Chapter 5: The Funeral

Cupid did not tell her mother about her failure, and now she was trying to save the maiden of her poisoned heart in secret.

The King and Queen were advised by the oracle to prepare a wedding and say farewell, or else the force of evil shall devour their kingdom. So amidst intense grief, they called upon their youngest daughter.

"My girl, we're in terrible grief," the King said. "It is said by the oracle that you're not meant for a mortal man. You're to be the bride of one who lives on the mountain, and we must bring you there, or else calamity shall strike land."

Psyche listened to their mournful words and understood. She went to her sad parents and held them with sympathy.

"Don't beat those breasts so sacred to me," she said in tears. "Don't weary your life's breath with lamentation. I understand that this is the fault of my peerless beauty."

They stroked her golden head and wept some more.

"Oh daughter," her mother said. "How could we not shrink from the arrival of your departure? My beautiful daughter is doomed to the person born for the destruction of the world!"

The King held his wife as she sobbed violently.

"This is the will of the gods, we can't refuse to obey," he sighed. "Woe is me who relishes in the fame and glory over our daughter's misery."

Psyche knew how much her parents loved her and she didn't want them to rack their sad old age with ceaseless weeping.

"Please, don't grieve and mar your faces with fruitless tears," she said. "Escort me and set me on the sacrificial altar. I have accepted my fate to appease the mysterious monster, whoever that might be."

After this utterance, the maiden fell silent, and with resolute steps, she detached herself from this long lamentation.

The ritual of that marriage with death was solemnized. They dressed Psyche in bridal garments. She was in the finest of white silk and hung with precious jewels. Then they led her to the appointed rock set on a lofty mountain. With the marriage-torches to light their way, the whole court followed, mourning, as though it were a funeral instead of a wedding.

Psyche herself did not weep. She had a strange calm look on her face. She walked along the escorting procession, scarcely knowing what was going to happen to her.

At the peak of the mountain, they brought her to the altar. With bent heads, her parents went to hold her for the last time. The maiden said no word of fear, wept no tear, and kissed them goodbye.

Everyone doused their tears and in silence, made their way homeward. After the last sound of their voices faded. She stood there listening to a great silence.

The royal parents returned to their palace and enclosed themselves in the gloom of their chamber, surrendering their hearts to a life of grief and darkness.

On that rocky mountain, Psyche was alone, and a sudden panic seized her. She fell to her soft knees and wept, trembling in fear of the unknown. Until she was drained and exhausted, a gust of wind circled her fair form. Her hair came loose. The kindly breeze with its soft stirring wafted the hem of her dress like a flag and made its folds billow out. Psyche felt the wind around her, and she did not understand. Then a huge breathy murmur, the wind itself howling in her ear, seemed to say, "Fear not, maiden. I am Zephyrus, the west wind, the groom's messenger. I have come to take you to your new home."

She listened to the soft howling, and believed the words she seemed to hear, and was not afraid. Zephyrus gradually drew her aloft, and Psyche felt herself being lifted off the soft and grassy arbor of the mountain. The tranquil breath bore her slowly downward. She felt herself sailing through the air like a leaf.

Psyche saw her own palace pass beneath her and thought she was probably dreaming. The last thing she remembered was crying on that altar. Now, she was floating and flying. If people were looking up and saw her now, they would think that she was a ghost, or maybe a goddess.

Past low hills, over a large bay, beyond forests and flower-laden fields and another ring of hills, the wind took her. She glided down over the flower-decked grass in the valley below.

And now she felt herself coasting down steeps of air, through the failing light, through purple clumps of dusk, towards another mountain, gleaming like silver and gold.

Gently, she was set down in a lively meadow. Psyche reclined gratefully on the couch of the dew-filled turf. The great upheaval oppressing her mind had subsided, and she enjoyed a pleasant and much-needed rest.

After sleeping long enough to feel refreshed, the lovely maiden got up with a lighter heart. Before her eyes was a grove planted with towering, spreading trees, and a rill glistening with flowing waters.

At the center of the grove and close to the gliding, a stream was a courtyard. It was empty. There were no sentries, no maids, nothing but shadows, and the moon-pale stones of a majestic palace, the work not of human hands but of divine craftsmanship. You would know as soon as you entered that you were seeing the grandiose retreat of some god.

Intrigued by the wonderful sight, Psyche hesitantly walked forwards through the lively gardens and passed the crested fountains. She saw no one, but the great doors opened. The maiden gingerly entered and the doors closed behind her. She felt her heart leap, but there was nothing else.

The light burst brightly from the high ceiling, artistically paneled with citron-wood and ivory. Huge golden columns supported the grand hall. The entire walls had silver relief of beasts and wild cattle, greeting the eyes of those who entered.

Psyche found herself walking towards one of the brilliant walls and ran her lithe fingers over the relief in awe.

"The one who shaped all this silver into animal-forms was certainly a genius," she murmured to herself, "a demigod or even a god."

The floors, too, sprawled out with different pictures formed by mosaics of precious stones, twice blessed indeed, and more than twice blessed, imagine those whose feet walk on gems and gold! The other areas of the dwelling too, in all its length and breadth, were unthinkably costly.

As she wandered further inside, a row of torches lit up, illuminating a hallway into a chamber. She walked towards it, still believing that she was dreaming. All the walls shimmered with their gleam of solid gold, and if the sun refused to shine, the whole place would create its own daylight.

The chamber had many rooms, the colonnade, the very doors also shone brilliantly. The windows displayed the views of the splendor place. It would be easy to believe that this palace was a heavenly palace itself.

Psyche, enticed by the charming appearance of her new surroundings, drew nearer, and as her bravery grew, she crossed the threshold of the chamber. Delight at the surpassing beauty, she examined every detail.

As she gazed on everything with great rapture, a disembodied voice addressed her softly.

"Why, my lady, do you gaze open-mouthed at this parade of wealth?" the voice spoke, startling Psyche half to death.

"Who is that?" she cried.

"The voices you hear now are those of your handmaidens," a courteous voice said apologetically, "and we will diligently attend to your every need. All these things are yours. So retire to your room, relieve your weariness on your bed, and take a bath at your leisure."

"Why can I not see you?"

"It is so ordered, my lady."

"And my groom? Where is he?" Psyche asked.

"Journeying closer, but we must say no more," the voice said. "After you have completed your washing, a royal feast shall at once be laid before you to dine."

Psyche felt a blessed assurance, and she followed the suggestions of the disembodied voice. Her funeral had become so strangely pleasant that she did not have time to question it.