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Cupid and Psyche |
Lucius Apuleius
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.
Source: Thomas Bulfinch, The Age of Fable;
or, Stories of Gods and Heroes (1855).
Bulfinch's source is The Golden Ass (books
4-6) by the Roman writer Lucius Apuleius.
Lucius Apuleius was born about 124 in
northern Africa and was educated in Carthage
and Athens. The account of Cupid and Psyche
is presented in his novel The Golden Ass
(also titled The Metamorphoses) as an "old
wive's tale" told by an old woman to comfort
a young woman who has been abducted by a
band of robbers and is being held for
ransome.
In the main Bulfinch retells Apuleius' story
with accuracy and sensitivity, but he does
omit a few important details, for example:
Psyche is pregnant with Cupid's child
throughout her search for her lost husband,
a fact emphasized by Apuleius.
The cruel treatment meted out to Psyche by
her mother-in-law Venus is substantially
understated in Bulfinch's account.
Aarne-Thompson type 425A.
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