The story of Eros & Psyche (retold from Apuleius)

by Edward Carpenter

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.

V

But as soon as morning broke she called Psyche again and set her a fresh task, and one full of danger: to wit, to obtain some of their golden wool from those formidable sheep which pasture along a certain river-bank; for transported with rage by the burning heat of the sun, they (as is well known) are the destruction of mortals—either by their sharp horns, their stony foreheads, or their poisonous bites. Nor could Psyche possibly have dared to encounter them, had not the gentle Spirit of the river instructed her to wait till the sun went down, when, the sheep being lulled to rest by the music of his waters, she would find the fleecy gold sticking to the branches of the shrubs. So when she easily performed this command, Aphrodite, smiling bitterly, said: “I see plainly enough that some one has helped you again. But look! Here is a fresh task. Do you see the summit of yonder high mountain? There among the rocks springs a black fountain of dusky waters which lower down becomes the river Styx, that river of desolation which divides the living from the dead. Bring me with all haste an urnful of that ice-cold fluid, nor seek it anywhere but at its source.” Thus speaking she gave her, with renewed threats, a vase of polished crystal; and Psyche, starting, hastened towards the height.

But no sooner did she arrive there than she was petrified with fear and despair, for the waves with a hoarse roar plunged down a channel between steep and lofty rocks, over which fierce dragons, to right and left, stretched out their long necks, and kept eternal watch with unwinking vigilance. And ever as they rolled along, the waters exclaimed: “Begone; mind what you do; have a care; fly, you will perish.”

So Psyche’s heart turned as cold as the waters, and she lay down in that awful place, alone and with no hope but to die. But from the gracious eye of Heaven the sorrow of the pure soul is not hid. The fierce and royal eagle, the bird of Zeus, sailing over that land espied and flew to her, and remembering all he owed to Eros pitied deeply the young wife. “Psyche,” he said, “to your unaided strength this most sacred yet most terrible fountain is utterly inaccessible. Even the gods tremble at the thought of its waters. Give me the cup.” Then snatching it from her hand, on his strong wings he sailed away, steering in and out between the rows of raging teeth and the three-forked tongues of the dragons, till he reached the spring, and filling the cup, returned, and gave it to Psyche.

Yet not even by the fulfilment of this enterprise was the anger of Aphrodite appeased. She must needs send her, even beyond the waters of Separation, into the kingdom of Death itself. With a smile, foreboding of evil, she said: “Psyche, my dear, you are a perfect sorceress, or you could never so well have performed my commands; but there is one task more I must set you. I must ask you to take this box and turn your steps to the infernal regions and the gloomy palace of Hades. Then give the box to Persephone, and say, Aphrodite asks you to send her a small portion of your beauty—enough at least to last for one day; for she has used up all her own store, in attendance on her sick son. Then return with the utmost celerity, for I must adorn myself with this beauty of Persephone, before I go to the assembly of the gods.” So saying, she gave Psyche the box, and sent her off.

Then truly the wretched girl felt assured that her end had come: for to everything mortal death is the end, and Psyche knew not but that she also was mortal. But as she was meditating how to kill herself, as indeed the shortest way to the infernal regions, there came a voice to her saying, “Do no violence to thyself, Psyche, for though indeed in this way thou mayest go to the palace of Hades, yet shalt thou thus by no means return. But listen to me. Go to Tenarus, which is by Lacedæmon, that great city of Achæa; and there, at Tenarus, you will find a cavern, which is the breathing hole of the underworld. This cavern is the threshold of the direct path leading to the palace of Hades. But before entering it take care that you provide yourself with certain things; for with empty hands it is impossible to pass through these shades. In your mouth place two pieces of money, and in each hand take a cake of barley bread well sopped in hydromel. Then go rapidly forward till you come to the dark river, where Charon demands his fee and ferries the dead in his crazy boat across to the farther shore.

Nothing even there is done without payment. To that unclean greybeard you will have to give one of the coins you carry, yet in such wise that you must let him take it with his own hand from your mouth. But while you are passing over the stagnant flood, a certain dead old man will come to the surface, and raising his corpse-like fingers entreat you to take him into the boat. Beware, however, how you do so; for even by Pity may the soul be ensnared. And when you have passed the river a little way, behold! some old women, busily weaving a web, will ask you to lend a helping hand. But still beware how you do so; for even Help is not always wise and lawful. And all these things, and others, are in reality snares, prepared for you by Aphrodite, that you may drop one of the cakes from your hand, and so never fulfil the quest you have before you. For the want of only one of these sops would surely prevent your return to the light. A huge dog (as you know) with three ferocious necks and heads, and barking with jaws of thunder, watches ever before the black palace of Persephone, and terrifies with his noise the dead, though he cannot injure them. This dog, Cerberus, you must appease with one of your sops; then, passing quickly by, you will enter the presence of Persephone herself. She will receive you kindly and courteously, and beg you to repose on a soft couch and partake of a rich banquet. But this you must not do. Seating yourself on the ground, ask for a piece of common bread and eat it; then give your message, and having got the box, bribe the fierce dog, as you return, with the other sop. After that, when you come to the ferry, let the greedy Charon take your remaining coin; and so passing his river for the second time, ascend, Psyche, to Heaven, and take your place in the choir of the celestial stars. But above all I warn you, be careful not to open or even look on the box which you carry, or to search into its hidden treasure.

In this way the voice advised her. But Psyche, at once and without delay, hastened to Tenarus, and taking her coins and her sops, ran down the infernal avenue. Then having given the ferryman his fee, and turned a deaf ear to the prayers of the floating corpse and the web-weaving old women, and slipping quickly by the sop-fed dog, she entered the palace. Here, as instructed, she refused the delicate seat and delicious food offered her, and instead sat humbly at the feet of Persephone, content with a piece of common bread. Then when she had received the box (already filled and closed) she hastened back as before to the glorious light of day.

But even here her last trial awaited her. For even after having passed through the Awful Valley in safety and returned, poor Psyche, not yet freed, was overcome by the contents of the box she carried. Seized with a desire to learn what was in it, and to partake of its store of beauty, she rashly opened it. But the box contained not a particle of beauty, but only an infernal and mortal Sleep, the image of Death from whose kingdom it was drawn: and this, being freed from its prison, immediately poured itself over her, suffusing her limbs in a dense cloud of somnolence, till she lay prostrate and without motion, and just like a senseless corpse.