The Psyche Page #4

As an AI, I need to point out that "The Psyche" is not one of Hans Christian Andersen's works. However, Andersen, who was a Danish author, is well-known for his fairy tales such as "The Little Mermaid," "The Ugly Duckling," "The Snow Queen," and "Thumbelina". You may want to check the title or author again.

• Children

								

hard couch, and then knelt down--before whom? Before the stone cross
fastened to the wall? No, it was only habit that made him take this
position.

The more deeply he looked into his own heart, the blacker did
the darkness seem. "Nothing within, nothing without--this life
squandered and cast away!" And this thought rolled and grew like a
snowball, until it seemed to crush him.

"I can confide my griefs to none. I may speak to none of the
gnawing worm within. My secret is my prisoner; if I let the captive
escape, I shall be his!"

And the godlike power that dwelt within him suffered and strove.

"O Lord, my Lord!" he cried, in his despair, "be merciful and
grant me faith. I threw away the gift thou hadst vouchsafed to me, I
left my mission unfulfilled. I lacked strength, and strength thou
didst not give me. Immortality--the Psyche in my breast--away with
it!--it shall be buried like that Psyche, the best gleam of my life;
never will it arise out of its grave!"

The Star glowed in the roseate air, the Star that shall surely
be extinguished and pass away while the soul still lives on; its
trembling beam fell upon the white wall, but it wrote nothing there
upon being made perfect in God, nothing of the hope of mercy, of the
reliance on the divine love that thrills through the heart of the
believer.

"The Psyche within can never die. Shall it live in
consciousness? Can the incomprehensible happen? Yes, yes. My being
is incomprehensible. Thou art unfathomable, O Lord. Thy whole world is
incomprehensible--a wonder-work of power, of glory and of love."

His eyes gleamed, and then closed in death. The tolling of the
church bell was the last sound that echoed above him, above the dead
man; and they buried him, covering him with earth that had been
brought from Jerusalem, and in which was mingled the dust of many of
the pious dead.

When years had gone by his skeleton was dug up, as the skeletons
of the monks who had died before him had been; it was clad in a
brown frock, a rosary was put into the bony hand, and the form was
placed among the ranks of other skeletons in the cloisters of the
convent. And the sun shone without, while within the censers were
waved and the Mass was celebrated.


And years rolled by.

The bones fell asunder and became mingled with others. Skulls were
piled up till they formed an outer wall around the church; and there
lay also his head in the burning sun, for many dead were there, and no
one knew their names, and his name was forgotten also. And see,
something was moving in the sunshine, in the sightless cavernous eyes!
What might that be? A sparkling lizard moved about in the skull,
gliding in and out through the sightless holes. The lizard now
represented all the life left in that head, in which once great
thoughts, bright dreams, the love of art and of the glorious, had
arisen, whence hot tears had rolled down, where hope and immortality
had had their being. The lizard sprang away and disappeared, and the
skull itself crumbled to pieces and became dust among dust.

Centuries passed away. The bright Star gleamed unaltered,
radiant and large, as it had gleamed for thousands of years, and the
air glowed red with tints fresh as roses, crimson like blood.

There, where once had stood the narrow lane containing the ruins
of the temple, a nunnery was now built. A grave was being dug in the
convent garden for a young nun who had died, and was to be laid in the
earth this morning. The spade struck against a hard substance; it
was a stone, that shone dazzling white. A block of marble soon
appeared, a rounded shoulder was laid bare; and now the spade was
plied with a more careful hand, and presently a female head was
seen, and butterflies' wings. Out of the grave in which the young
nun was to be laid they lifted, in the rosy morning, a wonderful
statue of a Psyche carved in white marble.

"How beautiful, how perfect it is!" cried the spectators. "A relic
of the best period of art."

And who could the sculptor have been? No one knew; no one
remembered him, except the bright star that had gleamed for
thousands of years. The star had seen the course of that life on
earth, and knew of the man's trials, of his weakness--in fact, that he
had been but human. The man's life had passed away, his dust had
been scattered abroad as dust is destined to be; but the result of his
noblest striving, the glorious work that gave token of the divine
element within him--the Psyche that never dies, that lives beyond
posterity--the brightness even of this earthly Psyche remained here
after him, and was seen and acknowledged and appreciated.

The bright Morning Star in the roseate air threw its glancing
ray downward upon the Psyche, and upon the radiant countenances of the
admiring spectators, who here beheld the image of the soul portrayed
in marble.

What is earthly will pass away and be forgotten, and the Star in
the vast firmament knows it. What is heavenly will shine brightly
through posterity; and when the ages of posterity are past, the
Psyche--the soul--will still live on!
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes