After accusations of excessive theatricality, I decided to shift from the previously announced themes of Christ’s passion walks to the more cheerful topics of sex and love. Unfortunately, you won’t be spared my inherent pathos, so this will also include separation, which is a necessary component of every great love story. If you disagree, I will label you an incorrigible romantic and invoke the authority of William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Tolstoy, James Cameron, and one of the most influential yet least known writers of all time—Apuleius. I’ve written a lengthy piece about Apuleius and his work, which interested readers can find here.
Today, I will focus on retelling an ancient love story, that of Cupid and Psyche, ingeniously woven into Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, a Hellenistic, Neoplatonic novel composed in the 2nd century CE. This tale, known since the 4th century BCE, recounts the love of a god and a mortal, her curiosity that separates them, her adventures and sufferings afterward, and their eventual reunion.
It’s quite amusing, so here’s a summary.
Cupid, Psyche, and the Iron Shoes
In Apuleius’ version, Psyche is the youngest daughter of a king and queen, whose beauty was beyond human description. Word of her beauty spread quickly, and people from distant lands came to see her and offer sacrifices, leaving Venus’ temples deserted. This infuriated the goddess of love, who sent her son Cupid to take revenge on Psyche by making her fall in love with “the most despicable man, someone stripped of honor, wealth, and health—a wretch unlike any other in the world.” Meanwhile, poor Psyche awaited a suitor in vain, as no one dared ask for her hand. Her father sought advice from a famous oracle in Miletus, which told him to prepare his daughter for a marriage of death and leave her on a cliff to be taken by a wild beast “who flies on wings and spares no one, from whom even Jupiter trembles and gods fear.”
This was done, and Psyche was left alone and weeping atop a cliff. Soon, the gentle breeze of Zephyr carried her over the ravines to a garden with a royal palace. She spent her evenings with an invisible husband, who would leave “before sunrise” and made her promise never to desire to see his face. It seems the concept of marriage hasn’t changed much since ancient times. Soon, Psyche became pregnant. Hearing her parents mourn for her and feeling lonely, Psyche asked her husband if she could see her sisters.
What followed proves that meddling family members can spell disaster for a marriage. Her sisters, seeing the wealth she lived in, became jealous and pressured her with questions about her husband. Realizing Psyche hadn’t seen his face, they convinced her that he was a terrifying serpent, reminding her of the oracle’s prophecy about a monstrous spouse. Frightened, Psyche decided to break her promise to her husband and, after “battles of love,” lit a lamp to see his face. Instead of a wild animal, she saw the most beautiful being—Cupid himself. Overjoyed, she curiously touched his bow and arrows, accidentally pricking herself and falling in love with Cupid. Burning with love, she began kissing him passionately. At that moment, the lamp spilled oil on his shoulder, and he awoke, realizing she had broken her word. Psyche then experienced what many women have—a lover flying out the window after a night together.
Thus began Psyche’s wandering, while Cupid, in a typically male fashion, went straight to his mother’s chambers to sulk. Psyche sought help from Ceres and Juno, but they were too afraid of Venus’ wrath to assist her. Realizing she had no other option, Psyche went to her mother-in-law, who handed her over to two servants, Anxiety and Grief, to beat and torment her (any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental). Venus then gave Psyche four tasks: to sort various seeds (with the help of ants), to gather golden fleece from wild sheep (aided by a reed), to fetch black water from the Styx guarded by dragons (with the help of Jupiter’s eagle), and finally, to bring back some of Proserpina’s beauty from the underworld. Instructions for this task were given by a tower from which she intended to end her life. Following these instructions, she successfully obtained the box from Proserpina but failed the final task—divine cosmetics were too tempting for any woman to resist, so she opened the box, only to find not beauty but a deadly sleep inside.
Cupid, unable to bear the separation any longer, revived her. The lovers were saved by an intervention from Jupiter himself, who granted Psyche immortality and elevated her to Olympus, where their wedding feast took place. Soon after, Psyche gave birth to a daughter, Pleasure.
The story survived the Middle Ages because it was given a Christian interpretation early on, symbolizing the soul’s journey, which, after much earthly suffering, reaches divine reward. An interesting interpretation emerged in the late 5th century, when the Latin writer Fulgentius, in his mythography, described Psyche as the daughter of God and Matter, comparing her wanderings to Adam’s fall due to curiosity. Her two sisters were interpreted as the body and free will, which lead her into trouble. Venus was seen as lust, sending Cupid (desire) to destroy Psyche. The Christian interpretation saved the story from the fate of many classical works that were forgotten, as it appears even on Christian sarcophagi and frescoes in catacomb decorations. Medieval literature adopted many motifs from the story, such as in the Old French romance Partonopeu de Blois from the second half of the 12th century, where the protagonist is transported by a magical ship to a wondrous palace served by invisible servants.
The Renaissance marked a great revival of this theme in art. The first known Renaissance illustration is found on a chest created in 1444 for the wedding of Piero de’ Medici. Renaissance depictions of the theme are numerous, including the 12 lost paintings by Giorgione, two frescoes by Raphael in the Villa Farnesina depicting Psyche’s introduction to Olympus, and a cycle of 23 scenes painted by Raphael’s pupil Giulio Romano in Palazzo del Te. Today, when the tale of Cupid and Psyche is mentioned in visual arts, most people think of Antonio Canova’s sculpture in the Louvre, a neoclassical work depicting the moment of the lovers’ reunion.
The story’s motifs are found in the oral traditions of many European nations, and Disney gave it its first of two film adaptations in 1991. It’s called Beauty and the Beast—in case you hadn’t recognized the plot by now. Vuk Stefanović Karadžić recorded two versions of the story, which he published in 1853 in Vienna, in Serbian Folk Tales.
My personal favorite version remains Vuk’s with the iron shoes.
Jovana Pikulić
References:
Alberto Savinio, La nostra anima/ Il signor Münster, Adelphi editions, Milan, 1981.
Apuleius, The Metamorphoses or The Golden Ass, edited by Alessandro Fo, Einaudi, Turin, 2015.
Claudio Moreschini, The Myth of Cupid and Psyche in Apuleius, M. D’Auria Publisher, 1999.
Leonard Barkan – The Beholder’s Tale: Ancient Sculpture, Renaissance Narratives, Representations, vol. 44, Fall 1993, pp. 133-166.
Luisa Vertova, Cupid and Psyche in Renaissance Painting before Raphael, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 42, 1979.
Frederick Hartt – Gonzaga Symbols in the Palazzo del Te, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 13, 3-4, 1950.
Vuk Stefanović Karadžić, Serbian Folk Tales, edited by M. Maticki, Laguna, Belgrade, 2017.