the psyche-第1部分

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　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　PSYCHE

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　by　Hans　Christian　Andersen



　　　　IN　the　fresh　morning　dawn；　in　the　rosy　air　gleams　a　great　Star；

the　brightest　Star　of　the　morning。　His　rays　tremble　on　the　white　wall；

as　if　he　wished　to　write　down　on　it　what　he　can　tell；　what　he　has　seen

there　and　elsewhere　during　thousands　of　years　in　our　rolling　world。

Let　us　hear　one　of　his　stories。

　　　　〃A　short　time　ago〃…　the　Star's　〃short　time　ago〃　is　called　among

men　〃centuries　ago〃…　〃my　rays　followed　a　young　artist。　It　was　in　the

city　of　the　Popes；　in　the　world…city；　Rome。　Much　has　been　changed

there　in　the　course　of　time；　but　the　changes　have　not　come　so

quickly　as　the　change　from　youth　to　old　age。　Then　already　the　palace

of　the　Caesars　was　a　ruin；　as　it　is　now；　fig　trees　and　laurels　grew

among　the　fallen　marble　columns；　and　in　the　desolate　bathing…halls；

where　the　gilding　still　clings　to　the　wall；　the　Coliseum　was　a

gigantic　ruin；　the　church　bells　sounded；　the　incense　sent　up　its

fragrant　cloud；　and　through　the　streets　marched　processions　with

flaming　tapers　and　glowing　canopies。　Holy　Church　was　there；　and　art

was　held　as　a　high　and　holy　thing。　In　Rome　lived　the　greatest

painter　in　the　world；　Raphael；　there　also　dwelt　the　first　of

sculptors；　Michael　Angelo。　Even　the　Pope　paid　homage　to　these　two；　and

honored　them　with　a　visit。　Art　was　recognized　and　honored；　and　was

rewarded　also。　But；　for　all　that；　everything　great　and　splendid　was

not　seen　and　known。

　　　　〃In　a　narrow　lane　stood　an　old　house。　Once　it　had　been　a　temple；　a

young　sculptor　now　dwelt　there。　He　was　young　and　quite　unknown。　He

certainly　had　friends；　young　artists；　like　himself；　young　in　spirit；

young　in　hopes　and　thoughts；　they　told　him　he　was　rich　in　talent；

and　an　artist；　but　that　he　was　foolish　for　having　no　faith　in　his

own　power；　for　he　always　broke　what　he　had　fashioned　out　of　clay；

and　never　completed　anything；　and　a　work　must　be　completed　if　it　is　to

be　seen　and　to　bring　money。

　　　　〃'You　are　a　dreamer；'　they　went　on　to　say　to　him；　'and　that's　your

misfortune。　But　the　reason　of　this　is；　that　you　have　never　lived；

you　have　never　tasted　life；　you　have　never　enjoyed　it　in　great

wholesome　draughts；　as　it　ought　to　be　enjoyed。　In　youth　one　must

mingle　one's　own　personality　with　life；　that　they　may　become　one。　Look

at　the　great　master　Raphael；　whom　the　Pope　honors　and　the　world

admires。　He's　no　despiser　of　wine　and　bread。'

　　　　〃'And　he　even　appreciates　the　baker's　daughter；　the　pretty

Fornarina；'　added　Angelo；　one　of　the　merriest　of　the　young　friends。

　　　　〃Yes；　they　said　a　good　many　things　of　the　kind；　according　to　their

age　and　their　reason。　They　wanted　to　draw　the　young　artist　out　with

them　into　the　merry　wild　life；　the　mad　life　as　it　might　also　be

called；　and　at　certain　times　he　felt　an　inclination　for　it。　He　had

warm　blood；　a　strong　imagination；　and　could　take　part　in　the　merry

chat；　and　laugh　aloud　with　the　rest；　but　what　they　called　'Raphael's

merry　life'　disappeared　before　him　like　a　vapor　when　he　saw　the　divine

radiance　that　beamed　forth　from　the　pictures　of　the　great　master；

and　when　he　stood　in　the　Vatican；　before　the　forms　of　beauty　which　the

masters　had　hewn　out　of　marble　thousands　of　years　since；　his　breast

swelled；　and　he　felt　within　himself　something　high；　something　holy；

something　elevating；　great　and　good；　and　he　wished　that　he　could

produce　similar　forms　from　the　blocks　of　marble。　He　wished　to　make　a

picture　of　that　which　was　within　him；　stirring　upward　from　his　heart

to　the　realms　of　the　Infinite；　but　how；　and　in　what　form？　The　soft

clay　was　fashioned　under　his　fingers　into　forms　of　beauty；　but　the

next　day　he　broke　what　he　had　fashioned；　according　to　his　wont。

　　　　〃One　day　he　walked　past　one　of　those　rich　palaces　of　which　Rome

has　many　to　show。　He　stopped　before　the　great　open　portal；　and

beheld　a　garden　surrounded　by　cloistered　walks。　The　garden　bloomed

with　a　goodly　show　of　the　fairest　roses。　Great　white　lilies　with　green

juicy　leaves　shot　upward　from　the　marble　basin　in　which　the　clear

water　was　splashing；　and　a　form　glided　past；　the　daughter　of　the

princely　house；　graceful；　delicate；　and　wonderfully　fair。　Such　a

form　of　female　loveliness　he　had　never　before　beheld…　yet　stay：　he　had

seen　it；　painted　by　Raphael；　painted　as　a　Psyche；　in　one　of　the

Roman　palaces。　Yes；　there　it　had　been　painted；　but　here　it　passed　by

him　in　living　reality。

　　　　〃The　remembrance　lived　in　his　thoughts；　in　his　heart。　He　went　home

to　his　humble　room；　and　modelled　a　Psyche　of　clay。　It　was　the　rich

young　Roman　girl；　the　noble　maiden；　and　for　the　first　time　he　looked

at　his　work　with　satisfaction。　It　had　a　meaning　for　him；　for　it　was

she。　And　the　friends　who　saw　his　work　shouted　aloud　for　joy；　they

declared　that　this　work　was　a　manifestation　of　his　artistic　power；

of　which　they　had　long　been　aware；　and　that　now　the　world　should　be

made　aware　of　it　too。

　　　　〃The　clay　figure　was　lifelike　and　beautiful；　but　it　had　not　the

whiteness　or　the　durability　of　marble。　So　they　declared　that　the

Psyche　must　henceforth　live　in　marble。　He　already　possessed　a　costly

block　of　that　stone。　It　had　been　lying　for　years；　the　property　of

his　parents；　in　the　courtyard。　Fragments　of　glass；　climbing　weeds；　and

remains　of　artichokes　had　gathered　about　it　and　sullied　its　purity；

but　under　the　surface　the　block　was　as　white　as　the　mountain　snow；　and

from　this　block　the　Psyche　was　to　arise。〃

　　　　Now；　it　happened　one　morning…　the　bright　Star　tells　nothing

about　this；　but　we　know　it　occurred…　that　a　noble　Roman　company　came

into　the　narrow　lane。　The　carriage　stopped　at　the　top　of　the　lane；　and

the　company　proceeded　on　foot　towards　the　house；　to　inspect　the

young　sculptor's　work；　for　they　had　heard　him　spoken　of　by　chance。　And

who　were　these　distinguished　guests？　Poor　young　man！　or　fortunate

young　man　he　might　be　called。　The　noble　young　lady　stood　in　the　room

and　smiled　radiantly　when　her　father　said　to　her；　〃It　is　your　living

image。〃　That　smile　could　not　be　copied；　any　more　than　the　look　could

be　reproduced；　the　wonderful　look　which　she　cast　upon　the　young

artist。　It　was　a　fiery　look；　that　seemed　at　once　to　elevate　and　to

crush　him。

　　　　〃The　Psyche　must　be　executed　in　marble；〃　said　the　wealthy

patrician。　And　those　were　words　of　life　for　the　dead　clay　and　the

heavy　block　of　marble；　and　words　of　life　likewise　for　the　deeply…moved

artist。　〃When　the　work　is　finished　I　will　purchase　it；〃　continued

the　rich　noble。

　　　　A　new　era　seemed　to　have　arisen　in　the　poor　studio。　Life　and

cheerfulness　gleamed　there；　and　busy　industry　plied　its　work。　The

beaming　Morning　Star　beheld　how　the　work　progressed。　The　clay　itself

seemed　inspired　since　she　had　been　there；　and　moulded　itself；　in

heightened　beauty；　to　a　likeness　of　the　well…known　features。

　　　　〃Now　I　know　what　life　is；〃　cried　the　artist　rejoicingly；　〃it　is

Love！　It　is　the　lofty　abandonment　of　self　for　the　dawning　of　the

beautiful　in　the　soul！　What　my　friends　call　life　and　enjoyment　is　a

passing　shadow；　it　is　like　bubbles　among　seething　dregs；　not　the

pure　heavenly　wine　that　consecrates　us　to　life。〃

　　　　The　marble　block　was　reared　in　its　place。　The　chisel　struck

great　fragments　from　it；　the　measurements　were　taken；　points　and　lines

were　made；　the　mechanical　part　was　executed；　till　gradually　the

stone　assumed　a　human　female　form；　a　shape　of　beauty；　and　became

converted　into　the　Psyche；　fair　and　glorious…　a　divine　being　in

human　shape。　The　heavy　stone　appeared　as　a　gliding；　dancing；　airy

Psyche；　with　the　heavenly　innocent　smile…　the　smile　that　had

mirrored　itself　in　the　soul　of　the　young　artist。

　　　　The　Star　of　the　roseate　dawn　beheld　and　understood　what　was

stirring　within　the　young　man；　and　could　read　the　meaning　of　the

changing　color　of　his　cheek；　of　the　light　that　flashed　from　his　eye；

as　he　stood　busily　working；　reproducing　what　had　been　put　into　his

soul　from　above。

　　　　〃Thou　art　a　master　like　those　masters　among　the　ancient　Greeks；〃

exclaimed　his　delighted　friends；　〃soon　shall　the　whole　world　admire

thy　Psyche。〃

　　　　〃My　Psyche！〃　he　repeated。　〃Yes；　mine。　She　must　be　mine。　I；　too；　am

an　artist；　like　those　great　men　who　are　gone。　Providence　has　granted

me　the　boon；　and　has　made　me　the　equal　of　that　lady　of　noble　birth。〃

　　　　And　he　knelt　down　and　breathed　a　prayer　of　thankfulnesss　to

Heaven；　and　then　he　forgot　Heaven　for　her　sake…　for　the　sake　of　her

picture　in　stone…　for　her　Psyche　which　stood　there　as　if　formed　of

snow；　blushing　in　the　morning　dawn。

　　　　He　was　to　see　her　in　reality；　the　living；　graceful　Psyche；　whose

words　sounded　like　music　in　his　ears。　He　could　now　carry　the　news　into

the　rich　palace　that　the　marble　Psyche　was　finished。　He　betook　himself

thither；　strode　through　the　open　courtyard　where　the　waters　ran

splashing　from　the　dolphin's　jaws　into　the　marble　basins；　where　the

snowy　lilies　and　the　fresh　roses　bloomed　in　abundance。　He　stepped　into

the　great　lofty　hall；　whose　walls　and　ceilings　shone　with　gilding

and　bright　colors　and　heraldic　devices。　Gayly…dressed　serving…men；

adorned　with　trappings　like　sleigh　horses；　walked　to　and　fro；　and　some

reclined　at　their　ease　upon　the　carved　oak　seats；　as　if　they　were

the　masters　of　the　house。　He　told　them　what　had　brought　him　to　the

palace；　and　was　conducted　up　the　shining　marble　staircase；　covered

with　soft　carpets　and　adorned　with　many　a　statue。　Then　he　went　on

through　richly…furnished　chambers；　over　mosaic　floors；　amid　gorgeous

pictures。　All　this　pomp　and　luxury　seemed　to　weary　him；　but　soon　he

felt　relieved；　for　the　princely　old　master　of　the　house　received　him

most　graciously；；　almost　heartily；　and　when　he　took　his　leave　he　was

requested　to　step　into　the　Signora's　apartment；　for　she；　too；　wished

to　see　him。　The　servants　led　him　through　more　luxurious　halls　and

chambers　into　her　room；　where　she　appeared　the　chief　and　leading

ornament。

　　　　She　spoke　to　him。　No　hymn　of　supplication；　no　holy　chant；　could

melt　his　soul　like　the　sound　of　her