And she beckoned to it to approach, to descend to her; but it flew past over the castle. Then she missed it again for many days, and, angry, she looked at the sky and scolded the wind. But then the horse came again, and, laughing, she beckoned to it. The horse ascended high, its wings expanded in the air, and oh, wonder! it beckoned to her to come up, up to it. She gave a sign that she could not, shook her little shoulders helplessly, and, trembling, flapped her wings and spread her arms wide out to say that she could not. And the horse sped away on the breath of the wind from the East.
Then Psyche wept, and, sad at heart, sat looking at the far, far-off landscapes which she would never reach.
But weeks afterwards the treasure-bringing wind blew again, and again appeared the horse in the horizon, and it flew near and beckoned to Psyche, her heart heavy with hope and fear.... The horse mounted up; it beckoned to her.... She gave a sign that she could not; and oh! she feared that it would speed away again, the horse with the strong wings.
No ... no ... the horse descended! Then Psyche uttered a joyful cry, sprang up, danced with delight and clapped her little hands. From the lofty, lofty sky the horse came down, gliding on its broad wings. It came down.
And Psyche, the little, joyful, excited Psyche, saw it coming, coming down to her. It descended—it approached. Oh, what a beautiful horse it was! Greater than the greatest horses, and then with wings! Fair it was, fair as the sun, with a long curly mane and long flowing tail, like a streamer of sunny gold. The noble head on its arched neck proudly raised and its eyes shone like fire, and a stream of breath came from its expanded nostrils, cloud after cloud. Big, powerful, muscular, its wings were stretched out like silvery quills, as Psyche had never seen in a bird before. And its golden hoofs struck the clouds and made them thunder; and sparks of fire shot forth in the pure, clear daylight. Enraptured Psyche had never seen such a beautiful horse before, never a bird so beautiful; and breathless, with her head raised, she waited till it should descend, descend on the terrace.... At last there it stood before her. Its nostrils steamed, and its hoofs struck sparks from the basalt rock, and it waved its mane and switched its tail.
“Splendid, beautiful horse,” said Psyche, “who are you?”
“I am the Chimera,” answered the horse, and his voice sounded deep as the clang of a brazen clock.
“Can you really speak?” asked Psyche, astonished. “And fly? Oh, how happy you must be!!”
“Why have you called me, little princess?” said the Chimera.
“I wanted to see you quite near,” replied Psyche. “I only saw you dart like winged lightning through the air, so soon were you away again; and I was always sorry when I could not see you any more. Then I became, oh, so sad!”