The story of Eros & Psyche (retold from Apuleius)

by Edward Carpenter

III

In the meantime Eros, foreseeing danger, again and most emphatically warned Psyche, saying, “Those perfidious she-wolves, your sisters, are plotting against us with all their might, that they may prevail upon you to view my features, which, as I have told you before, as yet you must not see. For before long an infant will be born to us, and child though you be you are pregnant with another child—which, if you are faithful to me, will be of nature divine, but if not, will be mortal. Shun therefore those wicked women, whom, after the deadly hate they harbor against you, it were no longer right to call sisters; neither see nor listen to them, when like Sirens hanging over the crag they once more make the rocks resound with their ill-omened voices.”

Then Psyche, divided between the joy of future motherhood, and anxiety that she might see her sisters again, besought him with tears in her eyes to allow the latter once more to visit her. “By the hope,” she said, “that in my babe I may at least behold your features, whom I so devotedly love, grant me once more the pleasure of embracing my sisters whom I have deserted for your sake—nor doubt for a moment my fidelity which I have already shown, nor my power of keeping a secret that is so necessary for my own happiness.” Then her husband, enchanted by these tender words and her sweet embraces, granted that which she desired, and immediately forestalled the coming of the dawn by flight.

And now the sisters hastened, burning with evil passions, to the rock; and without waiting for the assistant breeze, leapt straightway with unbridled rashness from the height; an act which indeed would have been their last, had not Zephyr, obedient to his mistress’s desire, received them (tho’ reluctantly) in his bosom, and laid them gently on the ground. With rapid steps and without delay they entered the palace, and screening themselves deceitfully behind the name of sister, affected the greatest interest in her condition. “Why, Psyche,” they said, “you are not quite so slim as you used to be, surely before long you will be a mother! What a gift you have in store for us in that satchel of yours beneath your girdle, and with what great joy you will gladden our whole house! How we shall delight to nurse this golden babe, for if it only rivals its parents in beauty, ’twill be a perfect Cupid.”

Thus by false words they gradually stole her heart, while she, after making them rest and refresh themselves with the bath, presently regaled them with an exquisite banquet, to the sound of harps and flutes and all manner of aerial music. But the malice of these evil women was not to be softened by sweet sounds; and so, shaping their conversation with intent to lead her into a snare, they began insidiously as before to inquire what sort of person her husband was, and from what family descended. And she in her simplicity, having forgotten her former account, invented one somewhat different; and then, when they challenged this, in her confusion alas! confessed her ignorance!

But they, as prepared, immediately and in grave tones said: “Happy indeed are you, dear Psyche, and blissful in your ignorance. There you sit, unknowing of your own danger, but we who care for you so deeply are in despair at what threatens you. For we have discovered for a fact, nor can we longer conceal it from you, that your love, that secretly entwines you at night, is nothing but an evil serpent of base and venomous nature. Remember for a moment how the Pythian oracle said you were destined to wed a wild and fierce animal. Besides it is a fact that many of the countryfolk have seen a huge snake, with puffed head and gaping jaws swimming across the rivers in this direction of an evening, on the way back from his feeding-grounds; and indeed they firmly believe that he will devour you.”

Poor Psyche, though she hardly gave credit to what they said, yet could not but be dismayed; and the sisters following up their advantage argued with her, and brought all sorts of trumped-up stories and hearsay evidence to confirm their argument, and to prove that her lover, far from being divine, was nothing but an unclean monster; till she, overcome by all their talk, completely gave way, and allowed that it must be so. Then when they had persuaded her that it was her bounden duty, and her only safety, to rid the world of this thing by stabbing it secretly in the dark; and had extorted from her a faithful promise that she would do so; they left her, and being wafted in the usual way to the summit of the mountain, hastened homeward rejoicing, and full of glee at the success of their machinations.

But Psyche, left to herself, and in the solitude of that place, was overwhelmed by the most dreadful doubts. All that her sisters had said rose up with the most vivid semblance of truth before her, and seemed only to be confirmed by her unknown paramour’s strange conduct: his concealment of his own form, his dread of the light of day, and his terrible threats and forbiddal of all inquiry. All this came back upon her with painful force and distinctness, till at last she was worked up into a perfect fever of determination, and felt no doubt whatever as to what she had to do.

Selecting a knife, the sharpest she could find, she made its edge doubly keen by whetting it on a stone, and even passed it once or twice across the palm of her delicate hand; then after placing it in a nook of safety, she proceeded to prepare a lamp, trimming the wick and providing it with oil, in order that it might be ready for her need. But by the time these preparations were completed, and the evening had arrived, the fever of her anger having now passed away, Psyche fell into a state of utter wretchedness and misery. Her heart was still hardened against her supposed enemy, but it was like lead or a stone. Its weight within her was more than she could bear; and before the usual hour she retired to her couch and lay there motionless like one who could have wept her life away but the fountain of her tears was all congealed.

Long hours she lay. But at last, when it was quite dark, there came that well-known murmuring sound and sweet wafted air as of wings, and in a moment as usual the unknown One lay beside her.

Strenuously Psyche exerted herself to receive him as usual, and appear in nowise different in manner; but it was a thing of the utmost difficulty to throw off the weight and horror that was on her, and indeed so exhausted was her mind with all its suffering, and so poisoned by what she had heard, that even the ambrosial feathers of Eros’ wings seemed to her like horrid scales, and touching them she was confirmed in her dread resolution. So that when at length Eros lay at rest, and by the sound of his breathing she knew he had fallen into deep slumber, rising from the bed and stealing tip-toe across the room, she took the lamp (ready lighted as it was) from its place of concealment; and holding it up in her left hand and grasping the knife firmly, like a dagger, in her right, nerved herself with a great effort—her eyes to encounter, and her hand at the same time to slay, the monster of whom they had told her.

But the instant the light fell that way, and the mysteries of the couch were revealed, she beheld the very gentlest and sweetest of all wild creatures, even Eros himself, the beautiful God of Love, there fast asleep; at sight of whom the glad flame of the lamp shone doubly bright, and even the wicked knife repented of its edge.

But as for Psyche, astounded at such a vision, she lost control of her senses; and faint, and deadly pale, and trembling all over, fell on her knees, and indeed would have hid the knife in her own bosom, had it not nimbly (as it were of its own accord) slipped from her hand. And now, faint and unnerved as she was, it was new life to her to gaze on those divine features: those ambrosial abundant locks of golden hue, and ruddy cheeks, and lips just fringed with down; and to see his dewy wings of dazzling whiteness, and fair smooth body such as Venus might well have given birth to. While at the foot of the bed lay his bow and quiver and arrows, the well-known emblems of the God.

And so it happened that while Psyche with ever new wonder and curiosity was examining these last, she touched the point of one of the arrows with her thumb to try its sharpness, and by chance, as her hand still trembled, punctured the skin—from which some tiny drops of roseate blood oozed forth. And so, without knowing it, by Love’s own force she fell in love with Love. Then burning more and more with desire, she gazed passionately on Eros and kissed him again and again.

But even while she did so, the lamp—perchance by treachery moved, perchance by envy—suddenly spirted forth a drop of scalding oil, which fell upon his right shoulder. [O rash audacious lamp, ungrateful minister of love, thus to burn the very god of fire! You, whom some lover, doubtless, first invented—even that he might prolong through the night the bliss of beholding his heart’s desire!] The god, thus scorched, sprang from the bed, and seeing in an instant what had happened, spread wings without a word, even before the eyes and outstretched arms of his most wretched spouse. But she, in the instant he rose, seized hold and hung to him, a wretched appendage to his flight through the regions of the air, till at last her strength gave out, and she fell exhausted to earth.

Then her immortal lover, alighting on a neighboring cypress-tree, addressed her as follows: “O simple, simple Psyche, was it not for you that I disobeyed my mother Aphrodite? for when she bade me infect you with mad passion for some base and worthless man, I chose rather to fly to you myself as a lover. And now I, that all-dreaded Archer, am like a fool wounded by my own arrow, and have made you my wife in order, forsooth, that you might doubt me for an evil beast, and be ready to cut off my head, which you ought to have loved better than anything in the whole world. As for those choice counsellors of yours, they shall speedily feel my vengeance, but you I rebuke only by flight.” And so saying he soared aloft, and mounted into the air.