PSYCHE.
Thy word as well that no more come to harm.
CUPID.
My word as well.
PSYCHE.
I would have more.
CUPID.
What wouldst thou?
PSYCHE.
In faith, I do not know.
I did not think to wed beside my father’s corpse.
I did not think to hate thee, when first I met thee.
I did not think to dread my wedding day.
CUPID.
Thou hast given me thy word.
PSYCHE.
I have.
CUPID.
Then I will make thee mine.
(They take each other. PSYCHE screams.)
Act IV, Scene 1
(In Hell, ADONIS raises his head and howls:)
ADONIS.
Persephone———————————!
PERSEPHONE.
I’m here.
Peace, peace, Adonis. You’ll chafe your skin on chains.
ADONIS.
You said I would forget. In Lethe
New-baptized, but thou hast lied—(To Heaven.) Thou Villain! Whore!
O Hell, but I can see them…
PERSEPHONE.
Who?
ADONIS.
Your murderer and mine—enjoying—No!
Give me a spear; I’ll vault my way to Heaven.
Let loose my chains!
PERSEPHONE.
You cannot leave, Adonis.
ADONIS.
Nor never live, I know! And still, am cursed
With wanting what I cannot have. He killed me,
And that should have been an end. But Hell’s
More devious than that; it lets me live
And look upon my love, in his perfect
Heaven. Nor can I weep for what I’ve lost:
The Styx has burnt away my tears, and I
Am left with thee, thou Queen of all who hate.
Nay, more, I loved thee once because thou hated
Love, and swore to me that in your arms
I would be forged a sword for you to wield
Against the heartless child and his mother.
Well, thou hast used me ‘gainst myself—
PERSEPHONE.
Let go!
ADONIS.
And now this sword shall cut another way.
PERSEPHONE.
Let go thy hands!
ADONIS.
Nay, lady! It’s a day for forging chains:
I’m bound to you, you’re bound to me, and both
Of us are bound to Hell. There’s no more Spring
For you, Dark Lady. I’ll stuff your face
With pomegranate seeds.
PERSEPHONE.
I said, Let go!
You are no Hades, and cannot ravish me.
Lie thou there, Adonis. And do not stir.
I’ve spared thee often from my husband’s wrath
For the sake of thy sweet beauty and sweeter love,
But I can stuff thee in his clammy mouth
And let him grind your dainty bones to ashes.
What? Shivering? Thou mawkish man. When I
First entered Hell, I did not weep, but spat
In my lord’s mouth. Therefore be patient:
All things come to me.
Act IV, Scene 2
(Olympus’ crown. CUPID and PSYCHE lie entwined, a single light above them, obscuring CUPID’S face, although his body’s visible. After some time, PSYCHE stirs. Discovers him—and :)
PSYCHE.
There was—one moment—wordless
Where touch, and sound, and smell, shape, form, taste—
And touch again, were one; all things that I
Have in a cage of well-wrought words ensnared,
Yea, mocked! And thought all things of sense
My senseless slaves. But in this sightless cell
With touch made manifest; not touching, no—
But to be touched; tasting without tongues,
Yet there were tongues, aye, and two of them!,
That had no use for words; yet there were words
That in their groaning pealed out like a prayer
And all that holy prayer was only: “He,
…and I, and he, and I, and He.”
I should hate him. Sith!, I have cause, Reason
That cries out for his blood, and were I man
I should have borne a breastplate on my heart,
Not bared my breasts for him to seize my heart;
Ta’en up arms, not laid me down in his;
Thrust through spear—and kept my legs well-crossed.
If he had been clumsy, I could hate him.
If rude, hasty, thoughtless, rough, I’d thank him
And return him blow for blow! But he—O, he—
There is no other word but gentle. And I,
Who will not kneel, am worshipped by my God.
This was nothing else but holy. And wholly
Am I his.
(Silence a while. ‘Til CUPID awakes, and:)
CUPID.
How is’t with thee, my wife?
You’re trembling. Have I harmed thee, love?
PSYCHE.
No.
The winds are cold, the world is stone. I’m mortal,
And not made for bliss.
CUPID.
Then come back to my arms.
PSYCHE.
I’ll weary them, my lord. I am not light,
Nor lightly was I won. You’ll pardon me,
I’ll go.
CUPID.
I beg you, stay.
PSYCHE.
Then I’ll return!
But only, mind, because you begged me to.
CUPID.
And if I had commanded thee?
PSYCHE.
You chained me
With a ring of gold. I must obey.
CUPID.
Then I command you: kiss me.
PSYCHE.
Aye. And yet,
I’ve had enough of kisses that both cloud
And clear the mind. Therefore I’ll kiss thee—still,
I dare not kiss, for when we touch, my skin
Becomes like wax, my will likewise, that yields
And bends to thee. I will not kiss you. But,
As we are married, we may do more than kiss.
CUPID.
I will not war with you.
PSYCHE.
You have no need! I make war on myself!
CUPID.
Then kiss me.
PSYCHE.
Aye.
CUPID.
And answer me—
PSYCHE.
Employ my lips for kissing, and they cannot answer you.
CUPID.
Then tell me first—
PSYCHE.
I’d rather kiss you.
CUPID.
No.
Do you—love me, Psyche?
PSYCHE.
What a word to speak in marriage! Love you?
No.
CUPID.
O. Like me, then?
PSYCHE.
Liking must have looking,
And as I will not look, I do not like.
Nor will I dare to ask if you love—
CUPID.
Yes.
PSYCHE.
So you must say! For you are bound to Love,
By nature and by name. You have no choice!
Nor had you any choice in choosing me.
CUPID.
I’m freely bound, and in that binding, free.
Nor are you blind; your husband’s here. Then look!
PSYCHE.
I dare not.
CUPID.
Why?
PSYCHE.
I read it in a book.
CUPID.
I’d have you know me, wife.
PSYCHE.
“Semele was best-beloved of Zeus,
Who thought it good to woo her like a bird.
She longed to look on him, and for her pains
Exploded. Her son became the god of drink
And thus we see the ill-effects of looking.”
CUPID.
I am not Zeus.
PSYCHE.
No! Or else by this time now
Your jealous wife’d turn me to a cow!
CUPID.
You think too much.
PSYCHE.
Then come and kiss me, Husband,
I’ll damp my thoughts to lose myself in thee.
CUPID.
I’d rather have you find me, love.
PSYCHE.
And so I have.
CUPID.
Not this.
PSYCHE.
What, then? I’m married to the god of Love,
And he is celibate!
CUPID.
Not so.
PSYCHE.
Then kiss me.
CUPID.
Aye. So you will look on me. Awake, my Soul!
Nor do not dream, but ope thine eyes.
PSYCHE.
Get off.
CUPID.
What more have we to hide?
PSYCHE.
Not I, for shame.
CUPID.
Shame you to look on me?
PSYCHE.
To touch you, no.
CUPID.
To look. To see.
PSYCHE.
To taste. To smell. To touch.
To own, to have, to want, need, desire, take—
CUPID.
I pray you, Psyche, beg you, love, to look.
Look on me, love—look, Psyche, turn and Look
At me. I am no thunder god to ruin thee,
No damnèd king to drag thee down to Hell;
I am—I know not what I am…but I
Am thine. Thine, thine, and only thine. And thou
Alone can tell me what I am. Thou, Wife,
Who buried and baptized me, who murdered
And remade me; You, who called me “Husband,”
Who claimed Me as your Husband, branded “Husband”
On my heart, birthed me “Husband,”—still-born,
Malformed, orphaned, widowed Husband, unless You
Will be my Wife. Then, Psyche, look on me.
For Husband is there none but for his Bride,
Nor Cupid am I none, but for my Psyche.
I am because we are. Is this not strange?
PSYCHE.
You ask too much of me.
CUPID.
I ask for all yourself.
PSYCHE.
It is too much!
You love me more than I have loved myself;
Claim more of me than I have means to give;
And now would make me other than I am?
I’ll none.
No “Wife,” though willing will I be your slave;
“Beloved,” none—though bondsman may I be.
No “We” or “Us,” for one and one make Two:
Not we, but I. Not this—but me from you.
Cannot this satisfy? Cannot we—that is,
Cannot you and I…
CUPID.
You want too little.
Have you no idea who woos you, Wife?
Whose name is used in prayers and supplications
From the anguished roar of martyrdom,
To the suckling cry of the sparrows’ song?
Whose name is used in careless blasphemies
For those who “love” a mouldy lump of cheese,
When I—I! Who am older than the stars,
More ancient than the earthly mountain clash,
Antique when Time lay mewling in his crib—
Whose merest whistle causes Zeus to flee,
Who have ruined nations with an apple,
I! Who never took a mortal to his bed,
Though, I grant, your kind I stooped to tickle
Once or twice—I. In whose name have lovers
Thrown themselves from cliffs, and soldiers inches
From their doom have carried on; Mothers
Screamed out their last breath so that you, thou heartless…!
You, might draw your first unworthy inrush
Of sweet air to cough it out again. I,
The god of Love who brought you to Olympus,
Where Orion’s stars shine brighter than on earth,
And if you op’ed your eyes, you’d see them dancing.
You can catch them when they fall. They melt
Into your skin and make you shine. O—sweet,
If thou couldst see the marble sky at sunset,
Here, here, where none before but gods could brush
The rosy heel of Dawn’s cloud-covered foot.
Here, here, my impossible Bride!, have I—
Defying all the laws that god and man have made,
Defying she who made me, defying—yea,
Rebelling ‘gainst what I have been, what you
So right mistrust—have I brought you. But you…
I see.
I ask too much. I pray you: Pardon me. (CUPID withdraws.)
PSYCHE.
Husband?
CUPID.
Yes?
PSYCHE.
Stand you behind me?
CUPID.
Aye.
PSYCHE.
That’s well.
(First one eye, then the other, PSYCHE opens them to squint at her surroundings.)
PSYCHE.
O! You said the stars were brighter.
CUPID.
When it’s night.
PSYCHE.
I cannot see the ground. Is far to fall from...Heaven?
CUPID.
Aye.
PSYCHE.
And if I fell?
CUPID.
I’d follow you.
PSYCHE.
Without your wings?
CUPID.
I’d fetch them. Will you fall?
PSYCHE.
I fear I might. Give me your hand.
CUPID.
I will.
PSYCHE.
Beside me, and in shadow—or I’ll none!
(CUPID obliges.)
PSYCHE.
I will not love you.
CUPID.
I will not love you less.
PSYCHE.
I do not hate you.
CUPID.
I love you all the more.
PSYCHE.
What star, Husband, is that?
Act IV, Scene 3
(Hades Gate. ADONIS lies in chains, looking upward at Heaven. He sings:)
ADONIS.
(Singing.) And I should pluck them from the sky
Yes, every one that shone
That no eye in Heaven, but mine eye
Should look on thee a—
(A sound.)
ADONIS.
Who’s there? You cannot fright me, boatman, unless you come to ferry me to life again. I’d pay you for that service. Who’s there? Stand forth!
APRHODITE.
(Behind the Gate.) Adonis?
ADONIS.
Aye.
APHRODITE.
Adonis, love, mine own!
Where have you been? Why stand you there in chains?
Come, open Hades’ Gate and fly to me,
Thou wicked boy, thou naughty priest! But O—!
Your hands are cold. Your brow bedewed with sweat.
Your lips the colour of frozen glass. Are you…
Has she…what has become of you, Adonis?
ADONIS.
You shouldn’t be here, mother.
APHRODITE.
No? Where else is Love to go?
ADONIS.
This is no place for Love.
APHRODITE.
No place for thyself, either. Come, Adonis, loose thy shackles.
ADONIS.
I have no key.
APHROD
ITE.
Break them, then!
ADONIS.
No, not for thee. Why, mother, are you bleeding?
APHRODITE.
‘Tis a scratch.
Cerberus was hungry, and though I’m starved,
Having no worshippers left to worship me…!
I am so lonely, Adonis. My son
I cannot find. Nor did you come, you tease!,
Though I languished in my bed for thee—thou
Didst never come to me. There was a mouse
That kept me company, nibbling through my bedsheets,
‘Til it grew starved, and lay him down, and died;
I watched his bones creep through his mouldering fur,
‘Til even those sharp bones turned then to dust,
And then that dust—I sneezed!, and he was gone.
He was the last that kept me company:
For all the world is walking corpses now;
Weary ghosts still haunting their own bodies.
I cannot remember what an infant is.
‘Tis ages since I’ve seen a child of twelve.
And all of those whom I have cause to love
March on to their graves, and cannot be dissuaded.
Then here am I! Who should, perhaps, surrender—
But you and I—Adonis! Impregnate me.
ADONIS.
What?
APHRODITE.
Cupid and Psyche Page 10