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