“Before I married thy mother, O Psyche,” said Alcmaeon, “my father took me to Corinth. A desire had always burned in me to see that glorious city. A relation having died, we went to collect a legacy. We sailed from Brundusium. The boat was crowded with passengers. Never shall I forget the day when we sailed from the Ionian Sea into the Corinthian Gulf, between the islands Zacynthus and Cephallenia. As we floated into the heart of the Iliad, my feelings were preternatural. It seemed as if my heart were like a sail which, being swollen by the breath of religion, drew my soul into a haven of peace.
“It was near sundown,” continued Alcmaeon. “The sea was calm. The bireme seemed to float quickly along, like a bird skimming the surface of the water. The oar-tortured waves grew white with foamy bubbles. A poet’s eye could have seen in those waters the breasts and happy faces of wandering nereids. Across the water the shadow of Ithaca’s crags extended over the ship. Through that shadow, as through a violet mist, I saw the glory of Odysseus.
“That night,” he continued, “we anchored at Patros. I did not sleep. So enveloped was I in the glory of the past that the present lost its identity. I did not live; I dreamed. In the morning the surface of the sea trembled. The morning star reflected in the waters, like the smile of Eos. We raised anchor and proceeded along the coast.”
As Alcmaeon described his voyage, Hera and Psyche gazed fixedly at the pale light on the table. They felt moved by so strange an emotion that their natural sight was dimmed. As sorrowful eyes see solace through tears, so Hera and Psyche saw cheer and a new pleasure in Alcmaeon’s words. In the intonation with which he pronounced the old names of towns, heroes, and gods, they heard, as if floating on a river of melody, a Parthenic song.
“The bow of the boat cleaved the water like a swan’s breast,” continued Alcmaeon. “The historic shores of the gulf unfolded scene after scene, picture after picture,—all so beautiful in the dawn that they seemed to be glimpses into Elysium. The boat seemed to be drawn by an invisible force; the air seemed to vibrate with emotion; our hearts beat faster, when suddenly, like a lightning flash, directly in front, there sparkled a glorious mountain. The captain shouted, ‘Parnassus! Parnassus!’ I became as one transfixed; for in that mountain I saw the flaming celestial face of the god of the Sun, Apollo. The weight of humanity burdened me. I wished to fly to the mountain-tops. Oh! to have been like the eagle, which from the heights of heaven flies along the windy ways towards its nest!
“Soon after, I beheld Aegira, Sicyon, and finally the home of my ancestors, Corinth. I saw the Acrocorinthus, and I became lost in an oblivion of joy. O my Hera! O my Psyche! above all earthly music, above the song of the Iliad, there floated to me from that glorious place the cradle-song of my forefathers.”
At this part of the description Alcmaeon paused. He smoothed his brow with his hand. Hera and Psyche bestowed upon him fond glances, showing their intense sympathy with his emotion. He continued in a trembling voice: “We disembarked. We climbed towards the city. We reached the walls. O ye gods! we gazed upon the mutilated remains of the once proud town. The Romans under Mummius and his swine made of that once glorious city a trough. Our ancestors were sold into slavery. Our branch of the family was redeemed.”
Again Alcmaeon paused. The last words he had uttered were full of irony. He passed his hand over his eyes and continued: “But these are bitter recollections. Sing an Homeric song, O Hera, and thou too, Psyche. Let our dreams float away from the iron city of Rome to the celestial cities of the Iliad.”
Hera began to sing an old cradle-song that had been sung in her family from generation to generation. It was the same sweet song which, like gentle fingers, had closed the eyelids of Gannon and Psyche in the slumber of childhood. Taking her mother’s hand in hers and smoothing it, Psyche also sang. Alcmaeon softly added his deep bass voice to theirs. On the spirit of the song they were drawn into the land of happy reveries. From songs they changed to hymns. So moved was Alcmaeon that he rose from the couch and seated himself between Hera and Psyche, with an arm thrown about each of them. In the sacredness of the words and music they were supremely happy. Their souls were melted in religious fervor.
While they were thus singing, they heard a scratching at the door. The noise sounded like a cat trying to enter. Alcmaeon opened the door, and saw on the threshold a poor humpbacked girl who was trembling and weeping.