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.