Cupid and Psyche
Page 8
You cannot love nor enter Hades’ realm.
I can do both.
CUPID.
And I can send thee quickly
To the arms of thy Dark Lady. Shall I,
Bond-slave? Wouldst thou tempt me to a hunt
Wherein thou art the hunted?
ADONIS.
Do what you will,
Conceited boy. I fear you not. Ambrosia
Have I been forced to drink. If you can kill me,
Free me from this hateful life, then do it.
What? Are still afeared to touch me?
(CUPID grabs ADONIS by the throat.)
PERSEPHONE.
What dost thou do?
CUPID.
But give thee all thy wishes, Aunt.
I’ll strike a different bargain now: his life for hers.
My mother charged me with a death this day
And I am her ever faithful servant.
PSYCHE.
Let go, my lord, he’ll die!
PERSEPHONE.
Nay, wring his neck, the faithless, filthy worm.
Choke him with a collar and bind him to my throne.
You kill your love to show your face like this.
PSYCHE.
Good Lord, my love, my madness own—O!
Do not do this thing!
CUPID.
Thou hast a moment,
Bond-slave, speak. Do I have thy word?
Or shall I damn thee ever to Persephone’s bed?
ADONIS.
O, I am dead already. Your love, fair Psyche,
This is he: the willful babe, the jealous beast.
See, see your love for who he is and not
For who you wish he’d be. Look upon your god,
And tremble, for he loves thee.
(CUPID kills him.)
CUPID.
Take him. He’s thine. His soul in Hades lies,
Waiting for thee. Therefore, Death, be satisfied.
PERSEPHONE.
This day at least. I have my love, but yours you’ve lost.
CUPID.
What, Psyche?
PERSEPHONE.
Adonis could be seen. Your act as well.
Had you forgot? You gave her eyes to see.
CUPID.
Psyche—
PSYCHE.
Come not near me. Do not touch me.
I see you for the monster that you are.
You warned me that a mask you wore.
You wear no mask of beauty now,
You putrid corpse; you maggot face…!
CUPID.
I did all for thee—
PSYCHE.
Murder?
CUPID.
Murder, aye. It pleases you to call it that.
PSYCHE.
You warned me not to love, I did not heed—
CUPID.
I said I cannot love, but if thou lovest me—
PSYCHE.
O never would I love a thing like thee.
CUPID.
Now Psyche, listen—
PSYCHE.
No! I have heard too much,
Have too much seen. O, was I blind today?
No, I was blind the day that first I met thee.
When thy sweet voice seduced me, angelic voice
Within a fallen angel’s brutish form. No more!
CUPID.
Hear me, Psyche! I am a god, but not supreme,
A passion in a fleshy form. But speak thou love
And I am loving; but if you vengeance speak
Then I will strike you down.
PSYCHE.
Have you no will?
No valour? Will you hide behind “I must”
And, “No other choice had I?” You’re foul.
CUPID.
Speak not these things, dear Psyche.
PSYCHE.
For it was you
Who drove those men to madness. And it was you
Who sent my sisters with them. And it was you
Who spoke sweet whispers in mine ear to turn
My heart to bitter ashes. And it is you
Whom I wish to see no more.
CUPID.
I pray you,
Nay, beg you—bitch—No!, Sweet, speak not these words—
PSYCHE.
O, I will speak. And tell you plainly that I will never love.
CUPID.
Psyche—
PSYCHE.
Nay, more, list—I command thee, Love-in-Death,
If ever thou didst love me, if ever felt pity
For those driven mad by Love, if ever
Knew compassion, do this thing:
CUPID.
I will.
PSYCHE.
Be damnèd, Love. Live thou in a living Hell.
And join with thee those fools who’d “love” as well.
CUPID.
This is thy will?
PSYCHE.
It is.
CUPID.
Then thy will be done.
You name me a monster, when I would be man
Then let Love be monstrous, and Death do what it can.
Act III, Scene 1
(PERSEPHONE approaches CUPID, and silently, ritualistically, teaches him how to kill. She may draw on his face dark marks like her own; he may put on black gloves and sever the necks of dolls with red ribbons made of silk; or step behind a screen to steal souls in silhouette. There’s something sensual, slow, and almost horrifyingly beautiful about the litter of corpses they leave behind.)
(Several cast members may sing ghostly from the shadows, in round and with echoes:)
SONG.
One by one by one they fall,
Where two by two had gone before.
For Love is master of us all,
And Death stands hungry at the door.
Act III, Scene 2
THANOS.
So still and silent hangs this ancient earth
That no wise man now dares to stir abroad,
Lest he disturb the slumber of the vengeful,
Jealous gods. A plague upon us have they cast,
A subtle plague, to rid the world of men.
Some say a god is angered, and others say
The languid gods but play their careless games.
But I believe a god does grieve; For sorrow
Will much move the human heart to foolish,
Senseless, harmful ends. Much worser, then,
Th’unexpected tears from unaccustomed eyes.
For what may be more fearful than to see
Thine own reflection in a water glass,
And not to know the face?
Our tears reveal the truth of who we are.
For when we have these many years proclaimed
Ourselves “Divine,” should we not stormcrash-wailing
Weep, when we awake and, humbled, find
Ourselves are smaller than th’ocular dew.
And yet, for him who himself humbled is,
Within those drops, a World.
O, some god sorrows that he is not God.
And we must pay the price.
(A shriek. THANOS’ home. DAREIA and THANOS rush on separately.)
THANOS.
How now, my child? What new woe has come to pass?
DAREIA.
The Beast—my father—O all ye gods above! The Beast! He has another lover felled. There, there in the marketplace. There beside my sisters, where they stood, their fingers full of ribbons to twist into their darkling braids, when he—th’invisible, th’artless Beast coiled within his veiled hands the reddest of all the ribbons and quickly felled, O, by the neck—O gods, my sister!
THANOS.
Your sister, child? Have I lost mine own to Hades’ hands? Is Psyche dead?
DAREIA.
Is Psyche dead? I wish she were. No, she is not slain. Nor is your other daughter dead. And I myself am well.
THANOS.
Then why weep you for y
our sister? Why call out?
DAREIA.
See for yourself. Here they come. All upright and alive.
(CHRYSOS enters, making way for BRONTES who carries LIVIA in his arms. PSYCHE follows after.)
THANOS.
You spoke me false, daughter. Why, Livia! Why bear she in your arms?
BRONTES.
She swooned to see the sight.
CHRYSOS.
A band, like blood, about the throat. Irina’s throat. A spotless maid. The face so pale and almost lovely. Her lover, soon to be her husband, found her and fell into a faint. I nearly swooned myself.
THANOS.
And thou, Psyche? Didst thou also fall?
DAREIA.
Oh no! She proudly and impassive stood, held conversance with the air, and then she shut her eyes as innocence was slaughtered.
BRONTES.
(Looking at LIVIA.) She swooned to see the sight. I never thought to see her swoon.
DAREIA.
Be careful, Brontes, that you do not fall in love with her. I should hate to see our Livia slain while Psyche braids her hair.
BRONTES.
Have no fear of that. When once the madness passed us, near on these four months ago, I have not felt the stir of love again.
CHRYSOS.
No, nor have I.
DAREIA.
Nor I.
PSYCHE.
Nor I.
DAREIA.
What? Do you speak, sweet Psyche? What word of comfort have you for us?
PSYCHE.
I have no words. And precious little comfort. I would be gone.
BRONTES.
I did not think to see her swoon.
DAREIA.
Nay, dear saint, go not from us, we mere mortals who may at any moment die because you will not love! But stay with us and tell us how it is a mercy, a great blessing if the Beast, your lover, should consume us! Will you nothing do?
PSYCHE.
What can I do?
CHRYSOS.
In truth we can do nothing but hate each another.
DAREIA.
You could answer him as he desires. You could give yourself unto the Beast.
PSYCHE.
That I will never do.
CHRYSOS.
Then we will die!
PSYCHE.
I cannot love a creature such as he.
DAREIA.
You could not love before. Why should this be different?
CHRYSOS.
Hate him, if you will, but marry him!
PSYCHE.
And live my days in Hell?
DAREIA.
You damn yourself to Hell by leaving us to die!
PSYCHE.
I have done nothing!
BRONTES.
Exactly.
(PSYCHE flees. CUPID follows her. Gasping, LIVIA awakes.)
LIVIA.
O breath! O life! A bloodless death! O gods!
THANOS.
She stirs. See to her!
DAREIA.
What, Livia! Awake!
LIVIA.
Irina hung upon the air, dangling loose-limbed,
Struggling puppet against a ruthless puppeteer.
Her feet suspended, so, while the ribbon
Turned her cheeks a different colour from her hands
That scratched and scrabbled at the refuscent band.
THANOS.
What did Psyche do? What did she say?
LIVIA.
She told the air she would not love.
DAREIA.
And for her pride, one more is slain.
BRONTES.
Psyche is accurst.
CHRYSOS.
She is the curse.
LIVIA.
I wish she were dead.
BRONTES.
I did not think to see you swoon.
LIVIA.
I did not hope I would be caught.
CHRYSOS.
Brontes, do not touch her, man! Death follows Psyche and his snare is Love. I myself have kept carefully from Dareia’s bed.
DAREIA.
And a happier marriage has it been.
CHRYSOS.
Happier, I—
THANOS.
Children! Enough! Though you may fear to love,
Fearful that the wild blaze will steal
Your slight breath from you, still I say:
You should fear more your own hard hearts.
What is this plague but lingering suspicion?
What is this curse but your own hearts of stone?
DAREIA.
The Beast will only fell the ones that love.
And we are beasts to hold ourselves from love?
THANOS.
You are not beasts, although you may be pitied,
For without a heart of flesh, you are not human either.
I will to Psyche, for I do not fear Love. (Exits.)
DAREIA.
No, no—but us you do not love!
CHRYSOS.
Brontes, do not hold her hand.
LIVIA.
Brontes, do not let me go.
DAREIA.
Psyche is the cause of all our suffering. Psyche is accurst. Of this I’m quite sure: that were not Psyche here, then you, Livia, and you, Brontes, might hold each other’s hand in safety.
BRONTES.
I do not love your sister.
CHRYSOS.
Then cry it to the mountaintops that the Beast may hear you!
BRONTES.
I do not love this woman!
DAREIA.
And now you, sister.
LIVIA.
I do not want to speak the words.
DAREIA.
Would you rather die?
CHRYSOS.
Louder, Brontes!
BRONTES.
I do not love this woman! I love no woman, no! Nor man! Nor bug nor bird, nor beast, nor bee! I have a heart of stone that none can move! I do not love, I— (Seeing LIVIA) O, do not cry!
LIVIA.
I will sorrow and if I like I will be sad.
DAREIA.
Well, I have had enough of tears. Come, Livia. Are you well enough to walk with me?
LIVIA.
Where will we go?
DAREIA.
To one who might have answers. Let us seek the Oracle for a way that you might love.
BRONTES.
I do not love.
CHRYSOS.
Well said, my friend.
DAREIA.
Come, sister, will you go?
LIVIA.
So will I be assured that Brontes lies
When he says aloud he will not love.
BRONTES.
I do not lie. Why should I lie? I don’t.
In truth, I lie. And hence I will remain—
No longer here, lest by that little lie
I lengthwise lie, never to lie again.
Farewell.
CHRYSOS.
Godspeed, my wife, whom I deplore.
I’ll follow Brontes until such a time
As the curse is lifted. I kiss thee now
With all th’abhorrence within my heart.
DAREIA.
I hate thee much. Farewell. Come, Livia.
The oracle awaits.
Act III, Scene 3
(CUPID bursts from PSYCHE’S room into the Oracle’s cave. He curls up on the earth, tearing at his skin and hair, until a single clap is heard from somewhere deep within the audience. Looking up, CUPID sees PERSEPHONE who blows him a kiss and sweeps away…leaving ADONIS behind her, chained.)
CUPID.
Go, fool! Gloat. Your god is dead; the globe unhinged;
Th’unguarded gateways to Olympus’ crown
Exposed. By Psyche—O!
We are weakling gods! To be usurped
By Reason’s proud, unyielding ice-queen harlot!
Virgin. (Nay, she’s a virgin sure…)—yet not so chaste;
There�
��s fire in her yet, ‘twill burn me cold.
I’ll have her.
Jade and strumpet! Where do you hide, my sweet?
I’ll have thee, whore—know thee, inhabit thee—
Cleft thee in two and die in the remains—I’ll—
But stay!...stay. I will be well.
Sad confessor, fear me not. Nay, sit. Sit!
Stay—and sit. I cannot kill thee twice. Soft.
I am…
…Remembered of a thing. What was it?
Of something soft—remember! Of something
Fragile as a newborn’s sigh, as lovely
As the dawn when sea and sky are one, as
Innocent as a window with new linens.
O, there was Eden-breath once in these lungs,
Eden-kisses on my lips, Eden-thoughts
Within my all-too fevered brain. Pity me,
Confessor. I am more Death’s bondslave—bitch—
Than thee in all thy chains. But see, there’s blood
Upon my hands. It’s strange there should be blood;
Is’t thine? O—she is lovely. My mistress,
And my murderer.
Nay, friend—take pity, pray, and tell me, too: