The Psyche · page 21 2 3101Command yourself.102Speak!"103But what could he say?104How could he explain?105And as Angelo could make no sense of his friend's incoherent words, he forbore to question him further, and merely said,106"Your blood grows thick from your eternal dreaming.107Be a man, as all others are, and don't go on living in ideals, for that is what drives men crazy.108A jovial feast will make you sleep quietly and happily.109Believe me, the time will come when you will be old, and your sinews will shrink, and then, on some fine sunshiny day, when everything is laughing and rejoicing, you will lie there a faded plant, that will grow no more.110I do not live in dreams, but in reality.111Come with me.112Be a man!"113And he drew the artist away with him.114At this moment he was able to do so, for a fire ran in the blood of the young sculptor; a change had taken place in his soul; he felt a longing to tear from the old, the accustomed--to forget, if possible, his own individuality; and therefore it was that he followed Angelo.115In an out-of-the-way suburb of Rome lay a tavern much visited by artists.116It was built on the ruins of some ancient baths.117The great yellow citrons hung down among the dark shining leaves, and covered a part of the old reddish-yellow walls.118The tavern consisted of a vaulted chamber, almost like a cavern, in the ruins.119A lamp burned there before the picture of the Madonna.120A great fire gleamed on the hearth, and roasting and boiling was going on there; without, under the citron trees and laurels, stood a few covered tables.121The two artists were received by their friends with shouts of welcome.122Little was eaten, but much was drunk, and the spirits of the company rose.123Songs were sung and ditties were played on the guitar; presently the Salterello sounded, and the merry dance began.124Two young Roman girls, who sat as models to the artists, took part in the dance and in the festivity.125Two charming Bacchantes were they; certainly not Psyches--not delicate, beautiful roses, but fresh, hearty, glowing carnations.126How hot it was on that day!127Even after sundown it was hot.128There was fire in the blood, fire in every glance, fire everywhere.129The air gleamed with gold and roses, and life seemed like gold and roses.130"At last you have joined us, for once," said his friends. "131Now let yourself be carried by the waves within and around you."132"Never yet have I felt so well, so merry!" cried the young artist. "133You are right--you are all of you right.134I was a fool--a dreamer.135Man belongs to reality, and not to fancy."136With songs and with sounding guitars the young people returned that evening from the tavern, through the narrow streets; the two glowing carnations, daughters of the Campagna, went with them.137In Angelo's room, among a litter of colored sketches (studies) and glowing pictures, the voices sounded mellower, but not less merrily.138On the ground lay many a sketch that resembled the daughters of the Campagna, in their fresh, hearty comeliness, but the two originals were far handsomer than their portraits.139All the burners of the six-armed lamp flared and flamed; and the human flamed up from within, and appeared in the glare as if it were divine.140"Apollo!141Jupiter!142I feel myself raised to our heaven--to your glory!143I feel as if the blossom of life were unfolding itself in my veins at this moment!"144Yes, the blossom unfolded itself, and then burst and fell, and an evil vapor arose from it, blinding the sight, leading astray the fancy; the firework of the senses went out, and it became dark.145He was again in his own room.146There he sat down on his bed and collected his thoughts.147"Fie on thee!" these were the words that sounded out of his mouth from the depths of his heart. "148Wretched man, go, begone!"149And a deep painful sigh burst from his bosom.150"Away! begone!"151These, her words, the words of the living Psyche, echoed through his heart, escaped from his lips.152He buried his head in the pillows, his thoughts grew confused, and he fell asleep.153In the morning dawn he started up, and collected his thoughts anew.154What had happened?155Had all the past been a dream?156The visit to her, the feast at the tavern, the evening with the purple carnations of the Campagna?157No, it was all real--a reality he had never before experienced.158In the purple air gleamed the bright Star, and its beams fell upon him and upon the marble Psyche.159He trembled as he looked at that picture of immortality, and his glance seemed impure to him.160He threw the cloth over the statue, and then touched it once more to unveil the form--but he was not able to look again at his own work.161Gloomy, quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, he sat there through the long day; he heard nothing of what was going on around him, and no man guessed what was passing in this human soul.162And days and weeks went by, but the nights passed more slowly than the days.163The flashing Star beheld him one morning as he rose, pale and trembling with fever, from his sad couch; then he stepped towards the statue, threw back the covering, took one long, sorrowful gaze at his work, and then, almost sinking beneath the burden, he dragged the statue out into the garden.164In that place was an old dry well, now nothing but a hole.165Into this he cast the Psyche, threw earth in above her, and covered up the spot with twigs and nettles.166"Away! begone!"167Such was the short epitaph he spoke.168The Star beheld all this from the pink morning sky, and its beam trembled upon two great tears upon the pale feverish cheeks of the young man; and soon it was said that he was sick unto death, and he lay stretched upon a bed of pain.169The convent Brother Ignatius visited him as a physician and a friend, and brought him words of comfort, of religion, and spoke to him of the peace and happiness of the church, of the sinfulness of man, of rest and mercy to be found in heaven.170And the words fell like warm sunbeams upon a teeming soil.171The soil smoked and sent up clouds of mist, fantastic pictures, pictures in which there was reality; and from these floating islands he looked across at human life.172He found it vanity and delusion--and vanity and delusion it had been to him.173They told him that art was a sorcerer, betraying us to vanity and to earthly lusts; that we are false to ourselves, unfaithful to our friends, unfaithful towards Heaven; and that the serpent was always repeating within us, "Eat, and thou shalt become as God."174And it appeared to him as if now, for the first time, he knew himself, and had found the way that leads to truth and to peace.175In the church was the light and the brightness of God--in the monk's cell he should find the rest through which the tree of human life might grow on into eternity.176Brother Ignatius strengthened his longings, and the determination became firm within him.177A child of the world became a servant of the church--the young artist renounced the world, and retired into the cloister.178The brothers came forward affectionately to welcome him, and his inauguration was as a Sunday feast.179Heaven seemed to him to dwell in the sunshine of the church, and to beam upon him from the holy pictures and from the cross.180And when, in the evening, at the sunset hour, he stood in his little cell, and, opening the window, looked out upon old Rome, upon the desolated temples, and the great dead Coliseum--when he saw all this in its spring garb, when the acacias bloomed, and the ivy was fresh, and roses burst forth everywhere, and the citron and orange were in the height of their beauty, and the palm trees waved their branches--then he felt a deeper emotion than had ever yet thrilled through him.181The quiet open Campagna spread itself forth towards the blue snow-covered mountains, which seemed to be painted in the air; all the outlines melting into each other, breathing peace and beauty, floating, dreaming--and all appearing like a dream!182Yes, this world was a dream, and the dream lasts for hours, and may return for hours; but convent life is a life of years--long years, and many years.183From within comes much that renders men sinful and impure.184He fully realized the truth of this.185What flames arose up in him at times!186What a source of evil, of that which we would not, welled up continually!187He mortified his body, but the evil came from within.188One day, after the lapse of many years, he met Angelo, who recognized him.189"Man!" exclaimed Angelo. "190Yes, it is thou!191Art thou happy now?192Thou hast sinned against God, and cast away His boon from thee--hast neglected thy mission in this world!193Read the parable of the intrusted talent!194The MASTER, who spoke that parable, spoke the truth!195What hast thou gained?196What hast thou found?197Dost thou not fashion for thyself a religion and a dreamy life after thine own idea, as almost all do?198Suppose all this is a dream, a fair delusion!"199"Get thee away from me, Satan!" said the monk; and he quitted Angelo.200"There is a devil, a personal devil!1 2 3← previousThe Princess and the Peanext →The Puppet-show Man↑ back to Fairy Tales of Hans Christian AndersenThis page in Markdown → https://md.mova.elamur.ai/free/en/corpora/tales/pg27200/151/page/2/