The story of Eros & Psyche (retold from Apuleius)

by Edward Carpenter

II

Now when Psyche came to herself, after her aerial flight, she found herself in some kind of Enchanted Garden. Lovely groves and thickets, streams and fountains, were on all sides; and in the midst stood a palace of fairy beauty, all carven in cedar-wood and ivory and gold. Soft strains of music, she knew not whence, drew her feet onward, and voices, from forms she could not see, hovered round; till at length she stepped across the threshold; when the beauty and richness of the interior still more amazed her. But what amazed her most was that this Treasure-house of the Universe (as it seemed) was protected by no chain, no bar, no lock, but was open apparently to all the world.

And while she wondered, an unseen voice addressed her. “Why, lady,” it said, “are you astonished at such riches? All are yours. Repair therefore to your chamber, or to the bath, and refresh your wearied limbs; for we, whose voices you hear, are your handmaidens and will attend to all your commands, and when we have dressed you, will serve some refreshment without delay.” Psyche therefore obeyed the pleasant instructions, and when she had rested and bathed, sat down to a dainty banquet at which the dishes moved of their own accord, while the air vibrated with music and to the voices of an invisible choir.

But when these pleasures had come to an end, and slumber began to press upon her lids, Psyche retired to her chamber, and lying down upon the couch was soon wrapt in profound repose. From which however ere the hour of midnight, she was awakened. For there came a gentle murmuring voice which at first alarmed, but presently by its sweetness overcame her fears; and her unknown bridegroom, Eros (for he it was who was lord of that place), ascended the bed and stretched himself beside her. But Psyche lay trembling and hesitant as she felt in the darkness his close embrace, and caught the fragrance of his breath, and the passionate kisses of his lips—and full of agitation as she wondered what his form and feature might be; till at length he consummated his love and made her his wife, and she forgot all question in her gladness. But, as soon as the first faint streak of Dawn ran along the distant hills, and before it was yet light, Eros arose and left her. And Psyche, sad at his departure yet joyous in the prospect of his return, spent the day in that beautiful domain, and yet longed for the night which should hide it from her eyes. And so passed many days and nights; and each night Eros came, and ascended the couch, and remained entwining her with his love through the hours of darkness; but at the first streak of dawn he fled—and Psyche saw not his face. And when she was grieved at this, and implored him more than once to reveal himself and show her his true form, he would only reply: “I entreat you, my darling Psyche, not to seek to behold me at present, or to ask me who and what I am—lest a great evil come upon us.” Then he would kiss her very tenderly, and for the time being she would be content. Nevertheless, after a time, feeling her loneliness in that place, she would again fall into grieving.

Meanwhile her Sisters, hearing how she had been exposed to a dread fate on the summit of the mountain, came thither, if by any chance they might obtain tidings of her, and remained for some days, calling upon her name with cries and lamentations. But her Unknown Lover warned Psyche that she should not listen to them, nor even turn her eyes in their direction, lest by doing so she should bring the calamity that he feared. And Psyche would fain have obeyed him; but when she thought of her own strange fate she was filled with pity for herself, and instead of listening to him broke into tears, saying: “A hard lot truly is mine, to be cut off from all human conversation in this splendid Prison, where I may not behold thy face, nor even reply to the cries of my sorrowing sisters; it were well indeed if I had never come here,” and she refused to be comforted. So Eros was moved in his heart, and agreed that her sisters should visit her, and even gave command to Zephyr to waft them at Psyche’s order—but on one condition, that she should not by any means be persuaded to ask who or what he was, lest indeed her curiosity should be her ruin. And she, with many caresses and endearing embraces, promised most faithfully that it should be so.

Then the next day, when her lover had departed, to the rock she hastened, and calling aloud to her sisters bade them dry their tears and cease their mourning, for she was there and waiting to greet them. And Zephyr, at her bidding, immediately lifted them from the crag and placed them safely in her presence; when, after mutual embraces and inquiries, they accompanied her with much curiosity to her new home. But when she showed them all its treasures and beauties, and having refreshed them with the bath and the banquet made them hearken to the voices that followed, and observe the unseen hands that fulfilled her commands, they were suddenly seized with fresh envy in the lowest depth of their breasts. And one of them especially, very minute and contriving in her mind, persisted in making inquiries about the Master of this celestial wealth, as to what kind of person he might be, and what sort of husband to her.

Psyche, however, would not on any account neglect her lover’s commands, or reveal the secrets of her breast; but, on the spur of the moment, told them that he was a young man and very good-looking, with cheeks as yet only shaded with soft down, and that he was, for the most part, engaged in rural pursuits and hunting on the mountains. And lest, by any slip in the course of a long conversation, she might betray herself, she loaded them with presents of gold and jewels, and calling Zephyr ordered him to convoy them back again.

Then, as they were on their way home, they broke into words of bitterest envy. “You saw,” said one—the younger of the two—“what riches there were in that house—what necklaces, what dresses, what heaps of gold, what gems the very floor is inlaid with. If, besides all this, her husband is as handsome as she maintains, there lives not a happier woman—a goddess, one might say, whom the very winds obey. And she indeed, the youngest of us, who has done nothing to deserve all this! While I, wretched creature, am blessed with a husband who is older than my father, and who besides is as bald as a pumpkin and as puny as a boy, and who is not satisfied but he must fasten up every part of his house with Bolts and Chains.”

“And I,” continued the elder sister, “have to put up with a partner who is twisted and crippled with Disease; and who consequently seldom favors me with his embraces; but wants me instead to be everlastingly rubbing and treating his crooked and chalky fingers with fomentations and rags and filthy poultices—as if I were no wife, but a female doctor.”

Thus they continued, ever goading each other with cruel words into a perfect fury against their innocent sister, till their minds became bent on her destruction; and they planned to visit her again ere long, if so they might effect it.