Forgive me. I—
PSYCHE.
Pray, speak.
CUPID.
I am not accustomed…
That is, I’m very sorry, I seem—
How do they do it? In books and in verse…
If I profane with my unworthiest hand—
PSYCHE.
What?
CUPID.
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
PSYCHE.
Please, stop.
CUPID.
Why? This is how lovers speak, is it not?
PSYCHE.
I am not your lover. Nor am like to be.
CUPID.
Then do not be yourself. Put on your mind
A mask of some lover with tender heart
And look thou with another’s eyes, that see
Beyond the mask of me.
PSYCHE.
You wear no mask.
CUPID.
I do indeed.
PSYCHE.
I see it not.
CUPID.
You do not see.
You look, you glance, but seeing? No. But…
If thou couldst see with eyes like mine
If I could be thy glass;
If thou wouldst wander through my mind
And know my present past;
If thou couldst open up thine eyes
With new eyes not thine own,
Then thou wouldst see the truth of me
And look on me alone.
If thou couldst see, as I do see,
Thy beauty in compare
With ev’ry distant, dancing star
That bows before the grace thou art
Thou shouldst never call them fair.
And I would pluck them from the sky—
Yea, every one that shone—
That no eye in Heaven, but mine eye,
Should look on thee alone.
If thou couldst see, if thou wouldst look,
If more myself thou knew beyond;
If from my lips thine own lips took
The name of he whose name is fond—
Then wouldst thou quiver? Wouldst thou quake?
Or hide thee in the dark alone—
Or wouldst thou with the dawn awake
And look, and love me as thine own.
(They kiss. The world is very still. And when they part, they see each other clearly. As do the others of their company, who approach them and pull the lovers apart.)
APHRODITE.
Well done, my son. So she never would love?
She’ll pine away now to a ghost of herself.
But why are you pale?
DAREIA.
Psyche, who was that man?
PSYCHE.
I have no idea. I must see him again!
APHRODITE.
Dear boy, you are ill. We’ve been too long from Heav’n.
You need the fresh air, some ambrosia, the sun.
We’ll let the girl pine, then pay her death dues.
CHRYSOS.
So she singled one out!
BRONTES.
Aye, and not you.
DAREIA.
But she how she stares!
LIVIA.
Upon whom does she look?
APHRODITE.
Why, son, do you tremble? Persephone! Quick!
I fear that my boy, among mortals, is sick.
PERSEPHONE.
Say: By his own poison Passion is felled.
Therefore, tumble with us! O, I like this girl well!
(APHRODITE rushes out with CUPID. Before ADONIS can follow, PERSEPHONE touches him.)
PERSEPHONE.
Adonis. Wilt come? The Springtime’s returned.
ADONIS.
I follow, Dark Lady. Adieu, Lust. And burn.
(ADONIS embraces PERSEPHONE fiercely. They exit.)
THANOS.
Psyche, dear daughter! Your smile I spy.
Have you danced? Have you laughed?
LIVIA.
She has wept. She has cried. But nobody notices.
DAREIA.
She’s been kissing a man.
THANOS.
Has she now?
Well, that’s nice. Though we’ll never see him again.
Heigh-ho! Let’s go in. Make a hasty retreat.
On daughters, friends, son.
PSYCHE.
(Touching her heart.) A beat.
Act II, Scene 1
(THANOS’ garden. PSYCHE is alone on stage, pacing. From outside, a clatter can be heard of a thousand men calling PSYCHE’S name. CUPID may enter during her speech, perhaps through the audience or from some hidden branch—his bow and arrow at the ready as he hunts.)
(Likely companies will not take an intermission between these two acts, in which case, PSYCHE perhaps can simply remove an outer dress and show the passage of time through word and action, rather than blackout and full change.)
PSYCHE.
Three days and thirty days have passed and he
Has not been seen again. Three days and three
Too many. Three times thirty days and still
Too few before I behold my love again.
My love! My love I call him, for I know
No other name by which to call him except
“My love.” And yet, not mine, for he will not
Send word of how he likes me, or whether
He likes of me, or whether he likes not
Of me, or whether I am forgot.
And what a case am I! To pine, suspire
I!, who once burned with no greater fire
Than that which my active mind could provide,
Now find my mind feeble, and preoccupied
With this stranger who kissed me! One kiss!
What of that? As though I had never pressed
A lip to a lip! And yet now, methinks,
I never have in this world. Nor am like to again…
Until he should be mine; and I should be his.
CUPID.
Take aim, my bow, take aim. For I cannot.
My soul she hath bewitched, my mind beguiled—
Take aim, my bow, take aim. Hold steady heart.
Thus mortals by immortal hands are slain
For the crime of causing Love to love—take aim.
Move! Rebellious arm! Let loose my arrow, fly!
APHRODITE.
(Entering) What ho, my son! Why do you take such careful aim at me?
CUPID.
‘Twas not at you I aimed, but at my folly.
But how now, mother? Where’s your crimson gown?
Have you become a human?
APHRODITE.
If I’m in rags,
It’s all thanks to your negligence. No men
Worship me; my temples lie in ruins,
And I do as well—All thanks to you!
CUPID.
I? What have I done?
APHRODITE.
Done? O! Nothing much, my son. You’ve simply shot the world!
CUPID.
I’ve what?
APHRODITE.
Yes! Each and every one!
The whole world’s riddled through with doughy love
And all for whom—for whom?—you blithely ask:
For Psyche! Fat and false and fulsome Psyche!
Likeless, lifeless, lornless, loveless Psyche!
Why, from her fleshy shoulderblades white wings
Are at this moment springing! And with whom
Do such familiar pinions rightly fly?
With thee, my son! But thou hast shot the world!
CUPID.
Not I. Nor see I any evidence that your complaint is true.
APHRODITE.
No? Then let me summon one for you.
Here comes Chrysos whose rude lust for Psyche
Little compares, in the common way, with his lust
For common gold. But you shall see, my son,
No gold nor jewels nor wedding
ring shall satisfy
Him now.
CUPID.
I do not think it.
APHRODITE.
We shall see.
Invisible we to these mortal eyes. We’ll watch
And learn so, by and by, how any man
However mean he be, has turned to her—
And away from me! All by your doing.
CUPID.
Mine? I have only followed your commands!
APHRODITE.
And is she dead? Is this her rotting corpse?
No!
She’s lovelier now than when last we met.
But watch, and all things shall be clear.
(CHRYSOS enters. Throughout the scenes, CUPID and APHRODITE interact with the mortals, appearing to them as trees, brambles, etc.)
(Whenever CUPID touches the heart of man directly—whether to push him off, or to catch him when APHRODITE trips him, that man is suddenly overwhelmed with passion.)
(It is also important that as PSYCHE searches for CUPID, finding him out by his voice, she does not suddenly become wholly blind, unable to see the mortals or anything. The gods, when they are invisible, appear as things.)
CHRYSOS.
Ho, Psyche! Dear sister! I thought here I might find you! How you do creep about! Gah, these brambles are thick! Like hands quick to catch us if we are not quick. You’re escaping the ruckus within, I presume? Such noises! Such clatter! I’ve never seen such a sight. So many men! We’ll be drowning in roses. Call them off, if you can—or for the sake of my ears. I’ve wooed once already, I’ve no need to hear these strained serenades, these vain boasts of love. But here, sit beside me, on this low branch.
(They sit on CUPID.)
CHRYSOS.
It’s comfortable very. Though knotty or knobby. Like some invisible knee. Let us stand, you and I.
PSYCHE.
Thank you, but no. This seat suits me well. I will stay. You go.
CHRYSOS.
Yes, it suits you quite well. As though Nature had framed your form for itself.
CUPID.
And himself for thy form.
PSYCHE.
Did you speak?
CHRYSOS.
Who I?
PSYCHE.
No. Another I heard.
CHRYSOS.
They’re sneaking through walls! Where are you, braggarts? I’ll teach you to climb through windows, and trellises, and a man’s evening meal! Do you hear them still, Psyche?
PSYCHE.
I hear none but ourselves, and the clatter within.
But the one voice I want is none of those men.
‘Twas the whispering wind through my silly dreams
Intangible both as your hands and your knees!
Are you well?
CHRYSOS.
A sudden heartburn. ‘Twill pass.
PSYCHE.
Here, let me attend you. Let’s go within.
Give me your hand, brother. Rest on my arm.
CHRYSOS.
On your arm? In thy bosom! Heaving and warm!
Sweet Psyche! Dear sister! O, Beauty divine!
Thou art sweeter than flowers and richer than wine!
One kiss, I beg thee. I am a man parched
For thy lips, for thy breasts, for thy…other parts.
Come sweet, let me have thee!
PSYCHE.
Chrysos! Forbear!
CHRYSOS.
Forbear, love? Wherefore? Let’s call to the air
Our amorous passion!
PSYCHE.
Once more, sir, forbear!
You are not yourself! Sir, think of your wife!
CHRYSOS.
And none the dearer! The love of my life!
But nothing to thee, sweet Psyche, dear saint!
She’s but a statue: cold marble and paint.
While thou hast a heart that cares not for gold
But for mine arms to enfondle and hold.
PSYCHE.
Dear brother, desist! Indeed, I shall scream.
CHRYSOS.
Then I will join thee! And loudly declaim
The sweet name of Psyche whom I love and adore
More than goddess or god! And shall love evermore!
O Psyche!
PSYCHE.
O God.
DAREIA.
(Entering—possibly over CUPID’S shoulder.) O me!
What is this? What do I spy? Chrysos!
Stand up! Upon whom do you lie?
CHRYSOS.
Lie, I do not, but on Truth do I stand!
Wife, I must leave you. Psyche demands
My body, my self, my life and my soul—
I am now entirely in her control.
Adieu, wife, adieu! Come, Psyche, away!
Let us not linger ‘til our wedding day.
Take me! Be mine! I am evermore yours!
PSYCHE.
Then as you are mine, to my sister
I give you! Bow not to me! Kiss not my hem!
You’ll anger the gods—if you believe in them.
CHRYSOS.
I’d much rather kneel in worship of thee.
Goddess divine! The new Aphrodite!
APHRODITE.
(To CUPID.) You see what you’ve done! You’ve shot the whole world!
CUPID.
If he loves at all, ‘tis a credit to thee!
(And yet, he loved not ‘til he came near me.)
Still, I’ll not believe. For I have heard this man
Swear green vapored vows before. It was not I,
Dear mother, that caused this foolish man to love.
APHRODITE.
Need you another proof? Another comes.
This Cyclops sees better than you, my son.
(BRONTES enters.)
BRONTES.
Chrysos, Chrysos! Have you a light? I’m unaccountable agitated. I came over here as quick as I could, only to discover your entire neighbourhood, your town, your city and state had the same thought as me and came over to wait. Quick, have you a light? Or you, goodwife Dareia? Have pity on a friend. Look, I shiver! Look, I shake! Can you not see? Whom do you hide? Have they a match? A little comfort, the smallest fire. That is all I demand…that is, all I desire.
(APHRODITE trips BRONTES, sending him careening into CUPID.)
BRONTES.
Gah! You tripped me!
CHRYSOS & DAREIA.
Did not!
CUPID & PSYCHE.
Nor I.
BRONTES.
What’s that?
Some root undiscovered. ‘Tis nothing and yet—
What voice did I hear? What face do I spy?
What beauty now fills my one single eye?
The Fates have my other—‘tis nothing to me
And yet, would that I had two eyes to see
The lovely, adoring, ineffable she!
PSYCHE.
No, no. And here is another!
CUPID.
With this to his name: at least he’s not your brother.
PSYCHE.
Behind me? I’ll catch you! And make you remove
The madness you’ve caused by unreasoning love.
DAREIA.
Whom do you address? What? Is there a third?
Is not my husband enough for your, girl?
Leave off her, Chrysos.
BRONTES.
Unhand her, my friend! ‘Tis not you she loves.
DAREIA.
Aye! She loves other men.
APHRODITE.
Ten thousand today.
DAREIA.
Chrysos, my lord! I command you to stay!
CHRYSOS.
By her side, if you will. Medusa, begone!
Myself and my Psyche will here linger on.
BRONTES.
He’s under enchantment. You mark my words.
He’s never yet strayed, except with his eyes
(As all men stray so.)
PSYCHE.
E
xcept those that love.
BRONTES.
As I do love you! Psyche, my own,
For a month and a day you have been alone,
While I’ve lain my heart, my fortunes, my lands,
My single good eye in the hopes of your hand.
Utter “I do” and I will be yours—
To worship, command, obey and adore.
(BRONTES struggles to get a ring off his finger, impeded by CUPID.)
BRONTES.
My love, hasten your vow.
Here is a ring, (just give me a minute)—
It won’t come off—Ah! Now to put in it
Your finger…or thumb! Yes. That’ll be fine.
And now for a kiss, to make thee all mine.
(BRONTES leans in for the kiss, but CUPID shoves him away.)
BRONTES.
Ow! What was that for?
APHRODITE.
Temper, temper, my son.
CUPID.
It’s some trick or some curse. What have you done?
APHRODITE.
Why should you care whom fair Psyche kisses?
CUPID.
Nay, ‘tis nothing to me.
PSYCHE.
O Love! Speak again!
BRONTES.
Whom does she address?
CHRYSOS.
This happened before.
DAREIA.
Cupid and Psyche Page 6