Woman and Puppet 8

Woman and Puppet 8

Byblis remained motionless with fixed eyes in the light of the moon.

 

Then a large tear filled the corner of her right eye. It grew like the

other and trickled down her right cheek.

 

Two other tears came, two burning drops which flowed down the moist

track made by the other. They reached the corner of her mouth; a

delightful bitterness overcame the worn-out child.

 

Then never more would her hand touch the beloved hand of Caunos. Never

more would she see the gleam of his black eyes, his dear head, and wavy

hair. Never again would they sleep side by side in each other’s arms

upon the same bed of leaves. The forests no longer knew his name.

 

An overwhelming outburst of despair made Byblis hide her face in her

hands, but such an abundance of tears moistened her inflamed cheeks

that she seemed to feel a miraculous spring washing away her sufferings

like dead leaves upon the waters of a torrent.

 

The tears which had been gradually born in her, rose to her eyes,

welled up, overflowed, trickled in a warm flood over her cheeks, bathed

her tiny breasts and fell upon her entwined legs. She did not feel

them trickle one by one between her long lashes: they were a gentle

and never-ending stream, an inexhaustible flood, the outpouring of an

enchanted sea.

 

But awakened by the moonlight the deities of the forest had gathered

from every side. The bark of the trees became transparent and allowed

the faces of the nymphs to be seen; and even the quivering naiads left

the water and the rocks and came into the woods.

 

They all crowded around Byblis and spoke to her, for they were

frightened because the river of the child’s tears had traced in the

earth a sinuous track which was slowly extending towards the plain.

 

But now Byblis could hear nothing, neither voices, footsteps, nor the

night wind. Her attitude little by little became eternal. Her skin had

assumed beneath the deluge of tears the smooth white tint of marble

washed by the waters. The wind would not have disturbed one of her

hairs which were as long as her arms. She died like pure marble. A

vague light still illuminated her vision. Suddenly it went out; but

fresh tears still flowed from her eyes.

 

In that way was Byblis changed into a fountain.

 

 

 

 

LÊDA

 

 

 

 

There was not light enough in which to clearly see any creature or

thing; it was twilight, the time of the gauzy haze that haunts our

dreams.

 

Moonbeams were beginning to light up the blackest branches of trees:

moonlight and the shine of flinching silver stars.

 

There were four young Corinthians reclining upon the ground near to

three young men. They were deep in pleasant thought, but opened their

eyes wide when the grave Melandryon said these words--

 

“I will tell you the story of the Swan and the little Nymph who lived

upon the banks of the Eurotas. It is a story in praise of blissful

shadows.” He half raised himself, and what he told his companions now

follows.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I

 

 

In those days there were no tombs by the roadside and no temples upon

the hills. Men themselves scarce existed; there was not much talk of

them. The earth was given up to the joy of the gods and the times

favoured the birth of amazing divinities. It was the time of Echnida

and the Chimera of Pasiphæ and the Minotaur. The young ones that there

were went pale through the woods fearing to be waylaid by dragons.

Nevertheless upon the humid banks of the river Eurotas, where the

trees were so thick that one could not see the light, there lived an

extraordinary young girl who was blue-tinted like the light of the

night, mysterious as the moon and sweet as the Milky Way. That was why

they had named her Lêda. She was in truth almost blue, for the blood

of the iris was in her veins and not the blood of the rose that is in

your own veins. Her lips shone with blue like her eyes. Her hair was

so abundant that she sometimes seemed to have long wings. She loved

only the water and the night. Her chief pleasure was to walk upon the

soft springy spongy turf of the banks near the water. She could feel

the cold moisture of the water but hardly see the water itself, and her

naked feet had little shudders of pleasure and were softly moistened.

 

For she did not bathe in the river because of her fear of the jealous

water-nymphs, and she did not want to give herself up to the water

entirely. But she loved to moisten her body and hair with the sweet

river-water. Sometimes she took up into her hands the freshness of the

flood and poured it between her young breasts, watching it trickle down

and run away. Sometimes she laid her full length down upon the bank

and drank from the surface of the water slowly, sweetly. Then she

seemed like a thirsty little animal. Such was chiefly her life: that

and thinking upon the satyrs. Sometimes one came upon her unexpectedly

but fled in affright, for they all thought her to be Phœbe, and austere

to those who saw her naked. She would have liked to talk to them had

they stayed near her. Their appearance filled her with astonishment.

One night when she had gone for a short walk in the forest, because it

had been raining and the ground was like a torrent, she approached one

of these half-divine creatures as he slept and gazed upon him; but she,

too, in her turn became horrified and quickly retraced her steps. Since

that time she occasionally thought of the incident and was disturbed

about things she did not understand. She began to gaze at herself and

found herself mysterious. It was the time when she became sentimental

and spent much time in weeping.

 

When the nights were clear she gazed at her reflection in the water.

Once the thought came to her that it would be better for her to plait

her hair like a serpent and so display the nape of her neck which the

touch of her hand told her was beautiful. She chose a jewel for her

hair and made herself a garland of the leaves of water-lilies and their

blossoms.

 

At first she took pleasure in walking like this. But as she was alone

there was none to gaze at her. Then she became unhappy and ceased to be

amused.

 

Now her spirit did not know itself but her body awaited the beating of

the Swan’s wings.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

 

One evening, as she was hardly awake and thought of continuing her

dream, because a long streak of yellow daylight still flowed behind the

darkness of the forest, her attention was attracted by the sound of the

reeds near her and she saw the apparition of a Swan.

 

The beautiful bird was as white as a woman, splendid as the light and

gleaming like a cloud. It seemed to be like a midday sky, its form and

its winged spirit. That is why it was called Dzeus.

 

Lêda knew it to be looking at her as it flew and walked in turn. It

circled around the nymph at a distance and looked sidelong at her. Even

when it was almost touching her it still continued to approach, and

rising on its red feet it stretched its graceful and undulating neck

as high as possible before her young thighs.

 

Lêda’s astonished hands carefully grasped its little head and caressed

it. The bird fluttered all its feathers, with its soft and feathery

wings it gripped her naked legs and bent them; Lêda let herself fall

upon the ground.

 

She covered her face with her two hands. She experienced neither fear

nor shame but inexpressible joy and a beating of the heart which made

her breasts tremble.

 

She did not realize or understand what was about to happen. She did not

even understand why she was happy. She felt along her arms the supple

neck of the Swan.

 

Why had it come? What had she done that it should come to her? Why had

it not flown away like the other swans on the river or fled like the

satyrs into the forest? From her earliest recollection she had always

lived alone. For that reason her ideas were very limited and the events

of that night were so disconcerting. This Swan she had neither called

nor seen, for she was asleep. It had come.

 

She neither dared to look nor move lest it should fly away. She felt

upon her flushed cheeks the freshness of the beating of its wings.

 

Soon it seemed to recoil and its caresses changed. She felt between her

cool knees the warmth of the bird’s body.

 

She uttered a long sigh of bounteous delight, let fall backward with

closed eyes her fevered head, and plucked the grass with convulsive

fingers.

 

Then for a long while she remained motionless. At her first gesture

her hand met the Swan’s beak. She sat up and saw the reflection of the

great bird in the river. She wished to rise but the bird prevented her.

 

She wished to take a little water in the palm of her hand and moisten

her flesh, but the Swan prevented her with its wing.

 

She clasped the bird in her arms and covered its thick feathers with

kisses, making it set them up with her embraces. Then she stretched

herself upon the river-bank and fell into a deep sleep.

 

The next morning at daybreak a new sensation awakened her with a start:

something seemed to become detached from her body. A large blue egg

rolled in front of her and shone like a sapphire.

 

She wanted to take it and play with it or else cook it in the warm

ashes as she had seen the satyrs do; but the Swan picked it up in its

beak and placed it under a tuft of overhanging reeds. It stretched

out its wings over the egg with its gaze fixed upon Lêda, and then

with a movement of the wings slowly soared straight up into the sky to

disappear in the growing daylight with the last white star.