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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
every thing 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:
"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, voluntarily surrender yourself
to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and submission
to win her forgiveness; 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 thinking
of what she should say and how she should 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 suffering from 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 doves,
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 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 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 river-side, 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 flock 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 come 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, 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 awoke
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 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.
Bulfinch's notes:
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,
groveling 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.
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.
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