Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iii Part 40

Gladly did Psyche leave this gloomy abode and set out on her homeward journey. The black path seemed not so long nor so frightful when she knew she was moving toward the light of day; and O, how happy she was when she saw the sunlight glimmering ahead of her! Out once more in the free light and fresh air, she sat down for a time to rest, and a great curiosity came upon her to know what the little casket in her hand contained.

"My beauty must have been growing less through these weeks of trouble and fright," she thought, "and perhaps if my husband saw me now he would not love me. It can do no harm for me to borrow just a little of the contents of this box."

She raised the lid, but from the box there came, with a rushing sound, the spirit of sleep. This spirit seized upon Psyche and laid her by the roadside in a sleep resembling death, and here she might have slept for all time, had not Cupid, wandering by, spied her. Bending over her, he kissed her; then he wrestled with the spirit of sleep until he had forced it to release Psyche, and to enter again the little casket from which her curiosity had loosed it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CUPID SPIED PSYCHE SLEEPING]

"Psyche," he said, turning to his wife, who lay speechless with happiness at beholding him again, "once through thy curiosity I was lost to thee; this time thou wast almost lost to me. Never again must I leave thee; never must thou be absent from my sight."

Together, then, they hastened to Olympus, the dwelling of the G.o.ds: together they bowed before Jupiter's throne. The king of the G.o.ds, looking upon Psyche and seeing that she was beautiful as a G.o.ddess, listened favorably to their pet.i.tion, and, calling for a cup of ambrosia, presented it to her and said:

"Drink, Psyche; so shalt thou become immortal, and fit wife for a G.o.d."

Venus, touched by her son's happiness, forgave his bride, and the young lovers, who had gone through so many griefs and hardships, lived happily forever in the beautiful palace presented to them by the king of the G.o.ds.

The myth of Cupid and Psyche is of much later date than most of the other myths; in fact, it is met with first in a writer of the second century of the Christian era. Many of the myths are material--that is, they explain physical happenings, such as the rising of the sun, the coming of winter, or the flashing of the lightning; but the myth of Cupid and Psyche has nothing to do with the forces of nature--it is wholly spiritual in its application.

Cupid is Love, while Psyche represents the soul; and thus the story, in its descriptions of Psyche's sufferings, shows how the soul, loved by heaven, and really loving heaven, is robbed of its joy through its own folly. Only by striving and suffering, the story tells us, is the soul purified and made fit for joy everlasting.

Psyche's descent into the regions of the dead signifies that it is only after death that the soul realizes its true happiness. Even if we did not know just when this myth originated, we might guess from this teaching that the myth was a late one, for the earliest Greeks and Romans did not believe in a real happiness after death. They believed in existence after death, but it was a very shadowy existence, with the most negative sort of pleasures. Later, the Romans, even before they accepted Christianity, had their beliefs more or less modified by their contact with Christians.

We may sum this myth up by saying that it is an allegory of

"the soul of man, the deathless soul, Defeated, struggling, purified and blest."

As you read this story of Cupid and Psyche, some incidents in it doubtless seemed familiar to you; you had come across them before in various fairy tales. Thus the story of Psyche's arrival at the palace and of the way in which she was waited upon by invisible beings will remind you of certain parts of Beauty and the Beast, while the labors set for Psyche by Venus will recall The Three Tasks. Now, while some of the fairy stories are undoubtedly borrowed from this old, old tale, it is a singular fact that there is an old Norse story which contains some of the same incidents, and yet could not have been taken from this.

One of the most interesting things about the study of mythology is the attempt to discover how widely separate nations came to have similar stories. Many learned men have worked much over this question, and some of them say that, having the same facts to explain, or the same things to express in allegory, the various ancient peoples naturally hit upon the same explanations. Others believe that this similarity of myths shows that far, far back, the ancestors of these different people must have had intercourse with each other. Probably there is some truth in both theories, though most authorities believe that the former theory covers more cases than does the latter.

We have said that this story is an allegory; do you understand just what an allegory is? There are different types of allegories; in some, each person that appears represents some quality or some influence; in others, a general truth is set forth, but there is no attempt to make every minor character fill a place in the allegory. To which type do you think the story of Cupid and Psyche belongs? Do Psyche's sisters, for instance, represent anything?

What was the real fault of Psyche--the folly that cost her her happiness?

The word "Psyche" means in Greek, the SOUL; it is also the word for b.u.t.tERFLY. Can you see any reason why the one name should be used for both?

There are still some very, very old pictures which show a man with a b.u.t.terfly just fluttering out from between his lips. Remembering that the b.u.t.terfly was the emblem of the soul, can you imagine what the artists meant to show by this?

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

By ROBERT BROWNING

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover City; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats.

Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation,--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin!

You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease?

Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing."

At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PEOPLE CALL ME THE PIED PIPER]

An hour they sate in counsel,-- At length the Mayor broke silence: For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence!

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain,-- I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain, O for a trap, a trap, a trap!"

Just as he said this, what could hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap?

"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"

(With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous.) "Only a sc.r.a.ping of shoes on the mat?

Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger; And in did come the strangest figure; His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red.

And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin;

And n.o.body could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire.

Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw!

And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper."

(And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; And as for what your brain bewilders,-- If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders?"

"One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling, Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, c.o.c.king tails and p.r.i.c.king whiskers; Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,-- Followed the piper for their lives.

From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the ma.n.u.script he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of sc.r.a.ping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe,-- And a moving away of pickle-tub boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of b.u.t.ter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'O rats, rejoice!

The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'

And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'-- I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!

Poke out the nests and block up the holes!

Consult with carpenters and builders And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market-place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too.

For council-dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest b.u.t.t with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!

"Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

Besides, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait! beside, I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor,-- With him I proved no bargain-driver; With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!

And folks who put me in a pa.s.sion May find me pipe to another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a cook?

Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald?

You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"