Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology

by Thomas Bulfinch

  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