Psyche sat on a stone bench in the palace garden. "Is this what it is like to die?" she wondered. She was leaving everything and everyone she had ever known and would never see them again.
She was glad the very day looked as if it wanted to weep. It would have been cruel had the sun been pouring down its warm light when she felt as cold as the moon.
Psyche heard the gates to the garden open. She stood up and turned. Her parents were walking toward her. She embraced first her mother, then her father. The three stood in silence, the parents gazing into their daughter's face, and she into theirs. They had tears in their eyes, but no one cried.
Finally, the king said, "It is time."
They left the garden and walked in silence along a corridor until they came to the great doors of the palace. The three paused. They wanted to say something, but their minds were too numbed for even a letter of the alphabet to say its name to them.
Finally, Psyche looked at the guards, nodded once, and they slowly pulled open the heavy doors. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and walked out without a backward glance at the palace. In front of her went four of the king's soldiers, each holding a torch high. The king and queen walked behind Psyche, guarded on each side by a soldier with a torch. Behind them came four more soldiers also holding torches.
Psyche walked slowly, her head held high. She looked into the faces of the people lining the road—something she had never done—and saw sorrow on every face.
"We love you, Psyche!" a voice called out.
Then came another and another. "We love you, Psyche! We love you!"
Eventually everyone called out softly, as if they were singers in a chorus, "We love you, Psyche! We love you."
Now, when it was too late, Psyche regretted having been closed to the love the people had offered.
The sad processional made its mournful way through the village, and there, on the other side, a heavy and dark silence covered them. Ahead was the forest path that would bring Psyche to the top of the mountain, where her husband waited.
Psyche stopped, then turned to her parents.
"You do not need to go up the mountain with me," she told them.
"But—"
"It is better if I go by myself."
"We don't want you to go up there alone," her mother interjected in a trembling voice.
"Thank you, Mother, but even if you were with me, I would still be alone. Each of us must meet our fate as if we no longer have a mother or father, brother or sister."
Psyche hugged and kissed her parents. Then, taking a torch from one of the soldiers, she started up the path.
The Walk Up the Mountain
Now that she was alone, the tears that had been waiting for release longer than Psyche knew sprang from her eyes and poured down her face.
Tears had been accumulating since Psyche had been in her mother's womb and heard her father whisper that she was going to be his little princess. Each of us has tears from the moment we are conceived. We need tears so we can express those sorrows for which there will never be words. But tears can speak the language that is unique to them only if we tell them they can. When Psyche's tears heard that she was going to be a princess, they knew it would be hard for them to be part of Psyche's life. There were so many things a princess could not do, like eat with her fingers, laugh too loudly, or speak above a quiet and measured tone. Last but by no means least, a princess could not cry. Woe be to those who do not care for their tears.
When Psyche fell and skinned a knee, her nurse would say, "You must not cry. You are a princess and the people of the kingdom need you to be strong."
If one of her sisters said something that hurt her feelings, and then with tears in her eyes, she told her parents, they would say, "If mere words bring tears to your eyes, what will you do when something truly awful happens? You are a princess, Psyche, and princesses don't cry."
On this particular night, as Psyche made her way slowly up the path to the mountaintop, no one was there to remind her that she was a princess. The only beings who saw her were the trees and the stones, and they saw a lonely and frightened young woman who was crying so hard they feared her grief would break their hearts.
Stones and trees have been the silent witnesses of grieving people and creatures since before Time started counting itself. They knew how to tend sorrow, but only if the person sat with his back against the trunk of a tree, or carried a Tear Keeper stone—but those were hard to find. Not able to relieve Psyche's sorrow, the trees and stones did what they could to ease her way; the trees raised low-hanging branches that stretched across the path, so they would not strike her in the face, while stones moved to the side if it seemed she was going to trip over one of them.
The release of tears was like cleansing a wound with a healing unguent, and the heaviness that had draped Psyche's life with Sorrow's cloak softly fell away.
Psyche's New Home
When Psyche reached the top of the mountain, the flame of her torch shrank back in fear of the dense darkness. The flame flickered, trembled, and died, though there was no wind. At the same instant, the torch flew from Psyche's hand as if someone or something had snatched it. She shrieked, expecting that something or someone would reach out of the darkness and take her. She held her breath and waited.
Moments passed. Nothing happened. Psyche looked around, though she could see only darkness. She listened for the sound of a presence, but heard nothing except the sound of her breathing and the beating of her heart.
Unable to see where she was, Psyche was afraid to move. For all she knew, she could be standing at the edge of a precipice, and one step might send her falling through space to her death. Carefully she dropped to her knees and felt the ground around her. Her fingers brushed against stone. Slowly she moved her hands upward against what seemed to be the rough contours of a large boulder. Psyche moved to sit with her back resting against it.
Time went by. It must have been many hours, because her fear eased and was replaced by impatience. Where was the monster? What was taking him so long? Or was he torturing her by making her wait? Finally, she fell into a deep sleep.
Night was about to flee from Day's onslaught when Psyche felt a soft and warm breeze. Suddenly, as if it had arms, the wind lifted her up.
"What's happening?" she wondered. She was flying, but how?
As if hearing her question, a soft but deep voice said, "I am Favonius, the West Wind. Your husband asked me to bring you to him, which it is my pleasure and honor to do. Would you like to feel for a few moments what it is like to be a bird?"
"Oh, yes!" Psyche exclaimed.
She relaxed into unseen arms, which held her tightly, and gave herself over to the joy of not being bound to the earth. Higher and higher West Wind took her. In the pale light of predawn Psyche could see the Great Blue Sea, delineating the southern border of the kingdom. To the north were the towering heights of the mountains. At the very edge of the eastern horizon was the Lost Kingdom, a place where only the ruins of an ancient and forgotten realm remained. To the west Psyche could make out the Kingdom of the Ferns, the beautiful place where her sisters now lived with their husbands.
Beneath her was the kingdom where until yesterday she had been a princess. She was surprised to see that there were still crowds of people along the road leading from the palace. Her father and mother walked among the people, something she could not recall her parents ever doing. But there they were, shaking hands and putting their arms around some who were crying.
"Your parents are consoling the people who are grieving your absence," Favonius explained.
Tears came to her eyes. "Can you take me down, just for a moment, so that they might see that I am well?"
"Pleasing you would be my delight, dear Psyche, but your husband gave me strict instructions to bring you to his realm."
"Then, if you cannot take me down so the people can see me one last time, tell me about my husband. Is he truly a monster?"
"There are thos
e who would say so, and there are those who would say not. That is as much as I can say."
"Can, or will?" Psyche wanted to know.
"Can and will," Favonius responded. Then, as if to stop any further conversation, he did a series of somersaults, turning over and over, and Psyche squealed with delight.
Finally, Favonius began gliding earthward with the gentleness of floating dandelion fluff.
"That is where you spent the night," Favonius said.
Psyche turned her head to see a mountain, a huge boulder sitting at its edge. While there was a path leading up the summit on the other side, this side of the mountain was sheer stone that looked as slippery as ice. At the mountain's base was a swift-moving river bordered by a grove of trees so tall and thick Psyche thought they must have been growing since the creation of the world. Beyond the trees was a broad valley, and it was here Favonius brought Psyche and set her down gently in a meadow of grasses and wildflowers.
"I must leave you now," he said. "Your husband has asked me to be at your service. If you should ever need me, you need only say my name. One of my breezes will carry your voice to me, and I will come. You should rest now because tonight you will become a wife."
Psyche realized just how tired she was, lay down in the soft grasses, and was asleep at once.
Sun was feeling cranky that morning. He had tossed and turned all night, despairing because Psyche had been taken away. If there had ever been a morning when he did not want to get up, this was it. But he had a job to do, so he struggled out of bed and took a sleepy step onto the sky. With each step, he created the reds and oranges of dawn and, finally, the blues of the day.
Midway through the morning, as Sun struggled past the top of the mountain from which Favonius had taken Psyche, he looked down into the hidden valley.
"Psyche!" he shouted as he saw her asleep in the grass. Sun was so happy, he began shining brighter than he ever had. His light became so glaring and bright, people had to put their hands over their eyes, but even that did not help much.
In the Kingdom of the Ferns, one Alexander Agrippa Antony, an olive-oil taster, walked out his front door, and the sunlight was so strong, it knocked him down! Triple A, as he preferred to be called, picked himself up and hurried back inside. There were olive oils coming in that day from Sausalito, Spain, and Glendale, Greece, and he had a lot of sniffing to do. But if the sunlight knocked him down every time he left the house, he would never get to work, and inferior olive oil might be allowed into the kingdom. Triple A could not imagine anything more horrible than people cooking with inferior olive oil.
He had to do something, but what? Triple A thought and thought and thought, and then he snapped his fingers. He went to his cellar and found an old jar, caked with dirt inside. He put the jar in front of his eyes, then tied it around his head. When he went back out, he could see without being blinded by the sun's exuberant glare.
When people saw what Triple A had on his eyes, they asked him if he had more jars like that. He had a basement full because his wife, like mine, never threw anything out. He sold all the jars, and Triple A and his wife became wealthy people. In case you were wondering, that is how sunglasses were invented. However, even though Triple A no longer needed a job, he and his nose remained in the forefront of the war against bad olive oil!
Sun's warmth woke Psyche. Sitting up, she saw that she was in a grassy meadow of the softest greens. Red, blue, and yellow wildflowers glistened among the grasses like stars in the night sky. The air was warm, and Favonius had sent a breeze as delicate as rose petals to stroke her.
She stood up and stretched, giving a big yawn, wondering what she was supposed to do next. Should she wait where she was for her husband to come and get her? That was when she noticed a path leading into the tall trees of the forest.
"That must be the way to the home of my husband," she said to herself. Without hesitating, she started toward it, eager for what was to come. She was surprised that she was not afraid, but no monster she had ever heard of had the power to command West Wind to do its bidding. Plus, she was hungry. She had not eaten since yesterday. No. It had been the day before that. Yesterday she had been too busy being sad and worrying.
Psyche made her way across the meadow to the path and followed it into the woods, where it was cooler. In a short while she came to a small bridge undulating with light. Looking more closely, she saw it was made of long strands of silver as thin as hair. Beneath the bridge flowed a stream. Its sound was not that of water going from its source to the sea. Instead, it sang a beautiful melody, and the words it sang surprised her:
Beautiful Psyche, be my bride,
O gods be praised.
Psyche has come to be at my side,
O gods be praised.
"Welcome to your home, my lady," came the soft voice of a woman.
"Who said that?" Psyche wanted to know, looking around but seeing no one.
"I am Cinxia, the goddess of marriage. Your husband asked me to come and make sure all of his preparations for you are to your liking," the voice answered. "Please continue across the bridge. You are not far from your home now."
Psyche looked around once more, but again saw no one. Cautiously she stepped onto the bridge and was amazed that something which looked so delicate was, at the same time, very strong. When she reached the other side, she saw a path and followed it until she came to a clearing. In its center stood a high wall, but instead of being constructed from blocks of stone, it was made of colors—sky blues, ocean blues, violet and iris blues, turquoise, sapphire, lavender and wisteria blues. Psyche went closer and put out her hands to touch the wall. To her surprise, it was as hard as the marble floors of her father's palace.
"I don't understand," Psyche said quietly.
Cinxia said, "Every day the blues of the sky are created anew by Sun as he rises. Each evening as Sun leaves the heavens, he takes blue colors to prevent Night from devouring all of them. At your husband's request, Sun gave him some of the leftover blues to use in building this palace."
What man was so powerful that he could make a request of Sun and have it granted? And how did he make a solid wall from leftover pieces of the sky? Only a god could do something as marvelous as that. But Apollo had said her husband was a monster, not a god. Could someone be a monster and yet create beauty?
"Come, my lady," the voice interrupted her thoughts.
No sooner were the words said than a door opened in the wall where Psyche would have sworn none existed. She walked inside and found herself on the grounds of a palace.
At the center was a round fountain of wrought gold bubbling with a liquid the colors of strawberries, raspberries, and plums, but unlike every other fountain Psyche had seen, this one made music as if it were a lyre being played by Apollo. At the base of the fountain, planted in a series of concentric circles, were flowers larger than any she had ever seen and in colors for which there were no names. Small birds flitted among the flowers like wisps of wind playing with each other.
At the far end of the grounds stood a palace, a long building in the shape of an arrow, though Psyche could not see the pointed tip. The building was deep red in color because it was built from unfulfilled desires and passions, emotions as strong as iron and brick, which could last for eternity.
As Psyche approached the building, the doors opened of themselves, revealing a long hallway gleaming with light. Psyche walked in and looked around. On both walls were paintings of beautiful women and men in poses of love. The floor was a mosaic of a serpent, made of sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, which extended the length of the hallway. The ceiling was covered with gold leaf.
"Please," came the invisible voice of Cinxia, "explore your new home. Anything that is not to your liking will be taken care of immediately."
Slowly and timidly, Psyche went through the palace, peering into every room. Each had walls of gold shining so brightly, it was as if each had its own sun. Etched into the golden walls were more drawings of people in po
ses of love. At the center of each room was a long table, and each table was piled almost ceiling high with jeweled bracelets, necklaces, and rings, and gowns of silk stitched with golden threads.
Even though she was a princess and had been around wealth all of her life, such riches as she saw in the palace's ten rooms were beyond her imagination and comprehension. How had one man amassed a wealth greater than numbers by which to count it?
At the end of the corridor was the largest room of all. Here the walls were covered with cloth made of golden threads. At one end of the room was a table with a marble top. On it lay a mirror set inside a gold frame with a golden handle. Next to the mirror were jars of lotions and small bowls of colored powders for makeup. At the other end of the room was a large bed with sheets so soft, Psyche thought they had to have been made from clouds. Laid across the bed were silken gowns shimmering with subtle hues of red, green, brown, and yellow. At the foot of the bed was a large chest overflowing with bracelets, necklaces, rings, and tiaras studded with every kind of jewel the earth had to offer.
"All the treasures you see, my lady, are gifts from your husband," Cinxia said.
"When do I get to meet my-my husband?" Psyche wanted to know. "Do you know him? What is he like?"
"It is not for me to say anything about him. Just know that this is where he will come to you tonight. Why don't you rest? When you awake, your servants will have your bath ready. After you dress, you will come to the Great Hall for your wedding banquet."
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