Chapter XX

Chapter XXSlowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, summer, autumn....Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the caves of Emeralda.Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and sank into the Past.And again it was spring....In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in the new and tempered sunshine.What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them their song. They sang because the sky was blue....Emeralda they did not know....Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and love in their hearts....Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue.On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old.How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....The hermit continued deep in thought....Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. Never had heknown the Present, the spring Present of the shepherds.The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.The hermit heard a step. He looked up.He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.The little form approached and knelt down.“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, “don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lionlicked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!”“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?”“Because I mustfulfilla duty among men.”“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately.“Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.“Are you wounded?”“I was, long ago....”“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”“Who are you?”“One heavy burdened with sin.”“What is your name?”“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”“Whither are you going?”“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda.”“She is proud.”“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!”“Go, then.... And do penance.”“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.Chapter XXIThe path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly and round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their song, quite faint, came up to her.In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.She kept climbing up.High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the doves that flew round about her...!She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her continually, like a scarletchild of hell; now she came back up the steep path....Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that peeped out from under her wide hood.Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her whelps....Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the clouds?Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.The Pilgrimage of PsycheThe Pilgrimage of Psyche[To face p. 138She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, the sooner would she reach the castle.Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of Emeralda! What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What greater suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of remorse, that was ever with her wherever she went!And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when he saw the blood of her footstep.Chapter XXIIThe night was pitch dark, when she stood before the awful gate and asked admittance.And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, and invited her to rest.She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier’s bread, she drank a drop of their wine.Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening meal.And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet commanding:“I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple carbuncles. Tell the princess that I have come to do her homage and give her my jewels.”The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat.And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed men.She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside.And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower.There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue.“Holy pilgrim!” said Emeralda, “be welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche’s limbs, when she heard Emeralda’s voice. She had not thought that she would be afraid any more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard her voice, she almost fainted from fear.For her look was most terrible.Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her beauty was horrible. Inthe hall, lit up with thousands of candles, a hall of gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her throne of agate, in a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human about her; she was like a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it were, into a jewel. Her eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, that was ivory white, like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there hung down her face six red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, and stiffly interwoven with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her teeth glittered like brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, like the noise of a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff with rings, were opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the opal. Her bosom, opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet amethyst—and over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. Her dress was no longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the arabesque was jewels; her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff could not bend, but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long jewelled clock.And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously beautiful as a work of art—made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress.In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again eagerly:“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”Psyche gained courage.“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may be left alone.”Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating jewels, andshot forth rays like the sun, which, like a nimbus, streamed around her.Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her long hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before Emeralda, and said:“Emeralda, don’t you recognise me? I am Psyche, your sister!”A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled.“Wretched Psyche!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I know you! I have always hated you, hated as I hate everything that is gentle, as I hate doves, children, flowers! So you have deceived me, intruder! you bring me no jewels!”Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand.“Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I present you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel in humility before you. I offer you mytears, which have turned into stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a penance to do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any longer. I have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on me the heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. Lay a heavy task upon my wingless shoulders.”Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached her sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them up to the light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open casket. Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to Psyche like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her glittering web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, princess, sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she was not, and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby.Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and Emeralda watched her.Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She thought as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling;she thought inhumanly because she had no soul. Soulless she was and hard as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest ruler of the world. She ruled with a movement, she condemned with a look, she could kill with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was terrible; if she appeared in public there was disaster; and if she rode through her kingdom in a triumphal chariot, then everything was scorched by her lustre and crushed under her triumph.At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching incantation.“Psyche, fled from her father’s house, fallen from all princely dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin—listen!“Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, who longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a horse, who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in desert and in wood—wander, seek, and ask!“Wander, seek, and ask, till you find!“Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting mouths of monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky sea.“Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the Philosopher’s Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the Mystic Jewel, the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the Godhead.“Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!”Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and with a look at the casket, said pitilessly:“Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how much.”She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, continued:“And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which may not be uttered....” She drew still nearer.... “Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, your sister, the divine omnipotence!”Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power for herself, to make sure of the two-foldomnipotence of the world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, long tresses.An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were being frozen.“I obey,” she murmured.And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the shield-bearers approached with torches.“Conduct me to Astra!” she commanded.There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies.“Who comes there?” asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint.Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and her voice, faint and weak, said:“Who comes there?”“I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!”“As a penitent?”“Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance....”Astra mused.“It is true,” she murmured. “I remember, little Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you.”“The night is dark, Astra: there are fewstars in the sky, and the torches are not yet lit....”“No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot see, I am blind....”Psyche gave a cry.“Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are you blind?”“Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.“What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?”“My tears, Astra, poor Astra!”Psyche and AstraPsyche and Astra[To face p. 150“How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet lit? Well, let it be dark, forI see nothing; but I feel you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am old, but you—are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher’s Stone in the caverns of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable name is a legend.The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....“In vain will you seek.”“Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do for Emeralda.”“No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is incomputable,the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?”“The stars give a dim light.”“Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do you see?”“In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a few rays. Is that a black star?”“No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....[”]“Astra...!!”“Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, your wingless shoulders....”“Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!”“Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your oldnurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra....”Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was dark. Astra’s powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep.Chapter XXIIIIt 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 murderand 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 satdown 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 induration? 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 horizonis 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. Andso 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 asingle 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 foamingocean, 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 thesea-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.

Chapter XXSlowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, summer, autumn....Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the caves of Emeralda.Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and sank into the Past.And again it was spring....In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in the new and tempered sunshine.What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them their song. They sang because the sky was blue....Emeralda they did not know....Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and love in their hearts....Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue.On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old.How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....The hermit continued deep in thought....Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. Never had heknown the Present, the spring Present of the shepherds.The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.The hermit heard a step. He looked up.He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.The little form approached and knelt down.“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, “don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lionlicked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!”“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?”“Because I mustfulfilla duty among men.”“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately.“Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.“Are you wounded?”“I was, long ago....”“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”“Who are you?”“One heavy burdened with sin.”“What is your name?”“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”“Whither are you going?”“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda.”“She is proud.”“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!”“Go, then.... And do penance.”“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.

Chapter XX

Slowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, summer, autumn....Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the caves of Emeralda.Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and sank into the Past.And again it was spring....In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in the new and tempered sunshine.What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them their song. They sang because the sky was blue....Emeralda they did not know....Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and love in their hearts....Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue.On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old.How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....The hermit continued deep in thought....Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. Never had heknown the Present, the spring Present of the shepherds.The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.The hermit heard a step. He looked up.He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.The little form approached and knelt down.“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, “don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lionlicked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!”“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?”“Because I mustfulfilla duty among men.”“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately.“Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.“Are you wounded?”“I was, long ago....”“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”“Who are you?”“One heavy burdened with sin.”“What is your name?”“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”“Whither are you going?”“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda.”“She is proud.”“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!”“Go, then.... And do penance.”“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.

Slowly followed the seasons—winter, spring, summer, autumn....

Winter, spring, summer, autumn, fell in turn, like dust, into the caves of Emeralda.

Winter, spring, summer, autumn, were the Present for a moment, and sank into the Past.

And again it was spring....

In the grassy plains, the shepherds drove out their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue, because the world trilled with hope, in the new and tempered sunshine.

What did the shepherds know of Emeralda? They had never seen her. They sang, they sang; they filled the air with their song. As a reed, their song remained quivering and hanging in the air. In the wood and in the mountains, over the meadows and in the air, Echo sang with them their song. They sang because the sky was blue....

Emeralda they did not know....

Blue, blue ... blue was the air! Hope quivered in the sunshine, and love in their hearts....

Into the grassy plains the shepherds drove their flocks, and they sang because the sky was blue.

On the border of the wood, where endless plains extended, there lived in a grotto between rocks, a holy hermit who was a hundred years old.

How many seasons had he seen sink into the pits of the Past...!

How many times had he heard the Lenten song of the shepherds! Wrapped in contemplation, he heard them singing. They sang because the sky was blue. The lark was soaring because the world trilled with hope.... They sang because fleecy lambs were sporting again in the meadows. They sang because they were young and loved the shepherdesses. They sang of blue sky, of hope, of lambs, and love....

The hermit continued deep in thought....

Every spring it was the same song, and he had never sung with them. Never had heknown the Present, the spring Present of the shepherds.

The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.

Far off in the grassy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.

The hermit heard a step. He looked up.

He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.

The little form approached and knelt down.

“Holy father!” said she, in a low, trembling voice, “don’t drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lionlicked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!”

“Then why don’t you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?”

“Because I mustfulfilla duty among men.”

“Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?”

“In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: ‘Go among men, do penance.’... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!”

The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.

“He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!”

The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.

“Here,” said the hermit sternly, but compassionately.“Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest.”

“Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord.”

She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.

“Are you wounded?”

“I was, long ago....”

“Your eyes glow: have you a fever?”

“I do not know men’s fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in hell.”

“Who are you?”

“One heavy burdened with sin.”

“What is your name?”

“I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go.”

“Whither are you going?”

“Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda.”

“She is proud.”

“She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!”

“Go, then.... And do penance.”

“Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!”

The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.

In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.

Chapter XXIThe path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly and round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their song, quite faint, came up to her.In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.She kept climbing up.High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the doves that flew round about her...!She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her continually, like a scarletchild of hell; now she came back up the steep path....Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that peeped out from under her wide hood.Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her whelps....Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the clouds?Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.The Pilgrimage of PsycheThe Pilgrimage of Psyche[To face p. 138She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, the sooner would she reach the castle.Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of Emeralda! What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What greater suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of remorse, that was ever with her wherever she went!And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when he saw the blood of her footstep.

Chapter XXI

The path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly and round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their song, quite faint, came up to her.In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.She kept climbing up.High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the doves that flew round about her...!She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her continually, like a scarletchild of hell; now she came back up the steep path....Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that peeped out from under her wide hood.Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her whelps....Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the clouds?Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.The Pilgrimage of PsycheThe Pilgrimage of Psyche[To face p. 138She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, the sooner would she reach the castle.Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of Emeralda! What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What greater suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of remorse, that was ever with her wherever she went!And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when he saw the blood of her footstep.

The path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy masses of cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, prickly and round, Psyche saw the grassy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their song, quite faint, came up to her.

In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.

The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.

She kept climbing up.

High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a butterfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the doves that flew round about her...!

She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her continually, like a scarletchild of hell; now she came back up the steep path....

Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that peeped out from under her wide hood.

Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....

Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her whelps....

Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....

Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the clouds?

Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.

But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.

The Pilgrimage of PsycheThe Pilgrimage of Psyche[To face p. 138

The Pilgrimage of Psyche

[To face p. 138

She preferred to go on, to climb. If she walked, if she climbed, the sooner would she reach the castle.

Step by step she advanced. Oh, she was no longer afraid of Emeralda! What could Emeralda do to her to make her afraid? What greater suffering could her sister inflict upon her than the pain of remorse, that was ever with her wherever she went!

And on she climbed, and the thistles tore her feet, and the solitary man who was coming down the rocky path greeted her reverently, when he saw the blood of her footstep.

Chapter XXIIThe night was pitch dark, when she stood before the awful gate and asked admittance.And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, and invited her to rest.She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier’s bread, she drank a drop of their wine.Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening meal.And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet commanding:“I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple carbuncles. Tell the princess that I have come to do her homage and give her my jewels.”The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat.And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed men.She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside.And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower.There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue.“Holy pilgrim!” said Emeralda, “be welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche’s limbs, when she heard Emeralda’s voice. She had not thought that she would be afraid any more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard her voice, she almost fainted from fear.For her look was most terrible.Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her beauty was horrible. Inthe hall, lit up with thousands of candles, a hall of gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her throne of agate, in a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human about her; she was like a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it were, into a jewel. Her eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, that was ivory white, like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there hung down her face six red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, and stiffly interwoven with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her teeth glittered like brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, like the noise of a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff with rings, were opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the opal. Her bosom, opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet amethyst—and over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. Her dress was no longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the arabesque was jewels; her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff could not bend, but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long jewelled clock.And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously beautiful as a work of art—made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress.In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again eagerly:“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”Psyche gained courage.“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may be left alone.”Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating jewels, andshot forth rays like the sun, which, like a nimbus, streamed around her.Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her long hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before Emeralda, and said:“Emeralda, don’t you recognise me? I am Psyche, your sister!”A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled.“Wretched Psyche!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I know you! I have always hated you, hated as I hate everything that is gentle, as I hate doves, children, flowers! So you have deceived me, intruder! you bring me no jewels!”Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand.“Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I present you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel in humility before you. I offer you mytears, which have turned into stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a penance to do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any longer. I have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on me the heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. Lay a heavy task upon my wingless shoulders.”Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached her sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them up to the light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open casket. Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to Psyche like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her glittering web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, princess, sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she was not, and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby.Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and Emeralda watched her.Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She thought as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling;she thought inhumanly because she had no soul. Soulless she was and hard as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest ruler of the world. She ruled with a movement, she condemned with a look, she could kill with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was terrible; if she appeared in public there was disaster; and if she rode through her kingdom in a triumphal chariot, then everything was scorched by her lustre and crushed under her triumph.At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching incantation.“Psyche, fled from her father’s house, fallen from all princely dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin—listen!“Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, who longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a horse, who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in desert and in wood—wander, seek, and ask!“Wander, seek, and ask, till you find!“Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting mouths of monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky sea.“Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the Philosopher’s Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the Mystic Jewel, the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the Godhead.“Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!”Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and with a look at the casket, said pitilessly:“Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how much.”She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, continued:“And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which may not be uttered....” She drew still nearer.... “Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, your sister, the divine omnipotence!”Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power for herself, to make sure of the two-foldomnipotence of the world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, long tresses.An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were being frozen.“I obey,” she murmured.And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the shield-bearers approached with torches.“Conduct me to Astra!” she commanded.There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies.“Who comes there?” asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint.Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and her voice, faint and weak, said:“Who comes there?”“I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!”“As a penitent?”“Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance....”Astra mused.“It is true,” she murmured. “I remember, little Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you.”“The night is dark, Astra: there are fewstars in the sky, and the torches are not yet lit....”“No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot see, I am blind....”Psyche gave a cry.“Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are you blind?”“Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.“What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?”“My tears, Astra, poor Astra!”Psyche and AstraPsyche and Astra[To face p. 150“How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet lit? Well, let it be dark, forI see nothing; but I feel you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am old, but you—are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher’s Stone in the caverns of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable name is a legend.The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....“In vain will you seek.”“Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do for Emeralda.”“No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is incomputable,the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?”“The stars give a dim light.”“Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do you see?”“In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a few rays. Is that a black star?”“No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....[”]“Astra...!!”“Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, your wingless shoulders....”“Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!”“Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your oldnurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra....”Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was dark. Astra’s powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep.

Chapter XXII

The night was pitch dark, when she stood before the awful gate and asked admittance.And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, and invited her to rest.She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier’s bread, she drank a drop of their wine.Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening meal.And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet commanding:“I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple carbuncles. Tell the princess that I have come to do her homage and give her my jewels.”The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat.And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed men.She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside.And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower.There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue.“Holy pilgrim!” said Emeralda, “be welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche’s limbs, when she heard Emeralda’s voice. She had not thought that she would be afraid any more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard her voice, she almost fainted from fear.For her look was most terrible.Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her beauty was horrible. Inthe hall, lit up with thousands of candles, a hall of gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her throne of agate, in a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human about her; she was like a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it were, into a jewel. Her eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, that was ivory white, like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there hung down her face six red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, and stiffly interwoven with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her teeth glittered like brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, like the noise of a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff with rings, were opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the opal. Her bosom, opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet amethyst—and over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. Her dress was no longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the arabesque was jewels; her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff could not bend, but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long jewelled clock.And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously beautiful as a work of art—made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress.In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again eagerly:“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”Psyche gained courage.“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may be left alone.”Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating jewels, andshot forth rays like the sun, which, like a nimbus, streamed around her.Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her long hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before Emeralda, and said:“Emeralda, don’t you recognise me? I am Psyche, your sister!”A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled.“Wretched Psyche!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I know you! I have always hated you, hated as I hate everything that is gentle, as I hate doves, children, flowers! So you have deceived me, intruder! you bring me no jewels!”Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand.“Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I present you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel in humility before you. I offer you mytears, which have turned into stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a penance to do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any longer. I have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on me the heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. Lay a heavy task upon my wingless shoulders.”Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached her sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them up to the light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open casket. Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to Psyche like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her glittering web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, princess, sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she was not, and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby.Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and Emeralda watched her.Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She thought as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling;she thought inhumanly because she had no soul. Soulless she was and hard as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest ruler of the world. She ruled with a movement, she condemned with a look, she could kill with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was terrible; if she appeared in public there was disaster; and if she rode through her kingdom in a triumphal chariot, then everything was scorched by her lustre and crushed under her triumph.At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching incantation.“Psyche, fled from her father’s house, fallen from all princely dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin—listen!“Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, who longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a horse, who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in desert and in wood—wander, seek, and ask!“Wander, seek, and ask, till you find!“Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting mouths of monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky sea.“Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the Philosopher’s Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the Mystic Jewel, the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the Godhead.“Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!”Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and with a look at the casket, said pitilessly:“Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how much.”She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, continued:“And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which may not be uttered....” She drew still nearer.... “Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, your sister, the divine omnipotence!”Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power for herself, to make sure of the two-foldomnipotence of the world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, long tresses.An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were being frozen.“I obey,” she murmured.And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the shield-bearers approached with torches.“Conduct me to Astra!” she commanded.There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies.“Who comes there?” asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint.Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and her voice, faint and weak, said:“Who comes there?”“I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!”“As a penitent?”“Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance....”Astra mused.“It is true,” she murmured. “I remember, little Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you.”“The night is dark, Astra: there are fewstars in the sky, and the torches are not yet lit....”“No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot see, I am blind....”Psyche gave a cry.“Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are you blind?”“Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.“What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?”“My tears, Astra, poor Astra!”Psyche and AstraPsyche and Astra[To face p. 150“How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet lit? Well, let it be dark, forI see nothing; but I feel you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am old, but you—are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher’s Stone in the caverns of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable name is a legend.The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....“In vain will you seek.”“Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do for Emeralda.”“No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is incomputable,the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?”“The stars give a dim light.”“Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do you see?”“In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a few rays. Is that a black star?”“No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....[”]“Astra...!!”“Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, your wingless shoulders....”“Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!”“Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your oldnurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra....”Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was dark. Astra’s powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep.

The night was pitch dark, when she stood before the awful gate and asked admittance.

And the guards let her in because she wore a holy dress. The halberdiers took her to the hall, where they slept or kept watch, and invited her to rest.

She sat down on a rude bench, she ate their brown soldier’s bread, she drank a drop of their wine.

Then she offered them a ruby for their hospitality and evening meal.

And while they wondered that a pilgrim possessed such a beautiful jewel, she said in her strange voice, weak, tired, and yet commanding:

“I have still more topazes and rubies and dark purple carbuncles. Tell the princess that I have come to do her homage and give her my jewels.”

The message was sent to Emeralda, and the queen asked the pilgrim to come. She sent pages to conduct her to the throne where she sat.

And Psyche understood that Emeralda was afraid of treachery, afraid of the approach of soul, and therefore was so surrounded by armed men.

She passed between the pages, up the steps, over passages; then iron gates were opened, and a curtain was drawn aside.

And Psyche stepped into the golden hall of the tower.

There sat Emeralda in the light of a thousand candles, on a throne, under a canopy, surrounded by a great retinue.

“Holy pilgrim!” said Emeralda, “be welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”

A cold shiver ran like a serpent over Psyche’s limbs, when she heard Emeralda’s voice. She had not thought that she would be afraid any more of her proud sister, but now when she saw her and heard her voice, she almost fainted from fear.

For her look was most terrible.

Emeralda had grown older, but she was still beautiful. Yet her beauty was horrible. Inthe hall, lit up with thousands of candles, a hall of gold and enamel, sat Emeralda like an idol on her throne of agate, in a niche of jasper. There was nothing more human about her; she was like a great jewel. She had become petrified, as it were, into a jewel. Her eyes of sharp emerald looked out from her face, that was ivory white, like chalcedony; from her crown of beryl there hung down her face six red plaits of hair, as inflexible as gold-wire, and stiffly interwoven with emeralds. Her mouth was a split ruby, her teeth glittered like brilliants. Her voice sounded harsh and creaking, like the noise of a machine. Her hands and inflexible fingers, stiff with rings, were opal-white, with blue veins such as run through the opal. Her bosom, opal, chalcedonic, was enclosed in a bodice of violet amethyst—and over the bodice she wore a tunic of precious stones. Her dress was no longer brocade, but composed of jewels. All the arabesque was jewels; her mantle was jewelled so stiffly that the stuff could not bend, but hung straight down from her shoulders like a long jewelled clock.

And she was beautiful, but beautiful as a monster, preciously beautiful as a work of art—made by one, both jeweller and artist, barbarously beautiful, in the incrustations of her crown, the facets of her eyes, the lapis lazuli of her stiffly folded under-garments, and all the gems and cameos which bordered her mantle and dress.

In the light of thousands of candles she glistened, a barbarous idol, and shot forth rays like a rainbow, representing every colour; dazzling, fear-inspiring was her look, pitiless and soulless.

Proud she sat and motionless, glistening with lustre, oppressed by the weight of her splendour; and covetous, her grating voice said again eagerly:

“Holy pilgrim, welcome! You have come to bring me jewels?”

Psyche gained courage.

“Yes,” she said in a firm voice. “Powerful Majesty of the Past, I come to do you homage and bring you jewels. But I beg that we may be left alone.”

Emeralda hesitated; but when Psyche remained silent, her cupidity got the better of her fear and she gave a sign. She raised her stiff hand. And by that single movement she cracked and creaked with grating jewels, andshot forth rays like the sun, which, like a nimbus, streamed around her.

Her suite disappeared through side-doors. The shield-bearers withdrew. Psyche stood alone before her sister. And then Psyche unfastened the cord round her waist and took off her mantle; her long hair fell about her, and she was naked. Naked she stood before Emeralda, and said:

“Emeralda, don’t you recognise me? I am Psyche, your sister!”

A cry escaped the princess. She rose up; she creaked; her splendour and pomp grated, and she glittered so, that Psyche was dazzled.

“Wretched Psyche!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I know you! I have always hated you, hated as I hate everything that is gentle, as I hate doves, children, flowers! So you have deceived me, intruder! you bring me no jewels!”

Psyche knelt down and showed her open hand.

“Emeralda, I offer you the homage which I once refused you. I present you with topazes, rubies, and dark purple carbuncles. I kneel in humility before you. I offer you mytears, which have turned into stone, and I ask you humbly: punish me and give me a penance to do. Look! I have lost my wings. I may not go naked any longer. I have committed sin. Emeralda, make me do penance! Inflict on me the heaviest that you can think of. If I can do it, I will do it. Lay a heavy task upon my wingless shoulders.”

Emeralda looked down at kneeling Psyche. The princess approached her sister, took the jewels, examined them attentively, held them up to the light of the candles, and then dropped them into an open casket. Thoughtfully she continued gazing at Psyche. And she seemed to Psyche like a gigantic jewel-spider, watching from the midst of her glittering web the rays of her own splendour. But whatever she were, princess, sun, spider, or jewel, a woman she was not, a human being she was not, and through the opal of her bosom gleamed her heart of ruby.

Psyche, kneeling penitent, spoke not, awaiting her fate, and Emeralda watched her.

Thoughts, mechanical as wheels, rolled through her brain. She thought as a machine. She was inexorable, because she had no feeling;she thought inhumanly because she had no soul. Soulless she was and hard as stone, but she was powerful, the mightiest ruler of the world. She ruled with a movement, she condemned with a look, she could kill with a smile; if she spoke a word, it was terrible; if she appeared in public there was disaster; and if she rode through her kingdom in a triumphal chariot, then everything was scorched by her lustre and crushed under her triumph.

At last she spoke, motionless like a spider in her web of glittering rays, and her voice sounded like an oracle in a screeching incantation.

“Psyche, fled from her father’s house, fallen from all princely dignity, dethroned Princess of the Present, immoral Bacchante, corrupt and wingless, weeping tears of scarlet sin—listen!

“Psyche, who wandered frivolously to purple streaks of sky, who longed for the nothingness of azure and of light, who loved a horse, who forsook her husband, who wandered and sought and asked, in desert and in wood—wander, seek, and ask!

“Wander, seek, and ask, till you find!

“Wander along the flaming caves, seek in the fire-vomiting mouths of monsters, ask of the martyred spirits, who roll upon the inky sea.

“Descend to the Nether-world! Seek the Mystic Jewel, the Philosopher’s Stone that gives the highest omnipotence; seek the Mystic Jewel, the rays of which reach to eternity and penetrate to the Godhead.

“Descend, wander, ask, seek, and find!”

Her voice grew terrible, and, screeching, she stepped nearer, and with a look at the casket, said pitilessly:

“Or ... weep for it ... suffer for it. I care not how much.”

She paused, and then in a voice of horrible hypocrisy, continued:

“And then, if you bring me the Sacred Jewel, the name of which may not be uttered....” She drew still nearer.

... “Then be blessed, Psyche, and share with me, Emeralda, your sister, the divine omnipotence!”

Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power for herself, to make sure of the two-foldomnipotence of the world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, long tresses.

An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were being frozen.

“I obey,” she murmured.

And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coarse mantle; and the shield-bearers approached with torches.

“Conduct me to Astra!” she commanded.

There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.

They conducted Psyche through halls, over passages, up steps, to another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies.

“Who comes there?” asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint.

Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and her voice, faint and weak, said:

“Who comes there?”

“I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!”

“As a penitent?”

“Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance....”

Astra mused.

“It is true,” she murmured. “I remember, little Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you.”

“The night is dark, Astra: there are fewstars in the sky, and the torches are not yet lit....”

“No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot see, I am blind....”

Psyche gave a cry.

“Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are you blind?”

“Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.

“What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?”

“My tears, Astra, poor Astra!”

Psyche and AstraPsyche and Astra[To face p. 150

Psyche and Astra

[To face p. 150

“How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet lit? Well, let it be dark, forI see nothing; but I feel you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our noble rights.... I am old, but you—are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher’s Stone in the caverns of flaming hell!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable name is a legend.The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. The universe is limited, the Godhead is not limited; no rays from precious stones can reach the Godhead and rule over God. No looking through lenses of diamond can penetrate the Godhead. It is all pride and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....

“In vain will you seek.”

“Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do for Emeralda.”

“No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: illusion ennobles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is incomputable,the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?”

“The stars give a dim light.”

“Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do you see?”

“In the glass, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a few rays. Is that a black star?”

“No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....[”]

“Astra...!!”

“Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, your wingless shoulders....”

“Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!”

“Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your oldnurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra....”

Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was dark. Astra’s powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep.

Chapter XXIIIIt 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 murderand 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 satdown 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 induration? 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 horizonis 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. Andso 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 asingle 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 foamingocean, 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 thesea-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.

Chapter XXIII

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 murderand 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 satdown 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 induration? 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 horizonis 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. Andso 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 asingle 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 foamingocean, 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 thesea-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.

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 murderand 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 satdown 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 induration? 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 horizonis 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. Andso 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 asingle 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 foamingocean, 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 thesea-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.

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