Psyche Part 11

CHAPTER XV

Psyche had a secret. Why did she not tell it? She did not know. She could not, after having once kept silent. She knew that she was not doing right by being silent, and yet she did not speak. But she was very sad about it, and felt dissatisfied. Then she wanted to speak with Eros; but because she had said nothing at first, she was afraid. And then she said to herself: "The Satyr does nothing wrong by standing there and piping a little, and it is not worth while thinking much about it...."

And yet she did think about it, and in her ears she always heard his saucy voice, his coa.r.s.e words, countrified and funny.

Then she laughed about it all.

"But what does he do--what is he? a Satyr? What is a Satyr? What are Bacchantes? And what are nymphs? Panthers, too, I have never seen. I should like to see them. What is their life there in the wood? There are many lives in the world, and most of them are a secret. I only know the courtiers of the Kingdom of the Past.... Here there are the two girls that play on the pipe and the winged children. I should like to see all that there is in the world, and experience all that is in life. There must be strange things, which I never see.... The Chimera was glorious, and deep in my soul I always long for him; but in other respects everything is the same.... No wonders take place in this garden.... Eros is a young prince; then there are the doves, the griffons, the cupids.... That is all so commonplace.... Oh, to seek, to wander! The world is so great! the universe is awful, although it has limits. My father said it had no limits.... Oh, if it had no limits...! Oh, to seek, to wander, to soar in the air!... I shall never see the Chimera again. Never shall I soar in the air again.... He conjured up visions for me, and then let them pa.s.s away.... Oh, to soar through the air! When shall I see him again, and when shall I soar again...? Eros I love--he is my husband; but he has no wings. The Chimera had powerful wings of silver feathers. He has left me for ever...."

So, alone with her thought, she wandered in the garden. The cupids she drove away, and, crying, they hid themselves among the roses. When the Satyr appeared, she went to meet him in the valley, where the irises were blooming.

"So, you are there again!"

"Yes! won't you just see me dance again?"

He danced and frisked his tail.

"I have already told you more than once that you may not come here,"

said Psyche severely.

He winked roguishly; he knew very well that his presence was not disagreeable to her.

"You are so beautiful!" he said, in his most flattering tone; "much more beautiful than any of the nymphs."

"And the Bacchantes, then?" said Psyche.

"Much more beautiful than the Bacchantes!" he answered. "But they are also very nice. Tell me, wouldn't you like to see them?"

Psyche was very inquisitive, and he noticed it.

"Won't you just see them?" he repeated temptingly.

"Where?" said Psyche.

"Look ... there!" He pointed in the distance with his finger.

On the hill Psyche saw forms madly whirling round in a dance.

"Those are the Bacchantes!" said the Satyr. Psyche laughed.

"How madly they whirl round!" she exclaimed. "Are they always so merry?"

"Oh, we are always dancing," said the Satyr. "In the wood it is always pleasure. We play at tag with one another, we drink the juice of the grapes, and we dance till nightfall."

"Psyche! Psyche!" called a voice.

It was her husband. The Satyr fled through the flags, and Psyche hastened back.

She threw herself into Eros' arms, who asked her where she had been. And without answering him, she began to cry and hid her face in his breast.

"What is it, little Psyche?" asked Eros. "Are you in trouble? Amongst the roses the boys cry, and by the brook the queen cries. Is there then sadness in my kingdom? Does not Psyche feel happy?"

She wept and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say that she did not know. And she hid her face in his breast.

"Tell me, Psyche, what is the matter?"

She would have liked to tell him, but she could not; a stronger power kept her back.

"Does not Psyche feel happy? Does she long for the Chimera?"

She laid her little hand upon his lips.

"Don't speak about him. I am not worthy of him. I am not worthy of you, Eros."

He kissed her very gently.

"What does my Psyche think about? May I not leave her any more, alone by the brook?"

"No, no!" said she hastily, and drew his arms round her.... "No,"

she continued quickly. "Don't leave me alone any more. Always stay by me. Protect me from myself, O Eros...!"

"Is little Psyche ill?"

She nodded in the affirmative, and laid her burning head upon his breast; she nestled against him and shut her feverish eyes.

He stayed by her, and all around was still, and the cupids appeared fluttering in the air. That night she slept in Eros' arms. She awoke for a moment out of her sleep; far away in the distance through the crystal of the palace she heard the sound of pipes. She raised her head and listened. But she would not hear any more, and hid herself in Eros' arms and fell asleep on his heart.

The next day he stayed by her, and they wandered to the brook. Sadness hung over the garden, the flowers drooped. In the afternoon Psyche became uneasy; she heard the pipe, and in the distance caught a glimpse of vague forms dancing.

"Do you see nothing?" she asked Eros.

"No...."

"Do you hear nothing?" she said again.

"No," he answered. "Poor Psyche is ill. And the flowers are ill too, because she is. Oh, let Eros cure you...!"

The following night, in the arms of her husband, she heard the pipe. It played saucy, short, lively tunes. "Come, come, now dance with us; we are drinking the grapes. Come ... come...!"

She could resist no longer. Trembling, she loosed herself from her husband's arms, who was asleep. She got up, stole out of the palace, fled through the garden to the alluring voice.

The flowers in the brook seemed to entreat her: "Oh, go not away! Oh, go not away!" The nightingale uttered a cry, and she thought it was an owl.