A Book of Myths
blackness of night and speaks to thee words of love."
White-lipped and trembling, Psyche listened. Drop by drop the
poisonous words passed into her soul. She had thought him king of all
living things--worthy to rule over gods as well as men. She was so
sure that his body was worthy sheath for the heart she knew so
well.... She had pictured him beautiful as Eros, son of
Aphrodite--young and fair, with crisp, golden locks--a husband to
glory in--a lover to adore. And now she knew, with shame and dread,
that he who had won her love between the twilight and the dawn was a
thing to shame her, a monster to be shunned of men.
"What, then, shall I do?" piteously she asked of her sisters. And the
women, pitilessly, and well content, answered:
"Provide thyself with a lamp and a knife sharp enough to slay the man
or monster. And when this creature to whom, to thy undying shame, thou
belongest, sleeps sound, slip from thy couch and in the rays of the
lamp have courage to look upon him in all his horror. Then, when thou
hast seen for thyself that what we say is truth, with thy knife
swiftly slay him. Thus shalt thou free thyself from the pitiless doom
meted out by the gods."
Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:
"I love him so!... I love him so!"
And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn and well-simulated
wrath.
"Shameless one!" they cried; "and does our father's daughter confess
to a thing so unutterable! Only by slaying the monster canst thou hope
to regain thy place amongst the daughters of men."
They left her when evening fell, carrying with them their royal gifts.
And while she awaited the coming of her lord, Psyche, provided with
knife and lamp, crouched with her head in her hands, a lily broken by
a cruel storm. So glad was Eros to come back to her, to find her
safely there--for greatly had he feared the coming of that treacherous
pair--that he did not note her silence. Nor did the dark night show
him that her eyes in her sad face looked like violets in a snow
wreath. He wanted only to hold her safely in his arms, and there she
lay, passive and still, until sleep came to lay upon him an omnipotent
hand. Then, very gently, she withdrew herself from his embrace, and
stole to the place where her lamp was hidden. Her limbs shook under
her as she brought it to the couch where he lay asleep; her arm
trembled as she held it aloft.
As a martyr walks to death, so did she walk. And when the yellow light
fell upon the form of him who lay there, still she gazed steadily.
And, lo, before her she saw the form of him who had ever been the
ideal of her dreams. Love himself, incarnate Love, perfect in beauty
and in all else was he whom her sisters had told her was a
monster--he, of whom the oracle had said that neither gods nor men
could resist him. For a moment of perfect happiness she gazed upon his
beauty. Then he turned in his sleep, and smiled, and stretched out
his arms to find the one of his love. And Psyche started, and,
starting, shook the lamp; and from it fell a drop of burning oil on
the white shoulder of Eros. At once he awoke, and with piteous,
pitying eyes looked in those of Psyche. And when he spoke, his words
were like daggers that pierced deep into her soul. He told her all
that had been, all that might have been. Had she only had faith and
patience to wait, an immortal life should have been hers.
"Farewell! though I, a god, can never know
How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go
Over thine head, and thou mayst mingle yet
The bitter and the sweet, nor quite forget,
Nor quite remember, till these things shall seem
The wavering memory of a lovely dream."
William Morris.
He left her alone then, with her despair, and as the slow hours
dragged by, Psyche, as she awaited the dawn, felt that in her heart no
sun could ever rise again. When day came at last, she felt she could
no longer endure to stay in the palace where everything spoke to her
of the infinite tenderness of a lost love. Through the night a storm
had raged, and even with the day there came no calm. And Psyche, weary
and chill, wandered away from the place of her happiness, onward and
ever on, until she stood on the bank of a swift-flowing river. For a
little she stayed her steps and listened to the sound of its wash
against the rocks and tree roots as it hurried past, and to her as she
waited came the thought that here had she found a means by which to
end her woe.
"I have lost my Love," she moaned. "What is Life to me any longer!
Come to me then, O Death!"
So then she sprang into the wan water, hoping that very swiftly it
might bear her grief-worn soul down to the shades. But the river bore
her up and carried her to its shallows in a fair meadow where Pan
himself sat on the bank and merrily dabbled his feet in the flowing
water. And when Psyche, shamed and wet, looked at him with sad eyes,
the god spoke to her gently and chid her for her folly. She was too
young and much too fair to try to end her life so rudely, he said. The
river gods would never be so unkind as to drive so beautiful a maiden
in rough haste down to the Cocytus valley.
"Thou must dree thy weird like all other daughters of men, fair
Psyche," he said. "He or she who fain would lose their lives, are ever
held longest in life. Only when the gods will it shall thy days on
earth be done."
And Psyche, knowing that in truth the gods had spared her to endure
more sorrow, looked in his face with a very piteous gaze, and wandered
on. As she wandered, she found that her feet had led her near the
place where her two sisters dwelt.
"I shall tell them of the evil they have wrought," she thought.
"Surely they must sorrow when they know that by their cruel words they
stole my faith from me and robbed me of my Love and of my happiness."
Gladly the two women saw the stricken form of Psyche and looked at her
face, all marred by grief. Well, indeed, had their plot succeeded;
their malice had drunk deep, yet deeper still they drank, for with
scornful laughter they drove her from their palace doors. Very
quickly, when she had gone, the elder sought the place where she had
stood when Zephyrus bore her in safety to that palace of pleasure
where Psyche dwelt with her Love. Now that Psyche was no longer there,
surely the god by whom she had been beloved would gladly have as her
successor the beautiful woman who was now much more fair than the
white-faced girl with eyes all red with weeping. And such certainty
did the vengeful gods put in her heart that she held out her arms, and
calling aloud:
"Bear me to him in thine arms, Zephyrus! Behold I come, my lord!" she
sprang from the high cliff on which she stood, into space. And the
ravens that night feasted on her shattered body. So also did it befall
the younger sister, deluded by the Olympians to her own destruction,
so that her sin might be avenged.
For many a weary day and night Psyche wandered, ever seeking to find
her Love, ever longing to do something by which to atone for the deed
that had been her undoing. From temple to temple she went, but nowhere
did she come near him, until at length in Cyprus she came to the place
where Aphrodite herself had her dwelling. And inasmuch as her love had
made her very bold, and because she no longer feared death, nor could
think of pangs more cruel than those that she already knew, Psyche
sought the presence of the goddess who was her enemy, and humbly
begged her to take her life away.
With flaming scorn and anger Aphrodite received her.
"O thou fool," she said, "I will not let thee die!
But thou shalt reap the harvest thou hast sown,
And many a day that wretched lot bemoan;
Thou art my slave, and not a day shall be
But I will find some fitting task for thee."
There began then for Psyche a time of torturing misery of which only
those could speak who have knowledge of the merciless stripes with
which the goddess can scourge the hearts of her slaves. With cruel
ingenuity, Aphrodite invented labours for her.
In uncountable quantity, and mingled in inextricable and bewildering
confusion, there lay in the granary of the goddess grains of barley
and of wheat, peas and millet, poppy and coriander seed. To sort out
each kind and lay them in heaps was the task allotted for one day, and
woe be to her did she fail. In despair, Psyche began her hopeless
labour. While the sun shone, through a day that was for her too short,
she strove to separate the grains, but when the shadows of evening
made it hard for her to distinguish one sort from another, only a few
very tiny piles were the result of her weary toil. Very soon the
goddess would return, and Psyche dared not think what would be the
punishment meted out to her. Rapidly the darkness fell, but while the
dying light still lingered in some parts of the granary, it seemed to
Psyche as though little dark trickles of water began to pour from
underneath the doors and through the cracks in the wall. Trembling she
watched the ceaseless motion of those long, dark lines, and then, in
amazement, realised that what she saw were unending processions of
ants. And as though one who loved her directed their labours, the
millions of busy little toilers swiftly did for Psyche what she
herself had failed to do. When at length they went away, in those long
dark lines that looked like the flow of a thread-like stream, the
grains were all piled up in high heaps, and the sad heart of Psyche
knew not only thankful relief, but had a thrill of gladness.
"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
dead."
And what she thought was true.
Amazed and angry, Aphrodite looked at the task she had deemed
impossible, well and swiftly performed. That Psyche should possess
such magic skill only incensed her more, and next day she said to her
new slave:
"Behold, on the other side of that glittering stream, my
golden-fleeced sheep crop the sweet flowers of the meadow. To-day must
thou cross the river and bring me back by evening a sample of wool
pulled from each one of their shining fleeces."
Then did Psyche go down to the brink of the river, and even as her
white feet splashed into the water, she heard a whisper of warning
from the reeds that bowed their heads by the stream.
"Beware! O Psyche," they said. "Stay on the shore and rest until the
golden-fleeced sheep lie under the shade of the trees in the evening
and the murmur of the river has lulled them to sleep."
But Psyche said, "Alas, I must do the bidding of the goddess. It will
take me many a weary hour to pluck the wool that she requires."
And again the reeds murmured, "Beware! for the golden-fleeced sheep,
with their great horns, are evil creatures that lust for the lives of
mortals, and will slay thee even as thy feet reach the other bank.
Only when the sun goes down does their vice depart from them, and
while they sleep thou canst gather of their wool from the bushes and
from the trunks of the trees."
And again the heart of Psyche felt a thrill of happiness, because she
knew that she was loved and cared for still. All day she rested in the
wood by the river and dreamt pleasant day-dreams, and when the sun had
set she waded to the further shore and gathered the golden wool in the
way that the reeds had told her. When in the evening she came to the
goddess, bearing her shining load, the brow of Aphrodite grew dark.
"If thou art so skilled in magic that no danger is danger to thee, yet
another task shall I give thee that is worthy of thy skill," she said,
and laid upon Psyche her fresh commands.
Sick with dread, Psyche set out next morning to seek the black stream
out of which Aphrodite had commanded her to fill a ewer. Part of its