Читать книгу Psyche - Louis Couperus - Страница 8

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For days had Psyche watched in vain, and all hope died out of her heart.

But one windy morning—the thick white clouds were speeding through the air—she saw the desire of her heart again. Far away appeared a cloud, but as it drew nearer it became a horse: it was the Chimera.

She beckoned to it, and the Chimera came down.

“What do you want, little Psyche?”

She clasped her hands imploringly. “Take me with you. …”

“You will become dizzy. …”

“No, no. …”

He descended, stamping on the basalt rock; the terrace shook, sparks flew up, and the steam of his breath shot out in clouds.

“Take me with you,” she implored.

“Where do you wish to go?”

“To the islands of opal and silver.”

“They are too far away.”

“Take me, then, nearer to them; take me with you where you will.”

“Are you not afraid?”

“No.”

“Will you hold fast to my neck?”

“Yes, oh yes!”

“Come, then. …”

She uttered a cry of joy. He bent his knees, and she got up with a beating, thumping heart. Between his flaming wings, on his broad, broad back, she sat almost as safe as in a nest of silver feathers.

“Trust not to my wings,” he warned her; “I move them at every stroke. They open and shut, open and shut. Hold fast on to my neck. Clasp my mane. If you are not frightened and do not become giddy and sick, you will not fall, however high I go. Do you dare, Psyche?”

“Yes.”

She fastened his mane round her waist, as if it were strong rope of golden flax. She put her arms round his neck.

“I am ready,” she said courageously.

He ascended, very slowly, with his broad wings. Under him, under her, the terrace sank away.

She shut her eyes, she held her breath, and the blood left her heart. Under her the castle sank away.

“Stop!” she implored. “I am dying. …”

“I thought so, Psyche. You are much too weak. You cannot go up with me. …”

She opened her eyes slightly. She sat on his back in the silver down, where his quills clave to his light-gold loins. And round her, circles of light revolved, one after the other, and made her dizzy.

“Descend!” she implored. “Oh, descend! I cannot endure it. I have no breath; I am dying.”

He descended. … He stood on the terrace. She slid along his wing to the ground. She put her hands before her face, and when she opened her eyes she was alone.

Then she was very, very sad. But next day, he appeared again. And, more courageous, she wished to mount him again. He let her do as she desired, and she got on his back. She shut her eyes, but smiled. He went higher and higher with her, without her saying “Descend.” She travelled for a time high up in the air, she opened her eyes and kept smiling; she got accustomed to the rarefied air. The third time he soared away with her; she saw, far below, the royal castle, small as a toy, towers, ramparts; and then she realised for the first time that she had left the castle.

She thought of the king.

“Take me back!” she said to the horse commandingly.

He obeyed her. He took her back. But as soon as he was gone, she longed again for him and the lofty air. And she had but one thought, the Chimera. She no longer cared for the flowers which she had planted between the walls, and the flowers withered. She no longer cared for the swans, and the swans, neglected, followed her in vain, in the green moats; she forgot to crumble bread for them. And she looked at the clouds and she gazed at the wind, thinking only of him, the light-gold horse with the silver wings, because he came on the wind, on the clouds, which thundered when he struck with his hoofs.

On the day that he did not come, her fair Chimera, she sat pale and lonely, gazing from the battlements, her eyes far away, her arms round her knees. In the evening she nestled in the king’s beard, in the folds of his tabard, but she durst not tell him that she had ridden a wondrous winged horse and flown with him through the air. But on the days that her beloved horse had come and taken her away with him, carefully flapping his wings, her face shone with golden happiness in the apotheosis of her soul, and through the gloomy halls, where sacred spiders, which were never disturbed, wove their webs, rang Psyche’s high voice, and from the faded gobelin the low vault and the motionless iron knights strangely re-echoed the words of her joyous song.