The story of Eros & Psyche (retold from Apuleius)

by Edward Carpenter

IV

But Psyche lay powerless on the ground, gazing and gazing on the flight of her lord and lover, till at last the measured pulse of his wings through the immeasurable sky bore him completely out of sight. Then she rose, and without more ado threw herself headlong from the bank on which she lay into the river below. But the gentle stream, honoring and fearing the god, whose sway extended even beneath its waters, bore her safe on the surface of a wave to the bank, and laid her again on the flowery turf. Then Psyche, since the waters would not harm her, took courage, and set forth wandering through the lands in lifelong search for Eros.

But the latter flying straight to his mother’s chamber, lay there a-groaning and in pain from the wound which Psyche had caused him. And a snow-white sea-gull, acting as messenger, flew off, and skimming along the waves of the sea dived down at last into its bosom. There, approaching Aphrodite as she bathed and swam, it told her that her son was kept in bed by a bad and painful burn, and that his cure was doubtful; that all sorts of scandalous stories were flying about concerning the whole family of Venus; and that every one was saying that mother and son had gone off, the one to a mountain to carry on an intrigue with a girl, the other to the sea for some unknown purpose; and that in consequence Pleasure, Grace and Beauty were nowhere to be found, and general disorder and slovenliness had taken possession of the world. Thus did this very meddling bird chatter in Aphrodite’s ear, to make mischief between her and her son.

The goddess, enraged, insisted on knowing who the girl was of whom this was said. And when the talkative bird, only too ready to reply, mentioned the name of Psyche, Aphrodite’s indignation (for she remembered the rival of her fame) knew no bounds. Emerging instantly from the sea she hastened to her golden chamber, and finding it true that her son was lying there wounded, she bawled out at the top of her voice even before entering the door: “You’re a nice young spark, you are! first to trample under foot my command that you should torment this girl, my enemy; and then actually to make love to her and to take her to your embraces; all that you may vex me, and add insult to injury! But from your childhood you have been a bad lot! Many a time have you struck your elders, and even me, your mother. Every day you turn me into ridicule, and pay me no more attention than if I were a widow. You do not even fear your stepfather, Ares, that brave and doughty warrior; for you are always setting him to pursue the wenches, to my torment. But I’ll make you repent this time, and sour and bitter shall you find this match. For I’ll set my old foes, Propriety and Temperance, to clip your wings—ay, and to blunt your arrows and unstring your bow, and extinguish your burning torch; and Psyche I will torment with endless tasks and trials.”

Having thus vented her wrath, she bounced out of doors again; but on the very threshold came upon the goddesses, Demeter and Hera, who seeing her angry face asked what was the matter. And when she told them her story, they, glad of an opportunity to jeer at her a little, replied: “What great offence after all, good Madam, has your son been guilty of—that you should be so wrathful against him and the young lady? Is it a crime if he should be somewhat free with a pretty girl? Have you forgotten his sex, or his youth—or because he carries his years so jauntily, do you fancy him ever a boy? We have always heard that you were mistress of the amorous arts and crafts, and you now take your handsome son to task for following your charming example? But what god or man will bear with you if, while you are everywhere scattering voluptuous desires over the world, you insist at the same time on checking the gallantries of your own house, and shutting up that famous Pandora’s box of female frailties?”

At these words Aphrodite, incensed beyond endurance, turned her back on the other two, and took herself off with hasty step and heaving bosom to her home in the depth of the ocean.

But Psyche’s eldest sister meanwhile, hearing a vague report of what had happened—and of Psyche’s exile from her enchanted palace—and being seized with envious desire and maddening lust to obtain all these riches and the embraces of a god, conceived the idea of supplanting Psyche; and secretly leaving her husband, hurried to the top of the rock, and in greedy and ungoverned haste threw herself down, expecting Zephyr as usual to receive her. A few days after, the second sister, in the same manner and moved by the same desire, did the very same thing. And thus these two, dashed to death at the foot of the rocks, met with the fitting reward of their treachery.

Aphrodite, however, did not remain long in her Ocean-bowers; but having resolved on a plan of action ordered her chariot to be got ready—her beautiful chariot of burnished gold, which Hephæstus had made and presented her on her marriage, and which was the more precious through the very loss of its material by the file. Four white doves, with joyous fluttering, harnessed themselves thereto; and Aphrodite seating herself in it immediately flew through the air and the clouds, and traversing the lofty æther of heaven itself went straight to the royal throne of Zeus. Where—in haughty tones and not explaining the whole truth—she said: “Thou knowest, O Ageless one, that of all the gods and goddesses I chiefly rule over Nature and the world of mortals below. Now then, one of my servants there, a female slave I may say, has absconded and withdrawn herself from my dominion. Grant me then the services of Hermes, the crier-god, in order that I may find her.” To this the azure brow of Zeus did not refuse consent; and Aphrodite exultant, as she descended from heaven with Hermes, conveyed to him her instructions. She gave him a little book in which were written Psyche’s name and all the particulars of her life, and Aphrodite’s claims upon her; and charged him that he should cry her description (as a fugitive) among all the nations! Which Hermes duly did; adding, by way of reward for her recovery, that whoever should bring her back or make known her place of concealment should receive for compensation seven sweet kisses from Aphrodite herself and one touch of her ambrosial tongue.

But no sooner was this proclamation made, than the desire of mankind to obtain such a reward excited their endeavors and activity to the highest degree. And poor Psyche, as she wandered from place to place over the lands, soon saw that her doom was sealed, and that she could not hope to escape the hands of her avenger.

First in her wanderings it chanced that she came to the temples of Demeter and of Hera—and there, with the view of propitiating the goddesses, she performed all the rites of Religion and the service of their altars. But even these deities, though they had scoffed at Aphrodite, did not venture to interfere with her dominion, or to afford Psyche a permanent refuge and hiding-place within their precincts—so they gave her in return for her pious service the somewhat empty consolation of their blessings and good wishes, and bade her move on to some other locality. Then Psyche, in despair since she could find no protection in the temples, concluded that it was better for her to surrender to Aphrodite at once—and that perchance by doing so, and thus penetrating into the household of the haughty goddess, she might find that beloved Eros whom she sought.

With this forlorn hope she wandered on; but had not gone far when, as it happened, she was met by one of Aphrodite’s own retinue, a powerful old virago whose name was Habit; who immediately bawling at Psyche for a good-for-nothing wench, seized upon her, and twisting her hands in her hair dragged her along into Aphrodite’s presence. But the latter, breaking into a loud and bitter laugh, such as people laugh who are madly angry, “Have you condescended at length,” said she, “to pay your respects to your mother-in-law? or have you perhaps come to see your sick husband, who suffers yet from the wound you gave him? But never mind. I, at any rate, will give you such a welcome as a good mother-in-law should.” So saying she called for those servants of hers, Care and Grief, and delivered Psyche over to them, that they might torment her to their hearts’ content. And when in obedience to their mistress’s commands they had scourged and plagued her beyond measure, they brought her back again into Aphrodite’s presence.

But the latter, noticing Psyche’s figure and condition, set up another laugh, saying: “How interesting she looks! and how thoughtful of her—to make me a happy grandmother! I who am just now in the flower of my age! And now, I suppose, the son of a vile handmaid will be called my grandson!” Then, working herself up into a perfect fury, and turning to Psyche, she continued: “But this shall never be, for such a child born out of due wedlock will be nothing but a bastard, even if I suffer you to bring it to life at all.”

So saying she flew upon her, tore her clothes in ever so many places, pulled out her hair, shook her by the head, and shamefully misused her. Then, taking grains and seeds of wheat, barley, millet, poppy, vetches, lentils and beans, and mixing them all together in one heap, she said: “Ugly slave as you now are, I think if you want lovers your best way will be to learn the virtue of Drudgery. Let me therefore teach you industrious habits. Take this confused mass of seeds, and sort and separate them, if you please, each grain into its place—and finish the task before evening.” And so leaving her before the heap, she forthwith went off to a wedding supper to which she had been invited.

But Psyche, stupefied by the very thought of what was before her, sat silent without moving a finger to her task. Till at last a tiny ant, peeping out of the earth, perceived her sad case, and busily running about called together the whole tribe of ants, saying, “Take pity, ye nimble children of the earth, of the wife of Eros (whom ye all adore)—a pretty damsel, who is now in desperate plight—and come and sort these seeds for her.” Immediately the six-footed folk came rushing in regular waves one after another, and with infinite industry separated the whole heap, grain by grain; and then when they had made so many different piles, they at once disappeared.

At nightfall, when Aphrodite returned from the banquet, exhilarated with wine, and fragrant with balsams and the rose-blooms that encircled her waist, seeing what had been done, she said: “This is not your handiwork, wicked creature, but his whose head you have turned, to your own sorrow as well as his.” And so tossing her a bit of black bread, she went to bed.