Lucius Apuleius
A certain king and queen had three daughters. The charms of the two
elder were more than common, but the beauty of the youngest was so
wonderful that the poverty of language is unable to express its due
praise. The fame of her beauty was so great that strangers from
neighboring countries came in crowds to enjoy the sight, and looked on her
with amazement, paying her that homage which is due only to Venus herself.
In fact Venus found her altars deserted, while men turned their devotion
to this young virgin. As she passed along, the people sang her praises,
and strewed her way with chaplets and flowers.
This homage to the exaltation of a mortal gave great offense to the
real Venus. Shaking her ambrosial locks with indignation, she exclaimed,
"Am I then to be eclipsed in my honors by a mortal girl? In vain then did
that royal shepherd, whose judgment was approved by Jove himself, give me
the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas and Juno. But she
shall not so quietly usurp my honors. I will give her cause to repent of
so unlawful a beauty."
Thereupon she calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous enough in his own
nature, and rouses and provokes him yet more by her complaints. She points
out Psyche to him and says, "My dear son, punish that contumacious beauty;
give your mother a revenge as sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into
the bosom of that haughty girl a passion for some low, mean, unworthy
being, so that she may reap a mortification as great as her present
exultation and triumph."
Cupid prepared to obey the commands of his mother. There are two
fountains in Venus's garden, one of sweet waters, the other of bitter.
Cupid filled two amber vases, one from each fountain, and suspending them
from the top of his quiver, hastened to the chamber of Psyche, whom he
found asleep. He shed a few drops from the bitter fountain over her lips,
though the sight of her almost moved him to pity; then touched her side
with the point of his arrow. At the touch she awoke, and opened eyes upon
Cupid (himself invisible), which so startled him that in his confusion he
wounded himself with his own arrow. Heedless of his wound, his whole
thought now was to repair the mischief he had done, and he poured the
balmy drops of joy over all her silken ringlets.
Psyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived no benefit from all
her charms. True, all eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and every mouth
spoke her praises; but neither king, royal youth, nor plebeian presented
himself to demand her in marriage. Her two elder sisters of moderate
charms had now long been married to two royal princes; but Psyche, in her
lonely apartment, deplored her solitude, sick of that beauty which, while
it procured abundance of flattery, had failed to awaken love.
Her parents, afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger of the
gods, consulted the oracle of Apollo, and received this answer, "The
virgin is destined for the bride of no mortal lover. Her future husband
awaits her on the top of the mountain. He is a monster whom neither gods
nor men can resist."
This dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with dismay,
and her parents abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche said, "Why, my
dear parents, do you now lament me? You should rather have grieved when
the people showered upon me undeserved honors, and with one voice called
me a Venus. I now perceive that I am a victim to that name. I submit. Lead
me to that rock to which my unhappy fate has destined me."
Accordingly, all things being prepared, the royal maid took her place
in the procession, which more resembled a funeral than a nuptial pomp, and
with her parents, amid the lamentations of the people, ascended the
mountain, on the summit of which they left her alone, and with sorrowful
hearts returned home.
While Psyche stood on the ridge of the mountain, panting with fear and
with eyes full of tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her from the earth and
bore her with an easy motion into a flowery dale. By degrees her mind
became composed, and she laid herself down on the grassy bank to sleep.
When she awoke refreshed with sleep, she looked round and beheld near a
pleasant grove of tall and stately trees. She entered it, and in the midst
discovered a fountain, sending forth clear and crystal waters, and fast
by, a magnificent palace whose august front impressed the spectator that
it was not the work of mortal hands, but the happy retreat of some god.
Drawn by admiration and wonder, she approached the building and ventured
to enter.
Every object she met filled her with pleasure and amazement. Golden
pillars supported the vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched with
carvings and paintings representing beasts of the chase and rural scenes,
adapted to delight the eye of the beholder. Proceeding onward, she
perceived that besides the apartments of state there were others filled
with all manner of treasures, and beautiful and precious productions of
nature and art.
While her eyes were thus occupied, a voice addressed her, though she
saw no one, uttering these words, "Sovereign lady, all that you see is
yours. We whose voices you hear are your servants and shall obey all your
commands with our utmost care and diligence. Retire, therefore, to your
chamber and repose on your bed of down, and when you see fit, repair to
the bath. Supper awaits you in the adjoining alcove when it pleases you to
take your seat there."
Psyche gave ear to the admonitions of her vocal attendants, and after
repose and the refreshment of the bath, seated herself in the alcove,
where a table immediately presented itself, without any visible aid from
waiters or servants, and covered with the greatest delicacies of food and
the most nectareous wines. Her ears too were feasted with music from
invisible performers; of whom one sang, another played on the lute, and
all closed in the wonderful harmony of a full chorus.
She had not yet seen her destined husband. He came only in the hours of
darkness and fled before the dawn of morning, but his accents were full of
love, and inspired a like passion in her. She often begged him to stay and
let her behold him, but he would not consent. On the contrary he charged
her to make no attempt to see him, for it was his pleasure, for the best
of reasons, to keep concealed.
"Why should you wish to behold me?" he said. "Have you any doubt of my
love? Have you any wish ungratified? If you saw me, perhaps you would fear
me, perhaps adore me, but all I ask of you is to love me. I would rather
you would love me as an equal than adore me as a god."
This reasoning somewhat quieted Psyche for a time, and while the
novelty lasted she felt quite happy. But at length the thought of her
parents, left in ignorance of her fate, and of her sisters, precluded from
sharing with her the delights of her situation, preyed on her mind and
made her begin to feel her palace as but a splendid prison. When her
husband came one night, she told him her distress, and at last drew from
him an unwilling consent that her sisters should be brought to see
her.
So, calling Zephyr, she acquainted him with her husband's commands, and
he, promptly obedient, soon brought them across the mountain down to their
sister's valley. They embraced her and she returned their caresses.
"Come," said Psyche, "enter with me my house and refresh yourselves
with whatever your sister has to offer."
Then taking their hands she led them into her golden palace, and
committed them to the care of her numerous train of attendant voices, to
refresh them in her baths and at her table, and to show them all her
treasures. The view of these celestial delights caused envy to enter their
bosoms, at seeing their young sister possessed of such state and splendor,
so much exceeding their own.
They asked her numberless questions, among others what sort of a person
her husband was. Psyche replied that he was a beautiful youth, who
generally spent the daytime in hunting upon the mountains.
The sisters, not satisfied with this reply, soon made her confess that
she had never seen him. Then they proceeded to fill her bosom with dark
suspicions. "Call to mind," they said, "the Pythian oracle that declared
you destined to marry a direful and tremendous monster. The inhabitants of
this valley say that your husband is a terrible and monstrous serpent, who
nourishes you for a while with dainties that he may by and by devour you.
Take our advice. Provide yourself with a lamp and a sharp knife; put them
in concealment that your husband may not discover them, and when he is
sound asleep, slip out of bed, bring forth your lamp, and see for yourself
whether what they say is true or not. If it is, hesitate not to cut off
the monster's head, and thereby recover your liberty."
Psyche resisted these persuasions as well as she could, but they did
not fail to have their effect on her mind, and when her sisters were gone,
their words and her own curiosity were too strong for her to resist. So
she prepared her lamp and a sharp knife, and hid them out of sight of her
husband. When he had fallen into his first sleep, she silently rose and
uncovering her lamp beheld not a hideous monster, but the most beautiful
and charming of the gods, with his golden ringlets wandering over his
snowy neck and crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on his shoulders, whiter
than snow, and with shining feathers like the tender blossoms of spring.
As she leaned the lamp over to have a better view of his face, a drop
of burning oil fell on the shoulder of the god. Startled, he opened his
eyes and fixed them upon her. Then, without saying a word, he spread his
white wings and flew out of the window. Psyche, in vain endeavoring to
follow him, fell from the window to the ground.
Cupid, beholding her as she lay in the dust, stopped his flight for an
instant and said, "Oh foolish Psyche, is it thus you repay my love? After
I disobeyed my mother's commands and made you my wife, will you think me a
monster and cut off my head? But go; return to your sisters, whose advice
you seem to think preferable to mine. I inflict no other punishment on you
than to leave you for ever. Love cannot dwell with suspicion." So saying,
he fled away, leaving poor Psyche prostrate on the ground, filling the
place with mournful lamentations.
When she had recovered some degree of composure she looked around her,
but the palace and gardens had vanished, and she found herself in the open
field not far from the city where her sisters dwelt. She repaired thither
and told them the whole story of her misfortunes, at which, pretending to
grieve, those spiteful creatures inwardly rejoiced.
"For now," said they, "he will perhaps choose one of us." With this
idea, without saying a word of her intentions, each of them rose early the
next morning and ascended the mountain, and having reached the top, called
upon Zephyr to receive her and bear her to his lord; then leaping up, and
not being sustained by Zephyr, fell down the precipice and was dashed to
pieces.
Psyche meanwhile wandered day and night, without food or repose, in
search of her husband. Casting her eyes on a lofty mountain having on its
brow a magnificent temple, she sighed and said to herself, "Perhaps my
love, my lord, inhabits there," and directed her steps thither.
She had no sooner entered than she saw heaps of corn, some in loose
ears and some in sheaves, with mingled ears of barley. Scattered about,
lay sickles and rakes, and all the instruments of harvest, without order,
as if thrown carelessly out of the weary reapers' hands in the sultry
hours of the day.
This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating
and sorting everything to its proper place and kind, believing that she
ought to neglect none of the gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage
them all in her behalf. The holy Ceres, whose temple it was, finding her
so religiously employed, thus spoke to her, "Oh Psyche, truly worthy of
our pity, though I cannot shield you from the frowns of Venus, yet I can
teach you how best to allay her displeasure. Go, then, and voluntarily
surrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and
submission to win her forgiveness, and perhaps her favor will restore you
the husband you have lost."
Psyche obeyed the commands of Ceres and took her way to the temple of
Venus, endeavoring to fortify her mind and ruminating on what she should
say and how best propitiate the angry goddess, feeling that the issue was
doubtful and perhaps fatal.
Venus received her with angry countenance. "Most undutiful and
faithless of servants," said she, "do you at last remember that you really
have a mistress? Or have you rather come to see your sick husband, yet
laid up of the wound given him by his loving wife? You are so ill favored
and disagreeable that the only way you can merit your lover must be by
dint of industry and diligence. I will make trial of your housewifery."
Then she ordered Psyche to be led to the storehouse of her temple, where
was laid up a great quantity of wheat, barley, millet, vetches, beans, and
lentils prepared for food for her pigeons, and said, "Take and separate
all these grains, putting all of the same kind in a parcel by themselves,
and see that you get it done before evening." Then Venus departed and left
her to her task.
But Psyche, in a perfect consternation at the enormous work, sat stupid
and silent, without moving a finger to the inextricable heap.
While she sat despairing, Cupid stirred up the little ant, a native of
the fields, to take compassion on her. The leader of the anthill, followed
by whole hosts of his six-legged subjects, approached the heap, and with
the utmost diligence taking grain by grain, they separated the pile,
sorting each kind to its parcel; and when it was all done, they vanished
out of sight in a moment.
Venus at the approach of twilight returned from the banquet of the
gods, breathing odors and crowned with roses. Seeing the task done, she
exclaimed, "This is no work of yours, wicked one, but his, whom to your
own and his misfortune you have enticed." So saying, she threw her a piece
of black bread for her supper and went away.
Next morning Venus ordered Psyche to be called and said to her, "Behold
yonder grove which stretches along the margin of the water. There you will
find sheep feeding without a shepherd, with golden-shining fleeces on
their backs. Go, fetch me a sample of that precious wool gathered from
every one of their fleeces."
Psyche obediently went to the riverside, prepared to do her best to
execute the command. But the river god inspired the reeds with harmonious
murmurs, which seemed to say, "Oh maiden, severely tried, tempt not the
dangerous flood, nor venture among the formidable rams on the other side,
for as long as they are under the influence of the rising sun, they burn
with a cruel rage to destroy mortals with their sharp horns or rude teeth.
But when the noontide sun has driven the cattle to the shade, and the
serene spirit of the flood has lulled them to rest, you may then cross in
safety, and you will find the woolly gold sticking to the bushes and the
trunks of the trees."
Thus the compassionate river god gave Psyche instructions how to
accomplish her task, and by observing his directions she soon returned to
Venus with her arms full of the golden fleece; but she received not the
approbation of her implacable mistress, who said, "I know very well it is
by none of your own doings that you have succeeded in this task, and I am
not satisfied yet that you have any capacity to make yourself useful. But
I have another task for you. Here, take this box and go your way to the
infernal shades, and give this box to Proserpine and say, 'My mistress
Venus desires you to send her a little of your beauty, for in tending her
sick son she has lost some of her own.' Be not too long on your errand,
for I must paint myself with it to appear at the circle of the gods and
goddesses this evening."
Psyche was now satisfied that her destruction was at hand, being
obliged to go with her own feet directly down to Erebus. Wherefore, to
make no delay of what was not to be avoided, she goes to the top of a high
tower to precipitate herself headlong, thus to descend the shortest way to
the shades below. But a voice from the tower said to her, "Why, poor
unlucky girl, do you design to put an end to your days in so dreadful a
manner? And what cowardice makes you sink under this last danger who have
been so miraculously supported in all your former?" Then the voice told
her how by a certain cave she might reach the realms of Pluto, and how to
avoid all the dangers of the road, to pass by Cerberus, the three-headed
dog, and prevail on Charon, the ferryman, to take her across the black
river and bring her back again. But the voice added, "When Proserpine has
given you the box filled with her beauty, of all things this is chiefly to
be observed by you, that you never once open or look into the box nor
allow your curiosity to pry into the treasure of the beauty of the
goddesses."
Psyche, encouraged by this advice, obeyed it in all things, and taking
heed to her ways traveled safely to the kingdom of Pluto. She was admitted
to the palace of Proserpine, and without accepting the delicate seat or
delicious banquet that was offered her, but contented with coarse bread
for her food, she delivered her message from Venus. Presently the box was
returned to her, shut and filled with the precious commodity. Then she
returned the way she came, and glad was she to come out once more into the
light of day.
But having got so far successfully through her dangerous task a longing
desire seized her to examine the contents of the box. "What," said she,
"shall I, the carrier of this divine beauty, not take the least bit to put
on my cheeks to appear to more advantage in the eyes of my beloved
husband!" So she carefully opened the box, but found nothing there of any
beauty at all, but an infernal and truly Stygian sleep, which being thus
set free from its prison, took possession of her, and she fell down in the
midst of the road, a sleepy corpse without sense or motion.
But Cupid, being now recovered from his wound, and not able longer to
bear the absence of his beloved Psyche, slipping through the smallest
crack of the window of his chamber which happened to be left open, flew to
the spot where Psyche lay, and gathering up the sleep from her body closed
it again in the box, and waked Psyche with a light touch of one of his
arrows. "Again," said he, "have you almost perished by the same curiosity.
But now perform exactly the task imposed on you by my mother, and I will
take care of the rest."
Then Cupid, as swift as lightning penetrating the heights of heaven,
presented himself before Jupiter with his supplication. Jupiter lent a
favoring ear, and pleaded the cause of the lovers so earnestly with Venus
that he won her consent. On this he sent Mercury to bring Psyche up to the
heavenly assembly, and when she arrived, handing her a cup of ambrosia, he
said, "Drink this, Psyche, and be immortal; nor shall Cupid ever break
away from the knot in which he is tied, but these nuptials shall be
perpetual."
Thus Psyche became at last united to Cupid, and in due time they had a
daughter born to them whose name was Pleasure.
- Source: Thomas Bulfinch, The Age of Fable; or, Stories of Gods and
Heroes (1855). Bulfinch's source is The Golden Ass (books 4-6)
by the Roman writer Lucius Apuleius.
- Lucius Apuleius was born about 124 in northern Africa and was educated
in Carthage and Athens. The account of Cupid and Psyche is presented in
his novel The Golden Ass (also titled The Metamorphoses) as
an "old wive's tale" told by an old woman to comfort a young woman who
has been abducted by a band of robbers and is being held for ransome.
- In the main Bulfinch retells Apuleius' story with accuracy and
sensitivity, but he does omit a few important details, for example:
- Psyche is pregnant with Cupid's child throughout her search for her
lost husband, a fact emphasized by Apuleius.
- The cruel treatment meted out to Psyche by her mother-in-law Venus is
substantially understated in Bulfinch's account.
- Aarne-Thompson type
425A.
Recent Comments