the wedding of Psyche
with the monster


Once there was a King Father of three charming girls Of which, the youngest exceeded her sisters in splendor She was like a Goddess who frolic among the mortals. Her beauty made her famous on the whole world And all men came in to contemplate her And pay her an homage Only intended to immortal beings. She was called Psyche She was compared to Venus, the goddess among the goddesses Saying even that she exceeded her in beauty So that the temples of this one Emptied from male disciples who came by habit or interest To pay homage to Her or break Her Goddess's loneliness By sharing her Divine couch All the honors that were due to the Goddess Were henceforth, reserved for this young mortal Highest disgrace That had to be avenged by Eros, Her Son Always ready to obey to the despotic commands of her Mother: " Use everything in your power, And make so that, this little shameless Get inflamed with love with the most mean, the most despicable creature There is in the world." When he saw Psyche showed to him by Venus Eros felt madly in love with her He was sensitive to the beauty of the virgins As mortals as they may be, And he saved Psyche while hiding the fact to his mother Psyche was sad and solitary, While her sisters, less pretty than she was Were well married with kings Psyche only attracted the attention of the young men to her Her aspirants limiting themselves to contemplate her and get married with someone else She was always admired and adored but never loved. No man, it seemed, did want her for wife. Her father to appease his sorrow, went to the oracle of Apollo Who tells him these terrifying words: " You will have to dress her with mourning clothes You will lead her to the top of a hill And you will leave her alone, There, a winged snake, terrifying And stronger than the gods themselves Will come and will make her its spouse." The father of Psyche, desperate, did had no choice He carried her on the mountain as if he was carrying her to her tomb. And he thus left her alone and without hope. Psyche remained there, motionless waiting for the monstrous animal That was intended to her as a husband. She was removed by Zephyr, And left in a peaceful and odorous valley Where she forgot her concerns and fell asleep. She woke up at the edge of a brook Where rose a castle so beautiful that it had to shelter a God. The place seemed deserted and Psyche approached. Her ear perceived voices, but she did see nobody Only the words reached her clearly: " I offer you this home, it is yours, adorable Psyche Enter and do fear nothing, Relax, bathe yourself, put on these ample clothing, deck yourself of these invaluable jewels We will draw up for you the table of the banquet, And you will become, if you want it well, my happy spouse." The banquet was made of delicate and tasty meals, Everything perspired with magnificence, She heard sounds and voices but did not see from where they came from A soft music, songs, choruses, prattlings of birds And the soft voice of the Master who offered to her all that as wedding present. All day she remained alone, hearing the voices without seeing them, But certain that at night Her husband would come and would share her couch And so it was. When she felt he was close to her and she heard his voice Gently murmur to her ear, All her fears disappear. Without seeing him, She knew that he was neither a monster, or a snake, nor a form of terror, But surely the lover and the husband she had, for so long, wished and waited for. Never could she imagined such exciting moments of love He probed her body with his hands, he caress her tenderly, embraced her, licked her And transpierced her belly with his hot and rigid appendix, Making her groan and enjoy from the most delirious of the orgasms. Days and days thus occurred, making love, without seing each other. But Psyche could not be satisfied of this half presence. Her happiness was great but incomplete She would have preferred to see this exquisite being who gave her such happiness She confessed herself to her sisters In spite of the repeated opinions of her mysterious lover Who told her to fear them Because, jealous of her happiness. " They go on the hill where you disappeared, In order to cry there over you, But this filial tenderness, you must know it, is not sincere And for any price, should you not hear them. If not, you would become for me, the cause of a great sorrow And for you, that of your own misfortune. " "Do not let yourself persuade by anybody to see me, Or else, you will be for good separated from me." She however saw her sisters again, whom she loved deeply And she suffered of not seing them anymore She made them share her own happiness But her sisters warned her: " Why does he not permit you to see him All these magnificencies, this richness, this beauty of things Hide, it is certain, a monstrous evil You must know what is this cheap creature that hide behind this supposed lover Who will, one day, make you great wrong This evening, light his couch and use, if needed, this dagger to overcome him. " Thus spoke, the sisters of Psyche, jealous of the happiness of their young sister. Psyche did what her sisters had advised her to do This night, after having make love lengthily Her husband sleeping, she lit a torch to see him She discovered not a monster But a man of sharp and stripped flesh, he was sleeping peacefully By his features, one could see that he had been young and handsome He was Eros the God of Love But time had aged His body. Psyche went away, She had become sad and solitary again, her family had abandonned her again, She did not attract anymore, the attention of the young men to her, The aspirants where elsewhere and did not contemplate her any more, She was not admired and adored and even loved anymore, No man, would have taken her for wife. "Although the story is not finished I stop here my matter Having loved Psyche I could support no more to narrate so All the details of her forfeiture And of having mislaid too early my own youth."

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Mythologies, translated august 2000) © 1999 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
Ovide, the metamorphosis, and the paintings of the great-masters, music by Yokubota.


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