A Book of Myths
careless ease of the heart of a boy, and he knew that he loved Psyche
with the unquenchable love of a deathless god. Now, with bitter
regret, all his desire was to undo the wrong he had done to the one
that he loved. Speedily he sprinkled her with the sweet water that
brings joy, and when Psyche rose from her couch she was radiant with
the beauty that comes from a new, undreamed-of happiness.
"From place to place Love followed her that day
And ever fairer to his eyes she grew,
So that at last when from her bower he flew,
And underneath his feet the moonlit sea
Went shepherding his waves disorderly,
He swore that of all gods and men, no one
Should hold her in his arms but he alone;
That she should dwell with him in glorious wise
Like to a goddess in some paradise;
Yea, he would get from Father Jove this grace
That she should never die, but her sweet face
And wonderful fair body should endure
Till the foundations of the mountains sure
Were molten in the sea; so utterly
Did he forget his mother's cruelty."
William Morris.
Meantime it came to be known all over that land, and in other lands to
which the fame of the fair Psyche had spread, that the mighty goddess
Aphrodite had declared herself the enemy of the princess. Therefore
none dared seek her in marriage, and although many a noble youth
sighed away his heart for love of her, she remained in her father's
palace like an exquisite rose whose thorns make those who fain would
have it for their own, fear to pluck it from the parent stem. Her
sisters married, and her father marvelled why so strange a thing
should come about and why the most beautiful by far of his three
daughters should remain unwed.
At length, laden with royal gifts, an embassy was sent by the king to
the oracle of Apollo to inquire what might be the will of the dwellers
on Olympus concerning his fairest daughter. In a horror of anxiety the
king and his queen and Psyche awaited the return of the ambassadors.
And when they returned, before ever a word was spoken, they knew that
the oracle had spoken Psyche's doom.
"No mortal lover shall fair Psyche know," said the oracle. "For
bridegroom she shall have a monster that neither man nor god can
resist. On the mountain top he awaits her coming. Woe unutterable
shall come to the king and to all the dwellers in his land if he dares
to resist the unalterable dictum of the deathless gods!"
"... Of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
Howling for second death to end thy woe."
William Morris.
Only for a little while did the wretched king strive to resist the
decrees of fate. And in her own chamber, where so short a time before the
little princess had known the joy of something inexpressible--something
most exquisite--intangible--unknown--she sat, like a flower broken by the
ruthless storm, sobbing pitifully, dry-eyed, with sobs that strained her
soul, for the shameful, hideous fate that the gods had dealt her.
All night, until her worn-out body could no longer feel, her worn-out
mind think, and kind sleep came to bring her oblivion, Psyche faced
the horror for the sake of her father and of his people, that she knew
she could not avoid. When morning came, her handmaids, white-faced and
red-eyed, came to deck her in all the bridal magnificence that
befitted the most beautiful daughter of a king, and when she was
dressed right royally, and as became a bride, there started up the
mountain a procession at sight of which the gods themselves must have
wept. With bowed heads the king and queen walked before the litter
upon which lay their daughter in her marriage veil of saffron colour,
with rose wreath on her golden hair. White, white were the faces of
the maidens who bore the torches, and yet rose red were they by the
side of Psyche. Minstrels played wedding hymns as they marched
onwards, and it seemed as though the souls of unhappy shades sobbed
through the reeds and moaned through the strings as they played.
At length they reached the rocky place where they knew they must leave
the victim bride, and her father dared not meet her eyes as he turned
his head to go. Yet Psyche watched the procession wending its way
downhill. No more tears had she to shed, and it seemed to her that
what she saw was not a wedding throng, but an assembly of
broken-hearted people who went back to their homes with heavy feet
after burying one that they loved. She saw no sign of the monster who
was to be her bridegroom, yet at every little sound her heart grew
sick with horror, and when the night wind swept through the craggy
peaks and its moans were echoed in loneliness, she fell on her face in
deadly fear and lay on the cold rock in a swoon.
Yet, had Psyche known it, the wind was her friend. For Eros had used
Zephyrus as his trusty messenger and sent him to the mountain top to
find the bride of him "whom neither man nor god could resist."
Tenderly--very tenderly--he was told, must he lift her in his arms,
and bear her to the golden palace in that green and pleasant land
where Eros had his home. So, with all the gentleness of a loving nurse
to a tired little child Zephyrus lifted Psyche, and sped with her in
his strong arms to the flowery meadows behind which towered the golden
palace of Eros, like the sun behind a sky of green and amber and blue
and rose. Deeply, in the weariness of her grief, Psyche slept, and
when she awoke it was to start up with the chill hands of the
realisation of terrible actualities on her heart. But when her eyes
looked round to find the barren rocks, the utter forsakenness, the
coming of an unnameable horror, before her she saw only fair groves
with trees bedecked with fruit and blossom, fragrant meadows, flowers
whose beauty made her eyes grow glad. And from the trees sang birds
with song more sweet than any that Psyche had ever known, and with
brilliant plumage which they preened caressingly when they had dipped
their wings in crystal-sparkling fountains. There, too, stood a noble
palace, golden fronted, and with arcades of stainless marble that
shone like snow in the sun. At first all seemed like part of a dream
from which she dreaded to awake, but soon there came to her the joy of
knowing that all the exquisite things that made appeal to her senses
were indeed realities. Almost holding her breath, she walked forward
to the open golden doors. "It is a trap," she thought. "By this means
does the monster subtly mean to lure me into his golden cage." Yet,
even as she thought, there seemed to be hovering round her winged
words, like little golden birds with souls. And in her ears they
whispered, "Fear not. Doubt not. Recall the half-formed dreams that so
short a time ago brought to thy heart such unutterable joy. No evil
shall come to thee--only the bliss of loving and of being loved."
Thus did Psyche lose her fear, and enter the golden doors. And
inside the palace she found that all the beautiful things of which she
had ever dreamed, all the perfect things for which she had ever
longed, were there to greet her. From one to another she flitted, like
a humming-bird that sucks honey from one and then from another
gorgeous flower. And then, when she was tired with so much wearing out
of her thankful mind, she found a banquet ready spread for her, with
all the dainties that her dainty soul liked best; and, as she ate,
music so perfect rejoiced her ears that all her soul was soothed and
joyous and at peace. When she had refreshed herself, a soft couch
stood before her, ready for her there to repose, and when that strange
day had come to an end, Psyche knew that, monster or not, she was
beloved by one who had thought for her every thought, and who desired
only her desire.
Night came at last, and when all was dark and still, and Psyche, wide
awake, was full of forebodings and fears lest her happy dreams might
only be misleading fancies, and Horror incarnate might come to crown
her peaceful day, Eros softly entered the palace that was his own.
Even as he had gone to the palace of her father he went now, and found
Psyche lying with violet eyes that stared into the velvety darkness,
seeking something that she hoped for, trembling before something that
brought her dread.
His voice was as the voice of spring when it breathes on the sleeping
earth; he knew each note in Love's music, every word in the great
thing that is Love's vocabulary. Love loved, and Psyche listened, and
soon she knew that her lover was Love himself.
Thus, for Psyche, did a time of perfect happiness begin. All through
the day she roamed in her Love's dominion, and saw on every side the
signs of his passion and of his tenderness. All through the night he
stayed by her, and satisfied all the longing of her heart. Yet always,
ere daybreak, Eros left her, and when she begged him to stay he only
made answer:
"I am with thee only while I keep
My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see
My face, I must forsake thee; the high gods
Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself
From the full gaze of knowledge."
Lewis Morris.
So did time glide past for Psyche, and ever she grew more in love with
Love; always did her happiness become more complete. Yet, ever and
again, there returned to her the remembrance of those sorrowful days
when her father and mother had broken their hearts over her martyrdom,
and her sisters had looked askance at her as at one whose punishment
must assuredly have come from her own misdoing. Thus at length she
asked Eros to grant her, for love's sake, a boon--to permit her to
have her sisters come to see for themselves the happiness that was
hers. Most unwillingly was her request granted, for the heart of Eros
told him that from their visit no good could come. Yet he was unable
to deny anything to Psyche, and on the following day Zephyrus was sent
to bring the two sisters to the pleasant valley where Psyche had her
home. Eagerly, as she awaited them, Psyche thought she might make the
princely palace wherein she dwelt yet fairer than it was. And almost
ere she could think, her thoughts became realities. When the two
sisters came, they were bewildered with the beauty and the
magnificence of it all. Beside this, their own possessions were paltry
trifles indeed. Quickly, in their little hearts, black envy grew. They
had always been jealous of their younger sister, and now that they
found her, whom all the world believed to have been slain by a
horrible monster, more beautiful than ever, decked with rare jewels,
radiant in her happiness, and queen of a palace fit for the gods,
their envy soon turned to hatred, and they sought how best to wreak
their malice upon the joyous creature who loaded them with priceless
gifts. They began to ply Psyche with questions. He who was her lord,
to whom she owed all her happiness, where was he? Why did he stay away
when her sisters came to be presented to him? What manner of man was
he? Was he fair or dark? Young or old? And as they questioned her,
Psyche grew like a bewildered child and answered in frightened words
that contradicted one another. And well the wicked sisters, who
brooded evil in their hearts, knew that this husband whom Psyche had
never seen must indeed be one of the deathless gods. Wily words they
spoke to her then.
"Alas! unhappy one," they said, "dost think to escape the evil fate
the gods meted out for thee? Thy husband is none other than the
monster of which the oracle spake! Oh, foolish Psyche! canst not
understand that the monster fears the light? Too great horror would
it mean for thee to see the loathsome thing that comes in the