Cupid and
Psyche
A certain king and queen
had three daughters. The charms of the
two elder were more than common, but the
beauty of the youngest was so wonderful
that the poverty of language is unable to
express its due praise. The fame of her
beauty was so great that strangers from
neighboring countries came in crowds to
enjoy the sight, and looked on her with
amazement, paying her that homage which
is due only to Venus herself. In fact
Venus found her altars deserted, while
men turned their devotion to this young
virgin. As she passed along, the people
sang her praises, and strewed her way
with chaplets and flowers.
This homage to
the exaltation of a mortal gave great
offense to the real Venus. Shaking her
ambrosial locks with indignation, she
exclaimed, "Am I then to be eclipsed
in my honors by a mortal girl? In vain
then did that royal shepherd, whose
judgment was approved by Jove himself,
give me the palm of beauty over my
illustrious rivals, Pallas and Juno. But
she shall not so quietly usurp my honors.
I will give her cause to repent of so
unlawful a beauty."
Thereupon she
calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous
enough in his own nature, and rouses and
provokes him yet more by her complaints.
She points out Psyche to him and says,
"My dear son, punish that
contumacious beauty; give your mother a
revenge as sweet as her injuries are
great; infuse into the bosom of that
haughty girl a passion for some low,
mean, unworthy being, so that she may
reap a mortification as great as her
present exultation and triumph."
Cupid prepared to obey
the commands of his mother. There are two
fountains in Venus's garden, one of sweet
waters, the other of bitter. Cupid filled
two amber vases, one from each fountain,
and suspending them from the top of his
quiver, hastened to the chamber of
Psyche, whom he found asleep. He shed a
few drops from the bitter fountain over
her lips, though the sight of her almost
moved him to pity; then touched her side
with the point of his arrow. At the touch
she awoke, and opened eyes upon Cupid (himself
invisible), which so startled him that in
his confusion he wounded himself with his
own arrow. Heedless of his wound, his
whole thought now was to repair the
mischief he had done, and he poured the
balmy drops of joy over all her silken
ringlets.
Psyche,
henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived
no benefit from all her charms. True, all
eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and
every mouth spoke her praises; but
neither king, royal youth, nor plebeian
presented himself to demand her in
marriage. Her two elder sisters of
moderate charms had now long been married
to two royal princes; but Psyche, in her
lonely apartment, deplored her solitude,
sick of that beauty which, while it
procured abundance of flattery, had
failed to awaken love.
Her parents, afraid that
they had unwittingly incurred the anger
of the gods, consulted the oracle of
Apollo, and received this answer, "The
virgin is destined for the bride of no
mortal lover. Her future husband awaits
her on the top of the mountain. He is a
monster whom neither gods nor men can
resist."
This dreadful
decree of the oracle filled all the
people with dismay, and her parents
abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche
said, "Why, my dear parents, do you
now lament me? You should rather have
grieved when the people showered upon me
undeserved honors, and with one voice
called me a Venus. I now perceive that I
am a victim to that name. I submit. Lead
me to that rock to which my unhappy fate
has destined me."
Accordingly, all
things being prepared, the royal maid
took her place in the procession, which
more resembled a funeral than a nuptial
pomp, and with her parents, amid the
lamentations of the people, ascended the
mountain, on the summit of which they
left her alone, and with sorrowful hearts
returned home.
While Psyche
stood on the ridge of the mountain,
panting with fear and with eyes full of
tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her from
the earth and bore her with an easy
motion into a flowery dale. By degrees
her mind became composed, and she laid
herself down on the grassy bank to sleep.
When she awoke
refreshed with sleep, she looked round
and beheld near a pleasant grove of tall
and stately trees. She entered it, and in
the midst discovered a fountain, sending
forth clear and crystal waters, and fast
by, a magnificent palace whose august
front impressed the spectator that it was
not the work of mortal hands, but the
happy retreat of some god. Drawn by
admiration and wonder, she approached the
building and ventured to enter.
Every object she
met filled her with pleasure and
amazement. Golden pillars supported the
vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched
with carvings and paintings representing
beasts of the chase and rural scenes,
adapted to delight the eye of the
beholder. Proceeding onward, she
perceived that besides the apartments of
state there were others filled with all
manner of treasures, and beautiful and
precious productions of nature and art.
While her eyes
were thus occupied, a voice addressed
her, though she saw no one, uttering
these words, "Sovereign lady, all
that you see is yours. We whose voices
you hear are your servants and shall obey
all your commands with our utmost care
and diligence. Retire, therefore, to your
chamber and repose on your bed of down,
and when you see fit, repair to the bath.
Supper awaits you in the adjoining alcove
when it pleases you to take your seat
there."
Psyche gave ear
to the admonitions of her vocal
attendants, and after repose and the
refreshment of the bath, seated herself
in the alcove, where a table immediately
presented itself, without any visible aid
from waiters or servants, and covered
with the greatest delicacies of food and
the most nectareous wines. Her ears too
were feasted with music from invisible
performers; of whom one sang, another
played on the lute, and all closed in the
wonderful harmony of a full chorus.
She had not yet
seen her destined husband. He came only
in the hours of darkness and fled before
the dawn of morning, but his accents were
full of love, and inspired a like passion
in her. She often begged him to stay and
let her behold him, but he would not
consent. On the contrary he charged her
to make no attempt to see him, for it was
his pleasure, for the best of reasons, to
keep concealed.
"Why should
you wish to behold me?" he said.
"Have you any doubt of my love? Have
you any wish ungratified? If you saw me,
perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore
me, but all I ask of you is to love me. I
would rather you would love me as an
equal than adore me as a god."
This reasoning
somewhat quieted Psyche for a time, and
while the novelty lasted she felt quite
happy. But at length the thought of her
parents, left in ignorance of her fate,
and of her sisters, precluded from
sharing with her the delights of her
situation, preyed on her mind and made
her begin to feel her palace as but a
splendid prison. When her husband came
one night, she told him her distress, and
at last drew from him an unwilling
consent that her sisters should be
brought to see her.
So, calling
Zephyr, she acquainted him with her
husband's commands, and he, promptly
obedient, soon brought them across the
mountain down to their sister's valley.
They embraced her and she returned their
caresses.
"Come,"
said Psyche, "enter with me my house
and refresh yourselves with whatever your
sister has to offer."
Then taking
their hands she led them into her golden
palace, and committed them to the care of
her numerous train of attendant voices,
to refresh them in her baths and at her
table, and to show them all her treasures.
The view of these celestial delights
caused envy to enter their bosoms, at
seeing their young sister possessed of
such state and splendor, so much
exceeding their own.
They asked her
numberless questions, among others what
sort of a person her husband was. Psyche
replied that he was a beautiful youth,
who generally spent the daytime in
hunting upon the mountains.
The sisters, not
satisfied with this reply, soon made her
confess that she had never seen him. Then
they proceeded to fill her bosom with
dark suspicions. "Call to mind,"
they said, "the Pythian oracle that
declared you destined to marry a direful
and tremendous monster. The inhabitants
of this valley say that your husband is a
terrible and monstrous serpent, who
nourishes you for a while with dainties
that he may by and by devour you. Take
our advice. Provide yourself with a lamp
and a sharp knife; put them in
concealment that your husband may not
discover them, and when he is sound
asleep, slip out of bed, bring forth your
lamp, and see for yourself whether what
they say is true or not. If it is,
hesitate not to cut off the monster's
head, and thereby recover your liberty."
Psyche resisted
these persuasions as well as she could,
but they did not fail to have their
effect on her mind, and when her sisters
were gone, their words and her own
curiosity were too strong for her to
resist. So she prepared her lamp and a
sharp knife, and hid them out of sight of
her husband. When he had fallen into his
first sleep, she silently rose and
uncovering her lamp beheld not a hideous
monster, but the most beautiful and
charming of the gods, with his golden
ringlets wandering over his snowy neck
and crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on
his shoulders, whiter than snow, and with
shining feathers like the tender blossoms
of spring.
As she leaned
the lamp over to have a better view of
his face, a drop of burning oil fell on
the shoulder of the god. Startled, he
opened his eyes and fixed them upon her.
Then, without saying a word, he spread
his white wings and flew out of the
window. Psyche, in vain endeavoring to
follow him, fell from the window to the
ground.
Cupid, beholding
her as she lay in the dust, stopped his
flight for an instant and said, "Oh
foolish Psyche, is it thus you repay my
love? After I disobeyed my mother's
commands and made you my wife, will you
think me a monster and cut off my head?
But go; return to your sisters, whose
advice you seem to think preferable to
mine. I inflict no other punishment on
you than to leave you for ever. Love
cannot dwell with suspicion." So
saying, he fled away, leaving poor Psyche
prostrate on the ground, filling the
place with mournful lamentations.
When she had
recovered some degree of composure she
looked around her, but the palace and
gardens had vanished, and she found
herself in the open field not far from
the city where her sisters dwelt. She
repaired thither and told them the whole
story of her misfortunes, at which,
pretending to grieve, those spiteful
creatures inwardly rejoiced.
"For now,"
said they, "he will perhaps choose
one of us." With this idea, without
saying a word of her intentions, each of
them rose early the next morning and
ascended the mountain, and having reached
the top, called upon Zephyr to receive
her and bear her to his lord; then
leaping up, and not being sustained by
Zephyr, fell down the precipice and was
dashed to pieces.
Psyche meanwhile
wandered day and night, without food or
repose, in search of her husband. Casting
her eyes on a lofty mountain having on
its brow a magnificent temple, she sighed
and said to herself, "Perhaps my
love, my lord, inhabits there," and
directed her steps thither.
She had no
sooner entered than she saw heaps of
corn, some in loose ears and some in
sheaves, with mingled ears of barley.
Scattered about, lay sickles and rakes,
and all the instruments of harvest,
without order, as if thrown carelessly
out of the weary reapers' hands in the
sultry hours of the day.
This unseemly
confusion the pious Psyche put an end to,
by separating and sorting everything to
its proper place and kind, believing that
she ought to neglect none of the gods,
but endeavor by her piety to engage them
all in her behalf. The holy Ceres, whose
temple it was, finding her so religiously
employed, thus spoke to her, "Oh
Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though
I cannot shield you from the frowns of
Venus, yet I can teach you how best to
allay her displeasure. Go, then, and
voluntarily surrender yourself to your
lady and sovereign, and try by modesty
and submission to win her forgiveness,
and perhaps her favor will restore you
the husband you have lost."
Psyche obeyed
the commands of Ceres and took her way to
the temple of Venus, endeavoring to
fortify her mind and ruminating on what
she should say and how best propitiate
the angry goddess, feeling that the issue
was doubtful and perhaps fatal.
Venus received
her with angry countenance. "Most
undutiful and faithless of servants,"
said she, "do you at last remember
that you really have a mistress? Or have
you rather come to see your sick husband,
yet laid up of the wound given him by his
loving wife? You are so ill favored and
disagreeable that the only way you can
merit your lover must be by dint of
industry and diligence. I will make trial
of your housewifery." Then she
ordered Psyche to be led to the
storehouse of her temple, where was laid
up a great quantity of wheat, barley,
millet, vetches, beans, and lentils
prepared for food for her pigeons, and
said, "Take and separate all these
grains, putting all of the same kind in a
parcel by themselves, and see that you
get it done before evening." Then
Venus departed and left her to her task.
But Psyche, in a
perfect consternation at the enormous
work, sat stupid and silent, without
moving a finger to the inextricable heap.
While she sat
despairing, Cupid stirred up the little
ant, a native of the fields, to take
compassion on her. The leader of the
anthill, followed by whole hosts of his
six-legged subjects, approached the heap,
and with the utmost diligence taking
grain by grain, they separated the pile,
sorting each kind to its parcel; and when
it was all done, they vanished out of
sight in a moment.
Venus at the
approach of twilight returned from the
banquet of the gods, breathing odors and
crowned with roses. Seeing the task done,
she exclaimed, "This is no work of
yours, wicked one, but his, whom to your
own and his misfortune you have enticed."
So saying, she threw her a piece of black
bread for her supper and went away.
Next morning
Venus ordered Psyche to be called and
said to her, "Behold yonder grove
which stretches along the margin of the
water. There you will find sheep feeding
without a shepherd, with golden-shining
fleeces on their backs. Go, fetch me a
sample of that precious wool gathered
from every one of their fleeces."
Psyche
obediently went to the riverside,
prepared to do her best to execute the
command. But the river god inspired the
reeds with harmonious murmurs, which
seemed to say, "Oh maiden, severely
tried, tempt not the dangerous flood, nor
venture among the formidable rams on the
other side, for as long as they are under
the influence of the rising sun, they
burn with a cruel rage to destroy mortals
with their sharp horns or rude teeth. But
when the noontide sun has driven the
cattle to the shade, and the serene
spirit of the flood has lulled them to
rest, you may then cross in safety, and
you will find the woolly gold sticking to
the bushes and the trunks of the trees."
Thus the compassionate
river god gave Psyche instructions how to
accomplish her task, and by observing his
directions she soon returned to Venus
with her arms full of the golden fleece;
but she received not the approbation of
her implacable mistress, who said, "I
know very well it is by none of your own
doings that you have succeeded in this
task, and I am not satisfied yet that you
have any capacity to make yourself useful.
But I have another task for you. Here,
take this box and go your way to the
infernal shades, and give this box to
Proserpine and say, 'My mistress Venus
desires you to send her a little of your
beauty, for in tending her sick son she
has lost some of her own.' Be not too
long on your errand, for I must paint
myself with it to appear at the circle of
the gods and goddesses this evening."
Psyche was now
satisfied that her destruction was at
hand, being obliged to go with her own
feet directly down to Erebus. Wherefore,
to make no delay of what was not to be
avoided, she goes to the top of a high
tower to precipitate herself headlong,
thus to descend the shortest way to the
shades below. But a voice from the tower
said to her, "Why, poor unlucky
girl, do you design to put an end to your
days in so dreadful a manner? And what
cowardice makes you sink under this last
danger who have been so miraculously
supported in all your former?" Then
the voice told her how by a certain cave
she might reach the realms of Pluto, and
how to avoid all the dangers of the road,
to pass by Cerberus, the three-headed
dog, and prevail on Charon, the ferryman,
to take her across the black river and
bring her back again. But the voice
added, "When Proserpine has given
you the box filled with her beauty, of
all things this is chiefly to be observed
by you, that you never once open or look
into the box nor allow your curiosity to
pry into the treasure of the beauty of
the goddesses."
Psyche,
encouraged by this advice, obeyed it in
all things, and taking heed to her ways
traveled safely to the kingdom of Pluto.
She was admitted to the palace of
Proserpine, and without accepting the
delicate seat or delicious banquet that
was offered her, but contented with
coarse bread for her food, she delivered
her message from Venus. Presently the box
was returned to her, shut and filled with
the precious commodity. Then she returned
the way she came, and glad was she to
come out once more into the light of day.
But having got so far
successfully through her dangerous task a
longing desire seized her to examine the
contents of the box. "What,"
said she, "shall I, the carrier of
this divine beauty, not take the least
bit to put on my cheeks to appear to more
advantage in the eyes of my beloved
husband!" So she carefully opened
the box, but found nothing there of any
beauty at all, but an infernal and truly
Stygian sleep, which being thus set free
from its prison, took possession of her,
and she fell down in the midst of the
road, a sleepy corpse without sense or
motion.
But Cupid, being
now recovered from his wound, and not
able longer to bear the absence of his
beloved Psyche, slipping through the
smallest crack of the window of his
chamber which happened to be left open,
flew to the spot where Psyche lay, and
gathering up the sleep from her body
closed it again in the box, and waked
Psyche with a light touch of one of his
arrows. "Again," said he,
"have you almost perished by the
same curiosity. But now perform exactly
the task imposed on you by my mother, and
I will take care of the rest."
Then Cupid, as
swift as lightning penetrating the
heights of heaven, presented himself
before Jupiter with his supplication.
Jupiter lent a favoring ear, and pleaded
the cause of the lovers so earnestly with
Venus that he won her consent. On this he
sent Mercury to bring Psyche up to the
heavenly assembly, and when she arrived,
handing her a cup of ambrosia, he said,
"Drink this, Psyche, and be
immortal; nor shall Cupid ever break away
from the knot in which he is tied, but
these nuptials shall be perpetual."
Thus Psyche
became at last united to Cupid, and in
due time they had a daughter born to them
whose name was Pleasure.

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