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.
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.”