Eros and Psyche Part I (Sample Play)

Note: This is the latest play I have completed and does not appear in the book. It's a classic tale of love and loss that closely parallels Beauty and the Beast. If you enjoy this first part, please leave a comment. If asked, I will post the second installment. Please feel free to copy and use in your classroom.

Eros and Psyche:

A Story of Love Between Heart and Soul

CAST

Eros The Young God of Love

Psyche A Beautiful Mortal Princess

Aphrodite Goddess of Love and Beauty

King Psyche’s Father

Sister One Psyche’s Conceited Sister

Sister Two Psyche’s Other Conceited Sister

Zephyr/Voice The West Wind

Servant An Invisible Servant

Narrator: Even though the gods of Olympus were created higher than we mortals, it should not be assumed that they are above our human weaknesses. Vanity and Greed run as freely there as they do on Earth. In fact, if their divine actions are watched closely enough, one would see that they were the ones who invented and perfected such feelings, leaving us only to mimic what we see happening on high.

Of all the deathless Olympians, there is one that stands out above the others in this respect—one known for her cruel temper and scathing jealousy. Aphrodite, the proclaimed Goddess of Love and Beauty, can be as equally filled with Hatred and Ugliness. Frantically watching for one whose looks might rival her own, she keeps an ever eye upon the world. And if that poor maiden ever dares to be born, it spells her doom.

In a far, mountainous kingdom, a king had three daughters. While his eldest two were as humanly beautiful as possible, the third and youngest, Psyche, seemed to glow with the glories of the immortals. No one could look upon her without the breath being stolen from his lips. She appeared as a goddess among women and was praised wherever she went. And so began her troubles.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Eros! Eros!

Narrator: In the billowy halls of Olympus, the Goddess of Love was storming. Her forever golden hair and fallen loose of its tie and spilled sloppily to her shoulder, and her gown fluttered where she had furiously torn its sash. Although her face would never lose its youthfulness, something aged and cracked could be seen brewing underneath—something fearful of its own demise.

Eros: (surprised) Mother! What’s going on here?

Narrator: The god Eros, glided quickly into the room—his feet calmly defying gravity. Side by side, they looked more like brother and sister than mother and son.

Aphrodite: (hurriedly) It’s about time! I’ve been yelling for nearly five minutes.

Eros: (sarcastically) Sorry to keep you waiting. I do have a life of my own, you know!

Aphrodite: (snottily) Yes, your life is soooo hectic. You sleep until noon—and when I do ask you for something, it’s like pulling teeth.

Eros: Maybe if you weren’t such a busybody, you would have more time to yourself, too.

Aphrodite: (angrily) Busybody? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be an aging Goddess of Beauty? There are thousands of women down there—all trying to get the better of me!

Eros: Mother, you look the exactly the same as you did the day you were born.

Aphrodite: Bah! Beauty is its own creature. Beauty pales over time. Men grow tired of the same delicate features, porcelain skin…ruby red lips…

Narrator: She absentmindedly began to stroke her own limbs.

Aphrodite: I remember the moment I sprang from the sea foam, I was praised. They flocked about me—to admire my glory. “How radiant is Aphrodite,” they said. “The sun barely compares to her glow.”

Narrator: Eros sulkingly rolled his eyes at his mother’s reminiscences. Her trips down memory lane were a daily annoyance.

Aphrodite: But now, now what do they say?

Narrator: The god opened his mouth to answer.

Aphrodite: I’ll tell you what they say. Every time some new tart comes along who doesn’t look like the wrong end of a boar hog, they starting praising her with, “Why she’s as glorious as Aphrodite!” The insolence! Ingrates! Oh, yes, my son—people have changed. They have forgotten their goddess—but I will remind them and destroy anyone who gets in my way!

Eros: (sarcastically) Will you be getting to the point of all this soon?

Narrator: She rounded angrily on her divine son.

Aphrodite: (angrily) The point is that there just happens to be a new mortal who is trying my patience. Some upstart princess whose looks people are proclaiming equal to my own. I won’t hear of such blasphemy.

Now, listen and listen carefully: I will not stand for this. She must be ruined.

Eros: (sigh) Is this in my job description? I thought I was supposed to use my arrows to bring love, not pain.

Aphrodite: Ha! Love is Pain. You’re bound to figure that out soon enough. Now, fly down to Earth. Psyche is her name. You’ll be able to spot her easily enough—she’ll be the one all the fools will be bowing down to.

Eros: (emotionless) What should I do once I find her?

Aphrodite: (growing happy now) Cause her to fall in love with the vilest man you can find—someone completely hideous. Ha! Look for a shepherd—they’re usually grotesque.

That will shame her! She will be the laughing stock of her kingdom. Perfect. Perfect. And once that is done no one will mention her splendor ever again. (evil laugh)

Narrator: Her son began to float his way out of the chamber.

Eros: (sadly) And he’s off. Eros, the god of gloom and doom.

Aphrodite: (absentmindedly) Be careful, Darling. Remember, Mother loves you.

Narrator: Glaring back at the flippant goddess, he eased quickly down through the night sky.

The stars winked out at him, socketed in the dark air, and he wondered when he would find love, real love—not the cheap infatuation he doled out with his flimsy arrows. When would he cease to be his mother’s lackey and hold worth of his own? The stars did not reply, and he flew on.

Far below, the object of his pursuit, the princess Psyche was wearily returning to the chamber she shared with her two elder sisters. It had been a tiring day.

A crowd of would-be suitors had amassed during the gate early that morning, and she had spent hours being showered by compliment after compliment. One man had even fallen to his knees declaring her “the newfound divinity of every man’s heart”.

Upon Psyche’s entrance, her two sisters looked snakily up from their weaving.

Sister One: (snottily) My, my. Look who it is. Our darling little sister.

Sister Two: (snottily) Have you finished greeting all your admirers? By the way, when will the Psyche Day parade be? We definitely want to attend.

Psyche: (tiredly) You know, I didn’t ask them to come.

Sister One: Of course, you didn’t. That’s the wonder of it all. They just showed up to admire such a fine specimen of a girl.

Sister Two: (sarcastically) It’s sad to think that no one will want us trolls after seeing a prize such as you.

Sister One: (sarcastically) But think—when they take Psyche to Olympus and make her one of the gods, we shall be able to go visit her! What excitement! Maybe we can be your serving maids!

Sister Two: A fantastic idea, sister. (cruel laughing)

Narrator: Psyche gave her sisters a scowl.

Psyche: (angrily) You two are just jealous.

Narrator: The two taunters quickly lost what little pleasantness their speech had feigned before.

Sister One: (angrily) Jealous of what? You being auctioned off like a piece of meat?

Sister Two: Don’t think your looks will bring you happiness, dear. Father will marry you off to the first old coot who throws riches at him. Then you’ll be miserable the rest of your life.

Psyche: (defensively) Father would never do that!

Sister One: Wouldn’t he? Think! Our kingdom is a poor one. A rich husband for you would be just the thing to keep it safe.

Sister Two: Surely you’re ready to sacrifice your happiness for your kingdom, aren’t you, sister?

Psyche: I…I…I…

Sister One: You would have no choice. See? It is you who should envy us—our humble looks don’t put such a burden on our backs.

Narrator: As they spoke, Psyche’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran away from the cruel barbs of her sisters to the corner where she spent her nights.

It was there that Eros found her—sobbing uncontrollably. He had come to see this beauty for himself before he consigned her to the love of a brute. The god floated above her shaking form—invisible to human eyes.

Eros: (to himself) Why does she weep and hide her face? Come, girl. Show me your charms.

Narrator: As if in reply, Psyche raised her head from the cushions and stared directly into the eyes of Eros. A sudden force slammed into his gut. Before him was the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen.

Psyche: (angrily) Why do they have to be so nasty? I didn’t ask to be born this way! Ooooh! I hate you! This is all your fault.

Narrator: The god rebounded in shock.

Eros: Me? I…uh. I only…uh…

Narrator: Psyche launched her tear-covered cushion at him, and as it harmlessly passed through his immortal body, he realized that she was not speaking to him—but to her reflection in the mirror upon the wall behind.

Psyche: Most girls would ask to look like this, but they’re fools. It’s brought me nothing but misery.

Narrator: At once, the god’s mission was forgotten. His only desire became to console this tormented creature—her tears of despair only made her even more desirable. He moved to materialize, to make himself known, and then he remembered…

Eros: (despairingly) I am a god. She is a mortal. We could never be together. Mother would drive her to madness—or worse.

Narrator: To his surprise he felt his heart suddenly breaking. How many times had he caused this sensation in others, all at his mother’s command? Yet he now felt the power of his own arrows—such suffering as he had never done. This was his reward, his payback for so much anguish.

He knew one thing: he could cause this lovely damsel no more hurt. He dissolved into the night, as quickly as he had come—his task unfinished.

Eros: (angrily) I will do her bidding no longer!

Narrator: Despair—the same despair that Psyche had felt—coursed through him now. He had seen the love of his life, but it had been a temptation only. She could never be his.

Then a sudden thought struck him—one that he had dared not think—and inside his mind it formed into a plan.

Eros: (to himself) Could it work? I must ask Apollo—he will speak the Truth. If it can be, he shall tell me.

Narrator: The course of the young god’s flight veered toward Olympus. His cousin, Apollo, the God of Truth received him there, and together they hatched a brilliant scheme—one that would allow Eros to have the desire of his affection.

King: (in pain) Woe and grief! Daughters! Come to me at once!

Narrator: A week later, Psyche’s father, the elderly King, burst into his children’s chamber room distraught. He stumbled to its midst and fell to his knees. His three daughters ran to him.

Sister One: (shocked) Father! What has happened?

King: (through tears) Oh, gods! The Oracle of Apollo has sent word from Delphi. A terrible prophecy! Zeus, help me! I can barely utter the words.

Sister Two: What is it? What is it?

Narrator: Psyche felt fear rising up in her throat. The red-lined eyes of her father turned upon her, and with trembling lips he muttered his message.

King: The Oracle has spoken. Olympus is furious. My daughter has set herself up to be as beautiful as those who dwell there—an unforgiveable sin. And unless we wish our kingdom to be destroyed, we must take Psyche to the holy mountain—and—and—

Sister One: And what, Father?

King: He will come to her…to be her husband.

Sister Two: Who, Father? Who will come?

King: A terrible beast! A winged serpent! Oh, my daughter. Forgive me.

Narrator: He fell feebly to Psyche’s feet and cried aloud.

King: I cannot resist the will of the gods. They will destroy us if we disobey.

Narrator: As these words had reached her, Psyche’s heart froze. Her sisters stared at her anxiously. They were not thrilled as she had expected them to be. The same terror that was in her was in their faces as well.

Psyche: (numbly) Then I have no choice. I must go…to be the bride of the beast.

Narrator: Dawn broke, and wailing was heard in the streets of the kingdom. Black cloths were draped from every balcony. The word had spread quickly: the beloved princess Psyche was to be sacrificed to the gods. They had made her stunning, and they had come to reclaim her beauty.

Resigned to her fate, a solemn precession led her up the mountain. The King tore his beard as he marched, beseeching the soul of his departed wife to forgive his actions. Her two sisters had stayed behind—sheepish and confused. Even for all their jibes, they had never hoped for Psyche to suffer such a fate.

As for the sacrifice herself, spirit had left her. She prepared herself for nothingness, an arid place where joy would only be a memory.

Psyche: (numbly) At least an end will come.

Narrator: For all their weeping and gnashing of teeth, none were brave enough—when the time came—to go against the will of the gods. They left her there—alone on the mountain to await her monstrous bridegroom.

Psyche sat silently upon a rock and watched the black procession make its way back down the winding path.

A thin mountain rain began to fall—soaking her through. She closed her eyes, and a faraway sound reached her ears—wind, growing louder and louder, until it was almost upon her—her serpentine husband come to claim his bride.

Voice: Come.

Narrator: The strange voice behind her caused no surprise, and neither did she marvel when an unseen force lifted her from the rock—drawing her up, higher than she had ever been. Caring not to look upward, she set her glassy eyes on the ground far below.

Sudden daylight drew her attention, and ahead in their path the clouds had parted. Perched atop a spindly peak—shining like the noonday sun—was a glorious palace.

Psyche: (gasp) This is the home of a serpent?

Narrator: She finally dared to look over her shoulder.

To her shock, it was no winged beast that carried her, but what seemed to be an irritated little man.

Psyche: You aren’t a snake!

Zephyr: (insulted) Of course, I’m not, you silly girl. I’m Zephyr, the West Wind.

Psyche: They told me a giant serpent was coming to take me away.

Zephyr: Who did? Those fools with the tambourines? They were making such a racket, I thought about blowing them off the cliff.

Psyche: Then who is to be my husband?

Zephyr: The master of that golden hall there. He just happens to be a friend of mine, and I owe him a favor or two.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be wasting my time carting inquisitive young girls from mountaintop to mountaintop.

Psyche: Is he a winged serpent?

Zephyr: I’ve never heard him called that before, but you mortals have your own way of looking at things.

He did tell me to tell you that he would be along shortly. You’ll find the spirits of the house ready to accommodate your every need.

You do know what a spirit is, don’t you?

Psyche: (defensively) Yes.

Zephyr: Good. I was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice.

Narrator: They were very near the golden courtyard, and the West Wind swooped down low and set Psyche neatly upon the front step.

Zephyr: All ashore. Now, when your husband shows up, don’t rattle him to death with all those questions of yours. I don’t want to have to make another trip back here.

Now, if you’ll excuse me—I’m late for a storm in Athens.

Narrator: Before she could utter a response, the little man dissipated into nothing—a faint breeze playing across her cheek.

She turned to face the gigantic doors. With the slightest pressure from her fingers, they pushed back—swinging fully open.

Behind them stretched a long hall—hushed as a tomb. The princess began taking timid steps down its length.

An unexpected voice at her shoulder caused her to jump.

Servant: Welcome, Mistress.

Narrator: Turning to see only air, she waited for the voice to speak again.

Servant: We are here—though you cannot see us. We are the spirits of the house. We serve the master—your husband.

Psyche: (confused) Uhhh…how nice.

Servant: The Master has commanded us us to give to you whatever you may ask.

Psyche: I see. Tell me, what kind of being is he?

Servant: Oh, he is the kindest of masters.

Psyche: Can you tell me what he looks like?

Servant: As we are invisible to you, he is invisible to us. His goodness is all that we see.

Psyche: Hmmmm. Very well.

Servant: Is there anything you desire?

Psyche: Well, yes. I guess I could use a bath. And perhaps some dinner?

Servant: It is already prepared. The Master will arrive tonight—in darkness.

Narrator: Psyche quickly acclimated herself to her otherworldly surroundings.

The voices spoke calmly to her, and objects floating of their accord—lifted by invisible hands.

In the back of her mind the fearful question whether or not this were actually happening crept into her mind. Insanity was bad enough, but what if it were worse? Was this death? Had she died upon that mountaintop?

As night fell, the phantom voices called her to the sleeping chambers. There she lay down—amid silken sheets— to await her mysterious husband. Sleep—as if another spell of the house—defied her will and soon overcame her.

She awoke much later. The room was pitch black, and she felt that someone or something was very near.

Psyche: (frightened) Who is there?

Eros: (lovingly) Your husband.

Narrator: Psyche started as the voice spoke in her ear. She felt his touch upon her arm.

Eros: Do not be afraid.

Psyche: Show yourself!

Eros: (sadly) I cannot.

Psyche: I don’t understand. You tell me not to be afraid, but you are the one who hides. I have left my home and my family to come to this place. And yet I am forbidden to see my husband’s face?

Eros: You can never gaze upon me, Psyche. Your love is all I desire, and you would never truly love me if you were to see my true nature.

Psyche: How can you know that? This secrecy is more repulsive than any appearance could be!

Eros: I shall keep you here, and we shall spend each night as husband and wife. But when the day comes, I must everyday be gone from your sight.

Psyche: (angrily) It’s unfair! If you make me a prisoner here, you must at least give me some right…

Eros: This is the way that it must be. You must learn to live with this curse as I have. Trust me, Psyche.

Narrator: Her arguments dwindled under his constant resolve, and so her life began its mysterious routine.

Psyche would spend her days idly—always attended by the spirits of the house, and in the blackness of midnight her husband would return to her and caress her in that hour—then be gone by the dawn.

By some other enchantment, even as they touched she could never tell his true form. It shifted beneath her fingers— refusing to be identified.

He loved her true enough—his attentions showed it, and over time, the absence of his appearance ceased to concern her.

Whatever he may be—whether giant serpent or even a bodiless spirit—Psyche grew quickly to return his love.

Though she had nightly companionship, her days were lonely affairs. The servants were no great conversationalists, and she longed to speak to her family once again.

Psyche: Spirit, can I ask you a question?

Servant: Certainly, my lady.

Psyche: I know that I am never to leave this place, but might a message be sent to my family to let them know that I still live?

Servant: I shall be done as you wish, my lady. We shall send them a vision of this place in a dream and beckon them here. But know that they can only stay for the course of a day. Before the sun sets, they must be gone.

Psyche: But…very well. Call them to me. I miss them terribly.

Narrator: It may perhaps seem odd that Psyche so greatly missed those who had left her alone and dejected on the mountainside, but a desire for human companionship had grown up within her, and seeing them again became the object of her thought.

A week later—muddied and worn—her father and sisters arrived. They stood before the portal, gaping at the grandeur of the mystical palace. Psyche rushed to meet them, greeting them warmly, and ushering them into her golden hall.

King: (hesitantly) My dearest girl! It is so good to see you alive—I never dreamed it would happen—but are you sure it is safe?

Psyche: (overjoyed) Of course, Father, of course. This is where I have lived these many months!

Narrator: As she led them deeper into the glistening passageways, the good-natured smiles of her sisters began to slump down into scowls of jealousy. These glories were beyond their wildest dreams—and they envied them.

Psyche: We shall go in and feast to celebrate your arrival.

Sister One: Feast? Who exactly is preparing this feast?

Psyche: The servants, of course.

Sister Two: Servants? I see no servants.

Psyche: Please, sisters. It’s complicated. There are many servants here—I can’t even say how many—only you can’t actually see them.

Sister One: You can’t see them?

Sister Two: (snickering) That is a problem.

Narrator: The King gave his eldest two daughters a nervous glance.

Psyche: No, you don’t understand. Please. Don’t think I’m crazy. I’m really not.

Sister One: Is your husband here…or is he invisible as well?

Psyche: (hurt) You’re mocking me now.

King: Dearest, look at this from our point of view. This is all so strange. We thought we would never see you again, but here you are in this mysterious palace where everything seems to be under a spell.

Psyche: I cannot explain it either, Father.

Sister Two: What about your husband? Perhaps he can explain it to us.

Narrator: Psyche looked to her feet.

Psyche: I’m afraid that’s out of the question.

Sister One: Out of the question? Psyche, dear. We’re not afraid. Bring the beast forward.

Sister Two: We’re sure his hideousness must have been exaggerated.

Psyche: He’s not hideous…I mean…

Sister One: If he’s not hideous, then there can be no objection to his meeting us.

Psyche: It’s just that…

Sister Two: Psyche, we are not judgmental people. If your husband is ugly, just come out and say it.

Psyche: I… I just don’t know.

King: What do you mean, my dear?

Narrator: Her answer came in a rush of sobs.

Psyche: (crying) I have never seen him—and I can never see him. He comes at night, and I cannot look upon his face. Oh gods, I am married to a beast.

Narrator: The two sisters looked at one another slyly, and then rushed to Psyche’s side to comfort her.

Sister One: (soothingly) Such pain, sweet one. He is causing you such pain.

Sister Two: What an irrational rule! Not seeing your own husband! How can he do this to you?

Psyche: Oh, it’s not so bad—I just—

Sister One: Not so bad? It’s a crime!

Sister Two: He must be hiding something.

Psyche: No, he’s kind—and gentle.

Sister One: That’s what he wants you to think.

Sister Two: There is only one way to make this agony stop, sweet sister.

Sister Two: End the mystery.

Sister One: Yes. You must look upon his face.

Psyche: No, I cannot. I have sworn not to. I will be banished.

Sister One: How could he banish one who loves him so deeply? It is obviously a trick to keep you in ignorance.

Psyche: No.

Sister Two: If he is a beast, you must escape immediately.

Psyche: But how can I?

Sister One: We brought this to protect us on our journey—now it may save you from your fate.

Narrator: She pulled a gleaming knife from the folds of her cloak.

Psyche: You can’t be serious. He’s my husband.

Sister Two: What kind of husband? An animal who keeps you in a cage?

Psyche: He loves me!

Sister Two: What a way to show it!

Sister One: Look. If he is a man, then you may live your life happily—but if he is a monster, you must kill him—and flee—before he does the same to you.

Psyche: (weakly) I can’t…I…

Narrator: Her eldest sister turned Psyche’s face toward her own.

Sister One: Do not shame our family, sister. I will have no blood-relation of mine being the whore of a fiend. Do you want that for yourself?

Narrator: Psyche shook her head in sorrow.

Sister One: Then look upon the face of your husband—or it shall destroy your mind.

Narrator: The visit was concluded swiftly after. Cold resolve had frozen Psyche’s mind. Before, looking upon her husband had mattered little—now it was everything and would determine her future.

Gripping the knife tightly beneath her gown, she saw her family off with bland formality. Her sisters smirked with satisfaction. They had marred her dreamland—rocking its foundations with quaking of doubt.

Making her way to the bedchamber, Psyche perched on the edge of the bed—staring solemnly at the little lamp that had always sat on the nearby table. Her knuckles grew white about the handle of the knife. The lamp had never been lit. Tonight it would be.

Soon the sun finished its journey across the sky—and darkness engulfed her.

Eros: Psyche, my love.

Narrator: He was there—her phantom mate. Tonight she remained silent—cold and ungiving.

When she finally perceived that he had succumbed to sleep, she stood and took the lamp in her trembling hands. She lit its flame and— holding her blade high—ready to strike— turned its light upon the slumbering form of her lover.

What she saw there drove a spear through her heart. Gracefully asleep in the half-empty bed, was the most glorious youth she had ever seen. Golden curls built around the handsome features of a god—his eyes closed in the serene sleep of love.

Psyche: (almost crying) Oh, forgive me, my love.

Narrator: It was then, as she leaned over him, that a tiny bit of oil fell from her lamp and landed upon his perfect shoulder. His golden lashes flew open, and his eyes flew quickly from knife, to lamp, to bride.

Eros: (shocked) Psyche! What are you doing?

Narrator: Psyche’s weapon fell from her hand as her mouth moved in speech that refused to come.

Eros: (hurt) Is this all I mean to you? I told you never to look! Why did you not trust me? You betrayed me.

Psyche: I…I…I…

Narrator: He flew up from the bed, and his strained face searched her own for meaning.

Eros: (growing angry) What if I had not looked as I do? Would you have driven the point through my heart?

Psyche: No! It’s not like that!

Eros: (enraged) Silence! You have broken our vows—spat upon them!

The spell is undone! This palace will fade away, and you will be alone once again! But I suppose that is what you wanted, wasn’t it?

Psyche: No!

Eros: Foolish girl. Love cannot live where there is no trust. You have ruined the one thing in life that has brought me true happiness. Go. Go back to your people. I can stand the sight of you no longer.

Psyche: No…I can undo it.

Narrator: He turned away his head.

Eros: There is nothing you can do now. Go back to your valley, and forget that you once loved Eros, the immortal son of Aphrodite.

Narrator: With his words the lamp was snuffed—the world blotted out.

Psyche cried out in pain and clutched blindly at nothing.

It may have been hours or seconds before the shining chariot of the sun rose above the faraway peaks. But no gilded walls reflect its radiance from the mountaintop. The palace was gone—evaporated. And where it had been, a shaking girl was hunched upon a broken rock—her face hot with tears.