The story of Eros & Psyche

	PAGE
INTRODUCTORY NOTE	9
THE STORY OF EROS AND PSYCHE	13
————
IN A CANOE	55
THE ARTIST TO HIS LADY	58
APHRODITE	60
SCHRECKHORN	65
THE VEILED ISIS	67
THE TIDE	71
SUMMER LIGHTNING	72
IN THE GRASS: BY A MONAD	75
THE WORLD-SPIRIT	79
TO A FRIEND	83
BY THE MOUTH OF THE ARNO	86
AS ROUND A LIGHTHOUSE	87
THE COMPLAINT OF JOB (CHAP. III)	89
THE EVERNEW	93
ON A CRUCIFIX	94
THE GREAT PEEPSHOW	99
THE FELLOWSHIP OF HUMANITY	106
THE FELLOWSHIP OF SUFFERING	108
THE ANGEL OF DEATH—AND LIFE	110
SONNETS:
GENOA	117
BEETHOVEN	118
IN MORTEM. F. D. MAURICE	119
WILLIAM SMITH: AUTHOR OF “THORNDALE”	120
INSCRIBED ON A GRAVE	121
DEATH	122
SINCE, IN THINE HOUR OF SORROW	123
SEVERANCE	124
IT SHALL BE	125
WALDSTEIN SONATA. BEETHOVEN	126

 

THE STORY OF EROS AND
PSYCHE

 

 

Tho’ the story of Eros and Psyche is alluded to by various earlier writers, our only source for its details is, I believe, in that animated and amusing romance, the Golden Ass of Apuleius; where it occurs as an Episode, and where it is told at considerable length and with elaboration.

Apuleius was a Roman citizen of Madaura in N. Africa, and was born about 130 A.D. He inherited a large sum of money from his father, and after spending much of it in extensive travels, settled down ultimately to a literary life at Carthage, where he was held in great honor. He had an inquiring adventurous turn of mind and character, uniting a thorough enjoyment of life with a tendency to mysticism and oriental speculation (the theosophy of the time), which shows itself in his works. He is said to have been initiated in the ‘mysteries’ of various religious fraternities.

The story of Eros and Psyche (or Cupid and Psyche as he calls it) probably came to Apuleius thro’ Greek channels; but it seems to be one of those world-old fables to which it is difficult to assign a date or locality, and which owing to some hidden pregnancy of meaning are graciously received in all ages and places. In this respect Eros and Psyche may be compared with Cinderella and with the Sleeping Beauty, to both of which stories it shows considerable resemblance both in detail and meaning.

To what extent Apuleius may have amplified and elaborated the material that came to him, it would be impossible to say. As a writer he is full of invention, humour, lively wit and varied learning and experience; but his style is often overloaded and affected; and the Story as told by him is somewhat involved and laborious in places.

In re-telling the story I have taken the liberty (while adhering to his outlines) of using Greek instead of Latin names for the divinities, also of cutting down the details and transposing and slightly varying a few items—with the view of rendering the whole more transparent, so to speak.

For the conduct of Aphrodite, however, who is represented as ‘bawling’ and brawling in so undignified a way Apuleius is alone responsible!

Here and there I have adopted a phrase from the excellent translation in Bohn’s “Classics.” For the rest, there is a prose paraphrase of the story by Mr. Walter Pater in Marius, and one in verse by Mr. Robert Bridges, which may be consulted by those interested in the subject.

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As to the “Early Verses” here reprinted with Eros and Psyche, they are selected from a small volume entitled Narcissus and other Poems, which was published by Henry S. King & Co. in 1873 (i.e. some fifty years ago). I was at that time at Cambridge, and I vividly remember the care and even anxiety with which—following the ideals then and there current—I launched these first attempts at verse. Nor is it impossible that as specimens of the work of that period they may (notwithstanding their juvenile character) present even now some points of interest.

E. C.

Once, in a certain land, there dwelt a King and Queen who had three daughters—the eldest charming for her bodily grace, the second equally charming for her wit and intelligence. Even as children every one admired these two. But as time went on it began to be noised abroad that the third and youngest was after all the fairest of the three. The name of this one was Psyche. She was retiring, shy perhaps, nor had she all the gifts of her sisters; but it was seen that there was something unearthly in her beauty, some strange light in her countenance which entranced those who gazed upon it. Indeed it was whispered here and there that she was fairer than Aphrodite herself, whom all Nature adores. And some, actually deserting the temples and the service of the foam-born goddess, came and paid their worship to the lovely maiden.

To Psyche herself there was no pleasure in all this. The innocent child thought nothing of her own beauty, nor did she care for the renown and worship it brought her. She longed for Love, but these things only served to make a distance between her and other people, and to make love more difficult. She felt sick and lonely, and when presently her sisters, hearing the common talk, became envious and full of unfriendliness, she felt lonelier than ever. But her fame continued to spread, and at last reached the ears of the great Aphrodite herself.

Now when Aphrodite heard she was very wroth, and hurrying over the beautiful ocean to the edges of the land, she called her son Eros, and “What is this I hear,” she said, “that my altars are deserted, and men, leaving me, are paying their sacrifices to a maid of mortal birth? Truly I am incensed beyond measure. But I will make this impudent hussy know her place, and who it is that even Zeus, the lord of Heaven, pays homage to. Go thou, my son, and sharpening thy keenest arrow cause her to fall in passionate burning love with some wretch, some renegade, the very lowest of mankind.” Then, sealing her command with a kiss from her fragrant lips, she mounted her rosy ocean-car drawn by white doves, and sped forth over the laughing waves, surrounded by troops of Tritons sounding their melodious shells, and the daughters of Nereus sporting over the deep.

But Eros obediently, having selected a dart and disguised himself with the garment of invisibility, went forth to seek Psyche, that he might wound her. And at last, after some searching, far in the Interior of the king’s palace he found her. And lo! as soon as he set eyes upon her, he was wounded himself. He, the god of Love, was overcome by her beauty, and pierced as with an exceeding pain. Yet did he not dare to declare himself, for fear of the anger of his mother; but returning his arrow to the quiver retraced, for the time being, his steps.

Meanwhile Psyche sat at home and felt herself lonelier than ever. Though men praised, yet came none to woo her for a bride. Her two elder sisters were already mated, and to powerful chiefs; but she a forlorn virgin, faint in body and weary at heart, bewailed her lonely plight, and loathed her own beauty though it delighted the rest of the world. Thus, and filled with strange forebodings, she sat; till at length her father, foreboding ill himself, suspecting the hostility of the gods, and dreading their anger, determined to consult the ancient oracle of Apollo. And lo! when he did so, the Voice, in words of deepest dread, pronounced as it seemed her inevitable doom. For, “Take her,” it said, “attired as for her funeral to the top of some high crag and leave her there; a wild and tameless husband she shall have, and for her wedding bid the world good-bye.”

Then the King, misunderstanding the meaning of the oracle, and the Queen and the whole land with him, were greatly grieved, and plunged in mourning. Ten days they passed in tears and lamentations; but on the tenth day they formed a procession, and, conducting her to the summit of a high mountain, went through the rites as for her burial; and then, with torches inverted and loud wailings and plaintive strains of music, leaving her alone in that dread place, they took their homeward way, and abandoned themselves to despair.

But Psyche, meanwhile, lay trembling and weeping on the summit of the rock; till Zephyr, the gentle god, came and caressed her with his soothing breath, and at last, fluttering and playing amid her garments, gradually expanded them, till he lifted her up and wafting her softly down the mountain side, laid her in the flowery turf of the valley below.

Now when Psyche came to herself, after her aerial flight, she found herself in some kind of Enchanted Garden. Lovely groves and thickets, streams and fountains, were on all sides; and in the midst stood a palace of fairy beauty, all carven in cedar-wood and ivory and gold. Soft strains of music, she knew not whence, drew her feet onward, and voices, from forms she could not see, hovered round; till at length she stepped across the threshold; when the beauty and richness of the interior still more amazed her. But what amazed her most was that this Treasure-house of the Universe (as it seemed) was protected by no chain, no bar, no lock, but was open apparently to all the world.

And while she wondered, an unseen voice addressed her. “Why, lady,” it said, “are you astonished at such riches? All are yours. Repair therefore to your chamber, or to the bath, and refresh your wearied limbs; for we, whose voices you hear, are your handmaidens and will attend to all your commands, and when we have dressed you, will serve some refreshment without delay.” Psyche therefore obeyed the pleasant instructions, and when she had rested and bathed, sat down to a dainty banquet at which the dishes moved of their own accord, while the air vibrated with music and to the voices of an invisible choir.

But when these pleasures had come to an end, and slumber began to press upon her lids, Psyche retired to her chamber, and lying down upon the couch was soon wrapt in profound repose. From which however ere the hour of midnight, she was awakened. For there came a gentle murmuring voice which at first alarmed, but presently by its sweetness overcame her fears; and her unknown bridegroom, Eros (for he it was who was lord of that place), ascended the bed and stretched himself beside her. But Psyche lay trembling and hesitant as she felt in the darkness his close embrace, and caught the fragrance of his breath, and the passionate kisses of his lips—and full of agitation as she wondered what his form and feature might be; till at length he consummated his love and made her his wife, and she forgot all question in her gladness. But, as soon as the first faint streak of Dawn ran along the distant hills, and before it was yet light, Eros arose and left her. And Psyche, sad at his departure yet joyous in the prospect of his return, spent the day in that beautiful domain, and yet longed for the night which should hide it from her eyes. And so passed many days and nights; and each night Eros came, and ascended the couch, and remained entwining her with his love through the hours of darkness; but at the first streak of dawn he fled—and Psyche saw not his face. And when she was grieved at this, and implored him more than once to reveal himself and show her his true form, he would only reply: “I entreat you, my darling Psyche, not to seek to behold me at present, or to ask me who and what I am—lest a great evil come upon us.” Then he would kiss her very tenderly, and for the time being she would be content. Nevertheless, after a time, feeling her loneliness in that place, she would again fall into grieving.

Meanwhile her Sisters, hearing how she had been exposed to a dread fate on the summit of the mountain, came thither, if by any chance they might obtain tidings of her, and remained for some days, calling upon her name with cries and lamentations. But her Unknown Lover warned Psyche that she should not listen to them, nor even turn her eyes in their direction, lest by doing so she should bring the calamity that he feared. And Psyche would fain have obeyed him; but when she thought of her own strange fate she was filled with pity for herself, and instead of listening to him broke into tears, saying: “A hard lot truly is mine, to be cut off from all human conversation in this splendid Prison, where I may not behold thy face, nor even reply to the cries of my sorrowing sisters; it were well indeed if I had never come here,” and she refused to be comforted. So Eros was moved in his heart, and agreed that her sisters should visit her, and even gave command to Zephyr to waft them at Psyche’s order—but on one condition, that she should not by any means be persuaded to ask who or what he was, lest indeed her curiosity should be her ruin. And she, with many caresses and endearing embraces, promised most faithfully that it should be so.

Then the next day, when her lover had departed, to the rock she hastened, and calling aloud to her sisters bade them dry their tears and cease their mourning, for she was there and waiting to greet them. And Zephyr, at her bidding, immediately lifted them from the crag and placed them safely in her presence; when, after mutual embraces and inquiries, they accompanied her with much curiosity to her new home. But when she showed them all its treasures and beauties, and having refreshed them with the bath and the banquet made them hearken to the voices that followed, and observe the unseen hands that fulfilled her commands, they were suddenly seized with fresh envy in the lowest depth of their breasts. And one of them especially, very minute and contriving in her mind, persisted in making inquiries about the Master of this celestial wealth, as to what kind of person he might be, and what sort of husband to her.

Psyche, however, would not on any account neglect her lover’s commands, or reveal the secrets of her breast; but, on the spur of the moment, told them that he was a young man and very good-looking, with cheeks as yet only shaded with soft down, and that he was, for the most part, engaged in rural pursuits and hunting on the mountains. And lest, by any slip in the course of a long conversation, she might betray herself, she loaded them with presents of gold and jewels, and calling Zephyr ordered him to convoy them back again.

Then, as they were on their way home, they broke into words of bitterest envy. “You saw,” said one—the younger of the two—“what riches there were in that house—what necklaces, what dresses, what heaps of gold, what gems the very floor is inlaid with. If, besides all this, her husband is as handsome as she maintains, there lives not a happier woman—a goddess, one might say, whom the very winds obey. And she indeed, the youngest of us, who has done nothing to deserve all this! While I, wretched creature, am blessed with a husband who is older than my father, and who besides is as bald as a pumpkin and as puny as a boy, and who is not satisfied but he must fasten up every part of his house with Bolts and Chains.”

“And I,” continued the elder sister, “have to put up with a partner who is twisted and crippled with Disease; and who consequently seldom favors me with his embraces; but wants me instead to be everlastingly rubbing and treating his crooked and chalky fingers with fomentations and rags and filthy poultices—as if I were no wife, but a female doctor.”

Thus they continued, ever goading each other with cruel words into a perfect fury against their innocent sister, till their minds became bent on her destruction; and they planned to visit her again ere long, if so they might effect it.

In the meantime Eros, foreseeing danger, again and most emphatically warned Psyche, saying, “Those perfidious she-wolves, your sisters, are plotting against us with all their might, that they may prevail upon you to view my features, which, as I have told you before, as yet you must not see. For before long an infant will be born to us, and child though you be you are pregnant with another child—which, if you are faithful to me, will be of nature divine, but if not, will be mortal. Shun therefore those wicked women, whom, after the deadly hate they harbor against you, it were no longer right to call sisters; neither see nor listen to them, when like Sirens hanging over the crag they once more make the rocks resound with their ill-omened voices.”

Then Psyche, divided between the joy of future motherhood, and anxiety that she might see her sisters again, besought him with tears in her eyes to allow the latter once more to visit her. “By the hope,” she said, “that in my babe I may at least behold your features, whom I so devotedly love, grant me once more the pleasure of embracing my sisters whom I have deserted for your sake—nor doubt for a moment my fidelity which I have already shown, nor my power of keeping a secret that is so necessary for my own happiness.” Then her husband, enchanted by these tender words and her sweet embraces, granted that which she desired, and immediately forestalled the coming of the dawn by flight.

And now the sisters hastened, burning with evil passions, to the rock; and without waiting for the assistant breeze, leapt straightway with unbridled rashness from the height; an act which indeed would have been their last, had not Zephyr, obedient to his mistress’s desire, received them (tho’ reluctantly) in his bosom, and laid them gently on the ground. With rapid steps and without delay they entered the palace, and screening themselves deceitfully behind the name of sister, affected the greatest interest in her condition. “Why, Psyche,” they said, “you are not quite so slim as you used to be, surely before long you will be a mother! What a gift you have in store for us in that satchel of yours beneath your girdle, and with what great joy you will gladden our whole house! How we shall delight to nurse this golden babe, for if it only rivals its parents in beauty, ’twill be a perfect Cupid.”

Thus by false words they gradually stole her heart, while she, after making them rest and refresh themselves with the bath, presently regaled them with an exquisite banquet, to the sound of harps and flutes and all manner of aerial music. But the malice of these evil women was not to be softened by sweet sounds; and so, shaping their conversation with intent to lead her into a snare, they began insidiously as before to inquire what sort of person her husband was, and from what family descended. And she in her simplicity, having forgotten her former account, invented one somewhat different; and then, when they challenged this, in her confusion alas! confessed her ignorance!

But they, as prepared, immediately and in grave tones said: “Happy indeed are you, dear Psyche, and blissful in your ignorance. There you sit, unknowing of your own danger, but we who care for you so deeply are in despair at what threatens you. For we have discovered for a fact, nor can we longer conceal it from you, that your love, that secretly entwines you at night, is nothing but an evil serpent of base and venomous nature. Remember for a moment how the Pythian oracle said you were destined to wed a wild and fierce animal. Besides it is a fact that many of the countryfolk have seen a huge snake, with puffed head and gaping jaws swimming across the rivers in this direction of an evening, on the way back from his feeding-grounds; and indeed they firmly believe that he will devour you.”

Poor Psyche, though she hardly gave credit to what they said, yet could not but be dismayed; and the sisters following up their advantage argued with her, and brought all sorts of trumped-up stories and hearsay evidence to confirm their argument, and to prove that her lover, far from being divine, was nothing but an unclean monster; till she, overcome by all their talk, completely gave way, and allowed that it must be so. Then when they had persuaded her that it was her bounden duty, and her only safety, to rid the world of this thing by stabbing it secretly in the dark; and had extorted from her a faithful promise that she would do so; they left her, and being wafted in the usual way to the summit of the mountain, hastened homeward rejoicing, and full of glee at the success of their machinations.

But Psyche, left to herself, and in the solitude of that place, was overwhelmed by the most dreadful doubts. All that her sisters had said rose up with the most vivid semblance of truth before her, and seemed only to be confirmed by her unknown paramour’s strange conduct: his concealment of his own form, his dread of the light of day, and his terrible threats and forbiddal of all inquiry. All this came back upon her with painful force and distinctness, till at last she was worked up into a perfect fever of determination, and felt no doubt whatever as to what she had to do.

Selecting a knife, the sharpest she could find, she made its edge doubly keen by whetting it on a stone, and even passed it once or twice across the palm of her delicate hand; then after placing it in a nook of safety, she proceeded to prepare a lamp, trimming the wick and providing it with oil, in order that it might be ready for her need. But by the time these preparations were completed, and the evening had arrived, the fever of her anger having now passed away, Psyche fell into a state of utter wretchedness and misery. Her heart was still hardened against her supposed enemy, but it was like lead or a stone. Its weight within her was more than she could bear; and before the usual hour she retired to her couch and lay there motionless like one who could have wept her life away but the fountain of her tears was all congealed.

Long hours she lay. But at last, when it was quite dark, there came that well-known murmuring sound and sweet wafted air as of wings, and in a moment as usual the unknown One lay beside her.

Strenuously Psyche exerted herself to receive him as usual, and appear in nowise different in manner; but it was a thing of the utmost difficulty to throw off the weight and horror that was on her, and indeed so exhausted was her mind with all its suffering, and so poisoned by what she had heard, that even the ambrosial feathers of Eros’ wings seemed to her like horrid scales, and touching them she was confirmed in her dread resolution. So that when at length Eros lay at rest, and by the sound of his breathing she knew he had fallen into deep slumber, rising from the bed and stealing tip-toe across the room, she took the lamp (ready lighted as it was) from its place of concealment; and holding it up in her left hand and grasping the knife firmly, like a dagger, in her right, nerved herself with a great effort—her eyes to encounter, and her hand at the same time to slay, the monster of whom they had told her.

But the instant the light fell that way, and the mysteries of the couch were revealed, she beheld the very gentlest and sweetest of all wild creatures, even Eros himself, the beautiful God of Love, there fast asleep; at sight of whom the glad flame of the lamp shone doubly bright, and even the wicked knife repented of its edge.

But as for Psyche, astounded at such a vision, she lost control of her senses; and faint, and deadly pale, and trembling all over, fell on her knees, and indeed would have hid the knife in her own bosom, had it not nimbly (as it were of its own accord) slipped from her hand. And now, faint and unnerved as she was, it was new life to her to gaze on those divine features: those ambrosial abundant locks of golden hue, and ruddy cheeks, and lips just fringed with down; and to see his dewy wings of dazzling whiteness, and fair smooth body such as Venus might well have given birth to. While at the foot of the bed lay his bow and quiver and arrows, the well-known emblems of the God.

And so it happened that while Psyche with ever new wonder and curiosity was examining these last, she touched the point of one of the arrows with her thumb to try its sharpness, and by chance, as her hand still trembled, punctured the skin—from which some tiny drops of roseate blood oozed forth. And so, without knowing it, by Love’s own force she fell in love with Love. Then burning more and more with desire, she gazed passionately on Eros and kissed him again and again.

But even while she did so, the lamp—perchance by treachery moved, perchance by envy—suddenly spirted forth a drop of scalding oil, which fell upon his right shoulder. [O rash audacious lamp, ungrateful minister of love, thus to burn the very god of fire! You, whom some lover, doubtless, first invented—even that he might prolong through the night the bliss of beholding his heart’s desire!] The god, thus scorched, sprang from the bed, and seeing in an instant what had happened, spread wings without a word, even before the eyes and outstretched arms of his most wretched spouse. But she, in the instant he rose, seized hold and hung to him, a wretched appendage to his flight through the regions of the air, till at last her strength gave out, and she fell exhausted to earth.

Then her immortal lover, alighting on a neighboring cypress-tree, addressed her as follows: “O simple, simple Psyche, was it not for you that I disobeyed my mother Aphrodite? for when she bade me infect you with mad passion for some base and worthless man, I chose rather to fly to you myself as a lover. And now I, that all-dreaded Archer, am like a fool wounded by my own arrow, and have made you my wife in order, forsooth, that you might doubt me for an evil beast, and be ready to cut off my head, which you ought to have loved better than anything in the whole world. As for those choice counsellors of yours, they shall speedily feel my vengeance, but you I rebuke only by flight.” And so saying he soared aloft, and mounted into the air.

But Psyche lay powerless on the ground, gazing and gazing on the flight of her lord and lover, till at last the measured pulse of his wings through the immeasurable sky bore him completely out of sight. Then she rose, and without more ado threw herself headlong from the bank on which she lay into the river below. But the gentle stream, honoring and fearing the god, whose sway extended even beneath its waters, bore her safe on the surface of a wave to the bank, and laid her again on the flowery turf. Then Psyche, since the waters would not harm her, took courage, and set forth wandering through the lands in lifelong search for Eros.

But the latter flying straight to his mother’s chamber, lay there a-groaning and in pain from the wound which Psyche had caused him. And a snow-white sea-gull, acting as messenger, flew off, and skimming along the waves of the sea dived down at last into its bosom. There, approaching Aphrodite as she bathed and swam, it told her that her son was kept in bed by a bad and painful burn, and that his cure was doubtful; that all sorts of scandalous stories were flying about concerning the whole family of Venus; and that every one was saying that mother and son had gone off, the one to a mountain to carry on an intrigue with a girl, the other to the sea for some unknown purpose; and that in consequence Pleasure, Grace and Beauty were nowhere to be found, and general disorder and slovenliness had taken possession of the world. Thus did this very meddling bird chatter in Aphrodite’s ear, to make mischief between her and her son.

The goddess, enraged, insisted on knowing who the girl was of whom this was said. And when the talkative bird, only too ready to reply, mentioned the name of Psyche, Aphrodite’s indignation (for she remembered the rival of her fame) knew no bounds. Emerging instantly from the sea she hastened to her golden chamber, and finding it true that her son was lying there wounded, she bawled out at the top of her voice even before entering the door: “You’re a nice young spark, you are! first to trample under foot my command that you should torment this girl, my enemy; and then actually to make love to her and to take her to your embraces; all that you may vex me, and add insult to injury! But from your childhood you have been a bad lot! Many a time have you struck your elders, and even me, your mother. Every day you turn me into ridicule, and pay me no more attention than if I were a widow. You do not even fear your stepfather, Ares, that brave and doughty warrior; for you are always setting him to pursue the wenches, to my torment. But I’ll make you repent this time, and sour and bitter shall you find this match. For I’ll set my old foes, Propriety and Temperance, to clip your wings—ay, and to blunt your arrows and unstring your bow, and extinguish your burning torch; and Psyche I will torment with endless tasks and trials.”

Having thus vented her wrath, she bounced out of doors again; but on the very threshold came upon the goddesses, Demeter and Hera, who seeing her angry face asked what was the matter. And when she told them her story, they, glad of an opportunity to jeer at her a little, replied: “What great offence after all, good Madam, has your son been guilty of—that you should be so wrathful against him and the young lady? Is it a crime if he should be somewhat free with a pretty girl? Have you forgotten his sex, or his youth—or because he carries his years so jauntily, do you fancy him ever a boy? We have always heard that you were mistress of the amorous arts and crafts, and you now take your handsome son to task for following your charming example? But what god or man will bear with you if, while you are everywhere scattering voluptuous desires over the world, you insist at the same time on checking the gallantries of your own house, and shutting up that famous Pandora’s box of female frailties?”

At these words Aphrodite, incensed beyond endurance, turned her back on the other two, and took herself off with hasty step and heaving bosom to her home in the depth of the ocean.

But Psyche’s eldest sister meanwhile, hearing a vague report of what had happened—and of Psyche’s exile from her enchanted palace—and being seized with envious desire and maddening lust to obtain all these riches and the embraces of a god, conceived the idea of supplanting Psyche; and secretly leaving her husband, hurried to the top of the rock, and in greedy and ungoverned haste threw herself down, expecting Zephyr as usual to receive her. A few days after, the second sister, in the same manner and moved by the same desire, did the very same thing. And thus these two, dashed to death at the foot of the rocks, met with the fitting reward of their treachery.

Aphrodite, however, did not remain long in her Ocean-bowers; but having resolved on a plan of action ordered her chariot to be got ready—her beautiful chariot of burnished gold, which Hephæstus had made and presented her on her marriage, and which was the more precious through the very loss of its material by the file. Four white doves, with joyous fluttering, harnessed themselves thereto; and Aphrodite seating herself in it immediately flew through the air and the clouds, and traversing the lofty æther of heaven itself went straight to the royal throne of Zeus. Where—in haughty tones and not explaining the whole truth—she said: “Thou knowest, O Ageless one, that of all the gods and goddesses I chiefly rule over Nature and the world of mortals below. Now then, one of my servants there, a female slave I may say, has absconded and withdrawn herself from my dominion. Grant me then the services of Hermes, the crier-god, in order that I may find her.” To this the azure brow of Zeus did not refuse consent; and Aphrodite exultant, as she descended from heaven with Hermes, conveyed to him her instructions. She gave him a little book in which were written Psyche’s name and all the particulars of her life, and Aphrodite’s claims upon her; and charged him that he should cry her description (as a fugitive) among all the nations! Which Hermes duly did; adding, by way of reward for her recovery, that whoever should bring her back or make known her place of concealment should receive for compensation seven sweet kisses from Aphrodite herself and one touch of her ambrosial tongue.

But no sooner was this proclamation made, than the desire of mankind to obtain such a reward excited their endeavors and activity to the highest degree. And poor Psyche, as she wandered from place to place over the lands, soon saw that her doom was sealed, and that she could not hope to escape the hands of her avenger.

First in her wanderings it chanced that she came to the temples of Demeter and of Hera—and there, with the view of propitiating the goddesses, she performed all the rites of Religion and the service of their altars. But even these deities, though they had scoffed at Aphrodite, did not venture to interfere with her dominion, or to afford Psyche a permanent refuge and hiding-place within their precincts—so they gave her in return for her pious service the somewhat empty consolation of their blessings and good wishes, and bade her move on to some other locality. Then Psyche, in despair since she could find no protection in the temples, concluded that it was better for her to surrender to Aphrodite at once—and that perchance by doing so, and thus penetrating into the household of the haughty goddess, she might find that beloved Eros whom she sought.

With this forlorn hope she wandered on; but had not gone far when, as it happened, she was met by one of Aphrodite’s own retinue, a powerful old virago whose name was Habit; who immediately bawling at Psyche for a good-for-nothing wench, seized upon her, and twisting her hands in her hair dragged her along into Aphrodite’s presence. But the latter, breaking into a loud and bitter laugh, such as people laugh who are madly angry, “Have you condescended at length,” said she, “to pay your respects to your mother-in-law? or have you perhaps come to see your sick husband, who suffers yet from the wound you gave him? But never mind. I, at any rate, will give you such a welcome as a good mother-in-law should.” So saying she called for those servants of hers, Care and Grief, and delivered Psyche over to them, that they might torment her to their hearts’ content. And when in obedience to their mistress’s commands they had scourged and plagued her beyond measure, they brought her back again into Aphrodite’s presence.

But the latter, noticing Psyche’s figure and condition, set up another laugh, saying: “How interesting she looks! and how thoughtful of her—to make me a happy grandmother! I who am just now in the flower of my age! And now, I suppose, the son of a vile handmaid will be called my grandson!” Then, working herself up into a perfect fury, and turning to Psyche, she continued: “But this shall never be, for such a child born out of due wedlock will be nothing but a bastard, even if I suffer you to bring it to life at all.”

So saying she flew upon her, tore her clothes in ever so many places, pulled out her hair, shook her by the head, and shamefully misused her. Then, taking grains and seeds of wheat, barley, millet, poppy, vetches, lentils and beans, and mixing them all together in one heap, she said: “Ugly slave as you now are, I think if you want lovers your best way will be to learn the virtue of Drudgery. Let me therefore teach you industrious habits. Take this confused mass of seeds, and sort and separate them, if you please, each grain into its place—and finish the task before evening.” And so leaving her before the heap, she forthwith went off to a wedding supper to which she had been invited.

But Psyche, stupefied by the very thought of what was before her, sat silent without moving a finger to her task. Till at last a tiny ant, peeping out of the earth, perceived her sad case, and busily running about called together the whole tribe of ants, saying, “Take pity, ye nimble children of the earth, of the wife of Eros (whom ye all adore)—a pretty damsel, who is now in desperate plight—and come and sort these seeds for her.” Immediately the six-footed folk came rushing in regular waves one after another, and with infinite industry separated the whole heap, grain by grain; and then when they had made so many different piles, they at once disappeared.

At nightfall, when Aphrodite returned from the banquet, exhilarated with wine, and fragrant with balsams and the rose-blooms that encircled her waist, seeing what had been done, she said: “This is not your handiwork, wicked creature, but his whose head you have turned, to your own sorrow as well as his.” And so tossing her a bit of black bread, she went to bed.

But as soon as morning broke she called Psyche again and set her a fresh task, and one full of danger: to wit, to obtain some of their golden wool from those formidable sheep which pasture along a certain river-bank; for transported with rage by the burning heat of the sun, they (as is well known) are the destruction of mortals—either by their sharp horns, their stony foreheads, or their poisonous bites. Nor could Psyche possibly have dared to encounter them, had not the gentle Spirit of the river instructed her to wait till the sun went down, when, the sheep being lulled to rest by the music of his waters, she would find the fleecy gold sticking to the branches of the shrubs. So when she easily performed this command, Aphrodite, smiling bitterly, said: “I see plainly enough that some one has helped you again. But look! Here is a fresh task. Do you see the summit of yonder high mountain? There among the rocks springs a black fountain of dusky waters which lower down becomes the river Styx, that river of desolation which divides the living from the dead. Bring me with all haste an urnful of that ice-cold fluid, nor seek it anywhere but at its source.” Thus speaking she gave her, with renewed threats, a vase of polished crystal; and Psyche, starting, hastened towards the height.

But no sooner did she arrive there than she was petrified with fear and despair, for the waves with a hoarse roar plunged down a channel between steep and lofty rocks, over which fierce dragons, to right and left, stretched out their long necks, and kept eternal watch with unwinking vigilance. And ever as they rolled along, the waters exclaimed: “Begone; mind what you do; have a care; fly, you will perish.”

So Psyche’s heart turned as cold as the waters, and she lay down in that awful place, alone and with no hope but to die. But from the gracious eye of Heaven the sorrow of the pure soul is not hid. The fierce and royal eagle, the bird of Zeus, sailing over that land espied and flew to her, and remembering all he owed to Eros pitied deeply the young wife. “Psyche,” he said, “to your unaided strength this most sacred yet most terrible fountain is utterly inaccessible. Even the gods tremble at the thought of its waters. Give me the cup.” Then snatching it from her hand, on his strong wings he sailed away, steering in and out between the rows of raging teeth and the three-forked tongues of the dragons, till he reached the spring, and filling the cup, returned, and gave it to Psyche.

Yet not even by the fulfilment of this enterprise was the anger of Aphrodite appeased. She must needs send her, even beyond the waters of Separation, into the kingdom of Death itself. With a smile, foreboding of evil, she said: “Psyche, my dear, you are a perfect sorceress, or you could never so well have performed my commands; but there is one task more I must set you. I must ask you to take this box and turn your steps to the infernal regions and the gloomy palace of Hades. Then give the box to Persephone, and say, Aphrodite asks you to send her a small portion of your beauty—enough at least to last for one day; for she has used up all her own store, in attendance on her sick son. Then return with the utmost celerity, for I must adorn myself with this beauty of Persephone, before I go to the assembly of the gods.” So saying, she gave Psyche the box, and sent her off.

Then truly the wretched girl felt assured that her end had come: for to everything mortal death is the end, and Psyche knew not but that she also was mortal. But as she was meditating how to kill herself, as indeed the shortest way to the infernal regions, there came a voice to her saying, “Do no violence to thyself, Psyche, for though indeed in this way thou mayest go to the palace of Hades, yet shalt thou thus by no means return. But listen to me. Go to Tenarus, which is by Lacedæmon, that great city of Achæa; and there, at Tenarus, you will find a cavern, which is the breathing hole of the underworld. This cavern is the threshold of the direct path leading to the palace of Hades. But before entering it take care that you provide yourself with certain things; for with empty hands it is impossible to pass through these shades. In your mouth place two pieces of money, and in each hand take a cake of barley bread well sopped in hydromel. Then go rapidly forward till you come to the dark river, where Charon demands his fee and ferries the dead in his crazy boat across to the farther shore.

Nothing even there is done without payment. To that unclean greybeard you will have to give one of the coins you carry, yet in such wise that you must let him take it with his own hand from your mouth. But while you are passing over the stagnant flood, a certain dead old man will come to the surface, and raising his corpse-like fingers entreat you to take him into the boat. Beware, however, how you do so; for even by Pity may the soul be ensnared. And when you have passed the river a little way, behold! some old women, busily weaving a web, will ask you to lend a helping hand. But still beware how you do so; for even Help is not always wise and lawful. And all these things, and others, are in reality snares, prepared for you by Aphrodite, that you may drop one of the cakes from your hand, and so never fulfil the quest you have before you. For the want of only one of these sops would surely prevent your return to the light. A huge dog (as you know) with three ferocious necks and heads, and barking with jaws of thunder, watches ever before the black palace of Persephone, and terrifies with his noise the dead, though he cannot injure them. This dog, Cerberus, you must appease with one of your sops; then, passing quickly by, you will enter the presence of Persephone herself. She will receive you kindly and courteously, and beg you to repose on a soft couch and partake of a rich banquet. But this you must not do. Seating yourself on the ground, ask for a piece of common bread and eat it; then give your message, and having got the box, bribe the fierce dog, as you return, with the other sop. After that, when you come to the ferry, let the greedy Charon take your remaining coin; and so passing his river for the second time, ascend, Psyche, to Heaven, and take your place in the choir of the celestial stars. But above all I warn you, be careful not to open or even look on the box which you carry, or to search into its hidden treasure.

In this way the voice advised her. But Psyche, at once and without delay, hastened to Tenarus, and taking her coins and her sops, ran down the infernal avenue. Then having given the ferryman his fee, and turned a deaf ear to the prayers of the floating corpse and the web-weaving old women, and slipping quickly by the sop-fed dog, she entered the palace. Here, as instructed, she refused the delicate seat and delicious food offered her, and instead sat humbly at the feet of Persephone, content with a piece of common bread. Then when she had received the box (already filled and closed) she hastened back as before to the glorious light of day.

But even here her last trial awaited her. For even after having passed through the Awful Valley in safety and returned, poor Psyche, not yet freed, was overcome by the contents of the box she carried. Seized with a desire to learn what was in it, and to partake of its store of beauty, she rashly opened it. But the box contained not a particle of beauty, but only an infernal and mortal Sleep, the image of Death from whose kingdom it was drawn: and this, being freed from its prison, immediately poured itself over her, suffusing her limbs in a dense cloud of somnolence, till she lay prostrate and without motion, and just like a senseless corpse.

And how long she might have lain no one knows, had not Eros, now recovered from his wound, and grown, even by what had happened, to greater glory and manhood than before, bethought him of his dear Psyche, and, escaping from his chamber, gone on swift wings in search of her. Nor had he flown far before he came upon her thus lying. Then quickly seeing what had happened, he carefully removed the cloud of sleep, lifting it off from her like a veil, and folding it together, shut it in its old receptacle, the box, while at the same time putting his arms round her he kissed her ardently upon the lips. Psyche thus awakened was overjoyed to behold her lover once more; and in the tumult of her emotions nearly swooned away. But Eros, reminding her how curiosity had for the second time nearly undone her, bade her now finish her task quickly; and he would attend to the rest. So Psyche, with radiant face, and looking more beautiful than ever before, took the steep ascent onward to heaven.

But Eros, flying swiftly to the very throne of Zeus, put the whole case before him, and begged his aid, for the girl and himself, against the wrath of Aphrodite. And Zeus, having given the matter full consideration, bade Hermes summon a full assembly of the gods, adding as an enforcement that if any one of them absented himself he should be fined ten thousand pieces of money. So when, owing to the fear of this penalty, the heavenly theatre was quite full, Zeus sitting on his throne, and with his arm embracing Eros, who stood by his side, spoke as follows: “Ye assembled Celestials, whose names are written in the white roll of the Muses, you are all well enough acquainted with this youth, this masterful son of mine, whom I have reared with my own hands. You know that he does not always pay even to me the reverence that is my due. You know how he fills with his intrigues the whole course of Nature, including the elements and the stars and the plants and animals of the earth, and the races of men, not even excepting the gods themselves; so that all of us, tho’ we are fain to forgive him, are entangled in his wiles, and have our fair reputations sullied. Now then, since the whole earth cries out against his adulteries, and since he himself has come to man’s estate and is no longer a child, it is fitting that order should be introduced into his ways and harmony where before was confusion. You are aware that he has made choice of a girl, and deprived her of her virginity. Let him therefore—this is our Olympian decree—hold to her, let him possess her, and embracing Psyche make her ever henceforth the object of his love. Nor do you, my daughter,” he said, turning to Aphrodite, “be offended, or afraid that your family will be disgraced by a mortal alliance; for I will now cause the marriage to be not unequal, but all in order, and agreeable to the law.” So saying, he commanded Hermes to bring Psyche to heaven; and as soon as she arrived, extending to her a cup of ambrosia, “Drink this, Psyche,” said he “and be immortal; and Eros shall never quit your embrace, but your union shall be perpetual.”

Then, without delay, a sumptuous wedding supper was served. The husband, at one end of the table, reclined with Psyche in his bosom. In like manner, at the other end, were Zeus and Hera; and after them the other gods and goddesses in their proper order. Dionysus supplied the mystic nectar; the rustic Ganymede waited upon Zeus; Hephæstus dressed the table; the Hours scattered roses and all fragrant flowers; the Graces shed love and gentleness; the Muses sang; Apollo struck the lyre; and Aphrodite danced; till at length with nightfall Ceremony was dissolved, and gaiety reigned in heaven.

Thus came Psyche by divine ordinance into the hands of Eros; and at length from a mature pregnancy a daughter was born, whose name was Joy or Gladness.

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Cambridge, 1869.

Cambridge, 1871.

Capri, 1873.

January, 1870.

Rome, 1873.

January, 1870.

Naples, 1873.

1873.

1871.

1871.

June, 1870.

Rome, 1873.

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Florence, 1873.

1872.

1872.

Florence, 1873.

 

 

 

 

January, 1873.

January, 1873.

April, 1872.

Rome, 1873.

1872.

November, 1869.

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