How Psyche Reached Mount Olympus

Once upon a time there was a king of Greece who had three beautiful daughters, but the youngest, named Psyche, was the most beautiful of all. The fame of her lovely face and the charm of her whole being were so great that strangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to see her, and they paid Psyche the homage of love that was due to Venus herself. Venus' temple was deserted, and as Psyche passed by, the people sang her praises and strewed her way with flowers and wreaths.

Venus had a son, Cupid, who was dearer to her than anyone else on Mount Olympus or on earth. Like every mother, Venus had great ambitions for her son, but she could not always watch over him, for Cupid had wings and a golden bow and arrows with which he loved to play among mortals. Imagine Venus' anger when she discovered that Cupid had lost his heart to Psyche, the lovely earthly maiden! It was like a fairy tale where a prince marries a peasant girl and may not bring her home to the palace because of her low birth. Venus flatly refused to acknowledge Psyche or give her a place among the honored gods.

Cupid and Psyche had a wonderful earthly palace to live in. Golden pillars supported the vaulted roof, and the walls of the state rooms were richly carved and hung with embroidered tapestries of many colors. When Psyche wanted food, all she had to do was sit in an alcove, and a table immediately appeared without any servants, covering itself with rare fruits, rich cakes, and honey. When she longed for music, she enjoyed a feast of it played by invisible lutes, along with a chorus of harmonious voices. But Psyche was not happy in this life of luxury, for she had to be alone so much of the time. Venus could not take Cupid away from her entirely, but she allowed him to be with Psyche only in the hours of darkness. He fled before dawn.

There had been a terrible prophecy in Psyche's family, which her sisters constantly reminded her of. "Your youngest daughter is destined for a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist," the oracle had told the king, and the memory of it began to fill Psyche's heart with fear. Her sisters came to visit her and increased her fear. They asked all sorts of questions about Cupid, and Psyche had to admit that she could not exactly describe him because she had never seen him in the daylight. Her jealous sisters began to fill Psyche's mind with dark suspicions.

"How do you know," they asked, "that your husband is not a terrible, venomous serpent, who feeds you with all these dainties for a while so that he may devour you in the end? Take our advice. Get a lamp well filled with oil, and tonight when this villain returns and sleeps, go into his room and see whether our prophecy is true or not."

Psyche tried to resist her sisters, but at last their urging and her own curiosity were too much for her. She filled her lamp, and when her husband had fallen into his first sleep, she went silently to his couch and held the light above him.

There lay Cupid, the most beautiful and graceful of all the gods! His golden curls were a crown above his snowy forehead and crimson cheeks, and two wings whose feathers were like the soft white blossoms of an orchard sprang from his shoulders. In her joy at finding no cause for her fears, Psyche leaned over, tipping her lamp to look more closely at Cupid's face. As she bent down, a drop of burning oil fell on the god's shoulder. He opened his eyes, startled, and looked up at Psyche. Then, without saying a word, he spread his wide wings and flew out the window.

Psyche tried to follow him, but she had no wings and fell to the ground. For a brief moment Cupid paused his flight and turned to see her lying in the dust below him.

"Foolish Psyche," he said, "why did you repay my love this way? After disobeying my mother's commands and making you my wife, could you not trust me? I will inflict no further punishment on you than this: I leave you forever, for love cannot live with suspicion." With these words, Cupid flew out of Psyche's sight.

That was the beginning of the long road of trouble Psyche had to follow. She wandered day and night, without food or rest, searching for Cupid. One day she saw a magnificent temple set on the brow of a lofty hill, and she climbed the long way up to it, saying to herself, "Perhaps my love lives here."

When Psyche reached the top of the hill and entered the temple, she saw heaps of corn, some in sheaves and others in loose ears, and barley mixed with it. There were sickles, rakes, and all the other tools of the harvest scattered about in great confusion, as if the reapers at the end of a sultry day had left them in disorder. Despite her sorrow, Psyche could not bear to see this disarray and began trying to set the place in order. She worked so busily that she did not see Ceres, whose temple it was, enter. Turning at last, Psyche saw the goddess of harvest, wearing her fruit-trimmed garments, standing at her side.

"Poor Psyche!" she said pityingly. "But it is possible for you to find a way to the home of the gods where Cupid lives. Go and surrender yourself to Venus, and try by your own efforts to win her forgiveness and, perhaps, her favor."

So Psyche obeyed this command of Ceres, although it took great courage, and she traveled to the temple of Venus in Thebes, where the goddess received her in anger.

"The only way you can earn the favor of the gods, unfortunate Psyche," she said, "is by your own efforts. I myself am going to test your housewifely skill to see if you are industrious and diligent."

With these words, Venus led Psyche to a storehouse connected to her temple where there was an enormous quantity of grain laid up: beans, lentils, barley, wheat, and tiny millet seeds that Venus had stored to feed her pigeons.

"Separate all these grains," the goddess said to Psyche, "putting those of the same kind in a pile, and see that you finish before evening." Then she left Psyche, who was dismayed at the impossible task before her.

Psyche dipped her fingers into the golden heap, gathering a handful to sort the grains, but it took a long time, and the grain lay around her on every side like a yellow river. The grains she held were less than a drop taken from its surface.

"I shall not be able to finish. I shall never see my husband again!" Psyche moaned.

Still, she worked steadily, and at last a little ant, a native of the fields, crawled across the floor and took pity on the toiling Psyche. It was a king in its own domain and was followed by a host of its little red subjects.

Grain by grain, they separated the seeds, helping to put them in their own piles, and when the work was done, they vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

When evening came, Venus returned, breathing the fragrance of nectar and crowned with roses from a banquet of the gods. When she saw that Psyche's task was done, she could scarcely believe her eyes.

"You must have had assistance," she said. "Tomorrow you shall try a more difficult undertaking. Beyond my temple you will see a grassy meadow stretching along the borders of the water. There you will find a flock of sheep with golden shining fleeces on their backs, grazing without a shepherd. Bring me a sample of their precious wool, gathered from each of the fleeces."

Psyche once again obeyed, but this was a test of her life as well as her endurance. As she reached the meadow, the river god, whispering to her through the rushes, warned her.

"Do not venture among the flock while the sun shines on them," he told her. "In the heat of the rising sun, the rams burn with cruel rage, ready to destroy mortals with their sharp teeth. Wait until twilight, when you will find their woolly gold sticking to the bushes and tree trunks."

The compassion of the river god helped Psyche do as Venus had commanded, and she returned to the temple in the evening with her arms full of golden fleece.

Still, Venus was not satisfied.

"I have a third task for you," she told the weary Psyche. "Take this box to the realm of Pluto and give it to Proserpine, saying, 'My mistress Venus desires you to send her a little of your beauty, for in tending her son whom Psyche burned, she has lost some of her own.' And make all possible haste, for I must use it before I next appear in the circle of the gods on Mount Olympus."

Psyche felt that now her destruction was surely at hand. It was a dangerous road that led to the dark, underground kingdom of Pluto, with deadly dangers along the way. But Psyche was finding new courage with each difficulty she encountered, and she set out with the box. She passed safely by Cerberus, Pluto's three-headed watchdog. She persuaded Charon the ferryman to take her across the black river and wait for her while she begged Proserpine to fill the box. Then she started back to the light.

All would have gone well for Psyche if she had not grown curious. That was why her road to the dwelling place of the gods was so long and difficult. Psyche was always mixing a little bit of earth with her good intentions. Having come so far successfully with her dangerous task, she wanted to open the box.

"I would take only the tiniest bit of this beauty from Venus," Psyche thought, "to make myself more fair for Cupid if I ever see him again."

So she carefully opened the box, but there was nothing beautiful inside at all. It was a potion that caused Psyche to fall beside the road in a sleep that seemed to have no waking. She did not stir, nor breathe, nor remember.

It was there that love, in the form of Cupid, found Psyche. He was healed of his wound, and he could no longer bear her absence. He flew through a crack in the window of Venus' palace and made his way to earth, straight to the spot where Psyche lay. He gathered the deadly sleep from her body and put it back inside the box. Then he touched her lightly with one of his arrows, and she woke.

"Again you have almost perished because of your curiosity," he said as Psyche reached up her arms to him, "but perform exactly this task my mother asked of you, and I will attend to the rest."

Then Cupid, as swift as a bird, returned to Mount Olympus and pleaded with Jupiter for a welcome for Psyche. Jupiter finally agreed to admit this earthly daughter to the family of the gods, and Mercury was sent to bring her and offer her the cup of ambrosial nectar that would make her one of the immortals.

It is said that at the moment when Psyche completed her tasks and departed for Mount Olympus, a winged creature, the butterfly, which had never been seen before on earth, rose from a garden and flew on golden wings up toward the sun. So it was thought that the story of Psyche was the story of the butterfly that bursts its gray cocoon and rises, with new beauty and the power of wings, toward the sky. And the Greeks had still another name for Psyche, whom neither her troubles nor the sleep of Pluto could keep from the home of the gods when Love pleaded for her. They called her the Soul.