Chapter 5

But the next morn upon a turret high, Where the wind kissed her raiment lovingly, Stood Venus waiting her; and when she came She said, "O slave, thy city's very shame, Lift up thy cunning eyes, and looking hence Shalt thou behold betwixt these battlements, A black and barren mountain set aloof From the green hills, shaped like a palace roof. Ten leagues from hence it lieth, toward the north, And from its rocks a fountain welleth forth, Black like itself, and floweth down its side, And in a while part into Styx doth glide, And part into Cocytus runs away, Now coming thither by the end of day, Fill me this ewer from out the awful stream; Such task a sorceress like thee will deem A little matter; bring it not to pass, And if thou be not made of steel or brass, To-morrow shalt thou find the bitterest day Thou yet hast known, and all be sport and play To what thy heart in that hour shall endure-- Behold, I swear it, and my word is sure!" She turned therewith to go down toward the sea, To meet her lover, who from Thessaly Was come from some well-foughten field of war. But Psyche, wandering wearily afar, Reached the bare foot of that black rock at last, And sat there grieving for the happy past, For surely now, she thought, no help could be, She had but reached the final misery, Nor had she any counsel but to weep. For not alone the place was very steep, And craggy beyond measure, but she knew What well it was that she was driven to, The dreadful water that the gods swear by, For there on either hand, as one draws nigh, Are long-necked dragons ready for the spring, And many another monstrous nameless thing, The very sight of which is well-nigh death; Then the black water as it goes crieth, "Fly, wretched one, before you come to die! Die, wretched man! I will not let you fly! How have you heart to come before me here? You have no heart, your life is turned to fear!" Till the wretch falls adown with whirling brain, And far below the sharp rocks end his pain. Well then might Psyche wail her wretched fate, And strive no more, but sitting weep and wait Alone in that black land for kindly death, With weary sobbing, wasting life and breath; But o'er her head there flew the bird of Jove, The bearer of his servant, friend of Love, Who, when he saw her, straightway towards her flew, And asked her why she wept, and when he knew, And who she was, he said, "Cease all thy fear, For to the black waves I thy ewer will bear, And fill it for thee; but, remember me, When thou art come unto thy majesty." Then straight he flew, and through the dragon's wings Went carelessly, nor feared their clatterings, But set the ewer, filled, in her right hand, And on that day saw many another land.

Then Psyche through the night toiled back again, And as she went, she thought, "Ah! all is vain, For though once more I just escape indeed, Yet hath she many another wile at need; And to these days when I my life first learn, With unavailing longing shall I turn, When this that seemeth now so horrible Shall then seem but the threshold of her hell. Alas! what shall I do? for even now In sleep I see her pitiless white brow, And hear the dreadful sound of her commands, While with my helpless body and bound hands I tremble underneath the cruel whips; And oft for dread of her, with quivering lips I wake, and waking know the time draws nigh When nought shall wake me from that misery-- Behold, O Love, because of thee I live, Because of thee, with these things still I strive."

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Now with the risen sun her weary feet The late-strewn roses of the floor did meet Upon the marble threshold of the place; But she being brought before the matchless face, Fresh with the new life of another day, Beheld her wondering, for the goddess lay With half-shut eyes upon her golden bed, And when she entered scarcely turned her head, But smiling spake, "The gods are good to thee, Nor shalt thou always be mine enemy; But one more task I charge thee with to-day, Now unto Proserpine take thou thy way, And give this golden casket to her hands, And pray the fair Queen of the gloomy lands To fill the void shell with that beauty rare That long ago as queen did set her there; Nor needest thou to fail in this new thing, Who hast to-day the heart and wit to bring This dreadful water, and return alive; And, that thou may'st the more in this thing strive, If thou returnest I will show at last My kindness unto thee, and all the past Shalt thou remember as an ugly dream." And now at first to Psyche did it seem Her heart was softening to her, and the thought Swelled her full heart to sobbing, and it brought Into her yearning eyes half-happy tears: But on her way cold thoughts and dreadful fears Rose in her heart, for who indeed could teach A living soul that dread abode to reach And yet return? and then once more it seemed The hope of mercy was but lightly dreamed, And she remembered that triumphant smile, And needs must think, "This is the final wile, Alas! what trouble must a goddess take So weak a thing as this poor heart to break. "See now this tower! from off its top will I Go quick to Proserpine--ah, good to die! Rather than hear those shameful words again, And bear that unimaginable pain Which she has hoarded for to-morrow morn; Now is the ending of my life forlorn! O Love, farewell, thou seest all hope is dead, Thou seest what torments on my wretched head Thy bitter mother doth not cease to heap; Farewell, O Love, for thee and life I weep. Alas, my foolish heart! alas, my sin! Alas, for all the love I could not win!"

Now was this tower both old enough and grey, Built by some king forgotten many a day, And no man dwelt there, now that bitter war From that bright land had long been driven afar; There now she entered, trembling and afraid; But 'neath her doubtful steps the dust long laid In utter rest, rose up into the air, And wavered in the wind that down the stair Rushed to the door; then she drew back a pace, Moved by the coolness of the lonely place That for so long had seen no ray of sun. Then shuddering did she hear these words begun, Like a wind's moaning voice, "Have thou no fear The hollow words of one long slain to hear! Thou livest, and thy hope is not yet dead, And if thou heedest me, thou well may'st tread The road to hell, and yet return again. "For thou must go o'er many a hill and plain Until to Sparta thou art come at last, And when the ancient city thou hast passed A mountain shalt thou reach, that men now call Mount Tænarus, that riseth like a wall 'Twixt plain and upland, therein shalt thou find The wide mouth of a cavern huge and blind, Wherein there cometh never any sun, Whose dreadful darkness all things living shun; This shun thou not, but yet take care to have Three honey-cakes thy soul alive to save, And in thy mouth a piece of money set, Then through the dark go boldly, and forget The stories thou hast heard of death and hell, And heed my words, and then shall all be well. "For when thou hast passed through that cavern blind, A place of dim grey meadows shalt thou find, Wherethrough to inmost hell a path doth lead, Which follow thou, with diligence and heed; For as thou goest there, thou soon shalt see Two men like peasants loading painfully A fallen ass; these unto thee will call To help them, but give thou no heed at all, But pass them swiftly; and then soon again Within a shed three crones shalt thou see plain Busily weaving, who shall bid thee leave The road and fill their shuttles while they weave, But slacken not thy steps for all their prayers, For these are shadows only, and set snares. "At last thou comest to a water wan, And at the bank shall be the ferryman Surly and grey; and when he asketh thee Of money for thy passage, hastily Show him thy mouth, and straight from off thy lip The money he will take, and in his ship Embark thee and set forward; but beware, For on thy passage is another snare; From out the waves a grisly head shall come, Most like thy father thou hast left at home, And pray for passage long and piteously, But on thy life of him have no pity, Else art thou lost; also thy father lives, And in the temples of the high gods gives Great daily gifts for thy returning home. "When thou unto the other side art come, A palace shalt thou see of fiery gold, And by the door thereof shalt thou behold An ugly triple monster, that shall yell For thine undoing; now behold him well, And into each mouth of him cast a cake, And no more heed of thee then shall he take, And thou may'st pass into a glorious hall Where many a wonder hangs upon the wall; But far more wonderful than anything The fair slim consort of the gloomy King, Arrayed all royally shalt thou behold, Who sitting on a carven throne of gold, Whene'er thou enterest shall rise up to thee, And bid thee welcome there most lovingly, And pray thee on a royal bed to sit, And share her feast; yet eat thou not of it, But sitting on the ground eat bread alone, Then do thy message kneeling by her throne; And when thou hast the gift, return with speed; The sleepy dog of thee shall take no heed, The ferryman shall bear thee on thy way Without more words, and thou shalt see the day Unharmed if that dread box thou openest not; But if thou dost, then death shall be thy lot.

"O beautiful, when safe thou com'st again, Remember me, who lie here in such pain Unburied; set me in some tomb of stone. When thou hast gathered every little bone; But never shalt thou set thereon a name, Because my ending was with grief and shame, Who was a Queen like thee long years agone, And in this tower so long have lain alone."

Then, pale and full of trouble, Psyche went Bearing the casket, and her footsteps bent To Lacedæmon, and thence found her way To Tænarus, and there the golden day For that dark cavern did she leave behind; Then, going boldly through it, did she find The shadowy meads which that wide way ran through, Under a seeming sky 'twixt grey and blue; No wind blew there, there was no bird or tree, Or beast, and dim grey flowers she did but see That never faded in that changeless place, And if she had but seen a living face Most strange and bright she would have thought it there, Or if her own face, troubled yet so fair, The still pools by the road-side could have shown The dimness of that place she might have known; But their dull surface cast no image back, For all but dreams of light that land did lack. So on she passed, still noting every thing, Nor yet had she forgotten there to bring The honey-cakes and money: in a while She saw those shadows striving hard to pile The bales upon the ass, and heard them call, "O woman, help us! for our skill is small And we are feeble in this place indeed;" But swiftly did she pass, nor gave them heed, Though after her from far their cries they sent. Then a long way adown that road she went, Not seeing aught, till, as the Shade had said, She came upon three women in a shed Busily weaving, who cried, "Daughter, leave The beaten road a while, and as we weave Fill thou our shuttles with these endless threads, For here our eyes are sleepy, and our heads Are feeble in this miserable place." But for their words she did but mend her pace, Although her heart beat quick as she passed by.

Then on she went, until she could espy The wan, grey river lap the leaden bank Wherefrom there sprouted sparsely sedges rank, And there the road had end in that sad boat Wherein the dead men unto Minos float; There stood the ferryman, who now, seeing her, said, "O living soul, that thus among the dead Hast come, on whatso errand, without fear, Know thou that penniless none passes here; Of all the coins that rich men have on earth To buy the dreadful folly they call mirth, But one they keep when they have passed the grave That o'er this stream a passage they may have; And thou, though living, art but dead to me, Who here, immortal, see mortality Pass, stripped of this last thing that men desire Unto the changeless meads or changeless fire." Speechless she shewed the money on her lip Which straight he took, and set her in the ship, And then the wretched, heavy oars he threw Into the rowlocks and the flood they drew; Silent, with eyes that looked beyond her face, He laboured, and they left the dreary place. But midmost of that water did arise A dead man, pale, with ghastly staring eyes That somewhat like her father still did seem, But in such wise as figures in a dream; Then with a lamentable voice it cried, "O daughter, I am dead, and in this tide For ever shall I drift, an unnamed thing, Who was thy father once, a mighty king, Unless thou take some pity on me now, And bid the ferryman turn here his prow, That I with thee to some abode may cross; And little unto thee will be the loss, And unto me the gain will be to come To such a place as I may call a home, Being now but dead and empty of delight, And set in this sad place 'twixt dark and light." Now at these words the tears ran down apace For memory of the once familiar face, And those old days, wherein, a little child 'Twixt awe and love beneath those eyes she smiled; False pity moved her very heart, although The guile of Venus she failed not to know, But tighter round the casket clasped her hands, And shut her eyes, remembering the commands Of that dead queen: so safe to land she came.

And there in that grey country, like a flame Before her eyes rose up the house of gold, And at the gate she met the beast threefold, Who ran to meet her open-mouthed, but she Unto his jaws the cakes cast cunningly, But trembling much; then on the ground he lay Lolling his heads, and let her go her way; And so she came into the mighty hall, And saw those wonders hanging on the wall, That all with pomegranates was covered o'er In memory of the meal on that sad shore, Whereby fair Enna was bewept in vain, And this became a kingdom and a chain. But on a throne, the Queen of all the dead She saw therein with gold-embracéd head, In royal raiment, beautiful and pale; Then with slim hands her face did Psyche veil In worship of her, who said, "Welcome here, O messenger of Venus! thou art dear To me thyself indeed, for of thy grace And loveliness we know e'en in this place; Rest thee then, fair one, on this royal bed And with some dainty food shalt thou be fed; Ho, ye who wait, bring in the tables now!" Therewith were brought things glorious of show On cloths and tables royally beseen, By damsels each one fairer than a queen, The very latchets of whose shoes were worth The royal crown of any queen on earth; But when upon them Psyche looked, she saw That all these dainty matters without flaw Were strange of shape and of strange-blended hues So every cup and plate did she refuse Those lovely hands brought to her, and she said, "O Queen, to me amidst my awe and dread These things are nought, my message is not done, So let me rest upon this cold grey stone, And while my eyes no higher than thy feet Are lifted, eat the food that mortals eat." Therewith upon the floor she sat her down And from the folded bosom of her gown Drew forth her bread and ate, while with cold eyes Regarding her 'twixt anger and surprise, The Queen sat silent for awhile, then spoke, "Why art thou here, wisest of living folk? Depart in haste, lest thou shouldst come to be Thyself a helpless thing and shadowy! Give me the casket then, thou need'st not say Wherefore thou thus hast passed the awful way; Bide there, and for thy mistress shalt thou have The charm that beauty from all change can save." Then Psyche rose, and from her trembling hand Gave her the casket, and awhile did stand Alone within the hall, that changing light From burning streams, and shadowy waves of night Made strange and dread, till to her, standing there The world began to seem no longer fair, Life no more to be hoped for, but that place The peaceful goal of all the hurrying race, The house she must return to on some day. Then sighing scarcely could she turn away When with the casket came the Queen once more, And said, "Haste now to leave this shadowy shore Before thou changest; even now I see Thine eyes are growing strange, thou look'st on me E'en as the linnet looks upon the snake. Behold, thy wisely-guarded treasure take, And let thy breath of life no longer move The shadows with the memories of past love."

But Psyche at that name, with quickened heart Turned eagerly, and hastened to depart Bearing that burden, hoping for the day; Harmless, asleep, the triple monster lay, The ferryman did set her in his boat Unquestioned, and together did they float Over the leaden water back again: Nor saw she more those women bent with pain Over their weaving, nor the fallen ass, But swiftly up the grey road did she pass And well-nigh now was come into the day By hollow Tænarus, but o'er the way The wings of Envy brooded all unseen; Because indeed the cruel and fair Queen Knew well how she had sped; so in her breast, Against the which the dreadful box was pressed, Grew up at last this foolish, harmful thought. "Behold how far this beauty I have brought To give unto my bitter enemy; Might I not still a very goddess be If this were mine which goddesses desire, Yea, what if this hold swift consuming fire, Why do I think it good for me to live, That I my body once again may give Into her cruel hands--come death! come life! And give me end to all the bitter strife!" Therewith down by the wayside did she sit And turned the box round, long regarding it; But at the last, with trembling hands, undid The clasp, and fearfully raised up the lid; But what was there she saw not, for her head Fell back, and nothing she rememberéd Of all her life, yet nought of rest she had, The hope of which makes hapless mortals glad; For while her limbs were sunk in deadly sleep Most like to death, over her heart 'gan creep Ill dreams; so that for fear and great distress She would have cried, but in her helplessness Could open not her mouth, or frame a word; Although the threats of mocking things she heard, And seemed, amidst new forms of horror bound, To watch strange endless armies moving round, With all their sleepless eyes still fixed on her, Who from that changeless place should never stir. Moveless she lay, and in that dreadful sleep Scarce had the strength some few slow tears to weep.

And there she would have lain for evermore, A marble image on the shadowy shore In outward seeming, but within oppressed With torments, knowing neither hope nor rest But as she lay the Phoenix flew along Going to Egypt, and knew all her wrong, And pitied her, beholding her sweet face, And flew to Love and told him of her case; And Love, in guerdon of the tale he told, Changed all the feathers of his neck to gold, And he flew on to Egypt glad at heart. But Love himself gat swiftly for his part To rocky Tænarus, and found her there Laid half a furlong from the outer air.

But at that sight out burst the smothered flame Of love, when he remembered all her shame, The stripes, the labour, and the wretched fear, And kneeling down he whispered in her ear, "Rise, Psyche, and be mine for evermore, For evil is long tarrying on this shore." Then when she heard him, straightway she arose, And from her fell the burden of her woes; And yet her heart within her well-nigh broke, When she from grief to happiness awoke; And loud her sobbing was in that grey place, And with sweet shame she covered up her face. But her dear hands, all wet with tears, he kissed, And taking them about each dainty wrist Drew them away, and in a sweet voice said, "Raise up again, O Psyche, that dear head, And of thy simpleness have no more shame; Thou hast been tried, and cast away all blame Into the sea of woes that thou didst bear, The bitter pain, the hopelessness, the fear-- Holpen a little, loved with boundless love Amidst them all--but now the shadows move Fast toward the west, earth's day is well-nigh done, One toil thou hast yet; by to-morrow's sun Kneel the last time before my mother's feet, Thy task accomplished; and my heart, O sweet, Shall go with thee to ease thy toilsome way; Farewell awhile! but that so glorious day I promised thee of old, now cometh fast, When even hope thy soul aside shall cast, Amidst the joy that thou shalt surely win." So saying, all that sleep he shut within The dreadful casket, and aloft he flew, But slowly she unto the cavern drew Scarce knowing if she dreamed, and so she came Unto the earth where yet the sun did flame Low down between the pine-trunks, tall and red, And with its last beams kissed her golden head.

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With what words Love unto the Father prayed I know not, nor what deeds the balance weighed; But this I know, that he prayed not in vain, And Psyche's life the heavenly crown shall gain; So round about the messenger was sent To tell immortals of their King's intent, And bid them gather to the Father's hall. But while they got them ready at his call, On through the night was Psyche toiling still, To whom no pain nor weariness seemed ill Since now once more she knew herself beloved; But when the unresting world again had moved Round into golden day, she came again To that fair place where she had borne such pain, And flushed and joyful in despite her fear, Unto the goddess did she draw anear, And knelt adown before her golden seat, Laying the fatal casket at her feet; Then at the first no word the Sea-born said, But looked afar over her golden head, Pondering upon the mighty deeds of fate; While Psyche still, as one who well may wait, Knelt, calm and motionless, nor said a word, But ever thought of her sweet lovesome lord. At last the Queen said, "Girl, I bid thee rise, For now hast thou found favour in mine eyes; And I repent me of the misery That in this place thou hast endured of me, Although because of it, thy joy indeed Shall now be more, that pleasure is thy meed." Then bending, on the forehead did she kiss Fair Psyche, who turned red for shame and bliss; But Venus smiled again on her, and said, "Go now, and bathe, and be as well arrayed As thou shouldst be, to sit beside my son; I think thy life on earth is well-nigh done."