It was still dark when Psyche awoke. She looked up at Astra, who sat
sleeping, her grey head on her breast; faintly shone her star. Very
gently, so as not to wake her, Psyche rose, and left the terrace. She
knew the way. She went through the halls and passages, down the steps,
the endless steps. In the corners sat the sacred spiders, and wove....
Psyche went lower down, to the vaults. There burnt the everlasting
lamps. She went among the royal tombs, crystal sarcophagi, and found
her father's coffin. By the lamp, which was always kept burning,
she recognised his embalmed, rigid face. The eyes were closed. He
knew nothing about her: that she had gone away and come back. Death
was between them, and severed them forever.
She kissed the glass, and her tears, round, hard, and red, clattered
on the crystal.
She knelt down and tried to pray. In a corner of the vault a black
spot moved. It was a big spider with a white cross on its body.
"So, you have come back again.... I knew that you would come. We can
escape from nothing. Everything happens as it happens. Everything
is as it is. Everything goes to dust; into the pits of the Past,
into the power of Emeralda.... Now become a spider like us, weave
your web, and be wise...."
Psyche got up.
"No...!" she exclaimed, "I will not become a spider, I will weave no
web. I have sinned, but I will weave no web; I have sinned and will
do penance. The world is awful--desert and wood and space; life is
awful--love and pain, joy and despair, sin and punishment. And if fate
is as it is, it is in vain to weave a web and to heap up treasures of
dust. Spider, were it not more human to love, to live, and even to sin,
than to weave web upon web? Spider, I envy you not your sacredness...!"
The spider puffed itself out maliciously.
"You seem to be still proud of your murder and your immorality and
shamelessness! Your princely name you have dragged through the mire,
your wings you have given up for a panther's skin and a grape-wreath,
and know not yet what repentance is. If you had been wise and become
a spider, you would have served Emeralda, and there would have been
no need to go down to the Under-world!"
But Psyche was no longer afraid. She had come to kiss her father's
coffin; she left her jewelled tears in the treasure, which the spiders
watched over, and ascended the hundreds of steps and came on to the
terrace of the battlements.
There as a child she had wandered and gazed, a child with wings,
and innocent, her soul full of dreams. Now she wandered again along
the ramparts and battlements high as a man; the doves fluttered about
her, the swans looked up at her ... and full of dejection for former
innocence and youth, she wept and wept: no longer a brook, but topazes,
rubies, tears of sin, that, rattling down, frightened the doves and
the swans, which, indignant, thought that she was pelting them with
stones. The doves flew away, and the swans, offended, turned their
backs on her. Then she sat down in an embrasure--no wings now lay
against the stone-work--and she folded her arms round her knees. She
looked towards the horizon; behind it loomed other horizons, first
pink, then silver; blue, then gold; behind the grey, pale and misty,
and then fading away. Then beyond, the horizon became milk-white, like
an opal, and in the reflection of the last rays of the setting sun,
it seemed as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose in the air,
aerial paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and
light-quivering nothingness.
And Psyche bowed her head, full of sadness, and sobbed.
The world was not changed, but more beautiful than ever; gloriously
beautiful loomed the ever-changing horizon. Yet Psyche sobbed, full
of sadness. She knew that the horizons were pure delusions, and that
behind them was the desert with the Sphinx. Oh! if she could once more
believe in the aerial paradises, the purple seas, the golden regions
with people of light, who lived under rosy bananas! Alas! had she not
trod a paradise, the sweet Present, the adorable garden of a moment,
so little and so short in duration? It was past, it was past! Oh,
how her soul scorched, how her shoulders pained, how her eyes burned!
She wept and she sobbed, and hid her face in her hands. She did not
notice that the wind was rising, that the horizon quivered, that
clouds were speeding through the air, white colossi like towers and
dragons, riders and horses. She did not see the changes in the sky;
she did not see the going up and down of wings, of flaming wings in
the silver lightning, that flashed from the sky; she did not hear
the warning thunder, nor did she see the clouds emitting sparks. But
suddenly she distinctly heard a voice:
"Psyche! Psyche!"
She looked up. Before her, she saw descending on broad wings a steed
of pure light and flame. And she uttered a cry, that sounded in the
air like an endless shout of gladness:
"Chimera!"
It was he. He descended. The basalt terrace trembled, as though shaken
by an earthquake; under his hoofs the stone shot sparks, and he stood
before her resplendent and beautiful.
"Chimera!" she cried, and folded her hands and sank down before him
on her knees.
She could say nothing else. She was dazzled, and it seemed as though
her soul ascended heavenward in the pure delight of love.
"Psyche!" sounded his voice of bronze, "I have come down, for I love
you. But I may not bear you any more on my back through the delusive
regions of air, because you have committed sin. Psyche, it is your
bounden duty to obey Emeralda's command. Go down to Hell and seek
the Jewel."
"Chimera, adored one, delight of my soul, oh, your splendour fills
my eyes! Your word gives strength to my weakness! I feel it! You
may not bear me away; I am unworthy of your wings. But I adore and
bless you for coming! Chimera, Chimera, your splendour has beamed
once more upon me! your voice has inspired me, and I will do what you
say.... You let the light of hope break in upon me; new strength flows
through my limbs. Chimera, I hope, I hope! I will go down into Hell;
I will seek.... Shall I find? I know not.... But I hope! The horizon
is quivering with hope and ether and the Future!
"Psyche!" sounded his voice again like bronze, "be strong! Take
heart! Descend! Do penance! Seek...! Once more you will see me...."
"Once more!"
"Be strong, take heart, do penance!"
He ascended, whilst Psyche remained kneeling. When he was high
in the air, there came a peal of thunder, as if the heavens would
burst asunder. The sky was dark, but lit up by the lightning. In the
black sky, in the lightning flame, rose fearfully the three hundred
towers. And the thunder-claps rumbled on, one after the other, as if
the Past were perishing in the last day....
With a joyful cry, Psyche hastened along the terraces, the battlements,
ramparts, entered the castle, and went down the steps. Lower and lower
she descended, lower than the vaults; and as she passed them, she
threw a kiss in the direction where the old king lay buried.... She
descended still lower, and yet she heard the thunder pealing above,
and the castle seemed to tremble to its very foundations.
She descended still lower: she descended very deep pits, built like
towers reversed to the central nave of the earth. She descended step
after step, thousands of steps, groping in the darkness. She walked
with unerring foot, that felt for the next step, that detected the
slippery stone; she felt and never hesitated. Another step and then
another; again a pit, pit after pit, all the pits of the Past. Bats
flew up and flapped their wings, spiders she felt crawling over her,
an icy dampness fell like a chill wind upon her shoulders.
Deeper down she went, and deeper. It was pitch dark, and above she
heard nothing more; she heard only the flapping of the gigantic bats,
the droning of the envious spiders. But she defended herself with
her little hand; as she descended, she beat about her, beat the bats
away, seized a vampire, held it tightly by the neck, and strangled
it. Her foot glided over toads, she slipped over snakes, but she got
up again and beat the bats and fought with the vampires. The Chimera
had so inspired her with strength, that she felt strong as a giant,
young and courageous; he had filled her eyes with such light that
she saw him in the darkness.
In the pitchy darkness his flaming wings were distinctly visible. And
on she went descending; thick clouds of dust, the deepest shadows of
Emeralda's transitoriness, rose up, but she kept breathing, never
hesitating, and her foot felt instinctively the next step, and she
struck at the bats and fought with the vampires. When she throttled
them, a human cry was heard, and the echo sounded a thousand times
like the anxious cry of a murder. But she was not afraid. She kept
on descending....
She kept descending. At last she felt no more steps but voidness
under her feet, and she sank ... like a feather, through heavier air;
she sank, she sank deeper and deeper, deeper and deeper.... A black
draught of air, an invisible wind, damp and chill, made her feel
that she had passed all the pits, that she was sinking outside them
in the open air, invisible and black, thick as ink. Then she began
to sink more slowly, and ... her feet touched ground.
Sounds soft and low, like the plaintive strains of a viol, rose up
from afar, like music of the sea, the plaint of a thousand voices
which never became melody.
The far-off sound continued quivering as an accompaniment of wind, of a
black wind which blew, and overpowered the music of the sea. Sometimes
it went a little higher, sometimes a little lower, and always remained
the vague and distant incomprehensible harmony.
From where the wind came, from where the plaintive murmuring arose,
thither would Psyche go. And with her foot she kept feeling, and with
her outstretched hands, and on she went....
Long, long she went in the darkness, till the darkness became less
opaque and lit up with phosphoric flickerings; and she saw:
That she was ascending a path between two inky seas.
Black as ink were the waves.
Then she heard them roaring; then she saw their crests lit up with
a blue phosphorescent glow.
Then she heard the soft, low sounds, the plaintive viols swell,
till they became a dull, continuous soughing.
The black wind rose as with a gigantic sail, and suddenly blew the
hurricane.
In the pitch-dark air, the lightning flashed blue.
And between the two inky seas, Psyche went slowly on, against the
gusts of wind.
Then she uttered a cry, as though she were calling....
The hurricane took her cry for help over the endless sea of
Hell.... And from all sides dived up the gruesome frights--leviathan
monsters. They opened their jaws at Psyche, and the water streamed
out. Their scaly tortuous bodies wound along over the black surface
of the ocean, and on the horizon, lit up with phosphorous blue, their
tails meandered. They came from the horizon, they dived up and down,
and the ocean dived with them. Storm-flood, waterfall--storm-flood,
waterfall.... They spread out their dragon wings, and caught up the
boisterous wind; they shot up waterspouts like towering fountains,
of a blue and yellowish hue. Their round squinting eyes stood out
watchful, like green and yellow signals; they lifted their red-lobed
jaws, abysses of red-slimy desires, bubbling with foamy slaver.
"Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for
Emeralda?"
Psyche asked the question in a high, musical key, and her voice rang
out clearly in the hurricane and plaintive moanings of the sea. Her
high soprano sounded above all the roaring of the elements and
plaintive cries; and three times she repeated the question:
"Monsters of the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for
Emeralda?"
The leviathans pressed together along the path that Psyche trod. But
amidst the noise of their tossing and snorting and spouting, she
heard the plaintive sea swelling, the sea of plaintive voices; and
then in the blue phosphorescent glow between the monsters, she saw
the drowned shades heaving to and fro, always writhing in fear, always
drowning in the inky sea; the everlasting wailing of the plaintive sea,
the cry of souls in pain; the gigantic plaintive viol, with strings
ever playing....
"Vanity, vanity!"
Did she hear aright?
It was one single sound, like a note repeated again and again. "Vanity,
vanity!" was the inexorable answer, first vague as a dream, mystic as
a thought, sounding more distinctly as an admonition against worldly
pride. And so distinct did the sound become, that Psyche, brave Psyche,
who feared neither vampire nor monster of the deep ... that courageous
Psyche hesitated and felt all her strength giving way....
"If it were vanity to seek, to ask for the Jewel, how much farther
should she go?"
"Should she go back?"
She looked round.
But she saw what made her soul sink within her.
She saw that behind her step, the seas immediately closed till they
became one single sea of ink; she saw that the only path for her
stretched across the seas, that behind her it immediately sank away.
She could not go back, she must go on.
And she buoyed up her sinking soul; she went on, and in a high soprano
voice repeated again and again her question:
"Spirits in the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for
Emeralda?"
"Vanity, vanity!"
The plaintive viol kept trembling, and the same sound sounded ever,
the unchangeable answer. The hurricane was no longer chill, but warm,
sultry, strangely sultry; more and more sultry blew the everlasting
cyclone.
The sea-monsters kept back; they dived again below; the sea
sank with them, the shades swayed to and fro in storm-flood,
waterfall--storm-flood, waterfall, and many-headed hydras came
sinuously up. The sea no longer shone with phosphorescent glow, but
was quite black, pitch black, black as boiling pitch, without foam
and without light, and kept sending up a discharge of miry, vaporous
matter. In the boiling pitch, the hydras, with their thousand snaky
heads, kept diving up, tortoise-scaled; swayed to and fro, to and fro
the pale faces of the shades, but ever sounded the plaintive viol,
and ever rang forth the same note, the unchangeable answer to Psyche's
shrill question:
"Hydras of the sea of pain, spirits in the sea of pain, where shall
I find the Jewel for Emeralda...??"
"Vanity, vanity...!"
The pitch seethed and hissed and steamed.
It was no longer a sea of water, no longer a sea of pitch;
It was a sea of nothing but flame, pitch-black flame, a sea of
jet-black fire, fire and flame, that waved from the horizon, where a
single streak of pale light appeared. In the black flames burned the
shades, in the black flames wound the hydras in and out; the thick
smoke shot up into the clouds, and the clouds sent it back again....
"Spirits in the pitch-black flames, where shall I find the Jewel
for Emeralda...???"
"Vanity, vanity...!"
The hurricane kept blowing, the plaintive viol kept trembling, and
ever sounded the same note, the unchangeable answer. But scorchingly,
more scorchingly blew the wind, like a tempest from a sun for ever
doomed. The black night now assumed a dark-purple aspect, like purple
steam; the clouds drove a bloody vapour into the heavens.
And on either side of Psyche's path suddenly shot out the flaming
hurricane of the sun, gigantic purple tongues of fire, scarlet and
orange. The lower clouds drove them back, and when Psyche looked round,
she stood in a flaming fire. The flaming hurricane seethed round her;
behind her feet the path was on fire. The air was fire. But Psyche,
whose own soul was on fire, in her own scorching fire of remorse,
felt not the glowing heat, and she saw,
Out of the living scarlet craters, the orange caves, the hellish
chimeras working up their sinuous way like glowing spirals: half
arabesque, half beast; half dragon, half tail; flaming sea-horses. They
spat and fanned the glowing fire, and, riding aloft on the burning
hurricane, the shades swept past Psyche.
"Spirits in the scarlet flames...."
"Vanity, vanity!"
This was the only answer, that sounded afar off in her ears, the
answer of the tortured, angry spirits, which in the strength of their
sin and passion came flying up from the craters.
On she went....
She went on along the path that unfolded before her.
How confidently she went on, how calmly! Why was she not
afraid? Oh! she knew too much to be afraid and not to go
on in confidence. Was the answer not always more distinct and
unchangeable? Psyche's soul breathed freely, and in the fire around her
her own fire seemed to diminish. For when the fire round her became
yellower, sulphur-yellow, pure yellow, the pure golden yellow of the
sun, then she uttered a cry of joy, as though she knew the answer:
"Spirits in the sulphur flames, spirits in the sun's flames...!"
She smiled.... Smiling, she hastened on, with joyful voice, with winged
step; and so rapidly did she flee along the path smoothed out small
for her foot, that behind her the answer could scarcely reach her.
"Vanity, vanity!"
Oh! it was always the plaintive viol, but the too poignant grief
was tempered with melancholy; the plaintive sea became like a sea
of melancholy; the thousands of voices were full of melancholy. And
when the flames became less dense and lighter, when they changed
from sulphur yellow to soft azure, a flaming sea of azure, in the
silent dawning moonlight scenery, high, broad, blue flaming tongues
that shot from the moon--when the hellish hurricane no longer raged,
but gave away to a more benign breeze--then Psyche asked no more in
so shrill a key, but knowing all, her voice murmured dejectedly:
"Spirits in the azure flames, where shall I find the Jewel for
Emeralda?"
The melancholy viol vibrated more gently; the spirits rocking to and
fro in the thin blue fire sang more softly:
"That is vanity, Psyche; that is vanity...."
She uttered her jubilant cry, and hastened on with uplifted arms
through the azure moon-flames. The firmament spread out in higher
circles and formed wider spheres;
The flames became clearer and clearer; more benignly blew the breeze;
And pale, the spirits flitted to and fro: pale shades with melancholy
eyes, singing their song of painful remembrances....
And the spirits looked at Psyche--the spirits smiled benignly on her,
astonished that she was still alive.
They pointed for her to go on farther and farther; they nodded to her,
"On! on!"
And she gave a loud cry of joy and hastened on....
She sped through the flames and shades;
Till the flames were still, and high and white;
High, still, white flames, like sacrificial flames, like altar flames,
high in the sky, the lofty sky, the wide sky; the wide expanse full
of white flame, still, white, ascending, purifying flames, refined
and clear, over the whole wide expanse, the wide refining expanse....
Once more she asked the pale shades, who swarmed about between the
flames, hand in hand, who swayed continually to and fro between
the flames:
"Spirits in the white flames, pure white, in the white flames, where
shall I find the Jewel for Emeralda?"
"Vanity, vanity!" sang the shades softly and quietly, and in the
answer, calm and assuring, of the expectant penitents, vibrated the
great viol with a sound like a soft jubilant trill.
Psyche asked no more. She slackened her speed and began to walk,
her arms raised, her head erect, through the silvery flames. Oh, the
dear, tender flames, the adorable purifying flames! how they cooled,
in their snow-white glow, the burning remorse of her soul!
How freely Psyche breathed, in the innocently white glowing fire! Like
lilies were the tongues of flame, fragrant and soothing as balsam,
cool and fresh as snow ... cold as water, as foam. The white flames
foamed and rippled like a sea, lower and smoother, quieter and more
serene; they rippled like a sea of lilies, like a sea of silver
snow.... They became moisture and water and foaming ocean, the tender
element of gentle compulsion, carrying along as an irresistible dream,
white as paradise, and, as slightly rippling waves of foam, they bore
Psyche away.
On the foaming waves Psyche drifted along, all white in the golden
boat of her fair hair. So gently did they rock her, the foaming,
rippling waves, that Psyche shut her eyes. Sleep was stealing over
her. Her lips smiled with inward peace.
The waves bore her away, the sea washed her ashore. She awoke from
her slumber, pearl-white she rose from the foam, amidst the joyful
dolphins.
She stepped out of the sea on to the land. She felt quite cool, and
her soul was calm and peaceful, full of reassuring, holy knowledge. But
within her was a great desire.
Smiling, she stretched out her arms. She yearned for the desire of
her heart....
"Not yet ... not yet," was whispered tenderly to her cool and peaceful
soul. "Wait, wait...." sounded the echo.
In the silent joy of her soul, she wept. She lifted her hand to her
eyes; wet were her tears, and in her hand ... lay a pearl...!
Then she looked round. She recognised the sea-shore with its many bays,
the shore of the Kingdom of the Past. There, on the opal-blue horizon,
loomed a town of minarets and pinnacles, of cupolas and obelisks,
surrounded with golden walls.
That was the capital of the kingdom. Thither she would repair.
There, proud and peaceful, still and cool, she would say to Emeralda,
her powerful sister,
That her Jewel was vanity. That the gem did not exist.