Like an oracle sounded her hypocritical voice. She felt in Psyche an unknown power; she feared for her soul, and wished to gain that power for herself, to make sure of the two-fold omnipotence of the world, both soul and body. And in the horrible penance which she laid upon Psyche, she feigned tender love. Creaking and cracking, she drew nearer, and in her web of rays shed a sunbeam over her kneeling sister, and with her stiff opal fingers stroked the bent head with its fair, long tresses.

An ice-cold shiver ran through Psyche, as if her burning soul were being frozen.

"I obey," she murmured.

And she rose up, intoxicated from splendour, stiff from icy coldness. She tottered and shut her eyes. When she opened them, she was in a gloomy ante-chamber, clad in her coa.r.s.e mantle; and the shield-bearers approached with torches.

"Conduct me to Astra!" she commanded.

There was something strange in her voice which made them obey, the voice of a princess, the soft voice of command, which appealed strangely to the men, as if they had heard it when they were pages.

They conducted Psyche through halls, over pa.s.sages, up steps, to another tower. They opened low doors, and, through silent vaults, guided the strange pilgrim, rich in rubies.

"Who comes there?" asked a voice, tired, weak, and faint.

Then the men left Psyche alone, and she was with Astra, and she saw her sister in the twilight on the terrace, sitting before her telescope, surrounded by globes and rolls of heavy parchment spread out. And Psyche saw Astra, looking very old, with thin grey hair, which hung down her wax-white face, from which two dull eyes stared out; her white dress hung down limp on her sunken shoulders, her withered breast, and attenuated limbs. Bitter dejection was in her dull eyes; her thin hand hung down powerless, tired, and incapable of work, and her voice, faint and weak, said:

"Who comes there?"

"I, Psyche, your little sister, come back, O Astra, as a penitent...!"

"As a penitent?"

"Yes, I fled, committed sin, and now I will do penance...."

Astra mused.

"It is true," she murmured. "I remember, little Psyche. Come nearer. Take my hand, I cannot see you."

"The night is dark, Astra: there are few stars in the sky, and the torches are not yet lit...."

"No? Is it dark about me? That does not matter, Psyche, for I cannot see, I am blind...."

Psyche gave a cry.

"Astra! Poor sister, are you blind? Oh! you who could see so well! are you blind?"

"Yes, I have gazed myself blind!! I have turned my telescope from left to right, to all the points of the universe. I thought to become the centre, the kernel of science, the focus of brilliant knowledge; now I am blind, now I see nothing more, now I know nothing more. The colossal numbers have become confused in my brain since the living Star on my head faded. Do you still see its faint splendour between my grey hair? Ah! now I have your hand.

"What is that, child? What round things are falling over my fingers?"

"My tears, Astra, poor Astra!"

"How hard they are and cold! What hard, cold tears, Psyche!... Sit down here at my feet. Is the night dark? Are the torches not yet lit? Well, let it be dark, for I see nothing; but I feel you, I feel your hair; now I stroke your head, round and small. I feel along your shoulders, Psyche, little child with wings.... But your wings I do not feel.... Have you none now? Have they been cut off? My star has faded, and your wings are cut; Emeralda triumphs alone! Her gift from the fairy has brought her prosperity. Her heart of ruby feels no pain; she is clad in the majesty of precious jewels. She is hard and beautiful, hard as a stone, beautiful as a jewel.... Psyche, creep close to me.... We can do nothing against her, child. My star is faded, your wings clipt; we have lost our n.o.ble rights.... I am old, but you--are you still young? You feel so young, indestructibly young.... You have suffered so, asked and wandered.... not appreciated your happiness, and murdered Eros! Poor child, you a murderess...! You weep rubies ... you will do penance. You are strong, Psyche, and always young.... You will do penance after all your sins! Emeralda has laid penance on you.... To seek the Philosopher's Stone in the caverns of flaming h.e.l.l!! O Psyche, the Stone does not exist. The unutterable name is a legend. The Jewel exists only in the pride of man. The universe is limited, the G.o.dhead is not limited; no rays from precious stones can reach the G.o.dhead and rule over G.o.d. No looking through lenses of diamond can penetrate the G.o.dhead. It is all pride and vanity. Psyche, there is nothing but resignation. Emeralda is powerful, but more powerful she cannot become....

"In vain will you seek."

"Yet I will seek, Astra, although it be in vain.... And do you also, sister, lay penance on me.... Let me do penance for Astra, as I do for Emeralda."

"No, child, I know no penance. There is nothing but resignation. There is nothing but to wait. Everything else is vanity and pride. But do penance, little Psyche. Penance is illusion, yet illusion is pleasant: illusion enn.o.bles. Believe, poor child, in your penance, believe in your illusion. I have never known it. I have always calculated. The colossal numbers roll through my dull and hazy brain in endless series of figures. However you count, you never come to the sum of the endless.... The stars cannot be counted. The farthest sun is incomputable, the divine is limitless. Even the nearest frontier of the Future is beyond computation. There is a sea of unfathomable light.... O Psyche, I am tired, I am blind, and I shall soon die. In this place, here I will stay. Psyche, look through the telescope. Is the night too dark? Do you see anything?"

"The stars give a dim light."

"Look through the telescope. What do you see? Tell me, what do you see?"

"In the gla.s.s, right at the top, I see a dark spot, which emits a few rays. Is that a black star?"

"No, Psyche, that is a spider. Emeralda has sent a spider. The spider has crawled to the top, along the smooth diamond; there the spider weaves his web. And the diamond ... is crumbling to pieces....["]

"Astra...!!"

"Psyche, creep closer to me.... Let me feel your little round head, your wingless shoulders...."

"Astra, everything is black; clouds are drifting past the stars!"

"Sleep thus in my mantle, sleep thus at my feet. Sleep, my little child, and cover yourself for the night.... Psyche, your old nurse is dead. Psyche, now I am your nurse.... Sleep now by blind Astra...."

Feeling for Psyche, she threw her mantle round her. The night was dark. Astra's powerless hand dropped over Psyche. Psyche fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

It was still dark when Psyche awoke. She looked up at Astra, who sat sleeping, her grey head on her breast; faintly shone her star. Very gently, so as not to wake her, Psyche rose, and left the terrace. She knew the way. She went through the halls and pa.s.sages, down the steps, the endless steps. In the corners sat the sacred spiders, and wove....

Psyche went lower down, to the vaults. There burnt the everlasting lamps. She went among the royal tombs, crystal sarcophagi, and found her father's coffin. By the lamp, which was always kept burning, she recognised his embalmed, rigid face. The eyes were closed. He knew nothing about her: that she had gone away and come back. Death was between them, and severed them forever.

She kissed the gla.s.s, and her tears, round, hard, and red, clattered on the crystal.

She knelt down and tried to pray. In a corner of the vault a black spot moved. It was a big spider with a white cross on its body.

"So, you have come back again.... I knew that you would come. We can escape from nothing. Everything happens as it happens. Everything is as it is. Everything goes to dust; into the pits of the Past, into the power of Emeralda.... Now become a spider like us, weave your web, and be wise...."

Psyche got up.

"No...!" she exclaimed, "I will not become a spider, I will weave no web. I have sinned, but I will weave no web; I have sinned and will do penance. The world is awful--desert and wood and s.p.a.ce; life is awful--love and pain, joy and despair, sin and punishment. And if fate is as it is, it is in vain to weave a web and to heap up treasures of dust. Spider, were it not more human to love, to live, and even to sin, than to weave web upon web? Spider, I envy you not your sacredness...!"

The spider puffed itself out maliciously.

"You seem to be still proud of your murder and your immorality and shamelessness! Your princely name you have dragged through the mire, your wings you have given up for a panther's skin and a grape-wreath, and know not yet what repentance is. If you had been wise and become a spider, you would have served Emeralda, and there would have been no need to go down to the Under-world!"

But Psyche was no longer afraid. She had come to kiss her father's coffin; she left her jewelled tears in the treasure, which the spiders watched over, and ascended the hundreds of steps and came on to the terrace of the battlements.