vows to written tablets, and often hung at her door garlands which he had moistened
with his tears. He stretched himself on her threshold, and uttered his complaints to the
cruel bolts and bars. She was deafer than the surges which rise in the November
gale; harder than steel from the German forges, on a rock that still clings to its native
cliff. She mocked and laughed at him, adding cruel words to her ungentle treatment,
and gave not the slightest gleam of hope.
"Iphis could not any longer endure the torments of hopeless love, and, standing
before her doors, he spake these last words: 'Anaxarete, you have conquered, and
shall no longer have to bear my importunities. Enjoy your triumph! Sing songs of joy,
and bind your forehead with laurel, - you have conquered! I die; stony heart, rejoice!
This at least I can do to gratify you, and force you to praise me; and thus shall I prove
that the love of you left me but with life. Nor will I leave it to rumor to tell you of my
death. I will come myself, and you shall see me die, and feast your eyes on the
spectacle. Yet, O, ye gods, who look down on mortal woes, observe my fate! I ask but
this; let me be remembered in coming ages, and add those years to my fame which
you have reft from my life.' Thus he said, and, turning his pale face and weeping eyes
towards her mansion, he fastened a rope to the gate-post, on which he had often hung
garlands, and putting his head into the noose, he murmured, 'This garland at least will
please you, cruel girl!' and falling hung suspended with his neck broken. As he fell he
struck against the gate, and the sound was as the sound of a groan. The servants
opened the door and found him dead, and with exclamations of pity raised him and
carried him home to his mother, for his father was not living She received the dead
body of her son, and folded the cold form to her bosom; while she poured forth the sad
words which bereaved mothers utter. The mournful funeral passed through the town,
and the pale corpse was borne on a bier to the place of the funeral pile. By chance the
home of Anaxarete was on the street where the procession passed, and the
lamentations of the mourners met the ears of her whom the avenging deity had
already marked for punishment.
"'Let us see this sad procession,' said she, and mounted to a turret, whence
through an open window she looked upon the funeral. Scarce had her eyes rested
upon the form of Iphis stretched on the bier, when they began to stiffen, and the warm
blood in her body to become cold. Endeavoring to step back, she found she could not
move her feet; trying to turn away her face, she tried in vain; and by degrees all her
limbs became stony like her heart. That you may not doubt the fact, the statue still
remains, and stands in the temple of Venus at Salamis, in the exact form of the lady.
Now think of these things, my dear, and lay aside your scorn and your delays, and
accept a lover. So may neither the vernal frosts blight your young fruits, nor furious
winds scatter your blossoms!"
When Vertumnus had spoken thus, he dropped the disguise of an old woman,
and stood before her in his proper person, as a comely youth. It appeared to her like
the sun bursting through a cloud. He would have renewed his entreaties, but there
was no need; his arguments and the sight of his true form prevailed, and the Nymph
no longer resisted, but owned a mutual flame.
Pomona was the especial patroness of the Apple-orchard, and as such she was
invoked by Phillips, the author of a poem on Cider, in blank verse. Thomson in the
Seasons alludes to him: -
"Phillips, Pomona's bard, the second thou
Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfettered verse,
With British freedom, sing the British song."
But Pomona was also regarded as presiding over other fruits, and as such is
invoked by Thomson: -
"Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron groves,
To where the lemon and the piercing lime,
With the deep orange, glowing through the green,
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined
Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes,
Fanned by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit."
Chapter XI: Cupid And Psyche
A certain king and queen had three daughters. The charms of the two elder were
more than common, but the beauty of the youngest was so wonderful that the poverty
of language is unable to express its due praise. The fame of her beauty was so great
that strangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to enjoy the sight, and
looked on her with amazement, paying her that homage which is due only to Venus
herself. In fact Venus found her altars deserted, while men turned their devotion to
this young virgin. As she passed along, the people sang her praises, and strewed her
way with chaplets and flowers.
This perversion of homage due only to the immortal powers to the exaltation of a
mortal gave great offence to the real Venus. Shaking her ambrosial locks with
indignation, she exclaimed, "Am I then to be eclipsed in my honors by a mortal girl? In
vain then did that royal shepherd whose judgment was approved by Jove himself, give
me the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas and Juno. But she shall not so
quietly usurp my honors. I will give her cause to repent of so unlawful a beauty."
Thereupon she calls her winged son Cupid, mischievous enough in his own
nature, and rouses and provokes him yet more by her complaints. She points out
Psyche to him and says, "My dear son, punish that contumacious beauty; give thy
mother a revenge as sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into the bosom of that
haughty girl a passion for some low, mean, unworthy being, so that she may reap a
mortification as great as her present exultation and triumph."
Cupid prepared to obey the commands of his mother. There are two fountains in
Venus's garden, one of sweet waters, the other of bitter. Cupid filled two amber vases,
one from each fountain, and suspending them from the top of his quiver, hastened to
the chamber of Psyche, whom he found asleep. He shed a few drops from the bitter
fountain over her lips, though the sight of her almost moved him to pity; then touched
her side with the point of his arrow. At the touch she awoke, and opened eyes upon
Cupid (himself invisible) which so startled him that in his confusion he wounded
himself with his own arrow. Heedless of his wound his whole thought now was to
repair the mischief he had done, and he poured the balmy drops of joy over all her
silken ringlets.
Psyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, derived no benefit from all her
charms. True, all eyes were cast eagerly upon her, and every mouth spoke her
praises; but neither king, royal youth, nor plebeian presented himself to demand her in
marriage. Her two elder sisters of moderate charms had now long been married to two
royal princes; but Psyche, in her lonely apartment, deplored her solitude, sick of that
beauty, which while it procured abundance of flattery, had failed to awaken love.
Her parents, afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger of the gods,
consulted the oracle of Apollo, and received this answer "The virgin is destined for the
bride of no mortal lover. Her future
husband awaits her on the top of the mountain.
He is a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist."
This dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with dismay, and her
parents abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche said, "Why, my dear parents, do
you now lament me? You should rather have grieved when the people showered upon
me undeserved honors, and with one voice called me a Venus. I now perceive that I
am a victim to that name. I submit. Lead me to that rock to which my unhappy fate
has destined me." Accordingly, all things being prepared, the royal maid took her place
in the procession, which more resembled a funeral than a nuptial pomp, and with her
parents, amid the lamentations of the people, ascended the mountain, on the summit
of which they left her alone, and with sorrowful hearts returned home.
While Psyche stood on the ridge of the mountain, panting with fear and with eyes
full of tears, the gentle Zephyr raised her from the earth and bore her with an easy
motion into a flowery dale. By degrees her mind became composed, and she laid
herself down on the grassy bank to sleep. When she awoke refreshed with sleep, she
looked round and beheld near by a pleasant grove of tall and stately trees. She
entered it, and in the midst discovered a fountain, sending forth clear and crystal
waters, and fast by, a magnificent palace whose august front impressed the spectator
that it was not the work of mortal hands, but the happy retreat of some god. Drawn by
admiration and wonder she approached the building and ventured to enter. Every
object she met filled her with pleasure and amazement. Golden pillars supported the
vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched with carvings and paintings representing
beasts of the chase and rural scenes, adapted to delight the eye of the beholder.
Proceeding onward she perceived that besides the apartments of state there were
others filled with all manner of treasures, and beautiful and precious productions of
nature and art.
While her eyes were thus occupied, a voice addressed her, though she saw no
one, uttering these words: "Sovereign lady, all that you see is yours. We whose voices
you hear are your servants and shall obey all your commands with our utmost care
and diligence. Retire therefore to your chamber and repose on your bed of down, and
when you see fit repair to the bath. Supper awaits you in the adjoining alcove when it
pleases you to take your seat there."
Psyche gave ear to the admonitions of her vocal attendants, and after repose
and the refreshment of the bath, seated herself in the alcove, where a table
immediately presented itself, without any visible aid from waiters or servants, and
covered with the greatest delicacies of food and the most nectareous wines. Her ears
too were feasted with music from invisible performers; of whom one sang, another
played on the lute, and all closed in the wonderful harmony of a full chorus.
She had not yet seen her destined husband. He came only in the hours of
darkness and fled before the dawn of morning, but his accents were full of love, and
inspired a like passion in her. She often begged him to stay and let her behold him,
but he would not consent. On the contrary he charged her to make no attempt to see
him, for it was his pleasure, for the best of reasons, to keep concealed. "Why should
you wish to behold me?" he said "have you any doubt of my love? have you any wish
ungratified? If you saw me, perhaps you would fear me, perhaps adore me, but all I
ask of you is to love me. I would rather you would love me as an equal than adore me
as a god."
This reasoning somewhat quieted Psyche for a time, and while the novelty lasted
she felt quite happy. But at length the thought of her parents, left in ignorance of her
fate, and of her sisters, precluded from sharing with her the delights of her situation,
preyed on her mind and made her begin to feel her palace as but a splendid prison.
When her husband came one night, she told him her distress, and at last drew from
him an unwilling consent that her sisters should be brought to see her.
So calling Zephyr, she acquainted him with her husband's commands, and he,
promptly obedient, soon brought them across the mountain down to their sister's
valley. They embraced her and she returned their caresses. "Come," said Psyche,
"enter with me my house and refresh yourselves with whatever your sister has to offer.
Then taking their hands she led them into her golden palace, and committed them to
the care of her numerous train of attendant voices, to refresh them in her baths and at
her table, and to show them all her treasures. The view of these celestial delights
caused envy to enter their bosoms, at seeing their young sister possessed of such
state and splendor, so much exceeding their own.
They asked her numberless questions, among others what sort of a person her
husband was. Psyche replied that he was a beautiful youth, who generally spent the
daytime in hunting upon the mountains. The sisters, not satisfied with this reply, soon
made her confess that she had never seen him. Then they proceeded to fill her
bosom with dark suspicions. "Call to mind," they said "the Pythian oracle that declared
you destined to marry a direful and tremendous monster. The inhabitants of this valley
say that your husband is a terrible and monstrous serpent, who nourishes you for a
while with dainties that he may by and by devour you. Take our advice. Provide
yourself with a lamp and a sharp knife; put them in concealment that your husband
may not discover them, and when he is sound asleep, slip out of bed, bring forth your
lamp and see for yourself whether what they say is true or not. If it is, hesitate not to
cut off the monster's head, and thereby recover your liberty."
Psyche resisted these persuasions as well as she could, but they did not fail to
have their effect on her mind, and when her sisters were gone, their words and her
own curiosity were too strong for her to resist. So she prepared her lamp and a sharp
knife, and hid them out of sight of her husband. When he had fallen into his first sleep,
she silently rose and uncovering her lamp beheld not a hideous monster, but the most
beautiful and charming of the gods, with his golden ringlets wandering over his snowy
neck and crimson cheek, with two dewy wings on his shoulders, whiter than snow, and
with shining feathers like the tender blossoms of spring. As she leaned the lamp over
to have a nearer view of his face a drop of burning oil fell on the shoulder of the god,
startled with which he opened his eyes and fixed them full upon her; then, without
saying one word, he spread his white wings and flew out of the window. Psyche, in
vain endeavoring to follow him, fell from the window to the ground. Cupid, beholding
her as she lay in the dust, stopped his flight for an instant and said, "O foolish Psyche,
is it thus you repay my love? After having disobeyed my mother's commands and
made you my wife, will you think me a monster and cut off my head? But go; return to
your sisters, whose advice you seem to think preferable to mine. I inflict no other
punishment on you than to leave you for ever. Love cannot dwell with suspicion." So
saying he fled away leaving poor
Psyche prostrate on the ground, filling the place with
mournful lamentations.
When she had recovered some degree of composure she looked around her, but
the palace and gardens had vanished, and she found herself in the open field not far
from the city where her sisters dwelt. She repaired thither and told them the whole
story of her misfortunes, at which, pretending to grieve, those spiteful creatures
inwardly rejoiced; "for now," said they, "he will perhaps choose one of us." With this
idea, without saying a word of her intentions, each of them rose early the next morning
and ascended the mountain, and having reached the top, called upon Zephyr to
receive her and bear her to his lord; then leaping up, and not being sustained by
Zephyr, fell down the precipice and was dashed to pieces.
Psyche meanwhile wandered day and night, without food or repose, in search of
her husband. Casting her eyes on a lofty mountain having on its brow a magnificent
temple, she sighed and said to herself, "Perhaps my love, my lord, inhabits there," and
directed her steps thither.
She had no sooner entered than she saw heaps of corn, some in loose ears and
some in sheaves, with mingled ears of barley. Scattered about lay sickles and rakes,
and all the instruments of harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the
weary reapers' hands in the sultry hours of the day.
This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating and
sorting every thing to its proper place and kind, believing that she ought to neglect
none of the gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf. The holy
Ceres, whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed, thus spoke to her: "O
Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though I cannot shield you from the frowns of Venus,
yet I can teach you how best to allay her displeasure. Go then and voluntarily
surrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and submission to
Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology Page 11