The hermit continued deep in thought; he dreamed that Satan was tempting him, but his pious mind resisted. He dreamed that he had died in prayer, and his soul, purified, ascended into heaven.

Far off in the gra.s.sy plains was heard the bleating of the lambs, the voices of the shepherds.

The hermit heard a step. He looked up.

He saw a little form, as of a naked girl with no covering but her hair. And he thought it was really Satan, and he muttered an exorcism; he knit his brow, he crossed his arms.

The little form approached and knelt down.

"Holy father!" said she, in a low, trembling voice, "don't drive me away. I am poor and unhappy. I am a sinner, and come to you for help. I am not shameless, holy father, and I am ashamed that I appear before you naked. I asked the shepherdesses for something to cover me, but they laughed at me, drove me away and threw stones at me. Father, O father, men are merciless, they all drive me away.... I come from the wood, and the wild beasts are not so cruel as men. In the wood the beasts spared me. A lion licked the wounds on my feet, and a tigress let me rest in the lair of her whelps. Holy father, the wild beasts had pity!"

"Then why don't you remain in the wood, devil, she-devil?"

"Because I must fulfill a duty among men."

"Who lays the task upon you, witch, devil?"

"In my dream, soft voices have spoken to me, the voice of my father, and of him whom I loved, and they said: 'Go among men, do penance.'... But naked I cannot go among men, for they throw stones at me. And therefore, O father, I come to you, and entreat you: give me something to cover me! I have only my hair to hide me, and under my hair I am naked. O father, give me something to cover me! O father, give me your oldest mantle for my penance garb!"

The hermit looked up at her, as she knelt in her fair hair, and he saw that she was weeping. Her tears were blood-red rubies.

"He who weeps rubies has committed great sin; he who weeps rubies has a soul crimson with sin!"

The penitent sobbed and bowed her head to the ground.

"Here," said the hermit sternly, but compa.s.sionately. "Here is a mantle. Here is a cord for your loins. And here is a mat to sleep on. And here is bread, here is the water-pitcher. Eat, drink, cover yourself, and rest."

"Thanks, holy father. But I am not tired, I am not hungry and thirsty. I am only naked, and I thank you for your mantle and your cord."

She put on the mantle as a penance-garb, and whilst, red with shame, she covered herself, the hermit saw on her shoulder-blades two blood-red scar-stripes.

"Are you wounded?"

"I was, long ago...."

"Your eyes glow: have you a fever?"

"I do not know men's fever, but my soul is always burning like a cave in h.e.l.l."

"Who are you?"

"One heavy burdened with sin."

"What is your name?"

"I have no name now, holy father.... Oh! ask no more.... And let me go."

"Whither are you going?"

"Far, along the way of thistles, to the royal castle. To the Princess Emeralda."

"She is proud."

"She is the Princess of the Jewel, and I weep jewels. I shed them for her. Once there was a time ... that I wept pearls.... O father, let me go!"

"Go, then.... And do penance."

"Thanks, father.... Oh, give me your blessing!"

The hermit blessed her. She went then as a pilgrim in her penance-garb. The path was steep and covered with thistles.

In the distance was heard the song of the shepherds.

CHAPTER XXI

The path was steep, and covered with cactus and thistles. It was a narrow path, hewn out of the rocks, winding up the basalt mountain, where, high on the top, stood the castle. The castle had three hundred towers, which rose to the sky; along them swept the clouds. In the path were many steps hewn out of stone. Heavy ma.s.ses of cactus grew on the side of the precipice, and over the leaves, p.r.i.c.kly and round, Psyche saw the gra.s.sy valleys of the Kingdom of the Past, the villages, the towns, the river: a broad silver streak, and there, behind it, opal-like views, lakes in the sky, and quivering lines of ether. Higher and higher she went up the steps, up the path, in the gloomy, chilly shadow, whilst the sun shone over the meadows. She climbed up, and below she saw the shepherds with their sheep, and their song, quite faint, came up to her.

In the coppice she broke a strong stick for a staff. A lappet of her mantle she had drawn over her head as a hood. And with her staff and her hood, she looked like a pious pilgrim.

The solitary countryman who was coming down the rocky path, did not throw stones at her, but greeted her reverently.

She kept climbing up.

High in the air lay the castle, gloomy and inaccessible, a town of towers, a Babel of pinnacles; along it swept the clouds. As an innocent child, as a naked princess with wings, Psyche had lived there like a b.u.t.terfly on a rock, had wandered along the dreadful parapets, had longed and hoped and dreamed. Oh! her longings of innocence, her hope to fly through the air to the opal islands, her dreams, pure as the doves that flew round about her...!

She had wandered through clouds, through desert and wood, from the North to the South. She had loved the Chimera, had put questions to the Sphinx; she had been Queen of the Present and the beloved of Bacchus, and now ... now she came back, wingless, with a soul that burned her continually, like a scarlet child of h.e.l.l; now she came back up the steep path....

Her penance-garb she had borrowed. But the thistles tore her foot, and pale from pain and suffering, from wounded feet, and ever-smarting shoulders, and a soul that burned continually, was her face, that peeped out from under her wide hood.

Up, up, she went, supporting herself with her staff....

Oh, the voice of her father, of Eros, in her dream, when the grape-dance was over! Then repentance had begun. Then she had fled through the wood, through the wild beasts. And the lion had licked her foot, and the tigress had allowed her to rest in the warm lair of her whelps....

Then she went on, climbing higher and higher....

Would she never get to the top? Would the castle, the Babel of pinnacles, the town of towers remain ever inaccessibly high in the clouds?

Her step left blood behind on the rocky stone.

But she did not rest. Rest did not help her.