My sister’s gone mad!
LIVIA.
(Entering.) There’s men at the door.
Shall I let them in?
ALL.
No!
LIVIA.
There’s no need to shout.
CHRYSOS.
Let no other men in, but get Brontes out!
BRONTES.
One traitorous friend, one invisible voice
One strong, handsome man—come, make your choice!
LIVIA.
Choice? What choice? What’s been going on?
Everything happens when Livia’s gone!
DAREIA.
Is this my sister, who once used to rail
At lovers who rhymed, trembled, looked pale?
Why, look at her now! She’s wooing the sky!
She’s not time for husbands or your stupid eye.
LIVIA.
Eye? Can this be? Does she love Brontes now?
PSYCHE.
No.
Speak, sir, again! Chrysos, let me go. One word! Appear!
But name yourself Love, and I’ll name you dear!
But say you are god, and I will believe!
But show yourself, voice! O, God—let me see!
APHRODITE.
Now Cupid, your moment. Stand fast and strike true.
Here is your arrow, black tipped and embittered;
And there is her heart, so fluttering frail.
‘Tis a little distance. A whisper may cross it.
So close she comes that were a venom on your lips,
You might steal her breath to Hades with a kiss.
Take aim, my son, take aim.
CUPID.
Why should she die?
You are revenged. You curst her heart with love
And see now how she seeks her love.
APHRODITE.
…Are you her love, Cupid?
(PSYCHE grabs CUPID.)
PSYCHE.
Here, now, I have thee! But now, with the having
I feel all too forward. Art thou a man?
Art thou a tree? Have I gone mad?
Do I speak to the wind? Do I offend thee?
Do not be silent! But let me know thee.
For the sake of thy love, I must now seem
As one sleepwalking, addressing a dream.
And yet, here are fingers. Here is a face.
And here are the lips no sense can erase.
(PSYCHE embraces him.)
LIVIA.
She is kissing a tree.
BRONTES.
Fortunate tree.
PSYCHE.
Are you a nightmare? Why can I not see?
Speak, if thou art Love.
O faith, I am gone mad—and I am unbeloved.
APHRODITE.
O this is better than revenge. Hera
Could not better drive a man to madness.
PSYCHE.
Love?
CUPID.
I dare not speak.
APHRODITE.
O speak, my son! And she’ll run madder yet.
Run her off a precipice with sweet nothings in her ear.
Thus to thy subtle ministrations, I leave thee.
PSYCHE.
Silence, I say! Silence, I cry you mercy!
CHRYSOS.
Psyche, bright angel! Do not furrow and frown.
Like you this tree? I’ll get an axe; chop it down!
Name what you want, and I’ll give it with glee!
BRONTES.
Excellent, Chrysos, since she clearly wants me.
PSYCHE.
No, by God, no. It’s my mind I desire,
My will to return, my heart to grow quiet.
‘Twas for this reason I first despised Love:
For even if faithful, it’s drives men insane
As all faith is madness, in seeing unseen.
LIVIA.
You’ll anger the gods.
PSYCHE.
I’ll anger them gladly!
I’ll scream to the heavens, and conduct myself madly.
Then haply no longer in cowardly pride
Will the craven gods tremble in their temples and hide!
DAREIA.
Psyche, be quiet! Have you no sense of fear?
PSYCHE.
Whom should I fear? This is a tree. There is no Love here.
CHRYSOS.
I side with Psyche.
PSYCHE.
Well, that’s a relief.
(The men start caressing CUPID.)
BRONTES.
As do I! I do, too. Oh, how I love these leaves!
CHRYSOS.
How supple, this bark!
BRONTES.
These branches, sublime!
CHRYSOS.
What a delicate twig!
BRONTES.
O! I’d love to climb…!
CUPID.
Enough!
I do not know, dear mother, by what Fate
Or by what fickle turn of Fortune’s wheel
You brought this curse about to torment me.
I!
Who ever have been faithful to your most vain
And petty-vengeful will. Perhaps it pleases you
To make a mockery of Love with love.
But I tell you now (To PSYCHE.) and I know you hear
That I will not—nor I cannot love.
You were better quit of me, than ever
Fall in love with me. I am not what I am.
Nor feel I what mortals feel.
CHRYSOS.
The wind feels strange.
DAREIA.
Come, let’s away.
BRONTES.
Why should we go?
LIVIA.
We dare not stay!
(The Lovers exeunt.)
CUPID.
And you as well, dear mother. I would do this deed alone.
APHRODITE.
So that this day she dies. Remember, son, my vengeance. Fail me not.
CUPID.
When have I ever failed you, mother?
(APHRODITE exits.)
PSYCHE.
And there another voice, although fainter than the last. But no, I will believe it was the wind. I will be rational. I will be calm. I am myself. Myself alone. This is my face, these my arms, these my hands…held in another’s hand. O God!
But no. I am not mad. Will not be mad. See, here I am standing. The earth is firm and cold beneath my feet, full of growing things, now falling to a sudden slumber. What do they dream? Of voices from above?
O me! If I could lay me in the ground as easily as I lay on it now, what lightness would my hov’ring spirit feel? Bound, bound, deep down with earth and grass my canopy. What god would find me then?
CUPID.
I would.
PSYCHE.
Oh, God!
CUPID.
A god indeed.
PSYCHE.
Oh God—oh—no. I have dreamed. I will awake. I will pinch me thus.
(CUPID pinches her.)
PSYCHE.
I will pinch me myself—
(CUPID pinches her again)
PSYCHE.
I will pinch me my cheek.
(CUPID pinches her bum.)
PSYCHE.
I meant my other. But…to whom do I speak? I pinch without moving.
CUPID.
You hear me.
PSYCHE.
I don’t.
CUPID.
You touched me.
PSYCHE.
I didn’t!
CUPID.
You see me.
PSYCHE.
I...can’t.
CUPID.
You love me.
PSYCHE.
I won’t. You pinched me!
And now I am remembered, were sent to kill me.
You might have murdered me when first we met:
Killed me with a word, slain me with a smile;
But you spoke fair and
turned your eyes to glass
So that my sole reflection lay in you
And I no more was seen.
But softly, sir, I think I know your name
Most vengeful and most wicked Lust—but say!
You are the blind boy! Are you not?
CUPID.
I am.
PSYCHE.
Then do it, infant. And make an end of me.
CUPID.
As I have sworn. Fair Psyche, farewell.
(CUPID draws his bow. But before he can loose it—)
PSYCHE.
Will you kill me now?
(CUPID pulls up short, and—)
Or will you call that old assassin, Time,
And bore me to my grave?
(Cupid readies himself to attack, but—)
For your quiver, sir, is empty
And you will bore through me no other way.
(Once more unto the breach, then—)
PSYCHE.
What? Still silent, sir?
Or has your mouth grown impotent as w—
(CUPID captures PSYCHE’s mouth with his own. Nor does she refuse, but returns kind for eager kind, until the kiss turns into something else: more tender, and more dangerous.)
(Silent and unnoticed, PERSEPHONE and ADONIS enter.)
PERSEPHONE.
‘Tis pity she must die.
CUPID.
(Pushing PSYCHE behind him.)
How now, Aunt. Wherefore are you come this day?
Are you not early? Is’t Springtime come so soon?
I see you have brought you bond-slave with you.
How now, friend Adonis. Wilt thou not join me
In the hunt?
ADONIS.
There is no more hunt for you,
My lord, for I perceive you have been caught.
CUPID.
Who? I? Jest not. Believe my wretched hunger
Is none the less abated by this girl,
This trifle, porridge-faced and motley-minded.
‘Tis not her weakling body that I crave
But one like thine to match mine own.
ADONIS.
And yet
I’d wager all the meagre months I own
Apart from you, Dark Lady, and from your mother,
Lord, that you will never draw your bow again.
PSYCHE.
(Three voices now. Is there no world safe from voices?)
PERSEPHONE.
She is exquisite.
CUPID.
Yea, she hath a mouth,
Two eyes, one chin, a nose—‘twill do; ‘twill serve.
PERSEPHONE.
See how she stalks you! Like Artemis.
ADONIS.
Chaste.
PERSEPHONE.
I like this girl quite well! ‘Tis pity she must die.
CUPID.
Persephone, enough. Why have you come to torment me?
PERSEPHONE.
Torment thee, sweet cousin? Why never would I
Torment thee! I am the gentlest of gods:
Life’s Second Sleep, and Sorrow’s Peaceful End—
Why, never would I torment thee! Although
I lost my maidenhead at your cruel touch,
When you laid me in Hades’ torment-bed;
And when with fingers bleeding I crawled out from my grave
The tender god of Love toppled me to Hell.
But I’ve not come to torture thee. Although
The Fates themselves have taken up my cause:
A just revenge for their most tender sister,
Whom he seduced and then drove mad! Poor Fate,
What curse was it she laid on thee, for laying her
Unwilling on her back? Sure, her screams must
Echo in your ear: “Death shall conquer Love,” she cried,
As blood poured freely from her Love-tormented eyes.
O! If thy mortal plaything knew the sins
Heaped on thy burnished head, I wonder if,
Poor butterfly, she’d love thee. Thy true face,
O wicked Lust, would haunt her to her death.
(To PSYCHE.) Shall I show it thee?
PSYCHE.
I have seen his face.
PERSEPHONE.
And was it fair?
PSYCHE.
It was.
ADONIS.
It lies.
PERSEPHONE.
‘Tis pity she must die.
CUPID.
When do you claim her?
PERSEPHONE.
This very hour.
CUPID.
And what shall kill her?
PERSEPHONE.
My dear boy, Love.
CUPID.
I will not do it. I cannot, though I’ve tried.
Though it makes me weak, she hath some spell o’er me
I know not what ‘tis.
ADONIS.
I do.
PERSEPHONE.
O, make her weak
With amorous desire, and burn through her heart
With the funeral pyre. All things come to me.
CUPID.
Not the gods.
PERSEPHONE.
Even they.
CUPID.
Believe me, Aunt
When Love enters Hell, Hell, not Love, will die.
PERSEPHONE.
Well, we shall see. Adonis, I grow weary
And now would depart. I leave thee, love,
For a season’s time, and then I think
Thou shalt be mine again.
ADONIS.
Four months are mine,
As Zeus decreed, when Venus and yourself
Warred over who would win my heart.
My heart is mine, and these four months as well.
At the end of which this blind-boy’s mother
Comes, myself to claim. I will be yours,
Dark lady, when once she hath no need of me.
PERSEPHONE.
Still I say thou shalt be mine. I have the better claim.
ADONIS.
And the better husband? Nay, do not cry,
Dark Lady. I will not drink your Lethe tears.
I’m glad I’m mortal and for these brief months
Am rid of thee. Mayhaps I will court Psyche,
Before I’m bound to Love and Love-in-Death
Hereafter.
PERSEPHONE.
Thou shalt not live to court her.
ADONIS.
Will you strike me down? Will your hand bear the blade?
You are very easy, lady, with your threats
Of constant death. And yet I note, you hate
The sight of blood. Come, here’s my naked throat.
Will you strike me down?
PERSEPHONE.
I leave that to another hand. I cannot.
Be thou mortal once again; be thou visible.
And yet—
Have you no kiss for these pale lips?
Before you banish me to a Hellish husband?
Not one chaste kiss to bear me to my grave?
ADONIS.
I do have one within me. Come thou, lady, I will kiss thee. (He does.)
PERSEPHONE.
I will not stay. My borrowed heart within me breaks. Farewell.
ADONIS.
I breathe the air. ‘Tis fecund with all earthly
Smells of dew and grass and flaking skin.
I kiss the earth. O brief life! I live again.
CUPID.
Persephone, you’re weeping.
PERSEPHONE.
I’ll water the ground a little, aye! It’s Spring, and here are flowers for my tomb.
ADONIS.
Psyche, are you?
PSYCHE.
Aye.
ADONIS.
Heed me.
PSYCHE.
I do.
ADONIS.
Bend the gods. They play with mortals and bring them only death. Love not the gods.
PSYCHE.
I do not love.
ADONIS.
Thy pulse betrays thee.
PSYCHE.
O, it is mad with hope and flutters at the slenderest provocation.
ADONIS.
Then shall I provoke thee? Our lovers are invisible and not likely to intrude.
CUPID.
Bond-slave, Adonis, heed me.
ADONIS.
I am no man’s slave. And these four months are mine.
PSYCHE.
You hear my torment, too? Then I am not mad and may believe. Where is he now?
CUPID.
I do not want thy precious time, Adonis.
For well thou knowest ‘tis not thee I love.
Though could I pluck this very hour from thee
And give it to another, then believe me,
Bond-slave, thou shouldst feel my wrath already.
I do not want thy time, but want thy word.
ADONIS.
What word, my lord?
PSYCHE.
And see him too? How looks he? Is he fair or foul?
CUPID.
Do not think to woo this woman.
ADONIS.
Woo her? Nay, I’ll bed her first. Why should I not?
Cupid and Psyche Page 7
