"Why delay the inevitable?" she thought. If she killed herself, at least she could deny Venus the pleasure of bringing about her death.
Psyche looked at the river and thought about flinging herself in, then remembered the water's refusal to receive her before. But that was on Earth. This was Olympus. Perhaps this river would take pity on her.
As Psyche started toward the stream, Pan was at the far end of the meadow, cleaning his pipes. He saw Psyche, her head down and shoulders slumped, and he knew what she was going to do. He wanted to call out to her, but she was too far away. So he reached down and pulled from the ground a green reed like the ones of his pipes. He threw the reed as hard and far as he could. The reed landed in front of Psyche just as she reached the edge of the stream.
"Wait!" the reed said. "Please wait!"
Psyche stopped.
"This stream is sacred to the god Pan. He often sits beside it and listens to the melodies of the rushing water and then plays them on his pipes. If you drown yourself here, the only melodies the water will ever sing will be dirges and laments, and those will be the only melodies Pan will be able to play."
Psyche remembered how kind Pan had been to her and she remembered what he had said to her, and her self-pity vanished. She stepped back from the stream's edge.
"Thank you," the reed said. "Now listen carefully. The golden-fleeced sheep are very dangerous. They are most dangerous now, when the sun is shining on them. The heat makes them angry, and anyone who enters the grove will be gored to death by their horns, crushed by butts from their heads, or poisoned by their fangs. Wait until Sun begins his journey down from the top of the sky. The sheep, ex-haused by the heat and their anger, will fall asleep. Then you can enter the grove and pick all the fleece you need from the briars the sheep have brushed against."
Psyche did as the reed told her. That evening she presented Venus with a lap full of golden fleece.
The goddess sneered. "You obviously had the help of someone for this task, also. Well, your ability to get others to take risks for you exceeds what I imagined. Let's see how you fare with what I have in store for you tomorrow."
One of Venus's servants took Psyche back to the basement and locked her in for the night. Psyche sat on the dirt floor, her back against the stone wall. She thought about how Pan had come to her rescue again. Favonius had enlisted her help in dealing with her sisters. Could it be that the gods and nature itself did not want Venus to succeed? That was almost too much to hope for, but could it be? The thought filled with her with such joy that she laughed aloud.
In the room above, Cupid lay on his bed. For a moment he thought he heard laughter, but who would feel such happiness in the house of his mother?
The Third Task
The next morning, the servant came and again took Psyche up to the small room, and like the morning before, there was a bowl of fruit, which she devoured. The servant then took her to the back of the palace, where Venus waited, a crystal goblet in one hand.
"I hope you slept well," Venus greeted Psyche. "You are going to need every ounce of strength and all your wits for what I have planned today."
"I slept very well, Goddess."
Venus did not like that answer, but she said, "Good! I am glad! Now, see that mountain?" She pointed at a nearby peak. "On it there is a river of rushing white water, the river Styx. Take this crystal goblet and fill it with cold water from the river." She stopped and laughed. "However, the water must be taken from the middle of the river, at the place where the river comes out of the underground."
Psyche nodded and took the goblet from Venus. The goddess sneered, then turned and walked away, laughter extending behind her like the train of a gown.
Psyche stood for a moment, despair threatening to make her its own yet again. However, before it could do so this time, Psyche remembered: only when she felt that she would have to accomplish a task alone did despair and self-pity overtake her. But she was not alone. And so she turned and started walking toward the mountain.
However, when Psyche reached the top of the mountain, she stared in disbelief. The river Styx began deep in the underworld and burst forth in a roaring torrent from a gaping hole in the mountain, which was guarded on both sides by dragons who never slept or blinked their eyes. And as the river tumbled and swirled and roiled down the rocky mountainside, it sang out: "Death! Death! Death! Be off! Be off!"
Unknown to Psyche and Venus, Jupiter had been watching. He was disappointed that Venus had allowed her anger to obliterate her common sense. It was as if she had married her soul to that of her son, and no mother should love her son in that way. While it was Cupid's task to free himself from his mother and marry his soul to Psyche's, someone had to keep Psyche alive until Cupid came to his senses.
"Aquila!" Jupiter called out.
The giant eagle, Jupiter's royal bird, heard his master's voice and flew down from his aerie, high on the highest mountains. Jupiter pointed to where Psyche stood on the bank of the river Styx, a crystal goblet in her hand. Aquila understood, for he, too, had been watching the drama between Venus and Psyche. If he was going to favor one over the other, it would be Psyche, because Cupid had helped him when Jupiter wanted Ganymede brought to Olympus to be his cupbearer.
The great bird flew swiftly and snatched the crystal goblet from Psyche's hand. However, being Jupiter's bird did not mean accomplishing the task was going to be easy. The dragons saw the eagle coming toward them, and he saw them. Aquila flew high. The dragons, baring their fangs, stretched their long necks into the sky and struck at the eagle with their three-forked tongues. The royal eagle folded his wings tightly against his body and, like an arrow from the bow of Apollo, shot down to the place in the mountain where the river poured forth.
But just as he reached it, the river stopped and said, "Who comes to steal my water? Leave now before I rise up and drown you."
"The goddess Venus has sent me," the eagle said. "She is concocting a love potion that requires only the purest of water, and what water is purer than that of the river Styx?"
The river, flattered that Venus needed it, filled the goblet. By this time, the dragons had located Aquila, and just as they struck at him again, the great bird raised himself into the air and flew back to where Psyche stood on the shore, watching in awe.
Aquila gave the goblet to Psyche.
"Thank you!" she said.
"You're welcome," the eagle responded. "I am Aquila, Jupiter's bird."
"Jupiter!" Psyche exclaimed.
"Jupiter," Aquila repeated. "Do you understand?"
Psyche nodded, and the magnificent bird flew back to his aerie.
This time, when Psyche returned to the palace and handed Venus the goblet filled with water from the mouth of the river Styx, she looked the goddess in the eye and smiled.
"I keep underestimating your powers, Witch!" Venus screamed, beside herself with rage. "Such powers as you have should belong only to a deity. No mortal should have access to the powers you have stolen from somewhere. You are a danger to mortals and deities. Tomorrow you die!"
Psyche was returned to the cold, dark room in the basement. As she lay down to sleep on the cold dirt floor, she thought she heard weeping from the room above hers.
Cupid's Tears
The story and I have been having a big argument. We are getting close to the end, and the story wants to hurry up and get there. I keep telling it that we will get to the end when we get there and not a minute sooner. Sometimes stories don't know the best way to tell themselves. That's especially true of some of the very old stories like this one. It has gotten used to being told one way, and I'm having a hard time getting the story to understand that people listen to stories differently than they did back in the year one hundred. People today are surrounded by stories. There are radio and television stations that do nothing but broadcast news, and what is news except stories? Then there are the stories people see in the movies and on television—love stories, funny stories, stories about murders
, robberies, kid-nappings, and on and on. People today probably know more about stories than people did in the year one hundred, which is why I know the people listening to this story have been wondering, "What's up with Cupid? The dude just dropped out of the story."
Well, no, he hasn't. The story says it has no idea what Cupid is doing, because I changed things. You remember the scene when Psyche took the lamp and looked at Cupid, and the oil dropped on him. Well, back in the year one hundred, the burn injured him so severely that he had to stay in bed until it healed. That might have made sense to folks back in one hundred, but people today would not believe something as lame as that. They would say Cupid was a wimp if he was going to go missing in action from a little burn. Plus, Psyche was much too fine to be wasting her time on someone who lets his mama push him around like he was still in a baby carriage. So I told the story this is not the year one hundred, and it can't be telling itself now the way it told itself then. And anyway, I'm doing the telling this time, so the story best sit down and listen.
When we last saw Cupid he was lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how things got so messed up. In the first place, he had thought that Psyche would be happy with him coming to see her every night. This proves that Cupid did not know anything about women. As much as most women love jewelry, fine clothes, and chocolate, they want to go places so they can show off their jewelry and clothes. They also want to go places so they can show off their husbands, or whomever they are going out with. And they definitely want to know what the person loving them looks like! Cupid did not understand that just because the relationship was fine for him, that did not mean it was fine for Psyche.
The second mistake Cupid made was this: after Psyche disobeyed him and saw who he was, he expected that he could leave her and his life would return to what it was before. That is not how love works. When someone becomes a part of your heart and your soul, you are forever changed. There is no going back to who you were before, because who you were does not exist anymore.
That morning when Cupid flew away from Psyche, he knew he was making a big mistake. He wanted to turn around and go back and tell her he was sorry. But he could not do that because he was still more of a child than he was a man. When a man makes a mistake, when a man hurts the woman he loves, he accepts responsibility for hurting her and tells her so. But if that male is still more child than man, he goes off somewhere and pouts. And if he pouts too long, he gets depressed.
That's why Cupid couldn't do anything except lie there in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, where all he saw was Psyche's face. He would look at it and say, "Why did you have to go and spoil everything? We had a perfect relationship and we would be together now if you had just done what I told you."
But something interesting happened. The more Cupid tried to blame Psyche, the more depressed he got. And that was the best thing that could have happened to him.
I know you must think I'm crazy. Depression is one of the worst feelings there is, but just because you feel bad, it does not mean what is happening to you is bad. (And, Jupiter knows: I have been depressed enough to know what I'm talking about.)
Slowly Cupid began to realize he could not spend his life blaming Psyche, and maybe, just maybe, he was the one who had been at fault. The minute he had that thought, he started moving away from being a child and toward becoming an adult.
Cupid's depression broke. Shame washed over him like wave after wave of ocean water striking the beach. He started to cry, but his tears were not because he missed Psyche. His tears were ones of regret over how he had used Psyche for his own gratification. He had never stopped to think about her and what she might have wanted and needed. There would never be a relationship until what she wanted was as important as what he wanted. And he cried aloud.
Far below, in the cold, dark basement, Psyche heard.
The Final Task
Neither Cupid nor Psyche slept well that night. Neither did Venus. The goddess had been unsettled by her last encounter with Psyche. The girl had dared look her directly in the eyes. It was if she were no longer afraid of what Venus might do to her. And no wonder. Whatever Venus sent her to do, she emerged not only unscathed but triumphant. The other gods and goddesses were laughing openly at Venus now whenever she went into the center of Olympus. Even Mars had snickered when she walked past him last evening. Venus would be laughed out of Olympus if she did not come up with a plan to be done with Psyche once and for all.
The goddess lay awake much of the night, thinking and plotting. When she finished, she was amazed at her brilliance. The plan was the most elaborate anyone could have devised, because it was filled with hidden snares. Not only would it be hard for any person or creature to help Psyche, but even if someone did, the final snare, the hidden heart of the plan, could not fail, because it used Psyche's weakness against her.
As soon as Psyche had finished her breakfast of fruit and was brought up from the basement, Venus rushed into the room.
"Good morning," the goddess greeted her pleasantly. "I hope you slept well."
"Thank you, Goddess. I did."
"I'm pleased to hear that, because the task you are to perform today requires that you be well rested."
Psyche noticed that Venus was holding a small box made of inlaid mother-of-pearl.
"Yes," Venus began, noticing Psyche looking at the box. "Isn't it beautiful? Neptune had it made especially for me. I want you to take the box and go to the underworld, to the death palace of the god Pluto, the ruler of the underworld, and his queen, Proserpine. You are to give the box to her and tell her the following: 'The lady Venus sends her compliments and asks that you put into the box a little of your beauty and send it back with the one who brings it. I have been so worried about my son, who is not well, that I have depleted my store of beauty until there is scarcely any left.'
"When Queen Proserpine returns the box to you, you are to come back here immediately. The muses are giving a performance tonight at the Apollo Theater, and I cannot attend looking like an old hag. It's all your fault I look like this. If you had failed at one of the tasks I gave you and died, my life would be back to normal. But since it seems that you are indestructible and simply won't die, I should at least have my beauty back. You're the one who has caused me to lose it, thus you are the one who must help me reclaim it."
Venus handed the box to Psyche, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Hurry, child. The performance is tonight and I cannot miss it! And I am certain that Cupid would be delighted to escort you to it." With that, the goddess turned and walked rapidly away.
Psyche's heart rose at Venus's words. Then it fell just as quickly. If she let herself believe anything Venus said, she was a fool. No goddess would give in to the desires of a mortal, and especially no mortal hated as much as Venus did Psyche. Why was Venus sending her to the kingdom of death if she did not want her to remain there? Was it possible for a living person to enter Pluto's realm and return? Didn't one have to be already dead to enter the underworld? And how exactly did someone who was alive enter?
As Psyche left Venus's palace, the little confidence she had received from Jupiter's eagle the day before was waning. Even the deities were loathe to enter Pluto's realm. But maybe she could find someone who could tell her a little about that bleak realm. She did not even know how to get to it.
Psyche went into the center of Olympus, where all the deities and their servants were hurrying to get ready for that evening's festivities. There were lines outside the barbershop and the beauty parlor, the tailor's shop and the cobbler's. "An Evening with the Muses" was the biggest social event of the Olympian year. Everybody who was anybody attended, arrayed in their finest clothes and jewels. And that was why Aeolus, the keeper of the Winds, was there with his wife, Cyane, and the Four Winds: Favonius, Aquilo, Eurus, and Auster.
Though he was a mortal, Aeolus was the inventor of sails and possessed the gift of predicting the weather, a skill the deities often had need of before they undert
ook their earthly adventures. Aeolus was a favorite of Jupiter, and each year, the god invited Aeolus, Cyane, and the Four Winds to sit in his box and enjoy the muses's performances.
That is how it came about that Favonius saw Psyche wandering among the crowd, looking around as if she were seeking someone in particular.
"There's Psyche!" West Wind exclaimed.
Aeolus, Cyane, and the Winds stopped to look. They had developed an affection for her from Favonius's description of her beauty and his stories about her and her sisters.
"She looks worried," Cyane said. "Shall we see if she needs help?"
And before Aeolus could respond, Cyane was jumping up and down, waving an arm, and shouting, "Psyche! Psyche! Over here!"
"Don't do that!" Aeolus said firmly to his wife. The Four Winds had told him what had been going on between Venus and Psyche, and he was reluctant to interfere in matters that concerned the deities. "Please, stop! Psyche is none of our business."
As soon as he heard his words, he wanted to take them back. His wife was named for Cyane, a female spirit who had seen Pluto kidnap Proserpine and take her to the underworld.
Cyane was a water nymph. She lived in a pool of water and rose up and tried to stop Pluto when he grabbed Proserpine. But she was no match for the god of the dead. Cyane was heartbroken at her failure, and she grieved so much that she eventually dissolved into the waters of her pool.
When Ceres came looking for her daughter Proserpine, Cyane could not tell her what she had seen. But Ceres saw Proserpine's girdle floating on the pool of water and had a clue as to her daughter's whereabouts.
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