Psyche was just about to lay down her honey-sops and help him, when she remembered the tower’s warning, and passed him by without a word.
On she went until she came to the bank of a broad river with water as black as ink; and just where the path ran down to the water was a ferry-boat, in which sat a very old man naked to the waist, and holding an oar. Psyche stepped into the boat, and the old man, in dead silence, pushed off, and began to row heavily across the black and sluggish stream. When the boat reached the middle, she looked down, and saw a skinny hand raise itself slowly out of the water. Then she perceived that the hand belonged to a corpse-like form floating half under the black ooze, which, in a hollow voice, thus besought her:—
“Lady, for pity’s sake take me into your boat, that I may reach the other side. Else must I float here between life and death forever.”
Psyche was about to bid the ferryman take the poor, half-dead creature into the boat, when she remembered the tower’s warning against pity, and let the body drift by.
Arrived at the other side, the ferryman held out his hand for his fee. Psyche was about to take one of the coins from her mouth, when she suddenly remembered the tower’s warning to give nothing to anybody with her hand. So, bringing one of the coins between her teeth, she dropped it into the open palm of the ferryman, and went her way.
A little farther on she came upon some old women weaving.
“Lady,” said the eldest, “we are old, and it is dark, and our eyes are dim, and we have much to do before nightfall. Help us with our web, we pray you.”
Psyche was about to comply, when she remembered the tower’s warning against giving help, and passed on.
Still on and on she went until she reached a huge palace built of black marble, which she knew at once to be the abode of Pluto and Proserpine. But how was she to enter? For on the threshold stood a monstrous dog, with three heads and six flaming eyes, barking thunderously, and with horrible yawning jaws. This was the dog Cerberus, who never sleeps, and guards the palace of Pluto night and day. There was only one chance of passing him, and Psyche took it. She threw him one of her honey-sops, and ran past him while he was swallowing it down.
In the hall beyond the threshold sat Proserpine, Queen of Hades, and goddess of the Underworld, dark and beautiful, and crowned with white poppies and stars, with a two-pronged scepter in her hand. She received Psyche kindly, made her sit down on a cushion beside her, and bade the attendants bring meat, fruit, and wine. Psyche, hungry and thirsty after her long journey, was about to eat, when she remembered the tower’s warning, and refreshed herself with a little dry bread only. Then rising, she said to Proserpine:—