Adapted by ANNA MCCALEB

Once upon a time, in a far-off country whose exact location no man knows, there lived a king whose chief glory and pride was in his three beautiful daughters. The two elder sisters were sought in marriage by princes, but Psyche, by far the most beautiful of the three, remained at her father's home, unsought. The fact was, she was so lovely that all the people worshiped her as a goddess, while no man felt that he was worthy to ask for her hand.

"Shall a mere mortal," they said, "venture to seek the love of Venus, queen of beauty?"

When Psyche learned of the name they had given her she was frightened, for she knew well the jealous, vengeful nature of the goddess of beauty. And she did well to fear; for Venus, jealous, angry, was even then plotting her destruction.

"Go," she said to her son Cupid. "Wound that proud, impertinent girl with your arrows, and see to it that she falls in love with some wretched, depraved human being. She shall pay for attempting to rival me."

Off went the mischievous youth, pleased with his errand; but when he bent over the sleeping Psyche and saw that she was far more beautiful than any one whom he had ever looked upon, he started hastily back, and wounded, not the maiden, but himself, with his arrow. Happy, and yet wretched in his love (for he knew his mother too well to fancy that she would relent toward the offending Psyche), he stole away; and for days he did not go near his mother, knowing that she would demand of him the outcome of his mission.

Meanwhile the old king, feeling that disgrace rested on his family because no man had come to seek Psyche in marriage, sent messengers to ask of the oracle [Footnote: An oracle was a place where some god answered questions about future happenings. The same name was also given to the answers made by the god. The most famous oracles were that of Jupiter at Dodona and that of Apollo at Delphi, the latter holding chief place. At Delphi there was a temple to Apollo built over a chasm in the mountain side from which came sulphurous fumes. A priestess took her seat on a tripod over this chasm, and the answers she gave to inquiries were supposed to be dictated by the god. These answers were almost always unintelligible, and even when interpreted by the priests were ambiguous and of little use. Nevertheless, the Greeks believed in oracles firmly, and never undertook any important work without first consulting one or more of them.] of Apollo whether he or his family had ignorantly offended any of the gods. Eagerly he watched for the return of the messengers, but as they came back the sight of their white faces told him that no favorable answer had been theirs.

"Pardon, O King," said the spokesman, "thy servants who bring thee ill news. We can but speak the words of the gods, which were these:

"'For hear thy doom; a rugged rock there is
Set back a league from thine own palace fair;
There leave the maid, that she may wait the kiss
Of the fell monster that doth harbour there:
This is the mate for whom her yellow hair
And tender limbs have been so fashioned,
This is the pillow for her lovely head.

"'And if thou sparest now to do this thing,
I will destroy thee and thy land also,
And of dead corpses shalt thou be the king,
And stumbling through the dark land shalt thou go,
Howling for second death to end thy woe;
Live therefore as thou mayst and do my will,
And be a king that men may envy still.'"
[Footnote: From William Morris's Earthly Paradise.]

Imagine the grief of the loving father at these words! Had the oracle but threatened punishment to him, he would have endured any torture before subjecting his child to such a fate; but as a king, he dared not bring ruin on all his people, who trusted him. Psyche, herself, numb with horror, commanded quietly that preparations be made for the procession which should accompany her to the rock described by the oracle. Some days later, this procession set out, the priests in their white robes preceding Psyche, who, in mourning garments, with bowed head and clasped hands, walked between her father and mother. Her parents bewailed their fate and clung to her, but she said only, "It is the will of the gods, and therefore must be."

At last the mountain top was reached, the last heart-breaking farewells were said, and the procession wound back toward the city, leaving Psyche alone. All the horror of her fate burst upon her as she stood on the bleak rock, and she raised her hands to heaven and cried. Suddenly, however, it seemed to her that the breeze which blew past her murmured in her ear "Do not fear"; and certainly she felt herself being lifted gently and carried over mountain and valley and sea. At last, she was placed on a grassy bank, in a pleasant, flower-bright valley, and here she fell asleep, feeling quite safe after all her fears.

On awaking, she strolled about the lovely garden in which she found herself, wondering to see no one, though on all sides there were signs of work and care and thought. At the door of a palace, more gorgeous than any she had ever seen before, she paused, but soft voices called "Enter, beautiful maiden," and gentle hands, which she saw not, drew her within the door. While she gazed in wonder at the wrought golden pillars, the ivory and gold furnishings, the mosaic of precious stones which formed the floor, a voice said, close beside her:

"Sovereign lady, let not fear oppress thee:
All is thine on which thine eye doth rest.
We, whose voices greet thee, are thy servants—
Thou art mistress here, not passing guest.
In thy chamber, bed of down awaits thee;
Perfumed baths our skilled hands prepare."

As she had slept in the garden, Psyche felt no need of rest, but passed at once to the refreshment of the bath. Then, for she had eaten nothing since the oracle's decree, she seated herself at the table and ate of the delicious dishes which the invisible hands presented to her. Swiftly the remaining hours of daylight passed, while the amazed and enraptured Psyche wandered about the palace and listened to the exquisite music which invisible performers furnished for her.

With the coming of the darkness, the voice which had spoken to her at her entrance said, "Our master comes!" And shortly after, he began to speak to her himself. At the first tones of his gentle, loving voice, Psyche forgot her fears, forgot the oracle; and when her unseen lover said, "Canst thou love me somewhat in return for all the love I give thee?" she answered, "Willingly!"

"Thou mayest have all the joys which earth and heaven afford; one thing only I ask of thee in return. I shall come to thee with the darkness, and never shalt thou try to see my face."

Psyche promised, and she kept her promise faithfully for a long time, though her longing to see the husband who was so good to her was great. During the hours when he was with her, she was perfectly happy, but through the long days, when she had nothing but the voices that had greeted her on her arrival, and her own thoughts for company, she longed and longed to see her sisters, and to send to her parents news of her happiness. One night when her husband came, she begged of him that he would allow her sisters to visit her.

"Art thou not happy with me, Pysche?" he asked sorrowfully. "Do I not fill thy heart as thou fillest mine?"

"I am happier with thee than ever happy girl was with seen lover," replied Psyche, "but my parents and my sisters are yet in sorrow over my fate, and my heart tells me it is selfishness for me to be so happy while they grieve for me."

At last, her husband gave a reluctant consent to her request, and on the very next day, the West Wind, [Footnote: The winds, four in number, were the sons of Aeolus, god of the storm and of winds. Their names were Boreas, the north wind; Zephyrus, the west wind; Auster, the south wind, and Eurus, the east wind.] who had brought Psyche to this retreat, brought her two sisters and set them down at her door. Joyfully Psyche led them in, and she commanded her invisible servants to serve them with the finest foods and entertain them with the most exquisite music. After the meal was over, the happy girl conducted them about the palace and pointed out to them all its treasures. She was not proud or boastful; she only wanted to show them how kind and thoughtful her husband was. But the sights that met their eyes filled them with envy, and when Psyche left the room to make some further plans for their comfort, one said to the other:

"Is it not unendurable that this girl, who was left unsought in our father's house for years, should be living in such splendor? I shall hate the sight of my own palace when I return."

"Yes," sighed the other, "all the polished oaken furnishings of which I was so proud will be worthless in my eyes after seeing Psyche's magnificent ivory and gold. And she is our younger sister!"

"Do you notice," said the elder sister, "that while she says much about what her husband does for her, she says nothing at all about him? But wait—here she comes—say nothing, and I will question her."

Happy, innocent Psyche, never doubting that her sisters were as pleased at her good fortune as she would have been at theirs, came to lead them to another room, but her sister detained her.

"Stay," she said, "we have something to ask of you. About all the splendors of your palace you have talked; you have told us at great length about your husband's goodness to you. But not a word about his looks or his age or his occupation have you said. See, sister! She blushes! Shy girl, she has been unwilling to speak of him until we spoke first."

"No doubt," said the other sister, "she has saved until the last her description of him, since he is the best part of her life here."

Poor Psyche knew not what to say. How should she confess that, after these many months, she had never seen her husband; that she knew not at all what manner of man he was?

"Why, he's a young man," she replied hesitatingly, "a very young man, and he spends much of his time hunting on the mountains."

"Has he blue eyes or brown?" asked the elder sister.

"I—why—O, blue eyes," said Psyche.

"And his hair," inquired the second sister, "is it straight or curling, black or fair?"

"It's—it's straight and—and brown," faltered poor Psyche, who had never before uttered a lie.

"Now, see here, my child," said the elder sister, "I can tell from your answers that you've never seen this precious husband of yours. Is not that the case?"

Psyche nodded, the tears running down her cheeks.

"But he's so good to me," she whispered. "And I promised I wouldn't try to see him."

"Good to you! You deluded innocent, of course he's good to you! What did the oracle say? It's plain to be seen that the prophecy has come true and that you are wedded to some fearful monster, who is kind to you now that he may kill and devour you by-and-by."

At length, for they were older than Psyche, and she had always been accustomed to taking their advice, they convinced her that her only safety lay in discovering at once what sort of a monster had her in its possession.

"Now mind," they counseled her, "this very night conceal a lamp and a dagger where you can reach them easily, and as soon as he is asleep, steal upon him. You shall see what you shall see. And if he's the distorted monster we think him, plunge the knife into his heart."

Poor, timid Psyche! Left to herself, she scarce knew what to do. She kindled the lamp, then extinguished it, ashamed of her lack of faith in her kind husband.

But when she heard him coming, she again hastily lighted the lamp and hid it, with a sharp dagger, behind a tapestry. When her husband approached her she pretended weariness; she knew that if she allowed him to talk with her, her fears would melt away.

"My visit with my sisters has tired me. Let me rest," she pleaded, and her husband, always ready to humor any wish of hers, did not try to coax her into conversation. He threw himself upon the couch, and when his regular breathing told her that he really slept, Psyche arose tremblingly, took up her lamp and dagger and stole to his side. Lifting her lamp high she looked upon—the very god of Love, himself!

[Illustration: SHE LOOKED UPON THE GOD OF LOVE]

"I stood
Long time uncertain, and at length turned round
And gazed upon my love. He lay asleep,
And ah, how fair he was! The flickering light
Fell on the fairest of the gods, stretched out
In happy slumber. Looking on his locks
Of gold, and faultless face and smile, and limbs
Made perfect, a great joy and trembling took me
Who was most blest of women, and in awe
And fear I stooped to kiss him. One warm drop
From the full lamp within my trembling hand,
Fell on his shoulder."
[Footnote: From Epic of Hades by Lewis Morris]

Cupid awoke, looked with startled eyes at his wife, and reading aright the story of the lamp and the dagger, spread his wings and flew through the open window, saying sadly:

"Farewell! There is no love except with Faith, And thine is dead!
Farewell! I come no more!"

Weeping and calling out to her husband, Psyche ran out of doors into the black, stormy night. To the edge of the garden she ran, and then, in her grief and terror she swooned. When she awakened, the palace and garden had vanished, but Psyche cared little for that; henceforth her only care was to seek her husband.

Encountering on her wanderings the kindly Ceres, Psyche implored her help; but Ceres could give her no aid except advice.

"The gods must stand by each other," she said. "If Venus is angered at thee, I can give thee no aid. This, though, thou mayst do: Go to Venus, submit thyself unto her, and perhaps thou mayst win her favor."

At the temple of Venus, Psyche encountered that goddess, the cause of all her misfortunes; and right glad was Venus to have the once proud maiden for her humble slave.

"Many are the tasks thou canst perform for me," said the disdainful goddess, "if them art not as stupid as thou art ugly. Here is a simple little task to begin upon."

She led Psyche to the storehouse of the temple and pointed out to her a great heap of grain—wheat, barley, poppy seeds, beans and millet.

"When I return at evening," she commanded, "have each sort of grain in a heap by itself."

The luckless girl knew that the work could not be accomplished in the time allowed her, and she made, therefore, no attempt to begin it. As she sat with her head in her hands, she heard a faint sound, as if the grain were being stirred about, and looking up, she saw that the ants had come in vast numbers and were sorting it out. Fascinated, she watched them, until long before evening the task was done.

"Thou couldst never have done this by thyself, lazy one," exclaimed Venus, on her return. "To-morrow I will see whether thou art indeed able to do anything. Beyond the river which flows past my temple are golden-fleeced sheep, roaming without a shepherd. Do thou bring to me a portion of their fleece."

In the morning Psyche set out, utterly discouraged, but afraid to linger in the temple of the angry goddess. When she approached the sheep, she trembled, for they were numerous, and very fierce. As she stood concealed in the rushes by the river bank, the murmuring reeds said to her:

"Wait! At noon the sheep will seek the shade. Then mayst thou gather of their fleece from the bushes under which they have ranged,"

With a thankful heart Psyche followed the directions, and at evening returned unharmed with the golden wool, which she presented to Venus. Again the goddess upbraided her.

"Well I know that of thine own self thou couldst never have done this," she cried wrathfully; nor did she stop to reflect that the fact that Psyche thus received aid, unasked, in her difficulties, was a proof that all things on earth loved and pitied her, Instead, she gave her yet another task.

"Take this casket; go with it to the realms of the dead, and ask of Proserpina that she loan me a little of her beauty. I have worried about the undutiful conduct of my son until I have grown thin and pale, and I would look my best at the assembly of the gods to-morrow night."

This was the most hopeless task of all. To go to the realms of the dead—what did it mean but that she must die?

"As well soon as late," sighed the poor girl; and she climbed to the top of a high tower, meaning to cast herself down. But even here, where no living thing seemed to be, a voice came to her ears.

"Desist, rash girl, from thy plan! Thou art not yet to die. If thou wilt observe carefully all the directions which I shall give thee, thou shalt fulfill thy cruel mistress's stern behest. From a cave in yonder hill there leads a path, straight into the earth. No man has ever trodden it. Along this shalt thou journey, bearing in thy hand sops for the three-headed dog of Pluto, and money for the grim ferryman, Charon. It is written that thou shalt succeed; only, thou shalt not open the box which hides the beauty of Proserpina."

[Illustration: PSYCHE AND CHARON]

The voice ceased, and Psyche climbed from her tower and set out on the arduous journey. Through long, long hours she toiled over the rough path in utter darkness. What was on either side of her, she knew not; no sound came to her except the far-off drip of water slipping through the rocks. At length, when she was ready to drop with fatigue and fear, a faint light appeared before her. Somewhat cheered, she walked on, and stepping from the vast tunnel in which she had been journeying, she found herself on the bank of a river. It was not such a river as she had seen gliding through the green fields and glittering over the rocks of her native country; it was a sluggish, inky-black stream, [Footnote: There were several great rivers in Pluto's realm. Phlegethon, a river of fire, separated Tartarus, the abode of the wicked, from the rest of Hades, while Cocytus, a salty river, was composed of the tears of the dwellers in Tartarus. But the most famous of the rivers were the Styx, by which the gods swore; the Lethe, a draught from which made one forget all that had ever happened and begin life anew; and the Acheron, a black, cold stream, over which the spirits of the dead had to be ferried before they could enter Pluto's realm. The ferryman was Charon; and since he would row no one over the river unless he were paid for it, the ancients placed under the tongue of the dead a small coin wherewith the fare might be paid.] which slid on without ever a ripple. A strange, gray light filled all the place, and showed to her a ferryboat, moored to the shore, and a grim-looking, old, long-bearded ferryman.

"Will you take me over the river?" asked Psyche, in a faint voice. The ferryman gave her no answer, but she ventured to step upon his craft, upon which he instantly shoved off. Without a sound they moved across the river, and when Psyche stepped off on the farther shore, she knew she was really in Hades, the dreadful realm of Pluto. Tossing back onto the boat the coin she had brought, she went on and on, until she came to a great gloomy tower of black marble. On the threshold stood Pluto's dog, three-headed Cerberus, and fiercely he barked at the poor frightened girl. However, the sop which she threw to him quieted him, and she passed on into the palace. There, on their black thrones, sat Pluto and Proserpina, king and queen of this hopeless realm.

"Great queen," said Psyche, bowing humbly before Proserpina's throne, "my mistress has sent me to borrow for her a little of thy beauty."

"Willingly will I lend it," said Proserpina, kindly, "not to please thy proud mistress, but to help thee, poor girl." And taking the little casket which Psyche had brought with her, she breathed into it, closed it hurriedly, and handed it to the waiting girl.

Gladly did Psyche leave this gloomy abode and set out on her homeward journey. The black path seemed not so long nor so frightful when she knew she was moving toward the light of day; and O, how happy she was when she saw the sunlight glimmering ahead of her! Out once more in the free light and fresh air, she sat down for a time to rest, and a great curiosity came upon her to know what the little casket in her hand contained.

"My beauty must have been growing less through these weeks of trouble and fright," she thought, "and perhaps if my husband saw me now he would not love me. It can do no harm for me to borrow just a little of the contents of this box."

She raised the lid, but from the box there came, with a rushing sound, the spirit of sleep. This spirit seized upon Psyche and laid her by the roadside in a sleep resembling death, and here she might have slept for all time, had not Cupid, wandering by, spied her. Bending over her, he kissed her; then he wrestled with the spirit of sleep until he had forced it to release Psyche, and to enter again the little casket from which her curiosity had loosed it.

[Illustration: CUPID SPIED PSYCHE SLEEPING]

"Psyche," he said, turning to his wife, who lay speechless with happiness at beholding him again, "once through thy curiosity I was lost to thee; this time thou wast almost lost to me. Never again must I leave thee; never must thou be absent from my sight."

Together, then, they hastened to Olympus, the dwelling of the gods: together they bowed before Jupiter's throne. The king of the gods, looking upon Psyche and seeing that she was beautiful as a goddess, listened favorably to their petition, and, calling for a cup of ambrosia, presented it to her and said:

"Drink, Psyche; so shalt thou become immortal, and fit wife for a god."

Venus, touched by her son's happiness, forgave his bride, and the young lovers, who had gone through so many griefs and hardships, lived happily forever in the beautiful palace presented to them by the king of the gods.

The myth of Cupid and Psyche is of much later date than most of the other myths; in fact, it is met with first in a writer of the second century of the Christian era. Many of the myths are material—that is, they explain physical happenings, such as the rising of the sun, the coming of winter, or the flashing of the lightning; but the myth of Cupid and Psyche has nothing to do with the forces of nature—it is wholly spiritual in its application.

Cupid is Love, while Psyche represents the soul; and thus the story, in its descriptions of Psyche's sufferings, shows how the soul, loved by heaven, and really loving heaven, is robbed of its joy through its own folly. Only by striving and suffering, the story tells us, is the soul purified and made fit for joy everlasting.

Psyche's descent into the regions of the dead signifies that it is only after death that the soul realizes its true happiness. Even if we did not know just when this myth originated, we might guess from this teaching that the myth was a late one, for the earliest Greeks and Romans did not believe in a real happiness after death. They believed in existence after death, but it was a very shadowy existence, with the most negative sort of pleasures. Later, the Romans, even before they accepted Christianity, had their beliefs more or less modified by their contact with Christians.

We may sum this myth up by saying that it is an allegory of

"the soul of man, the deathless soul, Defeated, struggling, purified and blest."

As you read this story of Cupid and Psyche, some incidents in it doubtless seemed familiar to you; you had come across them before in various fairy tales. Thus the story of Psyche's arrival at the palace and of the way in which she was waited upon by invisible beings will remind you of certain parts of Beauty and the Beast, while the labors set for Psyche by Venus will recall The Three Tasks. Now, while some of the fairy stories are undoubtedly borrowed from this old, old tale, it is a singular fact that there is an old Norse story which contains some of the same incidents, and yet could not have been taken from this.

One of the most interesting things about the study of mythology is the attempt to discover how widely separate nations came to have similar stories. Many learned men have worked much over this question, and some of them say that, having the same facts to explain, or the same things to express in allegory, the various ancient peoples naturally hit upon the same explanations. Others believe that this similarity of myths shows that far, far back, the ancestors of these different people must have had intercourse with each other. Probably there is some truth in both theories, though most authorities believe that the former theory covers more cases than does the latter.

We have said that this story is an allegory; do you understand just what an allegory is? There are different types of allegories; in some, each person that appears represents some quality or some influence; in others, a general truth is set forth, but there is no attempt to make every minor character fill a place in the allegory. To which type do you think the story of Cupid and Psyche belongs? Do Psyche's sisters, for instance, represent anything?

What was the real fault of Psyche—the folly that cost her her happiness?

The word "Psyche" means in Greek, the SOUL; it is also the word for BUTTERFLY. Can you see any reason why the one name should be used for both?

There are still some very, very old pictures which show a man with a butterfly just fluttering out from between his lips. Remembering that the butterfly was the emblem of the soul, can you imagine what the artists meant to show by this?