CUPID AND PSYCHE

Adapted by ANNA MCCALEB

NCE upon a time, in a far-off country whose exact location no man knows, there lived a king whose chief glory and pride was in his three beautiful daughters. The two elder sisters were sought in marriage by princes, but Psyche, by far the most beautiful of the three, remained at her father's home, unsought. The fact was, she was so lovely that all the people worshiped her as a goddess, while no man felt that he was worthy to ask for her hand.

"Shall a mere mortal," they said, "venture to seek the love of Venus, queen of beauty?"

When Psyche learned of the name they had given her she was frightened, for she knew well the jealous, vengeful nature of the goddess of beauty. And she did well to fear; for Venus, jealous, angry, was even then plotting her destruction.

"Go," she said to her son Cupid. "Wound that proud, impertinent girl with your arrows, and see to it that she falls in love with some wretched, depraved human being. She shall pay for attempting to rival me."

Off went the mischievous youth, pleased with his errand; but when he bent over the sleeping Psyche and saw that she was far more beautiful than any

one whom he had ever looked upon, he started hastily back, and wounded, not the maiden, but himself, with his arrow. Happy, and yet wretched in his love (for he knew his mother too well to fancy that she would relent toward the offending Psyche), he stole away; and for days he did not go near his mother, knowing that she would demand of him the outcome of his mission.

Meanwhile the old king, feeling that disgrace rested on his family because no man had come to seek Psyche in marriage, sent messengers to ask of the oracle' of Apollo whether he or his family had ignorantly offended any of the gods. Eagerly he watched for the return of the messengers, but as they came back the sight of their white faces told him that no favorable answer had been theirs.

"Pardon, O King," said the spokesman, "thy servants who bring thee ill news. We can but speak the words of the gods, which were these:

"For hear thy doom; a rugged rock there is
Set back a league from thine own palace fair;
There leave the maid, that she may wait the kiss
Of the fell monster that doth harbour there:
This is the mate for whom her yellow hair

1. An oracle was a place where some god answered questions about future happenings. The same name was also given to the answers made by the god. The most famous oracles were that of Jupiter at Dodona and that of Apollo at Delphi, the latter holding chief place. At Delphi there was a temple to Apollo built over a chasm in the mountain side from which came sulphurous fumes. A priestess took her seat on a tripod over this chasm, and the answers she gave to inquiries were supposed to be dictated by the god. These answers were almost always unintelligible, and even when interpreted by the priests were ambiguous and of little use. Nevertheless, the Greeks believed in oracles firmly, and never undertook any important work without first consulting one or more of them.

And tender limbs have been so fashioned,
This is the pillow for her lovely head.

"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.'

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

2. From William Morris's Earthly Paradise,

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?"

"I am happier with thee than ever happy girl was with seen lover," replied Psyche, "but my parents and my sisters are yet in sorrow over my fate, and my heart tells me it is selfishness for me to be so happy while they grieve for me."

At last, her husband gave a reluctant consent to