"'And if thou sparest now to do this thing,
I will destroy thee and thy land also,
And of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
Howling for second death to end thy woe;
Live therefore as thou mayst and do my will,
And be a king that men may envy still.'"
[Footnote: From William Morris's Earthly Paradise.]
Imagine the grief of the loving father at these words! Had the oracle but threatened punishment to him, he would have endured any torture before subjecting his child to such a fate; but as a king, he dared not bring ruin on all his people, who trusted him. Psyche, herself, numb with horror, commanded quietly that preparations be made for the procession which should accompany her to the rock described by the oracle. Some days later, this procession set out, the priests in their white robes preceding Psyche, who, in mourning garments, with bowed head and clasped hands, walked between her father and mother. Her parents bewailed their fate and clung to her, but she said only, "It is the will of the gods, and therefore must be."
At last the mountain top was reached, the last heart-breaking farewells were said, and the procession wound back toward the city, leaving Psyche alone. All the horror of her fate burst upon her as she stood on the bleak rock, and she raised her hands to heaven and cried. Suddenly, however, it seemed to her that the breeze which blew past her murmured in her ear "Do not fear"; and certainly she felt herself being lifted gently and carried over mountain and valley and sea. At last, she was placed on a grassy bank, in a pleasant, flower-bright valley, and here she fell asleep, feeling quite safe after all her fears.
On awaking, she strolled about the lovely garden in which she found herself, wondering to see no one, though on all sides there were signs of work and care and thought. At the door of a palace, more gorgeous than any she had ever seen before, she paused, but soft voices called "Enter, beautiful maiden," and gentle hands, which she saw not, drew her within the door. While she gazed in wonder at the wrought golden pillars, the ivory and gold furnishings, the mosaic of precious stones which formed the floor, a voice said, close beside her:
"Sovereign lady, let not fear oppress thee:
All is thine on which thine eye doth rest.
We, whose voices greet thee, are thy servants—
Thou art mistress here, not passing guest.
In thy chamber, bed of down awaits thee;
Perfumed baths our skilled hands prepare."
As she had slept in the garden, Psyche felt no need of rest, but passed at once to the refreshment of the bath. Then, for she had eaten nothing since the oracle's decree, she seated herself at the table and ate of the delicious dishes which the invisible hands presented to her. Swiftly the remaining hours of daylight passed, while the amazed and enraptured Psyche wandered about the palace and listened to the exquisite music which invisible performers furnished for her.
With the coming of the darkness, the voice which had spoken to her at her entrance said, "Our master comes!" And shortly after, he began to speak to her himself. At the first tones of his gentle, loving voice, Psyche forgot her fears, forgot the oracle; and when her unseen lover said, "Canst thou love me somewhat in return for all the love I give thee?" she answered, "Willingly!"
"Thou mayest have all the joys which earth and heaven afford; one thing only I ask of thee in return. I shall come to thee with the darkness, and never shalt thou try to see my face."
Psyche promised, and she kept her promise faithfully for a long time, though her longing to see the husband who was so good to her was great. During the hours when he was with her, she was perfectly happy, but through the long days, when she had nothing but the voices that had greeted her on her arrival, and her own thoughts for company, she longed and longed to see her sisters, and to send to her parents news of her happiness. One night when her husband came, she begged of him that he would allow her sisters to visit her.
"Art thou not happy with me, Pysche?" he asked sorrowfully. "Do I not fill thy heart as thou fillest mine?"