her that often folk came down to the stream and pushed out for the
other bank. But when the cattle rushed raging to the water's edge they
turned back afraid, and dared not venture forth again, but went home
disconsolate. And so they heard not the whispering of the reeds nor
learnt the secret of winning the golden lock.
Now the shadows were falling fast, and away in the distance Psyche
heard the horn of the herdsman and his voice calling the cattle home.
At the sound they lifted their heads, and made for the gate on the far
side of the field. As soon as they were safely through, Psyche pushed
out the boat and rowed to the other bank. Swiftly she made for the
thorn-bush and picked the golden lock from the bough, and as the boat
glided back to the reeds, the sun sank low behind the hills. Close at
hand she heard the laughter of the nymphs as they came to see whether
the task were done. With a smile she drew the lock of gold from her
bosom, and, marvelling, they led her back to Aphrodite.
"Thou hast a brave heart, Psyche," said the goddess, as she looked at
the golden lock at her feet.
"The bravest heart could not have won this lock, lady, without knowing
the secret which the reeds whispered to me."
"Well do I know that, Psyche. But 'tis only the pure in heart that can
understand the voice of the wind in the reeds; and thus doubly have I
tried thee. Take now this crystal bowl for thy third task. Beyond this
pleasant vale thou wilt come to a dark and barren plain. On the far
side a mighty mountain rears his peak to heaven, and from the summit a
spring gushes forth and falls headlong over the precipice down into
the gulf below. Go now and get me a draught of that stream, but see
that thou break not the goblet on the way, for its worth is beyond all
telling."
In truth, as she held it out, the crystal gleamed brighter than the
rainbow. Psyche took the goblet, and the first rays of the sun found
her already on the plain. Far away on the other side the mountain-peak
rose barren and black against the sky, and she hurried on as fast as
her feet would go, lest night should fall ere she had filled the
goblet. On and on she went, and at length she drew near to the
mountain and looked about for a path leading up to the summit. But
naught could she see save rocks and boulders and masses of crumbling
stones, and there was nothing for it but to set to work to climb the
rough mountain-side. Clasping the goblet tightly in one hand, she
clung to the rocks as best she might with the other, fearing at every
step that she would slip and break her precious burden. How she ever
reached the top she never knew, but at length she stood, bruised and
torn, upon the summit. What was her dismay when she saw that the
mountain-peak was divided by a mighty cleft, and across the abyss she
saw the stream of water gushing out from the steep rock a hundred feet
and more below the summit! Even had she toiled down again and up on
the other side the rock fell away so smooth and sheer that a
mountain-goat would have no ledge on which to rest his foot.
Psyche sat down upon a rock to think what she must do, and the more
she thought the more she felt that her last hour had come.
"For the only way I can reach the water is to throw myself into the
bottomless abyss, where the stream flows deep down into the bowels of
the earth; and I should be dashed to pieces, but perchance the King of
the Underworld would have mercy on me, and let my soul return but once
on earth to bear the crystal bowl to Aphrodite."
So saying, she stood and bade farewell to the earth and the pleasant
sunlight and the fair flowers that she loved, and prepared to throw
herself over the mountain-side. As she was about to spring from the
edge, she heard the whirring of wings above her head, and a mighty
eagle flew down and settled on the rock beside her.
"Far up above thy head, in the blue sky, have I watched thee, Psyche,
and seen thy labours on the mountain-side. Too brave and true art thou
to go to thy death. Give me the goblet, and I will fill it. Knowest
thou that yonder stream is a jet which springeth up from dark Cocytus,
the River of Wailing, which watereth the shores of the dead? No mortal
can touch of that water and live, or bear it away in a vessel of
earth. But this goblet is the gift of Zeus almighty, and I am his
messenger--the only bird of heaven that can look on the sun in his
might. Give me the cup, then, and I will fill it, and bear it to the
mountain-foot, that thou mayest carry it back in safety."
With tears of joy and thankfulness Psyche gave him the goblet, and as
he flew away across the dark chasm, swift as an arrow from the bow,
she turned and sped down the mountain-side, heeding not the stones and
boulders, so glad was she at heart. At the foot she found the eagle
awaiting her.
"O mightiest of birds, how can I thank thee?" she cried.
"To have served thee, lady, is all the thanks I need. Farewell, and
may the gods prosper thee in thy last great trial."
And he spread his mighty wings and flew away. Psyche watched him till
he grew but a tiny speck in the blue of the sky. Then she turned and
hastened across the plain with her precious goblet of water.
The nymphs danced put to meet her as before, and led her to Aphrodite.
"I see thou art fearless and true, maiden," she said, when Psyche had
told her tale. "Twice hast thou faced death without flinching, and now
must thou go down to his own land; for no woman is worthy of my son's
love, if she possess not beauty immortal that fadeth not with passing
years. And she alone, the Queen of the Dead, can give thee this gift.
Take this casket, then, and go and kneel before her and beg her to
give thee therein the essence of that beauty. When thou hast it, see
thou hasten swiftly back and open not the casket; for if its fumes
escape and overcome thee in the world below, thou must dwell for ever
with the shades."
So Psyche took the casket, and her heart sank within her at the
thought of that dread journey. And the nymphs waved sadly to her as
she went away, for never yet had they looked on one who had returned
from the dark land of shadows.
XI
Away from the pleasant vale went Psyche, for she knew full well that
nowhere in that fair place could she find a way down to the world
below. As a child, when she had lived in her father's halls, her nurse
had told her strange tales of dark and fearsome caves which men called
the mouth of Hades, and how those who went down them never returned;
or if one perchance, more favoured than the rest, came back into the
sunlight, his face was pale and his strength departed, and he talked
wildly of strange things that none could understand.
Far over the country-side she wandered and asked for the gate of
Hades, and some pitied her weakness, and some laughed at her
foolishness, and all men thought her mad.
"For beggar and king, for wise and foolish, the road to Hades is one,"
they said, "and all must travel it soon or late. If thou seekest it,
in very sooth, go throw thyself from off yon lofty tower, and thou
wilt find it fast enough."
Sadly she went and stood on the tower, for she saw no other way. Once
again she bid farewell to the earth and the sunlight, and was about to
leap from a pinnacle, when she thought she heard a voice calling her
by name, and she hushed her breath and listened.
"Psyche, Psyche," she heard, "why wilt thou pollute my stones with
blood? I have done thee no wrong, yet thou wouldst make men hate me
and shun the rock on which I stand. As for thee, it would avail thee
nought, for thy soul would dwell for ever in the Kingdom of the Dead,
and the shadow of thyself, faint and formless, would glide about my
walls, and with thin-voiced wailing weep for thy lost love; men,
hearing it, would flee from me, and for lack of the builder's care, my
stones would fall asunder, and of all my proud beauty naught would be
left, save a mound of moss-grown stones and thy spirit's mournful
guardianship."
Then Psyche knelt and kissed the stones.
"Poor tower," she said, "I would not harm thee. Thou canst tell me,
perchance, some better way, for I must bear this casket to the Queen
of the Dead, and beg for a gift of beauty immortal, that I may return
to the earth worthy of my lord."
"Hadst thou thrown thyself over the edge, thou wouldst never have come
to the Queen of the Dead, but wailing and forlorn wouldst have
wandered on the shores of the Land that has no name; for betwixt that
land and Hades flows the wide Stygian stream. One boat there is that
can cross it, and therein sits Charon, the ferryman of souls. Greedy
of gain is he and hard of heart, and none will he take across who bear
not a coin of gold in their mouths. And the pale ghosts of those who
have died away from their loved ones, when none were by to pay the
last rites of the dead and place the gold coin in their mouths--all
these flock wailing around him and beg him with heart-rending cries to
take them over the stream. But to all their entreaties he turneth a
deaf ear and beateth them back with his oar. E'en hadst thou prevailed
on him and come to the palace of pale Persephone, thou couldst not
have entered in; for at the gates sits Cerberus, the three-headed
hound of Hell, and none may pass him without a cake of barley-bread.
But his soul loveth the taste of earth-grown corn, and while he
devours it the giver may pass by unscathed."
"The coin of gold and the barley-cake I can get," she said, "but how I
can reach the Underworld alive I know not."
"Not far from hence thou wilt find the cave men call the Gate of
Hades. In ignorance they name it, for no man hath proved where it
leads. All the long years I have stood upon this rock have I watched
the entrance to that cave, and men have come up and looked inside, and
the boldest have entered in; but always have they come swiftly back,
staggering like drunken men, with pale faces and wild eyes full of
fear, and about them hangs the smell of the noisome vapours that rise
up from the gates of the dead; and the old wives sitting by the
fireside nod their grey heads together. 'Tis the tale that our mothers
told us long ago and their mothers before them,' they mutter. 'Tis
surely the Gate of Hades, and those who venture too far will never
come back again.' They have guessed aright, maiden, and down that dark
cavern lies thy path."
"But if those who venture too far never return, how shall I bear back
the essence of undying beauty in the casket?"
"Instead of one gold piece, take two, and two loaves of fresh-baked
barley-bread. One gold coin to the ferryman and one loaf to the hound
must thou give as thou goest, and keep the rest for thy return, and
from greed they will let thee pass back again. Tie the casket in thy
bosom, and put the gold coins in thy mouth, and take the barley-loaves
one in each hand. See that thou set them not down, or the pale ghosts
will snatch them away; for the taste of the earth-grown meal giveth a
semblance of warmth to their cold forms, and for a brief space they
feel once more the glow of life. So by many a wile will they seek to
make thee set down the bread; but do thou answer them never a word,
for he who toucheth or answereth one of these becometh even as they
are."
Psyche thanked him for his counsel, and went forth to beg the two gold
coins and barley-loaves, and for love of her fair face the people gave
it gladly. When all was ready, she set out towards the cave. About its
mouth the brambles grew tall and thick, and the ivy hung down in long
festoons, for none had ventured in for many a long year. As best she
might, she cut a way through the prickly hedge, and stood in the
shadow of the cave, and the drip of the water from the roof sent a
faint echo through the vaults. Through the dark pools she went,
through mud and through mire, and the green slime hung like a dank
pall about the walls. On and on she hastened, till her head swam round
and her heart turned sick within her; for round her floated a mist of
poisonous vapour, which choked her and made her gasp for breath, and
monstrous shapes swept past--the Furies and Harpies and hundred-headed
beasts which guard the gate to Hades. Their cries and shrieks filled
the air, and every moment she shrank back, terrified that they would
tear her limb from limb, as they bore down on her with the whirr of
their mighty wings and their wild locks flying in the wind. Across the
path they stood and waved her back, and her heart turned cold with
fear; but she pressed onward with hurrying steps, and lo! when she
came up to them the shapes clove asunder like mist before the sun, and
she passed through them, and found they were but smoke.
And so she came to the nameless land that lies betwixt earth and
Hades; a barren, boundless plain it is, with never a tree or shrub to
break the dulness of its sad mud flats. Up and down it wander the
shades of those whose bodies the kind earth has never covered, and
they wring their hands and wail to their dear ones above, to grant
them burial and the rites of the dead. For Charon, the grim ferryman,
beats them back from his boat, because they have no coin, and they are
doomed to dwell for ever in the land that has no name.
As she was crossing the dismal plain, an old man came towards her
beating a laden ass. Old and weak was he, and could scarce stagger
along by the side of the beast, and as he came up to Psyche the cords
broke that bound the burden on the ass's back, and the faggots he
carried were scattered all about. And he set up a dismal wailing, and
wrung his pale withered hands.
"Gracious damsel, have mercy on an old man, and help me load my ass
once more."
But Psyche remembered the words of the tower, and she clung the
tighter to the loaves of bread, though she longed to help the feeble
shade.
[Illustration: "Help, help! I drown in this foul stream!"]
Onward she went till she came to the banks of the Styx, the mighty
river of Hell, by which the great gods swear. Nine times it winds its
snaky coils about the shores of Hades, and across its leaden waters
Charon, the boatman of the dead, ferries backward and forward for
ever. When he saw Psyche, he hailed her, and asked her for the coin.
Answering him never a word, she held out one coin with her lips, and
as he took it she shuddered. For his breath was as the north wind
blowing across the snow, and his eyes were like a fish's, cold and
dull.
"Welcome, sweet maiden. 'Tis not often we get a fare like thee, my
boat and I;" and he laughed a hard, thin laugh, like the cracking of
ice in a thaw, and beneath her weight the boat creaked in chorus.
Out into the stream he pushed with his pole, and then set to with his
oar, and the rise and fall of the blade made never a sound in those
dull leaden waters. As they neared the middle of the stream, Psyche
saw two pale arms rise up above the waves, and the head of an old man,
who cried out to her piteously,
"Help, help! I drown in this foul stream! Ah, for pity's sake put out
one finger to save me!"
And Psyche turned aside to hide her tears; for the face was the face
of her father, and his cries pierced through to her heart. As the boat
passed by he sank with a moan beneath the waves, and she saw him no
more.
At length they reached the shore of Hades, and she saw three paths
before her leading upwards from the landing-stage. As she stood, not
knowing which to take, the old man beckoned to her.
"I know not whither thou art bound, lady, for thou bearest not on
thee the mark of the dead. The souls of the wicked I know, for about
them fly the Furies, the avengers of sin, and hound them down the
left-hand path, through Periphlegethon, the river of fire--down, down
to the utmost depths of Tartarus. And the souls of the brave shine
forth like stars in the darkness, and they take the right-hand path to
the Elysian fields of light, where the breeze blows bright and fresh
and the golden flowers are glowing. The middle path leadeth to the
palace of pale Persephone, but that way only the gods and the children
of the gods may go, or those who bear with them some token from the
Immortals."
Then Psyche showed him Aphrodite's casket, and turned up the middle
path. Through a dark wood she went, and came out upon a plain. Here
she saw three aged women weaving at a loom, and they cried out to her
in weak, quavering voices,
"Oh, maiden, thine eyes are young and thy fingers supple. Come help us
unravel the thread."
But for the third time she turned aside, and went quickly on her way,
and when she looked back over her shoulder the loom and the hags had
vanished away.
So at length she came to the palace of Persephone. The roof and
columns were all of pure silver, which shone with a pale light through
the murk and gloom, like the shimmer of pale moonbeams on a cloudy
night. Above the heads of the pillars ran a frieze of strange device.
It told of Night and Chaos, and of the birth of Time, and how the sons
of Earth rose up against the gods in deadly battle, and were hurled
into the depths of Tartarus by the thunderbolts of Zeus. And it
showed how Prometheus the Titan gave fire to mortal men, so that they
learnt all manner of crafts, and became the masters of all living
things, and like the gods for wisdom. But they ruled by the law of the
strongest, and said that might was right, and begat the foul forms of
Pestilence and War and red-handed Murder. The other side told of the
things that would come to pass when Time and Death should be no more,
and Love should rule the universe. On that side all the forms were
fair and all the faces beautiful, and the breeze played through
pleasant places where the flowers never fade. In the centre of the
pediment, with mighty wings overshadowing either side, stood a mighty
figure, Anangke, great Necessity, the mother of gods and men. From the
one side she looked dark and terrible, and the world trembled at her
frown, but from the other she was fairer than the day, and by
unchanging law she drew all things after her till they should be
perfected.
On the palace steps before the doorway sat Cerberus, the three-headed
watch-dog. When he saw Psyche approaching he began to growl, and his
growl was like the rattle of thunder far away. As she drew nearer he
barked furiously and snarled at her, baring his white gleaming fangs.
Quickly she threw him one of the barley loaves, and while he was
devouring it, she slipped gently past, and stood within the courtyard
of the palace. All was silent and deserted, and her footsteps, as they
fell on the marble pavement, sent no echo through the colonnades; for
it seemed that even sound must die in that lifeless air. She passed
through great doors of bronze into a lofty hall. In the shadowy
depths of it she saw a great throne raised, and on it sat the Queen of
the Dead. About her stood two handmaids, and their names were Memory
and Sleep. One fanned her with great poppy-leaves, and as she did so
the eyes of the queen grew heavy and dim, and she sat as one in a
trance. But when this one grew weary of fanning, anon the other would
hold up before her a great mirror of polished steel, and when she
looked into it the colour would rush into her pale cheeks, and her
eyes would glow like coals of fire, for in the flash of the steel she
saw earth's flowery meadows, and remembered that for three months only
did she live in the gloom and the shade; and she knew, moreover, that
one day the circling seasons would stay their course, and decay and
death would pass away, and when that time came she would return no
more to the murk and gloom, but dwell for ever in the sunshine and the
flowers. A magic mirror is that which Memory holds, and few are there
who can bear to look on its brightness, but those whose eyes are
strong gaze into its depths, and learn that knowledge and remembrance
are one.
With timid steps did Psyche cross the hall, and knelt upon the steps
of the throne.
"Child of Earth, what dost thou here?" asked the queen. "This is no
place for living souls."
"O mighty one, 'tis a boon I beg of thee," said Psyche, and drew from
her bosom Aphrodite's casket. "Give me, I pray thee, the gift of
undying beauty in this casket, that I may return above worthy of my
lord."
"'Tis a great boon thou askest. Nevertheless, for thy bravery's sake I
will give it thee. For many are they who set out to find it, but few
have the heart to come so far."
Thereupon she took the casket in her hands, and breathed into it, and
her breath was as the smoke of incense on the altar.
"Take it and return swiftly whence thou earnest, and see thou open it
not till thou comest upon earth. For in the land of the dead my breath
is death, but above it is life and beauty immortal. Fare thee well."
With a glad heart Psyche rose from her knees, and sped through the
silent palace. She threw the second loaf to Cerberus as she passed,
and for the second coin of gold Charon took her once more across in
his boat. This time no sad phantoms cried to her for help, and she
knew that it was for the sake of the earth-grown meal that they had
stood in her path before.
At last she stood once more in the sunlight, and joy lent wings to her
feet as she sped across the plain and away to Aphrodite's pleasant
vale. With the casket in her hand, she knelt before the throne, but
Aphrodite put out her hand and raised her up.
"Kneel no more to me, Psyche, for now thou art one of us. But open the
casket and drink into thy very soul the life and beauty that will
never die."
Her smile was brighter than sunshine on the shimmering waves, and the
touch of her hand made Psyche's blood run like fire through her veins.
Scarce knowing what she did, she opened the casket. The fumes rose up
in a cloud about her head, and she knew no more till she felt herself
moving upwards, upwards. As life came slowly back she opened her eyes,
and looked into the face of him she had seen but once. His rainbow
wings were spread above her, and his strong arms held her close, and
he looked into her eyes with the look that mingles two souls into one.
"Beloved," he whispered, "Love has conquered all things. In thy
darkest hour of trial I watched over thee, and gave thee strength, and
now we two will dwell for ever in the courts of heaven, and teach the
hearts of men to love as we love."
[Illustration]
Hero and Leander
One sunny day in April long ago, a maiden sat in a lonely tower
looking out across the Hellespont. At her feet the blue ripples lapped
lazily on the beach and played a soothing lullaby upon the stones, and
the white-sailed ships floated slowly down the stream from Sestos,
carrying their rich freights of corn and merchandise. To the north she
could see the port of Sestos, with the great walls running down from
the city to the harbour, and the masts of the ships as they lay at
anchor by the quay. Across the water, facing the tower, stood Abydos,
with its palaces and houses nestling white at the foot of the low
green hills. So narrow is the sea that runs between Sestos and Abydos,
and so swiftly does the current flow, that the ancients used to think
it was a great river running down from Propontis and the stormy
Euxine, and emptying their overflowing waters into the wide Ægean
main. So they called it the broad Hellespont, for the rivers of Greece
were but narrow streams beside it.
As she looked across the sunlit waters the maiden sighed, and turned
wearily to an old dame who sat spinning in a corner of the room.
"Good mother," she said, "how many years didst thou say we two have
lived in this wave-washed tower?"
"'Tis close on twenty years, my dear, since I brought thee here, a
tiny babe in my arms."
"Twenty years!" sighed the maiden. "Twenty centuries had passed by
more swiftly in the bright busy world out yonder. How long is a
woman's life, good nurse?"
"With the blessing of Heaven she may live for four score years, my
child."
"Four score years--four times as long as I have lived already! I can
well dispense with the blessing of Heaven."
"Nay; hush, hush!" cried the old woman, and stopped her spinning
hastily. "What ails thee, Hero? Thou wast never wont to speak such
dreadful words."
The girl threw herself on her knees beside her, and laid her head upon
her lap and sobbed. The old nurse drew her fingers tenderly over her
long black hair, and waited for the storm of passion to be spent.
"I am tired--tired of this lonely life," sobbed the maiden. "Why am I
shut up here, all alone?"