{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_7444/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_7444","id":"gutenberg_7444","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7444","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Moli\u00e8re, 1622-1673 -- Translations into English","Psyche (Greek deity) -- Drama","Tragedies (Drama)"],"text":"E-text prepared by Charles Franks, Delphine Lettau, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nPSYCHE.\n\nby\n\nMOLI\u00c8RE\n\nTranslated into English Prose.\n\nWith Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.\n\nby\n\nCHARLES HERON WALL\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n'Psyche' is a _trag\u00e9die-ballet_. Moli\u00e8re had sketched the plan,\nwritten the prologue, the first act, and the first scenes of the\nsecond and third acts, when the King asked him to have the play\nfinished before Lent. Pierre Corneille, then sixty years old, helped\nhim, and wrote the other scenes in a fortnight. Quinault wrote the\nwords of the songs.\n\nMoli\u00e8re acted the part of Zephyr.\n\n\n\nPERSONS REPRESENTED.\n\nJUPITER.\nVENUS.\nLOVE.\nZEPHYR.\nAEGIALE _and_ PHA\u00cbNE, _two Graces_.\nTHE KING.\nPSYCHE.\nAGLAURA.\nCIDIPPE.\nCLEOMENES _and_ AGENOR, _two princes_, PSYCHE'S _lovers_.\nLYCAS, _captain of the guards_.\nA RIVER GOD\nTWO CUPIDS.\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE.\n\n_The front of the stage represents a rustic spot, while at the back the\nsea can be seen in the distance._\n\n\nSCENE I.\n\nFLORA _appears in the centre of the stage, attended by_ VERTUMNUS,\n_god of trees and fruit, and by_ PALEMON, _god of the streams. Each of\nthese gods conducts a troup of divinities; one leads in his train_\nDRYADS _and_ SYLVANS, _and the other_ RIVER GODS _and_ NAIADS.\n\nFLORA _sings the following lines, to invite_ VENUS _to descend\nupon earth_:--\n\nFLORA.\n\n  The din of battle is stayed;\n    The mightiest king of earth\n  His arms aside has laid;\n    Of peace 'tis now the birth!\n  Descend thou, lovely Venus,\n  And blissful hours grant us!\n\nVERTUMNUS _and_ PALEMON, _and the divinities who attend them, join\ntheir voices to that of_ FLORA, _and sing the following words_.--\n\nCHORUS OF DIVINITIES _of the earth and streams, composed of_\nFLORA, NYMPHS, PALEMON, VERTUMNUS, SYLVANS, FAUNS, DRYADS, _and_\nNAIADS.\n\n  A peace profound we now enjoy,\n  And games and bliss without alloy;\n  Earth's mightiest king has giv'n us rest;\n  To him be praise and thanks addrest.\n    Descend thou, lovely Venus,\n    And happy hours grant us!\n\n_Then is formed an entry of the ballet, composed of two_ DRYADS,\n_four_ SYLVANS, _two_ RIVER GODS, _and two_ NAIADS, _after which_\nVERTUMNUS _and_ PALEMON _sing the following dialogue_:--\n\nVERTUMNUS.\n  Yield, yield, ye beauties stern,\n  To sigh 'tis now your turn!\n\nPALEMON.\n  See you, the queen above,\n  She comes to breathe soft love!\n\nVERTUMNUS.\n  A fair one stern for aye\n  Ne'er wins a faithful sigh!\n\nPALEMON.\n  To woo has beauty arms,\n  But gentleness has greater charms.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  To woo has beauty arms;\n  But gentleness has greater charms.\n\nVERTUMNUS.\n  Seek not your hearts to shield;\n  To pine is law, and ye must yield.\n\nPALEMON.\n  Is aught more worthless born\n  Than hearts that love will scorn?\n\nVERTUMNUS.\n  A fair one stern, for aye\n  Ne'er wins a faithful sigh!\n\nPALEMON.\n  To woo has beauty arms,\n  But gentleness has greater charms.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  To woo has beauty arms,\n  But gentleness has greater charms.\n\nFLORA _answers the dialogue of_ VERTUMNUS _and_ PALEMON _by the\nfollowing minuet, and the other divinities join their dances to the\nsong._\n\n\n  Does wisdom say,\n  In youth's heyday,\n  Sweet love forego?\n  Be up, in haste\n  These pleasures taste\n  Of earth below.\n\n  Youth's wisdom too\n  Is love to woo,\n  And love to know.\n  If love disarms,\n  It is by charms;\n  So yield your arms.\n\n  'Twere madness 'gainst his darts\n  To seek to shield your hearts.\n  Whate'er the bond\n  Of lover fond,\n  'Tis sweeter chain\n  Than freedom's gain.\n\nVENUS _descends from heaven, attended by_ CUPID, _her son, and two\nGraces, called_ AEGIALE _and_ PHA\u00cbNE; _and the divinities of the earth\nand the streams once more unite their songs, and continue by their\ndances to show their joy at her approach._\n\nCHORUS _of all the Divinities of the earth and the streams._\n\n  A peace profound we now enjoy,\n  And games and bliss without alloy;\n  Earth's mightiest king has giv'n us rest;\n  To him be praise and thanks addrest.\n  Descend thou, lovely Venus,\n  And happy hours grant us.\n\nVEN. (_in her chariot_). Cease, cease, all your songs of joy. Such\nrare honours do not belong to me, and the homage which in your\nconsideration you now pay me ought to be reserved for lovelier charms.\nTo pay your court to me is a custom indeed too old; everything has its\nturn, and Venus is no longer the fashion. There are rising charms to\nwhich now all carry their incense. Psyche, the beauteous Psyche,\nto-day has taken my place. Already now the whole world hastens to\nworship her, and it is too great a boon that, in the midst of my\ndisgrace, I still find some one who stoops to honour me. Our deserts\nare not even fairly weighed together, but all are ready to abandon me;\nwhile of the numerous train of privileged graces, whose care and\nfriendship followed me everywhere, I have now only two of the smaller\nones who cling to me out of mere pity. I pray you, let these dark\nabodes lend their solitude to the anguish of my heart, and suffer me\nto hide my shame and grief in the midst of their gloom.\n\nFLORA _and the other deities withdraw; and_ VENUS _with her retinue\ndescends from her chariot._\n\n\nSCENE II.--VENUS, CUPID, AEGIALE, PHA\u00cbNE, CUPID\n\nAEGI. We know not what to do, goddess; while we see you overwhelmed by\nthis grief, our respect bids us be silent, our zeal would have us\nspeak.\n\nVEN. Speak; but if your cares would please me, leave all your advice\nfor a fitter time; and speak of my wrath but to own me right; that was\nthe keenest insult my divinity could ever receive; but revenge I shall\nhave if gods have any power.\n\nPHA. Your wisdom, your discernment, are greater than ours in deciding\nwhat may be worthy of you; yet, methinks, a mighty goddess should not\nthus give way to wrath.\n\nVEN. That is the very reason of my extreme anger; the greater the\nbrilliancy of my rank, the deeper the insult. If I did not stand on so\nlofty a height, the indignation of my heart would not be so violent.\nI, the daughter of the Thunderer, mother of the love-inspiring god; I,\nthe sweetest yearning of heaven and earth, who received birth only to\ncharm; I, who have seen everything that hath breath utter so many vows\nat my shrines, and by immortal rights have held the sovereign sway of\nbeauty in all ages; I, whose eyes have forced two mighty gods to yield\nme the prize of beauty--I see my rights and my victory disputed by a\nwretched mortal. Shall the ridiculous excess of foolish obstinacy go\nso far as to oppose to me a little girl? Shall I constantly hear a\nrash verdict on the beauty of her features and of mine, and from the\nloftiest heaven where I shine shall I hear it said to the prejudiced\nworld, \"She is fairer than Venus\"?\n\nAEGI. This is the way with mortals, this is the style of mankind; they\nare impertinent in their comparisons.\n\nPHA. In the century in which we live, they cannot praise without\ninsulting great names.\n\nVEN. Ah! how well does the insolent rigour of these words avenge Juno\nand Pallas, and comfort their hearts for the dazzling glory which the\nfamous apple has won me. I see them rejoicing at my sorrow, assuming\nevery moment a cruel smile, and with fixed gaze carefully seeking the\nconfusion that lurks in my eyes. Their triumphant joy, when this\naffront is keenest felt, seems to tell me, \"Boast, Venus, boast, the\ncharms of thy features; by the verdict of one man was the victory made\nover us, but by the judgment of all, a mere mortal snatches it from\nyou.\" Ah! that blow is the direst; it pierces my heart, I cannot bear\nits unequalled severity; the pleasure of my rivals is too great an\naddition to my poignant grief. My son, if ever my feelings had any\nweight with you, if ever I have been dear to you, if you bear a heart\nthat can share the resentment of a mother who loves you so tenderly,\nuse here your utmost power to support my interests, and cause Psyche\nto feel the shafts of my revenge through your own darts. To render her\nmiserable, choose the dart that will please me most, one of those in\nwhich lurks the keenest venom, and which you hurl in your wrath. See\nthat she loves, even to madness, the basest and lowest of mortals, and\nlet her hear the cruel torture of love unreturned.\n\nCUP. In the world nothing is heard but complaints of Cupid; everywhere\na thousand freaks are laid to my charge, and you could not believe the\nevil and the foolish things which are daily said of me. If, to assist\nyour wrath ...\n\nVEN. Be gone; no longer resist your mother's wishes; use reasoning\nonly to find the shortest method of offering a sacrifice to my\noutraged glory. Let your departure be your only answer to my\nentreaties, and do not see my face again until you have avenged me.\n\nCUPID _flies off, and_ VENUS _withdraws with the two_ GRACES. _The\nscenery changes to a large town, with palaces and houses of different\narchitecture on both sides of the stage._\n\n\n\n\nACT I\n\nSCENE I.--AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\n\nAGL. My sister, there are sorrows which are rendered greater by\nkeeping them to ourselves; let us speak freely of our joint distress,\nand give vent in our conversations to the poignant grief which fills\nour hearts. We are sisters in misfortune, and your heart and mine have\nso much in common that we can unite them, and in our just complaints\nmurmur, with a common lament, against the cruelty of our fate. My\nsister, what secret fatality makes the whole world bow before our\nyounger sister's charms? and how is it that, amongst so many different\nprinces who are brought by fortune to this place, not one has any love\nfor us? What! must we see them on all sides pressing forward to lay\ntheir hearts at her feet, whilst they pass our charms slightingly by?\nWhat spell has heaven cast over our eyes? What have they done to the\ngods that they are thus left without homage amidst all the glorious\ntribute of which others proudly boast? Can there be for us, my sister,\nany greater trial than to see how all hearts disdain our beauty, and\nhow the fortunate Psyche insolently reigns with full sway over the\ncrowd of lovers who ever attend her?\n\nCID. Ah! my sister, our fate is enough to bereave one of reason, and\nall the ills of nature are nothing in comparison.\n\nAGL. At times I can almost shed tears over it; it takes away my\nhappiness and my rest; my constancy finds itself powerless against\nsuch a misfortune; my mind is for ever dwelling over it, and the ill\nsuccess of our charms and the triumph of Psyche are ever before my\neyes. At night, unceasingly, comes to me the remembrance of it, and\nnothing can banish the cruel picture. As soon as sweet slumber comes\nto deliver me from it, it is immediately recalled to my memory by some\ndream which startles me from my sleep.\n\nCID. That is just what I suffer from, my sister. All that you say, I\nsee myself, and you depict everything that I experience.\n\nAGL. Well, let us discuss the matter. What all-powerful charms have\nbeen bestowed upon her? Tell me how, by the least of her looks, she\nhas acquired honour in the great art of pleasing? What is there in her\nperson that can inspire such passion? What right of sway over all\nhearts has her beauty given her? She has some comeliness, some of the\nbrilliancy of youth; we are all agreed upon that, and I do not gainsay\nit. But must we yield to her because we are her seniors by a few\nyears? Must we, therefore, consider ourselves quite commonplace? Are\nwe made so as to excite derision? Have we no charms, no power of\npleasing, no complexion, no good eyes, no dignity and bearing, by\nwhich we may win hearts? Do me the favour, sister, to speak to me\nfrankly. Am I, in your opinion, so fashioned that my merit is below\nhers? And do you think that she surpasses me in her attire?\n\nCID. You, my sister? By no means. Yesterday, at the hunt, I compared\nyou and her for a long time, and, without flattery, you appeared to me\nthe more beautiful. But tell me truly, sister, without blandishment,\nam I deceiving myself when I think that I am so framed as to deserve\nthe glory of a conquest?\n\nAGL. You, my sister? You possess, without disguise, everything that\ncan excite a loving passion. Your least actions are full of a charm\nwhich moves my soul. And I would be your lover if I were not a woman.\n\nCID. Whence comes it, then, that she bears off the palm from us; that,\nat the first glance, all hearts give up the struggle, and that no\ntribute of sighs and vows is paid to our loveliness?\n\nAGL. All the women, with one voice, find her attractions but small;\nand, sister, I have discovered the cause of the number of lovers she\nholds in thrall.\n\nCID. I guess it. We may presume that some mystery is hidden under it.\nThis secret of captivating everybody is not an ordinary effect of\nnature; the Thessalian art must be mixed up in it, and, doubtless,\nsome one has given to her a charm by which she makes herself beloved.\n\nAGL. My opinion is founded on a more solid basis, and the charms by\nwhich she draws all hearts to herself are a demeanour at all times\nfree of reserve; caressing words and looks; a smile full of sweetness,\nwhich invites everyone, and promises them nothing but favours. Our\nglory is departed; and that lofty pride which, by a full observance of\nnoble trials, exacted a proof of the constancy of our lovers, exists\nno longer. We have degenerated, and are now reduced to hope for\nnothing unless we throw ourselves into the arms of the men.\n\nCID. Yes, that is the secret; and I see that you understand it better\nthan I. It is because we cling too much to modesty, sister, that no\nlovers come to us; it is because we try to sustain too strictly the\nhonour of our sex and of our birth. Men, nowadays, like what comes\neasily to them; hope attracts them more than love; and that is how\nPsyche deprives us of all the lovers we see under her sway. Let us\nfollow her example, and suit ourselves to the times; let us stoop,\nsister, to make advances, and let us no longer keep to those dull\nmorals which rob us of the fruits of our best years.\n\nAGL. I approve of this idea; and we have an opportunity of making a\nfirst trial of it upon the two princes who have last arrived. They are\ncharming, sister, and to me their whole person.... Have you noticed\nthem?\n\nCID. Ah! Both are formed in such a mould that my soul.... They are\nperfect, my sister.\n\nAGL. I think we might seek their affections without dishonour to\nourselves.\n\nCID. I think that, without shame, a beautiful princess might bestow\nher heart upon them.\n\nAGL. Here they both are. I admire their manners and attire.\n\nCID. They in no way fall short of all that we have said of them.\n\n\nSCENE II.--CLEOMENES, AGENOR, AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\nAGL. Wherefore, princes, wherefore do you thus hasten away? Does our\nappearance fill you with fear?\n\nCLE. We were led to believe, Madam, that the Princess Psyche might be\nhere.\n\nAGL. Has this place no longer any charm for you if it is not adorned\nby her presence?\n\nAGE. This place may be pleasant enough, but in our impatience we would\nfind the Princess Psyche.\n\nCID. Something very important must doubtless be urging you both to\nseek her.\n\nCLE. The motive is powerful enough, since our happiness depends\nentirely upon her.\n\nAGL. Might we be allowed to inquire into the secret implied by these\nwords?\n\nCLE. We do not pretend to make a mystery of it. Indeed, it would show\nitself in spite of us; and the secret, Madam, does not last long when\nit is love.\n\nCID. Without further words, Princes, it means that you are both in\nlove with Psyche.\n\nAGE. We are both under her sway, and we go with one accord to declare\nour passion to her.\n\nAGL. It is certainly something quite new, and rather odd, to see two\nrivals so well agreed.\n\nCLE. It is true that the thing is rare; but it is not impossible for\ntwo perfect friends.\n\nCID. In this spot, is she the only fair one, and can you find none\nother with whom to divide your admiration?\n\nAGL. Amongst all the nobly born, is she the only one whom your eyes\ndeem worthy of your tenderness?\n\nCLE. Do we reason when we fall in love? Do we choose the object of our\nattachment? And when we bestow our hearts, do we weigh the right of\nthe fair one to fascinate us?\n\nAGE. Without having the power of choosing, we follow in such a passion\nsomething which delights us; and when love touches a heart, we have no\nreasons to give.\n\nAGL. Indeed, I pity the painful troubles to which I see your hearts\nexpose themselves. You love one whose bright charms will mingle grief\nwith the hopes they hold out to you, and whose heart will not fulfil\nall that her eyes promise.\n\nCID. The hope which calls you into the rank of her lovers will\nexperience many disappointments in the favours she bestows; and the\nfitful changes of her inconstant heart will cause you many painful\nhours.\n\nAGL. A clear discernment of your worth makes us pity the fate into\nwhich this passion will lead you; and if you wished, you could both\nfind a more constant heart and charms as great.\n\nCID. A choice sweeter by half can rescue your mutual friendship from\nlove; and there is such a rare merit apparent in you both that a\ngentle counsel would, out of pity, save your hearts from what they are\npreparing for themselves.\n\nCLE. This generous advice shows us a kindness which touches our\nhearts; but heaven, madam, reduces us to the misfortune of not being\nable to profit by it.\n\nAGE. Your illustrious pity would in vain dissuade us from a love of\nwhich we both dread the result. What our friendship, Madam, has not\ndone cannot be effected by any other means.\n\nCID. The power of Psyche must have.... Here she is.\n\n\nSCENE III.--PSYCHE, CIDIPPE, AGLAURA, CLEOMENES, AGENOR.\n\nCID. Come, sister, and enjoy what is offered to you.\n\nAGL. Prepare your charms to receive here a new triumph.\n\nCID. These two princes have both so well felt the power of your beauty\nthat their lips are eager to declare it.\n\nPSY. I little thought myself to be the cause of their pensiveness, and\nI should have expected it to be quite otherwise when I found them\ntalking to you.\n\nAGL. We have neither sufficient rank nor beauty to make us deserving\nof their love and solicitude, but they favour us with the honour of\ntheir confidence.\n\nCLE. (_to_ PSYCHE). The avowal which we would make to your divine\ncharms, Madam, is, no doubt, a rash one; but so many hearts, on the\npoint of expiring, are by such avowals obliged to displease you, that\nyou have ceased to punish them by the terrors of your wrath. You see\nin us two friends who were joined in childhood by a happy similarity\nof feeling, and this tender union has been strengthened by a hundred\ncontests of esteem and gratitude. The attachment of our friendship has\nbeen proved in the severe assaults of unfavourable fortune, the\ncontempt of death, the sight of torture, and the glorious splendour of\nmutual good offices; but whatever trials it may have endured, to-day\nwitnesses its greatest triumph, and nothing proves so much its tried\nfidelity as its duration through the rivalry of love. Yes, in spite of\nso many charms, its constancy subjects our vows to the laws it gives\nus. It comes with sweet and entire deference, to submit the success of\nour passion to your choice; and, to give a weight to our competition\nwhich may bring the balance of state reasons to favour the choice of\none of us, this friendship intends of free will to unite our two\nestates to the fortune of the happy one.\n\nAGE. Yes, Madam, we wish to make of these two estates, which we\npropose to unite under your happy choice, a help towards obtaining\nyou. The sacrifice which we make to the king, your father, in order to\nensure this happiness, has nothing difficult in it to our loving\nhearts, and it will be a necessary gift that the rejected unfortunate\nshould make over to the one who is fortunate a power which he will no\nlonger know bow to enjoy.\n\nPSY. Princes, you both display to my eyes a choice so precious and\ndazzling that it would satisfy the proudest heart. But your passion,\nyour friendship, your supreme virtue, all increase the value of your\nvows of fidelity, and make it a merit that I should oppose myself to\nwhat you ask of me. I must not listen to my heart only before engaging\nin such a union, but my hand must await my father's decision before it\ncan dispose of itself, and my sisters have rights superior to mine.\nBut if I were referred absolutely to my own wishes, you might both\nhave too great a share in them, and my entire esteem be so evenly\nbalanced between you that I should not be able to decide in favour of\neither. I would indeed respond with most affectionate interest to the\nardour of your suit, but amid so much merit two hearts are too much\nfor me, one heart too little for you. The accomplishment of my dearest\nwishes would be to me a burden were it granted to me by your love.\nYes, Princes, I should greatly prefer you to all those whose love will\nfollow yours, but I could never have the heart to prefer one of you to\nthe other. My tenderness would be too great a sacrifice to the one\nwhom I might choose, and I should think myself barbarously unjust to\ninflict so great a wrong upon the other. Indeed, you both possess such\ngreatness of soul that it would be wrong to make either of you\nmiserable, and you must seek in love the means of being both happy. If\nyour hearts honour me enough to give me the right of disposing of\nthem, I have two sisters well fitted to please, who might make your\ndestinies happy, and whom friendship endears to me enough for me to\nwish that you should be their husbands.\n\nCLE. Can a heart whose love, alas! is extreme, consent to be given\naway by her it loves? We yield up our two hearts, Madam, to your\ndivine charms, even should you doom them to death; but we beg you not\nto make them over to any one but yourself.\n\nAGE. It would be too unjust to the princesses, Madam, and too poor a\ntribute to their charms, if we should give to them the remains of a\nformer affection. Only the faithful purity of a first love deserves to\naspire to the honour to which your kindness invites us, for each of\nyour sisters merits a love which has sighed for her alone.\n\nAGL. It seems to me, Princes, without any offence, that before thus\nrefusing, you might wait until our intentions had been declared. Do\nyou think our hearts so susceptible and tender? And when people\npropose your offering yourselves to us, are you so sure of being\naccepted?\n\nCID. I think our sentiments are lofty enough to lead us to refuse a\nheart which wants soliciting; and we wish to conquer our lovers by the\npower of our own merit.\n\n\nSCENE IV.--PSYCHE, AGLAURA, CIDIPPE, CLEOMENES, AGENOR, LYCAS.\n\nLYC. (_to_ PSYCHE). Ah! Madam!\n\nPSY. What is the matter?\n\nLYC. The king....\n\nPSY. What?\n\nLYC. Requests your presence.\n\nPSY. What am I to augur from your agitation?\n\nLYC. You will know it only too soon.\n\nPSY. Alas! how you excite my fears about the king!\n\nLYC. Fear only for yourself; you are the one to be pitied.\n\nPSY. I can praise heaven, and be no longer anxious, when I know that I\nam the only one in danger. But tell me, Lycas, what alarms you.\n\nLYC. Suffer me, Madam, to obey him who sent me hither; and I beg of\nyou, learn from his lips what troubles me thus.\n\nPSY. Let us go and hear what this is which makes them fear that my\ncourage will fail me.\n\n\nSCENE V.--AGLAURA, CIDIPPE, LYCAS.\n\nAGL. If your orders do not extend to us, tell us what great misfortune\nis hidden under your sadness.\n\nLYC. Alas! hear for yourselves, princesses, the great misfortune which\nis known to the whole court. These are the very words which, through\nthe oracle, destiny has spoken to the king, and which grief, Madam,\nhas engraven on my heart:--\n\n  \"No one must think to lead\n  Psyche to Hymen's shrine;\n  But all with earnest speed,\n  In pompous mournful line,\n  High to the mountain crest\n  Must take her; there to await,\n  Forlorn, in deep unrest,\n  A monster who envenoms all,\n  Decreed by fate her husband;\n  A serpent whose dark poisonous breath\n  And rage e'er hold the world in thrall,\n  Shaking the heavens high and realms of death.\"\n\nAfter so severe a decree, I leave you to judge for yourselves if the\ngods could have manifested their wrath in a more cruel and fearful\nmanner.\n\n\nSCENE VII.--AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\nCID. How does this sudden misfortune into which destiny has plunged\nPsyche affect you, sister?\n\nAGL. But how does it affect you, sister?\n\nCID. To speak the truth, my heart is not very much grieved at it.\n\nAGL. My heart feels something which very much resembles joy. Let us\ngo; Fate has sent us a calamity which we can consider as a blessing.\n\n\nFIRST INTERLUDE.\n\n_The scenery changes to horrible rocks, and shows a dreadful cavern in\nthe distance. It is in this desert that_ PSYCHE, _in obedience to the\noracle, is to be exposed. A band of afflicted people come to bewail\nher death. Some give utterance to their pity by touching complaints\nand mournful lays, while the rest express their grief by a dance full\nof every mark of the most violent despair_.\n\nWAILINGS _sung by a woman and two men_.\n\nWOMAN.\n  Ah! weep with me, ye forests;\n  Ye mighty rocks of hardest adamant,\n  Ye Springs, ye beasts,\n  Lament the fate of one so fair.\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Alas! dire grief\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Without relief!\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Cruel death!\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Fell decree\n\nALL THREE (_together_).\n  Of sternest fate that dooms to die\n  Such beauty rare! Oh! heavens high!\n  And stars! behold! and sigh!\n\nWOMAN.\n  My sad, sad lay repeat,\n    Ye caverns deep;\n    With notes of sorrow greet\n  Her death, ye mountains steep;\n  Re-echo, woods, and silent hills,\n  My grief; and ye, soft rippling rills!\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Alas! dire grief\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Without relief!\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Cruel death!\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Fell decree\n\nALL THREE (_together_).\n  Of sternest fate that dooms to die\n  Such beauty rare! Oh! heavens high!\n  And stars! behold! and sigh!\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Who then, eternal gods, will doom\n  A guiltless maid to lasting gloom?\n  Oh! this thy rigour, heaven, shames\n  Hell's unrelenting flames!\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Cruel will\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Of gods severe!\n\nTHE TWO MEN.\n  Say why this hard decree,\n  To crush a heart so free\n      From guilt or stain?\n  Oh! fell edict unheard ere this!\n  Thou doomest a maid who showers bliss\n    Upon the mortal race.\n    She the sad earth would grace,\n      And would give life for pain!\n\nWOMAN.\n  All tears are idle, all sighs.\n  Heaven wills it so--she dies!\n  Whene'er the gods their powers wield,\n  All man can do--is but to yield.\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Alas! dire grief\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Without relief!\n\n1ST MAN.\n  Cruel death!\n\n2ND MAN.\n  Fell decree!\n\n\n\n\nACT II.\n\nSCENE I.--THE KING, PSYCHE, AGLAURA, CIDIPPE, LYCAS, _and_ FOLLOWERS.\n\n\nPSY. The cause of your tears, my Lord, is dear to me; but you are too\nkind when you allow a father's love to overmaster the duties of a\ngreat king. The homage which here you pay to nature is fraught with\ntoo much injury to the rank which you hold. I must decline its\ntouching favours. Check somewhat the sway of your grief over your\nwisdom, and cease to honour my destiny with tears, which, springing\nfrom a king's heart, show weakness.\n\nKING. Ah! my daughter! close not my eyes to these tears; my grief is\nreasonable, even though it be extreme; and when such a loss as mine\nmust endure for ever, wisdom herself, believe me, may weep. 'Tis in\nvain that pride of regal sway bids us be insensible to such\ncalamities; as vain for reason to come to our help, and desire us to\nsee with unmoved eye the death of what we love. The effort required is\nbarbarous in the eyes of the universe--'tis brutality rather than\nhighest virtue. In this misfortune I will not wear a show of\ninsensibility, and hide the grief I feel. I renounce the vanity of\nthis fierce callousness, known as fortitude, and whatever be the name\ngiven to the keen pain, the pangs of which I feel, I will exhibit it,\nmy daughter, to the gaze of all, and in the heart of a king display\nthat of a man.\n\nPSY. I deserve not this violent grief. Seek, I pray, to resist the\nclaims it asserts over your heart, whose might a thousand events have\nmarked. What! for me, my Lord, you must abandon that kingly firmness\nof which, under the blows of misfortune, you have shown such perfect\nproofs?\n\nKING. In numberless occasions firmness is easy. All revolutions to\nwhich ruthless fortune can expose us--loss of rank, persecution,\nenvy's venom, hatred's dart--present nothing which the will of a soul,\nbut a little swayed by reason, cannot easily brave. But those rigours\nwhich crush the heart under the weight of bitter grief are ... are the\ncruel darts of those severe decrees of fate which deprive us for ever\nof our loved ones. Against such ills reason offers no available\nweapons. These are the direst blows that the gods in their wrath can\nhurl against us!\n\nPSY. My Lord, one consolation is still left you. Your marriage has\nbeen graced with more than one gift from the gods, and by hiding me\nfrom your sight, they with open favour deprive you of nothing but what\nthey have not carefully made good for you. Enough remains to relieve\nyour sorrow, and this law of heaven which you call cruel leaves\nsufficient room in the two princesses, my sisters, for paternal love\nwherein to place all its kindness.\n\nKING. Ah! empty comfort to my sorrow. There is naught that can console\nme for thy loss. My grief fills my soul, I am conscious of nothing\nelse; in presence of such cruel destiny, I look to what I lose, and\nsee not what I still retain.\n\nPSY. My Lord, you know better than myself that we must rule our will\nby that of heaven; and in this sad farewell I can only say to you that\nwhich you can much better say to others. These gods are sovereign\nlords of the gifts they deign to offer us; they leave them in our\nhands so long only as it pleases them; when they withdraw them, we\nhave no right to murmur over the favours which their hands refuse any\nlonger to pour upon us. My Lord, I am a gift they have offered to your\nvows, and when, by this decree, they wish to take me back, they\ndeprive you of nothing that you do not hold from them; and it is\nwithout a murmur that you must resign me.\n\nKING. Ah! seek, I pray, better foundations for the comfort thy heart\nwould offer me. Do not by the fallacy of thy reasoning increase the\nburden of the piercing grief which now torments me. Dost thou imagine\nthat thou givest me a powerful reason why I should not complain of\nthis decree of heaven? and in this proceeding of the gods, of which\nthou biddest me be satisfied, dost thou not clearly see a deadly\nseverity? Consider the state in which the gods force me to resign\nthee, and that in which my hapless heart received thee. Thou shalt\nknow then that they take from me much more than they gave: from them I\nreceived in thee, my daughter, a gift I did not ask for; then I found\nin it but few charms, and without joy I saw my family increased by it.\nBut my heart and my eyes have made a sweet habit of this gift. Fifteen\nyears of care, of watchfulness, of study, have I employed to render it\nprecious to me. I have decked it with the lovely wealth of a thousand\nbrilliant virtues; I have enshrined in it, by assiduous care, the\nrarest treasures that wisdom yields; to it clings the tenderness of my\nsoul. I have made it the charm, the joy of this heart, the solace of\nmy wearied senses, the sweet hope of my old age. All this they take\nfrom me--these gods! And thou wouldst have me utter no complaint\nconcerning this dire edict from which I suffer! Ah! with too much\nrigour their power tramples upon the affections of our heart. To\nwithdraw their gift, have they not waited till I had made it my all?\nRather, if it was their purpose to remove it, had it not been better\nto give me nothing?\n\nPSY. My Lord! dread the wrath of those gods whom you dare upbraid.\n\nKING. After this blow, what more can they inflict on me?\n\nPSY. Ah! my Lord! I tremble for your sins, of which I am the cause; I\nhate myself for this....\n\nKING. Ah! let them bear with my legitimate complaints; 'tis pain\nenough for me to obey them; it ought to suffice them that my heart\nabandons thee to the barbarous respect we must bear them, without\nclaiming also to control the grief that so frightful a decree calls\nforth. My just despair can know no bounds. My grief, my grief, I will\nnurse it for ever! I will feel for ever the loss I sustain, of\nheaven's rigour I will always raise high my complaint; until death I\nwill unceasingly weep for that than which the whole world could give\nme naught more precious.\n\nPSY. Ah! I pray you, my Lord, spare my weakness. I need constancy in\nthese circumstances. Add not to the excess of my grief by the tears of\nyour fondness. My sorrow alone is deep enough; my fate and your grief\nare too much for my heart.\n\nKING. True! I must spare thee my disconsolate trouble. The fatal\nmoment has come. I must tear myself from thee; but how can I utter\nthis dreadful word? And yet I must! Heaven commands it. An unavoidable\ncruelty forces me to leave thee in this fatal spot. Farewell, I go...\nFarewell.\n\n\nSCENE II.--PSYCHE, AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\nPSY. Follow the king, my sisters; dry his tears, solace his grief. You\nwould fill him with alarm were you to, expose yourselves to my\nmisfortune. Preserve for him whatever he possesses still; the serpent\nI expect might prove hurtful to you, and draw you in the same fate as\nmyself; nay, through _your_ death might cause me a second death.\nMe alone has heaven condemned to his poisonous breath; nothing could\nsave me; and I need no example to die.\n\nAGL. Grudge us not this cruel privilege of mingling our tears with\nyour sorrows; suffer our sighs to answer your last sighs; accept this\nlast pledge of our tender love.\n\nPSY. 'Tis but to lose yourselves to no purpose.\n\nCID. 'Tis to hope for a miracle in your favour, or to accompany you to\nthe tomb.\n\nPSY. What room is there for hope after such an oracle?\n\nAGL. An oracle is ever veiled in obscurity; the more we believe that\nwe know its meaning, the less do we understand it. Perhaps, after all,\nyou must expect from it nothing but glory and happiness. Suffer us,\ndear sister, to behold this mortal dread deceived by a worthy issue;\nor at least let us die with you, if heaven does not show itself more\npropitious to our prayers.\n\nPSY. Dear sister, lend a readier ear to nature's voice, which summons\nyou to stand by the king. You love me too much, and duty murmurs; you\nknow its unavoidable laws. A father ought to be dearer to you than\nmyself; become both the mainstays of his old age. A thousand kings, a\nthousand rival kings, cherish love for you; you both owe your father a\nson-in-law and grandchildren. A thousand kings vie with each other to\nwhisper their vows to you. Me alone the oracle demands, and alone,\ntoo, I will die, if I can, without weakness, or, if not, at least\nwithout you as witnesses of that little which nature has left me.\n\nAGL. Then by sharing your woe we annoy you!\n\nCID. I dare go somewhat further, we offend you!\n\nPSY. No; but you add to my torture, and perhaps increase the wrath of\nheaven.\n\nAGL. It is your will; we go. May that same heaven, more just, and less\nsevere, decree for you the fate we desire, and for which our sincere\nfriendship, in spite of you and of the oracle, still hopes!\n\nPSY. Farewell. This hope, these vows, my sisters, none of the gods\nwill ever fulfil.\n\n\nSCENE III.--PSYCHE (_alone_).\n\nAlone, at last, I can look on this terrible change, which from the\nsummit of highest glory hurls me to the tomb. This glory was without\nparallel. Its sheen spread from pole to pole; all kings seemed created\nto love me; all their subjects, looking upon me as on a goddess, were\nbut now beginning to accustom me to the incense they never ceased to\noffer; sighs followed me, for which I gave naught in return. My soul\nremained fancy-free, while it captivated so many, and in the midst of\nso much love was queen of all hearts, and yet mistress of my own. Oh!\nheaven! hast thou counted a crime this want of feeling? All this\nseverity which thou dost exhibit, is it because in return for their\nvows I have given nothing but esteem? If such be thy law, why didst\nthou not create in me that which merit and love create in others,\nand.... But what do I see here?\n\n\nSCENE IV.--CLEOMENES, AGENOR, PSYCHE.\n\nCLE. Behold in us two friends, two rivals, whose only wish is to\nexpose our life to save yours.\n\nPSY. Can I listen to you when I have refused two sisters? Princes!\nthink you that you could defend me against heaven? To surrender\nyourselves to the serpent, whose coming I must await here, is but a\ndespair ill-becoming great hearts; and to die when I die is to\noverwhelm a sensitive, soul, that already has but too many sorrows.\n\nAGE. A serpent is not invincible; Cadmus, who loved no one, slew Mars'\nown reptile. We love, and Love makes everything possible for the heart\nthat follows his standard, for the hand of whose darts he is himself\nthe guide.\n\nPSY. Do you expect his aid in behalf of an ungrateful one whom all his\nshafts have been unable to wound? Think you he can stay his vengeance,\nwhen 'tis bursting forth, and help you to release me from its stroke?\nEven if you should serve me, even if you should restore me to life,\nwhat reward do you hope for from that which knows no love?\n\nCLE. It is not by the hope of so lovely a reward that we are animated.\nWe seek only to obey the dictates of a love that dares not presume,\nwhatever its efforts may be, that it can be so fortunate as to please\nyou, so worthy as to kindle within you a responsive flame.\n\nAGE. Live, fair princess, and live for another; we will behold it with\na jealous eye, we will die of it, yet of a death sweeter far than if\nwe had to see you die. If we cannot save your life by the loss of\nours, whatever love you may prefer to ours, we are ready to die of\ngrief and of love.\n\nPSY. Live, Princes, live, and no longer seek to ward off or to share\nmy fate. I believe I have told you, heaven seeks me alone; me alone\nhas it condemned. Methinks, I hear already the deadly hissing of its\nminister, who even now draws nigh. My dread pictures him to me, ever\noffers him to my view. Fear has mastered all my feelings; under its\ninfluence I see him on the summit of this rock; I sink for very\nweakness, and my fainting heart scarce keeps up a remnant of courage.\nFarewell, Princes; flee, lest he poison you.\n\nAGE. We have seen nothing as yet to astonish us. And since you deem\nyour death so nigh, if strength fail you, we have both arms and hearts\nwhich hope never forsakes. It may be a rival has dictated this oracle;\nand gold has made its interpreter speak. It would be no miracle if a\nman has answered in the stead of a dumb deity; and everywhere we have\nbut too many examples that temples, no less than other places, are the\nabode of the wicked.\n\nCLE. Suffer us to oppose to the cowardly ravisher to whom sacrilege\nabandons you a love that heaven has chosen for the defender of the\nonly fair one for whom we wish to live. If we dare not aspire to her\npossession, at least, in the midst of her danger, allow us to follow\nthe ardour and dictates of our passion.\n\nPSY. These dictates, this extreme ardour, with which your hearts are\nfilled in my behalf, obey them in behalf of others, in behalf of my\nsisters. Live for them, since I die. Lament the cruel rigour of my\nfate; and by your death do not give my sisters new ground for sorrow.\nThese are my last wishes, and in all ages the orders of the dying have\nbeen received as law.\n\nCLE. Princess....\n\nPSY. Once more, Princes, live for my sisters. So long as you love me,\nyou must obey me; do not drive me to hate you, and to look upon you as\nrebels for being too faithful to me. Go, leave me to die alone in this\nspot, where I have no voice left except to say farewell. But I feel\nmyself lifted up, and the air opens a road whence you will no longer\nhear this dying voice. Farewell, Princes, farewell, for the last time.\nSee, can you doubt my destiny?\n\nPSYCHE _is borne through the air by two_ ZEPHYRS.\n\nAGE. We lose sight of her. Prince, let us both seek on the summit of\nthis rock some means of following her.\n\nCLE. Let us seek those of not surviving her.\n\n\nSCENE V.--LOVE (_in the air_).\n\nLOVE. Die, then, rivals of a jealous god, whose wrath you have\ndeserved, since your heart was sensible to the same charms. And thou,\nVulcan, fashion a thousand brilliant ornaments to adorn the palace\nwhere Love will dry Psyche's tears, and yield himself her slave.\n\n\nSECOND INTERLUDE.\n\n_The scene changes to a splendid terrace, surrounded by pillars\nemblazoned with golden figures. The whole represents a magnificent\npalace, which_ LOVE _designs for_ PSYCHE. _Six_ CYCLOPS, _accompanied\nby four_ FAIRIES, _introduce a ballet, and, whilst keeping time,\ngive the last touches to four huge silver vases which the_ FAIRIES\n_have brought. The ballet is twice interrupted by this recitation of_\nVULCAN, _which he gives out in two parts._\n\n\nPART I.\n\n  Hasten, these seats prepare\n    For heaven's gentlest god.\n  No strength, no effort spare;\n  With mighty zeal and constant care\n    Do now, my lads, what must be done.\n  When Love commands us--see!\n  What haste too great can be?\n\n  Great Love no lazy hand will brook;\n    So work with might and main.\n      Your ancient hammers ply,\n      And sparks will swiftly fly\n    Beneath your arms that rain\n    The fast, resounding blows;\n    While zeal to please him glows\n      Within your heaving breasts.\n\n\nPART II.\n\n  Then serve a god so kind,\n  Who loves great zeal to find.\n  No strength, no effort spare;\n  With mighty zeal and constant care\n    Do now, my lads, what must be done.\n  When Love commands us--see!\n  What haste too great can be?\n\n  Great Love no lazy hand can brook;\n    So work with might and main.\n      Your ancient hammers ply,\n      And sparks will swiftly fly\n    Beneath your arms that rain\n    The fast, resounding blows,\n    While zeal to please him glows;\n      Within your heaving breasts.\n\n\n\n\nACT III.\n\nSCENE I.--LOVE, ZEPHYR.\n\n\nZEP. Yes! right gallantly have I acquitted myself of your errand; and\nfrom the summit of that rock I have softly borne this beauty through\nthe air to this enchanted palace, where, with full freedom, you can\ndecree her fate. Yet you astonish me by this mighty change in your\nappearance. That figure, that countenance, that costume, perfectly\nconceal your real being, and I defy the most cunning to see in you\nto-day the god of love.\n\nLOVE. 'Tis because I do not wish to be known to Psyche. 'Tis my heart,\nmy heart alone, I wish to unfold; nothing more than the sweet raptures\nof this keen passion, which her charms excite within it. To express\nits gentle pining, and to hide what may be from those eyes that impose\non me their will, I have assumed this form which thou seest.\n\nZEP. You are a master in everything; this is how I know it. Often the\ngods, when in love, have been seen assuming various disguises, seeking\nto alleviate the pleasing wound inflicted on all hearts by your fiery\ndarts; but in good sense you outstrip them. Yours is the form\nnecessary for succeeding with the lovely sex, for whom we sigh. Yes,\nthe assistance derived from that form is powerful; and, apart from\nrank and wit, whoever finds the means of being so fashioned does not\nsigh in vain.\n\nLOVE. I have decided, my dear Zephyr, to remain always thus; and the\noldest of all loves cannot be blamed for this. It is time to issue\nfrom this long infancy, that wears out my patience. It is time,\nhenceforth, that I should be grown up.\n\nZEP. You are right. You cannot do better; and you are initiated into a\nmystery that demands no childish powers.\n\nLOVE. This change will, no doubt, vex my mother.\n\nZEP. I foresee some anger in that quarter, although disputes about age\nought not to exist among immortals; yet, your mother Venus shares the\nspirit of beauties, who do not like grown-up children. But whereat I\nfancy her offended is the line of conduct you are pursuing; and 'tis a\nstrange method of avenging her, to love the beauty she wished to see\npunished. This hatred to which she expects the power of a son\ngenerally feared by the gods to answer....\n\nLOVE. Let us drop this discourse, Zephyr, and tell me whether thy eyes\ndo not find Psyche the fairest woman in the world? Is there aught on\nthe earth, aught in heaven, that could seize from her the glorious\ntitle of matchless beauty? But I see her, my dear Zephyr, wondering at\nthe splendours of this spot.\n\nZEP. You can show yourself, to put an end to her torture, and unfold\nto her her glorious destiny. Speak to one another all that sighs,\nlips, and glances can speak. As a discreet confident, I know my duty,\nand will not interrupt lovers' secrets.\n\n\nSCENE II.--PSYCHE (_alone_).\n\nWhere am I? and in a spot I deemed deserted, what skilled hand has\nreared this palace, which art and nature deck with the rarest gifts\nthat the eye could ever admire. Everything smiles, shines, sparkles in\nthis garden, in these apartments, whose pompous furniture presents\nnothing that does not charm and flatter the beholder; and\nwhithersoever my fears lead me, I see under my feet naught but gold or\nflowers. Can heaven have formed this world of wonders for the abode of\na serpent? And when, by this sight, it amuses and stays the unequalled\nrigour of my jealous fate, does it wish to show that it repents of it?\nNo, no; this is the darkest, the keenest shaft of its hatred, so\nfertile in its cruelties. This hatred, by a renewed and unparalleled\nsternness, lays before my gaze the choice it has made of all that is\nfairest in the world, only that I may leave it with deeper regret.\n\nHow foolish is my hope if it fancies it can thus alleviate my pain.\nEvery moment that my death is delayed becomes a new misfortune for me;\nthe more it stays its coming, the oftener I die.\n\nLeave me no longer to pine; come, take thy victim, monster, whose\nmission it is to slay me. Wouldst thou have me seek thee? and must I\nrouse thy fury to devour me? If heaven wills my death, if my life be a\ncrime, dare at length to seize whatever little remains of it; I am\ntired of murmuring against a lawful penalty; I am weary of sighs;\ncome, that I may end the death I am dying.\n\n\nSCENE III.--LOVE, PSYCHE, ZEPHYR.\n\nLOVE. Behold this serpent, this pitiless monster, whom a wonderful\noracle has prepared for you, and who perhaps does not inspire such\ndread as you had imagined.\n\nPSY. You, my Lord! you are that monster who, so spoke the oracle,\nthreatens my sad life? you, who seem rather a god, deigning\nmiraculously to come yourself to my rescue?\n\nLOVE. What need of help in the midst of an empire where all that\nbreathes only awaits your look to do its bidding, where I am the only\nmonster you have to fear?\n\nPSY. But small is the fear that a monster like you inspires, and if it\nhas any venom, a soul has little reason to venture on the least\ncomplaint against a pleasing poison, the cure of which all the heart\nwould dread! Scarce do I behold you than already my calmed fears\nsuffer the image of death to vanish; and I feel I know not what\nunknown fire flow through my frozen veins: Esteem I have felt, and\nkindness, friendship, gratitude; compassion's innocent sorrows have\nmade me know its power, but I have not yet felt what I now feel. I\nknow not what it is, but I know that it fills me with delight, and\ncauses me no alarm. The longer I gaze on you, the more I feel the\nspell. Nothing that I have ever felt had the same effect; and I would\ntell you, my Lord, that I love you, did I know what love is. Turn them\nnot away, those eyes that poison me, those eyes so tender, so\npiercing, yet so loving, that look as if they shared the confusion\nthey cause me. Alas! the more dangerous they prove, the more fondly I\ncling to them. What decree of heaven is it which I cannot understand,\nthat forces me to tell you more than I should? I, whose modesty ought\nat least to wait that you explain the confusion that, I see, is within\nyou. You sigh, my Lord, as I sigh; your senses, like mine, seem\namazed. 'Tis my duty to be silent concerning this, yours to speak it,\nyet it is I who tell this to you.\n\nLOVE. Your heart, Psyche, has ever been too insensible, and you must\nnot wonder if, to repair the insult, Love now pays himself with usury\nfor that which your soul ought to have granted him. The time is come\nin which your lips must breathe those sighs so long restrained; and\nwhile it draws you from that fierce humour, an endless rapture, as\nsweet as it is unknown, must wound you as deeply as it ought to have\nwounded you during those golden days the course of which your\nunfeeling soul has profaned.\n\nPSY. Not to love is, then, a great crime?\n\nLOVE. Do you suffer a hard punishment for it?\n\nPSY. The punishment is mild indeed.\n\nLOVE. The penalty is suited to the offence; and Love, on this glorious\nday, avenges himself of lack of love by an excess of love.\n\nPSY. Would I had been punished before! My life's happiness lies in it.\nI ought to blush at it, or to whisper it low, but this torture has too\nmany charms. Suffer me to say, and to repeat it aloud; though I said\nit a hundred times, I would never blush for it. It is not I who speak;\nand the wonderful empire, the amiable violence of your presence, sway\nmy voice as soon as I begin to speak. Vainly does my modesty take\nsecret offence at it; vainly would my sex and decency bind me to other\nlaws; it is your eyes that dictate my answer, and my lips, the slaves\nof their almighty power, no longer consult me on the self-respect I\nowe myself.\n\nLOVE. Fair Psyche, believe what these eyes tell you. Let yours vie\nwith each other in instructing me of all your emotions. Trust this\nsighing heart, which, so long as yours will answer, will tell you more\nby a sigh than a hundred looks can express. 'Tis the sweetest\nlanguage, the most powerful, the truest of all!\n\nPSY. The understanding of it was due to both our hearts to make them\nequally satisfied. I have sighed, you have understood me; you sigh,\nand I heard you. But release me from doubt, my Lord, and tell me, if\nby the same road Zephyr has led you hither after me; to tell me what I\nhear now. When I arrived here, were you expected? and when you speak\nto him, are you obeyed?\n\nLOVE. The empire I exercise over this sweet climate is as sovereign as\nyours is over my heart. _Love_ is favourable to me, and 'tis for his\nsake that Aeolus has placed Zephyr under my command. It was Love who,\nto reward my passion, dictated this oracle, by which your fair days\nthat were threatened have been released from a throng of lovers; and\nwhich has freed me from the lasting obstacle of so many ardent sighs\nthat were unworthy of being addressed to you. Ask not of me what this\nregion be, nor the name of its ruler; you shall know it in time. My\nobject is to win you; but I wish to do so by my services, my assiduous\ncare, my constant vows, by a lover's sacrifice of all that I am, of\nall my power can effect. The splendour of my rank must not solicit you\nfor me, neither must I make a merit of my power; and though sovereign\nlord of this blissful realm, I wish to owe you, Psyche, to nothing but\nmy love.\n\nCome with me, Princess, and admire its marvels; prepare your eyes and\nears to the charms it will offer you. You shall gaze on woods and\nmeads, contesting their beauties with gold and gems; you shall hear\nnothing but sweet concerts; a hundred beauties shall serve you here;\nwithout envy they shall worship you, and every moment with a humble\nand raptured soul shall solicit the honour of your commands.\n\nPSY. My will waits upon yours; I can no longer have one of my own; but\nat any rate your oracle has severed me from two sisters, and the king,\nmy father, whom my supposed death has all three reduced to bewail me.\nSuffer my sisters to be witnesses of my glory and your love for me, to\ndissipate the error which overwhelms their soul with mortal sorrow.\n\nLend them too, as you did me, Zephyr's wings, that they may facilitate\ntheir access to your empire, as they did mine. Let them see where I\nlive, let them wonder at the success of my loss.\n\nLOVE. You do not yield me all your soul, Psyche. This affectionate\nremembrance of a father and two sisters snatches from me part of that\nwhich I crave for my passion only. Have no eyes for anyone but for me,\nwho have none but for you. Let love for me, and the desire of pleasing\nme, be your only thought, and when such cares dare divert you from\nit....\n\nPSY. Can you be jealous of affection for kin?\n\nLOVE. I am jealous, my Psyche, jealous of all nature. The sun's rays\nkiss you too often; your tresses are too sensible to the wooing of the\nbreeze; no sooner does it caress them than I murmur. The very air\nwhich you breathe passes with too much pleasure between your lips;\nyour robes cling too closely to your form. I know not what bewilders\nme, and I dread amidst your sighs some stray one.\n\nBut you would see your sisters. Be gone, Zephyr; Psyche commands, I\ncannot forbid.\n\n\nSCENE IV.--LOVE, PSYCHE.\n\nLOVE. When you shall show them this blissful seat, make them a\nthousand gifts from these treasures; lavish on them endearments,\ncaresses; and, if possible, exhaust the tendernesses that blood\ndemands, so that you may yield yourself entirely to love. I shall not\nimportune you with my presence, but let not your meeting be too long,\nremembering that you rob _me_ of whatever attention you pay _them_.\n\nPSY. Your love grants me a favour, which 'twere not possible for me to\nabuse.\n\nLOVE. Still, let us visit these gardens, this palace, where you will\nmeet naught but what will pale before your dazzling charms. And you,\nlittle Cupids, you, young Zephyrs, whose souls are but soft sighs, vie\nwith each other in showing what joy you feel at the appearance of my\nprincess.\n\n\nTHIRD INTERLUDE.\n\n_Entry of ballet, composed of four_ CUPIDS _and four_ ZEPHYRS, _twice\ninterrupted by a dialogue sung by a_ CUPID _and a_ ZEPHYR.\n\nLOVE, PSYCHE.\n\nPART I.\n\n\nA ZEPHYR.\n\n\n    Ye gentle youth, follow\n    Love's sweet and tender glow;\n    In happy days and fair,\n  From passion's joys do not forbear.--\n  'Tis to deceive they tell you, aye,\n  You should avoid the wooing sigh,\n    And fear the pressing suit.--\n    'Tis now the time to learn\n    What fires within you burn!\n\n_They sing together._\n\n  All gentle hearts in turn\n    With love must glow;\n  And greater charms that burn\n    A greater debt will owe.\n\nA ZEPHYR (_alone_).\n  A youthful heart and tender\n  At last must yield surrender.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  All gentle hearts in turn\n    With love must glow;\n  And greater charms that burn\n    A greater debt will owe.\n\nA CUPID (_alone_).\n  What boots to play the truant's part,\n  And shield yourselves against the dart?\n   The sunny day is flown and gone,\n  The hour lost may ne'er be won.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  All gentle hearts in turn\n    With love must glow;\n  And greater charms that burn\n    A greater debt will owe.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nA ZEPHYR.\n  Great Love hath potent charms;\n  To him we yield our arms;\n  His cares and sorrows sweet\n  Have, too, their joy--though fleet!\n    To follow him, all hearts\n    Would court a thousand darts.\n  If we would taste his deep delight,\n  Ah! we must pine till fades the light\n    Before our eyes.\n  A worthless life it is--when love\n  Fills not the heart it fain would move!\n\n_They sing together._\n\n  In love if we must grieve and sigh,\n  A moment's bliss still well repays\n  The ills and woes of many days.\n\nA ZEPHYR (_alone_).\n    'Midst hopes and fears,\n    And mystery and tears,\n  We cannot, without the touch of pain,\n      Bliss seek again.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  In love if we must grieve and sigh,\n  A moment's bliss still well repays\n  The ills and woes of many days.\n\nA CUPID (_alone_).\n  What better deed is there to do\n  Than strive to please and softly woo?\n  A lover's part is sweetest care,\n  And this it is that all must bear.\n\nBOTH (_together_).\n  In love if we must grieve and sigh,\n  A moment's bliss still well repays\n  The ills and woes of many days.\n\n\n\n\nACT IV.\n\n_The scene changes to a splendid palace, in the interior of which is\nseen at the end of a long vestibule a lovely garden, in which are many\ntrees laden with all kinds of fruit._\n\nSCENE I.--AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\n\nAGL. I can bear it no longer, my sister. I have seen too many wonders;\nfuture times will scarcely conceive them; this sun, that sees all, and\nlays all before our gaze, never beheld the like. This dazzling palace\nand this stately equipage are a display hateful to me; shame as well\nas spite overwhelm me. How cruelly Fortune has treated us; see how her\ninconsiderate bounty blindly lavishes, exhausts, and unites her\nefforts to make all these treasures the lot of a younger sister!\n\nCID. I share all your feelings; your griefs are mine; in this\ndelightful spot, all that displeases you wounds me; all which you\nconsider a deadly insult oppresses me no less than yourself, and\nleaves bitterness within my breast and blushes on my brow.\n\nAGL. No, my sister, no living queen, in her own realm speaks in such\nsovereign tones as Psyche in these abodes. Here we see her obeyed with\nscrupulous exactitude; and a yearning study of her will seeks it even\nin her eyes, a thousand beauties throng around her, and seem to say to\nour jealous looks, \"Whatever your charms may be, she is still fairer,\nand we who serve her are fairer than you.\" She orders, it is done;\nnone refuse, none rebel. Flora, clinging to her steps, lavishes her\nsweetest charms around her; Zephyr flies to execute her orders, and\nhis mistress and he, too much a prey to her charms, forget their own\nlove in their eagerness to serve her.\n\nCID. She has gods at her services, soon she will have altars; our sway\nextends over weak mortals only, whose continual caprice and impudence,\nrebelling secretly from us, oppose either murmurs or stratagem to our\nwill.\n\nAGL. It was but little indeed that at our court so many hearts\ncontended for her, preferring her to us! It was not enough that she\nwas there worshipped night and day by a crowd of lovers. When we were\ncomforting ourselves with seeing her on the brink of the grave by the\nsudden order of the oracle, she thought fit to display before us the\nmiracle of her new destiny, and has chosen our eyes to be witnesses of\nthat which at the bottom of our hearts we least desire.\n\nCID. What above all fills my heart with despair is to see this lover,\nso perfect, so born to please, a captive under her sway. Were it in\nour power to choose from so many monarchs, should we find one who\nbears such a noble mien? To see your wishes fulfilled beyond\nexpectation is oftentimes a bliss that engenders unhappiness; there is\nno splendid train, no proud palace, but opens some door to incurable\nills. But to possess a lover of perfect merit, to see yourself dearly\nbeloved by him, is a happiness so lofty, so exquisite, that its worth\ncannot be expressed.\n\nAGL. No more of this, my sister; the thought of it would kill us; let\nus rather think of revenge; let us find means of breaking the spell\nthat fosters this affection between her and him.\n\nShe comes; I have darts ready, such as she shall find difficult to\nparry.\n\n\nSCENE II.--PSYCHE, AGLAURA, CIDIPPE.\n\nPSY. I come to bid you farewell; my lover wishes your departure. He\ncan no longer endure that you should deprive him of a particle of the\njoy he feels in being alone to contemplate me. The merest look, the\nslightest word, is a treasure for his love, and I rob him of it when I\ngrant it to my sisters in favour of the ties of blood.\n\nAGL. Jealousy is very keen, and these nice sentiments well deserve\nthat he who shows such tenderness for you should be considered above\nthe generality of lovers. I speak thus because I do not know him; nor\ndo you know his name, or that of those to whom he owes the light. This\nalarms us. I hold him to be a mighty prince, whose power is extreme,\nfar above kingly sway. His treasure which he has strewn beneath your\nfeet would put Abundance herself to the blush. Your love for him is as\nkeen as his for you; you are his delight, he is yours; your happiness,\nmy sister, would be perfect if you but knew whom you love.\n\nPSY. What care I! He loves me. The more he sees me, the more I please\nhim. There are no pleasures which delight the soul, but anticipate my\nwishes. I do not understand the cause of your alarm when all here\nobeys my will.\n\nAGL. What boots it that all bows to you here if this lover ever\nconceals what he is? If we are alarmed, it is for your interest alone.\nVain it is that everything meets you with a smile, and brings delight;\ntrue love scorns reserve; and whoever persists in concealment is\nconscious that he is in some way open to reproach. Should this suitor\nprove fickle--for often change in love is pleasing, and between\nourselves, I dare say that, however dazzling the flash of your charms,\nthere are others as fair as you--if, I say, another beauty should bind\nhim under new thralls, if in the state in which you are now, alone and\ndefenceless at his mercy, he should go so far as to offer violence, on\nwhom should the king wreak his vengeance for this change or this\ninsolence?\n\nPSY. You fill me with dread. Kind heaven! can I be so unfortunate?\n\nCID. Who knows but that Hymen's knot....\n\nPSY. Say no more, I could not bear it.\n\nAGL. I have but one word more to say. This prince who loves you, sways\nthe winds, gives us Zephyr's wings for a chariot, and every moment\nlavishes on you new pleasures, when he thus openly breaks the order of\nnature, may perhaps mingle some little imposture with so much love.\nPerhaps this palace is nothing more than an enchantment; these gilt\nceilings, these mountains of wealth, with which he buys your\naffection, so soon as he shall be weary of your caresses, will vanish\nin a moment. You know as well as ourselves what power lies in spells.\n\nPSY. In my turn, what cruel alarms I feel!\n\nAGL. Our friendship seeks your good only.\n\nPSY. Farewell, sisters, we must close our meeting; I love, and fear\nlest he should grow impatient; go, and to-morrow, if I may, you shall\nsee me, either happier or crushed by the deepest anguish.\n\nAGL. We go to apprise the king of the new glory, the excess of bliss\nwhich heaven showers upon you.\n\nCID. We go to relate to him the surprising and marvellous tale of so\npleasing a change.\n\nPSY. Trouble him not, sisters, with your suspicions, and when you\ndescribe to him this charming empire....\n\nAGL. We both know what we must conceal and what speak, and need no\nlessons.\n\nZEPHYR _carries off_ PSYCHE'S _sisters in a cloud, which\ndescends to the earth, and in which he bears them rapidly away._\n\n\nSCENE III.--LOVE, PSYCHE.\n\nLOVE. You are alone at last. I can once more without your importunate\nsisters as witnesses declare to you what sway eyes so fair have won\nover me, and how extreme is the delight that a sincere ardour inspires\nwhen once it has locked two hearts together. I can unfold to you the\nloving eagerness of my enraptured soul, and swear that, enslaved to\nyou alone, its rapture has no other aim than to behold this ardour\nfollowed by a similar ardour, to conceive no other wish but to bind my\nvows to your desires, and make all that pleases you my only delight.\nBut wherefore does a cloud of sadness seem to dim the brightness of\nthose beautiful eyes? Is there aught which you can want in these\nabodes? Scorn you the homage of the vows here paid to you?\n\nPSY. No, my Lord!\n\nLOVE. What is it then? And to what must I attribute my misfortune? You\nsigh less from love than from grief. The roses of your cheek are\nfaded, a token of secret sorrow. Scarce are your sisters gone than you\nsigh of regret. Ah! my Psyche, when two hearts are swayed by an equal\npassion, can their sighs have a different object? and when their love\nis true, and the loved one nigh, is there room to sigh for relatives?\n\nPSY. That is not the cause of my sorrow.\n\nLOVE. Is it the absence of a rival, and a favoured rival too, that\ncauses this neglect?\n\nPsy. How ill you understand a heart wholly yours. I love you, my Lord;\nand my love is vexed at the undeserved suspicion which you have\nconceived. You but little know your own deserts, if you fear that you\nare not loved. I love you; and since I beheld the light of day, I have\nshown myself proud enough to scorn the vows of more than one king; and\nsince I must disclose to you my whole heart, I have found none but you\nworthy of me. And yet I feel a certain sadness, which I would fain\nconceal from you; a gloomy grief is mingled with all my affection. Ask\nnot the cause of it; perhaps, if you knew it, you would punish me for\nit, and if I still dare to aspire to anything, I am sure I should not\nobtain it.\n\nLOVE. And do you not dread lest I should in my turn feel vexed at you\nfor so ill understanding your own powers, or for pretending to be\nignorant of the absolute sway you exercise over me? Ah! if you doubt\nit in the least, be undeceived. Speak.\n\nPSY. I should have to bear with the shame of a refusal.\n\nLOVE. I pray you to harbour kinder feelings in my behalf; the trial of\nit is easy. Speak; everything waits on your will. If you cannot trust\nmy words without oaths, I swear by those beautiful eyes, those lords\nof my heart, those divine authors of my passion; and if it be not\nsufficient to swear by your beautiful eyes, I swear by the Styx, by\nwhich all the gods do swear.\n\nPSY. After this assurance, my fears are somewhat allayed. My Lord,\nhere I look on pomp and abundance, I adore you, and you worship me; my\nheart is enraptured, my senses charmed by it; but amidst this highest\nbliss, I have the misfortune of not knowing which it is whom I love.\nDispel this darkness, and unfold to me who this perfect lover is.\n\nLOVE. Psyche, what is that you say?\n\nPSY. That this is the happiness for which I long, and that if you\nrefuse it to me ...\n\nLOVE. I have sworn it, I am no longer master of it; but you do not\nknow what you ask. Leave me my secret. If I discover myself, I lose\nyou and you me. The only remedy is for you to retract your words.\n\nPSY. Is this my sovereign sway over you?\n\nLOVE. Your power is unbounded, and I am wholly yours. But if our\nwooing has charms for you, lay no obstacle in the way of its pleasing\ncontinuance. Do not force me to flight. This would be the least\nmisfortune which can happen to us from that wish which has seduced\nyou.\n\nPSY. My Lord, you now wish to test me; but I know how far I am to\nbelieve it. I pray you to let me know the measure of my glory, and no\nlonger to conceal from me for what illustrious choice I have rejected\nthe vows of so many kings.\n\nLOVE. Do you will it so?\n\nPSY. Suffer me to beseech you to it.\n\nLOVE. If you knew what cruel misfortune you draw upon yourself by\nit....\n\nPSY. My Lord, you fill me with despair.\n\nLOVE. Think well on it; I can yet be silent.\n\nPSY. Do you pledge yourself by oaths which you do not mean to keep.\n\nLOVE. Be it so! I am a god, the most powerful of all gods, absolute\nmaster on this earth, and in the heavens; my power is supreme in the\nocean and the air; in a word, I am Love himself. I have wounded myself\nwith my own darts for love of you; and, alas! but for the violence\nwhich you impose on me, and which has turned my passion for you into\nwrath, you would have me now for your husband. Your wish is\naccomplished; you know whom you loved; you know the lover whom you\ncharmed; see now what misfortune is upon us. Yourself you force me to\nabandon you, yourself you force me to deprive you of all the fruits of\nyour victory. It may be that your beautiful eyes will see me no more;\nthis palace, these grounds, once vanished with me, will cause your\nrising glory to fade away. You would not believe me, and the\ndispelling of this doubt has for fruit that Fate, at whose blows the\nvery heavens tremble, mightier than my love, mightier than all the\ngods united, which is even now showing its hatred to you, and driving\nme hence.\n\nLOVE _flies away, and the gardens vanish._\n\n\nSCENE IV.\n\n_The stage represents a desert and the wild banks of a river._\n\nPSYCHE, _the_ RIVER GOD, _reclining on a bank of reeds, and leaning on\nan urn._\n\nPSY. Cruel destiny! aching pain! fatal curiosity! Speak, dread\nsolitude, what hast thou done with all my felicity? I loved a god; was\nbeloved by him; my happiness redoubled at every moment; and now behold\nme, alone, bewailing, in the midst of a desert, where, to increase my\npain, when shame and despair are upon me, I feel my love increasing\nnow that I have lost the lover. Its very remembrance charms and\npoisons my soul. Its delights tyrannise over a wretched heart, which\nmy passion has condemned to the keenest pain. Kind heaven! When Love\nabandoned me, why did he leave me the fire he had breathed into me. O\nthou! the pure and inexhaustible source of all good, lord of men and\ngods, dear author of the pain I now endure, art thou for ever vanished\nfrom my sight? I! I banished thee! when love was deepest, when bliss\nsupreme, an unworthy suspicion filled my heart with alarm. Ungrateful\nheart, the fire was but ill-kindled; for from the first moment of love\nwe cannot have any wish other than that of him whom we cherish. Let me\ndie, it is the only choice left me after the loss I have made. For\nwhom, great gods, would I live, for whom entertain a single wish?\nThou, river, whose wave washes these desert sands, bury my crime in\nthy waters; and end ills so miserable by allowing me to find a rest in\nthy bed.\n\nTHE RIVER GOD. Thy death would sully my stream, Psyche. Heaven forbids\nit. Perhaps after such heavy sorrows, another fate awaits thee. Rather\nflee Venus' implacable anger. I see her seeking thee in order to\npunish thee; the son's love has excited the mother's hatred. Flee! I\nwill detain her.\n\nPSY. I shall await her avenging wrath! What can it have that will not\nbe too pleasant for me? Whoever seeks death dreads no gods or\ngoddesses, but can defy all their darts.\n\n\nSCENE V.--VENUS, PSYCHE, THE RIVER GOD.\n\nVEN. Insolent Psyche, you dare then to await my arrival after you have\ndeprived me on earth of my honours, after your seducing charms have\nreceived the incense which is due to mine alone? I have seen my\nshrines forsaken, I have seen all the world, enslaved by your charms,\nidolise you as the sovereign beauty, offer to you a homage until then\nunknown, and not stay to consider whether there was another Venus at\nall; notwithstanding this, I see you bold enough not to dread the\npunishment your crime justly deserves, and to meet my gaze as if my\nresentment were but little matter.\n\nPSY. If I have been loved by a few mortals, is it a crime in me to\nhave possessed charms by which they allowed their eyes to be captured\nwhile they were blind to you? I am but what heaven hath made me, I\nhave only those attractions which it has been willing to lend me; if\nthe vows that were paid to me pleased you but little, you had only to\nshow yourself, to conceal no longer from men that perfect beauty which\nhas but to show itself in order to bring them back to their duty.\n\nVEN. You should have guarded better against these vows; this\nveneration, this incense ought to be declined, and in order to\nundeceive them more effectively, you should yourself have rendered\nthis homage to me in their presence. You found pleasure in this error,\nfrom which on the contrary you should have shrunk with horror. Your\nhaughty temper, proud of having rejected a thousand kings, has carried\nthe extravagant ambition of its choice even to the skies.\n\nPSY. Have I in my ambition aspired to heaven?\n\nVEN. Your insolence is without an equal; do you not aspire to the gods\nwhen you reject all the kings of the world?\n\nPSY. If Love had hardened my heart to all their passion, and had\nreserved me for himself alone, do I stand guilty? and must you to-day\nas a price for so dazzling a love crush me with everlasting sorrow?\n\nVEN. Psyche, you should have known your position better, and the rank\nof this god.\n\nPSY. And has he allowed me time and opportunity for doing so when from\nthe first he became absolute master of my heart?\n\nVEN. You have allowed your heart to be charmed by him, and you have\nloved him as soon as he said, \"I love.\"\n\nPSY. How could I refuse to love the god who inspires all with love,\nand who was pleading his own cause? He is your son; you well know his\npower, his merit.\n\nVEN. Yes; he is my son; but a son who excites my wrath; a son who ill\nreturns to me what he knows is due; a son who knows that I am\nforsaken, and who, the more to flatter his own unworthy affection,\nsince you return his love, wounds no one, forces no one to come to my\nshrine and address his supplications to me. You have made a rebel of\nhim; but the whole world shall behold my dire revenge on you, and I\nshall teach you whether it is meet for a mortal maiden to suffer a god\nto sigh at her feet. Follow me; you shall find by your own experience\nto what degree of mad self-reliance this ambition was leading you.\nCome, and arm yourself with as much patience as you possess\npresumption.\n\n\nFOURTH INTERLUDE.\n\n_The scenes represent the infernal regions; a sea of fire is\ndiscovered, whose waves are rolling unceasingly. This terrible sea is\nenclosed by burning ruins; and, standing in the midst of the raging\nbillows, through a frightful opening, appears_ PLUTO'S _palace. Eight_\nFURIES _issue from it, and form the entry of the ballet, in which they\nshow their delight at having kindled such dire wrath in the heart of\nthe sweetest of divinities. A_ GOBLIN _adds perilous jumps to their\ndances, and meanwhile_ PSYCHE, _who, in obedience to_ VENUS, _has come\nto the infernal regions, is seen crossing again in_ CHARON'S _bark,\nholding the box given to her by_ PROSERPINA _for_ VENUS.\n\n\n\n\nACT V.\n\nSCENE I.--PSYCHE (_alone_)\n\n\nAlas! Ye awful waves of hell, ye gloomy palaces where Megaera and her\nsisters hold their court, far ever foes to the sun's light, amongst\nyour Ixions and your Tantaluses, in the midst of so many incessant\ntortures, in these hideous recesses, what pain, what toil so great as\nthose to which Venus condemns my love? Yet my troubles satisfy not her\nwrath; and since I am subject to her laws, since I see myself a prey\nto her resentment, in these cruel moments I must have had more than\none soul, more than one life, to fulfil her commands. Yet all this I\ncould bear with joy if, in the midst of her hatred, my eyes could\nbehold, were it for one moment only, my darling, my beloved lover! His\nname I dare not utter; my lips, whose guilt it was to exact too much,\nare now unworthy of him; and in this deadly anguish, the keenest pain\nmy ever-returning death subjects me to is that I may not see him. If\nhis anger lasted still, no anguish could equal mine; but if he felt\nany pity for a soul that worships him, however great the sufferings to\nwhich I am condemned, I should feel them not. Yea, thou mighty\ndestiny, if he would but stay his wrath, all my sorrows would be at an\nend. Ah! a mere look from the son suffices to make me insensible to\nthe mother's fury. I will doubt it no longer; he shares my grief, he\nsees what I endure, and weeps with me; my sufferings are his too; it\nis a self-imposed law of love; in spite of Venus, in spite of my\ncrime, he it is who sustains and revives me in the midst of the\ndangers I have to encounter. He harbours still the tender feelings\nurged by his passion, and hastens to restore me to new life as soon as\nI perish. But what would with me those two shades I see advancing\ntowards me through the doubtful light of these dark recesses?\n\n\nSCENE II.--PSYCHE, CLEOMENES, AGENOR.\n\nPSY. Cleomenes, Agenor, is it not you whom I see? Who has deprived you\nof life?\n\nCLE. The meetest grief that could have caused a noble despair. That\nfuneral pomp where you awaited the fiercest rigour and highest\ninjustice of a fate most dark.\n\nAGE. On that same rock where heaven in its wrath was promising to you,\ninstead of a husband, a dragon who would forthwith devour you, we held\nourselves ready to repulse his fury, or die with you. You know it\nwell, Princess; and when you disappeared from our gaze through the\nair, both, equally carried away by our love and grief, cast ourselves\nheadlong from that rock, in order to follow your beauty, or rather to\nfeel that love-born joy of offering in your behalf a first prey to the\nmonster.\n\nCLE. We were fortunately deceived as to the meaning of your oracle;\nbut here we have recognised its miracle, and learned that the serpent,\nready to devour you, was the god who is the source of all love, and\nwho, in spite of his divinity, adoring you himself, could not bear\nthat mortals such as we are should presume to love you.\n\nAGE. We now enjoy a pleasant death, as a reward for having followed\nyou. What would have been life to us if we could not have been yours?\nHere we behold your charms once more; which neither of us would ever\nhave seen again in the world above. Happy shall we be if we see the\nmerest tear honour the misfortunes of which you have been the cause.\n\nPSY. How can I have more tears to shed when my own misfortunes have\nbeen carried to the highest pitch? Let us mingle our sighs, since we\nhave so fatal a destiny; we cannot exhaust sighs; but yours, Princes,\nare uttered in behalf of an ungrateful being. You would not survive my\nmisfortune; but under whatever blow I fall, I cannot die for you.\n\nCLE. Have we deserved aught else, we whose great passion has not\nceased to weary you with the tale of our woes?\n\nPSY. Princes, you might have won my whole soul but for your being\nrivals; those incomparable qualities which attended the vows of both\nrendered you too deserving of love to allow me to reject either.\n\nAGE. You have been able, without injustice or cruelty, to refuse a\nheart reserved for a god. But behold Venus! Fate bids us return, and\nforces us to say \"Farewell.\"\n\nPSY. Is not leisure allowed you to tell me what your abode is here?\n\nCLE. Among groves ever green, where we breathe naught but love; no\nsooner do we die of love than through love we revive; we sigh for love\nunder the sweet laws of his blest empire; and everlasting night dares\nnot expel from it the day which Love himself brings on our phantoms,\nwhich he inspires, and of which he forms a court even in Hades.\n\nAGE. Your envious sisters, who descended here below after us lost\nthemselves in the hope of losing you. Both, each in turn, as a reward\nfor the plot which cost them their life, suffer, now the rock at\nIxion's side, now the vulture at Tityus'! Love, by means of the\nZephyrs, has executed on them swift justice for their envenomed and\njealous malice. Those winged ministers of his just wrath, under\npretence of restoring them again to you, cast them both to the bottom\nof a precipice, where the hideous spectacle of their mangled bodies\ndisplays but the first and least torture for that stratagem the\ncunning of which was the cause of the ills you now endure.\n\nPSY. How I pity them!\n\nCLE. You alone are to be pitied; but we tarry too long conversing with\nyou. Farewell! May we live in your remembrance; may you, and that\nsoon, have nothing further to dread. Soon may Love exalt you to\nheaven, place you beside the other gods, and, kindling again a flame\nthat cannot be extinguished, release for ever your beauteous eyes from\nthe task of increasing daylight in these realms!\n\n\nSCENE III.--PSYCHE (_alone_).\n\nHapless lovers! their passion still continues; though dead, both love\nme--me, whose harshness so ill received their vows. 'Tis not thus thou\nactest--thou, who alone hast seized my heart; lover whom I still prize\na thousand times more than my life, and who breakest such charming\nties. Shun me no longer, and leave me to hope that one day thou shalt\ncast a glance on me, that by my sufferings, I shall please thee, and\nagain win thy plighted faith. But my woes have disfigured me too much\nto allow to entertain such hopes. Eyes dejected, sad, despairing,\npining, and with cheeks faded, what have I that can speak in my favour\nif some miracle impossible to foresee does not restore to me the\nbeauty which once captivated thee? This treasure of divine beauty,\nwhich Proserpina has entrusted to me for Venus, contains charms which\nI can make mine own, and their lustre must be extreme, since beauty\nherself, Venus, requires them to adorn herself. Would it be a great\ncrime to snatch a few? To captivate a god, who has been my lover, to\nrecover his affection, and put an end to my torture, can anything that\nI may do be unlawful? Let me open it. What vapours cloud my brain? and\nwhat do I behold issuing from this open casket? Love, unless thy\ncompassion forbids my death, I must needs descend to the tomb, never\nto live again.\n\nPSYCHE _swoons, and_ LOVE _flies towards her_.\n\n\nSCENE IV.\n\nLOVE. Thy danger, Psyche, dispels my wrath; nay, the violence of my\npassion has never abated; and though thou hast excited my highest\ndispleasure, yet my anger was harboured only against my mother's\nwrath. I have seen all thy toils, I have followed all thy misfortunes,\nand throughout my sighs have answered thy tears. Look on me, I am\nstill the same. What, again and again, I repeat that I love thee, and\nyet thou wilt not say that thou lovest me! Can it be that thy\nbeauteous eyes are for ever closed, that they are for ever bereft of\ndaylight? O Death! need'st thou have taken so cruel a dart, and,\nregardless of my eternal being, endangered my own life! How oft,\nungrateful deity, have I swelled thy dark empire by the contempt or\nthe cruelty of a fierce and proud fair one? How many faithful lovers,\nsince I must confess it, have I, through irresistible raptures,\nsacrificed to thee? Go, I shall wound no more souls, I shall pierce no\nmore hearts, but with darts dipped in the divine liquors that foster\nheaven's immortal passions. I shall hurl them no more but to make as\nmany lovers as there are gods. As for thee, thou inexorable mother,\nwho forcest her to bereave me of what I held dearest in this world,\ndread, in thy turn, the effects of my wrath. Thou wouldst sway my\nfeelings, thou who art often swayed by my will; thou who wearest a\nheart as sensitive as that of mortals; thou enviest to mine the\nraptures of thine own! But in this same heart I shall plunge such\ndarts as shall be followed by jealous sorrow. I shall crush thee by\nabasing ravishments, and ever choose as objects for thy dearest\nlongings Adonises and Anchises who will nurse nothing but hatred\ntowards thee.\n\n\nSCENE V.--VENUS, LOVE, PSYCHE (_still senseless_).\n\nVEN. The threat is full of respect, and the anger of a rebellious son\npresumptuous....\n\nLOVE. I am no longer a child; my childhood has been but too long, and\nmy wrath is as just as it is impetuous.\n\nVEN. Its impetuosity should be subdued, and thou oughtest to remember\nthat to me thou owest thy birth.\n\nLOVE. And thou mightest well not forget that thou possessest a heart\nand beauty that hold their power from me; that my bow is the only\nsupport of this power, that without my shafts it is nothing, and that\nif the stoutest hearts have suffered themselves to be drawn in thy\ntriumphant train, thou hast never enslaved any one whose chains it was\nnot my pleasure to forge. Mention no more those rights of birth that\nfetter my desires; and if thou dost not wish to lose a thousand sighs,\npay thy tribute to gratitude when thou seest me; thou whose glory and\ndelights are the offsprings of my power.\n\nVEN. How hast thou defended this glory of which thou speakest? How\nhast thou restored it to me? And when thou hast seen my shrines\ndeserted, my temples violated, the honours due to me rivalled by those\nof another, if thou hast shared my shame, how hast thou punished\nPsyche, who hath stolen them from me? I bade thee throw a spell over\nher, that she might love the basest of mortals, who would not\ncondescend to answer her passion but by continual repulse and\ncruellest contempt; and thyself thou hast loved her! Thou hast seduced\nimmortal deities against me; for the Zephyrs have concealed her from\nme; for thee, Apollo himself, by an oracle cleverly turned, had\nsnatched her from my power so well that, but for the curiosity which\nby a blind distrust restored her to my vengeance, she escaped for ever\nmy angry passion. See to what thy love has reduced her, thine own\nPsyche! See! her soul is even now departing; and if thine is still\nsmitten, receive now her last breath. Threaten and brave me if thou\nwilt, but she must die. So much insolence suits thee well; and I must\nneeds bow to all it pleases thee to say, I, who can do nothing without\nthy darts.\n\nLOVE. Thy power is but too great, relentless goddess! Fate abandons\nher to thy wrath; but be less inexorable to the prayers and tears of a\nson who beseeches thee on his knees. It must be a pleasant sight\nenough for thee to see on one side Psyche expiring, on the other a son\nwho, in a suppliant voice, wishes to hold his heart's happiness from\nthee only. Give me back my Psyche, restore to her all her charms,\nsurrender her to my tears, to my love, to my grief; for she is my\neyes' delight, my heart's happiness.\n\nVEN. However deep thy love for Psyche, do not expect me to put an end\nto her misfortunes. If Fate abandons her to me, I abandon her to her\nfate. Importune me no more, and let her in the midst of her calamities\ntriumph or perish without Venus.\n\nLOVE. Alas! if I am too importunate, I would not be so if I could but\ndie!\n\nVEN. This grief is not common that drives an immortal to long for\ndeath.\n\nLOVE. Thou mayest judge of the intensity of my passion by its very\nexcess; wilt thou not be merciful?\n\nVEN. I must confess thy love touches my heart; it disarms, it abates\nmy sternness; thy Psyche shall see the light again.\n\nLOVE. How powerfully I shall cause thy sway to be felt everywhere!\n\nVEN. Ay! thou shalt behold her decked in her first beauty; but I will\nhave the entire deference of thy grateful vows. I will that a true\nrespect allow my love to select for thee another spouse.\n\nLOVE. And I will have no such grace; I assume all my former boldness;\nI will have Psyche; I will have her plighted faith; I will that she\nlive again, and that she live for me; and I reckon as naught that thy\nwearied hatred give way to favour another maiden. Jupiter, who even\nnow appears, shall judge betwixt us, and decide between my\ninsubordination and thy wrath.\n\n_The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, and_ JUPITER\n_appears in the air borne aloft by his eagle_.\n\n\nSCENE VI.--JUPITER, VENUS, LOVE, PSYCHE (_senseless_).\n\nLOVE. O thou to whom alone all is possible, father of gods, lord of\nmortals, soften the rigour of an inexorable mother, who without me\nwould have no shrines. I have wept, I have supplicated; I sigh, I\nthreaten. Sighs and threats are alike vain. She will not perceive that\non my displeasure hangs the happy or sad condition of the whole world,\nand that if Psyche dies, if Psyche be not mine, I am no longer \"Love\".\nYes! I shall break my bow, shatter my arrows; I shall even extinguish\nmy sacred flame, and leave all nature to pine to death; or if I deign\nto wound a few more hearts with these golden shafts that arrest my\nsway, I shall wound you all above in behalf of mortals, while I shall\nhurl against them blunted darts only that inspire hatred, and produce\nthankless and cruel rebels. What tyrannical law is this that would\nbind me to keep my shafts ever ready to serve you, and would have me\nmake conquest upon conquest for you, while you forbid me to make one\nfor myself?\n\nJUP. (_to_ VENUS). My daughter, show thyself less severe towards\nhim; his Psyche's destiny is even now in thy hands. Fate, at thy\nslightest word, is ready to follow up thy wrath. Speak, and let a\nmother's tenderness prevail upon thy designs. All dread this wrath\nwhich awes even me. Will thou leave the world to become the prey of\nhatred, disorder, and confusion, and change a god of union, of\ndelights, of joy, into one of bitterness and division? Consider the\nlofty rank we hold, and say whether passion ought to sway our\nfeelings. The word revenge is pleasing to mortals; the more is it meet\nthat we should resort to forgiveness.\n\nVEN. I forgive this rebel son. Yet would you have me submit to the\nreproach that a contemptible mortal, the object of my wrath, proud\nPsyche, because she displays some charms, has defiled my alliance and\nmy son's couch?\n\nJUP. Well, then, I make her immortal, so that all shall be equal.\n\nVEN. I feel no longer hatred or contempt for her, but admit her to the\nhonour of this conjugal tie. Psyche! recover your life, never more to\nlose it. Jupiter has contrived your restoration, and I abandon that\nlofty humour which opposed itself to your wishes.\n\nPSY. (_recovering from her fainting condition_). It is you then,\nmighty goddess, who restores the life to this innocent being?\n\nVEN. Jupiter extends his pardon to you, and my wrath lasts no longer.\nLive! Venus commands it. Love allows it.\n\nPSY. (_to_ LOVE). At last I see you again, dear object of my\npassion!\n\nLOVE. (_to_ PSYCHE). You are mine at last, my soul's own delight!\n\nJUP. Come, lovers, come; and conclude in heaven so great, so lofty a\nunion. Come, fair Psyche, to change thy destiny, and take thy place\namong the gods.","title":"Psyche","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":16310}