Chapter III
WHILE Gannon was anxiously considering how he could communicate with his family, they were safe and happy at home. The evening meal was finished, and they were seated in the atrium of their one-storied house of four rooms. On a wooden table burned a small terra-cotta lamp, which shed a dim light through the room. Psyche and her mother were seated together. Alcmaeon lay on a couch near them.
“Hast thou finished rehearsing for the celebration, O daughter?” asked Alcmaeon.
“On the afternoon of the morrow the last rehearsal will take place, O my father,” she replied.
Psyche was a charming maiden, eighteen years old. She had an exquisite face, with large soulful eyes, like a young doe’s, a mouth like that of a sculptured Aphrodite, and pretty nose, cheeks and forehead like those of the beautiful daughter of Zeus and Leda. All her features blended so harmoniously with the refined sinuous lines and curves of her body that she formed a perfectfigure of beauty. Like the beloved of Eros, whose name she bore, she would have been persecuted by the jealous Venus if she had not had, like that other Psyche, a devoted protector.
When a little girl, she had taken part in religious processions. As she grew older and her beauty developed, she led these processions. Instinctively, while taking part in them, she learned so easily to portray the pure emotions by her pose, gait, and dance, that she had been drawn gradually into theatrical spectacles. At first Alcmaeon objected to Psyche’s dancing in public; but her graceful movements so pleased him, and her success in pleasing others was so pronounced, that he finally consented.
It was marvellous what force she could put into her movements. By her grace of action alone, she could represent the tragic Iocasta, the majestic Clytemnestra, and the pleading Penelope. Whether she were delineating the happy Aspasia, the outraged Lucretia, or the proud Cornelia, she budded and bloomed in the attentive air of her audience like a soft flower of feminine grace. She could so adjust her costume that she appeared like a butterfly floating about the stage, trembling in her pauses as if she were hovering over a flower. Her greatest characterizations were those of the inquisitive and mournful Psyche, the nimble and fleetingDaphne, and the tearful and grief-stricken Niobe. In these representations she was an embodied thought of a Phidias or Praxiteles.
At the games to be given by Nero, Agrippina’s son, on his arrival at the manly age, she was to portray the character of Niobe at Pompey’s Theatre.
“Art thou not sorry that this dance will be thy last, my daughter?” asked Hera.
“Ay, my mother.”
“The wife of Gyges must lead a more serious life than that of a dancing-girl,” said Alcmaeon.
“Dost thou yet know where thy new home is to be?” asked Hera.
“Nay, my mother. Gyges wishes to surprise me.”
“Wherever it be, O daughter, thy home will be a pleasant one,” said Alcmaeon. “Gyges is a good and noble son of Greece. He inherits his father’s mild temper and goodness. He is wealthy. Thy new home will contain more luxuries than thy old one. But hearts cannot beat with love for thee more than ours do, my daughter.”
“As the wife of Gyges, I am no less the daughter of Alcmaeon. When I wed, thou losest not a daughter, thou gainest another son,” said Psyche, sweetly.
“Oh that Gannon were here to-night!” saidHera. “Does not thy heart yearn for our son, my Alcmaeon?”
“Ay, my Hera. ’Twas I who allowed him to go to the camp. Would that I had found him another position!”
“But he is paid well for his services,” said the mother.
“I would rather that he received less and were home more. I like not Sejanus,” said Alcmaeon, thoughtfully.
“Hast thou seen Gannon to-day, my father?” asked Psyche.
“I saw him only yesterday.”
“Said he naught of us?” questioned the mother.
“Ay, O Hera. He asked for thee, and thee, too, Psyche. He said only a few words; but they were happy ones. After he had gone, they seemed to me to have come from the smiling lips of his soul. Ah! if it would not break his heart, I would take him away from the camp.”
“When he next comes home, let us ask him to leave the camp,” said Hera.
“Dost thou remember, O my Hera, the night he told us of his promotion? Then he spoke with difficulty; joy choked his words. His handsome young face was as radiant as that of Apollo, who drives the sun on its daily course. To have stemmed the flood of his enthusiasm at that timewould have been an outrage. In his roseate view of the future he had us all transported back to the country of our fathers,—back to Corinth, to the city that was the glory of the Hellenes.”
“Verily he shall accomplish his purpose!” exclaimed Psyche, her face flushing with the reflection of her father’s deep emotion.
“Ay, few boys are as buoyant and hopeful as Gannon,” replied Alcmaeon. “He is a thorough Greek. He knows well the history, the language, and the religion of our beloved country. He is a true son of the Iliad.”
“Ay, my Alcmaeon, a true son of the Iliad, and a true son of our ancestors,” added Hera.
“With joy I shall welcome the day when I go to Corinth,” said Psyche, with enthusiasm.
“When shalt thou go?” asked Alcmaeon.
“I know not; but I have the promise of Gyges to go there with me some day. Thou knowest that his ancestors were also of Corinth.”
“Before I married thy mother, O Psyche,” said Alcmaeon, “my father took me to Corinth. A desire had always burned in me to see that glorious city. A relation having died, we went to collect a legacy. We sailed from Brundusium. The boat was crowded with passengers. Never shall I forget the day when we sailed from the Ionian Sea into the Corinthian Gulf, between the islands Zacynthus and Cephallenia. As we floatedinto the heart of the Iliad, my feelings were preternatural. It seemed as if my heart were like a sail which, being swollen by the breath of religion, drew my soul into a haven of peace.
“It was near sundown,” continued Alcmaeon. “The sea was calm. The bireme seemed to float quickly along, like a bird skimming the surface of the water. The oar-tortured waves grew white with foamy bubbles. A poet’s eye could have seen in those waters the breasts and happy faces of wandering nereids. Across the water the shadow of Ithaca’s crags extended over the ship. Through that shadow, as through a violet mist, I saw the glory of Odysseus.
“That night,” he continued, “we anchored at Patros. I did not sleep. So enveloped was I in the glory of the past that the present lost its identity. I did not live; I dreamed. In the morning the surface of the sea trembled. The morning star reflected in the waters, like the smile of Eos. We raised anchor and proceeded along the coast.”
As Alcmaeon described his voyage, Hera and Psyche gazed fixedly at the pale light on the table. They felt moved by so strange an emotion that their natural sight was dimmed. As sorrowful eyes see solace through tears, so Hera and Psyche saw cheer and a new pleasure in Alcmaeon’s words. In the intonation with whichhe pronounced the old names of towns, heroes, and gods, they heard, as if floating on a river of melody, a Parthenic song.
“The bow of the boat cleaved the water like a swan’s breast,” continued Alcmaeon. “The historic shores of the gulf unfolded scene after scene, picture after picture,—all so beautiful in the dawn that they seemed to be glimpses into Elysium. The boat seemed to be drawn by an invisible force; the air seemed to vibrate with emotion; our hearts beat faster, when suddenly, like a lightning flash, directly in front, there sparkled a glorious mountain. The captain shouted, ‘Parnassus! Parnassus!’ I became as one transfixed; for in that mountain I saw the flaming celestial face of the god of the Sun, Apollo. The weight of humanity burdened me. I wished to fly to the mountain-tops. Oh! to have been like the eagle, which from the heights of heaven flies along the windy ways towards its nest!
“Soon after, I beheld Aegira, Sicyon, and finally the home of my ancestors, Corinth. I saw the Acrocorinthus, and I became lost in an oblivion of joy. O my Hera! O my Psyche! above all earthly music, above the song of the Iliad, there floated to me from that glorious place the cradle-song of my forefathers.”
At this part of the description Alcmaeonpaused. He smoothed his brow with his hand. Hera and Psyche bestowed upon him fond glances, showing their intense sympathy with his emotion. He continued in a trembling voice: “We disembarked. We climbed towards the city. We reached the walls. O ye gods! we gazed upon the mutilated remains of the once proud town. The Romans under Mummius and his swine made of that once glorious city a trough. Our ancestors were sold into slavery. Our branch of the family was redeemed.”
Again Alcmaeon paused. The last words he had uttered were full of irony. He passed his hand over his eyes and continued: “But these are bitter recollections. Sing an Homeric song, O Hera, and thou too, Psyche. Let our dreams float away from the iron city of Rome to the celestial cities of the Iliad.”
Hera began to sing an old cradle-song that had been sung in her family from generation to generation. It was the same sweet song which, like gentle fingers, had closed the eyelids of Gannon and Psyche in the slumber of childhood. Taking her mother’s hand in hers and smoothing it, Psyche also sang. Alcmaeon softly added his deep bass voice to theirs. On the spirit of the song they were drawn into the land of happy reveries. From songs they changed to hymns. So moved was Alcmaeon that he rose from thecouch and seated himself between Hera and Psyche, with an arm thrown about each of them. In the sacredness of the words and music they were supremely happy. Their souls were melted in religious fervor.
While they were thus singing, they heard a scratching at the door. The noise sounded like a cat trying to enter. Alcmaeon opened the door, and saw on the threshold a poor humpbacked girl who was trembling and weeping.
“What has happened to thee, Lupa?” he asked.
When Lupa’s name was spoken, Psyche hastened to the door. So rough and unmannerly were the neighbors of Alcmaeon that they were almost entirely ignored by Alcmaeon and his family. Lupa was the only exception. The poor deformed child of eleven was the youngest of six children. She was cruelly treated by her family, who looked upon her deformity as a crime. Psyche was the only one in the neighborhood who took an interest in the sad, misshapen, but good-natured girl. In reply to Alcmaeon’s question, Lupa said, “They have beaten me.”
“Enter and tell us why, O Lupa,” said Psyche, gently.
“They gave me a jar of water to carry,” replied the poor child. “It was too heavy. Ilet it fall. To punish me, they beat me, and put me out of the house for the night.”
“Thou canst rest here. Weep no more. Art thou hungry?” asked Psyche.
The deformed girl timidly nodded her head.
After arranging a couch for her, Psyche brought her some bread, and said: “Eat and sleep in peace, O unhappy Lupa. No one shall hurt thee here.”
At noon on the following day Alcmaeon’s house was deserted. Poor Lupa had gone back to her cheerless home; Alcmaeon was at school; and Psyche and Hera had gone to the rehearsal at Pompey’s Theatre.
Of all the celebrations that were to be given the people by Nero on his arriving at the manly age, the dancing at Pompey’s Theatre would be the least exciting. The taste of most Romans dwelt on vulgarity, on obscene comedy, and on exciting gladiatorial combat and horse-races. Still, many delighted in watching the evolutions of the dance. Psyche was to portray Niobe,—a sad but beautiful impersonation. As all the dancers knew their different rôles, the rehearsal required little repetition. Hera remained only a short time. Having met Gyges, whom she playfully called Eros, she left Psyche under his watchful eyes. These she thought were better guardians than her own.
Gyges was no golden-winged, heaven-descended god, like the mythical protector of the goddess Psyche, but a rich young charioteer, twenty-two years old. He was a Greek, and a perfect specimen of manly strength and symmetry. He had an oval face, with a pair of sharp, quick black eyes, a bold nose and forehead, and a small mouth, with lips that were thick and gracefully curved,—especially the short upper one, which was shaped like the bow of Eros. His rich, black curly hair was cut short. His body was graceful, lithe, and muscular. He was a living counterpart of the Hermes of Praxiteles at Olympia. At the races he always wore the green color; and as that color was the favorite, the betting odds changed whenever he drove. His intrepid and daring appearance, as he stood in the chariot, with the reins strapped around his body, his right foot resting on the chariot shield in front of him, his body bent back, his eyes flashing with fire, his clear voice shouting to his horses, inspired the spectators with wild enthusiasm. The excitement and rush of the chariots, as they rounded the last turn, with the finish line dead ahead of them,—on, on, in breathless anxiety, on to victory,—so thrilled the multitudes that they rose to their feet and rent the air with cheers.
The parents of Gyges, like those of Psyche, had been aristocratic Greeks; but having losttheir property, they had moved to Rome to retrieve their fortune. Both were now dead. The mother died when Gyges was but a child; the father but recently. An old freed slave named Nana took care of the home of Gyges. She had been a second mother to him. By her tender care, and through the excellent education and training given him by his father, he had developed into worthy and successful manhood. At the age of sixteen he had mastered the art of wrestling; but liking horses, and preferring the excitement of a charioteer’s life, he had taken racing as a profession. So successful had he become that he had accumulated a neat fortune of a million sesterces. On this day Gyges had left his horses and had come to the rehearsal to watch Psyche in her fascinating movements. So delighted was he by her grace and charm that he frequently broke out with applause. When the rehearsal was over, and Psyche had received congratulations from the instructor and the other dancing-girls, Gyges said to her, “Truly, O Psyche, never have I seen thee dance so well.”
“’Tis the character I love best to portray,” answered Psyche.
“Dost thou feel too tired to walk along the Via Sacra?”
“All weariness flees at the sight of thee, OGyges,” replied Psyche. “I could walk until evening.”
In order to reach the Via Sacra, they passed the Flaminian Circus, walked in the beautiful pillared porticos of Philippus and Octavia, passed the Theatre of Marcellus, went through the Porta Triumphalis, in the Servian wall, and entered the Forum near the Basilica Julia. The Forum was crowded. The lovers worked their way through the busy and noisy throng, and were soon among the shops that bordered the Via Sacra.
“What shall I buy thee, O Psyche?” asked Gyges, when they stopped before a jeweller’s shop.
“Nothing, my Gyges. I wish only to look at the beautiful objects displayed here.”
“But buying a jewel hinders thee not from regarding it with admiration.”
“True, O Gyges,” said Psyche, smiling; “but there are many things for which I have no use. Look at that chain with the small gold links and the hyacinth stones in the centre! Is not that graceful?”
“It may be.”
“Why ‘may be,’ O Gyges?”
“I am no judge of ornament, O Psyche,” replied Gyges, “unless it be a decoration for harness or chariot. Sculpture interests me more. Thine enthusiasm, however, pleases me more thanthe jewelry. Of a truth, dost thou like the chain with the hyacinth stones?”
“’Tis beautiful. Thinkest thou it is very costly?”
“Shall I ask?” he suggested.
“Nay, nay,” returned Psyche, with a smile. “Raise not the jeweller’s hopes. What heavy ear-rings are being worn now! Wouldst thou not think that they would tear the ear? Jewelry is not adornment when it disfigures. Dost thou not think so?”
“Ear-rings please me not,” said Gyges. “Are not those hair-nets and bands pretty?”
“Ay, my Gyges. But look!” she added quickly. “There is a ring like the one thou didst buy me. Dost thou remember the day we saw a similar one in a shop in the Suburra? Thou didst ask the price. Was not the amount one-half what thou didst pay here? Thou wert angry that day.”
“Truly, not angry!” he protested.
“Perchance thou wert provoked,” she playfully remarked. “Truly, however, we know that no inferior jewelry is sold here. Thou wilt never know how proud I was when I heard that my ring was bought here,—in this shop which senators and wealthy men patronize. Look there, Gyges! What a beautiful set of jewels is being shown that—”
“Softly, my Psyche,” interrupted Gyges. “The purchaser of those jewels is Nero.”
“What! Nero, who is soon to assume the manly habit?”
“Ay, my Psyche. Wouldst thou like to have a set like that?”
“Ornament does not make people happy, my Gyges,” said Psyche, as they left the jeweller’s shop. “I am happier dressed in plain clothes, with no ornament, than the women who recline amidst soft cushions, and who are so loaded with jewels that they have to be assisted when they walk. But look yonder! What a quantity of silk that matron has bought! Doubtless a daughter is to be wed.”
Gyges greatly enjoyed Psyche’s light chatter. He allowed her to continue unchecked in her girlish enthusiasm. Every store they passed brought forth exclamations of pleasure from Psyche. She was so busily engaged looking at some sandals that she did not observe the disappearance of Gyges. He quickly returned to the jewelry shop, made a purchase, and was again at Psyche’s side almost as soon as she missed him.
“Where hast thou been?” she asked.
“I wished to look once more at a jewel,” he replied.
“And therefore, my Gyges, I have been speaking to myself.”
“What didst thou say?”
“I was admiring those sandals of colored leather.”
“Dost thou like them too, O Psyche?” asked Gyges, laughing. “Surely the Via Sacra is thy celestial path. Thou standest more patient and more wrapped in contemplation than in a temple to a god. But come, let us to the art dealer. Let us admire the prettiest thing on earth,—the human form.”
“Behold that small copy of the Faun of Praxiteles,” said Gyges, when they had arrived before the sculptor’s shop. “Yonder is a copy of the Venus of Cnidus and the Hermes of the same sculptor. But look at this Ares! What a creation of beauty!”
“Oh, what grace, what action!” exclaimed Psyche.
“Ay,” assented Gyges, “’tis full of life. How alive and quick are the legs and arms! What sensuous grace, what soft outlines! Yet how heroic! ’Twas carved by a Greek. The Romans carve only fortunes and kingdoms.”
“But tell me, why is it not sold?” asked Psyche.
“I know not. Three months have I seen it there, begging its price. But tastes have changed, O Psyche. Busts of the Divine Augustus are now sought. Then, too, the statues of Tiberiuswhen he was a lad are in demand; for his now hideous face was once handsome. Didst thou ever see the emperor, my Psyche?”
“Not closely, my Gyges. Gannon says he is ugly.”
“The emperor may despise the games at the circus and the gladiatorial combats,” said Gyges, “but ’twould have been better if he had loved them more. Probably his face would not now show the results of his dissolute life. The stories about him that are slyly circulated in the circus are terrible, though we are not allowed to speak of him disrespectfully. Only yesterday my stable-boy, Aldo, a lad only fifteen years old, was lashed ten times for using the name of Tiberius in an oath. Times have changed, O Psyche,—but we are happy. In a few days thou shalt be the mistress of a new home. Tell me, what dost thou wish most for a present?”
“Ah, my Gyges, thou understandest thy horses better than thou dost a woman’s heart. Joy is lost in knowing beforehand what gift will be received.”
“Be it as thou wilt, O Psyche. Some days ago I told thee that I bought a house. To-day that house is ready to receive its mistress. Shall we go there now?”
“O my lover, I have been burning with curiosity since that day! Nothing would be morepleasing than to go there now,” said Psyche, trembling with joy at the prospect of seeing her future home.
They left the Forum, walked around the Palatine Hill, and turned down a narrow street near the Porta Capena. Here they stopped before a small house.
“This is our new home, O Psyche,” said Gyges, as he knocked at the door.
The door was opened by Nana, who gladly welcomed them.
“I have brought the bird for the new cage, O Nana,” said Gyges.
“Wilt thou make of me a prisoner, my Gyges?” asked Psyche, with a shy smile.
“The door of this cage will always be open,” replied Gyges, laughing merrily.
Psyche behaved like a child with a new gift. Her face was radiant. As each newly furnished room was shown her, she burst into exclamations of pleasure. The house consisted of a peristyle, around which opened five small rooms. In the centre of the peristyle played a small fountain, bordered by blooming flowers. At one end a stone bench, large enough for only two, invitingly held open its arms. Nana wisely left the happy lovers alone amid the flowers, and retired.
“How happy we shall be here, O Gyges!”said Psyche, throwing her arms around Gyges’ neck and kissing him.
“Dost thou now wonder, O my love,” he responded, “why the gods and goddesses left the heavens and came to earth to love mortals?”
The lovers seated themselves on the marble bench and watched the playing fountain. Borne on the perfumed breath of the flowers, the splashing sound of the water affected the lovers with an indescribable sense of joy. The dancing drops fell now on one side and then on the other side of the basin, according as the wind blew against the spouting jet. In their happy meditations the lovers saw in the jet of water a life of pleasure breaking into drops of joy, and reflecting, after it fell into the basin, the radiant heavens. Everything about them was cheerful, bright, and sunny. The lovers remained quiet and thoughtful. They built mental pictures on the peaceful background of their new home. Gyges broke the silence by saying, as he kissed her hand, “What beautiful hands thou hast, O my love!”
“They are no less finely moulded than thine are, O my lover. But thy fingers and wrists are strong as iron; mine are more supple.”
“Ay, my love; thine can be broken like a tender flower. These hands must never grow hard and coarse. Nana will do all the hardwork. Then thou must find some one to help thee.”
“Thou wilt spoil me, O Gyges. Nana and I can do everything.”
“Why canst thou not bring Lupa here? She would have a happy home with us.”
“Poor unfortunate child!” said Psyche. “Last night she was beaten and put out of her home. We cared for her. Canst thou, O Gyges, provide for so many people?”
“Ay, my love,” said Gyges, cheerfully. “Charioteers are well paid. I am doubly fortunate in being a favorite with the people. When we tire of this house, we can buy another better, larger, grander.”
“Shall we end by living on the Palatine Hill, O my lover?” laughed Psyche.
“Not so high are my ambitions,” said Gyges, with a smile. “I must always see my Psyche beautiful, free from care and trouble. I must always see on her cheek the rosy bloom which I shall try to brush away with kisses. Lay thy head on my shoulder. My lips thirst for kisses, O my love. Let me press thine eyes with my lips. Let me press thy lips with mine. Are we not happy?”
“Never was the beloved of Eros happier than I am with thee now, O my lover.”
“For the wish to kiss lips like thine, O mylove, the Trojan war was fought. The desire for a kiss changed Arethusa into a fountain, Daphne into the aromatic laurel-tree, Adonis into the tremulous flower of the wind. A kiss, my love, is the knot that unites the cords of love, and therefore completes the circle of happiness.”
While Psyche rested on her lover’s bosom, Gyges slyly placed in her hand the package which he had carried from the jeweller’s. Feeling the object in her hand, Psyche started.
“What is that, O my lover?” she asked.
“Thou didst not like the ear-rings, my love. Perhaps thou wilt like a golden hair-net.”
“Whilst I looked at the sandals thou didst buy a present?” she asked, as she carefully opened the package.
“Ay, my love. A golden hair-net will require to—”
“A golden hair-net! Why, ’tis the necklace with the hyacinth stones!” she cried with delight. “O my lover, thou art too, too good to me!”
She seated herself on his knees and mutely expressed her thanks in the kisses she gave him.
They relapsed into silence, the happy medium in which the hearts of lovers beat. ’Tis in silence that the leaves whisper their secrets to the gentle zephyrs. ’Tis in silence that the butterflies telltheir thoughts to the flowers. The blossoms pour their mysterious perfume on the wings of the air in silence. It was in silence that Aphrodite stole the slumbering Ascanius from his home. She laid him on a bank of violets shaded by bushes covered with luxuriant roses, bent in reverence before his beauty.
Psyche and Gyges, silently clasped in each other’s arms, had become transcendent beings. Sacred reveries filled their souls. The bridge over which they walked from the past to the future was one of gold. The stream that flowed beneath was one of crystal joy. The sun that filled their lives was at its zenith. They seemed to hear an Hellenic song. It was the music of their souls, singing the song of beatific love.
Long they sat there, lost in happiness. Gyges suddenly gave a start, and exclaimed: “Look, O my love! The fountain has stopped playing.”
They hastened to the fountain to see why the water had ceased flowing. Gyges found a small fish caught in the opening. The little fish was dead.
“What means this omen?” he asked, in a tone of sadness.
There flashed upon his mind that so, too, the spontaneous flow of their happiness, which he had so lately likened to the play of the fountain, might be checked by death.
“Is the fish dead?” she asked, affrighted.
“Ay, my love.” Then, after a long silence, he added with an air of sad conviction, “Some one whom we love is dead.”
“Say not so, O lover,” cried Psyche. “This cannot mean anything to us. But look! Even the sun has left us.”
“Evening is drawing near,” he sadly responded.
“Come, let us go home,” said Psyche, tearfully.
Silently they took a last look at their new home, said farewell to Nana, went out into the street, and proceeded along the Via Appia. When they reached the street that led to Psyche’s home, they concluded to walk farther and view the Campagna and the hills beyond, lit up by the setting sun.