bewilderment, for the scene which met her eyes was the same, and yet
so different. The forest-trees waved their arms gently in the breeze,
and whispered to each other in the glad morning light, and in the
hedges the birds sang sweet songs of joy; for the skies were blue, and
the grass was green, and summer was over the land. But Psyche sat up
with a dull grief in her heart, feeling over her the dim shadow of a
half-forgotten woe that meets those who awake from sleep. At first she
wondered where she was, for her clothes were wet with dew, and looking
round the still familiar scene, she saw the green glade in the forest,
but no shining palace at the top. Then like a flash she remembered the
night, and how by her doubt she had forfeited all her happiness, and
she lay on the ground and sobbed and prayed that she might die. But
soon tired out with weeping, she grew calmer, and remembered the words
of her lord--how she could find him again only after long wandering
and trial. Though her knees gave way beneath her, and her heart sank
at the thought of setting out alone into the cruel world, she
determined to begin her search forthwith. Through the dark forest she
went, and the sun hid his face behind the pine-tops, and great oaks
threw shadows across her path, in weird fantastic forms, like wild
arms thrust out to seize her as she passed. With hurrying steps and
beating heart she went on her way till she came out on the bleak
mountain-side, where the stones cut her tender feet and the brambles
tore her without mercy. But on and on she struggled along the stony
road, till the path grew soft beneath her, and sloped gently downwards
to the plain. Here through green fields and smiling pastures a river
wound slowly towards the sea, and beyond the further bank she saw the
smoke from the homesteads rise blue against the evening sky. She
quickened her steps, for already the shadows from the trees fell long
across the fields, and the grass turned to gold in the light of the
dying day. And still between her and shelter for the night lay many a
broad meadow and the silver stream to cross. As she drew nearer she
looked this way and that for a ford, but seeing none, she gathered
together her courage, and breathing a prayer to the gods, stepped into
the water. But she was weak and faint with fasting, and at every step
the water grew deeper and colder, and her strength more feeble, till
at length she was borne off her feet, and swept away by the hurrying
tide. In her agony she cried out,
"O god of Love, have mercy and save me ere I die, that I may come to
thee!"
Just as she was about to sink, she felt a strong arm seize her and
draw her up on the opposite shore. For a while she lay faint and
gasping for breath; but as her strength returned, she heard close
beside her soft notes of music, and she opened her eyes to see whence
the sweet sounds came. She found herself lying beneath a willow-tree,
against which leant a strange musician. For his head and shoulders and
arms were those of a man, but his legs and feet were thin and hoofed,
and he had horns and a tail like a goat. His ears were pointed, his
nose was wide and flat, and his hair fell unkempt and wild about his
face. Round his body he wore a leopard's skin, and he made sweet music
on a pipe of reeds. At first she was terrified at the sight of this
strange creature, but when he saw her look up at him, he stopped
playing, and smiled at her; and when he smiled he puckered his face in
a thousand wrinkles, and his eyes twinkled merrily through his wild
elf-locks, so that none could look on him and be sad. In spite of all
her woes Psyche fairly laughed aloud as he began to caper round her on
his spindle legs, playing a wild dance-tune the while. Faster and
faster he went, and up and down, and round and round, till, with a
last shrill note on his pipe and a mad caper in the air, he flung
himself on the grass beside her.
"Have I warmed the blood back to thy heart, fair maid?" he asked, "or
shall I dance again the mad dance that drives away cold and despair?"
"Nay, merry monster, even now my sides ache with laughter. But tell
me, who art thou, that savest damsels in distress, and drivest away
their sorrow with thy wild piping and dance?"
"I am the god of the forest and woodland and broad wide pasture lands.
To me the shepherd prays to give increase to his flocks, and the
huntsman for a good day's sport. In the evening, when the moon shines
high o'erhead, and the sky is bright with stars, I take my pipe and
play my lays in the dim dark forest glades. To the sound of my music
the brook murmurs sweetly, the leaves whisper softly o'erhead, the
nymphs and naiads forget their shyness, and the hamadryad slips out
from her tree. Then the eyes of the simple are opened, and on the
cool, green grass by the side of the silver stream the goatherd,
the neatherd and the young shepherd-lad dance hand-in-hand with the
nymphs, and the poet, looking forth from his window, cries, 'How sweet
are the pipes of Pan!'
[Illustration: Faster and faster he went, and up and down, and round
and round.]
"But when the dark storm-cloud rides over the sky, and the streams
rush swollen with rain, with fleet foot I hurry through woodland and
dell, and over the bleak mountain-tops; the crash of my hoofs on the
rocks sounds like thunder in the ears of men, and the shriek of my
pipe like the squall of the wild storm-wind. And I rush through the
midst of the battle when the trumpets are calling to arms; but above
the blare of the bugle men hear the shrill cry of my pipes. Then the
archer throws down his bow, and the arm of the spearman falls limp,
and their hearts grow faint with panic at the sound of the pipes of
Pan. Nay, turn not from me in terror, lady," he added, as Psyche made
as though she would flee, "for I wish thee no ill. 'Tis gods mightier
than I who have made me goat-footed, with the horns and the tail of a
beast. But my heart is kindly withal, or I would not have saved thee
from the stream."
Once more he smiled his genial smile, and puckered his face like the
ripples on a lake when a breeze passes over,
"Come, tell me who art thou, and how can I help thee?"
Then Psyche told her tale, and when she had finished Pan was silent
for a time, as though lost in thought. At length he looked up, and
said,
"Thou seekest the great god Eros? I would that I could help thee,
lady; but love once fled is hard to find again. Easier is it to win
the dead to life than to bring back love that doubt hath put to
flight. I cannot help thee, for I know not how thou canst find him,
or where thou must seek. But, if thou wilt journey further, and cross
many a long mile of pasture and woodland, thou wilt come to the rich
corn-lands and the shrine of Demeter, the great Earth Mother. She
knows the secret of the growing corn, and how the rich fruits ripen in
their season, and she will have pity on a maid like thee, because of
her child Persephone, whom Hades snatched away from her flowery
meadows and dragged below to be Queen of the Dead. Three months she
lives with him, the bride of Death, in the dark world of shades, and
all the earth mourns for her. The trees shed their leaves like tears
on her grave, and through their bare branches the wind sings a dirge.
But in the spring-time she returns to her mother, and the earth at her
coming puts on her gayest robe, and the birds sing their brightest to
welcome her back. At her kiss the almond-tree blushes into bloom, and
the brook babbles merrily over the stones, and the primrose and violet
and dancing daffodil spring up wherever her feet have touched. Go,
then, to Demeter's shrine; for if thy love is to be sought on earth,
she will tell thee where to go; but if to find him thou must cross the
dark river of death, her child Persephone will receive thee."
He then pointed out to her the path to the village, where she could
get shelter for the night, and Psyche, thanking him, went on her way,
gladdened at heart by the genial smile of the wild woodland god.
That night she slept in a shepherd's cottage, and in the morning the
children went out with her to point out the road she must go. The
shepherd's wife, standing at the door, waved to her with her eyes full
of tears. She had maidens of her own, and she pitied the delicate
wanderer, for Psyche's beautiful face had shed a light in the rude
shepherd's hut which the inmates would never forget.
VIII
So Psyche went on her journey, often weak and fainting for food, and
rough men laughed at her torn clothes and bleeding feet. But she did
not heed their jeers and insults, and often those who had laughed the
loudest when she was a little way off, were the first to hush their
rude companions when they saw her near. For her face was fairer than
the dawn and purer than the evening star, so that the wicked man
turned away from his sin when he saw it, and the heart of the watcher
was comforted as he sat by the sick man's bed.
At length, as Pan had told her, she came to the rich corn-lands where
Demeter has her shrine. Already the valleys were standing thick with
corn, for it was close on harvest-time, and on the hill-sides the
purple grapes hung in heavy clusters beneath the tall elm-branches. As
she drew near the temple, a band of harvesters came out. They had just
placed the first-fruits of the corn in the shrine, and now they were
trooping to the fields, a merry throng of young men and maidens.
Psyche stood back shyly as they passed, but they heeded her not, or at
most cast a curious glance at her ragged clothes and bruised feet.
When they had passed her, and she had heard their merry laughter and
chatter die away down the lane, she ventured to enter the temple.
Within all was dark and peaceful. Before the altar lay sheaves of
corn and rich purple clusters of grapes, whilst the floor was strewn
with the seeds and bruised fruits which the harvesters had let fall
when they carried in their offerings. Hidden in a dark corner Psyche
found the temple-sweeper's broom, and, taking it, she swept up the
floor of the temple. Then, turning to the altar steps, she stretched
forth her hands and prayed,
"O Demeter, great Earth Mother, giver of the golden harvest--O thou
who swellest the green corn in the ear, and fillest the purple vine
with gladdening juice, have mercy on one who has sinned. For the sake
of thy child, Persephone, the Maiden, have pity on me, and tell me
where in the wide world I can find Eros, my lord, or whether to the
dark land I must go to search for him."
So she prayed, and waited for an answer; but all was still and dark in
the temple, and at length she turned sorrowfully away, and leant her
head against a pillar and wept. And, because she had walked many a
long mile that day, and had not eaten since dawn, she sank down
exhausted on the ground, and gradually her sobs grew fewer and
fainter, and she fell asleep.
As she slept she dreamt the temple was dark no more, but into every
corner shone a soft clear light, and looking round to see whence it
came, she saw, on the altar steps, the form of a woman, but taller and
grander than any woman of earth. Her robe of brown gold fell in
stately folds to her feet, and on her head was a wreath of scarlet
poppies. Her hair lay in thick plaits on her bosom, like ripe corn in
the harvest, and she leant on a large two-handed scythe. With great
mild eyes she looked at Psyche as one who has known grief and the
loss of loved ones, and can read the sorrows of men's hearts.
"Psyche," she said, "I have heard thy prayer, and I know thy grief,
for I, too, have wandered over the earth to find the child of my love.
And thou must likewise wander and bear to the full the burden of thy
sin; for so the gods have willed it. This much can I tell thee, and no
more. Thou must go yet further from the land of thy birth, and cross
many a rough mountain and foaming torrent, and never let thy heart
grow faint till thou come to a temple of Hera, the wife of Zeus the
All-seeing. And if she find thee worthy, she will tell thee how thou
must seek thy love."
So saying, she faded from her sight, and Psyche awoke and found the
temple cold and dark. But in her heart she cherished the image of the
great Earth Mother, with her large eyes full of pity, and set out
comforted on her journey.
Too long would it be to tell of all her wanderings and all the
hardships of the road, but many a moon had waxed and waned before she
stood on the brow of a hill looking down on Hera's shining temple.
Down the hill she went, and up the marble steps, and men stood aside
as she passed, for her face was fairer than before, and she no longer
shrank back like a hunted thing, but walked with the swinging gait of
those whose feet the kind earth has hardened, and the breezes of
heaven have fanned the fire in their eyes. In her heart she knew that
she had conquered and borne the terrors of the path with no coward's
fears, and she prayed that Hera might find her worthy of doing great
deeds to win back her lord. Then she stood before the altar, and made
her prayer,
"O Hera, golden-throned, who sittest on the right hand of Zeus--O thou
who, when the marriage-torch is lit, doth lead the bride and
bridegroom to their home, and pourest blessings on their wedded love,
have mercy on me, and show me where I may find my lord. Far have I
wandered, and drunk deep of sorrow's cup, but my heart is strong for
any task that shall win back my love to me."
Thus she prayed, and bowed her head before the great white statue of
the goddess. Even as she spoke, the statue seemed to change and rise
from the ivory throne in the shape of a woman tall and exceeding fair.
Her robes were like the clouds at sunset, and her veil like the
mountain mist; on her head she wore a crown of gold, and the lightning
played about her feet as she gazed at Psyche with eyes that pierced
through to her soul.
"Psyche," she said, "I have heard thy prayer, and I know that thou art
true. For I am the wife of Zeus, who seeth all things, and he hideth
naught from me. Well I know that thou hast wandered far, and suffered
at the hands of men. But greater trials await thee yet, before thou
canst find thy lord. Thou must be slave to foam-born Aphrodite, the
pitiless goddess of Love. And she will try thee sorely, and put thee
to many a hard test ere she will forgive thee and think thee worthy of
her son Eros, or of the godhead men gave thee long ago. But if thou
overcomest her wrath, thou hast overcome death itself, and naught can
part thee from thy lord again. Go, then, to where she holds her court
in a pleasant valley by the sea, and forget not that the gods bless
tenfold those who waste not the power that is given them, how feeble
soe'er it be."
So saying, she faded slowly away till Psyche found herself standing
once more before the pale white statue. Then she turned and went
through the silent temple, and out into the sunlight, and asked for
the road which would lead her to the sea and Aphrodite's pleasant
vale.
IX
For many a long day she journeyed, till at length she saw the blue sea
far away and a pleasant valley sloping to the shore. Here the waves
broke in laughing ripples on the beach, and the leaves danced gaily on
the trees in the soft west wind; for Aphrodite, born of the foam, the
fairest of all the goddesses, held her court there, surrounded by her
nymphs and maidens. As she sat on her golden throne they danced around
her with their white arms gleaming, and crowned her with roses,
singing the while the song of her beauty.
"O foam-born Aphrodite, Queen of Love, fairest of Time's deathless
daughters. Thee the golden-snooded Hours kiss as they pass and the
circling Seasons crown with grace. Before thee all was fire and chaos,
but at thy coming like sped to like. The earth decked herself with
flowers, and the nightingale sang to her mate on the bough, and in the
pale moonbeams youth and maiden sped hand in hand through the glade.
Thy smile is like sunshine on ripples, but the flash of thine eyes
like the death-bearing gleam of the lightning; for not always art thou
kind. The heart of the scorner thou breakest, and art jealous for thy
rites. Wherefore north and south and east and west men worship thee,
both now and evermore, O goddess of ten thousand names!"
As Psyche drew near the nymphs espied her. With loud cries they rushed
forward, and flinging chains of roses about her, dragged her forward
before the throne.
"A prisoner, a prisoner!" they cried--"a mortal, O queen, who has
dared to enter thy sacred vale! What fate shall be hers?"
And Psyche knelt trembling before the throne. She dared not look up,
for she felt the eyes of the goddess upon her, and the blaze of her
anger burned through to her heart.
"Psyche, what doest thou here? Knowest thou not that long ago I loved
thee not, because thy beauty taught men to forget my dues, and mine
own son didst thou lead to disobey my word? By thy folly hast thou
lost him; and glad am I that he is rid of thy toils. Think not that
thy tears will move me. Those who enter my sacred vale become the
lowest of my slaves, and woe to them if they fail to do the task I set
them. Verily, thine shall be no light one, or I am not the Queen of
Love and Beauty."
"O lady," answered Psyche, "'twas to be thy slave and to do thy will
that I came to thy sacred vale, if haply I might turn thy wrath to
love and prove myself not all unworthy of thy son. Great was my sin, O
goddess, when I doubted him; but many are the tears I have shed, and
weary the way I have wandered in search of him--yea, even to the dark
underworld would I go, if so be it I could find him there. As for the
worship that men paid me, Zeus, who searcheth all hearts, knoweth
that I lifted not mine in pride above thee. Nay, doth not every gift
of beauty come from thee, O mighty one? If my face hath any fairness,
'tis that it shadoweth forth thine image. Weak are the hearts of men,
lady, and hard is it for them to look on the sun in his might. Be not
angry, then, if through the mortal image that perisheth, they stretch
forth blind hands towards the beauty that fadeth not away. And now on
my knees I beg thee, O queen, to set me thy hardest tasks, that I may
prove my love or die for mine unworthiness."
As Psyche was speaking the face of the goddess softened, and she
answered her more gently.
"Thy words please me, maiden, for the gods love those who shrink not
back from trial. Three tasks will I set thee, and if in these thou
fail not, one harder than all the others will I give thee, whereby
thou shalt win thy love and immortality. Go, maidens, and lead her to
my garner, that she may sort the golden grain ere the sun's first rays
gild the pine-tops."
X
At the command of the goddess the nymphs gathered round Psyche, and,
binding her hands with chains of roses, led her away to the garner.
Here they set her free, and with peals of merry laughter bade her
farewell.
"Pray to the hundred-handed one, maiden, to help thee," cried one;
"thy two hands will not go far."
"Nay, an hundred hundred hands could not sort the grain by sunrise,"
said another.
"Better to work with two hands," said Psyche, "than idly to pray for
ten thousand."
But for all her brave answer her heart sank as she looked at the task
before her; for she stood in the largest garner it had ever been her
lot to see--wide and lofty as her father's palace-halls, and all the
floor was strewn with seeds and grain of every kind--wheat, oats and
barley, millet, beans and maize, which she must sort each after its
kind into a separate heap before the sun should rise. However, she set
diligently to work, and minute after minute, hour after hour passed
swiftly by, and the heaps kept growing by her side; yet for all her
toil 'twas but a tiny corner of the garner she had cleared. Feverishly
she worked on, not daring to look at what remained to do. Her back
ached, her arms grew stiff, and her eyes felt heavy as lead, but she
worked as one in a dream, and her head kept falling on her breast for
weariness, till at length she could hold out no longer, but fell fast
asleep upon the cold stone floor.
While she slept a marvellous thing happened. From every hole and crack
there appeared an army of ants--black ants, white ants, red
ants--swarming and tumbling over each other in their haste. Over the
whole floor of the garner they spread, and each one carried a grain of
seed, which it placed upon its own heap and ran quickly back for
another. Such myriads were there, and so quickly did they work, that
by the time the first ray of the sun peeped in at the windows the
floor was clear, save for the heaps of sorted grain standing piled up
in the midst. The bright light pouring in at the window fell upon
Psyche as she slept, and with a start she awoke and began feverishly
to feel about for the grain. When her eyes became accustomed to the
light, how great was her joy and thankfulness to see the neat heaps
before her! And as she looked round, wondering who could have been so
kind a friend, she saw the last stragglers of the ants hurrying away
to every crack and cranny.
"O kind little people," she cried, "how can I thank you?"
She had no time to say more, for the door was thrown open, and in a
golden flood of sunlight the nymphs came dancing in. Seeing the floor
cleared and the bright heaps lying on the floor, they stopped short in
amazement.
"Verily thou hast wrought to some purpose, maiden," said one.
"Nay, she could never have done it of herself," said another.
"True, O bright-haired ones!" answered Psyche. "I toiled and toiled,
and my labour did but mock me, and at length my strength gave way and
I fell asleep upon the floor. But the little folk had pity on me, and
came out in myriads and sorted out the grain till all was finished.
And lo! the task is accomplished."
"We will see what our queen shall say to this," they answered.
And binding her once more in their rosy chains, they led her to
Aphrodite.
"Hast thou swept my garner, Psyche, and sorted the grain each after
its kind?" she asked.
"Thy garner is swept and thy grain is sorted, lady," she replied, "and
therein I wrought the little my feeble strength could bear. When I
failed the little folk came forth and did the task."
Trembling, she waited for the answer, for she feared that in the very
first trial she had failed. But Aphrodite answered,
"Why dost thou tremble, Psyche? The task is accomplished, and that is
all I ask; for well do I know the little folk help only those who help
themselves. Two more tasks must thou do before I put thee to the final
proof. Seest thou yon shining river? On the other bank graze my flocks
and herds. Precious are they beyond all telling, for their skins are
of pure gold. Go, now, and fetch me one golden lock by sunset."
So saying, she signed to the nymphs to release Psyche, who went at
once towards the stream, light-hearted; for this task, she thought,
would be no hard one after the last.
As she approached the river she saw the cattle feeding on the further
bank--sheep and oxen, cows and goats--their golden skins gleaming in
the sunlight. Looking about for some means of crossing, she espied a
small boat moored among the reeds. Entering it, she unloosed the rope
and pushed out into the stream. As she did so, one of the bulls on the
further shore looked up from his grazing and saw her. With a snort of
rage he galloped down the field, followed by the rest of the herd.
Right down to the water's edge they came, lashing their tails and
goading with their horns, and an ill landing would it have been for
Psyche had she reached the shore. Hastily she pushed back among the
reeds, and pondered what she must do; but the more she thought the
darker grew her lot. To get one single hair from the golden herd she
must cross the stream, and, if she crossed, the wild bulls would goad
her to death. At length in despair she determined to meet her doom, if
only to show that her love was stronger than death. As she bent over
the boat to loose the rope, a light breeze set the reeds a-whispering,
and one seemed to speak to her.
[Illustration: She unloosed the rope and pushed out into the stream.]
"Fair lady, leave us not, for those who reach the further shore return
not to us again."
"Farewell, then, for ever, gentle reed, for I have a task to do,
though I die in the vain attempt."
"Ah, lady, stay here and play with us. Too young and fair art thou to
die."
"No coward is young or fair, kind reed. And before sunset I must win a
lock from a golden fleece yonder, or I shall never find my love
again."
And she let loose the rope.
"Stay, stay, gentle maiden. There I can help thee, for all my life
have I watched the golden herds, and I know their ways. All day long
they feed in the pleasant pasture, and woe to those who would cross
over when the sun is high in heaven. But towards evening, when he is
sinking in the far west, the herdsman of Aphrodite cometh and driveth
them home to their stalls for the night. Then mayest thou cross with
safety and win a lock from the golden herd."
But Psyche laughed aloud at his words.
"Thou biddest me steal the apples when the tree is bare. Thy heart is
kind, O reed, but thy tongue lacketh wisdom. Fare thee well."
"Not so fast, lady. Seest thou not the tall ram yonder by the
thorn-bush? Sweet grows the grass beneath its shade, yet to reach it
he must leave a golden tribute on the thorns. Even now there is a lock
of his fleece caught in the branches. Stay with us till the herds are
gone, lady, and then canst thou win the lock of gold."
"O kindest of reeds, forgive my blindness. 'Tis more than my life thou
hast saved, for, with the task undone, I should lose my love for
ever."