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A certain king had three daughters. The two elder were charming
girls, but the beauty of the youngest was so wonderful that language
is too poor 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 perversion to a mortal of the homage due only to the
immortal powers 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 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
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 nearby 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 hard
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 will await 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 nectarous 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 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 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, "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 forever. 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.
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