While Gannon was anxiously considering how he could communicate with
his family, they were safe and happy at home. The evening meal was
finished, and they were seated in the atrium of their one-storied house
of four rooms. On a wooden table burned a small terra-cotta lamp, which
shed a dim light through the room. Psyche and her mother were seated
together. Alcmaeon lay on a couch near them.
“Hast thou finished rehearsing for the celebration, O daughter?” asked
Alcmaeon.
“On the afternoon of the morrow the last rehearsal will take place, O
my father,” she replied.
Psyche was a charming maiden, eighteen years old. She had an exquisite
face, with large soulful eyes, like a young doe’s, a mouth like that of
a sculptured Aphrodite, and pretty nose, cheeks and forehead like those
of the beautiful daughter of Zeus and Leda. All her features blended so
harmoniously with the refined sinuous lines and curves of her body that
she formed a perfect figure of beauty. Like the beloved of Eros, whose
name she bore, she would have been persecuted by the jealous Venus if
she had not had, like that other Psyche, a devoted protector.
When a little girl, she had taken part in religious processions. As
she grew older and her beauty developed, she led these processions.
Instinctively, while taking part in them, she learned so easily to
portray the pure emotions by her pose, gait, and dance, that she had
been drawn gradually into theatrical spectacles. At first Alcmaeon
objected to Psyche’s dancing in public; but her graceful movements so
pleased him, and her success in pleasing others was so pronounced, that
he finally consented.
It was marvellous what force she could put into her movements. By her
grace of action alone, she could represent the tragic Iocasta, the
majestic Clytemnestra, and the pleading Penelope. Whether she were
delineating the happy Aspasia, the outraged Lucretia, or the proud
Cornelia, she budded and bloomed in the attentive air of her audience
like a soft flower of feminine grace. She could so adjust her costume
that she appeared like a butterfly floating about the stage, trembling
in her pauses as if she were hovering over a flower. Her greatest
characterizations were those of the inquisitive and mournful Psyche,
the nimble and fleeting Daphne, and the tearful and grief-stricken
Niobe. In these representations she was an embodied thought of a
Phidias or Praxiteles.
At the games to be given by Nero, Agrippina’s son, on his arrival at
the manly age, she was to portray the character of Niobe at Pompey’s
Theatre.
“Art thou not sorry that this dance will be thy last, my daughter?”
asked Hera.
“Ay, my mother.”
“The wife of Gyges must lead a more serious life than that of a
dancing-girl,” said Alcmaeon.
“Dost thou yet know where thy new home is to be?” asked Hera.
“Nay, my mother. Gyges wishes to surprise me.”
“Wherever it be, O daughter, thy home will be a pleasant one,” said
Alcmaeon. “Gyges is a good and noble son of Greece. He inherits his
father’s mild temper and goodness. He is wealthy. Thy new home will
contain more luxuries than thy old one. But hearts cannot beat with
love for thee more than ours do, my daughter.”
“As the wife of Gyges, I am no less the daughter of Alcmaeon. When
I wed, thou losest not a daughter, thou gainest another son,” said
Psyche, sweetly.
“Oh that Gannon were here to-night!” said Hera. “Does not thy heart
yearn for our son, my Alcmaeon?”
“Ay, my Hera. ’Twas I who allowed him to go to the camp. Would that I
had found him another position!”
“But he is paid well for his services,” said the mother.
“I would rather that he received less and were home more. I like not
Sejanus,” said Alcmaeon, thoughtfully.
“Hast thou seen Gannon to-day, my father?” asked Psyche.
“I saw him only yesterday.”
“Said he naught of us?” questioned the mother.
“Ay, O Hera. He asked for thee, and thee, too, Psyche. He said only a
few words; but they were happy ones. After he had gone, they seemed to
me to have come from the smiling lips of his soul. Ah! if it would not
break his heart, I would take him away from the camp.”
“When he next comes home, let us ask him to leave the camp,” said Hera.
“Dost thou remember, O my Hera, the night he told us of his promotion?
Then he spoke with difficulty; joy choked his words. His handsome young
face was as radiant as that of Apollo, who drives the sun on its daily
course. To have stemmed the flood of his enthusiasm at that time would
have been an outrage. In his roseate view of the future he had us all
transported back to the country of our fathers,--back to Corinth, to
the city that was the glory of the Hellenes.”
“Verily he shall accomplish his purpose!” exclaimed Psyche, her face
flushing with the reflection of her father’s deep emotion.
“Ay, few boys are as buoyant and hopeful as Gannon,” replied Alcmaeon.
“He is a thorough Greek. He knows well the history, the language, and
the religion of our beloved country. He is a true son of the Iliad.”
“Ay, my Alcmaeon, a true son of the Iliad, and a true son of our
ancestors,” added Hera.
“With joy I shall welcome the day when I go to Corinth,” said Psyche,
with enthusiasm.
“When shalt thou go?” asked Alcmaeon.
“I know not; but I have the promise of Gyges to go there with me some
day. Thou knowest that his ancestors were also of Corinth.”
“Before I married thy mother, O Psyche,” said Alcmaeon, “my father took
me to Corinth. A desire had always burned in me to see that glorious
city. A relation having died, we went to collect a legacy. We sailed
from Brundusium. The boat was crowded with passengers. Never shall I
forget the day when we sailed from the Ionian Sea into the Corinthian
Gulf, between the islands Zacynthus and Cephallenia. As we floated
into the heart of the Iliad, my feelings were preternatural. It seemed
as if my heart were like a sail which, being swollen by the breath of
religion, drew my soul into a haven of peace.
“It was near sundown,” continued Alcmaeon. “The sea was calm. The
bireme seemed to float quickly along, like a bird skimming the surface
of the water. The oar-tortured waves grew white with foamy bubbles. A
poet’s eye could have seen in those waters the breasts and happy faces
of wandering nereids. Across the water the shadow of Ithaca’s crags
extended over the ship. Through that shadow, as through a violet mist,
I saw the glory of Odysseus.
“That night,” he continued, “we anchored at Patros. I did not sleep.
So enveloped was I in the glory of the past that the present lost its
identity. I did not live; I dreamed. In the morning the surface of the
sea trembled. The morning star reflected in the waters, like the smile
of Eos. We raised anchor and proceeded along the coast.”
As Alcmaeon described his voyage, Hera and Psyche gazed fixedly at the
pale light on the table. They felt moved by so strange an emotion that
their natural sight was dimmed. As sorrowful eyes see solace through
tears, so Hera and Psyche saw cheer and a new pleasure in Alcmaeon’s
words. In the intonation with which he pronounced the old names of
towns, heroes, and gods, they heard, as if floating on a river of
melody, a Parthenic song.
“The bow of the boat cleaved the water like a swan’s breast,” continued
Alcmaeon. “The historic shores of the gulf unfolded scene after
scene, picture after picture,--all so beautiful in the dawn that they
seemed to be glimpses into Elysium. The boat seemed to be drawn by an
invisible force; the air seemed to vibrate with emotion; our hearts
beat faster, when suddenly, like a lightning flash, directly in front,
there sparkled a glorious mountain. The captain shouted, ‘Parnassus!
Parnassus!’ I became as one transfixed; for in that mountain I saw the
flaming celestial face of the god of the Sun, Apollo. The weight of
humanity burdened me. I wished to fly to the mountain-tops. Oh! to have
been like the eagle, which from the heights of heaven flies along the
windy ways towards its nest!
“Soon after, I beheld Aegira, Sicyon, and finally the home of my
ancestors, Corinth. I saw the Acrocorinthus, and I became lost in an
oblivion of joy. O my Hera! O my Psyche! above all earthly music, above
the song of the Iliad, there floated to me from that glorious place the
cradle-song of my forefathers.”
At this part of the description Alcmaeon paused. He smoothed his brow
with his hand. Hera and Psyche bestowed upon him fond glances, showing
their intense sympathy with his emotion. He continued in a trembling
voice: “We disembarked. We climbed towards the city. We reached the
walls. O ye gods! we gazed upon the mutilated remains of the once proud
town. The Romans under Mummius and his swine made of that once glorious
city a trough. Our ancestors were sold into slavery. Our branch of the
family was redeemed.”
Again Alcmaeon paused. The last words he had uttered were full of
irony. He passed his hand over his eyes and continued: “But these are
bitter recollections. Sing an Homeric song, O Hera, and thou too,
Psyche. Let our dreams float away from the iron city of Rome to the
celestial cities of the Iliad.”
Hera began to sing an old cradle-song that had been sung in her family
from generation to generation. It was the same sweet song which, like
gentle fingers, had closed the eyelids of Gannon and Psyche in the
slumber of childhood. Taking her mother’s hand in hers and smoothing
it, Psyche also sang. Alcmaeon softly added his deep bass voice to
theirs. On the spirit of the song they were drawn into the land of
happy reveries. From songs they changed to hymns. So moved was Alcmaeon
that he rose from the couch and seated himself between Hera and
Psyche, with an arm thrown about each of them. In the sacredness of the
words and music they were supremely happy. Their souls were melted in
religious fervor.
While they were thus singing, they heard a scratching at the door. The
noise sounded like a cat trying to enter. Alcmaeon opened the door,
and saw on the threshold a poor humpbacked girl who was trembling and
weeping.
“What has happened to thee, Lupa?” he asked.
When Lupa’s name was spoken, Psyche hastened to the door. So rough
and unmannerly were the neighbors of Alcmaeon that they were almost
entirely ignored by Alcmaeon and his family. Lupa was the only
exception. The poor deformed child of eleven was the youngest of six
children. She was cruelly treated by her family, who looked upon her
deformity as a crime. Psyche was the only one in the neighborhood who
took an interest in the sad, misshapen, but good-natured girl. In reply
to Alcmaeon’s question, Lupa said, “They have beaten me.”
“Enter and tell us why, O Lupa,” said Psyche, gently.
“They gave me a jar of water to carry,” replied the poor child. “It was
too heavy. I let it fall. To punish me, they beat me, and put me out
of the house for the night.”
“Thou canst rest here. Weep no more. Art thou hungry?” asked Psyche.
The deformed girl timidly nodded her head.
After arranging a couch for her, Psyche brought her some bread, and
said: “Eat and sleep in peace, O unhappy Lupa. No one shall hurt thee
here.”
At noon on the following day Alcmaeon’s house was deserted. Poor Lupa
had gone back to her cheerless home; Alcmaeon was at school; and Psyche
and Hera had gone to the rehearsal at Pompey’s Theatre.
Of all the celebrations that were to be given the people by Nero on his
arriving at the manly age, the dancing at Pompey’s Theatre would be the
least exciting. The taste of most Romans dwelt on vulgarity, on obscene
comedy, and on exciting gladiatorial combat and horse-races. Still,
many delighted in watching the evolutions of the dance. Psyche was to
portray Niobe,--a sad but beautiful impersonation. As all the dancers
knew their different rôles, the rehearsal required little repetition.
Hera remained only a short time. Having met Gyges, whom she playfully
called Eros, she left Psyche under his watchful eyes. These she thought
were better guardians than her own.
Gyges was no golden-winged, heaven-descended god, like the mythical
protector of the goddess Psyche, but a rich young charioteer,
twenty-two years old. He was a Greek, and a perfect specimen of manly
strength and symmetry. He had an oval face, with a pair of sharp, quick
black eyes, a bold nose and forehead, and a small mouth, with lips
that were thick and gracefully curved,--especially the short upper
one, which was shaped like the bow of Eros. His rich, black curly hair
was cut short. His body was graceful, lithe, and muscular. He was a
living counterpart of the Hermes of Praxiteles at Olympia. At the races
he always wore the green color; and as that color was the favorite,
the betting odds changed whenever he drove. His intrepid and daring
appearance, as he stood in the chariot, with the reins strapped around
his body, his right foot resting on the chariot shield in front of
him, his body bent back, his eyes flashing with fire, his clear voice
shouting to his horses, inspired the spectators with wild enthusiasm.
The excitement and rush of the chariots, as they rounded the last
turn, with the finish line dead ahead of them,--on, on, in breathless
anxiety, on to victory,--so thrilled the multitudes that they rose to
their feet and rent the air with cheers.
The parents of Gyges, like those of Psyche, had been aristocratic
Greeks; but having lost their property, they had moved to Rome to
retrieve their fortune. Both were now dead. The mother died when Gyges
was but a child; the father but recently. An old freed slave named Nana
took care of the home of Gyges. She had been a second mother to him. By
her tender care, and through the excellent education and training given
him by his father, he had developed into worthy and successful manhood.
At the age of sixteen he had mastered the art of wrestling; but liking
horses, and preferring the excitement of a charioteer’s life, he had
taken racing as a profession. So successful had he become that he had
accumulated a neat fortune of a million sesterces. On this day Gyges
had left his horses and had come to the rehearsal to watch Psyche in
her fascinating movements. So delighted was he by her grace and charm
that he frequently broke out with applause. When the rehearsal was
over, and Psyche had received congratulations from the instructor and
the other dancing-girls, Gyges said to her, “Truly, O Psyche, never
have I seen thee dance so well.”
“’Tis the character I love best to portray,” answered Psyche.
“Dost thou feel too tired to walk along the Via Sacra?”
“All weariness flees at the sight of thee, O Gyges,” replied Psyche.
“I could walk until evening.”
In order to reach the Via Sacra, they passed the Flaminian Circus,
walked in the beautiful pillared porticos of Philippus and Octavia,
passed the Theatre of Marcellus, went through the Porta Triumphalis, in
the Servian wall, and entered the Forum near the Basilica Julia. The
Forum was crowded. The lovers worked their way through the busy and
noisy throng, and were soon among the shops that bordered the Via Sacra.
“What shall I buy thee, O Psyche?” asked Gyges, when they stopped
before a jeweller’s shop.
“Nothing, my Gyges. I wish only to look at the beautiful objects
displayed here.”
“But buying a jewel hinders thee not from regarding it with admiration.”
“True, O Gyges,” said Psyche, smiling; “but there are many things for
which I have no use. Look at that chain with the small gold links and
the hyacinth stones in the centre! Is not that graceful?”
“It may be.”
“Why ‘may be,’ O Gyges?”
“I am no judge of ornament, O Psyche,” replied Gyges, “unless it be a
decoration for harness or chariot. Sculpture interests me more. Thine
enthusiasm, however, pleases me more than the jewelry. Of a truth,
dost thou like the chain with the hyacinth stones?”
“’Tis beautiful. Thinkest thou it is very costly?”
“Shall I ask?” he suggested.
“Nay, nay,” returned Psyche, with a smile. “Raise not the jeweller’s
hopes. What heavy ear-rings are being worn now! Wouldst thou not
think that they would tear the ear? Jewelry is not adornment when it
disfigures. Dost thou not think so?”
“Ear-rings please me not,” said Gyges. “Are not those hair-nets and
bands pretty?”
“Ay, my Gyges. But look!” she added quickly. “There is a ring like the
one thou didst buy me. Dost thou remember the day we saw a similar one
in a shop in the Suburra? Thou didst ask the price. Was not the amount
one-half what thou didst pay here? Thou wert angry that day.”
“Truly, not angry!” he protested.
“Perchance thou wert provoked,” she playfully remarked. “Truly,
however, we know that no inferior jewelry is sold here. Thou wilt never
know how proud I was when I heard that my ring was bought here,--in
this shop which senators and wealthy men patronize. Look there, Gyges!
What a beautiful set of jewels is being shown that--”
“Softly, my Psyche,” interrupted Gyges. “The purchaser of those jewels
is Nero.”
“What! Nero, who is soon to assume the manly habit?”
“Ay, my Psyche. Wouldst thou like to have a set like that?”
“Ornament does not make people happy, my Gyges,” said Psyche, as they
left the jeweller’s shop. “I am happier dressed in plain clothes, with
no ornament, than the women who recline amidst soft cushions, and who
are so loaded with jewels that they have to be assisted when they
walk. But look yonder! What a quantity of silk that matron has bought!
Doubtless a daughter is to be wed.”
Gyges greatly enjoyed Psyche’s light chatter. He allowed her to
continue unchecked in her girlish enthusiasm. Every store they passed
brought forth exclamations of pleasure from Psyche. She was so
busily engaged looking at some sandals that she did not observe the
disappearance of Gyges. He quickly returned to the jewelry shop, made a
purchase, and was again at Psyche’s side almost as soon as she missed
him.
“Where hast thou been?” she asked.
“I wished to look once more at a jewel,” he replied.
“And therefore, my Gyges, I have been speaking to myself.”
“What didst thou say?”
“I was admiring those sandals of colored leather.”
“Dost thou like them too, O Psyche?” asked Gyges, laughing. “Surely the
Via Sacra is thy celestial path. Thou standest more patient and more
wrapped in contemplation than in a temple to a god. But come, let us to
the art dealer. Let us admire the prettiest thing on earth,--the human
form.”
“Behold that small copy of the Faun of Praxiteles,” said Gyges, when
they had arrived before the sculptor’s shop. “Yonder is a copy of the
Venus of Cnidus and the Hermes of the same sculptor. But look at this
Ares! What a creation of beauty!”
“Oh, what grace, what action!” exclaimed Psyche.
“Ay,” assented Gyges, “’tis full of life. How alive and quick are the
legs and arms! What sensuous grace, what soft outlines! Yet how heroic!
’Twas carved by a Greek. The Romans carve only fortunes and kingdoms.”
“But tell me, why is it not sold?” asked Psyche.
“I know not. Three months have I seen it there, begging its price. But
tastes have changed, O Psyche. Busts of the Divine Augustus are now
sought. Then, too, the statues of Tiberius when he was a lad are in
demand; for his now hideous face was once handsome. Didst thou ever see
the emperor, my Psyche?”
“Not closely, my Gyges. Gannon says he is ugly.”
“The emperor may despise the games at the circus and the gladiatorial
combats,” said Gyges, “but ’twould have been better if he had loved
them more. Probably his face would not now show the results of his
dissolute life. The stories about him that are slyly circulated in
the circus are terrible, though we are not allowed to speak of him
disrespectfully. Only yesterday my stable-boy, Aldo, a lad only fifteen
years old, was lashed ten times for using the name of Tiberius in an
oath. Times have changed, O Psyche,--but we are happy. In a few days
thou shalt be the mistress of a new home. Tell me, what dost thou wish
most for a present?”
“Ah, my Gyges, thou understandest thy horses better than thou dost a
woman’s heart. Joy is lost in knowing beforehand what gift will be
received.”
“Be it as thou wilt, O Psyche. Some days ago I told thee that I bought
a house. To-day that house is ready to receive its mistress. Shall we
go there now?”
“O my lover, I have been burning with curiosity since that day! Nothing
would be more pleasing than to go there now,” said Psyche, trembling
with joy at the prospect of seeing her future home.
They left the Forum, walked around the Palatine Hill, and turned down a
narrow street near the Porta Capena. Here they stopped before a small
house.
“This is our new home, O Psyche,” said Gyges, as he knocked at the door.
The door was opened by Nana, who gladly welcomed them.
“I have brought the bird for the new cage, O Nana,” said Gyges.
“Wilt thou make of me a prisoner, my Gyges?” asked Psyche, with a shy
smile.
“The door of this cage will always be open,” replied Gyges, laughing
merrily.
Psyche behaved like a child with a new gift. Her face was radiant. As
each newly furnished room was shown her, she burst into exclamations of
pleasure. The house consisted of a peristyle, around which opened five
small rooms. In the centre of the peristyle played a small fountain,
bordered by blooming flowers. At one end a stone bench, large enough
for only two, invitingly held open its arms. Nana wisely left the happy
lovers alone amid the flowers, and retired.
“How happy we shall be here, O Gyges!” said Psyche, throwing her arms
around Gyges’ neck and kissing him.
“Dost thou now wonder, O my love,” he responded, “why the gods and
goddesses left the heavens and came to earth to love mortals?”
The lovers seated themselves on the marble bench and watched the
playing fountain. Borne on the perfumed breath of the flowers, the
splashing sound of the water affected the lovers with an indescribable
sense of joy. The dancing drops fell now on one side and then on
the other side of the basin, according as the wind blew against the
spouting jet. In their happy meditations the lovers saw in the jet of
water a life of pleasure breaking into drops of joy, and reflecting,
after it fell into the basin, the radiant heavens. Everything about
them was cheerful, bright, and sunny. The lovers remained quiet and
thoughtful. They built mental pictures on the peaceful background of
their new home. Gyges broke the silence by saying, as he kissed her
hand, “What beautiful hands thou hast, O my love!”
“They are no less finely moulded than thine are, O my lover. But thy
fingers and wrists are strong as iron; mine are more supple.”
“Ay, my love; thine can be broken like a tender flower. These hands
must never grow hard and coarse. Nana will do all the hard work. Then
thou must find some one to help thee.”
“Thou wilt spoil me, O Gyges. Nana and I can do everything.”
“Why canst thou not bring Lupa here? She would have a happy home with
us.”
“Poor unfortunate child!” said Psyche. “Last night she was beaten and
put out of her home. We cared for her. Canst thou, O Gyges, provide for
so many people?”
“Ay, my love,” said Gyges, cheerfully. “Charioteers are well paid. I am
doubly fortunate in being a favorite with the people. When we tire of
this house, we can buy another better, larger, grander.”
“Shall we end by living on the Palatine Hill, O my lover?” laughed
Psyche.
“Not so high are my ambitions,” said Gyges, with a smile. “I must
always see my Psyche beautiful, free from care and trouble. I must
always see on her cheek the rosy bloom which I shall try to brush away
with kisses. Lay thy head on my shoulder. My lips thirst for kisses, O
my love. Let me press thine eyes with my lips. Let me press thy lips
with mine. Are we not happy?”
“Never was the beloved of Eros happier than I am with thee now, O my
lover.”
“For the wish to kiss lips like thine, O my love, the Trojan war was
fought. The desire for a kiss changed Arethusa into a fountain, Daphne
into the aromatic laurel-tree, Adonis into the tremulous flower of the
wind. A kiss, my love, is the knot that unites the cords of love, and
therefore completes the circle of happiness.”
While Psyche rested on her lover’s bosom, Gyges slyly placed in her
hand the package which he had carried from the jeweller’s. Feeling the
object in her hand, Psyche started.
“What is that, O my lover?” she asked.
“Thou didst not like the ear-rings, my love. Perhaps thou wilt like a
golden hair-net.”
“Whilst I looked at the sandals thou didst buy a present?” she asked,
as she carefully opened the package.
“Ay, my love. A golden hair-net will require to--”
“A golden hair-net! Why, ’tis the necklace with the hyacinth stones!”
she cried with delight. “O my lover, thou art too, too good to me!”
She seated herself on his knees and mutely expressed her thanks in the
kisses she gave him.
They relapsed into silence, the happy medium in which the hearts of
lovers beat. ’Tis in silence that the leaves whisper their secrets to
the gentle zephyrs. ’Tis in silence that the butterflies tell their
thoughts to the flowers. The blossoms pour their mysterious perfume
on the wings of the air in silence. It was in silence that Aphrodite
stole the slumbering Ascanius from his home. She laid him on a bank
of violets shaded by bushes covered with luxuriant roses, bent in
reverence before his beauty.
Psyche and Gyges, silently clasped in each other’s arms, had become
transcendent beings. Sacred reveries filled their souls. The bridge
over which they walked from the past to the future was one of gold. The
stream that flowed beneath was one of crystal joy. The sun that filled
their lives was at its zenith. They seemed to hear an Hellenic song. It
was the music of their souls, singing the song of beatific love.
Long they sat there, lost in happiness. Gyges suddenly gave a start,
and exclaimed: “Look, O my love! The fountain has stopped playing.”
They hastened to the fountain to see why the water had ceased flowing.
Gyges found a small fish caught in the opening. The little fish was
dead.
“What means this omen?” he asked, in a tone of sadness.
There flashed upon his mind that so, too, the spontaneous flow of their
happiness, which he had so lately likened to the play of the fountain,
might be checked by death.
“Is the fish dead?” she asked, affrighted.
“Ay, my love.” Then, after a long silence, he added with an air of sad
conviction, “Some one whom we love is dead.”
“Say not so, O lover,” cried Psyche. “This cannot mean anything to us.
But look! Even the sun has left us.”
“Evening is drawing near,” he sadly responded.
“Come, let us go home,” said Psyche, tearfully.
Silently they took a last look at their new home, said farewell to
Nana, went out into the street, and proceeded along the Via Appia. When
they reached the street that led to Psyche’s home, they concluded to
walk farther and view the Campagna and the hills beyond, lit up by the
setting sun.