And through the crystal of the sarcophagus she saw the dead face of the king, and pressed a kiss upon the glass.
“Dear father!” she whispered, trembling, “why have you gone? I am now quite alone! Of Emeralda I am afraid, and Astra does not think of me; she only thinks of the stars. Father, dear, forgive me! I have deceived you. I have travelled through the air on the back of the flying horse. But father, dear, the horse is beautiful, and I love the Chimera! O father dear, I have deceived you, and now I am alone, and I have nobody who cares for me! You are dead, father, and embalmed, and shut up in gold and crystal and jewels, and do not hear your little Psyche. You do not think of your little daughter. Alone! alone! Awe-inspiring is the castle; three hundred towers rise high up in the air. I have never been in all the three hundred, however much I have wandered. O father, father, why have you left me? Who is there to love me now? who to protect me now in the world? Father, farewell! I will not stay here; I will go away! I will leave the castle. Great is the world and wicked, but Emeralda is powerful and I am afraid of her. If I remain, she will drive me away with her look and shut me up all my life, and my wings I shall break against the unbreakable lattice.
“Father, farewell! I will not remain here. I will flee! Whither? Whither shall I flee? I do not know. O father, dear, alone your child remains in the great, unsafe world! Alone! alone! O father, farewell, farewell! and forever!”
She rose, she shivered. The dark vaults receded more and more. By the light of the long torches she saw the sacred spiders, which wove web after web; they were never disturbed.
“Sacred spider!” said Psyche to a big fat one, with a cross on its back, “tell me where I must go.”
“You cannot flee,” replied the spider, high up in the dark vault, in the middle of its web. “Everything is as it is; everything becomes as it was; happens as it happens; all goes to dust. Every day sinks into the deep vaults of the dark pits under us; under us everything becomes the Past, and everything comes into the power of Emeralda. As soon as anything is, it has been, and is in the power of Emeralda. Seek not to flee—that is vanity; submit to your lot. The best thing is that you become one of us, a sacred spider, and weave your web. For our web is sacred; our web is indisturbable; and with all our webs, one for the other, we serve the princess and protect her treasures—the treasures of the Past, which behind our weaving go to dust.”
“But if they go to dust, of what value are they?”
“Foolish child, dust is everything. The Past is dust; remembrance is dust. Everything becomes dust; love, jewels—all becomes dust, and the sacred dust we watch over behind our webs. Become a spider like us, weave your web, and be wise.”
“But I live. I am young, I desire, I love, and I cannot bury myself in dust.... Oh, tell me whither I must flee!”
The spider laughed scornfully, and moved its eight legs with great impatience.