At length the messenger of Venus, is admitted to prostrate herself at the feet of Proserpine, she finds her seated at the entrance of her palace, the only place where to re resh the eyes of the daughter of Ceres, the arid and burning earth, sends forth from its bosom a few vegetables, of an undetermined and pale colour. An artist would have admired the masonry, those arches, those columns of white stone, presenting themselves in bright array on a ground of flame scarlet and purple, or of grey and blackened smoke colour. As for Psyche, occupied with her mission she presents on her knees her humble request to the Queen of the infernal Regions. Proserpine goes out an instant, returns with the box filled, and well closed, then she dismisses the messenger. Hell and its details pass with the rapidity of a dream be fore Psyche, and behold her restored to air, to light and to life. |