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.