clouds, which thundered when he struck with his hoofs.</p> +<p>On the day that he did not come, her fair Chimera, she sat pale and +lonely, gazing from the battlements, her eyes far away, her arms +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb45" href="#pb45" name= +"pb45">45</a>]</span>round her knees. In the evening she nestled in the +king’s beard, in the folds of his tabard, but she durst not tell +him that she had ridden a wondrous winged horse and flown with him +through the air. But on the days that her beloved horse had come and +taken her away with him, carefully flapping his wings, her face shone +with golden happiness in the apotheosis of her soul, and through the +gloomy halls, where sacred spiders, which were never disturbed, wove +their webs, rang Psyche’s high voice, and from the faded gobelin +the low vault and the motionless iron knights strangely re-echoed the +words of her joyous song. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb46" href= +"#pb46" name="pb46">46</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch8" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e767" class="main">Chapter VIII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">“Psyche, where do you wish to go?”</p> +<p>“To the opal islands, to the seas of light, to the far-off +luminous streaks....”</p> +<p>“Take a deep breath; hold fast on to my neck; twist my mane +more tightly round your hand, then we will begin our +journey.”</p> +<p>The clouds sent forth a rumbling sound of thunder; the +Chimera’s hoofs shot fire; his wings expanded and shut, and his +strong feathers rustled in the air.</p> +<p>Psyche uttered a cry.</p> +<p>She had ascended higher than ever before, and under them sank away +the castle, the meadows, the woods, the cities, and the river; under +them, like a map, lay stretched out province after province, desert +after desert, the whole Kingdom of the Past. How great it was! how +great it was! The frontiers receded from view again and again; far +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb47" href="#pb47" name= +"pb47">47</a>]</span>down below rose up town after town; river after +river meandered along, mountain-ranges rose up one after the other, now +only slightly elevated, then rising arabesquely through the plains. +Then there were great waters like oceans, and Psyche saw nothing but +white foaming sea. But on the other side of it began again the strand, +the land, the wood, the meadows, the mountains, and so on +endlessly....</p> +<p>“How much farther away are the opal islands, the streaks of +light I see in the distance, my beloved Chimera?”</p> +<p>“We have already passed them....”</p> +<p>She raised her head, bent over his streaming neck, and gazed about +her.</p> +<p>“But I do not see them any longer!” she said, +astonished. “I see wood and meadow, towns and mountains.... Is +the world, then, the same everywhere? Where are the opal +islands?”</p> +<p>“Behind us....”</p> +<p>“But I do not see them.... Have we passed them without my +seeing them? O naughty Chimera, you did not tell me!”</p> +<p>“And where are the luminous streaks of the far-off +land?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb48" href="#pb48" name= +"pb48">48</a>]</span></p> +<p>“We are going through them....”</p> +<p>“I see nothing.... Below, land; around, clouds, as everywhere. +But no lands of light.... And yet there, in the distance, very far +away—what is that, Chimera? I see, as it were, a purple desert on +a sea of golden water, with winding borders of soft mother-of-pearl; in +the desert are oases like pale emerald, palms with silvery waving tops, +azure bananas; and over the purple desert trills ether of light +crimson, with streaks of topaz.... Chimera, Chimera, what is that +country? What is that beautiful country? The golden sea with its foam +forms a pearly fringe along the shore; the palms wave their tops to a +rhythm of aerial music, and the bananas, blue, pink, glow in the ether +till all is light there...! Chimera, is that the rainbow?”</p> +<p>“No....”</p> +<p>“Chimera, is that the land of happiness? Is that the kingdom +of happiness? Chimera, are you king there?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that is my country. And I am king there.”</p> +<p>“Are we going thither?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb49" href="#pb49" +name="pb49">49</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Do you remain there, Chimera? Do we remain there +together?”</p> +<p>“No....”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“As soon as I have reached my purple land, I must go farther +... and then back again.”</p> +<p>“O Chimera, I will not go back! I will forget +everything—my father, my country. I will remain there with +you!”</p> +<p>“I cannot.... But now pay great attention; we are approaching +my kingdom, little Psyche. Look! now we are going over the sea, now we +are approaching the shore, lined with soft mother-of-pearl.”</p> +<p>“The sea is a dirty green, like an ordinary sea; the borders +are sand.... You are deceiving me, Chimera! As soon as we approach, +then you charm away everything that I saw beautiful.”</p> +<p>“Now, under us is the purple desert; under us are the oases of +pale emerald.”</p> +<p>“You are deceiving me, Chimera! The desert glows in the strong +sun, the oases fade away to nothing, like a meteor.... +Chimera!”</p> +<p>“What, Psyche?”</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb50" href="#pb50" name="pb50">50</a>]</span></p> +<p>“To the land, as far off as you can see....”</p> +<p>“I care not about it! You always deceive me! You carry me away +through endless space, and everything beautiful that I see disappears +from my view. But yet ... there, behind the horizon, behind the sand of +the desert, is a dazzling scene.... Are those silver grottos on a sea +of light? Does the light there wave like water? Are those groves of +light, cities of light, in a land of light? Tell me, Chimera, do people +of light live there? Is that Paradise?”</p> +<p>“Yes, will you go thither?”</p> +<p>“Yes, oh yes, Chimera. There is happiness, the highest +happiness, and there I will remain with you...!”</p> +<p>“We are now approaching it....”</p> +<p>“Let that land of light now stay, the paradise of glowing +sunshine; do not charm away the land of happiness, O naughty Chimera: +go to it now with me, and descend with me....”</p> +<p>“We are there....”</p> +<p>“Descend....”</p> +<p>He descended.</p> +<p>“Have we not yet reached the ground of light?”</p> +<p>“Look below: can you see nothing...?” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb51" href="#pb51" name="pb51">51</a>]</span></p> +<p>She looked along his wing.</p> +<p>“I see nothing...! It is night.... It is dark.... +Chimera!!!”</p> +<p>“What, little Psyche?”</p> +<p>“Where is the land of silver light, the land of the people of +light? Where is it gone?”</p> +<p>“Do you not see it?”</p> +<p>“No....”</p> +<p>“Then it is gone....”</p> +<p>“Whither?”</p> +<p>“Behind us, under us....”</p> +<p>“Why did you not descend sooner?”</p> +<p>“My flight was too quick, and I could not, +Psyche....”</p> +<p>“You are deceiving me! You could have done so. You would +not.... Now ... now it is night, pitch dark, starless night.... There +is an icy coldness in the air.... O Chimera, take me +back...!!”</p> +<p>He turned with a swing of his powerful wings. And as he turned, the +lightning broke forth and darted zigzag through the air, like +smooth-bright electric swords; the black clouds parted asunder with a +violent peal of thunder like the clapping of cymbals, a storm of wind +arose, the rain fell down in torrents...!</p> +<p>“O Chimera, take me back!” <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb52" href="#pb52" name="pb52">52</a>]</span></p> +<p>She threw herself on to his neck; she hid her face in his mane, and +through the bursting storm, whilst at every blow of his hoofs it +lightened round them, he winged his way, back with her to her country: +the Kingdom of the Past, inky there, in the inky night.... <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb53" href="#pb53" name="pb53">53</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch9" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e897" class="main">Chapter IX</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The old king was dead.</p> +<p>Black flags hung from the three hundred towers, and cast their dark +shadows below.</p> +<p>A dim light fell through the bow-windows into the castle, for the +three hundred flags obscured the sun.</p> +<p>With funeral music, that made the heart feel sad, the procession, +with long flickering torches, followed the king’s coffin down the +steps to the deep vaults below.</p> +<p>The priests, in black, prayed in Latin; the court, in black, sang +the litany; and the princesses, in black, sang alternately a long Latin +sentence....</p> +<p>Behind the coffin walked, first, Emeralda; behind her, Astra her +sister; and then little Psyche, wrapped in her black veil. Emeralda +sang with a voice of crystal; Astra, distracted, was too late in +answering; and Psyche’s voice <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb54" +href="#pb54" name="pb54">54</a>]</span>trembled when she had to sing +alone the long monotonous sentence....</p> +<p>There, in the deepest vault, they placed the coffin, next to the +coffin of the king’s father, and kneeling round it, they prayed. +The low Roman vaults receded in impenetrable darkness. They sang and +prayed the whole live-long day, and Psyche was very tired; and whilst +she was kneeling, her little knees quite stiff, she fell asleep against +the coffin of her father. Her last thought had been to kiss the dear +old face for the last time, but she felt nothing but the +goldsmith’s work, and the great round jewels that were in it hurt +her head.... Then she fell asleep....</p> +<p>And when the court had prayed, and all went up the steps again, +there above, to do homage to Emeralda, as queen of the Kingdom of the +Past, they all forgot Psyche.</p> +<p>Long, long she slept....</p> +<p>And when she awoke, she did not know at first where she was.</p> +<p>Then by the light of the long torches she espied the coffin.</p> +<p>And through the crystal of the sarcophagus she saw the dead face of +the king, and pressed a kiss upon the glass. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb55" href="#pb55" name="pb55">55</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Dear father!” she whispered, trembling, “why have +you gone? I am now quite alone! Of Emeralda I am afraid, and Astra does +not think of me; she only thinks of the stars. Father, dear, forgive +me! I have deceived you. I have travelled through the air on the back +of the flying horse. But father, dear, the horse is beautiful, and I +love the Chimera! O father dear, I have deceived you, and now I am +alone, and I have nobody who cares for me! You are dead, father, and +embalmed, and shut up in gold and crystal and jewels, and do not hear +your little Psyche. You do not think of your little daughter. Alone! +alone! Awe-inspiring is the castle; three hundred towers rise high up +in the air. I have never been in all the three hundred, however much I +have wandered. O father, father, why have you left me? Who is there to +love me now? who to protect me now in the world? Father, farewell! I +will not stay here; I will go away! I will leave the castle. Great is +the world and wicked, but Emeralda is powerful and I am afraid of her. +If I remain, she will drive me away with her look and shut me up all my +life, and my wings I shall break against the unbreakable lattice. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb56" href="#pb56" name= +"pb56">56</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Father, farewell! I will not remain here. I will flee! +Whither? Whither shall I flee? I do not know. O father, dear, alone +your child remains in the great, unsafe world! Alone! alone! O father, +farewell, farewell! and forever!”</p> +<p>She rose, she shivered. The dark vaults receded more and more. By +the light of the long torches she saw the sacred spiders, which wove +web after web; they were never disturbed.</p> +<p>“Sacred spider!” said Psyche to a big fat one, with a +cross on its back, “tell me where I must go.”</p> +<p>“You cannot flee,” replied the spider, high up in the +dark vault, in the middle of its web. “Everything is as it is; +everything becomes as it was; happens as it happens; all goes to dust. +Every day sinks into the deep vaults of the dark pits under us; under +us everything becomes the Past, and everything comes into the power of +Emeralda. As soon as anything is, it has been, and is in the power of +Emeralda. Seek not to flee—that is vanity; submit to your lot. +The best thing is that you become one of us, a sacred spider, and weave +your web. For our web is sacred; our web is indisturbable; and with all +our <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb57" href="#pb57" name= +"pb57">57</a>]</span>webs, one for the other, we serve the princess and +protect her treasures—the treasures of the Past, which behind our +weaving go to dust.”</p> +<p>“But if they go to dust, of what value are they?”</p> +<p>“Foolish child, dust is everything. The Past is dust; +remembrance is dust. Everything becomes dust; love, jewels—all +becomes dust, and the sacred dust we watch over behind our webs. Become +a spider like us, weave your web, and be wise.”</p> +<p>“But I live. I am young, I desire, I love, and I cannot bury +myself in dust.... Oh, tell me whither I must flee!”</p> +<p>The spider laughed scornfully, and moved its eight legs with great +impatience.</p> +<p>“Ask me not about the places of the world—the regions of +the wind. I sit here and spin. I am holy. I watch over the treasure of +the throne. Disturb me no more with your frivolity, and let not your +wings get entangled in the rays of my web, although you are not a moth, +but princess of the Kingdom of the Past....”</p> +<p>Psyche was frightened. The spider reverenced her because she was a +princess, but coveted with his wicked instinct.... And <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb58" href="#pb58" name="pb58">58</a>]</span>she drew +back. She cast a last look at the dead face of her father, and fled up +the hundred steps. In every corner sat the sacred spiders and moved +their legs. Shuddering, she fled on. Whither? She thought of her love, +the light-gold Chimera, but nowhere could he be with her for ever. She +glided with him through the air, and he brought her back to the castle. +His lot was to fly restlessly through the air. Oh, were she but a +Chimera like him, had she but two strong wings instead of +princesses’ wings, she would have gone with him +everywhere...!</p> +<p>Whither? Above, from the enthronement-hall, came the sounds of +joyful music. There Emeralda was being crowned. Whither?? She fled to +the terrace.... Oh, if Emeralda missed her, how angry she would be! She +would think that Psyche refused to do her homage. She could never +return. Farewell, flowers, swans, doves!</p> +<p>The three hundred flags obscured the light. She would never be able +to see the Chimera coming. Oh, if he came and she did not see him, and +did not beckon to him, and he flew past! He was her only safety! If +needs be, she would wait for days together on the <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb59" href="#pb59" name= +"pb59">59</a>]</span>battlements. But if Emeralda sent to search for +her! Oh, if she did, then there was the cataract; then she would throw +herself headlong down, for ever, for ever, into the rushing water with +its rainbow colours!</p> +<p>A wind arose. That was the wind that brought her beloved. The flags +flapped and impeded her view. And although she saw nothing, she +beckoned as in despair, and called out:</p> +<p>“Chimera, Chimera!” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb60" +href="#pb60" name="pb60">60</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch10" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e967" class="main">Chapter X</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">It lightened. It thundered. Suddenly between the black +flags the horse descended.</p> +<p>“What is it, little Psyche?”</p> +<p>“Take me with you.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Where you like. Take me somewhere. My father is dead. +Emeralda reigns. I dare not stay here any longer.”</p> +<p>“Get up....”</p> +<p>She got up. He flew away with her. He flew with her the whole day. +The sun set; the stars glistened in the dark firmament; and he flew +back. Again they approached the castle. The day began to dawn.</p> +<p>“Fly past!” she entreated.</p> +<p>He flew on. Under her she could just see the castle, small as a toy; +the three hundred towers, where green flags now fluttered because +Emeralda reigned. He flew on.</p> +<p>“Chimera!” she cried. “I love you; you +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb61" href="#pb61" name= +"pb61">61</a>]</span>are the most beautiful, most glorious creature +that I have ever beheld. Safe I lie upon your back, tied to your mane, +my arms round your neck. But I am tired. I am dizzy. I am cold. Put me +down somewhere.... Can you not rest with me in a beautiful valley, +amongst flowers, near a brook? Are you not thirsty? Are you not tired, +and never dizzy and cold? Will you not graze and lie in a meadow? Do +you never, never rest? Chimera, I love you so! But why this restless +flying from East to West, from West to East?”</p> +<p>“I must do it, little Psyche.”</p> +<p>“Chimera, descend somewhere. Stay somewhere with me. I am +tired, I am cold. I want to go to sleep on a bed of moss, under the +shade of trees; sleep there with me.”</p> +<p>“I cannot. My lot is to fly through the air, apparently +without an object, but yet with an object; and what that is, I do not +know.”</p> +<p>“But what then does the Power want? You fly through the air; +the spider spins its web; Emeralda reigns over dust; everything is as +it is. Oh, life is comfortless! Chimera, I can hold out no longer! I +love you with all <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb62" href="#pb62" +name="pb62">62</a>]</span>my soul, but if you do not descend, then I +will loose the knots of your mane, I will let go my arms that are so +tired, and then I shall fall down into nothingness....”</p> +<p>“Hold out a little longer. Yonder is the purple +desert....”</p> +<p>“Oh, that is beautiful!” she exclaimed. “But you +fly past it, always past it...!”</p> +<p>“Do you want to rest, Psyche?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes....”</p> +<p>“Then I will descend.... Hold out a little longer.” She +held him tight, and looked about. He plied his wings with a rapidity +that made her dizzy; they blew a wind round Psyche....</p> +<p>In the air there loomed the purple sands on the golden sea, with a +pearly border of foam; the azure bananas, which waved their tops in the +light-pink ether....</p> +<p>Psyche held her breath.... “Would he descend +there...?”</p> +<p>Yes, indeed, he was descending ... he was descending. The purple, +she thought, grew pale as soon as he descended; the sea was no longer +golden, the foliage no longer blue.... But yet, yet it was beautiful, a +dream-conceit, an enchanted land, and he was <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb63" href="#pb63" name= +"pb63">63</a>]</span>descending. With his broad wings he glided down. +Now he stood still, snorting his breath in a cloud of steam. She glided +gently down his back on to the sand, and laughed, and gave a sigh of +relief!</p> +<p>“Rest now, here, Psyche!” said he dejectedly, and the +quiver in his bronze-sounding voice startled her; she laughed no +more.</p> +<p>“Rest now. Look! here are dates, and there is a spring. The +soft violet night is rapidly spreading over the sky and cooling the too +warm air. A few pale stars are already glistening. Now quench your +thirst; now refresh yourself and rest.... This is a pleasant oasis. Now +sleep, little Psyche. To-morrow will soon be here.... +Farewell!”</p> +<p>She looked at him with wondering eyes. She threw herself on his +broad, powerful, heaving breast, and round his arched neck she threw +her trembling arms.</p> +<p>“What...? What do you say, Chimera?” she asked, pale +with fear. “What are you going to do? What do you mean? Surely +you will rest here with me in the soft violet night and amongst the +blue flowers? With me you will refresh yourself with dates and water? +You will let me sleep in the shadow <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb64" +href="#pb64" name="pb64">64</a>]</span>of your wings, and watch over me +during the dreadful night?”</p> +<p>“No, little Psyche. I am going farther and farther, and then I +will return. Then after weeks ... after months, perhaps, you will see +me again in the air....”</p> +<p>“You will forsake me? Here in the desert?”</p> +<p>“Take courage, little Psyche: you are now too tired to fly +farther with me through the air. You would slip from my back and fall +into nothingness. Here is a pleasant oasis; here are dates and a +murmuring stream....”</p> +<p>She uttered a cry; her sobs choked her. She uttered a second, which +frightened the hyenas far away in the desert and made them prick up +their ears. She uttered a third, which rent the night-air, and the +stars quivered from sympathy.</p> +<p>“Alone!” she cried, and wrung her hands. “Alone! O +Chimera, you will leave me alone with dates and brook! and I thought +... and still hoped, that you would stay with me, king in your country +of the rainbow!</p> +<p>“Alone! you will leave me alone in a sandy desert, in nothing +but sand, sand in the night, with a single tree and a handful of water! +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb65" href="#pb65" name= +"pb65">65</a>]</span>Alone! O Chimera, you cannot do that...! For I +love you; I adore you with all my soul, and shall die of grief and +tears, Chimera, if you fly away from me! I love you; I worship your +golden eyes, your voice of bronze, your steaming breath, your panting +flanks, your mane, to which I bound myself, your flaming wings, which +carried me far, farther and farther ... to this place...! O Chimera, +lay down your smoking limbs in the shadow of the night; lay your noble +head in my arms and my bosom, and together we will rest, and to-morrow +fly away farther, united forever!”</p> +<p>“I cannot, O little Psyche. I too love you, sweet burden which +lay between my wings—little butterfly with weak wings, that lent +strength to my flight; but now....”</p> +<p>“But now—O Chimera, but now...?”</p> +<p>“But now I must go, continue my lonely journey to and fro, +without knowing why.... Farewell, little Psyche, hope in life, hope in +the morrow....”</p> +<p>He spread his wings, his limbs quivered, he ascended into the +air.</p> +<p>She wrung her arms, her hands. She sobbed, she sobbed.... +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb66" href="#pb66" name= +"pb66">66</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Have pity!!” she implored. “Pity, pity! What have +I done? Why do you punish me so? My God, what have I done? I have +trusted, hoped, given my soul in happiness.... Is happiness then +punished? Is it not good to hope, to trust, and to love? Ought I then +to have mistrusted and hated? What do I ask? He no longer hears me! +What do I care for the problems of life! Him I love, and in me is +nothing but my love and despair, and round me is the desert and the +night, and now ... now I must die!”</p> +<p>She sobbed, and her tears flowed. She was alone. Around her loomed +the night, around her stretched the sands as far as the perceptible +horizon. And above her glistened the stars.</p> +<p>And she wept. Her grief was too great for her little soul. She +wept.</p> +<p>“Alone!” she sobbed. “Alone...! I will not quench +my thirst, I will not refresh myself, nor will I sleep. I am tired, but +I will go on....”</p> +<p>On she went, and wept. In the night she walked on through the sand, +and she wept. She wept from fear and despair. And she wept so, her +tears flowed so many down her cheeks that they fell, her tears, like +drops, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb67" href="#pb67" name= +"pb67">67</a>]</span>great and warm, deep into the sand. Her tears +flowed down into the sand. And she wept, she kept weeping, and as she +went along ... her tears did not stop. Then in the sand, her tears so +warm and so great, formed little lakes. And as she went and kept going +on and weeping, the little lakes flowed into one another, and behind +her flowed a stream of tears. Meandering after her flowed her tears. +And on she went in the night and wept.... After her, meandered +faithfully the stream of her tears.... And she thought of her lost +happiness.... He had forsaken her.... Why...? She had loved him so, +still loved him so.... Oh, she would always love him so—always, +always!</p> +<p>And in her love she did not scold him. For she loved him and scolded +not. She longed for no revenge, for she loved him....</p> +<p>“That was fate,” she thought, weeping. “He could +not do anything else. He was obliged....”</p> +<p>She wept. And oh! she was so tired, so tired of the wide sky, so +tired of the wide sand! Then she thought she could go no farther, and +should fall into the stream of her tears.... But before her a lofty +shadow fell with gloomy darkness <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb68" +href="#pb68" name="pb68">68</a>]</span>on the violet night. She looked +up, and had to strain her neck to see to the top of the shadow. The +shadow was round above, and then tapered off behind.... But she wept +so, that she did not see.... Then with her hand she wiped away the +tears from her eyes, and gazed.... The shadow was awful, like that of +an awfully great beast. And she kept wiping away her tears, which +formed a pool around her, and gazed....</p> +<p>Then she saw. She saw, squatting in the sand, a terribly great beast +like a lion, immovable. The beast was as great as a castle, high as a +tower; its head reached to the stars. But its head was the head of a +woman, slender, enveloped in a basalt veil, which fell down, right and +left, along her shoulders. And the woman’s head stood on the +breast of a woman, two breasts of a gigantic woman, of basalt. But the +body, that squatted down in the sand, was a lion, and the forepaws +protruded like walls.</p> +<p>The night shone. The sultry night shone with diamonds over the +horizonless desert. And in the starlight night the beast, terrible, +rested there, half-woman, half-lion, squatting in the sand, its paws +extended and its breasts <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb69" href= +"#pb69" name="pb69">69</a>]</span>and woman’s head protruding, +gigantic, reaching to the stars. Her basalt eyes stared straight before +her. Her mouth was shut and so were the basalt lips, which would never +speak.</p> +<p>Psyche stood before the beast. Around her was the night; around her +was the sand; above her the diamond, shining stars. Silently shuddering +and full of awe, stood Psyche. Then she thought: “It must be she, +the Sphinx....”</p> +<p>She wept. Her tears flowed; she stood in the stream of her tears, +which, winding along, followed her. And weeping, she lifted up her +voice, small in the night—the voice of a child that speaks in the +illimitable.</p> +<p>“Awful Sphinx,” she said, “make me wise. You know +the problem of life. I pray you solve it to me, and let me no longer +weep....”</p> +<p>The Sphinx was silent.</p> +<p>“Sphinx,” continued Psyche, “open your stony lips. +Speak! Tell me the riddle of life. I was born a princess, naked, with +wings; I cannot fly. The light-gold Chimera, the splendid horse with +the silver wings, came down to me, took me away with him in wanderings +through the air, and I loved him. He has left me—me, a +child—alone in the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb70" href= +"#pb70" name="pb70">70</a>]</span>desert, alone in the night. Tell me +why? If I know, I shall—perhaps—weep no more. Sphinx, I am +tired. I am tired of the air, tired of the sand, tired from crying. And +I cannot stop; I keep on crying. If you do not speak to me, Sphinx, +then I will drown you, gigantic as you are, in my tears. Look at them +flowing around me; look at them rippling at your feet like a sea. +Sphinx, they will rise above your head. Sphinx, speak!”</p> +<p>The Sphinx was silent.</p> +<p>The Sphinx, with stony eyes, looked away into the night of diamond +stars. Her basalt lips remained closed.</p> +<p>And Psyche wept. Then she cast a look at the stars.</p> +<p>“Sacred Stars,” she murmured, “I am alone. My +father is dead. The Chimera has gone. The Sphinx is silent. I am alone, +and afraid and tired. Sacred Stars, watch over me. See my tears no +longer flow; for this night they are exhausted.... I can cry no more. I +will go to sleep, here, between the feet of the Sphinx. She speaks not, +it is true; but—perhaps she is not angry, and if she wants to +crush me with her foot, I care not. But yet I will go to sleep between +her powerful <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb71" href="#pb71" name= +"pb71">71</a>]</span>feet. In your looks of living diamond, I feel +compassion thrill.... Sacred Stars, I will go to sleep; watch over +me....”</p> +<p>She lay down between the feet of the Sphinx, against the breast of +the Sphinx. And she was so little and the Sphinx so great, that she was +like a butterfly sitting near a tower.</p> +<p>Then she fell asleep.</p> +<p>The night was very still. Far, far away in the boundless desert, a +mist drifted horizonlessly along, and lit up the darkness. The stream +of Psyche’s tears meandered, like a silver thread, far away from +whence she had come. She herself slept. The Sphinx, with staring eyes +and closed mouth, looked out high into the night. The stars twinkled +and watched. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb72" href="#pb72" name= +"pb72">72</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch11" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1115" class="main">Chapter XI</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Without a cloud arose on the horizon the first dawn of +day, the round, rosy-coloured morning glimmer. And in the dawn appeared +the horizon, and bordered the sandy plain.</p> +<p>In the rosy light, gigantic, towered the gloomy Sphinx. Psyche +slept. But through her weary eyelids, the light softly sent its rays, +coral-red, and suddenly she awoke. She opened her eyes, but did not +move.</p> +<p>She remained in her slumbering attitude, but her eyes looked about. +She saw the desert, without an oasis, only the brooklet of tears that +meandered far away from whence she had come. It was like a silver +thread in the rosy light of the dawn, and she followed its windings +with her eye as long as she could. And when she thus looked, she began +to weep again. The tears fell on the feet of the Sphinx, and Psyche +wept, in her slumbering position. There was a mist before her eyes, and +through <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb73" href="#pb73" name= +"pb73">73</a>]</span>the mist glimmered the rosy desert and the little +glistening stream.</p> +<p>But now she wiped away her tears, which trickled through her +fingers, for she thought she saw ... and that was so improbable. She +wiped her eyes again, and saw. She thought she saw ... and it was so +improbable.... But yet it was so: she saw. She saw someone coming; +along every winding of the brook, she saw someone approaching.... Who +was it coming there? She knew not.... He came nearer and nearer. Was +she dreaming? No, she was awake. He came, whoever he was. He was +approaching....</p> +<p>She remained sitting in the same attitude. And he came nearer and +nearer, following the briny track, till he stood before the Sphinx. The +Sphinx was so great and Psyche so little, that at first he did not see +her. But because she was so white, with crimson wings, he saw her, a +little thing red and white!</p> +<p>He approached between the feet of the Sphinx till he stood right +before her.</p> +<p>He approached reverentially, because she had wept so much. When he +was quite close, he knelt down and folded his hands. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb74" href="#pb74" name="pb74">74</a>]</span></p> +<p>Through her tears she did not recognise him.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” she asked in a faint voice.</p> +<p>He stood up and approached still closer, and then she recognised +him. He was Prince Eros, the King of the Present.</p> +<p>“I know who you are,” said Psyche. “You are Prince +Eros, who was to have married Emeralda, or Astra.”</p> +<p>He smiled, and she said:</p> +<p>“Why do you come here in the desert? Are you seeking here for +the Jewel, or the Glass that magnifies?”</p> +<p>He smiled and shook his head.</p> +<p>“No, Psyche,” he said gently. “I have never sought +for the Jewel nor for the Glass.</p> +<p>“But first tell me: why are you here and sleeping by the +Sphinx?”</p> +<p>She told him. She spoke of her father who was dead, of the +light-gold Chimera, of the purple desert and the sorrowful night. She +told him of her tears.</p> +<p>“I have followed them, O Psyche!” he replied. “I +have come ever since I saw you before your father’s +throne—a day never to be forgotten! <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb75" href="#pb75" name="pb75">75</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I have come here every day. Every day I leave my garden of +the Present, to ask the awful Sphinx for the solution of my +problem.”</p> +<p>“What problem, Prince Eros?”</p> +<p>“The problem of my grief. For I am grieved about you, Psyche, +because you would not follow me and stayed with your father.... Now I +know why. You loved the Chimera....”</p> +<p>She blushed, and hid her face in her hands.</p> +<p>“Who could see the Chimera and not love him more than +me?” said Eros gently. “Who could love him, and not weep +over him?” he whispered still more gently; but she did not hear +him.</p> +<p>Then he spoke louder.</p> +<p>“Every morning, Psyche, I come to ask the Sphinx how long I +must still suffer, and why I must suffer. And still much more, O +Psyche, I ask the Sphinx, that I will not tell you now, +because....”</p> +<p>“Because...?”</p> +<p>“Because it would perhaps pain you to hear the question of my +heart. So I came now, O Psyche, and then I espied a brooklet meandering +through the sand. I did not know it; I was thirsty, for I am always +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb76" href="#pb76" name= +"pb76">76</a>]</span>thirsty. I stooped down and scooped up the clear +water in my hand. It tasted salt, Psyche: they were tears.”</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1180width"><img src="images/p076.jpg" alt= +"Psyche and Eros" width="483" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">Psyche and Eros</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 76</i></p> +</div> +<p>“My tears ...” she said, and wept.</p> +<p>“Psyche, I drank them. Tell me, do you forgive me for +that?”</p> +<p>“Yes....”</p> +<p>“I followed the brook, and now I have found you +here.”</p> +<p>She was silent; she looked at him. He knelt down by her.</p> +<p>“Psyche,” said he gently, “I love you. Because I +saw you little and naked and winged, standing amongst your proud +sisters—Psyche, I love you. I love you so much, that I would weep +all your tears for you, and would give you ... the Chimera.”</p> +<p>“You can’t do that,” she said sadly.</p> +<p>“No, Psyche,” answered he, “that cannot, alas! be +done. I can only weep for myself; and the Chimera ... nobody can catch +him.”</p> +<p>“He flies too fast,” she said, “and he is much too +strong; but it is very kind of you, Prince Eros....”</p> +<p>She stretched out her hand, and he kissed it reverentially. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb77" href="#pb77" name= +"pb77">77</a>]</span></p> +<p>Then he looked at her for a long time.</p> +<p>“Psyche,” said he, gently, “will the Sphinx give +me an answer to my question this morning?”</p> +<p>She cast down her eyes.</p> +<p>“Psyche,” he went on, “I have drunk your tears; I +respect your grief, too great for your little heart. But may I suffer +it with you? O Psyche, little Psyche, little, in the great desert, now +your father is dead, now the Chimera is away, now you are all alone.... +O Psyche, now come with me! Oh, let me now love you! O Psyche, come now +with me! Psyche, alone in the desert, a little butterfly in a sandy +plain—Psyche, oh, come with me! I will give you a summer-house to +live in, a garden to play in, and all my love to comfort you. +Don’t despise them. All that I have will I give! Small is my +palace and small my garden round it, but greater than the desert and +the sky is my great love. O Psyche, come with me now! Then you will +suffer cold and hunger and thirst no more, and the grief that your +heart now suffers, Psyche, ... we will bear together.”</p> +<p>He stretched out his arms. She smiled, tired and pale from weeping, +slid from the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb78" href="#pb78" name= +"pb78">78</a>]</span>foot of the Sphinx, and nestled to his heart.</p> +<p>“Eros,” she murmured, “I suffer. I pine. I weep. I +gave away all that I had. I have nothing more than my grief. Can grief +... be happiness in the Present?”</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>“From grief ... comes happiness,” he answered. +“From grief will come happiness, not in the Present, but ... in +the Future!”</p> +<p>She looked at him inquiringly.</p> +<p>“What is that?” she asked. “Future...! It is a +very sweet word.... I do not know what it is, but I have heard it +before.... Father sometimes spoke of it with an affected voice.... It +seems to be something far away, far, far away.... From grief will come +... in the Future ... happiness!</p> +<p>“Far behind me lies the Past.... Then I was a child. Now I am +a woman.... A woman.... Now I am, Eros, a woman, a woman, who has wept +and suffered, and asked of the silent Sphinx.... Now I am no longer a +princess, but a woman, a queen ... of the Present....!”</p> +<p>She fell against his shoulder and fainted. He gave a sign, and out +of the air flew a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb79" href="#pb79" +name="pb79">79</a>]</span>glittering golden chariot, drawn by two +panting griffons. He lifted her into the chariot. He held her tight in +his arm, and pressed her to his heart. With his other hand he guided +his two dragon-winged lions through the glowing air of the desert. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb80" href="#pb80" name= +"pb80">80</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch12" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1242" class="main">Chapter XII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">When Psyche opened her eyes, she heard the soft music +of two pipes. And she awoke from her swoon with a smile. She lay still +and did not move, but looked about her. She was reclining upon a soft +bed of purple, on a couch of ivory. She lay in a crystal palace; round +the palace were pillars of crystal and a round crystal gallery. The +pillars were entwined with roses, yellow, white, and pink, and they +perfumed the sunny spring morning. Through the gallery of pillars, +through the walls of crystal, she saw round her a pleasant meadow, like +a round valley, a valley like a garden, through which ran a murmuring +brook between beds of flowers. Quite near appeared the horizon of a low +hill-slope, and the cloudless sky was like a chalice of turquoise.</p> +<p>The pipes changed their music. Psyche raised herself a little +higher, leaning on her <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb81" href="#pb81" +name="pb81">81</a>]</span>arm; she laughed and looked about. In the +middle of the crystal palace was a basin of white marble, full of +water, and doves were hopping about it or drinking. Sitting at the gate +of crystal pillars, Psyche saw two girls; with their fingers they +raised the flutes to their mouth and played. Psyche laughed and +listened. Then she fell back on the bed again, happy, but tired, full +of rest and contentment, and she raised her head and looked up!...</p> +<p>Through a crocus-coloured curtain fell the tempered spring sunshine, +quiet and soft, joyous and still.</p> +<p>Psyche breathed more freely, and a sigh escaped from her heart. She +put her arms under her head; her wings lay stretched out right and left +on either side of her, and when she heard the music of the flutes, her +thoughts drifted away like an aimless dream, like rose-leaves upon +water.</p> +<p>She dreamed and she listened.... She no longer felt tired, and her +eyes, which had shed a brook of tears, felt moist and fresh, cooled by +an invisible hand, with invisible care. Her breathing was regular, and +her soul felt safe.... And she smiled continually....</p> +<p>The pipes ceased playing.... <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb82" +href="#pb82" name="pb82">82</a>]</span></p> +<p>The two girls, seeing that the queen had awaked, rose up and +approached her bed with a basket of red-blushing fruit, which they set +down near her. Then they made a deep reverence, but spoke not, and sat +down again by the pillars and blew their pipes anew; but to another +tune, somewhat louder, like a voice calling, and both in unison. The +pipes sounded jubilant in the morning, and outside, high in the air, +the lark answered joyously....</p> +<p>Psyche smiled, stretched out her hand and took a peach, a pear, a +bunch of blue grapes.... The pipes played merrily together, and higher +and higher and higher soared the lark and sang. Then Psyche heard the +brook babbling gently; the doves answered one another, and round her +the morning sang her welcome.</p> +<p>Then footsteps light approached her softly; the pipes ceased +playing; the girls rose and made a deep reverence. And between the +pillars of crystal appeared Prince Eros, the King of the Present.</p> +<p>The girls withdrew, and Eros approached and knelt before Psyche.</p> +<p>He said nothing, but looked at her.</p> +<p>“Eros,” said Psyche, “I thank you.... <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb83" href="#pb83" name="pb83">83</a>]</span>I have +rested; my eyes cease to burn; my hunger is appeased.... I have heard +sweet music, and everything appeared kind and to love me.”</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1275width"><img src="images/p082.jpg" alt= +"The Kingdom of the Present" width="481" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Kingdom of the Present</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 82</i></p> +</div> +<p>“Everything in my kingdom is glad that the queen has come. +Everything is glad that the queen has awaked.”</p> +<p>“The Queen of the Present,” murmured Psyche.</p> +<p>Then she put her arm round his neck, and leant her head against his +shoulder. “Eros,” said she gently, “I love you.... +How shall I express my love to you! You have walked in the track of my +tears, my salt tears you have drunk; out of the desert, from the breast +of the awful Sphinx, you lifted me in your chariot, drawn by swift +griffons.... In my swoon I felt myself going through the air, not with +the speed of the fair Chimera, whose hoofs struck lightning and made +the thunder roll high in the ether ... but smoothly and evenly on +wheels, over the clouds delicately tinted with the glowing dawn. How +long did we travel...? How long have I slept? Eros, how shall I express +my love to you! My love is deep gratitude, inexpressible, because you +rescued me. My love is heart-felt <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb84" +href="#pb84" name="pb84">84</a>]</span>thankfulness, because you have +cared for and refreshed me. My love is....”</p> +<p>She paused for a moment, and rose from the bed.</p> +<p>“What, Psyche?” said he gently, and stood up.</p> +<p>“My love is deep, submissive respect, O Eros, because you +wanted to weep my tears and give me the wish of my heart, which, had it +been fulfilled, would have caused you the most poignant +grief.”</p> +<p>She sank upon her knees and took his hand in hers and kissed it +long. He lifted her up and pressed her to his breast.</p> +<p>“My gentle Psyche!” said he. “My child and my wife +and my tender princess! Kneel not to me. In love it is sweet to give +and to suffer. Love gives, and love suffers....”</p> +<p>“I have only suffered, but not given,” said Psyche, in a +low tone.</p> +<p>“To suffer is to give most. To give to one we love the +suffering of his suffering soul, is the greatest gift that can be +given, my child and my princess! Try, with the remembrance sacred to +Suffering and Love, endured and loved, to be happy in the Present. Oh, +let the Past be a remembrance, a sacred remembrance, <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb85" href="#pb85" name="pb85">85</a>]</span>a golden +remembrance; but now look to the Present. Oh, let the Present comfort +you—the Present, little, humble, and poor. Look! this is all. +This cupola is my palace, this garden is my kingdom; these flowers and +these birds, they are all my treasures—roses and doves and the +singing lark. More I have not; but I have still my love—my love, +great as the heaven and wide as the universe. But he who lives in love +so great, needs no greater palace and no greater kingdom to rule over. +For the treasures of Emeralda I would not exchange my kingdom and my +love.... Psyche, my queen, yet I have ornaments for you. The Princess +of Nakedness with the wings may never wear jewels of precious stones, +and jewels I have not. But pearls, Psyche, I have pearls which Emeralda +despises. Pearls, Psyche, I found in your tears of yesterday. See! I +strung them together, they were a crown for you. Pearls may adorn you, +tears may adorn you, my child of suffering, my wife of love, queen of +my soul and of my kingdom....”</p> +<p>Then he took a little crown of twelve great pearls and put it on her +head. Then he hung a necklace of pearls round her neck. And as she +stood before him naked, so immaculately <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb86" href="#pb86" name="pb86">86</a>]</span>delicate in her +princessly nakedness, he threw around her loins a light, thin veil, +richly adorned with pearls, and which she fastened in a knot. Then he +gave her a mirror, and she beheld herself very beautiful, crowned like +a queen, and smiled with contentment.</p> +<p>“Am I a queen?” she said softly. “Am I happy? +Eros, do you love me? Is this the happiness of the Present? Eros, do I +love you out of gratitude and respect, my husband and my +king...?”</p> +<p>He led her gently away, through the porticos, down the crystal +steps. Cupids hovered about them, the lark sang high in the heavens, +the roses perfumed the air, the brook murmured gently. The spring +rejoiced to welcome them, and behind the shrubs the pipes played a +duet. The hill-slope of the horizon was peaceful, and above, the +heaven, arched like a turquoise chalice.</p> +<p>Everything sang, everything was fragrant; in the grass buzzed +thousands of insects; about the flowers fluttered butterflies; and +where Psyche, on her husband’s arm, walked along the flower-beds, +all the flowers bowed to her in homage—the white slender lilies, +the violets with laughing eyes, tall flowers and short <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb87" href="#pb87" name="pb87">87</a>]</span>flowers, +on long and short stems—and all gave forth their fragrance.</p> +<p>Eros pointed around.</p> +<p>“This is the Present, Psyche,” said he, and pressed her +to his heart.</p> +<p>“And this is happiness, that is as a lily and a violet +...” she whispered, with her lips to his. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb88" href="#pb88" name="pb88">88</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch13" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1328" class="main">Chapter XIII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The pleasant days followed each other like a row of +laughing houris.... Eros and Psyche tended the flowers, which did not +fade when Psyche stroked the stems or gently kissed the calyces. They +wandered along the brook, and, if the days were warm, sought coolness +under the crocus-coloured awning, in the crystal palace, where the +doves cooed round the basin. The flutes played, or Eros himself took a +lyre and sang, at Psyche’s feet, the stories of days gone by.</p> +<p>It was one of the pleasures of the flower-laughing Present.</p> +<p>Between the shrubs, where May strewed fragrant snow-blossom, naked, +chubby cupids with tender wings played or romped, hovering like little +clouds in the air.</p> +<p>The sweet nights followed the pleasant days; the diamond stars, the +same which Psyche had entreated to watch over her in the desert, +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb89" href="#pb89" name= +"pb89">89</a>]</span>glittered in the heavens. Under the roses, close +to one another, slumbered the fair-winged children, tired out with +play, their little mouths open and their chubby legs all folds. The air +was heavy with the breath of lilac and jasmine; it was spring, it was +the Present, it was night...!</p> +<p>And while Psyche lay with her head against Eros’ shoulder and +he wound his arm round her waist, while Psyche looked up at the stars, +sacred in the violet night, the nightingale broke out into melody. The +bird sang, and sang alone; everything was still. The bird sang, and let +her notes fall in the air like drops of sprinkled sound, like the +harmonious falling of water from a playing fountain. The bird sang, and +Psyche closed her eyes, and felt on her lips Eros’ kiss.</p> +<p>The days followed the nights. It was always the sweet pleasure of +flowers and birds, of spring and love, cupids and roses, music and +dance. The flowers were more beautiful, and did not fade; the fruits +were sweeter and of richer colour; the spring air was lighter, and life +was happier than a golden day. It was day which lasted days and nights; +it was the Present. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb90" href="#pb90" +name="pb90">90</a>]</span></p> +<p>If Psyche were alone she longed for Eros, and when she saw him again +she spread out her arms, and they loved each other. If Psyche were +alone, she wandered about in the rosy spring morning; the flowers bowed +down to her; the brook flowed cool over her feet; she played with the +winged cherubs, who flew about her head like butterflies; she sat down +in the moss full of violets; she bade the children take off her crown, +loosen the plaits of her long hair, untie the knots of the drapery +round her loins, and she lay down on the bank of the brook; her hand +played with the clear cold water, and, naked in the shade of flowery +shrubs, she fell asleep and the cupids round her. Then the step of the +king awoke her; the children awoke; they dressed her, and she went to +meet her husband, and received him with open arms. It was the sweet +delight of the Present.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1348width"><img src="images/p090.jpg" alt= +"The Storm" width="479" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Storm</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 90</i></p> +</div> +<p>One day she was sleeping naked under the shrubs, the boys round +about her; on the moss lay her crown and her veil, and the brooklet +flowed on, gently murmuring. The day was very still, heavy with warmth. +A storm was brewing, but the sky was still blue. In the far-off +distance, where the horizon was like <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb91" href="#pb91" name="pb91">91</a>]</span>waves of the sea, clouds +pregnant with storm curled up gloomily like ostrich feathers. And once +there was lightning, but no thunder.</p> +<p>Then above the ridge of the hill something dark appeared to rise +against the stormy clouds. It was round like a head, like a black head. +From the black head leered two eyes, black as jet, and nothing more +appeared. Long leered the eyes; then from the palace a voice cried.</p> +<p>“Psyche, Psyche!”</p> +<p>Psyche awoke, and the cupids with her. Eros approached and led her +away. The air grew dark, and the next moment the summer storm burst +forth, dark sky, lightning, rain, and thunder rapidly rolling on. It +lasted only for a time; then the sky became blue again, the flowers +recovered their breath and raised their drooping heads, shaking with +fresh rain. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb92" href="#pb92" name= +"pb92">92</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch14" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1369" class="main">Chapter XIV</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Next day, when Psyche was sleeping again by the brook, +the dark head with the leering eyes of jet appeared again on the +horizon. For a long time the eyes leered, full of lust. Then the head +rose up higher like a dark sun, behind the hill-slope in the sky.</p> +<p>It was a face tanned by the sun, with coal-black hair; round the +temples a wreath of vine leaves, and from the wreath protruded two +horns like those of a young goat.</p> +<p>The eyes looked lustful and young, as though they were jet and gold. +The lips laughed in the curly beard, and the sharp teeth were dazzling +white; the pointed ears stood up.</p> +<p>Then the dark face became perfectly visible in the light; the +shoulders rose brown and naked, and two brown hands with long fingers +lifted to the lips a pipe of short and long reeds. The pipe played a +fanfare, a march of very quick notes. Then it stopped, and the gold-jet +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb93" href="#pb93" name= +"pb93">93</a>]</span>eyes leered. Psyche moved in her sleep. Then the +pipe sounded again, and Psyche opened her eyes. Astonished, she +listened to the notes of the pipe, as they rose and fell so as she had +never heard before, lively and wanton, quick and playful. She sat up, +leant on her arm, and looked....</p> +<p>She started. There, on the horizon, like a dark sun, she saw the +brown face and the lips in the curly beard blowing the reeds, short and +long. Psyche started and looked on trembling. Then the pipe stopped +again, and roguishly the head nodded to her. Psyche was frightened; she +woke the boys. She fled away. From the palace Eros came to meet +her.</p> +<p>At first she meant to speak, but he kissed her; and why, she did not +know, but she spoke not. Then she made up her mind to tell Eros that +night, but in her husband’s arms she lacked the courage to speak. +She did not tell him. The next morning she resolved not to repose again +in the moss by the brook. But that afternoon she played with the +cupids, and tired, fell asleep in the same place. The pipe awoke her; +on the horizon, the brown face stood out against the sun, and roguishly +nodded to her. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb94" href="#pb94" name= +"pb94">94</a>]</span></p> +<p>Psyche, indignant, looked up.</p> +<p>The head rose, the shoulders rose, and the whole form then rose up: +a sunburnt youth, with the legs of a goat, rough-haired and cloven +hoofs. There he stood, his dark shadow reflected in the golden rays of +the setting sun. He blew his reeds; he piped lustily and merrily, +roguishly and joyously and as well as he could, to please Psyche. She +listened—about her the boys were sleeping—and she smiled. +He saw her smile and smiled too. Then proudly she pointed with her +finger for him to go. He went, but the next day he was there again. +Then she saw him every day. He stood in the sun, which was going down, +and blew his reeds, laughed and nodded to her roguishly. Sometimes +Psyche bade him be gone; sometimes she pretended not to see who was +playing there; sometimes she listened graciously. When she heard the +king call:</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1391width"><img src="images/p094.jpg" alt= +"The Satyr" width="485" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Satyr</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 94</i></p> +</div> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!” she woke the cupids, who dressed her +in a moment, and went to meet her husband. She kissed him, and wished +to tell him that every day a young man with goats’ legs stood on +the hill and played upon his pipe. But because she had kept silence so +long, she was silent again, and could not <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb95" href="#pb95" name="pb95">95</a>]</span>open her lips. It made +her sad, and Eros saw her sadness, and often asked her what it was that +disturbed the equanimity of her soul. She said +“<i>Nothing</i>,” and embraced him and declared that she +was happy. But when the lark warbled and the nightingale’s sweet +notes were heard, when Eros sang to the lyre and the brook murmured +gently, Psyche always heard, between the pleasant sounds, the impudent +tunes of the reeds, short and long. She tried not to hear, but she +always heard them. They sounded saucily and merrily, like the sounds of +a little bird in a wood calling something to her from afar; she heard, +but did not yet understand what.</p> +<p>One day, when he stood in the same place blowing lustily with +puffed-out cheeks, Psyche, indignant, rose with her lips closely +pressed together. She put her veil on and wound it tightly round her +loins, without waking the boys. Then, with a firm step and innocently, +she crossed a little slope, and came into a valley, a valley of grass; +there the brook flowed away between multitudes of irises and narcissi. +The goat, leering and laughing, tripped nimbly down the hill on his +hoofs to meet her. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb96" href="#pb96" +name="pb96">96</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Who are you?” said Psyche haughtily.</p> +<p>“I am the Satyr,” said he deferentially. “And now +will you just see me dance?”</p> +<p>He piped a waltz, and danced for her to the measure of his tripping +music. He turned out his feet, spun round and round, and underneath, on +his back, she saw his tiny tail wagging. She laughed, and found him +amusing, with his tail, and feet, and horns. Then he turned a +somersault, and finished his dance with a bow.</p> +<p>“You may not come here,” said Psyche severely. +“This is the Kingdom of the Present, and I am the queen, and my +husband is Eros, the king of this kingdom. You dance indeed nicely, and +you play rather pretty tunes, but you may not come here. We have here +the lark and the nightingale, and my husband sings to the +lyre.”</p> +<p>“That is classical music,” said the Satyr.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by <i>classical music</i>. +But you may not come here and pipe, and disturb me in my afternoon +slumber. If my husband knew it, he would be very angry, and have you +torn to pieces by two raging griffons.”</p> +<p>“I am not afraid of that,” said the Satyr. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb97" href="#pb97" name= +"pb97">97</a>]</span>“Why, I tame panthers, and they are much +more dangerous.”</p> +<p>“I had pity on you,” continued Psyche severely, raising +her head in queenly dignity, “and have not yet said anything to +the king. But if you come again to-morrow, I will tell him.”</p> +<p>“No, you won’t!” said the Satyr saucily.</p> +<p>“You are an ill-mannered boy!” said Psyche, angry and +offended. “You must not speak so to a princess. I ought not to +condescend to speak to you. I can see very well that you don’t +know how people behave at court, and that you come from the wood. And +you are ugly, too, with your hairy feet and your tail.”</p> +<p>The Satyr looked at her astonished.</p> +<p>“I think you very pretty!” he whispered admiringly. +“Oh, I think you so pretty! You have such pretty eyes, and such +golden hair, and such a white skin! Only, I don’t like your +wings. The nymphs haven’t any.”</p> +<p>“You may not speak to me like that!” said Psyche vexed. +“I am the queen. How dare you? Go away now, else I will call the +wild beasts here.”</p> +<p>“Well, don’t be angry!” said the Satyr in +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb98" href="#pb98" name= +"pb98">98</a>]</span>a low, imploring tone. “That is my way of +speaking. We all speak like that in the wood. The Bacchantes, too, are +not particular what they say. We are unacquainted with your court +language. And we don’t know anything of classical music. But we +are always very merry and sociable together; but you must come +once....”</p> +<p>“Are you going?” said Psyche imperiously, and red with +passion, and with her finger she pointed to him to be gone. He crouched +down suddenly in the reeds of the brook among the irises and narcissi, +and she saw him stealing away through the high grass. When she turned +round she beheld the cupids; they were bringing her her crown.</p> +<p>“The king is looking for you, Psyche!” they cried out in +the distance, and like a cloud they hovered round her.</p> +<p>She went back with them and threw herself into the arms of her +husband.</p> +<p>“Don’t roam so far away, my little Psyche!” said +Eros. “In the wood behind the hills are wild +beasts....”</p> +<p>Night came on; Eros sang, the nightingale filled the air with her +sweet notes.</p> +<p>“Classical music!” thought Psyche. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb99" href="#pb99" name="pb99">99</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch15" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1460" class="main">Chapter XV</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Psyche had a secret. Why did she not tell it? She did +not know. She could not, after having once kept silent. She knew that +she was not doing right by being silent, and yet she did not speak. But +she was very sad about it, and felt dissatisfied. Then she wanted to +speak with Eros; but because she had said nothing at first, she was +afraid. And then she said to herself: “The Satyr does nothing +wrong by standing there and piping a little, and it is not worth while +thinking much about it....”</p> +<p>And yet she <i>did</i> think about it, and in her ears she always +heard his saucy voice, his coarse words, countrified and funny.</p> +<p>Then she laughed about it all.</p> +<p>“But what does he do—what is he? a Satyr? What is a +Satyr? What are Bacchantes? And what are nymphs? Panthers, too, I have +never seen. I should like to see <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb100" +href="#pb100" name="pb100">100</a>]</span>them. What is their life +there in the wood? There are many lives in the world, and most of them +are a secret. I only know the courtiers of the Kingdom of the Past.... +Here there are the two girls that play on the pipe and the winged +children. I should like to see all that there is in the world, and +experience all that is in life. There must be strange things, which I +never see.... The Chimera was glorious, and deep in my soul I always +long for him; but in other respects everything is the same.... No +wonders take place in this garden.... Eros is a young prince; then +there are the doves, the griffons, the cupids.... That is all so +commonplace.... Oh, to seek, to wander! The world is so great! the +universe is awful, although it has limits. My father said it had no +limits.... Oh, if it had no limits...! Oh, <i>to seek, to wander, to +soar</i> in the air!... I shall never see the Chimera again. Never +shall I soar in the air again.... He conjured up visions for me, and +then let them pass away.... Oh, to soar through the air! When shall I +see him again, and when shall I soar again...? Eros I love—he is +my husband; but he has no wings. The Chimera had powerful wings +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb101" href="#pb101" name= +"pb101">101</a>]</span>of silver feathers. He has left me for +ever....”</p> +<p>So, alone with her thought, she wandered in the garden. The cupids +she drove away, and, crying, they hid themselves among the roses. When +the Satyr appeared, she went to meet him in the valley, where the +irises were blooming.</p> +<p>“So, you are there again!”</p> +<p>“Yes! won’t you just see me dance again?”</p> +<p>He danced and frisked his tail.</p> +<p>“I have already told you more than once that you may not come +here,” said Psyche severely.</p> +<p>He winked roguishly; he knew very well that his presence was not +disagreeable to her.</p> +<p>“You are so beautiful!” he said, in his most flattering +tone; “much more beautiful than any of the nymphs.”</p> +<p>“And the Bacchantes, then?” said Psyche.</p> +<p>“Much more beautiful than the Bacchantes!” he answered. +“But they are also very nice. Tell me, wouldn’t you like to +see them?”</p> +<p>Psyche was very inquisitive, and he noticed it.</p> +<p>“Won’t you just see them?” he repeated temptingly. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb102" href="#pb102" name= +"pb102">102</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Where?” said Psyche.</p> +<p>“Look ... there!” He pointed in the distance with his +finger.</p> +<p>On the hill Psyche saw forms madly whirling round in a dance.</p> +<p>“Those are the Bacchantes!” said the Satyr. Psyche +laughed.</p> +<p>“How madly they whirl round!” she exclaimed. “Are +they always so merry?”</p> +<p>“Oh, we are always dancing,” said the Satyr. “In +the wood it is always pleasure. We play at tag with one another, we +drink the juice of the grapes, and we dance till nightfall.”</p> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!” called a voice.</p> +<p>It was her husband. The Satyr fled through the flags, and Psyche +hastened back.</p> +<p>She threw herself into Eros’ arms, who asked her where she had +been. And without answering him, she began to cry and hid her face in +his breast.</p> +<p>“What is it, little Psyche?” asked Eros. “Are you +in trouble? Amongst the roses the boys cry, and by the brook the queen +cries. Is there then sadness in my kingdom? Does not Psyche feel +happy?”</p> +<p>She wept and shrugged her shoulders, as if <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb103" href="#pb103" name="pb103">103</a>]</span>to +say that she did not know. And she hid her face in his breast.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Psyche, what is the matter?”</p> +<p>She would have liked to tell him, but she could not; a stronger +power kept her back.</p> +<p>“Does not Psyche feel happy? Does she long for the +Chimera?”</p> +<p>She laid her little hand upon his lips.</p> +<p>“Don’t speak about him. I am not worthy of him. I am not +worthy of you, Eros.”</p> +<p>He kissed her very gently.</p> +<p>“What does my Psyche think about? May I not leave her any +more, alone by the brook?”</p> +<p>“No, no!” said she hastily, and drew his arms round +her.... “No,” she continued quickly. “Don’t +leave me alone any more. Always stay by me. Protect me from myself, O +Eros...!”</p> +<p>“Is little Psyche ill?”</p> +<p>She nodded in the affirmative, and laid her burning head upon his +breast; she nestled against him and shut her feverish eyes.</p> +<p>He stayed by her, and all around was still, and the cupids appeared +fluttering in the air. That night she slept in Eros’ arms. She +awoke for a moment out of her sleep; far <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb104" href="#pb104" name="pb104">104</a>]</span>away in the distance +through the crystal of the palace she heard the sound of pipes. She +raised her head and listened. But she would not hear any more, and hid +herself in Eros’ arms and fell asleep on his heart.</p> +<p>The next day he stayed by her, and they wandered to the brook. +Sadness hung over the garden, the flowers drooped. In the afternoon +Psyche became uneasy; she heard the pipe, and in the distance caught a +glimpse of vague forms dancing.</p> +<p>“Do you see nothing?” she asked Eros.</p> +<p>“No....”</p> +<p>“Do you hear nothing?” she said again.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered. “Poor Psyche is ill. And the +flowers are ill too, because she is. Oh, let Eros cure +you...!”</p> +<p>The following night, in the arms of her husband, she heard the pipe. +It played saucy, short, lively tunes. “Come, come, now dance with +us; we are drinking the grapes. Come ... come...!”</p> +<p>She could resist no longer. Trembling, she loosed herself from her +husband’s arms, who was asleep. She got up, stole out of the +palace, fled through the garden to the alluring voice.</p> +<p>The flowers in the brook seemed to entreat <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb105" href="#pb105" name="pb105">105</a>]</span>her: +“Oh, go not away! Oh, go not away!” The nightingale uttered +a cry, and she thought it was an owl.</p> +<p>She hurried on to the valley, where the irises were in blossom. +There, near the brook, in the light of the moon, stood the Satyr, +tripping to the sound of his pipe, and round him, hand in hand, madly +danced the Bacchantes, naked, a panther’s skin cast about them, +their wild streaming hair encircled with vine-leaves. They danced like +drunken spectres in the pale moonlight night; they waved their thyrsus, +and pelted each other with grapes, which smashed to juice upon their +faces.</p> +<p>“Come, come!” they cried triumphantly.</p> +<p>Psyche was startled by their voices, rough and hoarse. But they +opened their circle, two stretched their hand out to Psyche, and they +danced round with her. The wild dance excited her; she had never known +till then what dancing was, and she danced with sparkling eyes. She +waved a thyrsus, and pressed the grapes to her mouth.... Then suddenly +the Satyr caught hold of her and kissed her passionately, pressing the +grapes to her lips.... <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb106" href= +"#pb106" name="pb106">106</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!”</p> +<p>She started and stood still. The Bacchantes, the Satyr, fled.</p> +<p>Psyche hastened back; with her hand she wiped her contaminated, +burning lips.</p> +<p>“... Psyche!”</p> +<p>She ran to meet Eros, but when she saw him, godlike and beautiful as +an image, spotlessly pure in the moonlight, with his noble countenance, +his deep brown eyes full of love, she was so disgusted with herself +that she fell at his feet in a swoon.</p> +<p>He lifted her up and laid her on the bed.</p> +<p>He watched while she slumbered.</p> +<p>The whole night he watched by her....</p> +<p>And it seemed as if she were wandering in her mind....</p> +<p>Her face glowed with fever, and ever and anon she wiped her +lips.</p> +<p>Outside in the garden the flowers drooped in sorrow. The lark was +silent, and the little angels sat together with their wings drawn in. +The sky was ash-coloured and gloomy.</p> +<p>That night Psyche slept in Eros’ arms, and afar off the pipe +allured her....</p> +<p>She extracted herself from Eros’ embrace and got up.... +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb107" href="#pb107" name= +"pb107">107</a>]</span></p> +<p>She wanted to kiss him for the last time, but durst not, for fear of +waking him.</p> +<p>“Farewell!” she whispered very gently. “Noble +Eros, beloved husband, farewell! I am unworthy of you. The +Satyr’s kiss is still burning on my lips; my mouth is on fire +from the juice of the grapes. Farewell...! And if you can, forgive +me!”</p> +<p>She went.</p> +<p>The night was sultry and heavy with thunder; the flowers, exhausted, +hung their heads; the nightingale uttered a cry, and she thought it was +an owl. Bats flitted about with flapping wings.</p> +<p>She walked with a firm step. She followed the brook to where it +flowed into the valley. Yonder ... with the Satyr in their midst, +danced the Bacchantes.</p> +<p>“Hurrah! Hurrah!” they cried out, rough and hoarse, and +threw at her a bunch of grapes.</p> +<p>She hesitated a moment.... She raised her eyes. Through the gloomy +night a single star glistened like a cold, proud eye.</p> +<p>“Sacred star!” said Psyche, “you who watched over +me before, and now leave me for ever ... tell him that I am unworthy of +him and beg him to forgive me!” <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb108" href="#pb108" name="pb108">108</a>]</span></p> +<p>The star hid itself in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Come!” cried the Bacchantes.</p> +<p>Psyche took a step forward....</p> +<p>“Brook!” she then cried, “little stream of the +land of the Present, babbling pure and peacefully, in which I never +more may cool myself ... oh, tell him that I am unworthy of him and beg +him to forgive me!”</p> +<p>The brook went murmuring over the stones, and muttered: “No, +no....”</p> +<p>“Come, come!” cried the Bacchantes.</p> +<p>Then Psyche plucked a single violet, white as a maiden’s +face.</p> +<p>“Sweet violet!” said she, “humble flower, +don’t be proud. Your queen, who is forsaking her kingdom, +entreats the star and brook in vain. She is no longer a queen. She is +no longer obeyed. Sweet violet, hear the prayer of Psyche, who, +unworthy, is forsaking the Present....”</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1644width"><img src="images/p108.jpg" alt= +"The Bacchantes" width="479" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Bacchantes</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 108</i></p> +</div> +<p>“Stay, Psyche!” implored the flower in her hand.</p> +<p>“Dear little flower!” said Psyche, “born in the +moss, withering when you are plucked, what do you know of gods and +mortals? What do you know of soul and life and power? Psyche can no +longer stay. But <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb109" href="#pb109" +name="pb109">109</a>]</span>beg Love to forgive her...! Oh, give him my +last message!”</p> +<p>She kissed the flower and laid it in the moss.</p> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche! Come!” cried the Bacchantes.</p> +<p>She sprang forward into the midst of the dance.</p> +<p>“Here I am!” she cried wildly. And they dragged her away +with them to the wood. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb110" href= +"#pb110" name="pb110">110</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch16" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1668" class="main">Chapter XVI</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">When Eros awoke that morning, he found not Psyche by +his side. He got up, thinking that she was in the garden, and went +out.</p> +<p>The sky was dull and lowering, a mist hung over the hills. The lark +had not sung, the cupids were not fluttering about.</p> +<p>“Psyche!” cried he, “Psyche!”</p> +<p>No answer was returned. No sigh rustled in the leaves of the trees; +no insect hummed in the grass; the flowers hung down withered on their +limp stems. A deathly chilliness reigned around. A fearful presentiment +took possession of Eros. He walked along the flower-beds, along the +brook.</p> +<p>“Oh! where is Psyche?” he cried. “Oh, tell me, +water, flowers, birds, where is Psyche!!”</p> +<p>No answer was returned. The brook flowed on murkily and noiselessly, +the flowers lay across the path; no bird sang among the leaves. He +wrung his hands and hastened on. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb111" +href="#pb111" name="pb111">111</a>]</span>Then he came to the spot +where Psyche was wont to rest in the moss by the brook, in the shade of +the shrubs.</p> +<p>“Who will tell me where Psyche is?” he exclaimed in +despair, and threw himself on the moss and sobbed.</p> +<p>“Eros!” cried a weak voice.</p> +<p>“Who speaks there?”</p> +<p>“I, a white violet, which Psyche plucked.... Hear me quickly, +for I feel I am dying, and my elfin voice is scarcely audible to your +ear. Listen to me ... I am lying close to you. Take me in your +hand....”</p> +<p>Eros took the flower.</p> +<p>“Psyche has been enticed by the Satyr into the wood. The +Bacchantes have taken her away. This was her last word: that she was +unworthy of you, and went away praying for forgiveness.... She could +not remain, she said; she went...! Eros, forgive her!”</p> +<p>The flower shrivelled up in his hand. Eros rose and tottered; he too +felt that he was dying.</p> +<p>Sad at heart walked Eros, and all along his path the flowers now lay +shrivelled. The brook was dry. The lark lay dead before his feet. The +cupids lay dead in the withered roses. <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb112" href="#pb112" name="pb112">112</a>]</span></p> +<p>Eros went into the castle and fell upon the purple bed.</p> +<p>A single dove was expiring at the marble basin.</p> +<p>The strings of the lyre were all broken....</p> +<p>Eros too felt that his life was leaving his body.</p> +<p>He raised his eyes, over which the film of death was stealing, and +looked about the castle; the crystal crumbled off and split from the +top to the bottom.</p> +<p>“Sacred powers!” prayed he, “forgive her as I +forgive her, and love her till the End, as I shall and for ever. Let +her find what she seeks; let her wanderings once come to an end; let +her soar through the air, if she must, till she comes to the purest +sphere....” This sphere was the earth, the sweet Present, the +little resting-point on which she could not wander, and thus felt +within her the irresistible desire....</p> +<p>“Sacred powers, let her one day find what her happiness is. +Then, if it is not I.... Let her find....”</p> +<p>His voice failed, his eyes opened as in a vision, and he whispered +and finished his prayer: “... find ... in the Future...!” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb113" href="#pb113" name= +"pb113">113</a>]</span></p> +<p>That sacred word was his last. He died.</p> +<p>In the Kingdom of the Present, that once had been as a smiling +garden, everything was now dead....</p> +<hr class="tb"> +<p>Then ... in the mist, which hung over the ridge of the mountains, +something seemed to be creeping near, something with feet that could +only move slowly. From many sides, over the hill-top, the strange +creeping came nearer.... Gigantic, hairy feet of monstrous spiders were +walking over it; they came nearer and nearer; they were spiders with +big, swollen bodies and feet always in motion....</p> +<p>They were the sacred spiders of Emeralda, Princess of the Past. +Eagerly they ran to the dead garden of the Present....</p> +<p>They surrounded the garden and threw out their filaments to the +crystal roof of the palace. Then they wove over the Present, that lay +dead, one single gigantic web....</p> +<p>And whilst they wove, the dead Present went to dust. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb114" href="#pb114" name="pb114">114</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch17" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1736" class="main">Chapter XVII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">In the wood, in the autumn sun, Autumn was keeping +festival.</p> +<p>The foliage shone resplendent in yellow, bronze, purple, golden-red, +and pink; the sulphur-coloured moss looked like antique velvet. With +gusts of wind, the branches, madly arrogant, shook off their exuberance +of sere and yellow leaves, as if they were strewing the paths with +silver and gold and rustling notes.</p> +<p>Loudly laughing danced the dryads through the whirling leaves.</p> +<p>Out of the foaming stream between moss-covered rocks, rose the +white, naked nymphs.</p> +<p>“Where is she? Where is she?” cried they +inquisitively.</p> +<p>“There she comes! there she comes!” shouted the mad +dryads, and in handfuls they cast the leaves into the air, which +whirled over the nymphs and fell down on the water. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb115" href="#pb115" name="pb115">115</a>]</span></p> +<p>The dryads danced past, and the nymphs looked out inquisitively. +They stood, a naked group, in their rocky bath; their arms were clasped +round one another; green was their hair and white as pearls were their +bosoms. The sere and yellow leaves kept whirling about. Trampling feet +were approaching and were heard amongst the rustling leaves. +Merry-makers were drawing near; the golden foliage quivered like a +curtain of thin, fine, gold lace....</p> +<p>“There she comes! there she comes!” exclaimed the nymphs +with joy.</p> +<p>The branches cracked, the leaves whirled about, the tender sprays +recoiled from the noisy merry-makers, who were advancing.</p> +<p>Nearer they came with the sound of pipe and cymbal. Drunken +Bacchantes danced before them, waving the thyrsus, hand in hand with +fauns and satyrs; they encircled a triumphal car, drawn by spotted +lynxes.</p> +<p>High on the car sat a youth, beardless, with a wreath of vine-leaves +round his forehead, full of laughter and animal spirits, with blue eyes +that showed his love of pleasure. Naked were his godlike limbs, +chubbily formed like the tender flesh of a boy, and his legs were +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb116" href="#pb116" name= +"pb116">116</a>]</span>long and slender, his arms rounded like those of +a woman. He was the prince of the wood, of divine origin: Prince +Bacchus was his name.</p> +<p>And next to him on the triumphal car, sat little Psyche enthroned. +She too was naked, with nothing on but her veil, and her wings were so +strikingly beautiful, crimson and soft yellow and with four +peacock’s-feather eyes. Round the car, close together as a bunch +of grapes, sported madly a number of wine-gods, tumbling over one +another, grape-drunken children.</p> +<p>In triumph the procession rushed on through the golden wood. The +Bacchantes and satyrs sang and danced; two satyrs drove the lynxes, +which, spiteful as cats, spat at them; the wine-gods entwined the vine +and bore great heavy bunches of grapes.</p> +<p>High up, like a butterfly, which was a goddess, sat Psyche, and +laughed with glistening eyes and glowing cheeks, waving to the +nymphs.</p> +<p>“Live! long live Psyche—Psyche with the splendid +wings!” shouted the nymphs.</p> +<p>The wind blew, the leaves whirled about; the procession swept past +as though hurried <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb117" href="#pb117" +name="pb117">117</a>]</span>along by the gale. A little wine-god had +fallen and lay in the yellow leaves, playing with his chubby legs, +purple-red from the juice of grapes; he was crying because he had been +left behind; then he succeeded in getting on to his feet, and tottered +after the procession....</p> +<p>The nymphs laughed loudly at the little wine-god; they dived under +and beneath the rocks.</p> +<p>The wind blew, the yellow leaves whirled about.</p> +<p>And the wood became still and lonely. <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb118" href="#pb118" name="pb118">118</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch18" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1784" class="main">Chapter XVIII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">“Psyche, stay!” said Bacchus +entreatingly.</p> +<p>“No, no, let me alone!”</p> +<p>“With you goes all joy from the feast; Psyche, +stay!”</p> +<p>“I will not always sing, dance, drink. No, no, let me +alone!”</p> +<p>She pushed him away from her; she pushed the satyrs away from her; +she broke the round dance of the Bacchantes, who, drunken, shouted with +drunken eyes and wide-open, screaming mouths.</p> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!” screamed all.</p> +<p>She laughed loudly and coquettishly, like a spoilt child.</p> +<p>“I will come back to-morrow, when you are sober!” she +said with a mocking laugh. “Your voices are hoarse, your song is +out of tune, your last grapes were sour! I will only have the sweet of +your feast, and the bitter I will leave to you. Spread out your panther +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb119" href="#pb119" name= +"pb119">119</a>]</span>skins; go and sleep off your drunkenness. If +your feast has to last till winter, you need rest—rest for your +hoarse throats, rest for your drunken legs, rest for your heads, +muddled with wine.... I will come back to-morrow, when you are +sober!”</p> +<p>She gave a loud, mocking laugh, and rushed into the wood. It was a +moonlight night; in the pale moonbeams she left the wild feast behind. +The jealous Bacchantes danced round Bacchus, and embraced him.</p> +<p>Psyche hastened on. Her temples throbbed, her heart beat, and her +bosom heaved. When she was far enough away, she stopped, pressed both +her hands to her bosom, and gave a deep sigh. More slowly she went on +to the stream. Fresh was the autumn night, but burning were her naked +limbs!</p> +<p>The wood was still, save that in the top-most branches the wind +moaned. Like a silvery ship the moon sailed forth from the luminous, +ethereal sea, and the rushing mountain-stream foamed like snow on the +rocks. With a longing desire for coolness and water, Psyche stepped +down to the flags on the bank; with her hands she put aside the irises, +and made her way through <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb120" href= +"#pb120" name="pb120">120</a>]</span>the ferns and plunged her foot +into the water.</p> +<p>Then the nymphs dived up.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e1816width"><img src="images/p120.jpg" alt= +"The Nymphs" width="480" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Nymphs</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 120</i></p> +</div> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!” cried they joyously, “Psyche +with the splendid wings!”</p> +<p>Psyche smiled. She threw herself into the water, and the snow-white +foam dashed up.</p> +<p>“Let me be with you a moment,” entreated Psyche. +“Let me cool myself in your stream.”</p> +<p>The nymphs pressed round her and carried her on their arms. She lay +down at full length.</p> +<p>“Cool my forehead, cool my cheeks, cool my heart!” she +cried imploringly. “Dear nymphs, oh, cool my soul! Everything +burns on me and in me; fire scorches my lips, fire scorches my +brain.... O dear nymphs, cool me!”</p> +<p>The nymphs sprinkled water on her; Psyche put her arm round the neck +of one of them.</p> +<p>“Your water-drops hiss on my forehead as on burning metal. +Your flakes of foam evaporate on the fire in my breast. And on my soul, +O dear nymphs, you cannot sprinkle your coolness!” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb121" href="#pb121" name="pb121">121</a>]</span></p> +<p>The nymphs filled their stream-urns and poured them over Psyche.</p> +<p>“Pour them all out! Pour them all out!” cried Psyche +entreatingly. “But although my hair is dripping, and my wings and +my limbs too, my lips are scorched, my poor forehead burns, and within +me, O nymphs...! within me, my soul is consumed as in +hell-fire...!”</p> +<p>The nymphs took her gently in their arms; they dived with her below, +they came up again; they kept diving up and down.</p> +<p>“Oh, bathe me, bathe me!” cried Psyche imploringly. +“Benevolent nymphs, bathe me! Some coolness still hangs about my +body ... but my soul, oh, my soul you can never cool!” She wept, +and the nymphs caught up her tears in mother-of-pearl shells.</p> +<p>“Are you collecting my tears? Oh, no, they are not worth it. +Once I wept a brook full; once they were drunk, drunk by Love; once +they were pearls, and Love crowned me with them! Now, now they are like +drops of wine, drops of fire, and though they should congeal and become +rubies or topazes, they may never crown me more. Henceforth my tears I +shall always shed ... for Emeralda!” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb122" href="#pb122" name="pb122">122</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the shells the nymphs saw glistening pearls, and they understood +not.... But all their urns they poured out upon Psyche’s +eyes.</p> +<p>“My eyes are getting cool, O beloved nymphs; many tears I +shall never shed again; never again shall I weep a brook full.... But +cool my soul, extinguish deep within me the burning flames!”</p> +<p>“We cannot, Psyche....”</p> +<p>“No, no, you cannot, O nymphs! Let me lie still, then, still +in your arms. Let me rock quietly to and fro on your white-foaming +water, then let me sleep quietly.... But in my sleep my soul keeps +burning; in my dreams I see it flame up, high up as out of a hole in +hell.... Oh!”</p> +<p>She uttered a cry, as of pain.... The nymphs rocked her in their +entwined arms, as in a cradle of lilies, and softly sang a song....</p> +<p>“Nymphs, nymphs....! This is the fire that nothing can +extinguish—no, never.... This is remorse....”</p> +<p>The nymphs understood her not; they rocked her and sang in a low, +soft voice. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb123" href="#pb123" name= +"pb123">123</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch19" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1867" class="main">Chapter XIX</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">That morning she wandered about in the rosy autumn +dawn—a mist between the trees stripped of leaves. Along the path +she trod; on a skin she found a satyr and a Bacchante lying in a +drunken sleep, tight in each other’s arms; a cup lay on the +ground, a broken thyrsus, pressed-out grapes. She hastened on and +sought the most lonely spots. The foliage became scantier, the trees +grew farther apart, the wood ended in a plain and, violet misty, a +perspective of very low hills.</p> +<p>Psyche walked on over the plain and climbed the hills.</p> +<p>The autumn wind blew and howled between shrubs and bushes, and sang +the approach of winter. But Psyche felt not the cold, for her naked +limbs glowed: her soul was all on fire.</p> +<p>On the highest hill-top she looked out, her hand above her eyes, +gazing into the violet mist.... Unconscious to herself, she hoped +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb124" href="#pb124" name= +"pb124">124</a>]</span>for something vague and impossible: that she +might see Eros, that he would come to her, that she would fall at his +feet, that he would forgive her tenderly, and take her away with him. +Impossible. “What was impossible? Could not everything be +possible? Had he not followed the track of her tears? had he not found +her in the arms of the Sphinx?” Oh, she hoped, she hoped, she +hoped more definitely! Her remorse-burned soul longed for the balsam of +his love in the palace of crystal, for the sounds of his lyre, for the +tender words in the garden of the Present.</p> +<p>She hoped, she gazed....</p> +<p>In the pale glow of the morning sun, the violet mist cleared up, and +parted like violet curtains....</p> +<p>She gazed: there was the Present....</p> +<p>There Eros would be, mourning for his naughty Psyche!</p> +<p>There he would presently forgive her....</p> +<p>Oh, how she hoped, how she longed!.... She longed; she stretched out +her arms and dared cry in a plaintive voice:</p> +<p>“Eros!”</p> +<p>The wind blew through bush and shrub and sang the approach of +winter. The violet <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb125" href="#pb125" +name="pb125">125</a>]</span>curtains of mist were drawn aside. The sad +autumn morning appeared. There, now visible, lay the Present....</p> +<p>And Psyche gazed, screening her eyes with her hand....</p> +<p>There she saw her happiness of days gone by, destroyed. In a dead, +withered garden, a ruin: crystal pillars crumbling to pieces. And +between the pillars, spiders’ webs; all over the garden +spiders’ webs, web upon web, and in them spiders with bloated +bodies and lazy-moving feet....</p> +<p>Then she saw that Emeralda was reigning!</p> +<p>Then she felt that Eros was dead!</p> +<p>She had murdered him!</p> +<p>Oh, how her limbs glowed, how her soul burned! Oh, the burning pain +within her, deep within—a pain which no grape-juice could allay, +which no mad dance could deaden and the nymphs could not cool, though +they poured over her all their urns! Oh, that hell in her soul, for the +irretrievable desolation, for the murdered one, past recall! Oh, that +suffering, not for herself, but for him—for another! that +repentance, that burning remorse!....</p> +<p>She fell to the ground and sobbed. <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb126" href="#pb126" name="pb126">126</a>]</span></p> +<p>The pale sunbeams faded away, thick grey clouds came sweeping along, +a shower of hail rattled down, flinging handfuls of icy-cold +stones....</p> +<p>She felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up.</p> +<p>It was the Satyr who had allured her with his pipe, there, on that +very spot.</p> +<p>“Psyche!” said he, “what are you doing here, so +far away from all of us? Winter is coming, Psyche; listen to the +whistling winds, feel the rattling hail; the last leaves are being +blown away. We are going to the South, and Prince Bacchus is seeking +for you.... What are you doing here, and why are you crouching down and +weeping?</p> +<p>“We are having a feast and are fleeing the winter; +come!”</p> +<p>“I feel no cold; I am burning.... Let me stay here, and weep, +and die....”</p> +<p>“Why should you die, O Psyche, Psyche, so pretty and so +gay—Psyche, the prettiest and gayest, who can dance the maddest, +who can dance out all the Bacchantes? Come!....”</p> +<p>She laughed through her tears, a laugh like a piercing shriek.</p> +<p>“But Psyche, do you know what it is?” <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb127" href="#pb127" name="pb127">127</a>]</span>said +the Satyr, whispering confidentially. “Do you know what it is +that prevents you from being happy, and why you are not like all of us? +I told you before, Psyche: it is on account of your wings. Your wings +prevent you from putting a beast’s skin round you, and entwining +your hair with vine. The nymphs find your wings pretty, but what do you +want with things that are pretty, yet of no use whatever? If you could +only fly with those wings!”</p> +<p>... “If I could only fly with those wings!” said Psyche, +sighing. “No, I have never been able to fly with them, my poor, +weak wings!”</p> +<p>“The nymphs think your wings pretty, but the nymphs are +sentimental. The Bacchantes think them ugly, and laugh at you in +secret. Prince Bacchus does not like wings either; he cannot embrace +you well with those things on your back. Psyche, dear Psyche, listen: +shall I tell you something....? You must let me cut those wings off +with a pair of grape-scissors. For when you have got rid of your wings, +then you can throw a panther’s skin round you, and put a +vine-wreath round your hair, and you will be altogether one of +us....” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb128" href="#pb128" name= +"pb128">128</a>]</span></p> +<p>The wind blew, the hail rattled down: winter was coming on.</p> +<p>... “Eros is dead!” murmured Psyche, “Spring is +past, the Present is withered, Emeralda reigns.... ‘What are you +doing with things that are pretty, and have no use at +all...?’</p> +<p>“If I cannot possibly get cool, if I keep burning deep within +me ... it is better, perhaps, to renounce my princess’s rights, +to go naked no longer, to have no wings....”</p> +<p>“Tell me, Psyche, may I cut them off?”</p> +<p>“Yes, clip them! Cut them right off, my wings, which are only +pretty!” she cried fiercely. “Cut them off!!”</p> +<p>His eyes glowed jet and gold, his breath came quickly from joy. He +produced his sharp scissors....</p> +<p>And whilst she knelt, he cut off both her wings.</p> +<p>They fell on the ground and shrivelled up.</p> +<p>“Oh, that pains, that pains!... Oh, that pains!” cried +Psyche.</p> +<p>“It is a little wound, it will soon heal,” said the +Satyr soothingly, but grinning with pleasure.</p> +<p>Then he threw a panther’s skin round her, <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb129" href="#pb129" name="pb129">129</a>]</span>put +a wreath of vine-leaves on her head, and she was like a fair Bacchante +still very young and tender, with her white skin, with her tender eyes +of soul-innocence, in which, deep down, dejection reigned.</p> +<p>“Psyche!” cried he delighted, “Psyche! How pretty +you are!”</p> +<p>She uttered her shrill laugh, her laugh of bitter irony. He led her +away down the hills. She looked about: yonder lay the Present, reduced +to dust and spider-webs. She looked about: in the wind, which was +blowing, her wings whirled away, shrivelled up, whirled away like dry +leaves.</p> +<p>She laughed and put her arm round his neck, and they hastened back +to the wood.</p> +<p>The wind blew; the first snowflakes fell. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb130" href="#pb130" name="pb130">130</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch20" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e1975" class="main">Chapter XX</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Slowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, +summer, autumn....</p> +<p>Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the +caves of Emeralda.</p> +<p>Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and +sank into the Past.</p> +<p>And again it was spring....</p> +<p>In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they +sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in +the new and tempered sunshine.</p> +<p>What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. +They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, +their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and +in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them +their song. They sang because the sky was blue....</p> +<p>Emeralda they did not know.... <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb131" +href="#pb131" name="pb131">131</a>]</span></p> +<p>Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and +love in their hearts....</p> +<p>Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they +sang because the sky was blue.</p> +<hr class="tb"> +<p>On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there +lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years +old.</p> +<p>How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!</p> +<p>How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! +Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the +sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with +hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the +meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. +They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....</p> +<p>The hermit continued deep in thought....</p> +<p>Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. +Never had he <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb132" href="#pb132" name= +"pb132">132</a>]</span>known the Present, the spring Present of the +shepherds.</p> +<p>The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was +tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died +in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.</p> +<p>Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, +the voices of the shepherds.</p> +<p>The hermit heard a step. He looked up.</p> +<p>He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her +hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; +he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.</p> +<p>The little form approached and knelt down.</p> +<p>“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, +“don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, +and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am +ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for +something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw +stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me +away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as +men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lion <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb133" href="#pb133" name= +"pb133">133</a>]</span>licked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let +me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had +pity!”</p> +<p>“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, +she-devil?”</p> +<p>“Because I must <span class="corr" id="xd20e2030" title= +"Source: fulfil">fulfill</span> a duty among men.”</p> +<p>“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”</p> +<p>“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my +father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do +penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw +stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: +give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and +under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O +father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”</p> +<p>The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he +saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.</p> +<p>“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps +rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”</p> +<p>The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.</p> +<p>“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb134" href="#pb134" name= +"pb134">134</a>]</span>“Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your +loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the +water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and +thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your +cord.”</p> +<p>She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, +she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two +blood-red scar-stripes.</p> +<p>“Are you wounded?”</p> +<p>“I was, long ago....”</p> +<p>“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”</p> +<p>“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always +burning like a cave in hell.”</p> +<p>“Who are you?”</p> +<p>“One heavy burdened with sin.”</p> +<p>“What is your name?”</p> +<p>“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And +let me go.”</p> +<p>“Whither are you going?”</p> +<p>“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the +Princess Emeralda.”</p> +<p>“She is proud.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb135" +href="#pb135" name="pb135">135</a>]</span></p> +<p>“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed +them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O +father, let me go!”</p> +<p>“Go, then.... And do penance.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”</p> +<p>The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her +penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.</p> +<p>In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb136" href="#pb136" name="pb136">136</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch21" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2088" class="main">Chapter XXI</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The path was steep, and covered with cactus and +thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the +basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle +had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the +clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of +cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly +and round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, +the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, +behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of +ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the +gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She +climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their +song, quite faint, came up to her. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb137" +href="#pb137" name="pb137">137</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her +mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and +her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.</p> +<p>The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not +throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.</p> +<p>She kept climbing up.</p> +<p>High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of +towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent +child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a +butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had +longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope +to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the +doves that flew round about her...!</p> +<p>She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the +North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the +Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, +and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her +continually, like a scarlet <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb138" href= +"#pb138" name="pb138">138</a>]</span>child of hell; now she came back +up the steep path....</p> +<p>Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, +and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting +shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that +peeped out from under her wide hood.</p> +<p>Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....</p> +<p>Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the +grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled +through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her +foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her +whelps....</p> +<p>Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....</p> +<p>Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of +pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the +clouds?</p> +<p>Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.</p> +<p>But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e2121width"><img src="images/p138.jpg" alt= +"The Pilgrimage of Psyche" width="484" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Pilgrimage of Psyche</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 138</i></p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb139" href="#pb139" name= +"pb139">139</a>]</span></p> +<p>She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, the +sooner would she reach the castle.</p> +<p>Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of Emeralda! +What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What greater +suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of remorse, +that was ever with her wherever she went!</p> +<p>And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary +man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when he +saw the blood of her footstep. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb140" +href="#pb140" name="pb140">140</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch22" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2138" class="main">Chapter XXII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The night was pitch dark, when she stood before the +awful gate and asked admittance.</p> +<p>And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The +halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, and +invited her to rest.</p> +<p>She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier’s +bread, she drank a drop of their wine.</p> +<p>Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening +meal.</p> +<p>And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful +jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet +commanding:</p> +<p>“I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple +carbuncles. Tell the princess that I have come to do her homage and +give her my jewels.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb141" href= +"#pb141" name="pb141">141</a>]</span></p> +<p>The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to +come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat.</p> +<p>And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid +of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed +men.</p> +<p>She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron +gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside.</p> +<p>And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower.</p> +<p>There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, +under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue.</p> +<p>“Holy pilgrim!” said Emeralda, “be welcome! You +have come to bring me jewels?”</p> +<p>A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche’s limbs, when she +heard Emeralda’s voice. She had not thought that she would be +afraid any more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard +her voice, she almost fainted from fear.</p> +<p>For her look was most terrible.</p> +<p>Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her +beauty was horrible. In <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb142" href= +"#pb142" name="pb142">142</a>]</span>the hall, lit up with thousands of +candles, a hall of gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her +throne of agate, in a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human +about her; she was like a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it +were, into a jewel. Her eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, +that was ivory white, like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there +hung down her face six red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, +and stiffly interwoven with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her +teeth glittered like brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, +like the noise of a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff +with rings, were opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the +opal. Her bosom, opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet +amethyst—and over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. +Her dress was no longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the +arabesque was jewels; her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff +could not bend, but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long +jewelled clock.</p> +<p>And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously +beautiful as a work of art—<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb143" +href="#pb143" name="pb143">143</a>]</span>made by one, both jeweller +and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, +the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded +under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle +and dress.</p> +<p>In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous +idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; +dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.</p> +<p>Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by +the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again +eagerly:</p> +<p>“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me +jewels?”</p> +<p>Psyche gained courage.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty +of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg +that we may be left alone.”</p> +<p>Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity +got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff +hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating +jewels, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb144" href="#pb144" name= +"pb144">144</a>]</span>shot forth rays like the sun, which, like a +nimbus, streamed around her.</p> +<p>Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers +withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche +unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her long +hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before +Emeralda, and said:</p> +<p>“Emeralda, don’t you recognise me? I am Psyche, your +sister!”</p> +<p>A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour +and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled.</p> +<p>“Wretched Psyche!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I know +you! I have always hated you, hated as I hate everything that is +gentle, as I hate doves, children, flowers! So you have deceived me, +intruder! you bring me no jewels!”</p> +<p>Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand.</p> +<p>“Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I +present you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel +in humility before you. I offer you my <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb145" href="#pb145" name="pb145">145</a>]</span>tears, which have +turned into stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a +penance to do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any +longer. I have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on +me the heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. +Lay a heavy task upon my wingless shoulders.”</p> +<p>Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached her +sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them up to the +light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open casket. +Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to Psyche +like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her glittering +web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, princess, +sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she was not, +and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby.</p> +<p>Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and +Emeralda watched her.</p> +<p>Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She +thought as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling; +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb146" href="#pb146" name= +"pb146">146</a>]</span>she thought inhumanly because she had no soul. +Soulless she was and hard as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest +ruler of the world. She ruled with a movement, she condemned with a +look, she could kill with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was +terrible; if she appeared in public there was disaster; and if she rode +through her kingdom in a triumphal chariot, then everything was +scorched by her lustre and crushed under her triumph.</p> +<p>At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering +rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching +incantation.</p> +<p>“Psyche, fled from her father’s house, fallen from all +princely dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, +corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin—listen!</p> +<p>“Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, +who longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a +horse, who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in +desert and in wood—wander, seek, and ask!</p> +<p>“Wander, seek, and ask, till you find! <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb147" href="#pb147" name="pb147">147</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting +mouths of monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky +sea.</p> +<p>“Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the +Philosopher’s Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the +Mystic Jewel, the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the +Godhead.</p> +<p>“Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!”</p> +<p>Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and +with a look at the casket, said pitilessly:</p> +<p>“Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how +much.”</p> +<p>She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, +continued:</p> +<p>“And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which +may not be uttered....” She drew still nearer.</p> +<p>... “Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, +your sister, the divine omnipotence!”</p> +<p>Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an +unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power +for herself, to make sure of the two-fold <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb148" href="#pb148" name="pb148">148</a>]</span>omnipotence of the +world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid +upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew +nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, +and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, +long tresses.</p> +<p>An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were +being frozen.</p> +<p>“I obey,” she murmured.</p> +<p>And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy +coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was +in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the +shield-bearers approached with torches.</p> +<p>“Conduct me to Astra!” she commanded.</p> +<p>There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the +voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed +strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.</p> +<p>They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to +another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, +guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb149" href="#pb149" name="pb149">149</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Who comes there?” asked a voice, tired, weak, and +faint.</p> +<p>Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw +her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her +telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread +out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which +hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her +white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered +breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; +her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and +her voice, faint and weak, said:</p> +<p>“Who comes there?”</p> +<p>“I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a +penitent...!”</p> +<p>“As a penitent?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do +penance....”</p> +<p>Astra mused.</p> +<p>“It is true,” she murmured. “I remember, little +Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you.”</p> +<p>“The night is dark, Astra: there are few <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb150" href="#pb150" name= +"pb150">150</a>]</span>stars in the sky, and the torches are not yet +lit....”</p> +<p>“No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I +cannot see, I am blind....”</p> +<p>Psyche gave a cry.</p> +<p>“Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so +well! are you blind?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope +from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to +become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant +knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing +more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the +living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour +between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.</p> +<p>“What is that, child? What round things are falling over my +fingers?”</p> +<p>“My tears, Astra, poor Astra!”</p> +<div class="figure xd20e2294width"><img src="images/p150.jpg" alt= +"Psyche and Astra" width="482" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">Psyche and Astra</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 150</i></p> +</div> +<p>“How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... +Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet +lit? Well, let it be dark, for <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb151" +href="#pb151" name="pb151">151</a>]</span>I see nothing; but I feel +you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel +along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your +wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My +star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her +gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels +no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and +beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep +close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, +your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am old, but +you—are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly +young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated +your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You +weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always +young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid +penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher’s Stone in the caverns +of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable +name is a legend. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb152" href="#pb152" +name="pb152">152</a>]</span>The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. +The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from +precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking +through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride +and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is +powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....</p> +<p>“In vain will you seek.”</p> +<p>“Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you +also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I +do for Emeralda.”</p> +<p>“No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but +resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity +and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet +illusion is pleasant: illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your +penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always +calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in +endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum +of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is +incomputable, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb153" href="#pb153" name= +"pb153">153</a>]</span>the divine is limitless. Even the nearest +frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of +unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall +soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the +telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?”</p> +<p>“The stars give a dim light.”</p> +<p>“Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do +you see?”</p> +<p>“In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which +emits a few rays. Is that a black star?”</p> +<p>“No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The +spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the +spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to +pieces....[”]</p> +<p>“Astra...!!”</p> +<p>“Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round +head, your wingless shoulders....”</p> +<p>“Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the +stars!”</p> +<p>“Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my +little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your old +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb154" href="#pb154" name= +"pb154">154</a>]</span>nurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... +Sleep now by blind Astra....”</p> +<p>Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was +dark. Astra’s powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell +asleep. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb155" href="#pb155" name= +"pb155">155</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch23" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2340" class="main">Chapter XXIII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">It was still dark when Psyche awoke. She looked up at +Astra, who sat sleeping, her grey head on her breast; faintly shone her +star. Very gently, so as not to wake her, Psyche rose, and left the +terrace. She knew the way. She went through the halls and passages, +down the steps, the endless steps. In the corners sat the sacred +spiders, and wove....</p> +<p>Psyche went lower down, to the vaults. There burnt the everlasting +lamps. She went among the royal tombs, crystal sarcophagi, and found +her father’s coffin. By the lamp, which was always kept burning, +she recognised his embalmed, rigid face. The eyes were closed. He knew +nothing about her: that she had gone away and come back. Death was +between them, and severed them forever.</p> +<p>She kissed the glass, and her tears, round, hard, and red, clattered +on the crystal. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb156" href="#pb156" +name="pb156">156</a>]</span></p> +<p>She knelt down and tried to pray. In a corner of the vault a black +spot moved. It was a big spider with a white cross on its body.</p> +<p>“So, you have come back again.... I knew that you would come. +We can escape from nothing. Everything happens as it happens. +Everything is as it is. Everything goes to dust; into the pits of the +Past, into the power of Emeralda.... Now become a spider like us, weave +your web, and be wise....”</p> +<p>Psyche got up.</p> +<p>“No...!” she exclaimed, “I will not become a +spider, I will weave no web. I have sinned, but I will weave no web; I +have sinned and will do penance. The world is awful—desert and +wood and space; life is awful—love and pain, joy and despair, sin +and punishment. And if fate is as it is, it is in vain to weave a web +and to heap up treasures of dust. Spider, were it not more human to +love, to live, and even to sin, than to weave web upon web? Spider, I +envy you not your sacredness...!”</p> +<p>The spider puffed itself out maliciously.</p> +<p>“You seem to be still proud of your murder <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb157" href="#pb157" name="pb157">157</a>]</span>and +your immorality and shamelessness! Your princely name you have dragged +through the mire, your wings you have given up for a panther’s +skin and a grape-wreath, and know not yet what repentance is. If you +had been wise and become a spider, you would have served Emeralda, and +there would have been no need to go down to the Under-world!”</p> +<p>But Psyche was no longer afraid. She had come to kiss her +father’s coffin; she left her jewelled tears in the treasure, +which the spiders watched over, and ascended the hundreds of steps and +came on to the terrace of the battlements.</p> +<p>There as a child she had wandered and gazed, a child with wings, and +innocent, her soul full of dreams. Now she wandered again along the +ramparts and battlements high as a man; the doves fluttered about her, +the swans looked up at her ... and full of dejection for former +innocence and youth, she wept and wept: no longer a brook, but topazes, +rubies, tears of sin, that, rattling down, frightened the doves and the +swans, which, indignant, thought that she was pelting them with stones. +The doves flew away, and the swans, offended, turned their backs on +her. Then she sat <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb158" href="#pb158" +name="pb158">158</a>]</span>down in an embrasure—no wings now lay +against the stone-work—and she folded her arms round her knees. +She looked towards the horizon; behind it loomed other horizons, first +pink, then silver; blue, then gold; behind the grey, pale and misty, +and then fading away. Then beyond, the horizon became milk-white, like +an opal, and in the reflection of the last rays of the setting sun, it +seemed as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose in the air, aerial +paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and +light-quivering nothingness.</p> +<p>And Psyche bowed her head, full of sadness, and sobbed.</p> +<p>The world was not changed, but more beautiful than ever; gloriously +beautiful loomed the ever-changing horizon. Yet Psyche sobbed, full of +sadness. She knew that the horizons were pure delusions, and that +behind them was the desert with the Sphinx. Oh! if she could once more +believe in the aerial paradises, the purple seas, the golden regions +with people of light, who lived under rosy bananas! Alas! had she not +trod a paradise, the sweet Present, the adorable garden of a moment, so +little and so short in <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb159" href= +"#pb159" name="pb159">159</a>]</span>duration? It was past, it was +past! Oh, how her soul scorched, how her shoulders pained, how her eyes +burned!</p> +<p>She wept and she sobbed, and hid her face in her hands. She did not +notice that the wind was rising, that the horizon quivered, that clouds +were speeding through the air, white colossi like towers and dragons, +riders and horses. She did not see the changes in the sky; she did not +see the going up and down of wings, of flaming wings in the silver +lightning, that flashed from the sky; she did not hear the warning +thunder, nor did she see the clouds emitting sparks. But suddenly she +distinctly heard a voice:</p> +<p>“Psyche! Psyche!”</p> +<p>She looked up. Before her, she saw descending on broad wings a steed +of pure light and flame. And she uttered a cry, that sounded in the air +like an endless shout of gladness:</p> +<p>“Chimera!”</p> +<p>It was he. He descended. The basalt terrace trembled, as though +shaken by an earthquake; under his hoofs the stone shot sparks, and he +stood before her resplendent and beautiful. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb160" href="#pb160" name="pb160">160</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Chimera!” she cried, and folded her hands and sank down +before him on her knees.</p> +<p>She could say nothing else. She was dazzled, and it seemed as though +her soul ascended heavenward in the pure delight of love.</p> +<p>“Psyche!” sounded his voice of bronze, “I have +come down, for I love you. But I may not bear you any more on my back +through the delusive regions of air, because you have committed sin. +Psyche, it is your bounden duty to obey Emeralda’s command. Go +down to Hell and seek the Jewel.”</p> +<p>“Chimera, adored one, delight of my soul, oh, your splendour +fills my eyes! Your word gives strength to my weakness! I feel it! You +may not bear me away; I am unworthy of your wings. But I adore and +bless you for coming! Chimera, Chimera, your splendour has beamed once +more upon me! your voice has inspired me, and I will do what you +say.... You let the light of hope break in upon me; new strength flows +through my limbs. Chimera, I hope, I hope! I will go down into Hell; I +will seek.... Shall I find? I know not.... But I hope! The horizon +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb161" href="#pb161" name= +"pb161">161</a>]</span>is quivering with hope and ether and the +Future!</p> +<p>“Psyche!” sounded his voice again like bronze, “be +strong<span class="corr" id="xd20e2400" title="Source: ?">!</span> Take +heart! Descend! Do penance! Seek...! Once more you will see +me....”</p> +<p>“Once more!”</p> +<p>“Be strong, take heart, do penance!”</p> +<p>He ascended, whilst Psyche remained kneeling. When he was high in +the air, there came a peal of thunder, as if the heavens would burst +asunder. The sky was dark, but lit up by the lightning. In the black +sky, in the lightning flame, rose fearfully the three hundred towers. +And the thunder-claps rumbled on, one after the other, as if the Past +were perishing in the last day....</p> +<p>With a joyful cry, Psyche hastened along the terraces, the +battlements, ramparts, entered the castle, and went down the steps. +Lower and lower she descended, lower than the vaults; and as she passed +them, she threw a kiss in the direction where the old king lay +buried.... She descended still lower, and yet she heard the thunder +pealing above, and the castle seemed to tremble to its very +foundations. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb162" href="#pb162" name= +"pb162">162</a>]</span></p> +<p>She descended still lower: she descended very deep pits, built like +towers reversed to the central nave of the earth. She descended step +after step, thousands of steps, groping in the darkness. She walked +with unerring foot, that felt for the next step, that detected the +slippery stone; she felt and never hesitated. Another step and then +another; again a pit, pit after pit, all the pits of the Past. Bats +flew up and flapped their wings, spiders she felt crawling over her, an +icy dampness fell like a chill wind upon her shoulders.</p> +<p>Deeper down she went, and deeper. It was pitch dark, and above she +heard nothing more; she heard only the flapping of the gigantic bats, +the droning of the envious spiders. But she defended herself with her +little hand; as she descended, she beat about her, beat the bats away, +seized a vampire, held it tightly by the neck, and strangled it. Her +foot glided over toads, she slipped over snakes, but she got up again +and beat the bats and fought with the vampires. The Chimera had so +inspired her with strength, that she felt strong as a giant, young and +courageous; he had filled her eyes with such light that she saw him in +the darkness. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb163" href="#pb163" name= +"pb163">163</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the pitchy darkness his flaming wings were distinctly visible. +And on she went descending; thick clouds of dust, the deepest shadows +of Emeralda’s transitoriness, rose up, but she kept breathing, +never hesitating, and her foot felt instinctively the next step, and +she struck at the bats and fought with the vampires. When she throttled +them, a human cry was heard, and the echo sounded a thousand times like +the anxious cry of a murder. But she was not afraid. She kept on +descending....</p> +<p>She kept descending. At last she felt no more steps but voidness +under her feet, and she sank ... like a feather, through heavier air; +she sank, she sank deeper and deeper, deeper and deeper.... A black +draught of air, an invisible wind, damp and chill, made her feel that +she had passed all the pits, that she was sinking outside them in the +open air, invisible and black, thick as ink. Then she began to sink +more slowly, and ... her feet touched ground.</p> +<p>Sounds soft and low, like the plaintive strains of a viol, rose up +from afar, like music of the sea, the plaint of a thousand voices which +never became melody. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb164" href="#pb164" +name="pb164">164</a>]</span></p> +<p>The far-off sound continued quivering as an accompaniment of wind, +of a black wind which blew, and overpowered the music of the sea. +Sometimes it went a little higher, sometimes a little lower, and always +remained the vague and distant incomprehensible harmony.</p> +<p>From where the wind came, from where the plaintive murmuring arose, +thither would Psyche go. And with her foot she kept feeling, and with +her outstretched hands, and on she went....</p> +<p>Long, long she went in the darkness, till the darkness became less +opaque and lit up with phosphoric flickerings; and she saw:</p> +<p>That she was ascending a path between two inky seas.</p> +<p>Black as ink were the waves.</p> +<p>Then she heard them roaring; then she saw their crests lit up with a +blue phosphorescent glow.</p> +<p>Then she heard the soft, low sounds, the plaintive viols swell, till +they became a dull, continuous soughing.</p> +<p>The black wind rose as with a gigantic sail, and suddenly blew the +hurricane. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb165" href="#pb165" name= +"pb165">165</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the pitch-dark air, the lightning flashed blue.</p> +<p>And between the two inky seas, Psyche went slowly on, against the +gusts of wind.</p> +<p>Then she uttered a cry, as though she were calling....</p> +<p>The hurricane took her cry for help over the endless sea of Hell.... +And from all sides dived up the gruesome frights—leviathan +monsters. They opened their jaws at Psyche, and the water streamed out. +Their scaly tortuous bodies wound along over the black surface of the +ocean, and on the horizon, lit up with phosphorous blue, their tails +meandered. They came from the horizon, they dived up and down, and the +ocean dived with them. Storm-flood, waterfall—storm-flood, +waterfall.... They spread out their dragon wings, and caught up the +boisterous wind; they shot up waterspouts like towering fountains, of a +blue and yellowish hue. Their round squinting eyes stood out watchful, +like green and yellow signals; they lifted their red-lobed jaws, +abysses of red-slimy desires, bubbling with foamy slaver.</p> +<p>“Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb166" href="#pb166" +name="pb166">166</a>]</span></p> +<p>Psyche asked the question in a high, musical key, and her voice rang +out clearly in the hurricane and plaintive moanings of the sea. Her +high soprano sounded above all the roaring of the elements and +plaintive cries; and three times she repeated the question:</p> +<p>“Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?”</p> +<p>The leviathans pressed together along the path that Psyche trod. But +amidst the noise of their tossing and snorting and spouting, she heard +the plaintive sea swelling, the sea of plaintive voices; and then in +the blue phosphorescent glow between the monsters, she saw the drowned +shades heaving to and fro, always writhing in fear, always drowning in +the inky sea; the everlasting wailing of the plaintive sea, the cry of +souls in pain; the gigantic plaintive viol, with strings ever +playing....</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity!”</p> +<p>Did she hear aright?</p> +<p>It was one single sound, like a note repeated again and again. +“Vanity, vanity!” was the inexorable answer, first vague as +a dream, mystic as a thought, sounding more distinctly as an admonition +against worldly pride. And <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb167" href= +"#pb167" name="pb167">167</a>]</span>so distinct did the sound become, +that Psyche, brave Psyche, who feared neither vampire nor monster of +the deep ... that courageous Psyche hesitated and felt all her strength +giving way....</p> +<p>“If it were vanity to seek, to ask for the Jewel, how much +farther should she go?”</p> +<p>“Should she go back?”</p> +<p>She looked round.</p> +<p>But she saw what made her soul sink within her.</p> +<p>She saw that behind her step, the seas immediately closed till they +became one single sea of ink; she saw that the only path for her +stretched across the seas, that behind her it immediately sank +away.</p> +<p>She could not go back, she must go on.</p> +<p>And she buoyed up her sinking soul; she went on, and in a high +soprano voice repeated again and again her question:</p> +<p>“Spirits in the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?”</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity!”</p> +<p>The plaintive viol kept trembling, and the same sound sounded ever, +the unchangeable answer. The hurricane was no longer chill, +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb168" href="#pb168" name= +"pb168">168</a>]</span>but warm, sultry, strangely sultry; more and +more sultry blew the everlasting cyclone.</p> +<p>The sea-monsters kept back; they dived again below; the sea sank +with them, the shades swayed to and fro in storm-flood, +waterfall—storm-flood, waterfall, and many-headed hydras came +sinuously up. The sea no longer shone with phosphorescent glow, but was +quite black, pitch black, black as boiling pitch, without foam and +without light, and kept sending up a discharge of miry, vaporous +matter. In the boiling pitch, the hydras, with their thousand snaky +heads, kept diving up, tortoise-scaled; swayed to and fro, to and fro +the pale faces of the shades, but ever sounded the plaintive viol, and +ever rang forth the same note, the unchangeable answer to +Psyche’s shrill question:</p> +<p>“Hydras of the sea of pain, spirits in the sea of pain, where +shall I find the Jewel for Emeralda...??”</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity...!”</p> +<p>The pitch seethed and hissed and steamed.</p> +<p>It was no longer a sea of water, no longer a sea of pitch;</p> +<p>It was a sea of nothing but flame, pitch-black flame, a sea of +jet-black fire, fire and flame, that waved from the horizon, where a +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb169" href="#pb169" name= +"pb169">169</a>]</span>single streak of pale light appeared. In the +black flames burned the shades, in the black flames wound the hydras in +and out; the thick smoke shot up into the clouds, and the clouds sent +it back again....</p> +<p>“Spirits in the pitch-black flames, where shall I find the +Jewel for Emeralda...???”</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity...!”</p> +<p>The hurricane kept blowing, the plaintive viol kept trembling, and +ever sounded the same note, the unchangeable answer. But scorchingly, +more scorchingly blew the wind, like a tempest from a sun for ever +doomed. The black night now assumed a dark-purple aspect, like purple +steam; the clouds drove a bloody vapour into the heavens.</p> +<p>And on either side of Psyche’s path suddenly shot out the +flaming hurricane of the sun, gigantic purple tongues of fire, scarlet +and orange. The lower clouds drove them back, and when Psyche looked +round, she stood in a flaming fire. The flaming hurricane seethed round +her; behind her feet the path was on fire. The air was fire. But +Psyche, whose own soul was on fire, in her own scorching fire of +remorse, felt not the glowing heat, and she saw, <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb170" href="#pb170" name="pb170">170</a>]</span></p> +<p>Out of the living scarlet craters, the orange caves, the hellish +chimeras working up their sinuous way like glowing spirals: half +arabesque, half beast; half dragon, half tail; flaming sea-horses. They +spat and fanned the glowing fire, and, riding aloft on the burning +hurricane, the shades swept past Psyche.</p> +<p>“Spirits in the scarlet flames....”</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity!”</p> +<p>This was the only answer, that sounded afar off in her ears, the +answer of the tortured, angry spirits, which in the strength of their +sin and passion came flying up from the craters.</p> +<p>On she went....</p> +<p>She went on along the path that unfolded before her.</p> +<p>How confidently she went on, how calmly! Why was she not afraid? Oh! +she knew too much to be afraid and not to go on in confidence. Was the +answer not always more distinct and unchangeable? Psyche’s soul +breathed freely, and in the fire around her her own fire seemed to +diminish. For when the fire round her became yellower, sulphur-yellow, +pure yellow, the pure golden yellow of the sun, then she uttered a cry +of joy, as though she knew the answer: <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb171" href="#pb171" name="pb171">171</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Spirits in the sulphur flames, spirits in the sun’s +flames...!<span class="corr" id="xd20e2533" title= +"Not in source">”</span></p> +<p>She smiled.... Smiling, she hastened on, with joyful voice, with +winged step; and so rapidly did she flee along the path smoothed out +small for her foot, that behind her the answer could scarcely reach +her.</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity!”</p> +<p>Oh! it was always the plaintive viol, but the too poignant grief was +tempered with melancholy; the plaintive sea became like a sea of +melancholy; the thousands of voices were full of melancholy. And when +the flames became less dense and lighter, when they changed from +sulphur yellow to soft azure, a flaming sea of azure, in the silent +dawning moonlight scenery, high, broad, blue flaming tongues that shot +from the moon—when the hellish hurricane no longer raged, but +gave away to a more benign breeze—then Psyche asked no more in so +shrill a key, but knowing all, her voice murmured dejectedly:</p> +<p>“Spirits in the azure flames, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?”</p> +<p>The melancholy viol vibrated more gently; the spirits rocking to and +fro in the thin blue fire sang more softly: <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb172" href="#pb172" name="pb172">172</a>]</span></p> +<p>“That is vanity, Psyche; that is vanity....”</p> +<p>She uttered her jubilant cry, and hastened on with uplifted arms +through the azure moon-flames. The firmament spread out in higher +circles and formed wider spheres;</p> +<p>The flames became clearer and clearer; more benignly blew the +breeze;</p> +<p>And pale, the spirits flitted to and fro: pale shades with +melancholy eyes, singing their song of painful remembrances....</p> +<p>And the spirits looked at Psyche—the spirits smiled benignly +on her, astonished that she was still alive.</p> +<p>They pointed for her to go on farther and farther; they nodded to +her, “On! on!”</p> +<p>And she gave a loud cry of joy and hastened on....</p> +<p>She sped through the flames and shades;</p> +<p>Till the flames were still, and high and white;</p> +<p>High, still, white flames, like sacrificial flames, like altar +flames, high in the sky, the lofty sky, the wide sky; the wide expanse +full of white flame, still, white, ascending, purifying flames, refined +and clear, over the whole wide expanse, the wide refining expanse.... +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb173" href="#pb173" name= +"pb173">173</a>]</span></p> +<p>Once more she asked the pale shades, who swarmed about between the +flames, hand in hand, who swayed continually to and fro between the +flames:</p> +<p>“Spirits in the white flames, pure white, in the white flames, +where shall I find the Jewel for Emeralda?”</p> +<p>“Vanity, vanity!” sang the shades softly and quietly, +and in the answer, calm and assuring, of the expectant penitents, +vibrated the great viol with a sound like a soft jubilant trill.</p> +<p>Psyche asked no more. She slackened her speed and began to walk, her +arms raised, her head erect, through the silvery flames. Oh, the dear, +tender flames, the adorable purifying flames! how they cooled, in their +snow-white glow, the burning remorse of her soul!</p> +<p>How freely Psyche breathed, in the innocently white glowing fire! +Like lilies were the tongues of flame, fragrant and soothing as balsam, +cool and fresh as snow ... cold as water, as foam. The white flames +foamed and rippled like a sea, lower and smoother, quieter and more +serene; they rippled like a sea of lilies, like a sea of silver +snow.... They became moisture and water and foaming <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb174" href="#pb174" name= +"pb174">174</a>]</span>ocean, the tender element of gentle compulsion, +carrying along as an irresistible dream, white as paradise, and, as +slightly rippling waves of foam, they bore Psyche away.</p> +<p>On the foaming waves Psyche drifted along, all white in the golden +boat of her fair hair. So gently did they rock her, the foaming, +rippling waves, that Psyche shut her eyes. Sleep was stealing over her. +Her lips smiled with inward peace.</p> +<p>The waves bore her away, the sea washed her ashore. She awoke from +her slumber, pearl-white she rose from the foam, amidst the joyful +dolphins.</p> +<p>She stepped out of the sea on to the land. She felt quite cool, and +her soul was calm and peaceful, full of reassuring, holy knowledge. But +within her was a great desire.</p> +<p>Smiling, she stretched out her arms. She yearned for the desire of +her heart....</p> +<p>“Not yet ... not yet,” was whispered tenderly to her +cool and peaceful soul. “Wait, wait....” sounded the +echo.</p> +<p>In the silent joy of her soul, she wept. She lifted her hand to her +eyes; wet were her tears, and in her hand ... lay a pearl...!</p> +<p>Then she looked round. She recognised the <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb175" href="#pb175" name= +"pb175">175</a>]</span>sea-shore with its many bays, the shore of the +Kingdom of the Past. There, on the opal-blue horizon, loomed a town of +minarets and pinnacles, of cupolas and obelisks, surrounded with golden +walls.</p> +<p>That was the capital of the kingdom. Thither she would repair.</p> +<p>There, proud and peaceful, still and cool, she would say to +Emeralda, her powerful sister,</p> +<p>That her Jewel was vanity. That the gem did not exist. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb176" href="#pb176" name="pb176">176</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch24" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2606" class="main">Chapter XXIV</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">When Psyche approached the capital, she heard at the +gates the excited cries of festive merry-makers. Outside the gates +flocked the noisy crowd, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, and +bedecked with flowers, singing and dancing, but not knowing why. +Everywhere was bustle and commotion; on the roadside sat hundreds of +hucksters, and women extolling their wares—glasses with jewels +and fruit, cooling drinks, dresses and flowers. In a shrill key they +praised their wares; they spread out their stuffs with much ado, and +offered the people flowers, and poured them out wine, and held up +strings of glass pearls and cheap necklaces of coins.</p> +<p>Psyche was naked, and she veiled herself in her hair; she spread +over the marks on her shoulders her golden mantle of hair, and as many +of the dancing girls, some half naked and others quite, danced round, +hand in hand, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb177" href="#pb177" name= +"pb177">177</a>]</span>people thought that she was naked, only because +she was so fair—Psyche, so pearl-white in her golden hair. She +was not wont to be ashamed of nakedness, which was once her right, her +privilege as a princess; but now under the eyes of the people she +blushed, and walked with downcast eyes. Then she turned to a saleswoman +and asked:</p> +<p>“What is the feast for?”</p> +<p>“Where do you come from? ‘What is the feast for!’ +Don’t you know anything about it?”</p> +<p>“I come from the other side of the sea....”</p> +<p>“‘What is the feast for!’ It is the great +festival: it is the Festival, the Jubilee-festival, of Emeralda. It is +the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!!”</p> +<p>.... “It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!” +resounded on all sides. They danced and sang:</p> +<p>.... “It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!”</p> +<p>They were drunk with joy, dizzy from strange joy; but Psyche +suddenly saw that they were deadly pale and frightened, deadly pale +under paint and flowers, and frightened whilst they danced round in a +ring. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb178" href="#pb178" name= +"pb178">178</a>]</span></p> +<p>“I have no dress for the occasion; give me that veil of golden +gauze!” said Psyche to the saleswoman.</p> +<p>“That is very dear!”</p> +<p>“I will pay you for it with this pearl.”</p> +<p>.... “With that pearl! Are you a princess, then!”</p> +<p>Psyche then took the veil, and she bound it round her loins, just as +she used to do before.</p> +<p>“I will give you a wreath of fresh roses as well!” said +the woman, pleased, and put the flowers on her head.</p> +<p>She smiled, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was decked out +with those flowers as a victim for the altar; that all the people who +were making merry and dancing were bedecked as victims. She went on. +Through the round gold gate she entered the city; the squares were seen +in the distance, connected with very broad streets; square palaces of +marble and bronze, of jasper and malachite, round cupolas and finely +pointed minarets, glistered in the sun as if conjured up by magic. They +stretched far away, and right behind the blue mountains rose the royal +castle, a Babel of pinnacles and towers innumerable, <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb179" href="#pb179" name= +"pb179">179</a>]</span>almost indiscernible in the distance, with +square ramparts and walls, and lofty summits lost in the rising mist. +And along the squares, over palaces, and on the minarets, hung the +thick festoons of flowers, as though the towns were decked out for an +offering. Close up to the castle, Babel of pinnacles, the festoons of +flowers seemed to reach. And in the squares the dancers threw flowers +into the air, and it seemed as if white roses were raining down from +heaven. To the sound of tabour and cymbals, the people danced madly +round, and ever was heard the same cry:</p> +<p>“It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!”</p> +<p>Then Psyche, in the secret depths of her heart, saw clearly and +indubitably what it all meant. As she went along with the dense crowds +of noisy, shouting merry-makers, she saw all the people in the town +trembling with fear, which made the blood congeal in their veins.</p> +<p>Their eyes, through fear, were ready to start out of their sockets; +their teeth chattered; their limbs, bedecked with flowers, trembled; +the sun was shining, but everyone was shivering with cold. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb180" href="#pb180" name="pb180">180</a>]</span></p> +<p>But no one spoke of his trembling, and they danced, madly drunk with +foolish joy, and they kept shouting the same thing:</p> +<p>“It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!!!” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb181" href="#pb181" name= +"pb181">181</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch25" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2659" class="main">Chapter XXV</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">A great commotion was going on in the direction of the +castle. In that direction all eyes were turned, and the dancing girls +forgot to dance. From fear, the crowd stood still, as if petrified, and +forgot to conceal the anxiety of their minds. The palaces seemed to +tremble; the air-atoms quivered audibly. Something dreadful was about +to happen.</p> +<p>The royal castle shone with a strange lustre; a sun seemed to send +forth a halo; an ominous aureola appeared in the distance. The fearful +rays of the Sun of Consternation outshone the day, outshone the sun: +from their centre, they penetrated through houses and people.</p> +<p>And everything shone, softened by the glow of piercing sunbeams. The +rays quivered everywhere in the air, and the aureola filled the +world.</p> +<p>The cause of consternation came rattling on with the rapidity of an +arrow. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb182" href="#pb182" name= +"pb182">182</a>]</span></p> +<p>All hearts stood still, all breath was taken away, all dancing was +stopped, all rejoicing ceased.</p> +<p>From the castle, over the triumphal way, a triumphal chariot rattled +along with the speed of an arrow. On the top, a living jewel, stood +Emeralda, and guided the four and twenty steeds. It was her splendour +and her aureola which appeared in the air. It was her rays which caused +the houses to shine with splendour and pierced the people with flashes. +She stood immovable, clad in the strength of precious stones, in a +tunic of sapphire, in a robe of brilliants, with deep flounces of gems +and white cameos; her mantle was like a bell, with folds of purple +carbuncle, lined with enamelled ermine. From her crown of beryl, from +her heart of ruby, the rays shot forth, shone out her fear-inspiring +aureola and streamed over the town and in the air, eclipsing the sun, +which turned pale. Her eyes of emerald, stars in her opal face, +chalcedonic, looked inexorable, and her bosom of precious stones heaved +not. Only her heart of ruby beat regularly, and then her lustre grew +alternately dim and bright....</p> +<p>She stood immovable and guided her horses, <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb183" href="#pb183" name="pb183">183</a>]</span>her +four and twenty foaming stallions, rearing greys, which drew her +triumphal car, like a broad enamelled shell on innumerable wheels, on +cutting wheels so numerous, that they seemed to run into one +another—a turning confusion of spokes.</p> +<p>The dazzling, fear-inspiring chariot rattled on with the rapidity of +an arrow. And suddenly, awaking from their stupefaction, the people +madly danced again and shouted the same jubilant cry. The tabours +sounded, the white roses rained down, and before the queen the people +prostrated themselves and paved her path with their bodies. The grey +stallions foamed and reared; they came on, they came on, they trampled +over the first bodies—men and women, girls and children, dressed +for a festival and bedecked with flowers.... Over her people rode +Emeralda; the innumerable wheels rattled, a confusion of spokes, +revolving, cutting furrows in flesh and blood, reducing blood and human +flesh to a muddy mass. But farther up they danced, farther up they +sang, before casting themselves down for her Triumph....</p> +<p>Then Emeralda, looking over her triumphal way, saw, with the keen +glance of her black <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb184" href="#pb184" +name="pb184">184</a>]</span>carbuncle pupil, a little form, naked and +fair, who lifted up her small, child’s hand.</p> +<p>And fiercer and fiercer gleamed her heart of ruby, for she had +recognised the form.</p> +<p>And the desire flamed up in her: the thirst for more power and to +become like a god.</p> +<p>Emeralda recognised Psyche. And she reined in her twelve pair of +horses, she drove them more slowly, and under the less quickly +revolving wheels she heard the jubilant cry of the dying people. The +blood dropped from the wheels, but the roses rained down and covered +the horrible sight. On the bloody, muddy mass, the roses rained down, +white, from the balconies of the palaces.</p> +<p>Emeralda stopped.</p> +<p>Under her, death was silent.</p> +<p>Around, the town was silent. She alone reigned and shot out her +terrible fan of rays, which scorched the houses and pierced the +air.</p> +<p>And before her, at a little distance, stood Psyche, proud, +pearl-white, crowned with roses, in a veil of gold.</p> +<p>And the silent crowd recognised in her the third princess of the +kingdom.</p> +<p>“Psyche!” said Emeralda, and her voice <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb185" href="#pb185" name= +"pb185">185</a>]</span>sounded loud through the town from the focus of +her rays, “have you come to bring me the unutterable Jewel, the +Gem of Power, the Bestower of Universal Power, the sacred Stone of +Mysticism? Have you found the Mystery of the Godhead, and,</p> +<p>“—Do you rule with me the Universe and God?”</p> +<p>The town shuddered and quivered. The people were stupefied.</p> +<p>The air-atoms trembled audibly.</p> +<p>Then Psyche’s voice sounded clearly, silver-clearly, from the +consciousness of the wisdom and sacred knowledge which she +possessed.</p> +<p>“Emeralda, for you I have gone through Hell along the black +seas, oceans of pitch, along the horrible sloughs of flaming +hurricanes, along the craters and caverns scarlet and yellow, along the +azure fires and through the white and lilac glow. Give heed to what I +say. Hell answered ‘Vanity!’ when I asked for the Jewel; +the leviathans roared ‘Vanity!’; the chimeras hissed +‘Vanity!’; the spirits cried ‘Vanity!’; and the +whole plaintive viol trilled:</p> +<p>“‘<i>Vanity!</i>’</p> +<p>“Do you understand me, Emeralda? <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb186" href="#pb186" name="pb186">186</a>]</span>Your wish was Vanity, +for the mystic Jewel that bestows godlike power is Vanity, and.... +<i>Does not Exist</i>.”</p> +<p>Then it was terrible. The queen, a living idol, burned with rage, +blazed with rage; her heart was inflamed with rage.</p> +<p>Around her, decked out for sacrifice, in festive garb, in the +sunshine and her own dazzling splendour, her people trembled with fear. +And cruelty gleamed in her fixed face; her emerald eyes started so +revengefully from their sockets as though blinded by their own +splendour, and she pulled at the numerous reins....</p> +<p>The horses reared, the white roses fell down, the people screamed +with joy and the fear of death, and the triumphal chariot rattled +on.</p> +<p>Swift as an arrow it thundered on over the people, who paved the way +in ecstacy, and Psyche saw the maddened horses approaching, snorting, +foaming, panting, trampling, pulling, their eyes round and mad....</p> +<p>For a moment she stood firm, proud, tall, pearl-white in the sacred +knowledge she possessed; then the angry hoofs struck her down, and the +horses trampled her as a flower. Emeralda’s chariot rattled over +her, with its <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb187" href="#pb187" name= +"pb187">187</a>]</span>many cutting wheels, and whilst she died like a +crushed lily, trampled in her own lily-whiteness, she thought of her +old father, and how she had crept to his breast and hidden her face in +his beard, before she went to sleep at night....</p> +<p>She died.... But while she lay trampled to death in the mud of human +flesh and blood, and the sacrificial roses kept falling down over her +corpse unrecognisable——</p> +<p>She returned to life, hovering through the air, and felt so light +and unencumbered, and was whiter than ever and naked.</p> +<p>And on her tender shoulders she felt two new wings quivering...!</p> +<p>She hovered over her own body into a drifting cloud, a mist of +fragrance, which farther on she lost sight of; and light, white, and +rarefied, she looked wonderingly at her trampled body and laughed. +Strange, clear, and childlike sounded her laugh in the cloud and +vapoury fragrance.... <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb188" href= +"#pb188" name="pb188">188</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch26" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2751" class="main">Chapter XXVI</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">The triumphal chariot rattled on madly. Emeralda +stretched out her sceptre, on the top of which glowed a star of +destroying rays. When she stretched out the sceptre and directed the +rays, she scorched monuments, palaces, and parks to a white ash, and, +for her cruel jubilant procession, she cut down everything that came in +her way. The thick white ashes flew up like dust; the jubilant +multitude were scorched; the palaces of jaspar and malachite shrivelled +up like burnt paper; the breath of the horses blew away, like ash, the +white burnt gardens. And right over everything went Emeralda, scorching +as she went. Powerful, foolish, arrogant, and proud she was, and more +unfeeling than ever, spiteful and cruel, hurt in her pride; and she +scorched, and made the way smooth before her. Behind her lay all the +town, and she drove through her kingdom, filling the air with her rays. +She <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb189" href="#pb189" name= +"pb189">189</a>]</span>drove through valleys and burnt up the harvest; +she reduced villages to dust; she dried up rivers; and before her, the +mountains split asunder.</p> +<p>Her sceptre made a way for her, and no law of nature resisted her +power. The air was grey with the clouds of ash, which rained down upon +the earth.</p> +<p>She went along as swiftly as an arrow, swiftly as lightning, swiftly +as light, swiftly as thought. She went so swiftly, that in a single +hour she had gone all round her wide kingdom intoxicated with the pride +of annihilation, and she drove her maddened horses through endless +plains of sand.</p> +<p>Desert after desert she consumed; the lions fled before her; she +overtook them in a moment; clouds of sand she sent up into the +air....</p> +<p>But then she relaxed her speed. She stopped.</p> +<p>Before her, grey and high through the clouds of sand and falling +ash, there loomed a most dreadful shadow.</p> +<p>The shadow was like a gigantic beast, squatting in the sand, with a +woman’s head in a stiff basalt veil. The woman’s head had +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb190" href="#pb190" name= +"pb190">190</a>]</span>a woman’s breast, two basalt breasts of a +gigantic woman. But the body that squatted in the sand was a lion, and +the paws stuck out like walls. And so great was the shadow, so +monstrous the beast, that even the triumphal chariot of Emeralda +appeared small.</p> +<p>“Sphinx!” said Emeralda, “I will know. I am +powerful, but there is power above me. There are spheres above mine, +and there are gods above my divinity. There are laws of nature which my +sceptre cannot alter. Sphinx, tell me the riddle. Reveal to me the +place where the Jewel lies hidden, which gives almighty power over the +world and God, so that I may find it and become the mightiest of all +gods. Sphinx, answer me, I say! Open your stony lips and let your voice +once more be heard, that shall make the world tremble with wonder. For +centuries you have not spoken. Sphinx, speak now! For if you do not +speak, Sphinx, and reveal to me where the Jewel lies hidden, then, +great and terrible as you are, I will scorch you to a white ash and go +over you in triumph. Sphinx, speak!”</p> +<p>The Sphinx was silent. The Sphinx looked with stony eyes at the +clouds of sand and raining ash. Her basalt lips remained shut. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb191" href="#pb191" name= +"pb191">191</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Sphinx, speak!!” said Emeralda, threateningly and red +with rage.</p> +<p>The Sphinx spoke not and looked.</p> +<p>Emeralda stretched out her sceptre and directed the destroying +rays.</p> +<p>The rays split on the basalt with crackling sparks like flashes of +forked lightning. Emeralda uttered a cry, hoarse and terrible. She +threw away her broken sceptre. But of her greater power she did not +doubt, and for the last time she threatened.</p> +<p>“Terrible Sphinx, tremble! I am more terrible than you!! +Speak, Sphinx!!”</p> +<p>The Sphinx was silent.</p> +<p>Then Emeralda tugged at the reins.</p> +<p>The maddened horses reared, snorting, foaming, panting, trampling, +pulling, and dashed against the Sphinx.</p> +<p>But the foremost horses were dashed to pieces against the god-like +basalt.</p> +<p>Then Emeralda uttered cry after cry, one hoarse cry after another, +which resounded through the desert. She tugged at the reins; the +horses, despairing of their attack against the immovable, drove at the +Sphinx, and fell back crushed, falling over one another and trampling +one another to death; the triumphal <span class="pagenum">[<a id= +"pb192" href="#pb192" name="pb192">192</a>]</span>chariot split, and +the splinters of sparkling jewels flew up like cracking fireworks, and +Emeralda fell between the still revolving wheels. And her heart of ruby +broke. All her dazzling splendour suddenly faded. The terrifying +fan-like aureola suddenly grew dim, and the desert was grey and gloomy, +with a gentle rain of thick white ash falling down.</p> +<p>The Sphinx was silent, and looked on.... <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb193" href="#pb193" name="pb193">193</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="ch27" class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 id="xd20e2803" class="main">Chapter XXVII</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first">Psyche was alive again, soaring through the air, and +felt so light and ethereal; pearl-whiter she was than ever, and +naked.</p> +<p>And on her tender shoulders she felt two new wings +fluttering...!</p> +<p>She hovered away over her own dead body into a drifting cloud, a +fragrant mist, which farther on she lost sight of; and light, white, +and ethereal, she looked with wonder at her trampled corpse and +laughed....</p> +<p>Strange, clear, and childlike sounded her laugh in the cloud and +vapoury fragrance....</p> +<p>“Psyche!”</p> +<p>She heard her name, but so dazzled and astonished was she, that she +did not see. Then the wind blew about her; the cloud moved, the +fragrance ascended like incense, and she saw many like herself, +restored to life, hovering <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb194" href= +"#pb194" name="pb194">194</a>]</span>in the fragrant cloud, and round +her she distinguished the outlines of well-known faces.</p> +<p>“Psyche!”</p> +<p>She recognised the voice, deep bronze, but yet strange. And the wind +blew about her and she saw a bright light before her, and recognised +the Chimera!</p> +<p>“You promised me: once more!” exclaimed Psyche +joyfully.</p> +<p>She threw herself on to his back, she clung to his mane, and he +soared aloft.</p> +<p>“Where am I?” said Psyche. “Who am I? What has +happened? And what is going on around me? Am I dead, or do I live? +Chimera, how rarefied is the air! how high you ascend! Are you going to +ascend higher, higher still? Why is everything so dazzlingly bright +about us? Is that water, or air, or light? What strange element is +this? Who are going up with us—ethereal faces, ethereal forms? +And what is the viol that is playing?</p> +<p>“I heard that once before. Then it sounded plaintively; now it +has a joyous sound!</p> +<p>“Chimera, why is the air so full of joy here...? Look! below +us is the Kingdom of the Past.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e2835width"><img src="images/p194.jpg" alt= +"The Kingdom of the Future" width="482" height="720"> +<p class="figureHead">The Kingdom of the Future</p> +<p class="first">[<i>To face p. 194</i></p> +</div> +<p>“It lies in a little circle, and the castle is a <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb195" href="#pb195" name= +"pb195">195</a>]</span>black dot. Chimera, where are you going so high? +We have never been so high before. Chimera, what are those circles all +round us, the splendour of which makes me giddy? Are those spheres? Do +they get wider and wider? Oh, how wide they get, Chimera, how wide! How +high it is here, how wide, how rarefied and how light is the air! I +feel myself also so light, so ethereal! Am I dead...? Chimera, look! I +have two new wings, and I shine pearl-white all over. Do I not shine +like a light? It is true I have been very sinful. But I was what I had +to be! Is it good to be what we have to be? I do not know, Chimera: I +have thought of neither good nor bad; I was only what I was. But tell +me, who am I now, and what am I? And where are you taking me to, +Chimera? You carry me so quietly, so safely; up and down go your wings, +up and down. The stars are twinkling round us; around us whirl the +spheres, and wider and wider they become...! How light, how ethereal! +What is that I see on the horizon? Or is it not the horizon? Opal +islands, aerial oceans.... O Chimera!!!! I see purple sands wrinkling +far, far away, and round them foams a golden sea.... We saw +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb196" href="#pb196" name= +"pb196">196</a>]</span>that once before, but not as it is now! For then +it was delusion, and now...! The sands are growing more distinct; I see +the ripple of the golden sea.... Chimera! What land is that? Is that +the rainbow? Is that the land of happiness, and are you the +king?”</p> +<p>“No, Psyche, I am not a king, and that Land....”</p> +<p>“—And that Land...?”</p> +<p>“Is ... the Kingdom of the Future!”</p> +<p>“The Future! the Future!! O Chimera, where are you taking me +to? Will the Future not prove to be a delusion...?”</p> +<p>“No, here is the Future. Here is the Land. Look at it well ... +well....”</p> +<p>“It is wider than the widest sphere, wider than anything I can +think of. Where are the limits?”</p> +<p>“Nowhere.”</p> +<p>“How far and how wide is the widest sphere?”</p> +<p>“Immeasurably far, indescribably wide....”</p> +<p>“And what stretches away round the widest sphere?”</p> +<p>“The unutterable, and the <i>All, All</i>! The....” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb197" href="#pb197" name= +"pb197">197</a>]</span></p> +<p>“The...?”</p> +<p>“I know no names! On earth things are called by names; here +not....”</p> +<p>“Chimera...! On the purple strand I see a town of light, +palaces of light, gates of light.... Do beings of light dwell there...? +Are these the fore-spheres of the farthest sphere...? Is that the way +through circles to ... the....? Chimera, I see forms, I see the people +of light!! O Chimera! Chimera!! They are beckoning us, they are waving +to us! I see two of them: a form of majesty, and another, near him, of +love! O Chimera! I know them!! That is my father, and that ... O joy, O +joy! ... that is Eros! Eros! Quicker, Chimera—annihilate the +space which separates us; speed on, ply your wings faster—away, +away! Oh, faster, Chimera! Can you not go faster? You fly too slowly +for me! You fly too slowly!! I can fly faster than you.”</p> +<p>She spread out her tender, light, butterfly wings; she rose above +the breathless, winged horse, and ... she flew...!</p> +<p>She glided over the Chimera’s head toward the strand, toward +the city, toward the blessed spirits. There she saw her father, there +she <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb198" href="#pb198" name= +"pb198">198</a>]</span>saw Eros—Eros, godlike and naked, with +shining wings!</p> +<p>Round her the viol of joy played its joyous notes, as if all the +spheres rejoiced together. In the divine light, the faces of the +cherubim began to blossom like winged roses....</p> +<p>She glided swiftly through the air to her father and Eros, and +embraced them. She laughed when she saw the flaming Chimera +approaching, because she could fly faster than he!</p> +<p>“Come!” cried Eros joyfully. And he wanted to take her +to the gate, from whence sunbeams issued like a path of sunny gold: a +path along which enraptured souls were going hand in hand....</p> +<p>But the kingly shade stopped them for a moment, when they, Eros and +Psyche, intoxicated with love, embraced each other....</p> +<p>“Look!” said the shade. “Look down +below....”</p> +<hr class="tb"> +<p>They saw the Kingdom of the Past, with their glorified minds, lying +visible, deep in the funnel of the spheres. They saw the castle, fallen +to ruins, with a single tower still standing. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb199" href="#pb199" name="pb199">199</a>]</span>They +saw Astra, old, grey, and blind, sitting before her telescope, and +gazing in vain. They saw her star flicker up for a moment with a bright +and final light.</p> +<p>Then they saw Astra’s blind eyes ... see! Astra looked and +beheld the land of light, and the little band of happy, loving, dear +ones in their shining raiment. Then they heard Astra murmur: +“There! there ... the Land...! The ... Kingdom ... of ... the ... +Future!!!”</p> +<p>And they saw her star extinguish:</p> +<p>She fell back dead....</p> +<p>The viol of gladness trilled.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="back"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first xd20e2915">Printed by Neill and Co., Ltd., Edinburgh. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb201" href="#pb201" name= +"pb201">201</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first xd20e2919">Alston Rivers’s Publications</p> +<p class="xd20e2919">INCLUDING SPRING AND SUMMER ANNOUNCEMENTS, +1908.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e2924width"><img src="images/logo.gif" alt= +"Publisher’s Logo: Monogram A.R. with head of Neptune and numbers 1904." +width="153" height="158"></div> +<p class="xd20e2928">LONDON: ALSTON RIVERS, LIMITED BROOKE STREET, +HOLBORN BARS, E.C. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb202" href="#pb202" +name="pb202">202</a>]</span></p> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">Fiction.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>The Sword Decides!</b> By the Author of +“<span class="sc">The Viper of Milan</span>,” and +“<span class="sc">The Glen o’ Weeping</span>.<span class= +"corr" id="xd20e2944" title="Not in source">”</span> <b>Marjorie +Bowen.</b> Second Impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“This remarkable book is a series of the most vivid Italian +illuminations, a collection of word pictures, as detailed and as +splendid as the choicest gems from ‘Les très riches +heures’.... She has told it with so much power and insight that +it lives and convinces the reader without any need of proof. In this +third novel the writer has gone back to the source of her first +success, ‘The Viper of Milan,’ but she brings to this later +story so much more strength of characterisation, so much greater +freedom in the handling of the plot, and such a great deepening of +emotional power, that the earlier book, praised as it was when it +appeared, will seem a pale and amateurish novel beside its wonderful +successor.”—<span class="sc">The Westminster +Gazette.</span></p> +<p>“A splendid book. Splendid in that it is full-blooded, bold, +dashing, flaming-coloured; splendid in that it goes with a tremendous +clattering swing; splendid in that it is played under the full glare of +blazing sunshine.”—<span class="sc">The Daily +Graphic.</span></p> +<p>“It is probable that she will settle down for the next few +years upon such reputation as ‘The Sword Decides’ may make +for her. If that is so, we do not think she has much to fear.... The +breathless spirit of the thing is so well sustained that it is +impossible not to be carried away by it.... Her third book we think, +secures her reputation.”—<span class="sc">The Daily +Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“For the scene of her new novel Miss Marjorie Bowen has +returned to the country with which she won her first success.... This +romance, indeed, in many ways, is superior to anything that its author +has ever written.... In fact, her remarkable gifts of description, her +quick eye for romance and passion and dramatic effect, never seriously +falter. The whole story moves with resistless might to a great and +awe-inspiring climax, in which a fierce conflict +wages.”—<span class="sc">The Standard.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Heather.</b> By the Author of “<span class= +"sc">A Pixy in Petticoats</span>,” “<span class= +"sc">Arminel of the West</span>,” and “<span class= +"sc">Furze the Cruel</span>.” <b>John Trevena.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Almost everywhere on Dartmoor are furze, heather, and +granite. The furze seems to suggest cruelty, the heather endurance, and +the granite strength. The furze is destroyed by fire, but grows again; +the granite is worn away imperceptibly by the rain. This work is the +first of a proposed trilogy, which the author hopes to continue and +complete with ‘Heather’ and +‘Granite.’”</p> +<p>So ran Mr. John Trevena’s Introductory Note in “Furze +the Cruel,” the brilliant success of which was one of the +features of last year’s publishing. Could there exist, it was +asked by readers whose information was confined to holiday tours in the +West, among those pleasant Devonshire folks men so brutal and so devoid +of moral sense? Yes, answered those who knew, it was too true, and no +more faithful picture of life among the Dartmoor peasants has ever been +presented. But, happily, there are many delightful characters around +Dartmoor for Mr. Trevena to portray, and though no Devonshire novel +which blinked the depravity and ignorance that prevail could be +pronounced really artistic, the title of “Heather,” as +being typical of endurance, suggests a singularly attractive story.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Case for Compromise.</b> By the Author of +“<span class="sc">The Adventures of Count +O’connor</span>.” <b>Henry Stace.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Mr. Henry Stace’s name is familiar as the author of the +rattling “Adventures of Count O’Connor,” which was +much appreciated. The author’s delightful sense of humour and his +pure literary style are sure to win him a wide popularity in the near +future, and “A Case for Compromise” will be found to be +even more entertaining than the author’s first work. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb203" href="#pb203" name="pb203">203</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The People Downstairs.</b> By the Author of +“<span class="sc">Mr. Meyer’s Pupil</span>.” <b>Eva +Lathbury.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Few new writers have enjoyed a more satisfactory <i>début</i> +than Miss Eva Lathbury. Her first novel, “Mr. Meyer’s +Pupil,” was so extremely intellectual and refined that some +publishers might well have hesitated in taking it up. The discernment +of the English novel reader, however, was once more vindicated, and the +majority of the critics were highly complimentary, one reviewer going +so far as to suggest that Miss Lathbury would found a school of her own +in fiction. The delicate wit that distinguished “Mr. +Meyer’s Pupil” pervades “The People +Downstairs,” which is sure to enhance an already enviable +reputation.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Bride on Trust.</b> By the Author of +“<span class="sc">Tears of Angels</span>,” +“<span class="sc">An Imperial Love Story</span>,” etc. +<b>Capt. Henry Curties.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“A wonderful royal romance.”—<span class= +"sc">Times.</span> “A veritable feast of romance and sensation of +the better type.”—<span class="sc">Globe.</span> “A +capital book.”—<span class="sc">Daily Graphic.</span> +“A stirring and original story.”—<span class= +"sc">Birmingham Post.</span> “Capt. Curties has achieved another +success.”—<span class="sc">Liverpool Post.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Attainment.</b> By the Author of +“<span class="sc">Kit’s Woman</span>,” and +“<span class="sc">My Cornish Neighbours</span>.” <b>Mrs. +Havelock Ellis.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Mrs. Havelock Ellis is already responsible for two books, one of +which was the delightful volume of Cornish sketches entitled “My +Cornish Neighbours”; the other “Kit’s Woman,” a +fine story of which the characterisation was much admired. +“Attainment,” however, is her first attempt at a long +novel, and its appearance is being eagerly awaited by a large circle of +novel readers. The story is founded on experiments socialistic, +philanthropic and idealistic, and points to the value of a natural life +in every respect.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Melton Monologue.</b> <b>Diana +Crossways.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice">3s. 6d.</p> +<p>“Those who appreciate hunting and hunting sketches will +delight in this bright and interesting picture.... Should attain +considerable popularity.”—<span class="sc">Southport +Guardian.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Disinherited of the Earth.</b> By the Author +of “<span class="sc">The Tower of Siloam</span>.” <b>Mrs. +Henry Graham.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Mrs. Henry Graham’s previous novel, “The Tower of +Siloam,” was a notable success, her thorough knowledge of society +being at once recognised. For her second book she has chosen a very +different phase of life among the wealthy classes, the bigoted Lady +Verrier being a distinct creation, whereas in her first book the author +did not attempt to overstep the line of conventionality. In “The +Disinherited of the Earth,” moreover, a most commendable +restraint is to be noted, while the characterisation is excellent +throughout.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Prinsloo of Prinsloosdorp.</b> By <b>“Sarel +Erasmus” (Douglas Blackburn)</b>. A new edition of a South +African Classic. Cloth gilt,</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s.</b></p> +<p>Though on publication nine years or so ago, “Prinsloo of +Prinsloosdorp” achieved a marked success in South Africa, and in +circles well versed in South African affairs, there is no doubt that +the little book never met with the general appreciation it deserved. On +its merits it is a classic, and, though possibly the Boer and his ways +may have altered, as a record of how a white republic could be governed +in modern times, the “Tale of Transvaal Officialdom” can +never be excelled. Certainly nothing more humorously naive has ever +been written than this vindication, ostensibly written by his +son-in-law, of the much maligned Piet Prinsloo’s memory; it +should occupy a place in the bookshelf of everyone who likes to be +intellectually amused. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb204" href= +"#pb204" name="pb204">204</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Leaven: A Black and White Story.</b> <b>Douglas +Blackburn.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>The author of “Prinsloo of Prinsloosdorp” has more than +once proved his ability to write a sustained and<a id="xd20e3147" name= +"xd20e3147"></a> serious story, and though certain aspects of life in +South Africa are so absurd as to be merely amusing, there is no +question that the native problem with which he has chosen to deal in +his latest book, is sufficiently grave. So far the Kafir in fiction has +either been a farcical chatterbox or an object lesson of futile +humanitarianism. Witty and pathetic as Mr. Douglas Blackburn can be on +occasion, he indulges in neither low comedy, nor sickly sentimentality +in “Leaven.” He traces the young Kafir from leaving his +native kraal in guilty haste, to the luxury of a good position in a +mining compound. Incidentally young Bulalie is cast into prison and +treated with the grossest brutality, and the characters who are +concerned in his abasement and rescue are altogether original; the +unconventional missionary, the Pietermaritzberg landlady, and the +compound manager, are only a few of the admirable sketches which make +“Leaven” a novel of remarkable and original merit.</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">General Literature.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>London Dead, and other Verses.</b> <b>C. +Kennett Burrow.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Lost Water, and other Poems.</b> <b>Mrs. I. +K. Lloyd.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p>Two more important additions to <i>The Contemporary Poets +Series</i>.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>From a Hertfordshire Cottage.</b> <b>W. Beach +Thomas.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>A collection of Essays by this well-known “nature” +writer. Should not be missed by the owner of even the most modest +library of country life.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>With the M.C.C. in Australia.</b> <b>Major Philip +Trevor.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p>When the M.C.C. team left for Australia there were many sanguine +people who prophesied that the deplorable withdrawals of well-known +players notwithstanding, the Colonials would have to look after their +laurels in the Test Matches. Unfortunately, in this case, optimism was +misplaced, and the champions of the Northern Country are returning +defeated but by no means disgraced. Previously to his departure as +manager of the tour, Major Philip Trevor had promised to write an +account of all that happened, and <span class="sc">Mr. Alston +Rivers</span> has now issued the book at a popular price. Major Trevor +is not only a consummate judge of all that concerns cricket, but is an +exceptionally acute observer of all that goes on outside the actual +game and, though it is to be regretted that he has not brilliant +victories to record, his account of the Englishmen’s Antipodean +experiences are sure to be extremely interesting.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>G. K. C.</b> <b>Anon.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b></p> +<p>To the uninitiated it must be explained that the title is composed +of the three letters with which the Christian names and surname of Mr. +Gilbert Chesterton commence, forming a <i lang="fr">nom de guerre</i> +of the first importance in literary circles. Everybody knows how +delightful a humour is Mr. Chesterton’s, and probably no one will +enjoy the sallies of his anonymous critic more than he himself. +Perhaps, however, “critic” is hardly the word for the +author of “G. K. C.”; he is rather a jester whose +irrepressible hilarity is favoured by a fortunate choice of his +subject. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb205" href="#pb205" name= +"pb205">205</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Spirit of Parliament.</b> <b>Duncan Schwann, +M.P.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>“A great deal of the very delightful reading in this little +book must, of course, be attributed to the always picturesque and +lively style of the writer, who probably has as keen an appreciation of +the historical traditions of Parliament as he has of its everyday work +of debate and occasional law-making.... A delightful volume, and no one +need be politically inclined to thoroughly enjoy +it.”—<span class="sc">Daily Graphic.</span></p> +<p>“Not only gives us a picture of the House that is vivid and +graphic in itself, but also, and in part unconsciously, a plainly +genuine account of its psychological effect upon its own members, +especially as experienced by the newcomers in 1906. It is here that Mr. +Schwann is at his best.”—<span class="sc">Morning +Leader.</span></p> +<p>“Mr. Schwann has written a volume which will enhance a most +promising reputation. He has literary grace and charm; he thinks; he is +an idealist; he is a choice scholar; and he has a saving grace of +humour.”—<span class="sc">Manchester City News.</span></p> +<p>“There is no finer passage in Mr. Schwann’s book than +that in which he describes with vivid realistic power, but without +mentioning names, the gathering passion engendered by a great +debate.”—<span class="sc">Liverpool Daily Post.</span></p> +<p>“What is the spirit of Parliament? That is the question which +Mr. Duncan Schwann, M.P., worthy son of a worthy father, sets out to +answer in a book of singular grace and charm.... No looker-on can quite +realise the actual stress and storm of the struggle itself—the +ridiculous vehemence of feeling, the absurd agony of soul, which must +often rack the actors in some great Parliamentary debate. Mr. Duncan +Schwann gives us some idea of it.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Chronicle.</span></p> +<p>“It is a pleasant, talky book, which freshly re-echoes the +solemn reverberation of Big Ben.”—<span class= +"sc">Scotsman.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Search for the Western Sea.</b> <b>Lawrence +J. Burpee.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>16s.</b> net.</p> +<p><span class="sc">The Scotsman says</span>: “In preparing this +volume of six hundred pages he has gone to original sources for his +information, and this has entailed much trouble and research. The +result is satisfactory. A clear and consecutive picture is afforded of +a work of discovery, prosecuted during more than two centuries by men +of French and British blood.”</p> +<p><span class="sc">The Daily Mail says</span>: “The story of the +long search for the Western Sea, and of the brave and hardy men who +conducted it, is well told by Mr. Lawrence J. Burpee in the big book he +has written. The volume is of great interest, not only to the +geographer, but to anyone who likes to read of true +adventures.”</p> +<p><span class="sc">The Publisher’s Circular says</span>: +“Original documents form the basis of this remarkable and +important work, and in chief those preserved in the Canadian Archives +at Ottawa. A satisfactory survey of the exploration of N.W. America has +not really existed until the publication of this book. This story is +full of human interest.... The illustrations are good, so also the +maps, the index, and the valuable bibliography of works dealing with +the exploration of N.W. America—altogether the book is a +model.”</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Psyche.</b> Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>Louis Couperus is a Dutch author, and he has written the most +delightful work entitled “Psyche.” Such a literary gem +baffles description, for there has never been a book quite like it. The +ennobling qualities of “Psyche” should assuredly not be +overlooked by clergymen, schoolmasters and others whose concern it +is<span class="corr" id="xd20e3301" title="Not in source">,</span> in a +materialistic age, to guide youth into the proper paths; for behind the +graceful imagery of “Psyche” is a moral which no sermon +which was ever written could convey. <span class="sc">Mr. Alston +Rivers</span> is publishing the work, translated by the Rev. B. S. +Berrington, and illustrated by Dion Clayton Calthrop, towards the end +of July. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb206" href="#pb206" name= +"pb206">206</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Citizen Books.</b> Edited by <b>W. Beach +Thomas</b>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net each.</p> +<p>The first of the Citizen Books series was “To-day in Greater +Britain,” and every review that has appeared so far has been +enthusiastic in praise of its lucidity and sound sense. Following up +this success, a second volume, to be quickly followed by more, has just +been published. It is entitled “The Face of England,” and +the author, Mr. A. K. Collett, has thoroughly entered into the spirit +of the series which is intended to supply “guide-books to the +present.” The scope of this useful little book can best be gauged +by the titles of the eleven chapters: The Outline of Britain; The +Surface of Britain; The Rainfall and the Rocks; Soil and Industries; +Agriculture; Moors, Fens and Forests; Climate; Roads, Canals and +Railways; Tides and Harbours; Sea Routes and Fisheries; Landscape and +Language.</p> +<p>The whole series is planned with a view to use in schools, the +information being conveyed in the plainest way possible, and extreme +care being taken to make the matter readable; the books themselves are +strongly bound in cloth, and the price, one shilling each, is decidedly +moderate.</p> +<p>Though, of course, polemical matter could hardly be introduced into +“The Face of England” (though it is wonderful how it can +insinuate itself), there are other volumes such as “The Civic +Life” (to be published shortly) where the greatest care has to be +exercised. That no political bias of any kind will be introduced should +be vouched for by the editorship of the series being in the experienced +hands of Mr. W. Beach Thomas.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The New Transvaal.</b> <b>Miss M. C. +Bruce.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice">Cloth, <b>1s. 6d.</b> net. Paper, <b>1s.</b> +net.</p> +<p>“One of the best books on South Africa we have had for a long +time. It is priced at a shilling only, but it has more stuffing in it +than half the pretentious expensive books which have been manufactured +about the sub-Continent. The authoress is one who knows. That is +apparent on every page. The book is full of common sense ... we +congratulate Miss Bruce on her clever work.”</p> +<p>This is what “South Africa” has to say about a little +book, which Mr. Alston Rivers has just published, written by Miss M. C. +Bruce and entitled “The New Transvaal.” It was high time +that the ignorance and apathy of the English at home as to South Africa +was dispelled, and only quite recently certain revelations have shed +further light on the subject. Without being by any means a partisan, +Miss Bruce has much to say about the Chinese Labour question; she +speaks from her own personal observation. Her descriptions of the +country and methods of life are extraordinarily interesting.</p> +<p>Though “The New Transvaal” is published in paper covers +at one shilling net, it is obtainable at eighteenpence, tastefully +bound in cloth.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Water: Its Origin and Use.</b> <b>W. +Coles-Finch</b>, Engineer of the Chatham Waterworks.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>21s.</b> net.</p> +<p>Mr. Coles Finch’s book should prove to be the standard popular +work on the element with which it deals. Though written by an expert, +“Water: Its Origin and Use,” is not a purely scientific +book; it is, as the author remarks in his Preface, “simply an +ordinary person’s interpretation of what he sees in Nature and +represents his best efforts to describe the same.”</p> +<p>How successful have been these efforts is attested by the warm +eulogies of many eminent scientists to whom advance copies have been +submitted.</p> +<p>An attractive volume, embellished by many beautiful illustrations, +including Alpine scenes from photographs taken by Mrs. Aubrey le Blond, +who has achieved wide renown in this branch of art.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>France in the Twentieth Century.</b> By the +Author of “<span class="sc">Engines of Social +Progress</span>,” <b>W. L. George</b>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b> net.</p> +<p>Mr. George, whose previous work was extremely well received, has +undertaken a somewhat ambitious task, but the appearance of a book on +modern France is most timely, and, even if less skilfully treated, a +work of the kind would attract wide attention. “France in the +Twentieth Century,” however, is certain to prove much more than a +book of the passing hour, for not only is it intelligently written, but +it shows a thorough grasp of the subject. Every chapter is of value, +and the fact that the author was educated in France, and actually +served his time in the French Army, gives additional interest to a +handsome volume. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb207" href="#pb207" +name="pb207">207</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Goethe’s “Faust” Translated in +Verse.</b> <b>Sir George Buchanan, C.B., K.C.V.O.</b></p> +<p class="adPrice">Post 8vo, cloth, gilt, <b>2s. 6d.</b> net, Leather, +<b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>The Diplomatic Service, exacting though its duties may be, gives +opportunities of a study of European literature that rarely falls to +others. Though there have been other translations of +“Faust” in prose or verse, Sir George Buchanan’s +rendering shows fine insight, and such an appreciation of the German +poet’s ideas as few scholars evince. Only the first part of +Goethe’s masterpiece is translated, the second part being +described in a note by the author.</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">Fiction.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>Mr. Meyer’s Pupil.</b> By +<span class="sc">Eva Lathbury</span>. Second Impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Ever since the foundation of the publishing house of Alston Rivers, +a persistent endeavour has been made to discover new authors, and to +appreciate how successful has been the quest a mere glance at the +firm’s publications will suffice. In introducing Miss Eva +Lathbury to readers of fiction, the publisher can but hope that he is +not too sanguine in anticipating that the author’s lively wit and +whimsical outlook on the life of the leisured classes will meet with +the reception which, in his opinion, it deserves. The author’s +style should at least escape the charge of being derivative. The volume +is rendered still more attractive by means of a coloured frontispiece +by Mr. R. Pannett.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Adventures of Count O’Connor.</b> By +<span class="sc">Henry Stace</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>A new novel writer of exceptional promise is always interesting, but +when he makes his bow equipped with a story that is absolutely fresh, +his chances of success are all the greater. In “The Adventures of +Count O’Connor” at the Court of the Great Mogul, the author +has found a theme exactly fitted to his delightful humour and vivacity. +No historian has ever furnished a more convincing idea of the crafty +Aurungzebe and his egregious court. The escapades of the hero, as the +self-dubbed Irish “Count” may worthily be styled, are of +the most extraordinary description, and are recounted so racily, that +the reader can barely pause to question his veracity. The +“Count’s” journey from Agra to Surat is packed with +incident, and though gruesome events are chronicled, the writer’s +innate lightheartedness completely divests them of horror.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Lord of Latimer Street.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Jane Wardle</span>. Author of “The Artistic +Temperament.”</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>In the early months of last year Miss Wardle’s first book made +a sensation both in the literary circles and with the general public, +it being a matter of common wonder how such a young lady, as she was +understood to be, could have such a grasp of the artistic, commercial, +and suburban worlds. That Miss Wardle would be heard of again was +prophesied by more than one critic, and there seems every prospect of +“The Lord of Latimer Street” going far to substantiate her +claim to recognition as a writer of marked originality. As may be +conjectured from the title, Miss Wardle’s new book is concerned +with characters of more lofty station than was the type depicted in +“The Artistic Temperament.” The same whimsical humour, +however, pervades the story, which, it is to be hoped, is sufficiently +characteristic of the author to allay any suspicion on the part of +critics as to a concealment of identity.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Meddler.</b> By <span class="sc">H. de Vere +Stacpoole</span> and <span class="sc">W. A. Bryce</span>. With 8 +illustrations and frontispiece.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Those who affect the lighter side of literature have never been in +such need of thoroughly amusing books as during the last year or two, +and with the host of requests for “something with a laugh on +every page,” the bookseller has been powerless to comply. The +publication of “The Meddler” is at least one step in the +right direction; it is full of fun of the lightest, healthiest sort. +The artist, too, has entered thoroughly into the spirit of a book which +goes with a merry swing from start to finish. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb208" href="#pb208" name="pb208">208</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Furze the Cruel.</b> By <span class="sc">John +Trevena</span>. Author of “Arminel of the West,” etc. Third +Impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Mr. John Trevena’s rise to a high position among West Country +novelists has been rapid indeed. If “A Pixy in Petticoats” +revealed a talent for romance, combined with the nicest vein of rustic +humour, “Arminel of the West” proved that the author was +fully equal to the task of writing a really powerful novel. In his +latest work he has advanced still farther, for there has been no more +artistic representation of the men and women, far from simple in many +respects, yet in others primitive to a degree, who dwell in the heart +of Devon. When a district possesses chroniclers like Mr. Trevena, it is +easy to explain why holiday makers are year by year evincing a +disposition to leave the beaten tracks in their rambles.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Turn of the Balance.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Brand Whitlock</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>Though it is true that many novels that have had a huge vogue in +America meet with a comparatively frigid reception on this side of the +Atlantic, it is equally true that when once an American book hits the +British taste, the impression it leaves is far more lasting than that +of the average run of publications. “The Turn of the +Balance” is the work of a realist who, perhaps inspired +originally by the arch-realist, Mr. Howett, has attained a realism that +places him in a position entirely his own. “‘The Turn of +the Balance,’” says Mr. Upton Sinclair, author of +“The Jungle,” “is an extraordinary piece of work. It +is as true as life itself, and yet irresistible in its grip upon the +reader. I know nothing with which to compare it, except Tolstoy’s +‘Resurrection.’”</p> +<p>The title gives a ready clue to the purpose of the book. “The +Turn of the Balance” is a searching and sweeping arraignment of +American modes of administering justice. The indictment is set forth in +detail and particularity acquired through years of living at first-hand +contact with the sufferers from man’s inhumanity to man. The law +itself is put on trial here, and all who reach from under the +law’s mantle black hands to crush their fellows with +injustice.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Rainy Day.</b> Tales from the Great City. By +the Author of “A London Girl,” etc. Second impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>The anonymous author of Tales from the Great City has already +attained to high repute by means of “A London Girl” and +“Closed Doors,” in both of which his unrelenting pen +exposed the depths of misery that underlie the so-called “Life of +Pleasure.” In his latest work, “The Rainy Day,” the +author turns his attention to the middle-class suburb as it existed in +the eighties of last century, before the local idea was completely +absorbed by the spirit of metropolitanism. To the novel reader who +demands a good story, and to the student of social phenomena, +“The Rainy Day” can be recommended with equal +confidence.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Glen o’ Weeping.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Marjorie Bowen</span>. Fourth impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Is a great improvement upon ‘The Viper of Milan,’ +with which Miss Marjorie Bowen suddenly conquered a position for +herself last year. The writer is on firm ground. It is our own history +that she is playing with, and it is handled with far more confidence +and power of conviction than a seasoned reader found in her Italian +feast of bloodshed.”—<span class="sc">Outlook.</span></p> +<p>“Such a novel as this might be placed not very far from those +in which the Master of Historical Romance made such admirable use of +Scottish history.”—<span class="sc">Scotsman.</span></p> +<p>“Should serve to maintain the popularity, while it increases +the reputation, of the author.”—<span class= +"sc">Tribune.</span></p> +<p>“The only thing to be said about ‘The Viper of +Milan’ and its brilliantly successful successor, ‘The Glen +o’ Weeping,’ is that they carry one completely away. There +is in this second novel every fine quality of its predecessor. It is an +entire and complete success.”—<span class="sc">Morning +Leader.</span></p> +<p>“As we began by saying, Miss Bowen has an assured future, and +is something of a wonder.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“The author has a sense of style and a fertile +imagination.”—<span class="sc">Athenæum.</span> +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb209" href="#pb209" name= +"pb209">209</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Exton Manor.</b> By <span class="sc">Archibald +Marshall</span>. Author of “Richard Baldock,” etc. Fourth +impression.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Better than any of its predecessors.... Captain Thomas Turner +might well say of it—could he read a story of which he is a +delightful part—‘That’s a capital +one!’”—<span class="sc">Daily Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“Few writers of the day have the power of Mr. Marshall to +enchain interest and yet to disregard conventional +devices.”—<span class="sc">Bystander.</span></p> +<p>“Will be read with pleasure from the first page to the +last—and leave the reader still asking for +more.”—<span class="sc">Tribune.</span></p> +<p>“By far the best thing he has done. A novel which is not +merely entertaining, but sane, wholesome<span class="corr" id= +"xd20e3570" title="Not in source">,</span> and excellently +observed—qualities by no means invariably found combined in +modern fiction.”—<span class="sc">Punch.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Privy Seal.</b> By <span class="sc">Ford Madox +Hueffer</span>. Author of “The Fifth Queen,” etc.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“‘Privy Seal’ is written with the same happy +valiancy of language which made ‘The Fifth Queen’ so +admirable, and the plan of the book is masterly. If you do not read Mr. +Hueffer’s book you will miss a rare +enjoyment.”—<span class="sc">Evening News.</span></p> +<p>“As for the desperate political intrigues, the by-plot, the +fighting, the book’s whole body and action, it is admirably +done.”—<span class="sc">Daily News.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>World Without End.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Winifred Graham</span>. Author of “The Vision at the +Savoy,” etc.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“One of those books that haunt! ‘World Without +End’ has already attracted interest in high places. The incursion +of an intrepid Englishman into the forbidden Shrine of Masbad is one of +the most amazing tales which a novelist has had to tell. The Eastern +scenes are altogether admirable. ‘World Without End’ is the +author’s best work.”—<span class= +"sc">World.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Amateur Emigrants.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Thos. Cobb</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Mr. Cobb has worked a capital idea into his new novel, which +is exceptionally bright and amusing.”—<span class= +"sc">Standard.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Arminel of the West.</b> By <span class="sc">John +Trevena</span>. Author of “A Pixy in Petticoats.”</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“The author made an artistic success of his ‘Pixy in +Petticoats,’ but this book is even better.... We cordially wish +more power to Mr. Trevena’s elbow, and more books from his +pen.”—<span class="sc">Field.</span></p> +<p>“Arminel reminds one of that former pixy in her teasing, +affectionate, plaguey ways.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Mail.</span></p> +<p>“I have read with great delight the second volume of the +author of ‘A Pixy in Petticoats,’ whose name, now divulged, +is John Trevena. To be fresh and unconventional, and yet to have +Devonshire as your <i>locale</i>, is a notable feat, and in +‘Arminel of the West’ Mr. Trevena does this +thing.”—<span class="sc">Bystander.</span></p> +<p>“Mr. Trevena has given us a strong piece of work, marked at +once by observation and fancy.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“The novel is of great promise, and will delight many +readers.”—<span class="sc">Tribune.</span></p> +<p>“Wander with dainty Arminel through Devonshire lanes. You will +end by loving her as we did.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Chronicle.</span></p> +<p>“The charm of the whole is that it displays the spirit of the +moorland.”—<span class="sc">Athenæum.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Artistic Temperament.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Jane Wardle</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Whoever Miss Jane Wardle may be, he or she has given us a +really diverting story, the forerunner, we hope, of many +others.”—<span class="sc">Daily Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“It is most mysterious suddenly to find a novel by an unknown +woman, which appeals to one instantly as a very faithful picture of the +very people one sits next to on the tops of omnibuses, dines with +occasionally in suburban drawing-rooms, and meets at one’s own +special brand of club or studio.”—<span class= +"sc">Tribune.</span></p> +<p>“There is much good-natured satire and lively reading at the +expense of Suburbia.”—<span class="sc">Morning +Post.</span></p> +<p>“It is safe to prophesy that Miss Wardle will be heard of +again.”—<span class="sc">Daily Mail.</span> <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb210" href="#pb210" name="pb210">210</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Bunch of Blue Ribbons.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Geo. Morley</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Mr. George Morley has long since established a lasting claim +upon all who are lovers of, or dwellers in, +Warwickshire.”—<span class="sc">Birmingham Daily +Mail.</span></p> +<p>“It is probably safe to say that no other writer could have +charged a story so full of the authentic and recognisable atmosphere of +Warwickshire village life.”—<span class="sc">Birmingham +Daily Post.</span></p> +<p>“We can commend Mr. Morley’s rural story on many counts, +and we do.”—<span class="sc">Daily Mail.</span></p> +<p>“This is a capital book to peruse among the woods and fields; +the peasants talk very amusingly, and the scenery is well +described.”—<span class="sc">Globe.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Viper of Milan.</b> 11th impression. +<span class="sc">Marjorie Bowen.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Miss Bowen is to be congratulated <i>upon entering the ranks +of our fictionists with so strong a piece of work; a story for which a +wide popularity may confidently be +predicted</i>.”—<span class="sc">Telegraph.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Pixy in Petticoats.</b> <span class="sc">John +Trevena</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“‘A Pixy in Petticoats’ is as good a story of +Dartmoor as has been written these many +moons.”—<span class="sc">Evening Standard.</span></p> +<p>“A glance at any chapter is almost as good as a breath of that +breeze which charges at you on the top of Hay or Yes +Tor.”—<span class="sc">Bystander.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Collusion.</b> <span class="sc">Thomas +Cobb.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“‘Collusion’ has all the brightness and cleverness +which might be expected of the author of ‘Mrs. Erricker’s +Reputation.’”—<span class="sc">Observer.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Meriel of the Moors.</b> <span class="sc">R. E. +Vernède.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>The author’s first essay in fiction, “The Pursuit of Mr. +Faviel,” was universally commended for its sparkling wit. Though +“Meriel of the Moors” is more in the narrative style and +bristling with excitement, the lightness of touch remains. Mr. +Vernède’s career as an author should be assured by his +latest novel.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Ivory Raiders.</b> <span class="sc">Walter +Dalby.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Mr. Dalby’s enthralling pages, of whose lively colour, +indubitably the result of a rare combination of first-hand experience +and innate literary talent, no adequate notion can be given within the +limits of a review.”—<span class="sc">Glasgow +Herald.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Mrs. Erricker’s Reputation.</b> +<span class="sc">Thomas Cobb.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“We can safely predict that Mr. Cobb’s latest novel will +be one of the hits of the present season.”—<span class= +"sc">Liverpool Courier.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Fifth Queen.</b> <span class="sc">Ford Madox +Hueffer.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“It is an ambitious theme which Mr. Hueffer has taken, and we +have <i>NOTHING BUT CONGRATULATION</i> for him on the resultant +achievement; this book further strengthens his position as <i>ONE OF +THE ABLEST OF THE YOUNGER WRITERS OF THE +DAY</i>.”—<span class="sc">Daily Telegraph.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Richard Baldock.</b> <span class="sc">Archibald +Marshall.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Unlike nearly all other novelists who appeal to the many, his +work has qualities which commend it no less warmly to the few. The +story of little Richard Baldock might almost have been written by the +author of ‘David Copperfield.’”—Mr. +<span class="sc">Hamilton Fyfe</span> in the <span class="sc">Evening +News</span>.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The House of Merrilees.</b> <span class= +"sc">Archibald Marshall.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“It is a pleasure to praise a book of this kind, and rare to +find one in which a narrative of absorbing interest is combined with so +many literary graces.”—<span class="sc">Bookman.</span></p> +<p>“The best mystery novel since Sir A. Conan Doyle’s +“‘Sign of Four.’”—<span class="sc">Daily +Graphic.</span></p> +<p>“Can recommend cordially and with confidence to those who like +a really good story, well constructed and excellently +told.”—<span class="sc">Punch.</span> <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb211" href="#pb211" name="pb211">211</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Pursuit of Mr. Faviel.</b> <span class= +"sc">R. E. Vernède.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Mr. Vernède is able, by his cleverness and wit, to +keep up the interest of this chase from start to finish. He writes with +just that light touch that is necessary.... This most amusing, +well-written book ends exactly as such a book should end—with a +gasp and a laugh and a desire to read another story by Mr. +Vernède.”—<span class="sc">Academy.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>As Dust in the Balance.</b> <span class="sc">Mrs. +H. H. Penrose.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Her work is a hundred times more genuine, more moving, +stronger than most of that which wins a ready hearing. ‘As Dust +in the Balance’ is a novel remarkable no less for finish than for +strength.”—<span class="sc">Morning Leader.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Unequal Yoke.</b> <span class="sc">Mrs. H. H. +Penrose.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Mrs. H. H. Penrose, who is one of the women novelists to be +taken into serious account, has not written anything better worth +reading than ‘The Unequal Yoke.’ ... Mrs. Penrose is a bold +thinker and a strong writer.”—<span class= +"sc">World.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Tower Of Siloam.</b> <span class="sc">Mrs. +Henry Graham.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“This extremely readable and well-contrived novel should +secure for its authoress a recognised position amongst the pleasantest +of our writers of light fiction.”—<span class="sc">Daily +Telegraph.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Hugh Rendal: A Public School Story.</b> +<span class="sc">Lionel Portman.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“I really do think this book of Mr. Portman’s may be +quite fairly compared with the greatest school story ever written.... +It sets before us both the merits and the faults of the public school +system.”—Mr. <span class="sc">Hamilton Fyfe</span> in the +<span class="sc">Evening News</span>.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>In Desert Keeping.</b> <span class="sc">Edmund +Mitchell.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“A sincere and successful novel.”—<span class= +"sc">Times.</span></p> +<p>“Full of exciting incident, but the fine character drawing +saves it from the charge of sensationalism.”—<span class= +"sc">Glasgow Herald.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Peace On Earth.</b> <span class="sc">Reginald +Turner.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“The thorough originality, both in plot and treatment, of Mr. +Turner’s novel is its principal merit.... A thoroughly fresh +piece of work and a novel of marked power. It gives Mr. Turner a firm +position.”—<span class="sc">Vanity Fair.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Countermine.</b> <span class="sc">Arthur +Wenlock.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“Surely few more commendatory things can be said of any novel +than may fairly be said of this one—that it makes you read +whether you will or no.”—<span class= +"sc">Scotsman.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Captain of Men.</b> <span class="sc">E. Anson +More.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“The story is exceedingly well written, and the characters are +worked out with consummate skill. The style of the book makes it doubly +interesting and enjoyable.”—<span class="sc">Dundee +Courier.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Friendships of Veronica.</b> <span class= +"sc">Thomas Cobb.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p>“It is pleasant to be able to say that his latest work is a +great improvement on its immediate +predecessors.”—<span class="sc">Spectator.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Kit’s Woman.</b> By <span class="sc">Mrs. +Havelock Ellis</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>“I cannot speak too highly of Mrs. Havelock Ellis’s +latest sketch of Cornish village life, ‘Kit’s Woman.’ +In its way, this is a little work of genius.”—<span class= +"sc">Bystander.</span></p> +<p>“As a character study of interesting types the book is an +unqualified success.”—<span class="sc">Outlook.</span></p> +<p>“Mrs. Ellis’s book is one of the finest things we have +recently met with.”—<span class="sc">Western Daily +Mercury.</span> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb212" href="#pb212" +name="pb212">212</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>My Cornish Neighbours.</b> <span class="sc">Mrs. +Havelock Ellis.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>“This charming and characteristic volume of stories not only +enhances Mrs. Ellis’s already established reputation as a +finished artist in the most difficult department of fiction, but it +confirms her right to regard Cornwall as peculiarly her own +province.”—<span class="sc">Glasgow Herald.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Closed Doors.</b> Tales from the Great City. By +the Author of “A London Girl.”</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>By his previous work the author at once established a reputation for +dealing with the under-side of London life. “Closed Doors” +is a social study of a still more subtle type, and the intimate +knowledge of men and things which the book reveals cannot fail to +increase interest in the series.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A London Girl.</b> Tales from the Great City. +<span class="sc">Anon.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>“Certain it is that the author of this pitiless tale is +neither ordinary nor inexperienced. ‘Baby’ is a great +creation. She leaps from the printed page into lovely merry life, and +all through she exercises a spell over one.”—<span class= +"sc">Dundee Advertiser.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>In Life’s Byways.</b> <span class="sc">C. +S. Bradford.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>“They are tales of stirring incident, well worth relating, and +their author has succeeded in the difficult task of keeping them free +from all glamour and unreality.”—<span class= +"sc">Bookman.</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">Gift Books.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>Sarah the Valiant.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Theodora Wilson Wilson</span>. Author of “The Magic +Jujubes,” “A Navvy from King’s,” etc. With 8 +illustrations.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Truant Five.</b> By <span class="sc">Raymond +Jacberns</span>. Author of “The New Pupil,” etc. With 6 +illustrations.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>There is no present that is more acceptable to a girl than a nice +book; yet how difficult it is to find exactly the right thing! There +are, of course, dozens of books published every autumn that are +harmless enough, and will, very possibly, afford a certain amount of +pleasure for the moment to the average young lady—but the perfect +book for girls must have so many qualities, mostly negative, no doubt, +but some positive as well. The perfect girl’s book should not +contain any mention of “things” (as Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer +would say). Well, there are plenty that do not, but where such books +fall short of perfection is that “grown-ups” find them +dreadfully tedious to read aloud in the family circle. That is what is +wanted; a book that will interest and amuse everybody; if it comes up +to that requirement it is certain to interest and amuse girls.</p> +<p>Here are two books that everybody will like: “Sarah the +Valiant,” by Theodora Wilson Wilson, is full of entertainment; +the characters all live, and though pathos is never obtruded, the story +is full of the tenderness of which the author has already shown herself +to be possessed in “The Magic Jujubes.” Raymond +Jacberns’s “The Truant Five” is equally certain to +please. So graphically are the young people’s wanderings +described, that the staidest of aunts must feel the vagabond spirit +thrill within her, though the common-sense denouement of the story can +be relied on as an infallible moral antidote. Both books are +beautifully illustrated, and the titles are worth remembering: +“Sarah the Valiant” and “The Truant Five.” +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb213" href="#pb213" name= +"pb213">213</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">General Literature.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>The Book of Living Poets.</b> Edited by +<span class="sc">Walter Jerrold</span>. Crown 8vo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>7s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>It has been the fashion in literary circles of late to aver that +modern poetry suffers neglect at the hand of the publisher. That +contemporary verse is not altogether unpatronised, however, Mr. Alston +Rivers has already proved by the series of little volumes, all the work +of living authors, that he has issued recently with success. That +effort is now being followed up by a charming volume of upwards of 400 +pages, beautifully bound and printed, entitled, “The Book of +Living Poets.” Every contemporary poet of distinction, from whose +pen verse has been recently published, is represented; to name only a +few, Swinburne, Thomas Hardy, Rudyard Kipling, and Alfred Noyes.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Spirit of the People.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b> net.</p> +<p>Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer has been aptly described by a well-known +critic as one of the most interesting figures among present-day +writers. Whether as a poet or as a writer of historical romance, he has +always commanded respect, and the appearance of a new work in either +direction is regarded as a literary event. It was, however, with +“The Soul of London” and its companion volume, “The +Heart of the Country,” that the critics’ pens were at their +busiest, and in his advertisement to the latter book the author made it +known that a third “small projection of a view of modern +life” might shortly be expected. This promise is now to be +redeemed by the imminent publication of “The Spirit of the +People.”</p> +<p>To vaunt the new and concluding volume of the series as more +charming than its predecessors would be as absurd as it would be +disingenuous. It may, however, be mentioned that the value of +“The Spirit of the People” is peculiar. England, both as +regards life in the metropolis and rural districts, has been subjected +to the considerations of writers of almost every nationality. The +English spirit has been diagnosed and analysed often enough. What makes +Mr. Hueffer’s new book so interesting is that it is written by an +Englishman in one sense; yet, in another sense, scarcely an Englishman. +The author’s training has not been that of the average youth of +the Established Church; yet the book is instinct with reverence and +affection for that Church. Unquestionably the reader will find the many +pages devoted to the religious aspect of the English spirit highly +instructive; though, in lighter vein, when dealing with +Englishmen’s sense of the proprieties, of their devotion to +sports, and their hundred other peculiarities, the author is no less +engaging. From these remarks it will be judged that “The Spirit +of the People” makes a wide appeal; its genial bonhomie and +tolerance should ensure a favourable hearing.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Thomas Hood: His Life and Times.</b> By +<span class="sc">Walter Jerrold</span>. Illustrated. Demy 8vo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>16s.</b> net.</p> +<p>Though over sixty years have now elapsed since the death of Thomas +Hood, it is not a little strange that only one attempt has been made to +tell the story of his life with any fulness. The fate of his +contemporaries, and indeed many successors, has not been Thomas +Hood’s: he is still regarded as a writer of comic verse that is +above all competitors; his share in the history of modern letters +cannot be minimised; and his personality was unusually attractive and +lovable. Yet the “Memorials of Thomas Hood,” prepared by +his son and daughter, and published in 1860, re-issued ten years later +with some excisions and with but few new features, is the only +sustained chronicle to which hitherto the enquirer has been able to +resort. Even in the later edition the first thirty-five years of +Hood’s short life were dismissed in sixty-seven pages, as against +400 pages devoted to his last eleven years, while much that is +inaccurate is to be noticed throughout those earlier pages. It was, +therefore, a duty incumbent upon the Republic of Letters that some one, +well equipped, should take up the task of writing a complete biography; +that Mr. Walter Jerrold was well qualified for the undertaking has +already been made sufficiently evident. The book is beautifully +produced, with suitable illustrations, including coloured plates and a +photogravure plate.</p> +<p>“That a grandson of Douglas Jerrold should write a +‘Life’ of Thomas Hood is, in the nature of things, +eminently fitting and commendable; everyone who is conservative enough +to enjoy the perpetuation of old associations will appreciate the +propriety. And all those who like to see good sound work properly +recognised will be glad that Mr. Walter Jerrold should have been given +this opportunity of publishing what will certainly remain to be +regarded as the best-informed, most painstaking, and most accurate +biography of Hood—the book to be consulted upon all questions of +fact and date.”—<span class="sc">The Bookman.</span> +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb214" href="#pb214" name= +"pb214">214</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Chase of the Wild Red Deer.</b> By +<span class="sc">Charles Palk Collyns</span>. With coloured +frontispiece.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b> net.</p> +<p>A new edition of Dr. Collyns’ classic needs no apology, for +the time has surely come when the book should be published at a price +that enables all lovers of sporting literature to number it among their +possessions. The present volume includes a preface by the Hon. L. J. +Bathurst, and a coloured frontispiece by Mr. Stuart.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>A Guide to the Foxhounds and Staghounds of +England.</b> Being a new edition of the original book by +“Gelert,” published 1849. Demy 8vo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p>In these days of directories, there is no branch of sport which has +not a complete reference book of its own. In 1849 the hunting world was +quite unrepresented in this respect, and the publisher ventures to +think that “Gelert’s” attempt to supply the +deficiency may be interesting enough to justify the issue of a new +edition. The book is accompanied by an introductory chapter containing +certain comments on the text, and comparisons with the present +conditions of the hunting world.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Human Harvest.</b> By <span class="sc">D. S. +Jordan</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s.</b> net.</p> +<p>As may be gathered from the title, the author in this book examines +the question of military selection and its effect on the human race. It +is not a long book, but it is so full of shrewd common sense that on +laying down the volume the reader will have acquired more food for +meditation than many a work of hundreds of closely printed pages could +supply.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Siege of the North Pole.</b> <span class= +"sc">Dr. Fridtjof Nansen</span>. In preparation.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>16s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Contemporary Poets Series.</b> Imp. 16mo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> each net.</p> +<p><b>A Ballad of Victory, and other Poems.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Dollie Radford</span>.</p> +<p><b>From Inland, and other Poems.</b> By <span class="sc">Ford Madox +Hueffer</span>.</p> +<p><b>Democratic Sonnets.</b> <span class="sc">W. M. Rossetti</span> (2 +vols.).</p> +<p><b>Repose, and Other Verses.</b> <span class="sc">J. +Marjoram.</span></p> +<p><b>The Soul’s Destroyer, and Other Poems.</b> <span class= +"sc">William H. Davies.</span></p> +<p><b>Sealed Orders, and Other Poems.</b> <span class="sc">Walter +Herries Pollock.</span></p> +<p>The theory of the Editor and publishers of this series is that, +whilst to-day there exist a large body of excellent poets and a fairly +considerable body of intelligent readers of poetry, there has not, of +late years, been any very serious attempt made to bring the one into +contact with the other. Hence an attempt to bring together a collection +of small—as it were—samples of the works of poets of the +most varied description, ranging from the simple lyric to the +definitely political or the mere <i lang="fr">vers de +société</i>, published in the cheapest possible manner +that is consonant with a dignified appearance and a sufficient amount +of advertisement to bring the venture before the notice of the Public. +<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb215" href="#pb215" name= +"pb215">215</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Ten Years of Locomotive Progress.</b> By +<span class="sc">George Montagu</span>. Demy 8vo. 50 illustrations.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b> net.</p> +<p>“Mr. Montagu has happily combined a good deal of useful +technical knowledge with his popular treatment of the subject, and we +congratulate him on a timely book which will serve to remind the public +of what we owe to railway engineers. It has numerous illustrations of +all the locomotive types.”—Says <span class="sc">The +Spectator</span>.</p> +<p>“On such a subject as this it is not easy to write for the +general reader without bewildering him in places with technicalities, +but the author has achieved his aim of producing a popular +semi-technical work describing a remarkable movement.”—</p> +<p>Says <span class="sc">Mr. H. G. Archer</span> in <span class= +"sc">The Tribune</span>.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Soul of London.</b> By <span class="sc">Ford +Madox Hueffer</span>. Imp. 16mo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b> net.</p> +<p>“It is long since we came across a more attractive collection +of essays on any subject, and the author is to be heartily +congratulated on his success.”—<span class="sc">The Morning +Post.</span></p> +<p>“‘The Soul of London,’ published to-day, is the +latest and truest image of London, built up out of a series of +brilliant negations that together are more hauntingly near to a +composite picture of the city than anything we have ever seen +before....”—<span class="sc">The Daily Mail.</span></p> +<p>“Londoners should read this book; and even more certainly +should countrymen and denizens of provincial cities read +it.”—<span class="sc">The Standard.</span></p> +<p>“There have been many books on London, written by literary +men, statisticians, reformers. But no one has achieved or attempted +what in this book Mr. Hueffer has done with power and fine +insight.”—<span class="sc">The Daily News.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The New Sketch Book.</b> Being Essays now first +collected from the <i>Foreign Quarterly</i>, and edited with an +Introduction by <span class="sc">Robert S. Garnett</span>. Demy +8vo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>7s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>The undoubted authenticity of “The New Sketch Book” has +been conceded by every critic whose expert knowledge makes his judgment +of value. Mr. W. L. Courtney, in the <span class="sc">Daily +Telegraph</span>, says:—“The world is to be heartily +congratulated on having obtained the opportunity, which Mr. +Garnett’s editorial care has given it, of <i>READING NEW +SPECIMENS OF THACKERAY’S LIGHT WIT, RAPIER-LIKE DEXTERITY, AND +CURIOUSLY INDIVIDUAL STYLE</i>.” “No true admirer of the +larger Thackeray,” says Mr. Walter Jerrold in <span class= +"sc">The Tribune</span>, “but will welcome this book, and wish to +turn to it himself and read the essay now identified with the honoured +name.” “The publication of the book is beyond all cavil +justified” (<span class="sc">Daily Chronicle</span>). “Mr. +Garnett’s editorial introduction is admirable, and for his +labours we have nothing but praise” (<span class= +"sc">Times</span>). “We must congratulate Mr. Robert Garnett on a +discovery which it is surprising that no one had made before, and on +the sound critical introduction which he prefixes to these delightful +essays” (<span class="sc">Academy</span>). “Lovers of +Thackeray need have no hesitation in placing on their shelves, in +company with the master’s other writings of the same fugitive +order” (<span class="sc">World</span>). “Here is his New +Sketch Book gathered together with inspired industry by Mr. R. S. +Garnett.... Mr. Punch places it in his archives with reverence.” +(<span class="sc">Punch</span>).</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">SUNDAY MORNING TALKS TO THE CHILDREN.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>Spring Blossoms and Summer Fruit.</b> +<span class="sc">John Byles.</span> Crown 8vo. Cloth, gilt.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Legend of St. Mark.</b> <span class="sc">John +Byles.</span> Crown 8vo. Cloth, gilt.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>“We can scarcely praise too highly the beauty and exquisite +simplicity of these talks.”—<span class="sc">Literary +World.</span></p> +<p>“Each address is a model of simple excellence, being brief, +thoughtful, attractive, and very much to the +point.”—<span class="sc">Church Sunday School +Magazine.</span> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb216" href="#pb216" +name="pb216">216</a>]</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Heart of the Country.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>. Imp. 16mo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b> net.</p> +<p>“We have had ‘Country’ books of the most varied +character, from that of Gilbert White to those of Richard Jefferies; +but Mr. Hueffer has taken a new and interesting line of his own, and +his really beautiful work will assuredly make him many +friends.”—<span class="sc">The Daily Telegraph.</span></p> +<p>“There may be several opinions on the unity of the book; there +can only be one, and that <i>ENTHUSIASTICALLY ADMIRING</i> about the +parts of which it is composed.”—<span class="sc">The +World.</span></p> +<p>“There are not many men writing English just now who have the +talent—or will be at the pains—to turn out sentences and +paragraphs so pleasing in texture and design as the sentences and +paragraphs of Mr. Hueffer ... who is an accomplished artist in the +handling of words.”—<span class="sc">Sunday Sun.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Small House: its Architecture and +Surroundings.</b> <span class="sc">Arthur Martin.</span> Crown 8vo. +Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s.</b> net.</p> +<p>“‘The small house’ within the meaning of the +title-page is not exactly a workman’s cottage. It is one designed +for gentlefolk. How very charming and desirable such a house may be +made is shown by some of the illustrations that accompany the +volume.”—<span class="sc">Glasgow Herald.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Turk in the Balkans.</b> <span class="sc">T. +Comyn Platt.</span> Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Abyssinia: The Ethiopian Railway and the +Powers.</b> <span class="sc">T. L. Gilmour.</span></p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Suggestions for the Better Governing of +India.</b> Sir <span class="sc">Frederick S. P. Lely</span>, C.S.I., +K.C.I.E.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><i><b>The Story of Exploration Series.</b></i> A +Complete History of the Discovery of the Globe from the Earliest +Records up to the present time. Edited by <span class="sc">J. +Scott-eltie</span>, LL.D., Sec. R.G.S. Demy 8vo.</p> +<p class="adPrice">Price, per Volume, <b>7s. 6d</b>. net.</p> +<p>The reception which every item of “The Story of +Exploration” has met with at the hands of both the public and +press is due to the fact that while each story is told in a manner +likely to interest the general reader, it is at the same time sought to +provide the student with a serious and trustworthy history of +exploration, and with a summary of our knowledge of each region dealt +with. A vast amount of information is condensed within a comparatively +small compass, voluminous records collated and the results brought +together in a concise and readable form.</p> +<p>Each volume of the series is complete and independent in itself, and +is sold separately. The books are, however, published in uniform style +and binding, and the entire series, when complete, will form what may +be called a biographical history of the exploration of the world. +Beginning with the earliest journeys of which records exist, and +carrying their narratives down to the most recent discoveries, the +several authors of the works that have so far appeared have told their +allotted stories fully and with the utmost historical accuracy.</p> +<p>“The motto of those responsible for this invaluable series is +‘Thorough.’ How they are produced at this low price is a +mystery to us.”—<span class="sc">War Office +Times.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Penetration of Arabia.</b> <span class= +"sc">D. G. Hogarth</span>, M.A. With over Fifty Illustrations and Maps; +and also two large Maps in Colour by <span class="sc">J. G. +Bartholomew</span>.</p> +<p>“It is a literary, scientific, and, we may add, a political +gain to be placed in possession of a standard work describing the +exploration of Arabia.”—<span class="sc">The +Athenæum.</span></p> +<p>“Mr. Hogarth rises to true eloquence, and speaks with freedom +and mastery. There is strength and justice, moreover, in his judgments +of men. It is the first effective competitor that has appeared to Carl +Ritter’s discussion of Arabian geography, now some fifty years +old.”—<span class="sc">The Times.</span></p> +<p>“A Summary—luminous and exact—of the literature of +travel in that part of the world.... A scholarly survey of adventurous, +though tardy, geographical research.”—<span class="sc">The +Standard.</span> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb217" href="#pb217" +name="pb217">217</a>]</span></p> +<p><b><i>The Story of Exploration Series</i></b>:</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Siege of the South Pole.</b> The story of +Antarctic Exploration. <span class="sc">Dr. H. R. Mill</span>, LL.D., +D.Sc. With over Seventy Illustrations from Photographs, Charts and +Drawings; and a large Coloured Map by <span class="sc">J. G. +Bartholomew</span>.</p> +<p>“Dr. Mill writes with spirit as well as erudition; and his +book is not only a larger monument of learning, but also a more +entertaining composition than the works on the same topic of Herr +Fricker and Mr. Balch.”—<span class="sc">The +Times.</span></p> +<p>“The author is a man of science who has the rare gift of +making difficult things clear to the unscientific mind, and nothing +could be better than his explanations of the importance of observations +in the Antarctic to a true theory of terrestrial magnetism.... The +accounts of most of the earlier voyages are out of print and only to be +found in great libraries; and Dr. Mill has done excellent services by +relating these voyages in detail, and illustrating them copiously by +maps and engravings.”—<span class="sc">The +Athenæum.</span></p> +<p>“The present volume is a triumphant demonstration of his +literary insight and skill, for while making no sacrifice of scientific +accuracy, he has produced a narrative of Antarctic exploration which +will fascinate the intelligent schoolboy as sure as it will instruct +the serious student of Polar exploration.”—<span class= +"sc">Morning Post.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Further India.</b> Being the Story of Exploration +from the Earliest Times in Burma, Malaya, Siam and Indo-China. +<span class="sc">Hugh Clifford</span>, C.M.G., Author of “In +Court and Kampong,” “Studies in Brown Humanity,” +etc., etc. With Forty-eight Illustrations from Drawings, Photographs +and Maps; and two large Maps in Colour by <span class="sc">J. G. +Bartholomew</span>.</p> +<p>“Those who desire to gain a better knowledge of the past and +present history of exploration in India cannot do better than read this +excellent book.”—<span class="sc">The Field.</span></p> +<p>“All that has been written and published Mr. Clifford has +industriously examined and collated, and he has arranged it in +consecutive narratives, abounding in dramatic episodes or exciting +incidents. The story is as intricate as it is +interesting.”—<span class="sc">The Westminster +Gazette.</span></p> +<p>“Another volume in this most excellent series. Mr. Clifford +has produced a thoroughly readable, trustworthy and fascinating book, +well indexed and well illustrated.”—<span class="sc">The +Academy.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The St. Lawrence Basin and its Borderlands.</b> +<span class="sc">Dr. S. E. Dawson</span>, Litt.D., F.R.S.C. With +Forty-eight Illustrations from Drawings and Photographs; and a large +Coloured Map by <span class="sc">J. G. Bartholomew</span>.</p> +<p>“In its pages the reader will find a mass of information which +he could only collect for himself by years of study; he will also +receive great assistance from the reproduction of maps with which the +book is furnished; while the illustrations will enable him to form a +very good idea of this portion of the Canadian Dominion, both as +regards its past and present condition. In conclusion, we would again +call the attention of our readers to this valuable series of works. +They are all written by men who are undoubted authorities on the +different countries they describe, they are all furnished with maps, +nicely illustrated, and should find a place on the shelves of every +well-regulated library.”—<span class="sc">The +Field.</span></p> +<p>“The story of the discovery and exploration of the +north-eastern part of the continent of North America, a story +peculiarly rich in historical, geographical, and adventurous interest, +has been told once more, and told very fully and well by Dr. S. E. +Dawson ... whose narrative, as a whole, does complete and careful +justice to every aspect of a story of progressive exploration as +replete with varied interest and moving adventure as any in the history +of the world.”—<span class="sc">The World.</span></p> +<p>“He is writing a geographical rather than a political history, +and, incidentally, demonstrates how interesting that can be +made.”—<span class="sc">The Standard.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Nile Quest.</b> A Record of the Exploration +of the Nile and its Basin, by <span class="sc">Sir Harry H. +Johnston</span>, G.C.M.G., K.C.B. With over Seventy Illustrations from +Drawings and Photographs by the Author and by others. Maps by +<span class="sc">J. G. Bartholomew</span>. <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb218" href="#pb218" name="pb218">218</a>]</span></p> +<p>“The record of the quest could not fail to be a fascinating +story. Sir Harry Johnston has done a useful service in setting forth +the often tangled results of African exploration in a clear +narrative.”—<span class="sc">The Spectator.</span></p> +<p>“Few men are better fitted than Sir Harry Johnston to tell the +tale of ‘The Nile Quest.’ He traces the routes of +successive travellers, prefacing each narrative with brief biographical +sketches.... He holds the balance with judicial impartiality, and +vindicates some unjustly discredited reputations.... It is singularly +attractive, and some of his descriptions of scenery and the native +races may vie with the best of the extracts from the works of eloquent +travellers.”—<span class="sc">The Times.</span></p> +<p>“We know of no book in which the whole history of Nile +exploration, from the earliest times up to the very latest discoveries +in the Sobat and Bahr-el-Ghazel regions, is narrated so fully and +accurately as it is here.”—<span class="sc">The Manchester +Guardian.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Tibet the Mysterious.</b> By Col. <span class= +"sc">Sir Thos. Holdich</span>, K.C.M.G., K.C.I.E, C.B. With Fifty +Illustrations from Photographs and Charts, and a large Coloured +Map.</p> +<p>“It is a story full of notable and romantic episodes, and it +is brilliantly narrated by Sir Thomas Holdich, who gives, moreover, +graphic descriptions of the country itself and its people. No more +fascinating book on Tibet has appeared.”—<i>Truth.</i></p> +<p>“Deserving of the warmest +recognition.”—<i>Birmingham Post.</i></p> +<p>“Every page of his book bears witness to the thoroughness of +his methods, and there are several maps which will be of great value to +geographical students.”—<i>Dundee Courier.</i></p> +<p>“Most of those who read the volume on the exploration of +Tibet, by Sir Thomas Holdich, will agree that it takes the first place +for interest of narrative and ability of compilation in the whole +series.”—<i>Daily Mail.</i></p> +<p>“Altogether indispensable to the serious student of Tibet the +Mysterious.”—<i>Daily News.</i></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">Rivers’s Popular Gift Books.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>The Pinafore Library.</b> Crown 16mo.</p> +<p class="adPrice">Per Set in Case, <b>2s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p>The time is ripe for a novelty in children’s books, and the +“Pinafore Library” is altogether a fresh departure. Here +are five delightful little volumes, all written by authors of repute, +which, while full of fascination for the youngest child, possess +undeniable literary distinction. The bright and attractive appearance +given to these little books by the artistic pictorial paper boards, and +the delicately executed and fanciful end-papers cannot fail to enhance +the merits of this series.</p> +<p><b>Christina’s Fairy Book.</b> <span class="sc">Ford Madox +Hueffer.</span></p> +<p><b>The Travelling Companions.</b> <span class="sc">Lady Margaret +Sackville.</span></p> +<p><b>Highways and Byways in Fairyland.</b> <span class="sc">Arthur +Ransome.</span></p> +<p><b>The Fairy Doll.</b> <span class="sc">Netta Syrett.</span></p> +<p><b>Who’s Who in Fairyland.</b> <span class="sc">Anne +Pyne</span>.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Willie Westinghouse Edison Smith.</b> The Boy +Inventor. By <span class="sc">Frank Crane.</span></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Little Sammy Sneeze.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Winsor McCay.</span> Two new and amusing flat books in which the +pictures tell the story.</p> +<p class="adPrice"></p> +<p>Each <b>3s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Zoo: A Scamper.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Walter Emanuel</span>. With Illustrations by <span class="sc">John +Hassall</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Magic Jujubes.</b> By <span class= +"sc">Theodora Wilson Wilson</span>, Author of “Our Joshua,” +etc. With eight illustrations by <span class="sc">J. W. +Hammick</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>3s. 6d.</b></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Guide to Fairyland.</b> Written and +illustrated by <span class="sc">Dion Clayton Calthrop</span>. Crown +4to.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>5s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Faery Year.</b> By <span class="sc">G. A. B. +Dewar</span>. 336 pp. Demy 8vo, with eight illustrations.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>7s. 6d.</b> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb219" +href="#pb219" name="pb219">219</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div2"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h3 class="main">Miscellaneous Publications.</h3> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first adTitle"><b>Peter Binney, Undergraduate.</b> +<span class="sc">Archibald Marshall.</span> A ‘Varsity +Story<span class="corr" id="xd20e4895" title= +"Not in source">’</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>6s.</b></p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Signs of the Times, or the Hustlers’ +Almanac for 1907.</b> By the Authors of “Wisdom while you +Wait.” Profusely Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Sessional: Big Ben Ballads.</b> By the Authors of +“The Great Crusade.” Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Change for a Halfpenny.</b> By the Authors of +“Signs of the Times.” Profusely Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Mixed Maxims, or Proverbs of the Professor.</b> +By <span class="sc">Monte Carlo</span>. Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>More Cricket Songs.</b> <span class="sc">Norman +Gale.</span> Imp. 16mo.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>Home Made History.</b> <span class="sc">Hansard +Watt.</span> Imp. 16mo. Illustrated.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>2s. 6d.</b> net.</p> +<p class="adTitle"><b>The Polo Annual for 1908.</b> Edited by +<span class="sc">L. V. L. Simmonds</span>.</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s.</b> net.</p> +<div class="figure xd20e4972width"><img src="images/figure.gif" alt= +"The Lady of “Our Village.”" width="348" height="374"> +<p class="figureHead">The Lady of “Our Village.”</p> +<p class="first"><i>One of Thomas Hood’s Drawings.</i></p> +</div> +<p class="xd20e4979"><span class="sc">Bradbury, Agnew, & Co. Ltd., +London and Tonbridge. (4783–6–08.)</span> <span class= +"pagenum">[<a id="pb220" href="#pb220" name="pb220">220</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum">[<a href= +"#toc">Contents</a>]</span> +<div class="divHead"> +<h2 class="main">IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.</h2> +</div> +<div class="divBody"> +<p class="first"><i>JUNE 30th 1908.</i></p> +<p><i>The</i> ...</p> +<p>Evergreen Novels</p> +<p><img src="images/symbol.gif" alt="" width="24" height= +"25"><span class="sc">Mr. Alston Rivers</span> has pleasure in +announcing a New Series of Fiction, on which he has bestowed the +appropriate title of ”<span class="sc">The Evergreen +Novels</span>.” Neatly bound in a delicate green cloth, with +pictorial design, all the volumes will be really successful copyright +works, nay, more than that, books that possess merits that will last, +and not merely ephemeral.</p> +<p>The First Three Volumes are:</p> +<p class="adTitle">A Pixy in Petticoats</p> +<p>By <span class="sc">John Trevena</span>. Author of “Arminel of +the West”; “Furze the Cruel,” etc. <b>1s. +net.</b></p> +<p>“‘A Pixy In Petticoats’ is as good a story of +Dartmoor as has been written these many moons.”—<i>Evening +Standard.</i></p> +<p>“A glance at any chapter is almost as good as a breath of that +breeze which charges at you on the top of Hay or Yes +Tor.”—<i>Bystander.</i></p> +<p class="adTitle">The House of Merrilees</p> +<p>By <span class="sc">Archibald Marshall</span>, Author of +“Peter Binney, Undergraduate”; “Richard +Baldock”; “Exton Manor.” <b>1s. net.</b></p> +<p>“It is a pleasure to praise a book of this kind, and rare to +find one in which a narrative of absorbing interest is combined with so +many literary graces.”—<i>Bookman.</i></p> +<p>“The best mystery novel since Sir A. Conan Doyle’s +‘Sign of Four.’”—<i>Daily Graphic.</i></p> +<p>“Can recommend cordially and with confidence to those who like +a really good story, well constructed and excellently +told.”—<i>Punch.</i></p> +<p class="adTitle">A London Girl</p> +<p>TALES FROM THE GREAT CITY.</p> +<p>By the Author of “Closed Doors,” and “The Rainy +Day.”</p> +<p class="adPrice"><b>1s. net.</b></p> +<p>The <span class="sc">Bishop of London</span>, addressing a meeting +at the Northampton Institute, Finsbury, said: “I have lately been +reading a story which interested and impressed me very much indeed. All +you men ought to read it. It was called ‘A London Girl.’ +The picture painted in it made a great impression on me, because I know +from my own experience in rescue and preventative work that the story +is literally true. It is the story of the downfall of hundreds of our +girls In London to-day. The pitiful tale is not overdrawn; it is all +too true.”</p> +<p>“Certain it is that the author of this pitiless tale is +neither ordinary nor inexperienced. ‘Baby’ is a great +creation. She leaps from the printed page into lovely, merry life, and +all through she exercises a spell over one.”—<i>Dundee +Advertiser.</i></p> +<p>“We have had many good things from Mr. Alston Rivers in his +year or so of publishing, and his new venture, ‘Tales from the +Great City,’ promises to be one of the most striking amongst +them.”—<i>Bystander.</i></p> +<p><i>Further Volumes in this Series will be announced in due +course.</i></p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="div1" id="toc"> +<h2 class="main">Table of Contents</h2> +<ul> +<li><a href="#ch1">Chapter I</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e171">1</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch2">Chapter II</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e222">6</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch3">Chapter III</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e269">9</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch4">Chapter IV</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e306">13</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch5">Chapter V</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e364">17</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch6">Chapter VI</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e538">30</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch7">Chapter VII</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e681">41</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch8">Chapter VIII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e767">46</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch9">Chapter IX</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e897">53</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e967">60</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1115">72</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1242">80</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1328">88</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1369">92</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1460">99</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1668">110</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1736">114</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1784">118</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch19">Chapter XIX</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e1867">123</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch20">Chapter XX</a> <span class= +"tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1975">130</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch21">Chapter XXI</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2088">136</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch22">Chapter XXII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2138">140</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch23">Chapter XXIII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2340">155</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch24">Chapter XXIV</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2606">176</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch25">Chapter XXV</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2659">181</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch26">Chapter XXVI</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2751">188</a></span></li> +<li><a href="#ch27">Chapter XXVII</a> +<span class="tocPagenum"><a class="pageref" href= +"#xd20e2803">193</a></span></li> +</ul> +</div> +<div class="transcribernote"> +<h2 class="main">Colophon</h2> +<h3 class="main">Availability</h3> +<p class="first">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no +cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give +it away or re-use it under the terms of the <a class="exlink xd20e51" +title="External link" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license" rel= +"license">Project Gutenberg License</a> included with this eBook or +online at <a class="exlink xd20e51" title="External link" href= +"http://www.gutenberg.org/" rel="home">www.gutenberg.org</a>.</p> +<p>This eBook is produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at <a class="exlink xd20e51" title="External link" href= +"http://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>.</p> +<p>Scans for this book are available in the Internet Archive (Copy +<a class="exlink xd20e51" title="External link" href= +"http://www.archive.org/details/psychecouperus00coupiala">1</a>, +<a class="exlink xd20e51" title="External link" href= +"http://www.archive.org/details/psyche00coup">2</a>).</p> +<p>Related Library of Congress catalog page: <a class="catlink" href= +"http://lccn.loc.gov/11030461">11030461</a>.</p> +<p>Related Open Library catalog page (for source): <a class="catlink" +href="http://openlibrary.org/books/OL6537405M">OL6537405M</a>.</p> +<p>Related Open Library catalog page (for work): <a class="catlink" +href="http://openlibrary.org/works/OL1456913W">OL1456913W</a>.</p> +<p>Related WorldCat catalog page: <a class="catlink" href= +"http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/11143309">11143309</a>.</p> +<h3 class="main">Encoding</h3> +<p class="first"></p> +<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3> +<ul> +<li>2011-11-12 Started.</li> +</ul> +<h3 class="main">External References</h3> +<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These +links may not work for you.</p> +<h3 class="main">Corrections</h3> +<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p> +<table class="correctiontable" summary= +"Overview of corrections applied to the text."> +<tr> +<th>Page</th> +<th>Source</th> +<th>Correction</th> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e725">42</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">“</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Deleted</i>]</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2030">133</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">fulfil</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">fulfill</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2400">161</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">?</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2533">171</a>, +<a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2944">202</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Not in source</i>]</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e3147">204</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">,</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Deleted</i>]</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e3301">205</a>, +<a class="pageref" href="#xd20e3570">209</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Not in source</i>]</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e4895">219</a></td> +<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Not in source</i>]</td> +<td class="width40 bottom">’</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Psyche, by Louis Couperus + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PSYCHE *** + +***** This file should be named 38005-h.htm or 38005-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/0/38005/ + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project +Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously +made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Psyche + +Author: Louis Couperus + +Illustrator: Dion Clayton Calthrop + +Translator: B. S. Berrington + +Release Date: November 13, 2011 [EBook #38005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PSYCHE *** + + + + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project +Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously +made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + PSYCHE + + By + + LOUIS COUPERUS + + Translated from the Dutch, + with the author's permission, + + By + + B. S. Berrington, B.A. + + With Twelve Illustrations by Dion Clayton Calthrop + + + + London: Alston Rivers, Ltd. + Brooke Street, Holborn Bars, E.C. + 1908 + + + + + + + + "Cry no more now and go to sleep, and if you cannot sleep, + I will tell you a story, a pretty story of flowers and + gems and birds, of a young prince and a little princess. + ... For in the world there is nothing more than a story." + + + + + + + +PSYCHE + +CHAPTER I + + +Gigantically massive, with three hundred towers, on the summit of a +rocky mountain, rose the king's castle high into the clouds. + +But the summit was broad, and flat as a plateau, and the castle spread +far out, for miles and miles, with ramparts and walls and pinnacles. + +And everywhere rose up the towers, lost in the clouds, and the castle +was like a city, built upon a lofty rock of basalt. + +Round the castle and far away lay the valleys of the kingdom, receding +into the horizon, one after the other, and ever and ever. + +Ever changing was the horizon: now pink, then silver; now blue, then +golden; now grey, then white and misty, and gradually fading away, +and never could the last be seen. + +In clear weather there loomed behind the horizon always another +horizon. They circled one another endlessly, they were lost in the +dissolving mists, and suddenly their silhouette became more sharply +defined. + +Over the lofty towers stretched away at times an expanse of variegated +clouds, but below rushed a torrent, which fell like a cataract into +a fathomless abyss, that made one dizzy to look at. + +So it seemed as if the castle rose up to the highest stars and went +down to the central nave of the earth. + +Along the battlements, higher than a man, Psyche often wandered, +wandered round the castle from tower to tower, from wall to wall, +with a dreamy smile on her face, then she looked up and stretched out +her hands to the stars, or gazed below at the dashing water, with +all the colours of the rainbow, till her head grew dizzy, and she +drew back and placed her little hands before her eyes. And long she +would sit in the corner of an embrasure, her eyes looking far away, +a smile on her face, her knees drawn up and her arms entwining them, +and her tiny wings spread out against the mossy stone-work, like a +butterfly that sat motionless. + +And she gazed at the horizon, and however much she gazed, she always +saw more. + +Close by were the green valleys, dotted with grazing sheep, soft +meadows with fat cattle, waving corn-fields, canals covered with ships, +and the cottage roofs of a village. Farther away were lines of woods, +hill-tops, mountain-ridges, or a mass of angular, rough-hewn basalt. + +Still farther off, misty towers with minarets and domes, cupolas and +spires, smoking chimneys, and the outline of a broad river. Beyond, +the horizon became milk-white, or like an opal, but not a line more +was there, only tint, the reflection of the last glow of the sun, +as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose, low, in the air, +aerial paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and +light quivering nothingness!... + +And Psyche gazed and mused.... She was the third princess, the +youngest daughter of the old king, monarch of the Kingdom of the +Past.... She was always very lonely. Her sisters she seldom saw, +her father only for a moment in the evening, before she went to bed; +and when she had the chance she fled from the mumbling old nurse, and +wandered along the battlements and dreamed, with her eyes far away, +gazing at the vast kingdom, beyond which was nothingness.... + +Oh, how she longed to go farther than the castle, to the meadows, +the woods, the towns--to go to the shining lakes, the opal islands, +the oceans of ether, and then to that far, far-off nothingness, that +quivered so, like a pale, pale light!... Would she ever be able to pass +out of the gates?--Oh, how she longed to wander, to seek, to fly!... To +fly, oh! to fly, to fly as the sparrows, the doves, the eagles! + +And she flapped her weak, little wings. + +On her tender shoulders there were two wings, like those of a very +large butterfly, transparent membranes, covered with crimson and soft, +yellow dust, streaked with azure and pink, where they were joined to +her back. And on each wing glowed two eyes, like those on a peacock's +tail, but more beautiful in colour and glistening like jewels, fine +sapphires and emeralds on velvet, and the velvet eye set four times +in the glittering texture of the wings. + +Her wings she flapped, but with them she could not fly. + +That, that was her great grief--that, that made her think, what were +they for, those wings on her shoulders? And she shook them and flapped +them, but could not rise above the ground; her delicate form did not +ascend into the air, her naked foot remained firm on the ground, and +only her thin, fine veil, that trailed a little round her snow-white +limbs, was slightly raised by the gentle fluttering of her wings. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +To fly! oh, to fly! + +She was so fond of birds. How she envied them! She enticed them with +crumbs of bread, with grains of corn, and once she had rescued a dove +from an eagle. The dove she had hidden under her veil, pressed close +to her bosom, and the eagle she had courageously driven off with her +hand, when in his flight he overshadowed her with his broad wings, +calling out to him to go away and leave her dove unhurt. + +Oh, to seek! to seek! + +For she was so fond of flowers, and gladly in the woods and meadows, +or farther away still, would she have sought for those that were +unknown. But she cultivated them within the walls, on the rocky ground, +and she had made herself a garden; the buds opened when she looked +at them, the stems grew when she stroked them, and when she kissed +a faded flower it became as fresh again as ever. + + + +To wander, oh, to wander! + +Then she wandered along the battlements, down the steps, over the +court-yards and the ramparts, but at the gates stood the guards, +rough and bearded and clad in mail, with loud-sounding horns round +their shoulders. + +Then she could go no farther and wandered back into the vaults +and crypts, where sacred spiders wove their webs; and then, if she +became frightened, she hurried away, farther, farther, farther, along +endless galleries, between rows of motionless knights in armour, +till she came again to her nurse, who sat ever at her spinning-wheel. + +Oh! to glide through the air! + +To glide in a steady wind, to the farthest horizon, to the milk-white +and opal region, which she saw in her dreams, to the uttermost parts +of the earth! + +To glide to the seas, and the islands, which yonder, so far, far +away and so unsubstantial, changed every moment, as if a breeze +could alter their form, their tint; so unfirm, that no foot could +tread them, but only a winged being like herself, a bird, a fairy, +could gently hover over them, to see all that beautiful landscape, +to enjoy that atmosphere, that dream of Paradise.... + +Oh! to fly, to seek, to wander, to soar!... + +And for hours together she sat dreaming in an embrasure, her eyes +far off, her arms round her knees, and her wings spread out, like a +little butterfly that sat motionless. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +Emeralda, that was the name of her eldest sister. Surpassingly +beautiful was Emeralda, dazzling fair as no woman in the kingdom, no +princess in other kingdoms. Exceedingly tall she was, and majestic in +stature; erect she walked, stately and proudly; she was very proud, +for after the death of the king she was to reign on the throne of the +Kingdom of the Past. Jealous of all the power which would be hers, +she rejected all the princes who sued for her hand. She never spoke +but to command, and only to her father did she bow. She always wore +heavy brocade, silver or gold, studded with jewels, and long mantles +of rustling silk, fringed with broad ermine; a diadem of the finest +jewels always glittered on her red golden hair and her eyes also were +jewels; two magnificent green emeralds, in which a black carbuncle +was the pupil; and people whispered secretly that her heart was cut +out of one single, gigantic ruby. + +Oh, Psyche was so afraid of her! + +When Psyche wandered through the castle and suddenly saw +Emeralda coming, preceded by pages, torches, shield-bearers, and +maids-in-waiting, who bore her train, and a score of halberdiers, +then she was struck with fear, and hastily concealed herself behind a +door, a curtain, no matter where, and then Emeralda rustled by with a +great noise of satin and gold and all the trampling of her retinue, and +Psyche's heart beat loudly like a clock, tick! tick! tick! tick! till +she thought she would faint.... + +Then she shut her eyes so as not to see the cold, proud look of +Emeralda's green emeralds, which pierced through the curtains, and +saw Psyche well enough, though she pretended not to see her. And +when Emeralda was gone, then Psyche fled upstairs, high up on to the +battlements, fetched a deep breath, pressed her hands to her bosom, +and long afterwards her little wings trembled from fear. + +Astra, that was the name of the second princess. She wore a living +star upon her head; she was very wise and learned; she knew much more +than all the philosophers and learned men in the kingdom, who came +to her for counsel. + +She lived in the highest tower of the castle, and sometimes, along +the bars of her window, she saw clouds pass by, like spirits of +the mist. She never left the tower. She sat, surrounded by rolls of +parchment, gigantic globes, which she turned with a pressure of her +finger; and after hours of contemplation she described, with great +compasses, on a slab of black marble, circle after circle, or reckoned +out long sums, with numbers so great that no one could pronounce them. + +Sometimes she sat surrounded by the sages of the land, and the king +himself came and listened to his daughter, as in a low, firm voice +she explained things. But because she possessed all the wisdom of +the earth, she despised all the world, and she had had constructed on +the terrace of her tower a telescope, miles long, through which she +could look to every part of the illimitable firmament. And when the +sages were gone, and she was alone, then she went on to the terrace +and peered through the giant, which she turned to all the points of +the compass. Through the diamond lenses, cut without facets, she saw +new stars, unknown to men, and gave them names. + +Through the diamond lenses she saw sun systems, spirals of fire, +shrivel up through the illimitableness of the universe.... But she +kept gazing, for behind those sun systems, she knew, were other +spheres, other heavens, and there farther still, illimitably far, +was the Mystic Rose, which she could never see.... + +Sometimes, when Psyche wandered round the castle, she knocked +nervously, inquisitively at Astra's door, who graciously allowed her to +enter. When Astra stood before the board and reckoned out long sums, +Psyche looked very earnestly at her sister's star, which glistened +on her head, in her coal-black hair. Or she went on to the terrace +and peeped through the telescope, but she saw nothing but very bright +light, which made her eyes ache.... + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +In the evening, before she went to sleep, Psyche sought the king. + +A good hundred years old he was, his beard hung down to his girdle, +and generally he sat reading the historical scrolls of the kingdom, +which his ministers brought him every day. + +But in the evening Psyche climbed on to his knees and nestled in +his beard, or sat at his feet in the folds of his tabard, and the +scroll fell to the ground, and crumpled up, and the withered hand of +the mighty monarch stroked the head of his third child, the princess +with the little wings. + +"Father, dear," asked Psyche once; "why have I wings, and cannot fly?" + +"You need not fly, child; you are much safer with me than if you were +a little bird in the air." + +"But why then have I wings?" + +"I don't quite know, my child...." + +"Why have I wings, and Astra a living star upon her head, and Emeralda +eyes of jewels?" + +"Because you are princesses; they are different from other girls." + +"And why, dear father," whispered Psyche, secretly, "has Emeralda a +heart of ruby?..." + +"No child, that she has not. She has, it is true, eyes of emerald, +because she is a princess--as Astra has a star and you two pretty +wings--but she has a human heart." + +"No, father, dear, she has a heart of stone." + +"But who says so, my child?" + +"The nurse does, father, her own pages, the guards at the gates, +and the wise men who come to Astra." + +The king was very sad. He and his daughter looked deep into each +other's eyes, and embraced each other, for the king was sad, on +account of what he saw in the future, and Psyche was frightened: +she always trembled when she thought of Emeralda. + +"Little Psyche," said her old father, "will you now promise me +something?" + +"Yes, father, dear." + +"Will you always stay with me, little Psyche? You are safe here, +are you not? and the world is so great, the world is so wicked. The +world is full of temptation and mystery. Winged horses soar through +the air; gigantic sphinxes lurk in the deserts; devilish fauns roam +through the forests.... In the world, tears are shed, which form +brooks, and in the world people give away their noblest right for the +lowest pleasure.... Stay with me, Psyche, never wander too far away, +for under our castle glows the Nether-world!... And life is like a +princess, a cruel princess with a heart of stone...." + +Of precious stone, like Emeralda, thought Psyche to herself. Who rides +in triumph with her victorious chariot over the tenderest and dearest, +and presses them stone-dead into the deepest furrows of the earth.... + +"Oh, Psyche, little Psyche, promise me always to stay here in this +high and safe castle: always to stay with your father!" + +She did not understand him. + +His eyes, very large and animated, looked over her into space, with +inexpressible sadness. Then she longed to console him, and threw her +white arms round his neck; she hid herself, as it were, in his beard, +and she whispered playfully: + +"I will always stay with you, father dear...." + +Then he pressed her to his heart, and thought that he would soon +die.... + + + + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Psyche was often very lonely, but yet she had much: she had the +flowers, the birds; she had the butterflies, which thought that she +was a bigger sister; she had the lizards, with which she played, +and which, like little things of emerald, she held against her veil; +she had the swans in the deep castle moats, which followed her when +she walked on the ramparts; she had the clouds, which came floating +from distant islands and paradises beyond; she had the wind, which +sang her ballads; the rain, which fell down wet upon her and covered +her wings with pearls. She would gladly have played with the pages in +the halls, have laughed with the shield-bearers in the armoury, have +listened to the martial tales of the bearded halberdiers at the gates, +but she was a princess and knew she could not do that, and she always +walked past them with great dignity, maidenly modest in her fine, thin +veil, which left her tender limbs half exposed. That was the noble +Nakedness, which was her privilege as a princess, a privilege given +her at her cradle, together with her wings by the Fairy of Births, +as to Emeralda was given the Jewel and to Astra the Star. For never +might Psyche wear Jewel or Star, and never might Emeralda or Astra go +naked. Each princess had her own privilege, her birthright. Adorable +was Psyche as, unconscious of her maidenly, tender purity, she was seen +with her crimson glittering wings, naked in the folds of her veil, +walking past the armour-bearers and soldiers, who presented their +swords or halberds as the princess, nymph-white, stepped past them. + +Psyche was often very lonely, for her nurse was old and mumbled +over her spinning-wheel; playmates Psyche had not, because she was +a princess, and she would not get court-ladies till she was older +and more dignified. But with the birds and the clouds and the wind +Psyche could speak and laugh, and she was seldom dull, although she +sometimes wished she were no longer Princess of Nakedness with the +wings, but one of those very ordinary peasant-girls whom she had +seen milking the cows, or plucking the thick bunches of grapes in +the vineyard at harvest-time, whilst the pressers, handsome brown +lads with sturdy arms, encircled the girls and danced. + +But Psyche wandered along the ramparts; she looked at the clouds +and spoke with the wind, and she asked the wind to give flight to +her wings, so that she could fly far off to the opal landscapes that +kept shifting and changing. But the wind rushed away with a flapping +noise of wings that Psyche envied, and her own wings flapped a little, +but in vain. + +Psyche looked at the clouds. They floated along so stately in all +kinds of forms--in the forms of sheep, swans, horses--and the form +never remained: the seeming forms, thick-white in the blue ether, +were constantly changing. Now she saw three swans which were drawing +a boat, in which stood three women, who guided the swans; then she +saw the women become a tower, the swans a dragon; and from far, +far away came a knight, sitting on a winged horse. But now slowly +the scene changed into a flock of little silver-fleeced, downy sheep, +which were browsing far off in the sunshine as in a golden meadow. The +knight disappeared, but the horse glided nearer and flew on his wings, +high over the castle, towards the sheep. + +Then Psyche dreamed at night of the swans, the tower, the dragon, +the knight, the horse; but the horse she liked best, because it had +strong wings. And next morning she gazed from the battlements to see +if the horse would come again. + +But then the sky was either gloomy from the rain or blue from the +absence of clouds, or covered with white peacock's feathers, splendid +plumes, but motionless, far, far away in the air. The wind changed, +when she said: "Away! blow now from the East again! Begone, North +wind, with your dark perils, begone! Begone, West wind, with your +rain-urns! Begone, South wind, with your peacock's feathers! Come +now, wind from the East, with your treasures of luxurious visions, +ye dragons, ye horses, ye girls with swans!..." Then the clouds began +to shift, the winds to blow, and play an opera high up in the air, +and Psyche, enchanted, sat and gazed. + +Then after weeks, after she had missed it for weeks, came again the +winged horse. + +And she beckoned to it to approach, to descend to her; but it flew past +over the castle. Then she missed it again for many days, and, angry, +she looked at the sky and scolded the wind. But then the horse came +again, and, laughing, she beckoned to it. The horse ascended high, +its wings expanded in the air, and oh, wonder! it beckoned to her +to come up, up to it. She gave a sign that she could not, shook her +little shoulders helplessly, and, trembling, flapped her wings and +spread her arms wide out to say that she could not. And the horse +sped away on the breath of the wind from the East. + +Then Psyche wept, and, sad at heart, sat looking at the far, far-off +landscapes which she would never reach. + +But weeks afterwards the treasure-bringing wind blew again, and again +appeared the horse in the horizon, and it flew near and beckoned to +Psyche, her heart heavy with hope and fear.... The horse mounted up; +it beckoned to her.... She gave a sign that she could not; and oh! she +feared that it would speed away again, the horse with the strong wings. + +No ... no ... the horse descended! Then Psyche uttered a joyful cry, +sprang up, danced with delight and clapped her little hands. From the +lofty, lofty sky the horse came down, gliding on its broad wings. It +came down. + +And Psyche, the little, joyful, excited Psyche, saw it coming, coming +down to her. It descended--it approached. Oh, what a beautiful horse +it was! Greater than the greatest horses, and then with wings! Fair it +was, fair as the sun, with a long curly mane and long flowing tail, +like a streamer of sunny gold. The noble head on its arched neck +proudly raised and its eyes shone like fire, and a stream of breath +came from its expanded nostrils, cloud after cloud. Big, powerful, +muscular, its wings were stretched out like silvery quills, as +Psyche had never seen in a bird before. And its golden hoofs struck +the clouds and made them thunder; and sparks of fire shot forth in +the pure, clear daylight. Enraptured Psyche had never seen such a +beautiful horse before, never a bird so beautiful; and breathless, +with her head raised, she waited till it should descend, descend on the +terrace.... At last there it stood before her. Its nostrils steamed, +and its hoofs struck sparks from the basalt rock, and it waved its +mane and switched its tail. + +"Splendid, beautiful horse," said Psyche, "who are you?" + +"I am the Chimera," answered the horse, and his voice sounded deep +as the clang of a brazen clock. + +"Can you really speak?" asked Psyche, astonished. "And fly? Oh, +how happy you must be!!" + +"Why have you called me, little princess?" said the Chimera. + +"I wanted to see you quite near," replied Psyche. "I only saw you dart +like winged lightning through the air, so soon were you away again; +and I was always sorry when I could not see you any more. Then I +became, oh, so sad!" + +"And why did you want to see me quite near, little princess with +the wings?" + +"I find you so beautiful. I have never seen anything so beautiful; +I did not know that anything so beautiful existed. What are you? A +horse you are not. Nor a dragon either, nor a man. What are you?" + +"I am the Chimera." + +"Where do you come from?" + +"From far away. From the lands which are beyond the lands, from the +worlds beyond the worlds, from the heavens beyond the heavens." + +"Where are you going?" + +"Very far. Do you see those distant regions yonder, of silver +and opal? Well, thousands of times so far I am going.... I go from +illimitableness to illimitableness; I come from nothingness and I am +going to nothingness." + +"What is nothingness?" + +"Everything. Nothingness is as far as your brains can think, my little +princess; and then still farther, and nothingness is more than all +that you see from this high tower...." + +"Are you never tired?" + +"No, my wings are strong; I can bear all mankind on my back, and I +could carry them away to the stars behind the stars." + +"If Astra knew that!" + +"Astra knows it. But she does not want me. She reckons out the stars +with figures." + +"Why do you fly from one end to the other, O splendid Chimera? What +is your object? What are you for?" + +"What is your own object, little Psyche? What are you yourself for? For +what are flowers, men, the stars? Who knows?" + +"Astra...." + +"No, Astra knows nothing. Her knowledge is founded on a fundamental +error. All her knowledge is like a tower, which will fall down." + +"I should like to know much. I should like to know more. I should +like to seek far through the universe. I long for what is most +beautiful.... But I do not know what it is. Perhaps you yourself are +what is most beautiful, Chimera.... But why are you now spreading +out your wings?" + +"I must go." + +"So soon? Whence? Oh, why are you going so soon, splendid Chimera?" + +"I must. I must traverse illimitableness. I have already stayed here +too long." + +"Stay a little longer...." + +"I cannot. I may not." + +"Who compels you, O powerful horse, quick as lightning?..." + +"Power." + +"What is power?" + +"God...." + +"Who is God? Oh, tell me more! Tell me more! Don't go away yet! I want +to ask you so much, to hear so much. I am so stupid. I have longed +so for you. Now you have come, and now you want to go away again." + +"Do not ask me for wisdom; I have none. Ask the Sphinx for wisdom; +ask me for flight." + +"Oh, stay a little longer! Don't flap so with your flaming wings! Who +is the Sphinx? O Chimera, do not give me wisdom, but flight!" + +"Not now...." + +"When, then?" + +"Later...." + +"When is that?" + +"Farewell." + +"O Chimera, Chimera...!" + +The horse had already spread out his wings broad. He was ascending. But +Psyche suddenly threw both her arms round his neck and hung on to +his mane. + +"Let me go, little princess!" cried the horse. "I ascend quickly, +and you will fall, to be dashed to pieces on the rock! Loose me!" + +And slowly he ascended.... + +Psyche was afraid; she let go her arms; she became dizzy, fell against +the pinnacle, and bruised one of her wings. That pained her ... but +she heeded it not; the horse was already high in the air, and she +followed his track with her eyes.... + +"He is gone," thought she. "Will he come again? Or have I seen him +for the first and last time?" + +"As a dream he came from far-off regions, and to still farther +regions he has gone.... Oh, how dull the world seems! How dead is +the horizon! And how dizzy I feel.... My wing pains me...." + +With her hand she smoothed the wrinkle out of her wing; she stroked +it till it was smooth again, and tears ran down her cheeks. + +"Horrid wings! They cannot fly, they cannot follow the strong +Chimera! I'm in such trouble, such trouble!! But ... no.... Is that +trouble? Is that happiness? I know not.... I am very happy...! I am +so sorrowful.... How beautiful he was! how strong, how sleek, how +splendid, how quick, how wise, how noble, how broad his wings! how +broad his wings!! How weak I am compared to him.... A child, a weak +child; a weak, naked child with little wings.... O Chimera, my Chimera, +O Chimera of my desire, come back! Come back!! Come back!! I cannot +live without you; and if you do not come again, Chimera, then I will +not live any longer lonely in this high castle. I will throw myself +into the cataract...." + +She stood up, her eyes looking eagerly into the empty air. She +pressed her hands to her bosom, she wept, and her wings trembled as +if from fever. + +Then suddenly she saw the king, her father, sitting at the bow-window +of his room. He did not see her, he was reading a scroll. But anxious +lest he should see her trouble, her despair, and longing desire, +she fled, along the battlements, the ramparts, through the passages +and halls of the castle, till she came to the tower, where her nurse +sat at her spinning-wheel, and then she fell down at the feet of the +old woman and sobbed aloud. + +"What is it, darling?" asked the old crone, frightened. "Princess, +what is it?" + +"I have hurt my wing!" sobbed Psyche. + +And she showed the nurse the wrinkle in her wing, which was not yet +quite gone. + +Then, with soothing voice and wrinkled hand, the old nurse slowly +stroked the painful wing till it became smooth. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The old king, assisted by pages, sat down slowly on his throne; +his ministers and courtiers gathered round him. Then there was a +great rustling of satin and gold, and in came Emeralda, the Princess +Royal, the Princess of the Jewel, as her title ran: first pages, +life-guards, and then she herself, glittering with splendour, in +her dress of silver-coloured silk; her bosom blazed with emeralds, +a tiara of emeralds adorned her temples; her red-golden tresses, +intertwined with emeralds, fell in three-fold plaits down each side +of her face, from which the eyes of emerald looked proud, soulless, +ice-cold, and arrogant. Court-ladies bore her train. A great retinue of +halberdiers surrounded her jewelled majesty, and as she passed along, +the trembling courtiers bowed lower to her than they did to the king, +because they were in deadly fear of her. + +Astra, with dragging step, followed her. She wore a dress of azure +covered with stars, a white mantle full of stars, and her living star +sparkled in her coal-black hair. + +The sages of the country surrounded her: grey-haired men in +velvet tabards, with very long silver beards, dim eyes, and wise, +close-pressed lips. + +The two princesses sat down on either side of the throne. + +And for a moment the middle space of the hall between the waiting +crowd remained empty. But then appeared Psyche, the third daughter, +the Princess of Nakedness with the wings! Shyly she approached, looking +right and left, with the laugh of a child. She was naked: only a golden +veil was tied in a fold round her hips. Her wings were spread out +like a butterfly's. She had no retinue: only her old nurse followed +her; and she was so pretty and charming that people forgot to bow as +she passed along, that the courtiers smiled and whispered, full of +admiration, because she was so beautiful in her pure chastity. Slowly +she walked along, shy and laughing a little; then close to the throne, +where her father saw her approaching hesitatingly, her bare foot got +entangled in her trailing golden veil, and to ascend the steps she +lifted it up, knelt down, and kissed the king's hand. + +Then calmly she sat down on a cushion at his feet, and was no longer +shy. She looked round inquisitively and nodded a greeting here and +there, child as she was, till all at once, to the right of the throne, +she met the emerald look of Emeralda, and started and shivered; +a cold thrill shot through her limbs, and she hid herself in the +ermine of her father's mantle to be safe and warm. + +Then there was a flourish of trumpets, and at the door of the Hall +heralds announced Prince Eros, the youthful monarch of the Present. He +came in all alone. He was as beautiful as a god, with light-brown +hair and light-brown eyes. He wore a white suit of armour over a +silver shirt of mail, and his whole presence portrayed simplicity +and intelligence. + +The courtiers were astonished at his coming without a suite; Emeralda +laughed scornfully aside with one of her court-ladies. She did not +find him a king, that plain youth in his plain dress. But Eros had +now approached and bowed low before the mighty monarch, and the latter +bade him welcome with fatherly condescension. + +Then spoke the prince: + +"Mighty Majesty of the Past, accept my respectful thanks for your +welcome. Diffident I come to your throne, for I am young in years, +have little wisdom, little power. You reign over an extensive kingdom, +the horizon of which is lost in illimitableness. I reign over a +country that is not larger than a garden. From my humble palace, +that is like a country-house, I can survey all my territory. Your +Majesty possesses lands and deserts, which you do not know. I know +every flower in my beds. And that your Majesty, in spite of my poverty +and insignificance, receives me with much honour and acknowledges me +as sovereign in my kingdom, fills my heart with joy. Will your Majesty +permit me to kneel and pay my homage to you as an obedient vassal?" + +Then the old king nodded to Psyche, and the princess rose, because +Eros was about to kneel. + +Then said the king: "Amiable Eros, I love you as a son. Tell me, +have you any wish that I can satisfy? If so, then it is granted you." + +Then said Eros: "Your Majesty makes my heart rejoice by saying that you +love me as a son. Well, then, my greatest joy would be to marry one +of the noble princesses, who are your Majesty's daughters. But I am +a poor prince, and whilst confessing to your Majesty my bold desire, +I fear that you may think me too arrogant in presuming to cherish a +wish that aims so high...." + +"Noble prince," said the king, "you are poor, but of high birth and +divine origin, higher and more divine than we. You are descended from +the god Eros; we from his beloved Psyche. The history of the gods is +to be read in the historical rolls of our kingdom. It would make my +heart rejoice if you found a spouse in one of my princesses. But they +are free in their choice, and you will have to win their love. Permit +me, therefore, first of all to present to you my eldest daughter, +the Princess Royal, Princess of the Jewel: Emeralda...." + +Emeralda rose, and bowed with a scornful sneer. + +"And," continued the monarch, "in the second place, to my wise Astra, +Princess of the Star...." + +Astra rose and bowed, her look far away, as if lost in contemplation. + +"And would Emeralda permit me to sue for her love and her hand?" asked +the prince. + +"Majesty of the Present," replied Emeralda, "my father says that you +are of more divine origin than we. I, your humble slave, consider +it therefore too great an honour that you should be willing to +raise me to your side upon your throne. And I accept your homage, +but on one condition. That condition is: That you seek for me the +All-Sacred Jewel, Jewel of Mystery, the name of which may not be +uttered, the noble stone of Supremacy. The legends respecting this +jewel are innumerable, inexplicable and contradictory. But the Jewel +exists. Tell me, ye wise men of the land--tell me, Astra, my sister, +does the Jewel exist?" + +"It exists!" said Astra. + +"It exists!" said all the wise men after her. + +"It exists!" repeated Emeralda. "Prince, I dare ask much of you, but I +ask you the greatest thing that our soul and ambition can think of. If +you find me beautiful and love me, then seek, and bring me the Jewel, +and I will be your wife, and together we shall be the most powerful +monarchs in the world." + +The prince bowed, and with imperceptible irony said: + +"Royal Highness of the Jewel, your words breathe the splendour of +yourself, and I will weigh them in my mind. Your beauty is dazzling, +and to reign with you over the united kingdoms of the Past and the +Present, appears to me indeed a divine happiness...." + +"For other kingdoms exist not," added Astra, and the wise men repeated +her words. + +"Yes," murmured the king. "There is another kingdom...." + +"What kingdom?" asked all. + +"The kingdom of the Future," said the king, in a low tone. + +Emeralda laughed scornfully. Astra looked compassionately. The wise +men glanced at each other; the courtiers shook their heads. + +"The king is getting old," they whispered. "The mind of His Majesty +often wanders," muttered the ministers. + +"Our monarch has always had much imagination," said the wise men. "He +is a poet...." + +But then spoke the prince. + +"And you, wise Astra, Royal Highness of the Star, will you, like +Emeralda, allow me to sue for your hand and heart?" + +"Most willingly, Prince Eros!" said Astra, with a far-off look and +in a vague tone. "But I have conditions to make as well as Emeralda, +the Princess Royal. Will you hear them? Then listen. If you see any +chance of lengthening my telescope, of strengthening the lenses, that +I can see through them to the confines of the universe, to the last +sun-system, to the Mystic Rose, to the Godhead Himself, then I will +be your wife, and together we shall be the most powerful beings of the +world, because then we are omniscient. For the universe is limited...." + +"The universe is limited!" said the wise men, after her. + +"Endless is the universe!" said the king, in a subdued voice. + +The people laughed and shook their heads. "The king is getting very +old," was repeated everywhere. + +"The king will soon die," prophesied the wise men, in a low tone. "He +speaks like an old man, without reason; he will soon die...." + +"Royal Highness of the Star," said the prince, "your words, pregnant +with wisdom, I will also consider. For to be omniscient must indeed +be the greatest power. But your Majesty has a third princess," he +continued, addressing the king. "Where is she?" + +"She is here," said the king. "She is the Princess of Nakedness with +the wings. But she is still a child, Prince...." + +Psyche blushed and bowed. + +The prince looked long at her. Then he said to her, gently: "Your +Highness is called Psyche? You have the name of the ancestress of your +race, as I have the name of the god who begot mine. Is it not true?" + +"I believe so," murmured Psyche, embarrassed. + +"She is still a child, prince--forgive her!" repeated the king. + +"Will your Majesty not permit me to ask for the hand and heart of +your third daughter, the princess?" + +"Certainly, prince; but she is still so young.... If she leaves me I +shall be very sad. But if she loves you, then I will give her up to +you, for then she will be happy...." + +"Tell me, Psyche, will you be my wife?" + +Psyche blushed exceedingly. Her naked limbs blushed, her wings blushed. + +"Prince," said she hesitatingly and looked bashfully at her father, +"you do me much honour. But my sisters are more beautiful and wiser +than I. And my father would miss me if I went with you to the kingdom +of the Present." + +"But tell me, Psyche, what conditions do you impose upon me?" + +Psyche hesitated. She was about to exclaim joyfully: "Catch me the +Chimera, bind him in a meadow to graze, and give me power over him, +that I may mount his back and fly through the air as I like." + +But she durst not before the whole court and her father. And so she +only stammered: "None, prince...." + +"Could you love me?" + +"I don't know, prince...." + +Psyche was shy. She kept blushing, and all at once began to tremble +and weep. + +And she looked round to the king, fled to his arms, hid her face in +his beard and sobbed. + +"Prince Eros," said the king, "forgive her. You see she is a +child. Seek for Emeralda's Jewel, or seek for Astra the Glass which +will bring to view the confines of the universe; but leave me my +youngest child." + +Then the prince bowed. An indescribable sadness rose in his soul, +like a sea. And pale he stammered, "I obey your Majesty." + +Then the king descended from his throne and embraced the prince. And +whilst the fanfares sounded, he put his arm through the arm of Eros, +took Psyche by the hand, and conducted his guest to the banquet, +the princesses following, surrounded by the whole court. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +For days had Psyche watched in vain, and all hope died out of her +heart. + +But one windy morning--the thick white clouds were speeding through +the air--she saw the desire of her heart again. Far away appeared a +cloud, but as it drew nearer it became a horse: it was the Chimera. + +She beckoned to it, and the Chimera came down. + +"What do you want, little Psyche?" + +She clasped her hands imploringly. "Take me with you...." + +"You will become dizzy...." + +"No, no...." + +He descended, stamping on the basalt rock; the terrace shook, sparks +flew up, and the steam of his breath shot out in clouds. + +"Take me with you," she implored. + +"Where do you wish to go?" + +"To the islands of opal and silver." + +"They are too far away." + +"Take me, then, nearer to them; take me with you where you will." + +"Are you not afraid?" + +"No." + +"Will you hold fast to my neck?" + +"Yes, oh yes!" + +"Come, then...." + +She uttered a cry of joy. He bent his knees, and she got up with a +beating, thumping heart. Between his flaming wings, on his broad, +broad back, she sat almost as safe as in a nest of silver feathers. + +"Trust not to my wings," he warned her; "I move them at every +stroke. They open and shut, open and shut. Hold fast on to my +neck. Clasp my mane. If you are not frightened and do not become giddy +and sick, you will not fall, however high I go. Do you dare, Psyche?" + +"Yes." + +She fastened his mane round her waist, as if it were strong rope of +golden flax. She put her arms round his neck. + +"I am ready," she said courageously. + +He ascended, very slowly, with his broad wings. Under him, under her, +the terrace sank away. + +She shut her eyes, she held her breath, and the blood left her +heart. Under her the castle sank away. + +"Stop!" she implored. "I am dying...." + +"I thought so, Psyche. You are much too weak. You cannot go up +with me...." + +She opened her eyes slightly. She sat on his back in the silver +down, where his quills clave to his light-gold loins. And round her, +circles of light revolved, one after the other, and made her dizzy. + +"Descend!" she implored. "Oh, descend! I cannot endure it. I have no +breath; I am dying." + +He descended.... He stood on the terrace. She slid along his wing to +the ground. She put her hands before her face, and when she opened +her eyes she was alone. + +Then she was very, very sad. But next day, he appeared again. And, +more courageous, she wished to mount him again. He let her do as she +desired, and she got on his back. She shut her eyes, but smiled. He +went higher and higher with her, without her saying "Descend." She +travelled for a time high up in the air, she opened her eyes and kept +smiling; she got accustomed to the rarefied air. The third time he +soared away with her; she saw, far below, the royal castle, small +as a toy, towers, ramparts; and then she realised for the first time +that she had left the castle. + +She thought of the king. + +"Take me back!" she said to the horse commandingly. + +He obeyed her. He took her back. But as soon as he was gone, she +longed again for him and the lofty air. And she had but one thought, +the Chimera. She no longer cared for the flowers which she had planted +between the walls, and the flowers withered. She no longer cared for +the swans, and the swans, neglected, followed her in vain, in the +green moats; she forgot to crumble bread for them. And she looked +at the clouds and she gazed at the wind, thinking only of him, the +light-gold horse with the silver wings, because he came on the wind, +on the clouds, which thundered when he struck with his hoofs. + +On the day that he did not come, her fair Chimera, she sat pale and +lonely, gazing from the battlements, her eyes far away, her arms round +her knees. In the evening she nestled in the king's beard, in the +folds of his tabard, but she durst not tell him that she had ridden +a wondrous winged horse and flown with him through the air. But on +the days that her beloved horse had come and taken her away with him, +carefully flapping his wings, her face shone with golden happiness in +the apotheosis of her soul, and through the gloomy halls, where sacred +spiders, which were never disturbed, wove their webs, rang Psyche's +high voice, and from the faded gobelin the low vault and the motionless +iron knights strangely re-echoed the words of her joyous song. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +"Psyche, where do you wish to go?" + +"To the opal islands, to the seas of light, to the far-off luminous +streaks...." + +"Take a deep breath; hold fast on to my neck; twist my mane more +tightly round your hand, then we will begin our journey." + +The clouds sent forth a rumbling sound of thunder; the Chimera's +hoofs shot fire; his wings expanded and shut, and his strong feathers +rustled in the air. + +Psyche uttered a cry. + +She had ascended higher than ever before, and under them sank away +the castle, the meadows, the woods, the cities, and the river; under +them, like a map, lay stretched out province after province, desert +after desert, the whole Kingdom of the Past. How great it was! how +great it was! The frontiers receded from view again and again; +far down below rose up town after town; river after river meandered +along, mountain-ranges rose up one after the other, now only slightly +elevated, then rising arabesquely through the plains. Then there were +great waters like oceans, and Psyche saw nothing but white foaming +sea. But on the other side of it began again the strand, the land, +the wood, the meadows, the mountains, and so on endlessly.... + +"How much farther away are the opal islands, the streaks of light I +see in the distance, my beloved Chimera?" + +"We have already passed them...." + +She raised her head, bent over his streaming neck, and gazed about her. + +"But I do not see them any longer!" she said, astonished. "I see +wood and meadow, towns and mountains.... Is the world, then, the same +everywhere? Where are the opal islands?" + +"Behind us...." + +"But I do not see them.... Have we passed them without my seeing +them? O naughty Chimera, you did not tell me!" + +"And where are the luminous streaks of the far-off land?" + +"We are going through them...." + +"I see nothing.... Below, land; around, clouds, as everywhere. But +no lands of light.... And yet there, in the distance, very far +away--what is that, Chimera? I see, as it were, a purple desert on +a sea of golden water, with winding borders of soft mother-of-pearl; +in the desert are oases like pale emerald, palms with silvery waving +tops, azure bananas; and over the purple desert trills ether of light +crimson, with streaks of topaz.... Chimera, Chimera, what is that +country? What is that beautiful country? The golden sea with its foam +forms a pearly fringe along the shore; the palms wave their tops to +a rhythm of aerial music, and the bananas, blue, pink, glow in the +ether till all is light there...! Chimera, is that the rainbow?" + +"No...." + +"Chimera, is that the land of happiness? Is that the kingdom of +happiness? Chimera, are you king there?" + +"Yes, that is my country. And I am king there." + +"Are we going thither?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you remain there, Chimera? Do we remain there together?" + +"No...." + +"Why not?" + +"As soon as I have reached my purple land, I must go farther ... and +then back again." + +"O Chimera, I will not go back! I will forget everything--my father, +my country. I will remain there with you!" + +"I cannot.... But now pay great attention; we are approaching my +kingdom, little Psyche. Look! now we are going over the sea, now we +are approaching the shore, lined with soft mother-of-pearl." + +"The sea is a dirty green, like an ordinary sea; the borders are +sand.... You are deceiving me, Chimera! As soon as we approach, +then you charm away everything that I saw beautiful." + +"Now, under us is the purple desert; under us are the oases of pale +emerald." + +"You are deceiving me, Chimera! The desert glows in the strong sun, +the oases fade away to nothing, like a meteor.... Chimera!" + +"What, Psyche?" + +"Where are you going?" + +"To the land, as far off as you can see...." + +"I care not about it! You always deceive me! You carry me away through +endless space, and everything beautiful that I see disappears from +my view. But yet ... there, behind the horizon, behind the sand of +the desert, is a dazzling scene.... Are those silver grottos on a +sea of light? Does the light there wave like water? Are those groves +of light, cities of light, in a land of light? Tell me, Chimera, +do people of light live there? Is that Paradise?" + +"Yes, will you go thither?" + +"Yes, oh yes, Chimera. There is happiness, the highest happiness, +and there I will remain with you...!" + +"We are now approaching it...." + +"Let that land of light now stay, the paradise of glowing sunshine; +do not charm away the land of happiness, O naughty Chimera: go to it +now with me, and descend with me...." + +"We are there...." + +"Descend...." + +He descended. + +"Have we not yet reached the ground of light?" + +"Look below: can you see nothing...?" + +She looked along his wing. + +"I see nothing...! It is night.... It is dark.... Chimera!!!" + +"What, little Psyche?" + +"Where is the land of silver light, the land of the people of +light? Where is it gone?" + +"Do you not see it?" + +"No...." + +"Then it is gone...." + +"Whither?" + +"Behind us, under us...." + +"Why did you not descend sooner?" + +"My flight was too quick, and I could not, Psyche...." + +"You are deceiving me! You could have done so. You would not.... Now +... now it is night, pitch dark, starless night.... There is an icy +coldness in the air.... O Chimera, take me back...!!" + +He turned with a swing of his powerful wings. And as he turned, +the lightning broke forth and darted zigzag through the air, like +smooth-bright electric swords; the black clouds parted asunder with +a violent peal of thunder like the clapping of cymbals, a storm of +wind arose, the rain fell down in torrents...! + +"O Chimera, take me back!" + +She threw herself on to his neck; she hid her face in his mane, +and through the bursting storm, whilst at every blow of his hoofs it +lightened round them, he winged his way, back with her to her country: +the Kingdom of the Past, inky there, in the inky night.... + + + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +The old king was dead. + +Black flags hung from the three hundred towers, and cast their dark +shadows below. + +A dim light fell through the bow-windows into the castle, for the +three hundred flags obscured the sun. + +With funeral music, that made the heart feel sad, the procession, +with long flickering torches, followed the king's coffin down the +steps to the deep vaults below. + +The priests, in black, prayed in Latin; the court, in black, sang +the litany; and the princesses, in black, sang alternately a long +Latin sentence.... + +Behind the coffin walked, first, Emeralda; behind her, Astra her +sister; and then little Psyche, wrapped in her black veil. Emeralda +sang with a voice of crystal; Astra, distracted, was too late in +answering; and Psyche's voice trembled when she had to sing alone +the long monotonous sentence.... + +There, in the deepest vault, they placed the coffin, next to the coffin +of the king's father, and kneeling round it, they prayed. The low Roman +vaults receded in impenetrable darkness. They sang and prayed the whole +live-long day, and Psyche was very tired; and whilst she was kneeling, +her little knees quite stiff, she fell asleep against the coffin of +her father. Her last thought had been to kiss the dear old face for the +last time, but she felt nothing but the goldsmith's work, and the great +round jewels that were in it hurt her head.... Then she fell asleep.... + +And when the court had prayed, and all went up the steps again, there +above, to do homage to Emeralda, as queen of the Kingdom of the Past, +they all forgot Psyche. + +Long, long she slept.... + +And when she awoke, she did not know at first where she was. + +Then by the light of the long torches she espied the coffin. + +And through the crystal of the sarcophagus she saw the dead face of +the king, and pressed a kiss upon the glass. + +"Dear father!" she whispered, trembling, "why have you gone? I am +now quite alone! Of Emeralda I am afraid, and Astra does not think +of me; she only thinks of the stars. Father, dear, forgive me! I +have deceived you. I have travelled through the air on the back +of the flying horse. But father, dear, the horse is beautiful, +and I love the Chimera! O father dear, I have deceived you, and +now I am alone, and I have nobody who cares for me! You are dead, +father, and embalmed, and shut up in gold and crystal and jewels, +and do not hear your little Psyche. You do not think of your little +daughter. Alone! alone! Awe-inspiring is the castle; three hundred +towers rise high up in the air. I have never been in all the three +hundred, however much I have wandered. O father, father, why have +you left me? Who is there to love me now? who to protect me now in +the world? Father, farewell! I will not stay here; I will go away! I +will leave the castle. Great is the world and wicked, but Emeralda +is powerful and I am afraid of her. If I remain, she will drive me +away with her look and shut me up all my life, and my wings I shall +break against the unbreakable lattice. + +"Father, farewell! I will not remain here. I will +flee! Whither? Whither shall I flee? I do not know. O father, dear, +alone your child remains in the great, unsafe world! Alone! alone! O +father, farewell, farewell! and forever!" + +She rose, she shivered. The dark vaults receded more and more. By the +light of the long torches she saw the sacred spiders, which wove web +after web; they were never disturbed. + +"Sacred spider!" said Psyche to a big fat one, with a cross on its +back, "tell me where I must go." + +"You cannot flee," replied the spider, high up in the dark vault, in +the middle of its web. "Everything is as it is; everything becomes as +it was; happens as it happens; all goes to dust. Every day sinks into +the deep vaults of the dark pits under us; under us everything becomes +the Past, and everything comes into the power of Emeralda. As soon as +anything is, it has been, and is in the power of Emeralda. Seek not +to flee--that is vanity; submit to your lot. The best thing is that +you become one of us, a sacred spider, and weave your web. For our +web is sacred; our web is indisturbable; and with all our webs, one +for the other, we serve the princess and protect her treasures--the +treasures of the Past, which behind our weaving go to dust." + +"But if they go to dust, of what value are they?" + +"Foolish child, dust is everything. The Past is dust; remembrance +is dust. Everything becomes dust; love, jewels--all becomes dust, +and the sacred dust we watch over behind our webs. Become a spider +like us, weave your web, and be wise." + +"But I live. I am young, I desire, I love, and I cannot bury myself +in dust.... Oh, tell me whither I must flee!" + +The spider laughed scornfully, and moved its eight legs with great +impatience. + +"Ask me not about the places of the world--the regions of the +wind. I sit here and spin. I am holy. I watch over the treasure of +the throne. Disturb me no more with your frivolity, and let not your +wings get entangled in the rays of my web, although you are not a moth, +but princess of the Kingdom of the Past...." + +Psyche was frightened. The spider reverenced her because she was +a princess, but coveted with his wicked instinct.... And she drew +back. She cast a last look at the dead face of her father, and fled up +the hundred steps. In every corner sat the sacred spiders and moved +their legs. Shuddering, she fled on. Whither? She thought of her +love, the light-gold Chimera, but nowhere could he be with her for +ever. She glided with him through the air, and he brought her back +to the castle. His lot was to fly restlessly through the air. Oh, +were she but a Chimera like him, had she but two strong wings instead +of princesses' wings, she would have gone with him everywhere...! + +Whither? Above, from the enthronement-hall, came the sounds of joyful +music. There Emeralda was being crowned. Whither?? She fled to the +terrace.... Oh, if Emeralda missed her, how angry she would be! She +would think that Psyche refused to do her homage. She could never +return. Farewell, flowers, swans, doves! + +The three hundred flags obscured the light. She would never be able to +see the Chimera coming. Oh, if he came and she did not see him, and +did not beckon to him, and he flew past! He was her only safety! If +needs be, she would wait for days together on the battlements. But +if Emeralda sent to search for her! Oh, if she did, then there was +the cataract; then she would throw herself headlong down, for ever, +for ever, into the rushing water with its rainbow colours! + +A wind arose. That was the wind that brought her beloved. The flags +flapped and impeded her view. And although she saw nothing, she +beckoned as in despair, and called out: + +"Chimera, Chimera!" + + + + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It lightened. It thundered. Suddenly between the black flags the +horse descended. + +"What is it, little Psyche?" + +"Take me with you." + +"Where?" + +"Where you like. Take me somewhere. My father is dead. Emeralda +reigns. I dare not stay here any longer." + +"Get up...." + +She got up. He flew away with her. He flew with her the whole day. The +sun set; the stars glistened in the dark firmament; and he flew +back. Again they approached the castle. The day began to dawn. + +"Fly past!" she entreated. + +He flew on. Under her she could just see the castle, small as a toy; +the three hundred towers, where green flags now fluttered because +Emeralda reigned. He flew on. + +"Chimera!" she cried. "I love you; you are the most beautiful, most +glorious creature that I have ever beheld. Safe I lie upon your back, +tied to your mane, my arms round your neck. But I am tired. I am +dizzy. I am cold. Put me down somewhere.... Can you not rest with +me in a beautiful valley, amongst flowers, near a brook? Are you +not thirsty? Are you not tired, and never dizzy and cold? Will you +not graze and lie in a meadow? Do you never, never rest? Chimera, +I love you so! But why this restless flying from East to West, from +West to East?" + +"I must do it, little Psyche." + +"Chimera, descend somewhere. Stay somewhere with me. I am tired, +I am cold. I want to go to sleep on a bed of moss, under the shade +of trees; sleep there with me." + +"I cannot. My lot is to fly through the air, apparently without an +object, but yet with an object; and what that is, I do not know." + +"But what then does the Power want? You fly through the air; the spider +spins its web; Emeralda reigns over dust; everything is as it is. Oh, +life is comfortless! Chimera, I can hold out no longer! I love you +with all my soul, but if you do not descend, then I will loose the +knots of your mane, I will let go my arms that are so tired, and then +I shall fall down into nothingness...." + +"Hold out a little longer. Yonder is the purple desert...." + +"Oh, that is beautiful!" she exclaimed. "But you fly past it, always +past it...!" + +"Do you want to rest, Psyche?" + +"Oh, yes...." + +"Then I will descend.... Hold out a little longer." She held him tight, +and looked about. He plied his wings with a rapidity that made her +dizzy; they blew a wind round Psyche.... + +In the air there loomed the purple sands on the golden sea, with a +pearly border of foam; the azure bananas, which waved their tops in +the light-pink ether.... + +Psyche held her breath.... "Would he descend there...?" + +Yes, indeed, he was descending ... he was descending. The purple, +she thought, grew pale as soon as he descended; the sea was no longer +golden, the foliage no longer blue.... But yet, yet it was beautiful, +a dream-conceit, an enchanted land, and he was descending. With his +broad wings he glided down. Now he stood still, snorting his breath +in a cloud of steam. She glided gently down his back on to the sand, +and laughed, and gave a sigh of relief! + +"Rest now, here, Psyche!" said he dejectedly, and the quiver in his +bronze-sounding voice startled her; she laughed no more. + +"Rest now. Look! here are dates, and there is a spring. The soft +violet night is rapidly spreading over the sky and cooling the too warm +air. A few pale stars are already glistening. Now quench your thirst; +now refresh yourself and rest.... This is a pleasant oasis. Now sleep, +little Psyche. To-morrow will soon be here.... Farewell!" + +She looked at him with wondering eyes. She threw herself on his broad, +powerful, heaving breast, and round his arched neck she threw her +trembling arms. + +"What...? What do you say, Chimera?" she asked, pale with fear. "What +are you going to do? What do you mean? Surely you will rest here with +me in the soft violet night and amongst the blue flowers? With me you +will refresh yourself with dates and water? You will let me sleep in +the shadow of your wings, and watch over me during the dreadful night?" + +"No, little Psyche. I am going farther and farther, and then I will +return. Then after weeks ... after months, perhaps, you will see me +again in the air...." + +"You will forsake me? Here in the desert?" + +"Take courage, little Psyche: you are now too tired to fly farther +with me through the air. You would slip from my back and fall into +nothingness. Here is a pleasant oasis; here are dates and a murmuring +stream...." + +She uttered a cry; her sobs choked her. She uttered a second, which +frightened the hyenas far away in the desert and made them prick up +their ears. She uttered a third, which rent the night-air, and the +stars quivered from sympathy. + +"Alone!" she cried, and wrung her hands. "Alone! O Chimera, you will +leave me alone with dates and brook! and I thought ... and still hoped, +that you would stay with me, king in your country of the rainbow! + +"Alone! you will leave me alone in a sandy desert, in nothing but sand, +sand in the night, with a single tree and a handful of water! Alone! O +Chimera, you cannot do that...! For I love you; I adore you with all +my soul, and shall die of grief and tears, Chimera, if you fly away +from me! I love you; I worship your golden eyes, your voice of bronze, +your steaming breath, your panting flanks, your mane, to which I bound +myself, your flaming wings, which carried me far, farther and farther +... to this place...! O Chimera, lay down your smoking limbs in the +shadow of the night; lay your noble head in my arms and my bosom, and +together we will rest, and to-morrow fly away farther, united forever!" + +"I cannot, O little Psyche. I too love you, sweet burden which lay +between my wings--little butterfly with weak wings, that lent strength +to my flight; but now...." + +"But now--O Chimera, but now...?" + +"But now I must go, continue my lonely journey to and fro, without +knowing why.... Farewell, little Psyche, hope in life, hope in the +morrow...." + +He spread his wings, his limbs quivered, he ascended into the air. + +She wrung her arms, her hands. She sobbed, she sobbed.... + +"Have pity!!" she implored. "Pity, pity! What have I done? Why do you +punish me so? My God, what have I done? I have trusted, hoped, given +my soul in happiness.... Is happiness then punished? Is it not good +to hope, to trust, and to love? Ought I then to have mistrusted and +hated? What do I ask? He no longer hears me! What do I care for the +problems of life! Him I love, and in me is nothing but my love and +despair, and round me is the desert and the night, and now ... now +I must die!" + +She sobbed, and her tears flowed. She was alone. Around her loomed +the night, around her stretched the sands as far as the perceptible +horizon. And above her glistened the stars. + +And she wept. Her grief was too great for her little soul. She wept. + +"Alone!" she sobbed. "Alone...! I will not quench my thirst, I will +not refresh myself, nor will I sleep. I am tired, but I will go on...." + +On she went, and wept. In the night she walked on through the sand, +and she wept. She wept from fear and despair. And she wept so, her +tears flowed so many down her cheeks that they fell, her tears, like +drops, great and warm, deep into the sand. Her tears flowed down into +the sand. And she wept, she kept weeping, and as she went along ... her +tears did not stop. Then in the sand, her tears so warm and so great, +formed little lakes. And as she went and kept going on and weeping, +the little lakes flowed into one another, and behind her flowed a +stream of tears. Meandering after her flowed her tears. And on she +went in the night and wept.... After her, meandered faithfully the +stream of her tears.... And she thought of her lost happiness.... He +had forsaken her.... Why...? She had loved him so, still loved him +so.... Oh, she would always love him so--always, always! + +And in her love she did not scold him. For she loved him and scolded +not. She longed for no revenge, for she loved him.... + +"That was fate," she thought, weeping. "He could not do anything +else. He was obliged...." + +She wept. And oh! she was so tired, so tired of the wide sky, so tired +of the wide sand! Then she thought she could go no farther, and should +fall into the stream of her tears.... But before her a lofty shadow +fell with gloomy darkness on the violet night. She looked up, and +had to strain her neck to see to the top of the shadow. The shadow +was round above, and then tapered off behind.... But she wept so, +that she did not see.... Then with her hand she wiped away the tears +from her eyes, and gazed.... The shadow was awful, like that of an +awfully great beast. And she kept wiping away her tears, which formed +a pool around her, and gazed.... + +Then she saw. She saw, squatting in the sand, a terribly great beast +like a lion, immovable. The beast was as great as a castle, high as a +tower; its head reached to the stars. But its head was the head of a +woman, slender, enveloped in a basalt veil, which fell down, right and +left, along her shoulders. And the woman's head stood on the breast +of a woman, two breasts of a gigantic woman, of basalt. But the body, +that squatted down in the sand, was a lion, and the forepaws protruded +like walls. + +The night shone. The sultry night shone with diamonds over the +horizonless desert. And in the starlight night the beast, terrible, +rested there, half-woman, half-lion, squatting in the sand, its +paws extended and its breasts and woman's head protruding, gigantic, +reaching to the stars. Her basalt eyes stared straight before her. Her +mouth was shut and so were the basalt lips, which would never speak. + +Psyche stood before the beast. Around her was the night; around her was +the sand; above her the diamond, shining stars. Silently shuddering +and full of awe, stood Psyche. Then she thought: "It must be she, +the Sphinx...." + +She wept. Her tears flowed; she stood in the stream of her tears, +which, winding along, followed her. And weeping, she lifted up her +voice, small in the night--the voice of a child that speaks in the +illimitable. + +"Awful Sphinx," she said, "make me wise. You know the problem of +life. I pray you solve it to me, and let me no longer weep...." + +The Sphinx was silent. + +"Sphinx," continued Psyche, "open your stony lips. Speak! Tell me the +riddle of life. I was born a princess, naked, with wings; I cannot +fly. The light-gold Chimera, the splendid horse with the silver wings, +came down to me, took me away with him in wanderings through the air, +and I loved him. He has left me--me, a child--alone in the desert, +alone in the night. Tell me why? If I know, I shall--perhaps--weep no +more. Sphinx, I am tired. I am tired of the air, tired of the sand, +tired from crying. And I cannot stop; I keep on crying. If you do +not speak to me, Sphinx, then I will drown you, gigantic as you are, +in my tears. Look at them flowing around me; look at them rippling at +your feet like a sea. Sphinx, they will rise above your head. Sphinx, +speak!" + +The Sphinx was silent. + +The Sphinx, with stony eyes, looked away into the night of diamond +stars. Her basalt lips remained closed. + +And Psyche wept. Then she cast a look at the stars. + +"Sacred Stars," she murmured, "I am alone. My father is dead. The +Chimera has gone. The Sphinx is silent. I am alone, and afraid and +tired. Sacred Stars, watch over me. See my tears no longer flow; +for this night they are exhausted.... I can cry no more. I will go +to sleep, here, between the feet of the Sphinx. She speaks not, it +is true; but--perhaps she is not angry, and if she wants to crush me +with her foot, I care not. But yet I will go to sleep between her +powerful feet. In your looks of living diamond, I feel compassion +thrill.... Sacred Stars, I will go to sleep; watch over me...." + +She lay down between the feet of the Sphinx, against the breast of +the Sphinx. And she was so little and the Sphinx so great, that she +was like a butterfly sitting near a tower. + +Then she fell asleep. + +The night was very still. Far, far away in the boundless desert, a mist +drifted horizonlessly along, and lit up the darkness. The stream of +Psyche's tears meandered, like a silver thread, far away from whence +she had come. She herself slept. The Sphinx, with staring eyes and +closed mouth, looked out high into the night. The stars twinkled +and watched. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Without a cloud arose on the horizon the first dawn of day, the round, +rosy-coloured morning glimmer. And in the dawn appeared the horizon, +and bordered the sandy plain. + +In the rosy light, gigantic, towered the gloomy Sphinx. Psyche +slept. But through her weary eyelids, the light softly sent its +rays, coral-red, and suddenly she awoke. She opened her eyes, but +did not move. + +She remained in her slumbering attitude, but her eyes looked about. She +saw the desert, without an oasis, only the brooklet of tears that +meandered far away from whence she had come. It was like a silver +thread in the rosy light of the dawn, and she followed its windings +with her eye as long as she could. And when she thus looked, she +began to weep again. The tears fell on the feet of the Sphinx, and +Psyche wept, in her slumbering position. There was a mist before her +eyes, and through the mist glimmered the rosy desert and the little +glistening stream. + +But now she wiped away her tears, which trickled through her fingers, +for she thought she saw ... and that was so improbable. She wiped +her eyes again, and saw. She thought she saw ... and it was so +improbable.... But yet it was so: she saw. She saw someone coming; +along every winding of the brook, she saw someone approaching.... Who +was it coming there? She knew not.... He came nearer and nearer. Was +she dreaming? No, she was awake. He came, whoever he was. He was +approaching.... + +She remained sitting in the same attitude. And he came nearer +and nearer, following the briny track, till he stood before the +Sphinx. The Sphinx was so great and Psyche so little, that at first +he did not see her. But because she was so white, with crimson wings, +he saw her, a little thing red and white! + +He approached between the feet of the Sphinx till he stood right +before her. + +He approached reverentially, because she had wept so much. When he +was quite close, he knelt down and folded his hands. + +Through her tears she did not recognise him. + +"Who are you?" she asked in a faint voice. + +He stood up and approached still closer, and then she recognised +him. He was Prince Eros, the King of the Present. + +"I know who you are," said Psyche. "You are Prince Eros, who was to +have married Emeralda, or Astra." + +He smiled, and she said: + +"Why do you come here in the desert? Are you seeking here for the +Jewel, or the Glass that magnifies?" + +He smiled and shook his head. + +"No, Psyche," he said gently. "I have never sought for the Jewel nor +for the Glass. + +"But first tell me: why are you here and sleeping by the Sphinx?" + +She told him. She spoke of her father who was dead, of the light-gold +Chimera, of the purple desert and the sorrowful night. She told him +of her tears. + +"I have followed them, O Psyche!" he replied. "I have come ever since +I saw you before your father's throne--a day never to be forgotten! + +"I have come here every day. Every day I leave my garden of the +Present, to ask the awful Sphinx for the solution of my problem." + +"What problem, Prince Eros?" + +"The problem of my grief. For I am grieved about you, Psyche, because +you would not follow me and stayed with your father.... Now I know +why. You loved the Chimera...." + +She blushed, and hid her face in her hands. + +"Who could see the Chimera and not love him more than me?" said Eros +gently. "Who could love him, and not weep over him?" he whispered +still more gently; but she did not hear him. + +Then he spoke louder. + +"Every morning, Psyche, I come to ask the Sphinx how long I must +still suffer, and why I must suffer. And still much more, O Psyche, +I ask the Sphinx, that I will not tell you now, because...." + +"Because...?" + +"Because it would perhaps pain you to hear the question of my heart. So +I came now, O Psyche, and then I espied a brooklet meandering through +the sand. I did not know it; I was thirsty, for I am always thirsty. I +stooped down and scooped up the clear water in my hand. It tasted salt, +Psyche: they were tears." + +"My tears ..." she said, and wept. + +"Psyche, I drank them. Tell me, do you forgive me for that?" + +"Yes...." + +"I followed the brook, and now I have found you here." + +She was silent; she looked at him. He knelt down by her. + +"Psyche," said he gently, "I love you. Because I saw you little and +naked and winged, standing amongst your proud sisters--Psyche, I love +you. I love you so much, that I would weep all your tears for you, +and would give you ... the Chimera." + +"You can't do that," she said sadly. + +"No, Psyche," answered he, "that cannot, alas! be done. I can only +weep for myself; and the Chimera ... nobody can catch him." + +"He flies too fast," she said, "and he is much too strong; but it is +very kind of you, Prince Eros...." + +She stretched out her hand, and he kissed it reverentially. + +Then he looked at her for a long time. + +"Psyche," said he, gently, "will the Sphinx give me an answer to my +question this morning?" + +She cast down her eyes. + +"Psyche," he went on, "I have drunk your tears; I respect your +grief, too great for your little heart. But may I suffer it with +you? O Psyche, little Psyche, little, in the great desert, now your +father is dead, now the Chimera is away, now you are all alone.... O +Psyche, now come with me! Oh, let me now love you! O Psyche, come now +with me! Psyche, alone in the desert, a little butterfly in a sandy +plain--Psyche, oh, come with me! I will give you a summer-house to +live in, a garden to play in, and all my love to comfort you. Don't +despise them. All that I have will I give! Small is my palace and +small my garden round it, but greater than the desert and the sky +is my great love. O Psyche, come with me now! Then you will suffer +cold and hunger and thirst no more, and the grief that your heart +now suffers, Psyche, ... we will bear together." + +He stretched out his arms. She smiled, tired and pale from weeping, +slid from the foot of the Sphinx, and nestled to his heart. + +"Eros," she murmured, "I suffer. I pine. I weep. I gave away all that +I had. I have nothing more than my grief. Can grief ... be happiness +in the Present?" + +He smiled. + +"From grief ... comes happiness," he answered. "From grief will come +happiness, not in the Present, but ... in the Future!" + +She looked at him inquiringly. + +"What is that?" she asked. "Future...! It is a very sweet word.... I do +not know what it is, but I have heard it before.... Father sometimes +spoke of it with an affected voice.... It seems to be something +far away, far, far away.... From grief will come ... in the Future +... happiness! + +"Far behind me lies the Past.... Then I was a child. Now I am a +woman.... A woman.... Now I am, Eros, a woman, a woman, who has wept +and suffered, and asked of the silent Sphinx.... Now I am no longer +a princess, but a woman, a queen ... of the Present....!" + +She fell against his shoulder and fainted. He gave a sign, and out +of the air flew a glittering golden chariot, drawn by two panting +griffons. He lifted her into the chariot. He held her tight in his +arm, and pressed her to his heart. With his other hand he guided his +two dragon-winged lions through the glowing air of the desert. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +When Psyche opened her eyes, she heard the soft music of two pipes. And +she awoke from her swoon with a smile. She lay still and did not move, +but looked about her. She was reclining upon a soft bed of purple, +on a couch of ivory. She lay in a crystal palace; round the palace +were pillars of crystal and a round crystal gallery. The pillars were +entwined with roses, yellow, white, and pink, and they perfumed the +sunny spring morning. Through the gallery of pillars, through the walls +of crystal, she saw round her a pleasant meadow, like a round valley, +a valley like a garden, through which ran a murmuring brook between +beds of flowers. Quite near appeared the horizon of a low hill-slope, +and the cloudless sky was like a chalice of turquoise. + +The pipes changed their music. Psyche raised herself a little higher, +leaning on her arm; she laughed and looked about. In the middle of the +crystal palace was a basin of white marble, full of water, and doves +were hopping about it or drinking. Sitting at the gate of crystal +pillars, Psyche saw two girls; with their fingers they raised the +flutes to their mouth and played. Psyche laughed and listened. Then +she fell back on the bed again, happy, but tired, full of rest and +contentment, and she raised her head and looked up!... + +Through a crocus-coloured curtain fell the tempered spring sunshine, +quiet and soft, joyous and still. + +Psyche breathed more freely, and a sigh escaped from her heart. She put +her arms under her head; her wings lay stretched out right and left +on either side of her, and when she heard the music of the flutes, +her thoughts drifted away like an aimless dream, like rose-leaves +upon water. + +She dreamed and she listened.... She no longer felt tired, and her +eyes, which had shed a brook of tears, felt moist and fresh, cooled +by an invisible hand, with invisible care. Her breathing was regular, +and her soul felt safe.... And she smiled continually.... + +The pipes ceased playing.... + +The two girls, seeing that the queen had awaked, rose up and approached +her bed with a basket of red-blushing fruit, which they set down +near her. Then they made a deep reverence, but spoke not, and sat +down again by the pillars and blew their pipes anew; but to another +tune, somewhat louder, like a voice calling, and both in unison. The +pipes sounded jubilant in the morning, and outside, high in the air, +the lark answered joyously.... + +Psyche smiled, stretched out her hand and took a peach, a pear, +a bunch of blue grapes.... The pipes played merrily together, and +higher and higher and higher soared the lark and sang. Then Psyche +heard the brook babbling gently; the doves answered one another, +and round her the morning sang her welcome. + +Then footsteps light approached her softly; the pipes ceased playing; +the girls rose and made a deep reverence. And between the pillars of +crystal appeared Prince Eros, the King of the Present. + +The girls withdrew, and Eros approached and knelt before Psyche. + +He said nothing, but looked at her. + +"Eros," said Psyche, "I thank you.... I have rested; my eyes cease +to burn; my hunger is appeased.... I have heard sweet music, and +everything appeared kind and to love me." + +"Everything in my kingdom is glad that the queen has come. Everything +is glad that the queen has awaked." + +"The Queen of the Present," murmured Psyche. + +Then she put her arm round his neck, and leant her head against his +shoulder. "Eros," said she gently, "I love you.... How shall I express +my love to you! You have walked in the track of my tears, my salt +tears you have drunk; out of the desert, from the breast of the awful +Sphinx, you lifted me in your chariot, drawn by swift griffons.... In +my swoon I felt myself going through the air, not with the speed of +the fair Chimera, whose hoofs struck lightning and made the thunder +roll high in the ether ... but smoothly and evenly on wheels, over +the clouds delicately tinted with the glowing dawn. How long did we +travel...? How long have I slept? Eros, how shall I express my love +to you! My love is deep gratitude, inexpressible, because you rescued +me. My love is heart-felt thankfulness, because you have cared for +and refreshed me. My love is...." + +She paused for a moment, and rose from the bed. + +"What, Psyche?" said he gently, and stood up. + +"My love is deep, submissive respect, O Eros, because you wanted to +weep my tears and give me the wish of my heart, which, had it been +fulfilled, would have caused you the most poignant grief." + +She sank upon her knees and took his hand in hers and kissed it +long. He lifted her up and pressed her to his breast. + +"My gentle Psyche!" said he. "My child and my wife and my tender +princess! Kneel not to me. In love it is sweet to give and to +suffer. Love gives, and love suffers...." + +"I have only suffered, but not given," said Psyche, in a low tone. + +"To suffer is to give most. To give to one we love the suffering of his +suffering soul, is the greatest gift that can be given, my child and +my princess! Try, with the remembrance sacred to Suffering and Love, +endured and loved, to be happy in the Present. Oh, let the Past be +a remembrance, a sacred remembrance, a golden remembrance; but now +look to the Present. Oh, let the Present comfort you--the Present, +little, humble, and poor. Look! this is all. This cupola is my palace, +this garden is my kingdom; these flowers and these birds, they are all +my treasures--roses and doves and the singing lark. More I have not; +but I have still my love--my love, great as the heaven and wide as the +universe. But he who lives in love so great, needs no greater palace +and no greater kingdom to rule over. For the treasures of Emeralda I +would not exchange my kingdom and my love.... Psyche, my queen, yet +I have ornaments for you. The Princess of Nakedness with the wings +may never wear jewels of precious stones, and jewels I have not. But +pearls, Psyche, I have pearls which Emeralda despises. Pearls, Psyche, +I found in your tears of yesterday. See! I strung them together, +they were a crown for you. Pearls may adorn you, tears may adorn +you, my child of suffering, my wife of love, queen of my soul and of +my kingdom...." + +Then he took a little crown of twelve great pearls and put it on her +head. Then he hung a necklace of pearls round her neck. And as she +stood before him naked, so immaculately delicate in her princessly +nakedness, he threw around her loins a light, thin veil, richly +adorned with pearls, and which she fastened in a knot. Then he gave +her a mirror, and she beheld herself very beautiful, crowned like a +queen, and smiled with contentment. + +"Am I a queen?" she said softly. "Am I happy? Eros, do you love me? Is +this the happiness of the Present? Eros, do I love you out of gratitude +and respect, my husband and my king...?" + +He led her gently away, through the porticos, down the crystal +steps. Cupids hovered about them, the lark sang high in the heavens, +the roses perfumed the air, the brook murmured gently. The spring +rejoiced to welcome them, and behind the shrubs the pipes played +a duet. The hill-slope of the horizon was peaceful, and above, the +heaven, arched like a turquoise chalice. + +Everything sang, everything was fragrant; in the grass buzzed thousands +of insects; about the flowers fluttered butterflies; and where Psyche, +on her husband's arm, walked along the flower-beds, all the flowers +bowed to her in homage--the white slender lilies, the violets with +laughing eyes, tall flowers and short flowers, on long and short +stems--and all gave forth their fragrance. + +Eros pointed around. + +"This is the Present, Psyche," said he, and pressed her to his heart. + +"And this is happiness, that is as a lily and a violet ..." she +whispered, with her lips to his. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The pleasant days followed each other like a row of laughing +houris.... Eros and Psyche tended the flowers, which did not fade when +Psyche stroked the stems or gently kissed the calyces. They wandered +along the brook, and, if the days were warm, sought coolness under +the crocus-coloured awning, in the crystal palace, where the doves +cooed round the basin. The flutes played, or Eros himself took a lyre +and sang, at Psyche's feet, the stories of days gone by. + +It was one of the pleasures of the flower-laughing Present. + +Between the shrubs, where May strewed fragrant snow-blossom, naked, +chubby cupids with tender wings played or romped, hovering like little +clouds in the air. + +The sweet nights followed the pleasant days; the diamond stars, the +same which Psyche had entreated to watch over her in the desert, +glittered in the heavens. Under the roses, close to one another, +slumbered the fair-winged children, tired out with play, their little +mouths open and their chubby legs all folds. The air was heavy with +the breath of lilac and jasmine; it was spring, it was the Present, +it was night...! + +And while Psyche lay with her head against Eros' shoulder and he wound +his arm round her waist, while Psyche looked up at the stars, sacred +in the violet night, the nightingale broke out into melody. The bird +sang, and sang alone; everything was still. The bird sang, and let +her notes fall in the air like drops of sprinkled sound, like the +harmonious falling of water from a playing fountain. The bird sang, +and Psyche closed her eyes, and felt on her lips Eros' kiss. + +The days followed the nights. It was always the sweet pleasure of +flowers and birds, of spring and love, cupids and roses, music and +dance. The flowers were more beautiful, and did not fade; the fruits +were sweeter and of richer colour; the spring air was lighter, and +life was happier than a golden day. It was day which lasted days and +nights; it was the Present. + +If Psyche were alone she longed for Eros, and when she saw him again +she spread out her arms, and they loved each other. If Psyche were +alone, she wandered about in the rosy spring morning; the flowers +bowed down to her; the brook flowed cool over her feet; she played +with the winged cherubs, who flew about her head like butterflies; she +sat down in the moss full of violets; she bade the children take off +her crown, loosen the plaits of her long hair, untie the knots of the +drapery round her loins, and she lay down on the bank of the brook; +her hand played with the clear cold water, and, naked in the shade +of flowery shrubs, she fell asleep and the cupids round her. Then +the step of the king awoke her; the children awoke; they dressed her, +and she went to meet her husband, and received him with open arms. It +was the sweet delight of the Present. + +One day she was sleeping naked under the shrubs, the boys round about +her; on the moss lay her crown and her veil, and the brooklet flowed +on, gently murmuring. The day was very still, heavy with warmth. A +storm was brewing, but the sky was still blue. In the far-off distance, +where the horizon was like waves of the sea, clouds pregnant with +storm curled up gloomily like ostrich feathers. And once there was +lightning, but no thunder. + +Then above the ridge of the hill something dark appeared to rise +against the stormy clouds. It was round like a head, like a black +head. From the black head leered two eyes, black as jet, and nothing +more appeared. Long leered the eyes; then from the palace a voice +cried. + +"Psyche, Psyche!" + +Psyche awoke, and the cupids with her. Eros approached and led her +away. The air grew dark, and the next moment the summer storm burst +forth, dark sky, lightning, rain, and thunder rapidly rolling on. It +lasted only for a time; then the sky became blue again, the flowers +recovered their breath and raised their drooping heads, shaking with +fresh rain. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Next day, when Psyche was sleeping again by the brook, the dark head +with the leering eyes of jet appeared again on the horizon. For a long +time the eyes leered, full of lust. Then the head rose up higher like +a dark sun, behind the hill-slope in the sky. + +It was a face tanned by the sun, with coal-black hair; round the +temples a wreath of vine leaves, and from the wreath protruded two +horns like those of a young goat. + +The eyes looked lustful and young, as though they were jet and +gold. The lips laughed in the curly beard, and the sharp teeth were +dazzling white; the pointed ears stood up. + +Then the dark face became perfectly visible in the light; the shoulders +rose brown and naked, and two brown hands with long fingers lifted to +the lips a pipe of short and long reeds. The pipe played a fanfare, +a march of very quick notes. Then it stopped, and the gold-jet eyes +leered. Psyche moved in her sleep. Then the pipe sounded again, +and Psyche opened her eyes. Astonished, she listened to the notes +of the pipe, as they rose and fell so as she had never heard before, +lively and wanton, quick and playful. She sat up, leant on her arm, +and looked.... + +She started. There, on the horizon, like a dark sun, she saw the brown +face and the lips in the curly beard blowing the reeds, short and +long. Psyche started and looked on trembling. Then the pipe stopped +again, and roguishly the head nodded to her. Psyche was frightened; she +woke the boys. She fled away. From the palace Eros came to meet her. + +At first she meant to speak, but he kissed her; and why, she did +not know, but she spoke not. Then she made up her mind to tell Eros +that night, but in her husband's arms she lacked the courage to +speak. She did not tell him. The next morning she resolved not to +repose again in the moss by the brook. But that afternoon she played +with the cupids, and tired, fell asleep in the same place. The pipe +awoke her; on the horizon, the brown face stood out against the sun, +and roguishly nodded to her. + +Psyche, indignant, looked up. + +The head rose, the shoulders rose, and the whole form then rose up: +a sunburnt youth, with the legs of a goat, rough-haired and cloven +hoofs. There he stood, his dark shadow reflected in the golden rays +of the setting sun. He blew his reeds; he piped lustily and merrily, +roguishly and joyously and as well as he could, to please Psyche. She +listened--about her the boys were sleeping--and she smiled. He saw +her smile and smiled too. Then proudly she pointed with her finger +for him to go. He went, but the next day he was there again. Then she +saw him every day. He stood in the sun, which was going down, and blew +his reeds, laughed and nodded to her roguishly. Sometimes Psyche bade +him be gone; sometimes she pretended not to see who was playing there; +sometimes she listened graciously. When she heard the king call: + +"Psyche! Psyche!" she woke the cupids, who dressed her in a moment, +and went to meet her husband. She kissed him, and wished to tell him +that every day a young man with goats' legs stood on the hill and +played upon his pipe. But because she had kept silence so long, she +was silent again, and could not open her lips. It made her sad, and +Eros saw her sadness, and often asked her what it was that disturbed +the equanimity of her soul. She said "Nothing," and embraced him +and declared that she was happy. But when the lark warbled and the +nightingale's sweet notes were heard, when Eros sang to the lyre and +the brook murmured gently, Psyche always heard, between the pleasant +sounds, the impudent tunes of the reeds, short and long. She tried not +to hear, but she always heard them. They sounded saucily and merrily, +like the sounds of a little bird in a wood calling something to her +from afar; she heard, but did not yet understand what. + +One day, when he stood in the same place blowing lustily with +puffed-out cheeks, Psyche, indignant, rose with her lips closely +pressed together. She put her veil on and wound it tightly round +her loins, without waking the boys. Then, with a firm step and +innocently, she crossed a little slope, and came into a valley, a +valley of grass; there the brook flowed away between multitudes of +irises and narcissi. The goat, leering and laughing, tripped nimbly +down the hill on his hoofs to meet her. + +"Who are you?" said Psyche haughtily. + +"I am the Satyr," said he deferentially. "And now will you just see +me dance?" + +He piped a waltz, and danced for her to the measure of his tripping +music. He turned out his feet, spun round and round, and underneath, +on his back, she saw his tiny tail wagging. She laughed, and found +him amusing, with his tail, and feet, and horns. Then he turned a +somersault, and finished his dance with a bow. + +"You may not come here," said Psyche severely. "This is the Kingdom +of the Present, and I am the queen, and my husband is Eros, the +king of this kingdom. You dance indeed nicely, and you play rather +pretty tunes, but you may not come here. We have here the lark and +the nightingale, and my husband sings to the lyre." + +"That is classical music," said the Satyr. + +"I don't know what you mean by classical music. But you may not come +here and pipe, and disturb me in my afternoon slumber. If my husband +knew it, he would be very angry, and have you torn to pieces by two +raging griffons." + +"I am not afraid of that," said the Satyr. "Why, I tame panthers, +and they are much more dangerous." + +"I had pity on you," continued Psyche severely, raising her head in +queenly dignity, "and have not yet said anything to the king. But if +you come again to-morrow, I will tell him." + +"No, you won't!" said the Satyr saucily. + +"You are an ill-mannered boy!" said Psyche, angry and offended. "You +must not speak so to a princess. I ought not to condescend to speak +to you. I can see very well that you don't know how people behave +at court, and that you come from the wood. And you are ugly, too, +with your hairy feet and your tail." + +The Satyr looked at her astonished. + +"I think you very pretty!" he whispered admiringly. "Oh, I think you +so pretty! You have such pretty eyes, and such golden hair, and such +a white skin! Only, I don't like your wings. The nymphs haven't any." + +"You may not speak to me like that!" said Psyche vexed. "I am the +queen. How dare you? Go away now, else I will call the wild beasts +here." + +"Well, don't be angry!" said the Satyr in a low, imploring +tone. "That is my way of speaking. We all speak like that in the +wood. The Bacchantes, too, are not particular what they say. We are +unacquainted with your court language. And we don't know anything of +classical music. But we are always very merry and sociable together; +but you must come once...." + +"Are you going?" said Psyche imperiously, and red with passion, +and with her finger she pointed to him to be gone. He crouched down +suddenly in the reeds of the brook among the irises and narcissi, +and she saw him stealing away through the high grass. When she turned +round she beheld the cupids; they were bringing her her crown. + +"The king is looking for you, Psyche!" they cried out in the distance, +and like a cloud they hovered round her. + +She went back with them and threw herself into the arms of her husband. + +"Don't roam so far away, my little Psyche!" said Eros. "In the wood +behind the hills are wild beasts...." + +Night came on; Eros sang, the nightingale filled the air with her +sweet notes. + +"Classical music!" thought Psyche. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Psyche had a secret. Why did she not tell it? She did not know. She +could not, after having once kept silent. She knew that she was not +doing right by being silent, and yet she did not speak. But she was +very sad about it, and felt dissatisfied. Then she wanted to speak with +Eros; but because she had said nothing at first, she was afraid. And +then she said to herself: "The Satyr does nothing wrong by standing +there and piping a little, and it is not worth while thinking much +about it...." + +And yet she did think about it, and in her ears she always heard his +saucy voice, his coarse words, countrified and funny. + +Then she laughed about it all. + +"But what does he do--what is he? a Satyr? What is a Satyr? What are +Bacchantes? And what are nymphs? Panthers, too, I have never seen. I +should like to see them. What is their life there in the wood? There +are many lives in the world, and most of them are a secret. I only +know the courtiers of the Kingdom of the Past.... Here there are the +two girls that play on the pipe and the winged children. I should +like to see all that there is in the world, and experience all that +is in life. There must be strange things, which I never see.... The +Chimera was glorious, and deep in my soul I always long for him; but +in other respects everything is the same.... No wonders take place +in this garden.... Eros is a young prince; then there are the doves, +the griffons, the cupids.... That is all so commonplace.... Oh, +to seek, to wander! The world is so great! the universe is awful, +although it has limits. My father said it had no limits.... Oh, if it +had no limits...! Oh, to seek, to wander, to soar in the air!... I +shall never see the Chimera again. Never shall I soar in the air +again.... He conjured up visions for me, and then let them pass +away.... Oh, to soar through the air! When shall I see him again, +and when shall I soar again...? Eros I love--he is my husband; but he +has no wings. The Chimera had powerful wings of silver feathers. He +has left me for ever...." + +So, alone with her thought, she wandered in the garden. The cupids she +drove away, and, crying, they hid themselves among the roses. When +the Satyr appeared, she went to meet him in the valley, where the +irises were blooming. + +"So, you are there again!" + +"Yes! won't you just see me dance again?" + +He danced and frisked his tail. + +"I have already told you more than once that you may not come here," +said Psyche severely. + +He winked roguishly; he knew very well that his presence was not +disagreeable to her. + +"You are so beautiful!" he said, in his most flattering tone; "much +more beautiful than any of the nymphs." + +"And the Bacchantes, then?" said Psyche. + +"Much more beautiful than the Bacchantes!" he answered. "But they +are also very nice. Tell me, wouldn't you like to see them?" + +Psyche was very inquisitive, and he noticed it. + +"Won't you just see them?" he repeated temptingly. + +"Where?" said Psyche. + +"Look ... there!" He pointed in the distance with his finger. + +On the hill Psyche saw forms madly whirling round in a dance. + +"Those are the Bacchantes!" said the Satyr. Psyche laughed. + +"How madly they whirl round!" she exclaimed. "Are they always so +merry?" + +"Oh, we are always dancing," said the Satyr. "In the wood it is always +pleasure. We play at tag with one another, we drink the juice of the +grapes, and we dance till nightfall." + +"Psyche! Psyche!" called a voice. + +It was her husband. The Satyr fled through the flags, and Psyche +hastened back. + +She threw herself into Eros' arms, who asked her where she had +been. And without answering him, she began to cry and hid her face +in his breast. + +"What is it, little Psyche?" asked Eros. "Are you in trouble? Amongst +the roses the boys cry, and by the brook the queen cries. Is there +then sadness in my kingdom? Does not Psyche feel happy?" + +She wept and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say that she did not +know. And she hid her face in his breast. + +"Tell me, Psyche, what is the matter?" + +She would have liked to tell him, but she could not; a stronger power +kept her back. + +"Does not Psyche feel happy? Does she long for the Chimera?" + +She laid her little hand upon his lips. + +"Don't speak about him. I am not worthy of him. I am not worthy of +you, Eros." + +He kissed her very gently. + +"What does my Psyche think about? May I not leave her any more, +alone by the brook?" + +"No, no!" said she hastily, and drew his arms round her.... "No," +she continued quickly. "Don't leave me alone any more. Always stay +by me. Protect me from myself, O Eros...!" + +"Is little Psyche ill?" + +She nodded in the affirmative, and laid her burning head upon his +breast; she nestled against him and shut her feverish eyes. + +He stayed by her, and all around was still, and the cupids appeared +fluttering in the air. That night she slept in Eros' arms. She awoke +for a moment out of her sleep; far away in the distance through the +crystal of the palace she heard the sound of pipes. She raised her +head and listened. But she would not hear any more, and hid herself +in Eros' arms and fell asleep on his heart. + +The next day he stayed by her, and they wandered to the brook. Sadness +hung over the garden, the flowers drooped. In the afternoon Psyche +became uneasy; she heard the pipe, and in the distance caught a +glimpse of vague forms dancing. + +"Do you see nothing?" she asked Eros. + +"No...." + +"Do you hear nothing?" she said again. + +"No," he answered. "Poor Psyche is ill. And the flowers are ill too, +because she is. Oh, let Eros cure you...!" + +The following night, in the arms of her husband, she heard the pipe. It +played saucy, short, lively tunes. "Come, come, now dance with us; +we are drinking the grapes. Come ... come...!" + +She could resist no longer. Trembling, she loosed herself from her +husband's arms, who was asleep. She got up, stole out of the palace, +fled through the garden to the alluring voice. + +The flowers in the brook seemed to entreat her: "Oh, go not away! Oh, +go not away!" The nightingale uttered a cry, and she thought it was +an owl. + +She hurried on to the valley, where the irises were in blossom. There, +near the brook, in the light of the moon, stood the Satyr, tripping +to the sound of his pipe, and round him, hand in hand, madly danced +the Bacchantes, naked, a panther's skin cast about them, their wild +streaming hair encircled with vine-leaves. They danced like drunken +spectres in the pale moonlight night; they waved their thyrsus, and +pelted each other with grapes, which smashed to juice upon their faces. + +"Come, come!" they cried triumphantly. + +Psyche was startled by their voices, rough and hoarse. But they opened +their circle, two stretched their hand out to Psyche, and they danced +round with her. The wild dance excited her; she had never known till +then what dancing was, and she danced with sparkling eyes. She waved +a thyrsus, and pressed the grapes to her mouth.... Then suddenly the +Satyr caught hold of her and kissed her passionately, pressing the +grapes to her lips.... + +"Psyche! Psyche!" + +She started and stood still. The Bacchantes, the Satyr, fled. + +Psyche hastened back; with her hand she wiped her contaminated, +burning lips. + +"... Psyche!" + +She ran to meet Eros, but when she saw him, godlike and beautiful as an +image, spotlessly pure in the moonlight, with his noble countenance, +his deep brown eyes full of love, she was so disgusted with herself +that she fell at his feet in a swoon. + +He lifted her up and laid her on the bed. + +He watched while she slumbered. + +The whole night he watched by her.... + +And it seemed as if she were wandering in her mind.... + +Her face glowed with fever, and ever and anon she wiped her lips. + +Outside in the garden the flowers drooped in sorrow. The lark was +silent, and the little angels sat together with their wings drawn +in. The sky was ash-coloured and gloomy. + +That night Psyche slept in Eros' arms, and afar off the pipe allured +her.... + +She extracted herself from Eros' embrace and got up.... + +She wanted to kiss him for the last time, but durst not, for fear of +waking him. + +"Farewell!" she whispered very gently. "Noble Eros, beloved +husband, farewell! I am unworthy of you. The Satyr's kiss is still +burning on my lips; my mouth is on fire from the juice of the +grapes. Farewell...! And if you can, forgive me!" + +She went. + +The night was sultry and heavy with thunder; the flowers, exhausted, +hung their heads; the nightingale uttered a cry, and she thought it +was an owl. Bats flitted about with flapping wings. + +She walked with a firm step. She followed the brook to where it +flowed into the valley. Yonder ... with the Satyr in their midst, +danced the Bacchantes. + +"Hurrah! Hurrah!" they cried out, rough and hoarse, and threw at her +a bunch of grapes. + +She hesitated a moment.... She raised her eyes. Through the gloomy +night a single star glistened like a cold, proud eye. + +"Sacred star!" said Psyche, "you who watched over me before, and now +leave me for ever ... tell him that I am unworthy of him and beg him +to forgive me!" + +The star hid itself in the darkness. + +"Come!" cried the Bacchantes. + +Psyche took a step forward.... + +"Brook!" she then cried, "little stream of the land of the Present, +babbling pure and peacefully, in which I never more may cool myself +... oh, tell him that I am unworthy of him and beg him to forgive me!" + +The brook went murmuring over the stones, and muttered: "No, no...." + +"Come, come!" cried the Bacchantes. + +Then Psyche plucked a single violet, white as a maiden's face. + +"Sweet violet!" said she, "humble flower, don't be proud. Your queen, +who is forsaking her kingdom, entreats the star and brook in vain. She +is no longer a queen. She is no longer obeyed. Sweet violet, hear +the prayer of Psyche, who, unworthy, is forsaking the Present...." + +"Stay, Psyche!" implored the flower in her hand. + +"Dear little flower!" said Psyche, "born in the moss, withering when +you are plucked, what do you know of gods and mortals? What do you +know of soul and life and power? Psyche can no longer stay. But beg +Love to forgive her...! Oh, give him my last message!" + +She kissed the flower and laid it in the moss. + +"Psyche! Psyche! Come!" cried the Bacchantes. + +She sprang forward into the midst of the dance. + +"Here I am!" she cried wildly. And they dragged her away with them +to the wood. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +When Eros awoke that morning, he found not Psyche by his side. He +got up, thinking that she was in the garden, and went out. + +The sky was dull and lowering, a mist hung over the hills. The lark +had not sung, the cupids were not fluttering about. + +"Psyche!" cried he, "Psyche!" + +No answer was returned. No sigh rustled in the leaves of the trees; +no insect hummed in the grass; the flowers hung down withered on +their limp stems. A deathly chilliness reigned around. A fearful +presentiment took possession of Eros. He walked along the flower-beds, +along the brook. + +"Oh! where is Psyche?" he cried. "Oh, tell me, water, flowers, birds, +where is Psyche!!" + +No answer was returned. The brook flowed on murkily and noiselessly, +the flowers lay across the path; no bird sang among the leaves. He +wrung his hands and hastened on. Then he came to the spot where Psyche +was wont to rest in the moss by the brook, in the shade of the shrubs. + +"Who will tell me where Psyche is?" he exclaimed in despair, and +threw himself on the moss and sobbed. + +"Eros!" cried a weak voice. + +"Who speaks there?" + +"I, a white violet, which Psyche plucked.... Hear me quickly, for +I feel I am dying, and my elfin voice is scarcely audible to your +ear. Listen to me ... I am lying close to you. Take me in your +hand...." + +Eros took the flower. + +"Psyche has been enticed by the Satyr into the wood. The Bacchantes +have taken her away. This was her last word: that she was unworthy of +you, and went away praying for forgiveness.... She could not remain, +she said; she went...! Eros, forgive her!" + +The flower shrivelled up in his hand. Eros rose and tottered; he too +felt that he was dying. + +Sad at heart walked Eros, and all along his path the flowers now lay +shrivelled. The brook was dry. The lark lay dead before his feet. The +cupids lay dead in the withered roses. + +Eros went into the castle and fell upon the purple bed. + +A single dove was expiring at the marble basin. + +The strings of the lyre were all broken.... + +Eros too felt that his life was leaving his body. + +He raised his eyes, over which the film of death was stealing, and +looked about the castle; the crystal crumbled off and split from the +top to the bottom. + +"Sacred powers!" prayed he, "forgive her as I forgive her, and love +her till the End, as I shall and for ever. Let her find what she seeks; +let her wanderings once come to an end; let her soar through the air, +if she must, till she comes to the purest sphere...." This sphere was +the earth, the sweet Present, the little resting-point on which she +could not wander, and thus felt within her the irresistible desire.... + +"Sacred powers, let her one day find what her happiness is. Then, +if it is not I.... Let her find...." + +His voice failed, his eyes opened as in a vision, and he whispered +and finished his prayer: "... find ... in the Future...!" + +That sacred word was his last. He died. + +In the Kingdom of the Present, that once had been as a smiling garden, +everything was now dead.... + + + +Then ... in the mist, which hung over the ridge of the mountains, +something seemed to be creeping near, something with feet that could +only move slowly. From many sides, over the hill-top, the strange +creeping came nearer.... Gigantic, hairy feet of monstrous spiders +were walking over it; they came nearer and nearer; they were spiders +with big, swollen bodies and feet always in motion.... + +They were the sacred spiders of Emeralda, Princess of the Past. Eagerly +they ran to the dead garden of the Present.... + +They surrounded the garden and threw out their filaments to the crystal +roof of the palace. Then they wove over the Present, that lay dead, +one single gigantic web.... + +And whilst they wove, the dead Present went to dust. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +In the wood, in the autumn sun, Autumn was keeping festival. + +The foliage shone resplendent in yellow, bronze, purple, golden-red, +and pink; the sulphur-coloured moss looked like antique velvet. With +gusts of wind, the branches, madly arrogant, shook off their exuberance +of sere and yellow leaves, as if they were strewing the paths with +silver and gold and rustling notes. + +Loudly laughing danced the dryads through the whirling leaves. + +Out of the foaming stream between moss-covered rocks, rose the white, +naked nymphs. + +"Where is she? Where is she?" cried they inquisitively. + +"There she comes! there she comes!" shouted the mad dryads, and in +handfuls they cast the leaves into the air, which whirled over the +nymphs and fell down on the water. + +The dryads danced past, and the nymphs looked out inquisitively. They +stood, a naked group, in their rocky bath; their arms were +clasped round one another; green was their hair and white as +pearls were their bosoms. The sere and yellow leaves kept whirling +about. Trampling feet were approaching and were heard amongst the +rustling leaves. Merry-makers were drawing near; the golden foliage +quivered like a curtain of thin, fine, gold lace.... + +"There she comes! there she comes!" exclaimed the nymphs with joy. + +The branches cracked, the leaves whirled about, the tender sprays +recoiled from the noisy merry-makers, who were advancing. + +Nearer they came with the sound of pipe and cymbal. Drunken Bacchantes +danced before them, waving the thyrsus, hand in hand with fauns and +satyrs; they encircled a triumphal car, drawn by spotted lynxes. + +High on the car sat a youth, beardless, with a wreath of vine-leaves +round his forehead, full of laughter and animal spirits, with blue +eyes that showed his love of pleasure. Naked were his godlike limbs, +chubbily formed like the tender flesh of a boy, and his legs were +long and slender, his arms rounded like those of a woman. He was the +prince of the wood, of divine origin: Prince Bacchus was his name. + +And next to him on the triumphal car, sat little Psyche enthroned. She +too was naked, with nothing on but her veil, and her wings were +so strikingly beautiful, crimson and soft yellow and with four +peacock's-feather eyes. Round the car, close together as a bunch of +grapes, sported madly a number of wine-gods, tumbling over one another, +grape-drunken children. + +In triumph the procession rushed on through the golden wood. The +Bacchantes and satyrs sang and danced; two satyrs drove the lynxes, +which, spiteful as cats, spat at them; the wine-gods entwined the +vine and bore great heavy bunches of grapes. + +High up, like a butterfly, which was a goddess, sat Psyche, and +laughed with glistening eyes and glowing cheeks, waving to the nymphs. + +"Live! long live Psyche--Psyche with the splendid wings!" shouted +the nymphs. + +The wind blew, the leaves whirled about; the procession swept past as +though hurried along by the gale. A little wine-god had fallen and lay +in the yellow leaves, playing with his chubby legs, purple-red from +the juice of grapes; he was crying because he had been left behind; +then he succeeded in getting on to his feet, and tottered after the +procession.... + +The nymphs laughed loudly at the little wine-god; they dived under +and beneath the rocks. + +The wind blew, the yellow leaves whirled about. + +And the wood became still and lonely. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +"Psyche, stay!" said Bacchus entreatingly. + +"No, no, let me alone!" + +"With you goes all joy from the feast; Psyche, stay!" + +"I will not always sing, dance, drink. No, no, let me alone!" + +She pushed him away from her; she pushed the satyrs away from her; +she broke the round dance of the Bacchantes, who, drunken, shouted +with drunken eyes and wide-open, screaming mouths. + +"Psyche! Psyche!" screamed all. + +She laughed loudly and coquettishly, like a spoilt child. + +"I will come back to-morrow, when you are sober!" she said with a +mocking laugh. "Your voices are hoarse, your song is out of tune, +your last grapes were sour! I will only have the sweet of your feast, +and the bitter I will leave to you. Spread out your panther skins; +go and sleep off your drunkenness. If your feast has to last till +winter, you need rest--rest for your hoarse throats, rest for your +drunken legs, rest for your heads, muddled with wine.... I will come +back to-morrow, when you are sober!" + +She gave a loud, mocking laugh, and rushed into the wood. It was +a moonlight night; in the pale moonbeams she left the wild feast +behind. The jealous Bacchantes danced round Bacchus, and embraced him. + +Psyche hastened on. Her temples throbbed, her heart beat, and her +bosom heaved. When she was far enough away, she stopped, pressed both +her hands to her bosom, and gave a deep sigh. More slowly she went +on to the stream. Fresh was the autumn night, but burning were her +naked limbs! + +The wood was still, save that in the top-most branches the wind +moaned. Like a silvery ship the moon sailed forth from the luminous, +ethereal sea, and the rushing mountain-stream foamed like snow on the +rocks. With a longing desire for coolness and water, Psyche stepped +down to the flags on the bank; with her hands she put aside the irises, +and made her way through the ferns and plunged her foot into the water. + +Then the nymphs dived up. + +"Psyche! Psyche!" cried they joyously, "Psyche with the splendid +wings!" + +Psyche smiled. She threw herself into the water, and the snow-white +foam dashed up. + +"Let me be with you a moment," entreated Psyche. "Let me cool myself +in your stream." + +The nymphs pressed round her and carried her on their arms. She lay +down at full length. + +"Cool my forehead, cool my cheeks, cool my heart!" she cried +imploringly. "Dear nymphs, oh, cool my soul! Everything burns on me +and in me; fire scorches my lips, fire scorches my brain.... O dear +nymphs, cool me!" + +The nymphs sprinkled water on her; Psyche put her arm round the neck +of one of them. + +"Your water-drops hiss on my forehead as on burning metal. Your +flakes of foam evaporate on the fire in my breast. And on my soul, +O dear nymphs, you cannot sprinkle your coolness!" + +The nymphs filled their stream-urns and poured them over Psyche. + +"Pour them all out! Pour them all out!" cried Psyche entreatingly. "But +although my hair is dripping, and my wings and my limbs too, +my lips are scorched, my poor forehead burns, and within me, O +nymphs...! within me, my soul is consumed as in hell-fire...!" + +The nymphs took her gently in their arms; they dived with her below, +they came up again; they kept diving up and down. + +"Oh, bathe me, bathe me!" cried Psyche imploringly. "Benevolent nymphs, +bathe me! Some coolness still hangs about my body ... but my soul, +oh, my soul you can never cool!" She wept, and the nymphs caught up +her tears in mother-of-pearl shells. + +"Are you collecting my tears? Oh, no, they are not worth it. Once +I wept a brook full; once they were drunk, drunk by Love; once they +were pearls, and Love crowned me with them! Now, now they are like +drops of wine, drops of fire, and though they should congeal and +become rubies or topazes, they may never crown me more. Henceforth +my tears I shall always shed ... for Emeralda!" + +In the shells the nymphs saw glistening pearls, and they understood +not.... But all their urns they poured out upon Psyche's eyes. + +"My eyes are getting cool, O beloved nymphs; many tears I shall never +shed again; never again shall I weep a brook full.... But cool my soul, +extinguish deep within me the burning flames!" + +"We cannot, Psyche...." + +"No, no, you cannot, O nymphs! Let me lie still, then, still in your +arms. Let me rock quietly to and fro on your white-foaming water, then +let me sleep quietly.... But in my sleep my soul keeps burning; in +my dreams I see it flame up, high up as out of a hole in hell.... Oh!" + +She uttered a cry, as of pain.... The nymphs rocked her in their +entwined arms, as in a cradle of lilies, and softly sang a song.... + +"Nymphs, nymphs....! This is the fire that nothing can extinguish--no, +never.... This is remorse...." + +The nymphs understood her not; they rocked her and sang in a low, +soft voice. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +That morning she wandered about in the rosy autumn dawn--a mist between +the trees stripped of leaves. Along the path she trod; on a skin she +found a satyr and a Bacchante lying in a drunken sleep, tight in each +other's arms; a cup lay on the ground, a broken thyrsus, pressed-out +grapes. She hastened on and sought the most lonely spots. The foliage +became scantier, the trees grew farther apart, the wood ended in a +plain and, violet misty, a perspective of very low hills. + +Psyche walked on over the plain and climbed the hills. + +The autumn wind blew and howled between shrubs and bushes, and sang +the approach of winter. But Psyche felt not the cold, for her naked +limbs glowed: her soul was all on fire. + +On the highest hill-top she looked out, her hand above her eyes, +gazing into the violet mist.... Unconscious to herself, she hoped +for something vague and impossible: that she might see Eros, that +he would come to her, that she would fall at his feet, that he would +forgive her tenderly, and take her away with him. Impossible. "What +was impossible? Could not everything be possible? Had he not followed +the track of her tears? had he not found her in the arms of the +Sphinx?" Oh, she hoped, she hoped, she hoped more definitely! Her +remorse-burned soul longed for the balsam of his love in the palace +of crystal, for the sounds of his lyre, for the tender words in the +garden of the Present. + +She hoped, she gazed.... + +In the pale glow of the morning sun, the violet mist cleared up, +and parted like violet curtains.... + +She gazed: there was the Present.... + +There Eros would be, mourning for his naughty Psyche! + +There he would presently forgive her.... + +Oh, how she hoped, how she longed!.... She longed; she stretched out +her arms and dared cry in a plaintive voice: + +"Eros!" + +The wind blew through bush and shrub and sang the approach of +winter. The violet curtains of mist were drawn aside. The sad autumn +morning appeared. There, now visible, lay the Present.... + +And Psyche gazed, screening her eyes with her hand.... + +There she saw her happiness of days gone by, destroyed. In a dead, +withered garden, a ruin: crystal pillars crumbling to pieces. And +between the pillars, spiders' webs; all over the garden spiders' +webs, web upon web, and in them spiders with bloated bodies and +lazy-moving feet.... + +Then she saw that Emeralda was reigning! + +Then she felt that Eros was dead! + +She had murdered him! + +Oh, how her limbs glowed, how her soul burned! Oh, the burning pain +within her, deep within--a pain which no grape-juice could allay, +which no mad dance could deaden and the nymphs could not cool, though +they poured over her all their urns! Oh, that hell in her soul, for +the irretrievable desolation, for the murdered one, past recall! Oh, +that suffering, not for herself, but for him--for another! that +repentance, that burning remorse!.... + +She fell to the ground and sobbed. + +The pale sunbeams faded away, thick grey clouds came sweeping along, +a shower of hail rattled down, flinging handfuls of icy-cold stones.... + +She felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up. + +It was the Satyr who had allured her with his pipe, there, on that +very spot. + +"Psyche!" said he, "what are you doing here, so far away from all +of us? Winter is coming, Psyche; listen to the whistling winds, feel +the rattling hail; the last leaves are being blown away. We are going +to the South, and Prince Bacchus is seeking for you.... What are you +doing here, and why are you crouching down and weeping? + +"We are having a feast and are fleeing the winter; come!" + +"I feel no cold; I am burning.... Let me stay here, and weep, +and die...." + +"Why should you die, O Psyche, Psyche, so pretty and so gay--Psyche, +the prettiest and gayest, who can dance the maddest, who can dance +out all the Bacchantes? Come!...." + +She laughed through her tears, a laugh like a piercing shriek. + +"But Psyche, do you know what it is?" said the Satyr, whispering +confidentially. "Do you know what it is that prevents you from being +happy, and why you are not like all of us? I told you before, Psyche: +it is on account of your wings. Your wings prevent you from putting +a beast's skin round you, and entwining your hair with vine. The +nymphs find your wings pretty, but what do you want with things +that are pretty, yet of no use whatever? If you could only fly with +those wings!" + +... "If I could only fly with those wings!" said Psyche, sighing. "No, +I have never been able to fly with them, my poor, weak wings!" + +"The nymphs think your wings pretty, but the nymphs are +sentimental. The Bacchantes think them ugly, and laugh at you in +secret. Prince Bacchus does not like wings either; he cannot embrace +you well with those things on your back. Psyche, dear Psyche, listen: +shall I tell you something....? You must let me cut those wings off +with a pair of grape-scissors. For when you have got rid of your wings, +then you can throw a panther's skin round you, and put a vine-wreath +round your hair, and you will be altogether one of us...." + +The wind blew, the hail rattled down: winter was coming on. + +... "Eros is dead!" murmured Psyche, "Spring is past, the Present is +withered, Emeralda reigns.... 'What are you doing with things that +are pretty, and have no use at all...?' + +"If I cannot possibly get cool, if I keep burning deep within me +... it is better, perhaps, to renounce my princess's rights, to go +naked no longer, to have no wings...." + +"Tell me, Psyche, may I cut them off?" + +"Yes, clip them! Cut them right off, my wings, which are only +pretty!" she cried fiercely. "Cut them off!!" + +His eyes glowed jet and gold, his breath came quickly from joy. He +produced his sharp scissors.... + +And whilst she knelt, he cut off both her wings. + +They fell on the ground and shrivelled up. + +"Oh, that pains, that pains!... Oh, that pains!" cried Psyche. + +"It is a little wound, it will soon heal," said the Satyr soothingly, +but grinning with pleasure. + +Then he threw a panther's skin round her, put a wreath of vine-leaves +on her head, and she was like a fair Bacchante still very young and +tender, with her white skin, with her tender eyes of soul-innocence, +in which, deep down, dejection reigned. + +"Psyche!" cried he delighted, "Psyche! How pretty you are!" + +She uttered her shrill laugh, her laugh of bitter irony. He led +her away down the hills. She looked about: yonder lay the Present, +reduced to dust and spider-webs. She looked about: in the wind, +which was blowing, her wings whirled away, shrivelled up, whirled +away like dry leaves. + +She laughed and put her arm round his neck, and they hastened back +to the wood. + +The wind blew; the first snowflakes fell. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Slowly followed the seasons--winter, spring, summer, autumn.... + +Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the +caves of Emeralda. + +Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and +sank into the Past. + +And again it was spring.... + +In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they +sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, +in the new and tempered sunshine. + +What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They +sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, +their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood +and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with +them their song. They sang because the sky was blue.... + +Emeralda they did not know.... + +Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, +and love in their hearts.... + +Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they +sang because the sky was blue. + + + +On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived +in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old. + +How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...! + +How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped +in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was +blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They +sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They +sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang +of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love.... + +The hermit continued deep in thought.... + +Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with +them. Never had he known the Present, the spring Present of the +shepherds. + +The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was +tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had +died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven. + +Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, +the voices of the shepherds. + +The hermit heard a step. He looked up. + +He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her +hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; +he knit his brow, he crossed his arms. + +The little form approached and knelt down. + +"Holy father!" said she, in a low, trembling voice, "don't drive +me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for +help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear +before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, +but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, +O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from +the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the +beasts spared me. A lion licked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress +let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts +had pity!" + +"Then why don't you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?" + +"Because I must fulfill a duty among men." + +"Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?" + +"In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my +father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: 'Go among men, do +penance.'... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at +me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me +something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my +hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, +give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!" + +The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he +saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies. + +"He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies +has a soul crimson with sin!" + +The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground. + +"Here," said the hermit sternly, but compassionately. "Here is a +mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep +on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover +yourself, and rest." + +"Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and +thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your +cord." + +She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, +she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two +blood-red scar-stripes. + +"Are you wounded?" + +"I was, long ago...." + +"Your eyes glow: have you a fever?" + +"I do not know men's fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave +in hell." + +"Who are you?" + +"One heavy burdened with sin." + +"What is your name?" + +"I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let +me go." + +"Whither are you going?" + +"Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess +Emeralda." + +"She is proud." + +"She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them +for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, +let me go!" + +"Go, then.... And do penance." + +"Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!" + +The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her +penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles. + +In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +The path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a +narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, +where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three +hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In +the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of cactus +grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly and +round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, +the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, +behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of +ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the +gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She +climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and +their song, quite faint, came up to her. + +In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her +mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and +her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim. + +The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not +throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently. + +She kept climbing up. + +High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of +towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent +child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like +a butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, +had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, +her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, +pure as the doves that flew round about her...! + +She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the +North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the +Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, +and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her +continually, like a scarlet child of hell; now she came back up the +steep path.... + +Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, +and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting +shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that +peeped out from under her wide hood. + +Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff.... + +Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the +grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled +through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked +her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair +of her whelps.... + +Then she went on, climbing higher and higher.... + +Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of +pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in +the clouds? + +Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone. + +But she did not rest. Rest did not help her. + +She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, +the sooner would she reach the castle. + +Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of +Emeralda! What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What +greater suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of +remorse, that was ever with her wherever she went! + +And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary +man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when +he saw the blood of her footstep. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +The night was pitch dark, when she stood before the awful gate and +asked admittance. + +And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The +halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, +and invited her to rest. + +She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier's bread, +she drank a drop of their wine. + +Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening meal. + +And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful +jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet commanding: + +"I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple carbuncles. Tell +the princess that I have come to do her homage and give her my jewels." + +The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to +come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat. + +And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid +of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed men. + +She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron +gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside. + +And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower. + +There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, +under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue. + +"Holy pilgrim!" said Emeralda, "be welcome! You have come to bring +me jewels?" + +A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche's limbs, when she heard +Emeralda's voice. She had not thought that she would be afraid any +more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard her voice, +she almost fainted from fear. + +For her look was most terrible. + +Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her beauty +was horrible. In the hall, lit up with thousands of candles, a hall of +gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her throne of agate, in +a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human about her; she was like +a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it were, into a jewel. Her +eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, that was ivory white, +like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there hung down her face six +red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, and stiffly interwoven +with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her teeth glittered like +brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, like the noise of +a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff with rings, were +opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the opal. Her bosom, +opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet amethyst--and +over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. Her dress was no +longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the arabesque was jewels; +her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff could not bend, +but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long jewelled clock. + +And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously beautiful +as a work of art--made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously +beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, +the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the +gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress. + +In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous +idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; +dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless. + +Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by +the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said +again eagerly: + +"Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?" + +Psyche gained courage. + +"Yes," she said in a firm voice. "Powerful Majesty of the Past, +I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may +be left alone." + +Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity +got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff +hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating +jewels, and shot forth rays like the sun, which, like a nimbus, +streamed around her. + +Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers +withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche +unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her +long hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before +Emeralda, and said: + +"Emeralda, don't you recognise me? I am Psyche, your sister!" + +A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour +and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled. + +"Wretched Psyche!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I know you! I have always +hated you, hated as I hate everything that is gentle, as I hate doves, +children, flowers! So you have deceived me, intruder! you bring me +no jewels!" + +Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand. + +"Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I present +you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel in +humility before you. I offer you my tears, which have turned into +stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a penance to +do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any longer. I +have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on me the +heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. Lay a +heavy task upon my wingless shoulders." + +Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached +her sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them +up to the light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open +casket. Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to +Psyche like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her +glittering web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, +princess, sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she +was not, and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby. + +Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and Emeralda +watched her. + +Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She thought +as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling; she +thought inhumanly because she had no soul. Soulless she was and hard +as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest ruler of the world. She +ruled with a movement, she condemned with a look, she could kill +with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was terrible; if she appeared +in public there was disaster; and if she rode through her kingdom in +a triumphal chariot, then everything was scorched by her lustre and +crushed under her triumph. + +At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering +rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching incantation. + +"Psyche, fled from her father's house, fallen from all princely +dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, +corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin--listen! + +"Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, who +longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a horse, +who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in desert +and in wood--wander, seek, and ask! + +"Wander, seek, and ask, till you find! + +"Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting mouths of +monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky sea. + +"Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the Philosopher's +Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the Mystic Jewel, +the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the Godhead. + +"Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!" + +Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and +with a look at the casket, said pitilessly: + +"Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how much." + +She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, continued: + +"And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which may +not be uttered...." She drew still nearer. + +... "Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, your sister, +the divine omnipotence!" + +Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche +an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that +power for herself, to make sure of the two-fold omnipotence of the +world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid +upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew +nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, +and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, +long tresses. + +An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were +being frozen. + +"I obey," she murmured. + +And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy +coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, +she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the +shield-bearers approached with torches. + +"Conduct me to Astra!" she commanded. + +There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, +the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed +strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages. + +They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to +another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, +guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies. + +"Who comes there?" asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint. + +Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her +sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, +surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And +Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which +hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; +her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered +breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; +her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, +and her voice, faint and weak, said: + +"Who comes there?" + +"I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!" + +"As a penitent?" + +"Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance...." + +Astra mused. + +"It is true," she murmured. "I remember, little Psyche. Come +nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you." + +"The night is dark, Astra: there are few stars in the sky, and the +torches are not yet lit...." + +"No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot +see, I am blind...." + +Psyche gave a cry. + +"Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are +you blind?" + +"Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from +left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become +the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; +now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The +colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living +Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between +my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand. + +"What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?" + +"My tears, Astra, poor Astra!" + +"How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit +down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet +lit? Well, let it be dark, for I see nothing; but I feel you, I feel +your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along +your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings +I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star +has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift +from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels +no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard +and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, +creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star +is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am +old, but you--are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly +young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated +your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You +weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and +always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda +has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher's Stone in the +caverns of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The +unutterable name is a legend. The Jewel exists only in the pride of +man. The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from +precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking +through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride +and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is +powerful, but more powerful she cannot become.... + +"In vain will you seek." + +"Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, +sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do +for Emeralda." + +"No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There +is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do +penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: +illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in +your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The +colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless +series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of +the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is +incomputable, the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier +of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable +light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In +this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is +the night too dark? Do you see anything?" + +"The stars give a dim light." + +"Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do +you see?" + +"In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a +few rays. Is that a black star?" + +"No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider +has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider +weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....["] + +"Astra...!!" + +"Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, +your wingless shoulders...." + +"Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!" + +"Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little +child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your old nurse +is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra...." + +Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was +dark. Astra's powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +It was still dark when Psyche awoke. She looked up at Astra, who sat +sleeping, her grey head on her breast; faintly shone her star. Very +gently, so as not to wake her, Psyche rose, and left the terrace. She +knew the way. She went through the halls and passages, down the steps, +the endless steps. In the corners sat the sacred spiders, and wove.... + +Psyche went lower down, to the vaults. There burnt the everlasting +lamps. She went among the royal tombs, crystal sarcophagi, and found +her father's coffin. By the lamp, which was always kept burning, +she recognised his embalmed, rigid face. The eyes were closed. He +knew nothing about her: that she had gone away and come back. Death +was between them, and severed them forever. + +She kissed the glass, and her tears, round, hard, and red, clattered +on the crystal. + +She knelt down and tried to pray. In a corner of the vault a black +spot moved. It was a big spider with a white cross on its body. + +"So, you have come back again.... I knew that you would come. We can +escape from nothing. Everything happens as it happens. Everything +is as it is. Everything goes to dust; into the pits of the Past, +into the power of Emeralda.... Now become a spider like us, weave +your web, and be wise...." + +Psyche got up. + +"No...!" she exclaimed, "I will not become a spider, I will weave no +web. I have sinned, but I will weave no web; I have sinned and will +do penance. The world is awful--desert and wood and space; life is +awful--love and pain, joy and despair, sin and punishment. And if fate +is as it is, it is in vain to weave a web and to heap up treasures of +dust. Spider, were it not more human to love, to live, and even to sin, +than to weave web upon web? Spider, I envy you not your sacredness...!" + +The spider puffed itself out maliciously. + +"You seem to be still proud of your murder and your immorality and +shamelessness! Your princely name you have dragged through the mire, +your wings you have given up for a panther's skin and a grape-wreath, +and know not yet what repentance is. If you had been wise and become +a spider, you would have served Emeralda, and there would have been +no need to go down to the Under-world!" + +But Psyche was no longer afraid. She had come to kiss her father's +coffin; she left her jewelled tears in the treasure, which the spiders +watched over, and ascended the hundreds of steps and came on to the +terrace of the battlements. + +There as a child she had wandered and gazed, a child with wings, +and innocent, her soul full of dreams. Now she wandered again along +the ramparts and battlements high as a man; the doves fluttered about +her, the swans looked up at her ... and full of dejection for former +innocence and youth, she wept and wept: no longer a brook, but topazes, +rubies, tears of sin, that, rattling down, frightened the doves and +the swans, which, indignant, thought that she was pelting them with +stones. The doves flew away, and the swans, offended, turned their +backs on her. Then she sat down in an embrasure--no wings now lay +against the stone-work--and she folded her arms round her knees. She +looked towards the horizon; behind it loomed other horizons, first +pink, then silver; blue, then gold; behind the grey, pale and misty, +and then fading away. Then beyond, the horizon became milk-white, like +an opal, and in the reflection of the last rays of the setting sun, +it seemed as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose in the air, +aerial paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and +light-quivering nothingness. + +And Psyche bowed her head, full of sadness, and sobbed. + +The world was not changed, but more beautiful than ever; gloriously +beautiful loomed the ever-changing horizon. Yet Psyche sobbed, full +of sadness. She knew that the horizons were pure delusions, and that +behind them was the desert with the Sphinx. Oh! if she could once more +believe in the aerial paradises, the purple seas, the golden regions +with people of light, who lived under rosy bananas! Alas! had she not +trod a paradise, the sweet Present, the adorable garden of a moment, +so little and so short in duration? It was past, it was past! Oh, +how her soul scorched, how her shoulders pained, how her eyes burned! + +She wept and she sobbed, and hid her face in her hands. She did not +notice that the wind was rising, that the horizon quivered, that +clouds were speeding through the air, white colossi like towers and +dragons, riders and horses. She did not see the changes in the sky; +she did not see the going up and down of wings, of flaming wings in +the silver lightning, that flashed from the sky; she did not hear +the warning thunder, nor did she see the clouds emitting sparks. But +suddenly she distinctly heard a voice: + +"Psyche! Psyche!" + +She looked up. Before her, she saw descending on broad wings a steed +of pure light and flame. And she uttered a cry, that sounded in the +air like an endless shout of gladness: + +"Chimera!" + +It was he. He descended. The basalt terrace trembled, as though shaken +by an earthquake; under his hoofs the stone shot sparks, and he stood +before her resplendent and beautiful. + +"Chimera!" she cried, and folded her hands and sank down before him +on her knees. + +She could say nothing else. She was dazzled, and it seemed as though +her soul ascended heavenward in the pure delight of love. + +"Psyche!" sounded his voice of bronze, "I have come down, for I love +you. But I may not bear you any more on my back through the delusive +regions of air, because you have committed sin. Psyche, it is your +bounden duty to obey Emeralda's command. Go down to Hell and seek +the Jewel." + +"Chimera, adored one, delight of my soul, oh, your splendour fills +my eyes! Your word gives strength to my weakness! I feel it! You +may not bear me away; I am unworthy of your wings. But I adore and +bless you for coming! Chimera, Chimera, your splendour has beamed +once more upon me! your voice has inspired me, and I will do what you +say.... You let the light of hope break in upon me; new strength flows +through my limbs. Chimera, I hope, I hope! I will go down into Hell; +I will seek.... Shall I find? I know not.... But I hope! The horizon +is quivering with hope and ether and the Future! + +"Psyche!" sounded his voice again like bronze, "be strong! Take +heart! Descend! Do penance! Seek...! Once more you will see me...." + +"Once more!" + +"Be strong, take heart, do penance!" + +He ascended, whilst Psyche remained kneeling. When he was high +in the air, there came a peal of thunder, as if the heavens would +burst asunder. The sky was dark, but lit up by the lightning. In the +black sky, in the lightning flame, rose fearfully the three hundred +towers. And the thunder-claps rumbled on, one after the other, as if +the Past were perishing in the last day.... + +With a joyful cry, Psyche hastened along the terraces, the battlements, +ramparts, entered the castle, and went down the steps. Lower and lower +she descended, lower than the vaults; and as she passed them, she +threw a kiss in the direction where the old king lay buried.... She +descended still lower, and yet she heard the thunder pealing above, +and the castle seemed to tremble to its very foundations. + +She descended still lower: she descended very deep pits, built like +towers reversed to the central nave of the earth. She descended step +after step, thousands of steps, groping in the darkness. She walked +with unerring foot, that felt for the next step, that detected the +slippery stone; she felt and never hesitated. Another step and then +another; again a pit, pit after pit, all the pits of the Past. Bats +flew up and flapped their wings, spiders she felt crawling over her, +an icy dampness fell like a chill wind upon her shoulders. + +Deeper down she went, and deeper. It was pitch dark, and above she +heard nothing more; she heard only the flapping of the gigantic bats, +the droning of the envious spiders. But she defended herself with +her little hand; as she descended, she beat about her, beat the bats +away, seized a vampire, held it tightly by the neck, and strangled +it. Her foot glided over toads, she slipped over snakes, but she got +up again and beat the bats and fought with the vampires. The Chimera +had so inspired her with strength, that she felt strong as a giant, +young and courageous; he had filled her eyes with such light that +she saw him in the darkness. + +In the pitchy darkness his flaming wings were distinctly visible. And +on she went descending; thick clouds of dust, the deepest shadows of +Emeralda's transitoriness, rose up, but she kept breathing, never +hesitating, and her foot felt instinctively the next step, and she +struck at the bats and fought with the vampires. When she throttled +them, a human cry was heard, and the echo sounded a thousand times +like the anxious cry of a murder. But she was not afraid. She kept +on descending.... + +She kept descending. At last she felt no more steps but voidness +under her feet, and she sank ... like a feather, through heavier air; +she sank, she sank deeper and deeper, deeper and deeper.... A black +draught of air, an invisible wind, damp and chill, made her feel +that she had passed all the pits, that she was sinking outside them +in the open air, invisible and black, thick as ink. Then she began +to sink more slowly, and ... her feet touched ground. + +Sounds soft and low, like the plaintive strains of a viol, rose up +from afar, like music of the sea, the plaint of a thousand voices +which never became melody. + +The far-off sound continued quivering as an accompaniment of wind, of a +black wind which blew, and overpowered the music of the sea. Sometimes +it went a little higher, sometimes a little lower, and always remained +the vague and distant incomprehensible harmony. + +From where the wind came, from where the plaintive murmuring arose, +thither would Psyche go. And with her foot she kept feeling, and with +her outstretched hands, and on she went.... + +Long, long she went in the darkness, till the darkness became less +opaque and lit up with phosphoric flickerings; and she saw: + +That she was ascending a path between two inky seas. + +Black as ink were the waves. + +Then she heard them roaring; then she saw their crests lit up with +a blue phosphorescent glow. + +Then she heard the soft, low sounds, the plaintive viols swell, +till they became a dull, continuous soughing. + +The black wind rose as with a gigantic sail, and suddenly blew the +hurricane. + +In the pitch-dark air, the lightning flashed blue. + +And between the two inky seas, Psyche went slowly on, against the +gusts of wind. + +Then she uttered a cry, as though she were calling.... + +The hurricane took her cry for help over the endless sea of +Hell.... And from all sides dived up the gruesome frights--leviathan +monsters. They opened their jaws at Psyche, and the water streamed +out. Their scaly tortuous bodies wound along over the black surface +of the ocean, and on the horizon, lit up with phosphorous blue, their +tails meandered. They came from the horizon, they dived up and down, +and the ocean dived with them. Storm-flood, waterfall--storm-flood, +waterfall.... They spread out their dragon wings, and caught up the +boisterous wind; they shot up waterspouts like towering fountains, +of a blue and yellowish hue. Their round squinting eyes stood out +watchful, like green and yellow signals; they lifted their red-lobed +jaws, abysses of red-slimy desires, bubbling with foamy slaver. + +"Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?" + +Psyche asked the question in a high, musical key, and her voice rang +out clearly in the hurricane and plaintive moanings of the sea. Her +high soprano sounded above all the roaring of the elements and +plaintive cries; and three times she repeated the question: + +"Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?" + +The leviathans pressed together along the path that Psyche trod. But +amidst the noise of their tossing and snorting and spouting, she +heard the plaintive sea swelling, the sea of plaintive voices; and +then in the blue phosphorescent glow between the monsters, she saw +the drowned shades heaving to and fro, always writhing in fear, always +drowning in the inky sea; the everlasting wailing of the plaintive sea, +the cry of souls in pain; the gigantic plaintive viol, with strings +ever playing.... + +"Vanity, vanity!" + +Did she hear aright? + +It was one single sound, like a note repeated again and again. "Vanity, +vanity!" was the inexorable answer, first vague as a dream, mystic as +a thought, sounding more distinctly as an admonition against worldly +pride. And so distinct did the sound become, that Psyche, brave Psyche, +who feared neither vampire nor monster of the deep ... that courageous +Psyche hesitated and felt all her strength giving way.... + +"If it were vanity to seek, to ask for the Jewel, how much farther +should she go?" + +"Should she go back?" + +She looked round. + +But she saw what made her soul sink within her. + +She saw that behind her step, the seas immediately closed till they +became one single sea of ink; she saw that the only path for her +stretched across the seas, that behind her it immediately sank away. + +She could not go back, she must go on. + +And she buoyed up her sinking soul; she went on, and in a high soprano +voice repeated again and again her question: + +"Spirits in the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?" + +"Vanity, vanity!" + +The plaintive viol kept trembling, and the same sound sounded ever, +the unchangeable answer. The hurricane was no longer chill, but warm, +sultry, strangely sultry; more and more sultry blew the everlasting +cyclone. + +The sea-monsters kept back; they dived again below; the sea +sank with them, the shades swayed to and fro in storm-flood, +waterfall--storm-flood, waterfall, and many-headed hydras came +sinuously up. The sea no longer shone with phosphorescent glow, but +was quite black, pitch black, black as boiling pitch, without foam +and without light, and kept sending up a discharge of miry, vaporous +matter. In the boiling pitch, the hydras, with their thousand snaky +heads, kept diving up, tortoise-scaled; swayed to and fro, to and fro +the pale faces of the shades, but ever sounded the plaintive viol, +and ever rang forth the same note, the unchangeable answer to Psyche's +shrill question: + +"Hydras of the sea of pain, spirits in the sea of pain, where shall +I find the Jewel for Emeralda...??" + +"Vanity, vanity...!" + +The pitch seethed and hissed and steamed. + +It was no longer a sea of water, no longer a sea of pitch; + +It was a sea of nothing but flame, pitch-black flame, a sea of +jet-black fire, fire and flame, that waved from the horizon, where a +single streak of pale light appeared. In the black flames burned the +shades, in the black flames wound the hydras in and out; the thick +smoke shot up into the clouds, and the clouds sent it back again.... + +"Spirits in the pitch-black flames, where shall I find the Jewel +for Emeralda...???" + +"Vanity, vanity...!" + +The hurricane kept blowing, the plaintive viol kept trembling, and +ever sounded the same note, the unchangeable answer. But scorchingly, +more scorchingly blew the wind, like a tempest from a sun for ever +doomed. The black night now assumed a dark-purple aspect, like purple +steam; the clouds drove a bloody vapour into the heavens. + +And on either side of Psyche's path suddenly shot out the flaming +hurricane of the sun, gigantic purple tongues of fire, scarlet and +orange. The lower clouds drove them back, and when Psyche looked round, +she stood in a flaming fire. The flaming hurricane seethed round her; +behind her feet the path was on fire. The air was fire. But Psyche, +whose own soul was on fire, in her own scorching fire of remorse, +felt not the glowing heat, and she saw, + +Out of the living scarlet craters, the orange caves, the hellish +chimeras working up their sinuous way like glowing spirals: half +arabesque, half beast; half dragon, half tail; flaming sea-horses. They +spat and fanned the glowing fire, and, riding aloft on the burning +hurricane, the shades swept past Psyche. + +"Spirits in the scarlet flames...." + +"Vanity, vanity!" + +This was the only answer, that sounded afar off in her ears, the +answer of the tortured, angry spirits, which in the strength of their +sin and passion came flying up from the craters. + +On she went.... + +She went on along the path that unfolded before her. + +How confidently she went on, how calmly! Why was she not +afraid? Oh! she knew too much to be afraid and not to go +on in confidence. Was the answer not always more distinct and +unchangeable? Psyche's soul breathed freely, and in the fire around her +her own fire seemed to diminish. For when the fire round her became +yellower, sulphur-yellow, pure yellow, the pure golden yellow of the +sun, then she uttered a cry of joy, as though she knew the answer: + +"Spirits in the sulphur flames, spirits in the sun's flames...!" + +She smiled.... Smiling, she hastened on, with joyful voice, with winged +step; and so rapidly did she flee along the path smoothed out small +for her foot, that behind her the answer could scarcely reach her. + +"Vanity, vanity!" + +Oh! it was always the plaintive viol, but the too poignant grief +was tempered with melancholy; the plaintive sea became like a sea +of melancholy; the thousands of voices were full of melancholy. And +when the flames became less dense and lighter, when they changed +from sulphur yellow to soft azure, a flaming sea of azure, in the +silent dawning moonlight scenery, high, broad, blue flaming tongues +that shot from the moon--when the hellish hurricane no longer raged, +but gave away to a more benign breeze--then Psyche asked no more in +so shrill a key, but knowing all, her voice murmured dejectedly: + +"Spirits in the azure flames, where shall I find the Jewel for +Emeralda?" + +The melancholy viol vibrated more gently; the spirits rocking to and +fro in the thin blue fire sang more softly: + +"That is vanity, Psyche; that is vanity...." + +She uttered her jubilant cry, and hastened on with uplifted arms +through the azure moon-flames. The firmament spread out in higher +circles and formed wider spheres; + +The flames became clearer and clearer; more benignly blew the breeze; + +And pale, the spirits flitted to and fro: pale shades with melancholy +eyes, singing their song of painful remembrances.... + +And the spirits looked at Psyche--the spirits smiled benignly on her, +astonished that she was still alive. + +They pointed for her to go on farther and farther; they nodded to her, +"On! on!" + +And she gave a loud cry of joy and hastened on.... + +She sped through the flames and shades; + +Till the flames were still, and high and white; + +High, still, white flames, like sacrificial flames, like altar flames, +high in the sky, the lofty sky, the wide sky; the wide expanse full +of white flame, still, white, ascending, purifying flames, refined +and clear, over the whole wide expanse, the wide refining expanse.... + +Once more she asked the pale shades, who swarmed about between the +flames, hand in hand, who swayed continually to and fro between +the flames: + +"Spirits in the white flames, pure white, in the white flames, where +shall I find the Jewel for Emeralda?" + +"Vanity, vanity!" sang the shades softly and quietly, and in the +answer, calm and assuring, of the expectant penitents, vibrated the +great viol with a sound like a soft jubilant trill. + +Psyche asked no more. She slackened her speed and began to walk, +her arms raised, her head erect, through the silvery flames. Oh, the +dear, tender flames, the adorable purifying flames! how they cooled, +in their snow-white glow, the burning remorse of her soul! + +How freely Psyche breathed, in the innocently white glowing fire! Like +lilies were the tongues of flame, fragrant and soothing as balsam, +cool and fresh as snow ... cold as water, as foam. The white flames +foamed and rippled like a sea, lower and smoother, quieter and more +serene; they rippled like a sea of lilies, like a sea of silver +snow.... They became moisture and water and foaming ocean, the tender +element of gentle compulsion, carrying along as an irresistible dream, +white as paradise, and, as slightly rippling waves of foam, they bore +Psyche away. + +On the foaming waves Psyche drifted along, all white in the golden +boat of her fair hair. So gently did they rock her, the foaming, +rippling waves, that Psyche shut her eyes. Sleep was stealing over +her. Her lips smiled with inward peace. + +The waves bore her away, the sea washed her ashore. She awoke from +her slumber, pearl-white she rose from the foam, amidst the joyful +dolphins. + +She stepped out of the sea on to the land. She felt quite cool, and +her soul was calm and peaceful, full of reassuring, holy knowledge. But +within her was a great desire. + +Smiling, she stretched out her arms. She yearned for the desire of +her heart.... + +"Not yet ... not yet," was whispered tenderly to her cool and peaceful +soul. "Wait, wait...." sounded the echo. + +In the silent joy of her soul, she wept. She lifted her hand to her +eyes; wet were her tears, and in her hand ... lay a pearl...! + +Then she looked round. She recognised the sea-shore with its many bays, +the shore of the Kingdom of the Past. There, on the opal-blue horizon, +loomed a town of minarets and pinnacles, of cupolas and obelisks, +surrounded with golden walls. + +That was the capital of the kingdom. Thither she would repair. + +There, proud and peaceful, still and cool, she would say to Emeralda, +her powerful sister, + +That her Jewel was vanity. That the gem did not exist. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +When Psyche approached the capital, she heard at the gates the excited +cries of festive merry-makers. Outside the gates flocked the noisy +crowd, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, and bedecked with +flowers, singing and dancing, but not knowing why. Everywhere was +bustle and commotion; on the roadside sat hundreds of hucksters, +and women extolling their wares--glasses with jewels and fruit, +cooling drinks, dresses and flowers. In a shrill key they praised +their wares; they spread out their stuffs with much ado, and offered +the people flowers, and poured them out wine, and held up strings of +glass pearls and cheap necklaces of coins. + +Psyche was naked, and she veiled herself in her hair; she spread over +the marks on her shoulders her golden mantle of hair, and as many of +the dancing girls, some half naked and others quite, danced round, +hand in hand, people thought that she was naked, only because she was +so fair--Psyche, so pearl-white in her golden hair. She was not wont +to be ashamed of nakedness, which was once her right, her privilege +as a princess; but now under the eyes of the people she blushed, and +walked with downcast eyes. Then she turned to a saleswoman and asked: + +"What is the feast for?" + +"Where do you come from? 'What is the feast for!' Don't you know +anything about it?" + +"I come from the other side of the sea...." + +"'What is the feast for!' It is the great festival: it is the Festival, +the Jubilee-festival, of Emeralda. It is the Triumphal Procession of +the Queen!!" + +.... "It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!" resounded on all +sides. They danced and sang: + +.... "It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!" + +They were drunk with joy, dizzy from strange joy; but Psyche suddenly +saw that they were deadly pale and frightened, deadly pale under +paint and flowers, and frightened whilst they danced round in a ring. + +"I have no dress for the occasion; give me that veil of golden +gauze!" said Psyche to the saleswoman. + +"That is very dear!" + +"I will pay you for it with this pearl." + +.... "With that pearl! Are you a princess, then!" + +Psyche then took the veil, and she bound it round her loins, just as +she used to do before. + +"I will give you a wreath of fresh roses as well!" said the woman, +pleased, and put the flowers on her head. + +She smiled, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was decked out +with those flowers as a victim for the altar; that all the people +who were making merry and dancing were bedecked as victims. She went +on. Through the round gold gate she entered the city; the squares +were seen in the distance, connected with very broad streets; square +palaces of marble and bronze, of jasper and malachite, round cupolas +and finely pointed minarets, glistered in the sun as if conjured up by +magic. They stretched far away, and right behind the blue mountains +rose the royal castle, a Babel of pinnacles and towers innumerable, +almost indiscernible in the distance, with square ramparts and walls, +and lofty summits lost in the rising mist. And along the squares, over +palaces, and on the minarets, hung the thick festoons of flowers, +as though the towns were decked out for an offering. Close up to +the castle, Babel of pinnacles, the festoons of flowers seemed to +reach. And in the squares the dancers threw flowers into the air, +and it seemed as if white roses were raining down from heaven. To the +sound of tabour and cymbals, the people danced madly round, and ever +was heard the same cry: + +"It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!" + +Then Psyche, in the secret depths of her heart, saw clearly and +indubitably what it all meant. As she went along with the dense crowds +of noisy, shouting merry-makers, she saw all the people in the town +trembling with fear, which made the blood congeal in their veins. + +Their eyes, through fear, were ready to start out of their sockets; +their teeth chattered; their limbs, bedecked with flowers, trembled; +the sun was shining, but everyone was shivering with cold. + +But no one spoke of his trembling, and they danced, madly drunk with +foolish joy, and they kept shouting the same thing: + +"It is the Triumphal Procession of the Queen!!!" + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +A great commotion was going on in the direction of the castle. In +that direction all eyes were turned, and the dancing girls forgot to +dance. From fear, the crowd stood still, as if petrified, and forgot +to conceal the anxiety of their minds. The palaces seemed to tremble; +the air-atoms quivered audibly. Something dreadful was about to happen. + +The royal castle shone with a strange lustre; a sun seemed to send +forth a halo; an ominous aureola appeared in the distance. The fearful +rays of the Sun of Consternation outshone the day, outshone the sun: +from their centre, they penetrated through houses and people. + +And everything shone, softened by the glow of piercing sunbeams. The +rays quivered everywhere in the air, and the aureola filled the world. + +The cause of consternation came rattling on with the rapidity of +an arrow. + +All hearts stood still, all breath was taken away, all dancing was +stopped, all rejoicing ceased. + +From the castle, over the triumphal way, a triumphal chariot rattled +along with the speed of an arrow. On the top, a living jewel, stood +Emeralda, and guided the four and twenty steeds. It was her splendour +and her aureola which appeared in the air. It was her rays which +caused the houses to shine with splendour and pierced the people with +flashes. She stood immovable, clad in the strength of precious stones, +in a tunic of sapphire, in a robe of brilliants, with deep flounces +of gems and white cameos; her mantle was like a bell, with folds of +purple carbuncle, lined with enamelled ermine. From her crown of +beryl, from her heart of ruby, the rays shot forth, shone out her +fear-inspiring aureola and streamed over the town and in the air, +eclipsing the sun, which turned pale. Her eyes of emerald, stars +in her opal face, chalcedonic, looked inexorable, and her bosom of +precious stones heaved not. Only her heart of ruby beat regularly, +and then her lustre grew alternately dim and bright.... + +She stood immovable and guided her horses, her four and twenty foaming +stallions, rearing greys, which drew her triumphal car, like a broad +enamelled shell on innumerable wheels, on cutting wheels so numerous, +that they seemed to run into one another--a turning confusion of +spokes. + +The dazzling, fear-inspiring chariot rattled on with the rapidity of +an arrow. And suddenly, awaking from their stupefaction, the people +madly danced again and shouted the same jubilant cry. The tabours +sounded, the white roses rained down, and before the queen the people +prostrated themselves and paved her path with their bodies. The grey +stallions foamed and reared; they came on, they came on, they trampled +over the first bodies--men and women, girls and children, dressed for a +festival and bedecked with flowers.... Over her people rode Emeralda; +the innumerable wheels rattled, a confusion of spokes, revolving, +cutting furrows in flesh and blood, reducing blood and human flesh +to a muddy mass. But farther up they danced, farther up they sang, +before casting themselves down for her Triumph.... + +Then Emeralda, looking over her triumphal way, saw, with the keen +glance of her black carbuncle pupil, a little form, naked and fair, +who lifted up her small, child's hand. + +And fiercer and fiercer gleamed her heart of ruby, for she had +recognised the form. + +And the desire flamed up in her: the thirst for more power and to +become like a god. + +Emeralda recognised Psyche. And she reined in her twelve pair +of horses, she drove them more slowly, and under the less quickly +revolving wheels she heard the jubilant cry of the dying people. The +blood dropped from the wheels, but the roses rained down and covered +the horrible sight. On the bloody, muddy mass, the roses rained down, +white, from the balconies of the palaces. + +Emeralda stopped. + +Under her, death was silent. + +Around, the town was silent. She alone reigned and shot out her +terrible fan of rays, which scorched the houses and pierced the air. + +And before her, at a little distance, stood Psyche, proud, pearl-white, +crowned with roses, in a veil of gold. + +And the silent crowd recognised in her the third princess of the +kingdom. + +"Psyche!" said Emeralda, and her voice sounded loud through the town +from the focus of her rays, "have you come to bring me the unutterable +Jewel, the Gem of Power, the Bestower of Universal Power, the sacred +Stone of Mysticism? Have you found the Mystery of the Godhead, and, + +"--Do you rule with me the Universe and God?" + +The town shuddered and quivered. The people were stupefied. + +The air-atoms trembled audibly. + +Then Psyche's voice sounded clearly, silver-clearly, from the +consciousness of the wisdom and sacred knowledge which she possessed. + +"Emeralda, for you I have gone through Hell along the black seas, +oceans of pitch, along the horrible sloughs of flaming hurricanes, +along the craters and caverns scarlet and yellow, along the azure fires +and through the white and lilac glow. Give heed to what I say. Hell +answered 'Vanity!' when I asked for the Jewel; the leviathans roared +'Vanity!'; the chimeras hissed 'Vanity!'; the spirits cried 'Vanity!'; +and the whole plaintive viol trilled: + +"'Vanity!' + +"Do you understand me, Emeralda? Your wish was Vanity, for the mystic +Jewel that bestows godlike power is Vanity, and.... Does not Exist." + +Then it was terrible. The queen, a living idol, burned with rage, +blazed with rage; her heart was inflamed with rage. + +Around her, decked out for sacrifice, in festive garb, in the +sunshine and her own dazzling splendour, her people trembled with +fear. And cruelty gleamed in her fixed face; her emerald eyes started +so revengefully from their sockets as though blinded by their own +splendour, and she pulled at the numerous reins.... + +The horses reared, the white roses fell down, the people screamed +with joy and the fear of death, and the triumphal chariot rattled on. + +Swift as an arrow it thundered on over the people, who paved the way +in ecstacy, and Psyche saw the maddened horses approaching, snorting, +foaming, panting, trampling, pulling, their eyes round and mad.... + +For a moment she stood firm, proud, tall, pearl-white in the sacred +knowledge she possessed; then the angry hoofs struck her down, and the +horses trampled her as a flower. Emeralda's chariot rattled over her, +with its many cutting wheels, and whilst she died like a crushed lily, +trampled in her own lily-whiteness, she thought of her old father, +and how she had crept to his breast and hidden her face in his beard, +before she went to sleep at night.... + +She died.... But while she lay trampled to death in the mud of human +flesh and blood, and the sacrificial roses kept falling down over +her corpse unrecognisable---- + +She returned to life, hovering through the air, and felt so light +and unencumbered, and was whiter than ever and naked. + +And on her tender shoulders she felt two new wings quivering...! + +She hovered over her own body into a drifting cloud, a mist of +fragrance, which farther on she lost sight of; and light, white, +and rarefied, she looked wonderingly at her trampled body and +laughed. Strange, clear, and childlike sounded her laugh in the cloud +and vapoury fragrance.... + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +The triumphal chariot rattled on madly. Emeralda stretched out her +sceptre, on the top of which glowed a star of destroying rays. When +she stretched out the sceptre and directed the rays, she scorched +monuments, palaces, and parks to a white ash, and, for her cruel +jubilant procession, she cut down everything that came in her way. The +thick white ashes flew up like dust; the jubilant multitude were +scorched; the palaces of jaspar and malachite shrivelled up like +burnt paper; the breath of the horses blew away, like ash, the white +burnt gardens. And right over everything went Emeralda, scorching +as she went. Powerful, foolish, arrogant, and proud she was, and +more unfeeling than ever, spiteful and cruel, hurt in her pride; +and she scorched, and made the way smooth before her. Behind her +lay all the town, and she drove through her kingdom, filling the air +with her rays. She drove through valleys and burnt up the harvest; +she reduced villages to dust; she dried up rivers; and before her, +the mountains split asunder. + +Her sceptre made a way for her, and no law of nature resisted her +power. The air was grey with the clouds of ash, which rained down +upon the earth. + +She went along as swiftly as an arrow, swiftly as lightning, swiftly +as light, swiftly as thought. She went so swiftly, that in a single +hour she had gone all round her wide kingdom intoxicated with the +pride of annihilation, and she drove her maddened horses through +endless plains of sand. + +Desert after desert she consumed; the lions fled before her; she +overtook them in a moment; clouds of sand she sent up into the air.... + +But then she relaxed her speed. She stopped. + +Before her, grey and high through the clouds of sand and falling ash, +there loomed a most dreadful shadow. + +The shadow was like a gigantic beast, squatting in the sand, +with a woman's head in a stiff basalt veil. The woman's head had +a woman's breast, two basalt breasts of a gigantic woman. But the +body that squatted in the sand was a lion, and the paws stuck out +like walls. And so great was the shadow, so monstrous the beast, +that even the triumphal chariot of Emeralda appeared small. + +"Sphinx!" said Emeralda, "I will know. I am powerful, but there is +power above me. There are spheres above mine, and there are gods +above my divinity. There are laws of nature which my sceptre cannot +alter. Sphinx, tell me the riddle. Reveal to me the place where the +Jewel lies hidden, which gives almighty power over the world and God, +so that I may find it and become the mightiest of all gods. Sphinx, +answer me, I say! Open your stony lips and let your voice once +more be heard, that shall make the world tremble with wonder. For +centuries you have not spoken. Sphinx, speak now! For if you do not +speak, Sphinx, and reveal to me where the Jewel lies hidden, then, +great and terrible as you are, I will scorch you to a white ash and +go over you in triumph. Sphinx, speak!" + +The Sphinx was silent. The Sphinx looked with stony eyes at the clouds +of sand and raining ash. Her basalt lips remained shut. + +"Sphinx, speak!!" said Emeralda, threateningly and red with rage. + +The Sphinx spoke not and looked. + +Emeralda stretched out her sceptre and directed the destroying rays. + +The rays split on the basalt with crackling sparks like flashes of +forked lightning. Emeralda uttered a cry, hoarse and terrible. She +threw away her broken sceptre. But of her greater power she did not +doubt, and for the last time she threatened. + +"Terrible Sphinx, tremble! I am more terrible than you!! Speak, +Sphinx!!" + +The Sphinx was silent. + +Then Emeralda tugged at the reins. + +The maddened horses reared, snorting, foaming, panting, trampling, +pulling, and dashed against the Sphinx. + +But the foremost horses were dashed to pieces against the god-like +basalt. + +Then Emeralda uttered cry after cry, one hoarse cry after another, +which resounded through the desert. She tugged at the reins; the +horses, despairing of their attack against the immovable, drove +at the Sphinx, and fell back crushed, falling over one another and +trampling one another to death; the triumphal chariot split, and the +splinters of sparkling jewels flew up like cracking fireworks, and +Emeralda fell between the still revolving wheels. And her heart of +ruby broke. All her dazzling splendour suddenly faded. The terrifying +fan-like aureola suddenly grew dim, and the desert was grey and gloomy, +with a gentle rain of thick white ash falling down. + +The Sphinx was silent, and looked on.... + + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Psyche was alive again, soaring through the air, and felt so light +and ethereal; pearl-whiter she was than ever, and naked. + +And on her tender shoulders she felt two new wings fluttering...! + +She hovered away over her own dead body into a drifting cloud, +a fragrant mist, which farther on she lost sight of; and light, +white, and ethereal, she looked with wonder at her trampled corpse +and laughed.... + +Strange, clear, and childlike sounded her laugh in the cloud and +vapoury fragrance.... + +"Psyche!" + +She heard her name, but so dazzled and astonished was she, that +she did not see. Then the wind blew about her; the cloud moved, +the fragrance ascended like incense, and she saw many like herself, +restored to life, hovering in the fragrant cloud, and round her she +distinguished the outlines of well-known faces. + +"Psyche!" + +She recognised the voice, deep bronze, but yet strange. And the wind +blew about her and she saw a bright light before her, and recognised +the Chimera! + +"You promised me: once more!" exclaimed Psyche joyfully. + +She threw herself on to his back, she clung to his mane, and he +soared aloft. + +"Where am I?" said Psyche. "Who am I? What has happened? And what is +going on around me? Am I dead, or do I live? Chimera, how rarefied +is the air! how high you ascend! Are you going to ascend higher, +higher still? Why is everything so dazzlingly bright about us? Is +that water, or air, or light? What strange element is this? Who are +going up with us--ethereal faces, ethereal forms? And what is the +viol that is playing? + +"I heard that once before. Then it sounded plaintively; now it has +a joyous sound! + +"Chimera, why is the air so full of joy here...? Look! below us is +the Kingdom of the Past. + +"It lies in a little circle, and the castle is a black dot. Chimera, +where are you going so high? We have never been so high +before. Chimera, what are those circles all round us, the splendour +of which makes me giddy? Are those spheres? Do they get wider and +wider? Oh, how wide they get, Chimera, how wide! How high it is here, +how wide, how rarefied and how light is the air! I feel myself also so +light, so ethereal! Am I dead...? Chimera, look! I have two new wings, +and I shine pearl-white all over. Do I not shine like a light? It +is true I have been very sinful. But I was what I had to be! Is it +good to be what we have to be? I do not know, Chimera: I have thought +of neither good nor bad; I was only what I was. But tell me, who am +I now, and what am I? And where are you taking me to, Chimera? You +carry me so quietly, so safely; up and down go your wings, up and +down. The stars are twinkling round us; around us whirl the spheres, +and wider and wider they become...! How light, how ethereal! What is +that I see on the horizon? Or is it not the horizon? Opal islands, +aerial oceans.... O Chimera!!!! I see purple sands wrinkling far, far +away, and round them foams a golden sea.... We saw that once before, +but not as it is now! For then it was delusion, and now...! The +sands are growing more distinct; I see the ripple of the golden +sea.... Chimera! What land is that? Is that the rainbow? Is that the +land of happiness, and are you the king?" + +"No, Psyche, I am not a king, and that Land...." + +"--And that Land...?" + +"Is ... the Kingdom of the Future!" + +"The Future! the Future!! O Chimera, where are you taking me to? Will +the Future not prove to be a delusion...?" + +"No, here is the Future. Here is the Land. Look at it well +... well...." + +"It is wider than the widest sphere, wider than anything I can think +of. Where are the limits?" + +"Nowhere." + +"How far and how wide is the widest sphere?" + +"Immeasurably far, indescribably wide...." + +"And what stretches away round the widest sphere?" + +"The unutterable, and the All, All! The...." + +"The...?" + +"I know no names! On earth things are called by names; here not...." + +"Chimera...! On the purple strand I see a town of light, palaces of +light, gates of light.... Do beings of light dwell there...? Are these +the fore-spheres of the farthest sphere...? Is that the way through +circles to ... the....? Chimera, I see forms, I see the people of +light!! O Chimera! Chimera!! They are beckoning us, they are waving +to us! I see two of them: a form of majesty, and another, near him, +of love! O Chimera! I know them!! That is my father, and that ... O +joy, O joy! ... that is Eros! Eros! Quicker, Chimera--annihilate +the space which separates us; speed on, ply your wings faster--away, +away! Oh, faster, Chimera! Can you not go faster? You fly too slowly +for me! You fly too slowly!! I can fly faster than you." + +She spread out her tender, light, butterfly wings; she rose above +the breathless, winged horse, and ... she flew...! + +She glided over the Chimera's head toward the strand, toward the city, +toward the blessed spirits. There she saw her father, there she saw +Eros--Eros, godlike and naked, with shining wings! + +Round her the viol of joy played its joyous notes, as if all the +spheres rejoiced together. In the divine light, the faces of the +cherubim began to blossom like winged roses.... + +She glided swiftly through the air to her father and Eros, and embraced +them. She laughed when she saw the flaming Chimera approaching, +because she could fly faster than he! + +"Come!" cried Eros joyfully. And he wanted to take her to the gate, +from whence sunbeams issued like a path of sunny gold: a path along +which enraptured souls were going hand in hand.... + +But the kingly shade stopped them for a moment, when they, Eros and +Psyche, intoxicated with love, embraced each other.... + +"Look!" said the shade. "Look down below...." + + + +They saw the Kingdom of the Past, with their glorified minds, lying +visible, deep in the funnel of the spheres. They saw the castle, fallen +to ruins, with a single tower still standing. They saw Astra, old, +grey, and blind, sitting before her telescope, and gazing in vain. They +saw her star flicker up for a moment with a bright and final light. + +Then they saw Astra's blind eyes ... see! Astra looked and beheld +the land of light, and the little band of happy, loving, dear ones +in their shining raiment. Then they heard Astra murmur: "There! there +... the Land...! The ... Kingdom ... of ... the ... Future!!!" + +And they saw her star extinguish: + +She fell back dead.... + +The viol of gladness trilled. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Psyche, by Louis Couperus + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PSYCHE *** + +***** This file should be named 38005.txt or 38005.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/0/38005/ + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project +Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously +made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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