THE STORY OF
EROS & PSYCHE
THE STORY OF
EROS & PSYCHE
(RETOLD FROM APULEIUS)
TOGETHER WITH SOME EARLY VERSES
BY
EDWARD CARPENTER
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. 1
_First published in this form in 1923_
(_All rights reserved_)
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, LONDON AND WOKING
CONTENTS
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
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
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.
Cinderella the cinder-maiden sits unbeknown in her earthly hutch;
Gibed and jeered at she bewails her lonely fate;
Nevertheless youngest-born she surpasses her sisters and endues a
garment of the sun and stars,
From a tiny spark she ascends and irradiates the universe, and is
wedded to the prince of heaven.
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.
* * * * *
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.
THE STORY OF EROS AND PSYCHE
I
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.
II
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.
III
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.
IV
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.
V
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.
SOME EARLY VERSES
IN A CANOE