Chapter 3

Then did they hold their peace, although indeed Her stammering haste they did not fail to heed. But at their wondrous royal feast they sat Thinking their thoughts, and spoke of this or that Between the bursts of music, until when The sun was leaving the abodes of men; And then must Psyche to her sisters say That she was bid, her husband being away, To suffer none at night to harbour there, No, not the mother that her body bare Or father that begat her, therefore they Must leave her now, till some still happier day. And therewithal more precious gifts she brought Whereof not e'en in dreams they could have thought Things whereof noble stories might be told; And said; "These matters that you here behold Shall be the worst of gifts that you shall have; Farewell, farewell! and may the high gods save Your lives and fame; and tell our father dear Of all the honour that I live in here, And how that greater happiness shall come When I shall reach a long-enduring home." Then these, though burning through the night to stay, Spake loving words, and went upon their way, When weeping she had kissed them; but they wept Such tears as traitors do, for as they stepped Over the threshold, in each other's eyes They looked, for each was eager to surprise The envy that their hearts were filled withal, That to their lips came welling up like gall.

"So," said the first, "this palace without folk, These wonders done with none to strike a stroke. This singing in the air, and no one seen, These gifts too wonderful for any queen, The trance wherein we both were wrapt away, And set down by her golden house to-day-- --These are the deeds of gods, and not of men; And fortunate the day was to her, when Weeping she left the house where we were born, And all men deemed her shamed and most forlorn." Then said the other, reddening in her rage, "She is the luckiest one of all this age; And yet she might have told us of her case, What god it is that dwelleth in the place, Nor sent us forth like beggars from her gate. And beggarly, O sister, is our fate, Whose husbands wring from miserable hinds What the first battle scatters to the winds; While she to us whom from her door she drives And makes of no account or honour, gives Such wonderful and priceless gifts as these, Fit to bedeck the limbs of goddesses! And yet who knows but she may get a fall? The strongest tower has not the highest wall, Think well of this, when you sit safe at home By this unto the river were they come, Where waited Zephyrus unseen, who cast A languor over them that quickly passed Into deep sleep, and on the grass they sank; Then straightway did he lift them from the bank, And quickly each in her fair house set down, Then flew aloft above the sleeping town. Long in their homes they brooded over this, And how that Psyche nigh a goddess is; While all folk deemed that she quite lost had been For nought they said of all that they had seen.

But now that night when she, with many a kiss, Had told their coming, and of that and this That happed, he said, "These things, O Love, are well; Glad am I that no evil thing befell. And yet, between thy father's house and me Must thou choose now; then either royally Shalt thou go home, and wed some king at last, And have no harm for all that here has passed; Or else, my love, bear as thy brave heart may, This loneliness in hope of that fair day, Which, by my head, shall come to thee; and then Shalt thou be glorious to the sons of men, And by my side shalt sit in such estate That in all time all men shall sing thy fate." But with that word such love through her he breathed, That round about him her fair arms she wreathed; And so with loving passed the night away, And with fresh hope came on the fresh May-day. And so passed many a day and many a night. And weariness was balanced with delight, And into such a mind was Psyche brought, That little of her father's house she thought, But ever of the happy day to come When she should go unto her promised home.

Till she that threw the golden apple down Upon the board, and lighted up Troy town, On dusky wings came flying o'er the place, And seeing Psyche with her happy face Asleep beneath some fair tree blossoming, Into her sleep straight cast an evil thing; Whereby she dreamed she saw her father laid Panting for breath beneath the golden shade Of his great bed's embroidered canopy, And with his last breath moaning heavily Her name and fancied woes; thereat she woke, And this ill dream through all her quiet broke, And when next morn her Love from her would go, And going, as it was his wont to do, Would kiss her sleeping, he must find the tears Filling the hollows of her rosy ears And wetting half the golden hair that lay Twixt him and her: then did he speak and say, "O Love, why dost thou lie awake and weep, Who for content shouldst have good heart to sleep This cold hour ere the dawning?" Nought she said, But wept aloud. Then cried he, "By my head! Whate'er thou wishest I will do for thee; Yea, if it make an end of thee and me." "O Love," she said, "I scarce dare ask again, Yet is there in mine heart an aching pain To know what of my father is become: So would I send my sisters to my home, Because I doubt indeed they never told Of all my honour in this house of gold; And now of them a great oath would I take." He said, "Alas! and hast thou been awake For them indeed? who in my arms asleep Mightst well have been; for their sakes didst thou weep, Who mightst have smiled to feel my kiss on thee? Yet as thou wishest once more shall it be, Because my oath constrains me, and thy tears. And yet again beware, and make these fears Of none avail; nor waver any more, I pray thee: for already to the shore Of all delights and joys thou drawest nigh."

He spoke, and from the chamber straight did fly To highest heaven, and going softly then, Wearied the father of all gods and men With prayers for Psyche's immortality.

Meantime went Zephyrus across the sea, To bring her sisters to her arms again, Though of that message little was he fain, Knowing their malice and their cankered hearts. For now these two had thought upon their parts And made up a false tale for Psyche's ear; For when awaked, to her they drew anear, Sobbing, their faces in their hands they hid, Nor when she asked them why this thing they did Would answer aught, till trembling Psyche said, "Nay, nay, what is it? is our father dead? Or do ye weep these tears for shame that ye Have told him not of my felicity, To make me weep amidst my new-found bliss? Be comforted, for short the highway is To my forgiveness: this day shall ye go And take him gifts, and tell him all ye know Of this my unexpected happy lot." Amidst fresh sobs one said, "We told him not But by good counsel did we hide the thing, Deeming it well that he should feel the sting For once, than for awhile be glad again, And after come to suffer double pain." "Alas! what mean you, sister?" Psyche said, For terror waxing pale as are the dead. "O sister, speak!" "Child, by this loving kiss," Spake one of them, "and that remembered bliss We dwelt in when our mother was alive, Or ever we began with ills to strive, By all the hope thou hast to see again Our aged father and to soothe his pain, I charge thee tell me,--Hast thou seen the thing Thou callest Husband?" Breathless, quivering, Psyche cried out, "Alas! what sayest thou? What riddles wilt thou speak unto me now?" "Alas!" she said; "then is it as I thought. Sister, in dreadful places have we sought To learn about thy case, and thus we found A wise man, dwelling underneath the ground In a dark awful cave: he told to us A horrid tale thereof, and piteous, That thou wert wedded to an evil thing, A serpent-bodied fiend of poisonous sting, Bestial of form, yet therewith lacking not E'en such a soul as wicked men have got. Thus ages long agone the gods made him, And set him in a lake hereby to swim; But every hundred years he hath this grace, That he may change within this golden place Into a fair young man by night alone. Alas, my sister, thou hast cause to groan! What sayest thou?--_His words are fair and soft;_ _He raineth loving kisses on me oft,_ _Weeping for love; he tells me of a day_ _When from this place we both shall go away,_ _And he shall kiss me then no more unseen,_ _The while I sit by him a glorious queen_---- --Alas, poor child! it pleaseth thee, his kiss? Then must I show thee why he doeth this: Because he willeth for a time to save Thy body, wretched one! that he may have Both child and mother for his watery hell-- Ah, what a tale this is for me to tell! "Thou prayest us to save thee, and we can; Since for nought else we sought that wise old man, Who for great gifts and seeing that of kings We both were come, has told us all these things, And given us a fair lamp of hallowed oil That he has wrought with danger and much toil; And thereto has he added a sharp knife, In forging which he well-nigh lost his life, About him so the devils of the pit Came swarming--O, my sister, hast thou it?" Straight from her gown the other one drew out The lamp and knife, which Psyche, dumb with doubt And misery at once, took in her hand. Then said her sister, "From this doubtful land Thou gav'st us royal gifts a while ago, But these we give thee, though they lack for show, Shall be to thee a better gift,--thy life. Put now in some sure place this lamp and knife, And when he sleeps rise silently from bed And hold the hallowed lamp above his head, And swiftly draw the charméd knife across His cursed neck, thou well may'st bear the loss, Nor shall he keep his man's shape more, when he First feels the iron wrought so mysticly: But thou, flee unto us, we have a tale, Of what has been thy lot within this vale, When we have 'scaped therefrom, which we shall do By virtue of strange spells the old man knew. Farewell, sweet sister! here we may not stay, Lest in returning he should pass this way; But in the vale we will not fail to wait Till thou art loosened from thine evil fate." Thus went they, and for long they said not aught, Fearful lest any should surprise their thought, But in such wise had envy conquered fear, That they were fain that eve to bide anear Their sister's ruined home; but when they came Unto the river, on them fell the same Resistless languor they had felt before. And from the blossoms of that flowery shore Their sleeping bodies soon did Zephyr bear, For other folk to hatch new ills and care.

But on the ground sat Psyche all alone, The lamp and knife beside her, and no moan She made, but silent let the long hours go, Till dark night closed around her and her woe. Then trembling she arose, for now drew near The time of utter loneliness and fear, And she must think of death, who until now Had thought of ruined life, and love brought low; And with, that thought, tormenting doubt there came, And images of some unheard-of shame, Until forlorn, entrapped of gods she felt, As though in some strange hell her spirit dwelt. Yet driven by her sisters' words at last, And by remembrance of the time now past, When she stood trembling, as the oracle With all its fearful doom upon her fell, She to her hapless wedding-chamber turned, And while the waxen tapers freshly burned She laid those dread gifts ready to her hand, Then quenched the lights, and by the bed did stand, Turning these matters in her troubled mind; And sometimes hoped some glorious man to find Beneath the lamp, fit bridegroom for a bride Like her; ah, then! with what joy to his side Would she creep back in the dark silent night; But whiles she quaked at thought of what a sight The lamp might show her; the hot rush of blood The knife might shed upon her as she stood, The dread of some pursuit, the hurrying out, Through rooms where every sound would seem a shout Into the windy night among the trees, Where many a changing monstrous sight one sees, When nought at all has happed to chill the blood.

But as among these evil thoughts she stood, She heard him coming, and straight crept to bed. And felt him touch her with a new-born dread, And durst not answer to his words of love. But when he slept, she rose that tale to prove. And sliding down as softly as might be, And moving through the chamber quietly, She gat the lamp within her trembling hand, And long, debating of these things, did stand In that thick darkness, till she seemed to be A dweller in some black eternity, And what she once had called the world did seem A hollow void, a colourless mad dream; For she felt so alone--three times in vain She moved her heavy hand, three times again It fell adown; at last throughout the place Its flame glared, lighting up her woeful face, Whose eyes the silken carpet did but meet, Grown strange and awful, and her own wan feet As toward the bed she stole; but come thereto Back with dosed eyes and quivering lips, she threw Her lovely head, and strove to think of it, While images of fearful things did flit Before her eyes; thus, raising up the hand That bore the lamp, one moment did she stand As man's time tells it, and then suddenly Opened her eyes, but scarce kept back a cry At what she saw; for there before her lay The very Love brighter than dawn of day; And as he lay there smiling, her own name His gentle lips in sleep began to frame, And as to touch her face his hand did move; O then, indeed, her faint heart swelled for love, And she began to sob, and tears fell fast Upon the bed.--But as she turned at last To quench the lamp, there happed a little thing That quenched her new delight, for flickering The treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fair A burning drop; he woke, and seeing her there The meaning of that sad sight knew full well, Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell.

Then on her knees she fell with a great cry, For in his face she saw the thunder nigh, And she began to know what she had done, And saw herself henceforth, unloved, alone, Pass onward to the grave; and once again She heard the voice she now must love in vain "Ah, has it come to pass? and hast thou lost A life of love, and must thou still be tossed One moment in the sun 'twixt night and night? And must I lose what would have been delight, Untasted yet amidst immortal bliss, To wed a soul made worthy of my kiss, Set in a frame so wonderfully made? "O wavering heart, farewell! be not afraid That I with fire will burn thy body fair, Or cast thy sweet limbs piecemeal through the air; The fates shall work thy punishment alone, And thine own memory of our kindness done. "Alas! what wilt thou do? how shalt thou bear The cruel world, the sickening still despair, The mocking, curious faces bent on thee, When thou hast known what love there is in me? O happy only, if thou couldst forget, And live unholpen, lonely, loveless yet, But untormented through the little span That on the earth ye call the life of man. Alas! that thou, too fair a thing to die, Shouldst so be born to double misery! "Farewell! though I, a god, can never know How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget, Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem The wavering memory of a lovely dream." Therewith he caught his shafts up and his bow, And striding through the chambers did he go, Light all around him; and she, wailing sore, Still followed after; but he turned no more, And when into the moonlit night he came From out her sight he vanished like a flame, And on the threshold till the dawn of day Through all the changes of the night she lay.

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At daybreak when she lifted up her eyes, She looked around with heavy dull surprise, And rose to enter the fair golden place; But then remembering all her piteous case She turned away, lamenting very sore, And wandered down unto the river shore; There, at the head of a green pool and deep, She stood so long that she forgot to weep, And the wild things about the water-side From such a silent thing cared not to hide; The dace pushed 'gainst the stream, the dragon-fly, With its green-painted wing, went flickering by; The water-hen, the lustred kingfisher, Went on their ways and took no heed of her; The little reed birds never ceased to sing, And still the eddy, like a living thing, Broke into sudden gurgles at her feet. But 'midst these fair things, on that morning sweet, How could she, weary creature, find a place? She moved at last, and lifting up her face, Gathered her raiment up and cried, "Farewell, O fairest lord! and since I cannot dwell With thee in heaven, let me now hide my head In whatsoever dark place dwell the dead!" And with that word she leapt into the stream, But the kind river even yet did deem That she should live, and, with all gentle care, Cast her ashore within a meadow fair. Upon the other side, where Shepherd Pan Sat looking down upon the water wan, Goat-legged and merry, who called out, "Fair maid Why goest thou hurrying to the feeble shade Whence none return? Well do I know thy pain, For I am old, and have not lived in vain; Thou wilt forget all that within a while, And on some other happy youth wilt smile; And sure he must be dull indeed if he Forget not all things in his ecstasy At sight of such a wonder made for him, That in that clinging gown makes mine eyes swim, Old as I am: but to the god of Love Pray now, sweet child, for all things can he move." Weeping she passed him, but full reverently, And well she saw that she was not to die Till she had filled the measure of her woe. So through the meads she passed, half blind and slow, And on her sisters somewhat now she thought; And, pondering on the evil they had wrought, The veil fell from her, and she saw their guile. "Alas!" she said, "can death make folk so vile? What wonder that the gods are glorious then, Who cannot feel the hates and fears of men? Sisters, alas, for what ye used to be! Once did I think, whatso might hap to me, Still at the worst, within your arms to find A haven of pure love; then were ye kind, Then was your joy e'en as my very own-- And now, and now, if I can be alone That is my best: but that can never be, For your unkindness still shall stay with me When ye are dead--But thou, my love! my dear! Wert thou not kind?--I should have lost my fear Within a little--Yea, and e'en just now With angry godhead on thy lovely brow, Still thou wert kind--And art thou gone away For ever? I know not, but day by day Still will I seek thee till I come to die, And nurse remembrance of felicity Within my heart, although it wound me sore; For what am I but thine for evermore!"

Thenceforth her back upon the world she turned As she had known it; in her heart there burned Such deathless love, that still untired she went: The huntsman dropping down the woody bent, In the still evening, saw her passing by, And for her beauty fain would draw anigh, But yet durst not; the shepherd on the down Wondering, would shade his eyes with fingers brown, As on the hill's brow, looking o'er the lands, She stood with straining eyes and clinging hands, While the wind blew the raiment from her feet; The wandering soldier her grey eyes would meet, That took no heed of him, and drop his own; Like a thin dream she passed the clattering town; On the thronged quays she watched the ships come in Patient, amid the strange outlandish din; Unscared she saw the sacked towns' miseries, And marching armies passed before her eyes. And still of her the god had such a care That none might wrong her, though alone and fair. Through rough and smooth she wandered many a day, Till all her hope had well-nigh passed away.

Meanwhile the sisters, each in her own home, Waited the day when outcast she should come And ask their pity; when perchance, indeed, They looked to give her shelter in her need, And with soft words such faint reproaches take As she durst make them for her ruin's sake; But day passed day, and still no Psyche came, And while they wondered whether, to their shame, Their plot had failed, or gained its end too well, And Psyche slain, no tale thereof could tell.-- Amidst these things, the eldest sister lay Asleep one evening of a summer day, Dreaming she saw the god of Love anigh, Who seemed to say unto her lovingly, "Hail unto thee, fair sister of my love; Nor fear me for that thou her faith didst prove, And found it wanting, for thou, too, art fair, Nor is her place filled; rise, and have no care For father or for friends, but go straightway Unto the rock where she was borne that day; There, if thou hast a will to be my bride, Put thou all fear of horrid death aside, And leap from off the cliff, and there will come My slaves, to bear thee up and take thee home. Haste then, before the summer night grows late, For in my house thy beauty I await!"

So spake the dream; and through the night did sail, And to the other sister bore the tale, While this one rose, nor doubted of the thing, Such deadly pride unto her heart did cling; But by the tapers' light triumphantly, Smiling, her mirrored body did she eye, Then hastily rich raiment on her cast And through the sleeping serving-people passed, And looked with changed eyes on the moonlit street, Nor scarce could feel the ground beneath her feet. But long the time seemed to her, till she came There where her sister once was borne to shame; And when she reached the bare cliff's rugged brow She cried aloud, "O Love, receive me now, Who am not all unworthy to be thine!" And with that word, her jewelled arms did shine Outstretched beneath the moon, and with one breath She sprung to meet the outstretched arms of Death, The only god that waited for her there, And in a gathered moment of despair A hideous thing her traitrous life did seem.

But with the passing of that hollow dream The other sister rose, and as she might, Arrayed herself alone in that still night, And so stole forth, and making no delay Came to the rock anigh the dawn of day; No warning there her sister's spirit gave, No doubt came nigh the fore-doomed soul to save, But with a fever burning in her blood, With glittering eyes and crimson cheeks she stood One moment on the brow, the while she cried, "Receive me, Love, chosen to be thy bride From all the million women of the world!" Then o'er the cliff her wicked limbs were hurled, Nor has the language of the earth a name For that surprise of terror and of shame.

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