Scattered about, lay sickles and rakes, and all the instruments of
harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the weary
reapers' hands in the sultry hours of the day.
This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by
separating and sorting everything to its proper place and kind,
believing that she ought to neglect none of the gods, but endeavor
by her piety to engage them all in her behalf. The holy Ceres,
whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed, thus
spoke to her: "O Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though I cannot
shield you from the frowns of Venus, yet I can teach you how best
to allay her displeasure. Go, then, and voluntarily surrender
yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and
submission to win her forgiveness, and perhaps her favor will
restore you the husband you have lost."
Psyche obeyed the commands of Ceres and took her way to the temple
of Venus, endeavoring to fortify her mind and ruminating on what
she should say and how best propitiate the angry goddess, feeling
that the issue was doubtful and perhaps fatal.
Venus received her with angry countenance. "Most undutiful and
faithless of servants," said she, "do you at last remember that
you really have a mistress? Or have you rather come to see your
sick husband, yet laid up of the wound given him by his loving
wife? You are so ill-favored and disagreeable that the only way
you can merit your lover must be by dint of industry and
diligence.
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