Psyche in the Underworld

Immediately after she stepped through the thick fog shrouding the entrance to the underworld, Psyche found herself on a road as broad and smooth as the one that led from her father's palace into the village. The road went down in a gentle and barely perceptible slope. Though she could not see any torches or lanterns, the way was lighted, not brightly, but more than enough for her to see where she was going.

She walked for some time until, ahead of her, she saw a donkey loaded down with wood and hobbling on three legs. As she came closer, she saw the donkey's owner, a crippled and bald old man in drab and dirty clothes, leaning heavily on a cane. Just as she started to walk past, the load of wood on the donkey's back suddenly fell to the ground.

"Princess! Princess!" called out the man. "Please, help me! As you can see, I am crippled and I cannot pick up all this wood and put it back on the donkey. It won't take much of your time, Princess. Please help an old, crippled man."

Aquilo had warned her about him and the lame donkey, saying, "Do not stop or even speak to the old man." Yet Psyche wanted to. What harm could there be in helping a crippled old man?

"I see you have a kind face, Princess, and a good heart. The gods will reward you if you help me."

The sight of the old man and his piteous voice brought tears to Psyche's eyes. She put her hands over her ears and ran as fast as she could. The crippled man's voice followed her with words of abuse: "I was wrong. You have no heart! May the gods curse you and your children and their children and their children and on to the end of time!"

When Psyche was at a safe distance, she turned and looked back. The load of wood was no longer strewn across the ground but stacked neatly on the donkey's back, and the old man was now young and standing as straight as the pillars in a temple.

"He almost tricked me into changing places with him," Psyche said to herself sofdy, amazed at how close she had come to doing exactly what she had been told not to do. "I must be more careful."

She had not walked very far when the road became even wider and she thought she heard something. Psyche stopped and listened. Water. The River of the Dead!

There was a bend in the road, and when Psyche went around it, she saw ahead of her what looked to be hundreds, maybe thousands of shadows walking back and forth along the bank of the river.

"These pathetic shadows were people who were so poor when they died," Aquilo had told her, "they were not buried with a coin beneath their tongues to pay Charon, the ferryman. They are condemned to walk along the banks of the River of the Dead for one hundred years before Charon will take them across."

Hearing Aquilo talk about them was one thing. Seeing them was entirely another. Aquilo could not have prepared her for the continual sounds of their moaning, and their loud cries begging Charon to carry them across. Psyche knew she must get away from the shadows as quickly as she could, or her heart would break with pity

She walked swiftly and confidently toward the ferry and Charon. The crowds of shadows on the banks of the river parted as she came toward them, and their moans and pleadings ceased as they gazed at her.

"The goddess of love has come to the underworld!" said one, and quickly the word spread up and down the riverbank that Venus was among them. And the shadows dropped to their knees in adoration.

Psyche ignored them and kept her eyes fixed on Charon standing at the bow of his ferry, a long pole in his hand. He was tall and looked to be as old as the waters he rowed back and forth across. His face was covered with a long, white beard, but she could not make out more of his features because the hood of his long gray cloak was pulled low over his head.

Cyane had warned her to be very careful. Charon had been tricked several times into carrying living mortals across, and Pluto had punished him severely.

"Hercules used his great strength and forced Charon to carry him across," Cyane had said. "Pluto had Charon kept in chains for a year for that mistake. When Orpheus went into the underworld to bring back Eurydice, he charmed Charon by playing beautiful melodies on his lute. Aeneas bribed Charon by giving him a golden bough. Theseus also went to the underworld. No one knew how he had tricked Charon into carrying him over, but Theseus was Theseus. Was there anything he could not do?"

Psyche was not strong like Hercules, nor was she musical like Orpheus, or wise like Theseus, but if Charon had been impressed with Aeneas's golden bough, how could he resist the beauty of which Venus herself was jealous, the beauty that had captured the heart of the god of love?

Charon was known for his ill temper. Who wouldn't be if they did nothing except carry shadows across the River of the Dead from morning until night—and down there, who knew which was which; Charon certainly didn't. Having to listen to the moans and pleas of those without a coin to give him kept Charon in a bad mood. "If they would just shut up for the time it takes the sand to run from the top half of the hourglass to the bottom." Year in, year out, century after century, Charon had to listen to them. If he had not been a god, the sounds of their despair would have driven him mad.

Even worse was the fact that, for millennia now, he had collected a coin from every shadow he rowed across. He was the wealthiest of all the deities, even wealthier than Erebus and Nyx, his parents, who were better known as Darkness and Night. He had so much money that he kept having to add rooms on to his palace so he would have a place to put all the money. But what good was it having more money than anyone who had ever lived if he had no place to spend it! For eons he had begged Pluto to at least let him use some of his money to build a bridge. Shadows could swim across the river, or not. He couldn't care less. But Pluto said it would be ritualistically undignified for shadows to walk across a bridge and into his domain. Undignified! They were dead!

Such was the nature of the silent conversation Charon was having with himself when he saw Psyche approaching the ferry. He knew immediately that she was far from dead. He also knew that he should not take her across: Pluto might put him in chains again. But if a year in chains was the price he had to pay, at least he would have the image of this woman to keep him company.

Psyche's beauty stunned Charon into silence, and when she opened her mouth, he reached in automatically and took the coin from beneath her tongue. He wanted to say something to her, but it had been so long since he had talked to a living mortal. And certainly not to a mortal female. Come to think of it, Charon could not remember the last time he had talked with anyone. There was no point in talking to the dead, because all they would do was moan. He had no idea what to say to Psyche and so he allowed himself to be content with her presence, for which he had no words, anyway.

Psyche could feel Charon's eyes on her like fingers. She did not know if she was more frightened of him or of the River of the Dead, which was unlike any stream she had ever seen. So wide that she could not see the other side, it was dirty brown in color and thick like syrup. It moved slowly and stank like rotting meat.

"Help me!"

Psyche screamed as an arm, the flesh hanging from it in shredded strips, reached up for her from the river.

Charon laughed. "That is a mortal who thought he could get me to take him across to the underworld." His voice was little more than a scratchy whisper because he had not used it in so long. "He is neither dead nor alive. Unless someone pulls him out, he will spend eternity floating in the gruel of the River of the Dead, calling out for help."

"Help me!" he cried out again, his face rising out of the river.

As ghastly as he was, Psyche knew she would have reached out to him had not Aquilo warned her not to. To protect herself from her own pity she closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears and kept them there until, at long last, she felt the boat touch the other side.

"May the gods be with you," Charon said to Psyche as she left the ferry.

"And you," she replied.

Psyche found herself back on a road like the one that had brought her to the river. She walked quickly now, wanting to get her task over with as soon as possible. She was not sure just how much more of this dismal realm she could endure.

Psyche had not gone far when she came upon three women sitting at looms, weaving. The women were only a little older than she was, and
Psyche was so happy to see someone near her age that she began to smile. The cloth they were weaving was deep red in color and threaded at regular intervals with strips of orange. It reminded her of daylight, sunshine, warmth, and happiness, everything this realm was not. How had three such lovely young women come to be here?

Psyche wanted a closer look at what they were weaving and was about to go over to them when she remembered: "After you get off Charon's ferry, you will encounter three women weaving. Do not take pity on them. They are there only to try to take from you the two pieces of bread you are carrying. Please understand, dear Psyche. If you lose even one piece of bread, you will not be able to return to this world."

Reluctantly, Psyche walked by and continued on her way.

The road was more narrow now and going down, deeper and deeper, into the underworld. As eager as Psyche was to fulfill her task and leave, her steps slowed as she came closer to her destination and the darkness deepened until it shone with the luster of jewels.
Suddenly, Psyche stopped. She thought she heard something. She listened. Yes, there it was again! It sounded like all the animals on the face of the earth had come together in one place and were engaged in a fight to the death. But Psyche knew what it was—Cerberus, the guardian of the gates to Pluto's palace, the place Proserpine lived for half of each year.

Though she knew what she was supposed to do to get safely by Cerberus, she was not sure she could. The sounds made by the beast were so ferocious, she feared that the noise alone would devour her. She knew that was not true, but sometimes truth is not as fierce as fear. How could a morsel of bread distract such a creature? She did not know. She had no choice but to have faith in what Aquilo had told her.

Psyche moved forward very slowly, the noise getting louder and louder as she came closer and closer. She could see him now, standing before the gates to Pluto's palace. He had three heads of dogs and the long tail of a dragon, and along his back grew the heads of snakes. Each dog's head looked in a different direction and snarled and snapped, saliva dripping from their teeth and tongues.

Psyche did not look directly into the eyes of the head pointed in her direction, but reached in her pocket for one of the pieces of bread. She threw it a good distance to the side and away from the gate. The head that was watching it immediately went in the direction of the bread and the rest of the beast had no choice but to follow.

Quickly Psyche went through the gate and closed it behind her. She found herself in a large field with a path through the center. However, the field was not covered with grass and flowers like every other field she had ever seen. This one was thick with plants, all of different shades of green, and most amazing of all, the plants seemed to be speaking, because Psyche heard the low murmur of talk.

As she started down the path, she heard the plants more distinctly as she
passed them:

"I am baneberry. Taste my leaves."

"I am belladonna. Taste my leaves."

"I am bloodroot. Taste my leaves."

But there was something in the way the plants introduced themselves that made Psyche suspicious. When she passed a plant that introduced itself as Death Angel Mushroom, she remembered. Her father liked to walk in the woods, and when she was young he would take her on walks and point out plants she should not even touch. One, she recalled, was Death Angel Mushroom. Were all these plants poisonous?

As if in response, the entire field of plants erupted into cackling laughter and then began shouting their names:

"Hemlock!"

"Mandrake!"

"Moonseed!"

"Wolfsbane!"

Psyche covered her ears and ran until she was out of the field. The path continued into a forest of tall trees, but trees unlike any she had ever seen. They were a pale, ghostly white with bloodred twisted limbs and branches. She wondered if the trees were going to introduce themselves, but as she continued along the path among them, there was only silence.

Finally, she emerged from the forest to find herself standing before a palace built from thick slabs of darkness. Psyche knew if she stood there looking at the building, she would become too frightened to go inside, so she hurried toward what looked to be the doorway. But there was no door handle, though this had to be the door, because it was set in from the rest of the building. How was she supposed to get inside?

Maybe the door was already unlocked and all she had to do was push it. She did so, and she gave a little scream when her hands, instead of meeting something solid, went through the blackness. Psyche pulled her hands back and looked at them. They looked the same. She rubbed one hand with the other. They felt the same, so she put her hands out again. Very carefully, she pushed against the darkness. Her hands went through. She followed her hands and arms and found herself on the other side of the darkness and in a large room, larger even than the Great Hall in her father's palace.

There, at the far end of the large room, sat a woman on a throne of bleached bones. She was pale and looked as if all the blood had been drained from her body, yet there was no mistaking her beauty. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and so long that it almost touched the floor beneath her throne. As Psyche came closer, she could see a smile on Proserpine's thin lips.

"Greetings," the Queen of Death said.

Psyche curtsied. "My lady."

"What a delight to see a living person, and one of such extraordinary beauty. Living here as I do for half of each year, there are times when I miss the world above. You must sit and stay awhile. I will order my servants to bring you food and drink so that you might relax and renew yourself."

How Psyche wished she could have time to relax and eat something delicious. But Aquilo had warned her against accepting Proserpine's invitation.

"Your invitation is very gracious," Psyche responded, as she sat down on the floor. "I wish I had the time to avail myself of your hospitality but I do not. However, if I could have just a piece of bread, it would be more than sufficient to raise my spirits."

"As you wish," Proserpine answered, and a servant appeared out of the air and offered Psyche a piece of bread on a plate made from bone.

"Since a mortal risks his soul by coming here while still alive, you must have urgent business. What can I do for you?"

"Not for me, but for the goddess Venus."

"I would be more than happy to do anything Venus would ask of me."

Psyche produced the mother-of-pearl box. "The goddess has been under a great deal of stress of late, and her supply of beauty is running low. She asks that you fill this box with some of your beauty. She doesn't need much. Enough for a day."

"It will be a pleasure."

Proserpine took the box from Psyche, went behind the throne, and disappeared. Before long she reappeared and handed the box to Psyche.

"There. Please give this to Venus and tell her that I look forward to seeing her soon. It is almost time for me to bring spring back to the northern places of the world above."

Psyche stood up. "Thank you, my lady."
She curtsied and then hurried away. "I did it! I did it!" Psyche whispered over and over to herself. She couldn't believe it. By herself, without any help from ants, Pan, or a giant bird, she had come to the heart of the underworld and spoken to the Queen of Death.

So elated was she that she ran through the forest of ghost-white trees, through the field of poisonous plants, and slowed only when she came to the gate guarded by Cerberus. She reached in her pocket and took her last piece of bread and threw it a distance from the gate. The three-headed dog ran to get it, and Psyche hurried through the gate, past the three women weaving, and up the slope to the River of the Dead.

Charon stood with his ferry, as if waiting for her. Psyche put the remaining coin in her mouth, then got on the ferry and opened her mouth. Charon took the coin.

Once the ferry reached the other side, Psyche began running again, clutching the box close to her breasts. She passed the lame man and his lame donkey and the fallen pile of wood, and before she knew it, she could see the entrance of the hole.

"I did it! I did it!" she shouted aloud now as she burst through the hole and into the gray light of Taenarus. She hurried over the stony earth until she came to a field, and there, she lay down and flung her arms out.

"I did it!" she screamed as loud as she could. "I did it!" And she laughed and laughed and laughed.

She lay there for a while to catch her breath and to let the enormity of what she had accomplished sink in. Finally, she sat up, feeling rested, and began searching the skies for Auster, who said he would know when she had emerged from Pluto's realm.

Psyche still found it hard to believe that her ordeal was finally at an end and she was, at long last, going to see Cupid. Then she realized, with horror, "I probably look worse than a kitchen maid." She did not have a mirror but she was sure she looked frightful. She ran her fingers through her hair and it was a tangled mess. Her gown was dirty and torn in places. And her face! She did not want to try to imagine how it must look after all she had been through.

Psyche looked at the box she was carrying. She could hear Aquilo's voice telling her not to open the box. But what harm could it do if she took a little of the beauty Proserpine had put inside? She didn't need much. Just enough to make her look as beautiful as Cupid remembered. She had done everything Aquilo had told her to do. Neither he nor Venus would know she opened the box.

Psyche lifted the cover slowly. Out came a large cloud of black smoke. Startled, she screamed, but the smoke enveloped her and choked off her cry.

Psyche slumped to the ground—as if she were dead.

Chapter end