9
Greek Mythology
The Greeks, it seems, had a genius for
story-telling. What we call Greek
"Mythology" still appeals to general readers because the stories are
so delightful. They are a great treasury of images illustrating many aspects of
human exis¡©tence, comic as well as tragic, very human even when describing the
gods. A similar genius for
"stories" underlies the great epics and mythical texts of Scandinavia
and Germany as well as India and its related world, reaching as far as
Indonesia.
The word myth is one that requires
careful definition. Specialists distinguish between different types of myth. Cosmogonical
myths explain how heaven and earth came into being. They are often the most
important myths of a culture. The beings revealed in the myth, as well as the
qualitative mode of creation, becomes a model for all other forms of creation
in the culture. Sometimes a creating divinity will create ex nihilo
(from out of nothing). In other cases, the ordered cosmos emerges, with or
without a shaping agent, from a primordial chaos.
Eschatological myths are the
opposite of cosmogonical myths. In eschatological myths, both death and the end
of the world are explained and justified. An example can be found in Norse
mythology: Ragnarok (Gotterdammerung, the twilight of the Gods).
Here, the gods themselves are killed and the cosmos abolished.
Foundation myths Since the beginnings of
cities sometime in the 4th and 3rd millennia B.C., some creation myths have
recounted the founding of cities. Cities developed out of ceremonial centres,
and those centres were seen as extraordinary manifestations of sacred power.
This manifestation allowed for the expression of power in a specific place,
emphasizing the value of sedentary human life. The myth of Gilgamesh in
Babylon and that of Romulus and Remus in Rome are foundation myths.
Other such myths tell of the origin of a ruling dynasty or particular tribe or
nation; the stories of Tangun and of Park Hyok-Kose in Korea are example.
Theogenic myths tell how the gods
came into existence. They are closely connected to cosmogenic myths. In Greek
mythology, after the earth (Gaia) emerged from Chaos; she gave birth to the sea
(Pontus) and the sky (Uranus). She and Uranus gave birth to the Titans, who in
turn gave birth to the various gods and goddesses.
Transformation myths explain how certain ‑‑ mostly negative ‑‑
things came into this world. One of the most common transformation myths is
that of the origin of death. In Greek mythology, Prometheus is blamed
for this. He stole fire from heaven and gave it to mankind. In punishment for
that, Zeus had Hephaestus make the first woman, the beautiful Pandora
and gave her, with a box filled with misfortune, misery and despair, to
Prometheus' brother Epimetheus. Despite all warnings, Pandora opened the box
and since then humankind is plagued with all kinds of disaster, although hope
remains. In the Bible, the story
of Eve and the forbidden fruit has a similar origin.
Etiological myths are stories which
provide a mythological explanation for peculiar things in nature or certain
events and customs of which the origin has long been forgotten. Two examples
are why the Ethiopians are brown‑coloured (they were roasted by the sun
when Phaeton lost control of the sun's chariot) and the story of why the
rhinoceros has no hairs (it had been on fire once and then jumped into the
water; since then his long hairs have never grown back). Such myths are
primitive stories about the origins of things, symbolic and often anthropomorphic explanations of some aspect
of the natural world that could not be explained "scientifi¡©cally."
Thunder is often explained as the voice of a god, and thunder-bolts (lightning)
are shown as the weapons with which Zeus punishes and fights. Other well-known
myths 'explain' what an echo is, or why the nightingale sings so sadly.
Fire theft myths are those stories,
common in mythology, where a god or god‑like being or a culture hero, a part
often played by a trickster, steals fire from the gods and presents it to
mankind. Fire was so essential and so mysterious that it was thought to have
been at first the sole property of the gods. Since it was sacred, those who
dared stealing it were often punished most direly. Prometheus stole fire
in order to help humanity survive; in punishment, Zeus had him chained to a
rock. Each day, a giant eagle swept down from the sky and tore out his liver,
and each day the liver grew back.
Flood myths are the tales, found in
many cultures, of great floods, often sent to rid the earth of humanity. The Sumerian
flood myth is the oldest (about 2000 BC) and forms the foundation of the Gilgamesh
epic. The main character is here Utnapishtim who builds an ark and thus
survives the flood. In the Bible, there is of course the story of Noah,
very similar to the earlier Sumerian myth. In Greek mythology, Deucalion
is the hero of a very similar story. Survivors of such floods often became the
progenitors of a new race of human beings.
Hero myths portray human figures
of such heroic dimensions that they seem to be like gods. This is often
expressed by giving them a god or supernatural figure as either father or
mother. Thus Achilles is shown by Homer as being the son of the
sea-nymph Thetis. Thetis was married to the mortal Peleus after
the Titan Prometheus, liberated from his rocky prison, told Zeus (who
desired her) that he would lose his throne to the son she would give him.
Instead of a new Zeus, she bears Achilles and, in another famous tale, dips the
child in the mythical underworld river Styx to make him invulnerable. Since she
was holding his heel, the water could not touch it and in the end Achilles died
by an arrow shot into his heel, proof that not even the gods can protect
mortals from ultimate death.
Hercules
One of the most famous of all the heroes, Heracles
(in Latin, Hercules) was said to be the son of Zeus and the human Alcmena, so that his life was
cursed by Hera, the jealous wife of Zeus.
Alcmena was the wife of Amphitryon and Zeus deceived her by
taking the form of her husband and sleeping with her while the real Amphitryon
was away at war. This story has
been the subject of many comic dramas, until the present century.
Heracles/Hercules is best known for the "Twelve
Labours" he was obliged to perform for King Eurystheus, a rather
humorous story most fully told in a book written in the 1st or 2nd century
A.D., although already familiar in classical Athens. Hercules' first labor was to kill the menacing Nemean
Lion; Hercules strangled the creature and carried it back to Mycenae. The
second task was to overcome the nine‑headed snake known as the Hydra;
Hercules' cousin Ioloas helped him out by burning the stumps of the heads after
Hercules cut off the heads; since the ninth head was immortal, Hercules rolled
a rock over it. The third task was to find the golden‑horned stag and bring it
back alive; Hercules followed the stag around for one full year; he finally
captured the stag and took it back alive. The fourth labor was to capture a
wild boar that terrorized Mycenae's people; Hercules chased the boar up a
mountain where the boar fell in to a snow drift, where Hercules subdued it.
The fifth task of Hercules was to clean the Augean
stables, where thousands of cattle were housed, in a single day; Hercules
diverted two rivers so that they would flow into the Augean stables. The sixth
labor was to destroy the man‑eating Stymphalian birds; Hercules drove them out
of their hiding places with a rattle and shot them with poison‑tipped arrows.
The sixth task was for Hercules to capture a Cretean savage bull; Hercules
wrestled it to the ground and took it back to King Eurystheus. The eighth labor
was to capture the four man‑eating mares of Thrace; Hercules threw the master
of the mares to them; the horses became very tame, so Hercules safely led them
back to Mycenae.
Hercules' ninth labor was to obtain the girdle
of the fierce Amazon warrior queen, Hippolyta; Hippolyta willingly gave
her girdle to Hercules, but Juno convinced the Amazons that Hercules was trying
to take Hippolyta from them, so they attacked him. Hercules fought them off and
returned to his master with the girdle. The tenth labor was to capture the
cattle of the monster, Geryon; Hercules killed Geryon, claimed the cattle, and
took them back to the king. The eleventh task was to get the golden apples of
the Hesperides; Hercules told Atlas (who carries the heavens on
his back to prevent the sky falling on the earth) that if he would get the
apples for him, he (Hercules) would hold the heavens for him; when Atlas returned
from his task, Hercules tricked him into taking back the heavens.
The final labor of Hercules was to bring the
three‑headed watchdog of the underworld, Cerberus, to the surface
without using any weapons; Hercules seized two of Cerberus' heads and the dog
gave in. Hercules took the dog to his master, who ordered him to take it back.
Finally, after twelve years and twelve tasks, Hercules was a free man.
Hercules went to the town of Thebes and married Deianira.
She bore him many children. Later on in their life, the male centaur, Nessus,
abducted Deianira, but Hercules came to her rescue by shooting Nessus with a
poison tipped arrow. The dying Nessus told Deianira to keep a portion of his
blood to use as a love potion on Hercules if she felt that she was losing him
to another woman. A couple of a months later, Deianira thought that another
woman was coming between her and her husband, so Deianira washed one of
Hercules' shirts in Nessus' blood and gave it to him to wear. Nessus had lied
to her, for the blood really acted as a poison and almost killed Hercules. On
his funeral pyre, the dying Hercules ascended to Olympus, where he was granted
immortality and lived among the gods.
Of all his Labours, the most famous, because
proverbial, is his cleansing of the Augean Stables, where the droppings
of the suns a truly "Herculean task" (also proverbial). But he is
first mentioned by Pindar in a more heroic style, killing two great
snakes while still only a baby. In
the tragic theatre, Heracles is a figure of immense pathos, killing his wife
and sons in a fit of madness accord¡©ing to Euripides, finally dying in torment
because of Deianira's shirt according to Sophocles.
Perseus & Theseus
In a similar set of heroic tales, Perseus
is born and lives surrounded by magic.
His grandfather is warned (as in the Oedipus story) that his daughter's
son will kill him. She, Danae,
is therefore shut up in a tower so that no man can reach her. She is visited
there by Zeus in the form of a shower of gold, a popular theme in Renaissance
art, and a son is born, Perseus.
Mother and child are thrown into the sea in a chest but survive,
naturally. Perseus is mainly known as the killer of the Gorgon Medusa,
whose hair is a mass of snakes and who could turn people to stone on
sight. He is helped in this task
by gifts from gods: Pluto gives him a helmet that makes him invisible, Hermes
gives him wings to his feet, and Athene gives him a shield polished into
a mirror (so that he can kill Medusa without looking directly at her). He uses the head of Medusa
to overcome a variety of enemies by turning them to stone. He also saves the
maiden Andromeda from being sacrificed to a dragon, and marries her. He
finally kills his grandfather as had been foretold, striking him by accident
with a discus during an athletics match.
Theseus was the great Athenian
hero. His main exploits include the killing of the monstrous Minotaur in
the Labyrinth built by Daedalus for king Minos in Crete.
The Minotaur was the child of Minos' wife Pasiphae, who was inspired by
Poseidon with a violent passion for a bull. Ariadne, daughter of Minos,
falls in love with Theseus and with the help of a ball of thread she gives him
he is able to find the way out of the Labyrinth. He forgets to change the
colour of the sails on the ship as he returns to Athens from Crete, so that his
father Aegeus sees black sails and thinks that Theseus is dead; he kills
himself by jumping into the "Aegean" Sea and Theseus becomes King of
Athens.
In the story of Seven against Thebes,
told in drama and forming the starting point for Sophocles' Antigone, Theseus has become the defender of
human rights (as he is in Chaucer's Knight's Tale) and for Athens he was
the father of democracy, resigning his kingship in order to unify the
city. He is the symbol of Athenian
mercy and hospitality in the tragedies of Oedipus and Heracles.
Theseus goes to conquer the Amazons,
warrior-women, and brings one, Hippolyta, back to Athens to marry. This is the starting point of
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. They had a son Hippolytus. Later Theseus marries Phaedra
and her fatal passion for Hippolytus is the subject of Racine's great French
tragedy Phèdre, inspired by Seneca's version of the story.
The Trojan War
Given the importance for Greece of the great
epics Iliad and Odyssey, it is not surprising that there are many stories, found in
various places, explaining the origins of the dispute between Troy and
the Greeks. Helen's birth is told in a well-known story of Zeus uniting
with a human woman. Helen's mother Leda was married to King Tyndareus of
Sparta and they had a daughter Clytemnestra, but Helen was the result of
a visit to Leda by Zeus disguised in the form of a swan. This is a scene much favoured in Renais¡©sance
painting, and mentioned by poets including W. B.
Yeats.
The other important background to the Trojan War
depends on the link uniting Menelaus, the King of Sparta by his marriage
to Helen, and his brother Agamemnon, King of Argos according to
Aeschylus, king of Mycenae in Homer, to the clan of Tantalus. This is a family marked by some
mysterious curse. Tantalus was at
first a human who was a friend of the gods, in return for their favour he
offered them his son Pelops cooked in a stew, trying to deceive them but
of course, they knew what he has done, and brought Pelops back to life. The punishment of Tantalus is famous:
he stands in Hades in a pond with water up to his chin and delicious fruit
dangling before his eyes, but they "tantalizingly" withdraw from him
every time he tries to drink or eat.
Pelops had two sons, Atreus and Thyestes. Thyestes seduced his brother's wife;
Atreus, to punish him, gave him a meal of his own children, and he ate them,
not knowing. Yet Atreus lived
successfully, and died unpunished.
His sons were Agamemnon and Menelaus, while the son of
Thyestes was Aegisthus. For no clear reason (these things are not
rational), all the curse fell upon Agamemnon, whose wife, Helen's sister
Clytemnestra, took Aegisthus as her lover during the Trojan War. When Agamemnon returned, they killed
him. Orestes and Electra, the children of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, later
kill their mother and her lover in revenge.
This theme of the curse on Tantalus' descendants
is as important in explaining the origins of the war with Troy as that, lighter
and more comic, of the judgement of Paris and its reward. Strife (Eris) is always the
bringer of discord. By rolling a golden apple marked "For the
fairest" into the midst of the gods at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis
(Achilles' parents), to which she was not invited, Eris provoked a quarrel
between Hera, Athene, and Aphrodite, who each claimed to
be the most beautiful. They agreed
it should be settled by the judgement of Paris, the most handsome man of
the day. Oddly, Paris is shown working as a simple shepherd although he is one
of the many sons of Priam, king of Troy. The goddesses each offer him
bribes; Hera offers him greatness, Athene success in war, and Aphrodite the
most beautiful woman in the world as wife. He gives the apple to Aphrodite. In
thanks for which Aphrodite gave him Helen.
Unfortunately, she was already married to Menelaus,
and he had become the king of Sparta, not a very impressive figure. All the
kings of Greece had desired her and in the end the only way to avoid war
between them was to give her to Menelaus.
Stories tell that after Paris arrived in Sparta on a visit, Menelaus
left on a journey, leaving him with Helen, and they duly left for Sparta
together. All the kings of Greece had agreed to protect the union of Menelaus
with Helen, which obliged them all to join in the expedition to Troy to bring
her back. The expedition was led by Agamemnon. As the Greek fleet prepared to
set out, the winds were against them until Calchas the seer told Agamemnon that
he would have to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis in order to
gain favourable winds. This story
too is the subject of great dramas. In many version she is spirited away to Aulis
where her brother Orestes later finds her.
Homer and Virgil wrote epics set during and
after the Trojan War yet neither is the full "story of the war" and
each should be seen as a work of narrative fiction in its own form, rather than
as a bit of the "Troy story." The end of Troy, its capture thanks to
the trick of the Wooden Horse, is always in the background. It is told
in detail near the beginning of Virgil's Aeneid. Knowledge of what
happens in the end casts a shadow of doom over any Trojan story, such as
Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde.
At the end of the Iliad, Achilles
has killed Hector, the son of the Trojan King Priam, although he knows
that he is destined to die soon after Hector. In the Aeneid, Virgil tells how Paris kills Achilles
by an arrow that strikes him in the heel, the only weak spot in his body
("Achilles' Heel").
After Paris has been killed, the wooden horse is prepared to
Odysseus' plans. The Greeks
pretend to sail away and one soldier, Sinon, an expert liar, is left
alone in the Greek camp. His lying tale that the horse is a pledge of divine
protection sounds so convincing that the great horse full of Greeks is brought
inside the walls of Troy. Sinon was to becomes a proverbial symbol of
deceit. Only the Trojan priest Laocoon
and his sons doubt, and they are destroyed by huge serpents from the sea
(subject of a most famous sculpture).
The Greeks emerge from inside the horse, open the gates to the main army
that has now returned, and the city is taken in the night. Achilles' son, Pyrrhus, kills
old Priam in front of his Queen, Hecuba, the subject of the Player's
speech in Hamlet:
Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide;
But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo, his sword,
Which was declining on the milky head
Of reverend Priam, seemed in the air to stick;
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
And like a neutral to his will and matter,
Did nothing...
Aroused vengeance sets him new awork,
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
On Mars's armour, forged for proof eterne,
With less remorse that Pryyhus' bleeding sword
Now falls on Priam...
(Shakespeare, Hamlet 11, ii)
Only Aeneas and his companions escape,
and he becomes the father of the Roman people according to Virgil, for
whom Rome was the new Troy. The Greeks were seen as treacherous,
deceitful rascals in Rome.
Euripides made a great tragedy from the story of the surviving Trojan
Women, led by Hector's widow, Andromache. Her later fate is the theme of a tragedy by the French
writer Racine. On returning from Troy, Agamemnon was killed by his wife
Clytemnestra and her lover; he was duly avenged by Orestes and Electra, in a
series of events shown by Aeschylus in the Oresteia. Ulysses/Odysseus wandered for ten more
years before returning to his faithful wife Penelope (the Odyssey). Menelaus went home with Helen and we see them reunited in a
strange kind of unheroic domesticity when, near the beginning of the Odyssey,
Odysseus' son Telemachus goes travelling in search of news about his
lost father.
The Argonauts
The Argonauts were the heroes who sailed with
Jason on the Argo, in quest of the Golden Fleece. The Golden Fleece
originated in the following fashion. Phryxus and Helle were the children of
Athamus and the goddess Nephele. When Athamus remarried, the children's
stepmother, Ino, became jealous of them and plotted to get rid of them. She
arranged to have seed‑corn roasted so that it would not sprout. When the crop
failed, messengers were sent to consult the oracle at Delphi, and Ino persuaded
the messengers to say that the oracle required the sacrifice of Phrixus to
restore fertility to the fields. Before Phrixus could be sacrificed, however,
Nephele sent a golden ram which carried both children off through the air.
Helle fell into the Hellespont (which was named after her), but Phrixus arrived
safely at Colchis, where he married the daughter of King Aeetes. Phrixus
sacrificed the ram to Zeus, and gave its pelt (the Golden Fleece) to Aeetes.
Aeetes placed the fleece in an oak tree, where it remained until Jason arrived
to claim it.
Jason, the son of Aeson, was
the leader of the Argonauts and the husband of Medea. Because of a prophecy
that Jason would someday do him harm, King Pelias of Iolcos sent Jason on a
seemingly impossible quest to bring the Golden Fleece back from distant
Colchis. For the quest, Jason assembled a crew of heroes from all over Greece;
Argos built for the heroes the largest ship ever constructed, the Argo.
According to Apollonius of Rhodes, 55 men
accompanied Jason; Apollodorus lists 43 men and one woman, and various numbers
can be derived from other sources. The lists do not correspond very well, but
the following are some of the more famous names mentioned: Orpheus (the
greatest musician of the ancient world); Heracles; Hylas (Heracles' companion);
Telamon (the father of Ajax); Peleus (the father of Achilles and the brother of
Telamon); Argos (the builder of the Argo); Polydeuces and Castor (or Pollux
and Castor ‑‑ known as the Dioscuri, they were the sons of Leda and
Zeus, and the brothers of Helen of Troy); Meleager (who killed the Calydonian
boar); Zetes and Calais (the Boreads); Theseus; Laertes (father of Odysseus);
Autolycus (son of Hermes and a master thief); Atalanta (a great huntress who
was the first to wound the Calydonian boar and was beloved by Meleager).
On the voyage to Colchis, in addition to other
adventures, Jason and his crew of Argonauts became the first humans to pass
through the Symplegades (the Clashing Rocks, they crash together when a ship tries
to pass between them); they also freed Phineus from the curse of the Harpies.
When they arrived at Colchis, King Aeetes demanded that Jason accomplish a
series of tasks to get the Golden Fleece: he must yoke a team of fierce, fire‑breathing
oxen and plow a field with them; then he must sow the teeth of a dragon in the
field, and deal with the warlike armored men who sprouted from these
"seeds"; finally, he must brave the sleepless dragon who guarded the
Fleece. Jason accomplished all these tasks with the help of Medea,
Aeetes' daughter, who had fallen in love with him.
After obtaining the Golden Fleece, Jason and
Medea fled from Colchis, pursued by King Aeetes' men. On their voyage back to Iolcos, they (like Odysseus)
encountered the perils of the monster Scylla and the whirlpool Charybdis
and the isle of the Sirens, as well as Talos the bronze guardian
of Crete. In Iolcos, Medea contrived the murder of King Pelias, after which she
and Jason fled to Corinth. In Corinth, after many years of marriage, Jason
finally deserted Medea to marry King Creon's daughter; Medea wreaked a
terrible vengeance, killing the bride and Creon, and even murdering her own
children. She then escaped, leaving Jason to mourn his losses. Jason was killed
years later when he was struck on the head by a timber from the Argo.
Ovid's Metamorphoses
A large number of mythical stories of various
origins were brought together in quasi-epic form by the Roman poet Ovid,
whose Metamorphoses is the source of most western writers' knowledge of
them. Shakespeare and other Renaissance poets were particularly fond of the
work and it has recently returned to the limelight in Ted Hughes's versions of
certain episodes.
Ovid uses the many myths of change and transformation
to explore the nature of identity and the process of time. A number of these
fables are very familiar; most of the stories that follow (taken from
Bulfinch's Mythology) are found there.
Daphne
Daphne was Apollo's first love. It was not
brought about by accident, but by the malice of Cupid (Eros). Apollo saw the
boy playing with his bow and arrows; and said to him, "What have you to do
with warlike weapons, saucy boy? Leave them for hands worthy of them." Venus's
boy heard these words, and rejoined, "Your arrows may strike all things
else, Apollo, but mine shall strike you." So saying, he took his stand on
a rock of Parnassus, and drew from his quiver two arrows of different workmanship, one to excite love, the
other to repel it. The former was of gold and sharp-pointed, the latter blunt
and tipped with lead. With the leaden shaft he struck the nymph Daphne, the
daughter of the river god Peneus, and with the golden one Apollo, through the heart.
` At
once the god was filled with love for the maiden, while she abhorred the
thought of loving. Apollo loved her, and longed to obtain her; and he who gives
oracles to all the world was not wise enough to look into his own fortunes. He
followed her; she fled, swifter than the wind, and delayed not a moment at his
entreaties. So flew the god and
the virgin‑ he on the wings of love, and she on those of fear. The pursuer is
the more rapid, however, and gains
upon her, and his panting breath blows upon her hair.
Her strength begins to fail, and, ready to sink,
she calls upon her father, the river god: "Help me, Peneus! open the earth
to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger!"
Scarcely had she spoken, when a
stiffness seized all her limbs; her bosom began to be enclosed in bark; her
hair became leaves; her arms became branches; her foot stuck fast in the
ground, as a root; her face became a tree‑top, retaining nothing of its former
self but its beauty.
Apollo stood amazed. He touched the stem, and
felt the flesh tremble under the new bark. He embraced the branches, and
lavished kisses on the wood. The branches shrank from his lips. "Since you
cannot be my wife," said he, "you shall assuredly be my tree. I will
wear you for my crown; I will decorate with you my harp and my quiver; and when
the great Roman conquerors lead up the triumphal pomp to the Capitol, you shall
be woven into wreaths for their brows. And, as eternal youth is mine, you also
shall be always green, and your leaf know no decay." The nymph, now
changed into a Laurel tree, bowed its head in grateful acknowledgment.
Deucalion
Deucalion was the son of Prometheus and Clymene.
When Zeus punished humankind for their lack of respect by sending a great
flood, Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha were the sole survivors. They were saved
because of their piety. Prometheus advised his son to build an ark and they
survived by staying on the boat.
When they were finally able to get back on land
(on Mount Parnassos), they gave thank offerings to Zeus and consulted the
oracle of Themis how they might replenish the earth with humans once again.
They were told to throw the bones of their mother behind their shoulder and the
human race would reappear. Since the mother of all is Earth, they threw stones
and re-established the human race. The stones thrown by Pyrrha became women,
those thrown by Deucalion became men. The son of Deucalion and Pyrrha was
Hellen, who gave his name to the Greek people as a whole (Hellas is the Greek
name for Greece).
Pyramus and Thisbe
Pyramus was the handsomest youth, and Thisbe the
fairest maiden, in all Babylonia, where Semiramis reigned. Their parents
occupied adjoining houses; acquaintance ripened into love. They would gladly
have married, but their parents forbade it. One thing, however, they could not
forbid ‑ that love should glow with equal ardour in the bosoms of both. They
conversed by signs and glances, and the fire burned more intensely for being
covered up.
In the wall that parted the two houses there was
a crack, caused by some fault in the structure. No one had remarked it before,
but the lovers discovered it. What will not love discover! It afforded a
passage to the voice; and tender messages used to pass backward and forward
through the gap. As they stood, Pyramus on this side, Thisbe on that, their
breaths would mingle. "Cruel wall," they said, "why do you keep
two lovers apart? But we will not be ungrateful. We owe you, we confess, the
privilege of transmitting loving words to willing, ears." Such words they
uttered on different sides of the wall; and when night came and they must say
farewell, they pressed their lips upon the wall, she on her side, he on his, as they could come no nearer.
One
morning, they met at the accustomed spot. Then, after lamenting their hard
fate, they agreed that next night,
when all was still, they would slip away from the watchful eyes, leave their
dwellings and repair to a well‑known edifice outside the city called the Tomb
of Ninus, and that the one who came first should await the other at the foot of
a certain tree. It was a white mulberry tree, and stood near a cool spring. All
was agreed on, and they waited impatiently for the sun to go down beneath the
waters and night to rise up from them. Then cautiously Thisbe stole forth,
unobserved by the family, her head covered with a veil, made her way to the
monument and sat down under the tree. As she sat alone in the dim light of the
evening she saw a lioness, her jaws bloodied with recent slaughter, approaching
the fountain to slake her thirst. Thisbe fled at the sight, and sought refuge
in the hollow of a rock. As she fled she dropped her veil. The lioness after drinking at the spring turned
to retreat to the woods, and seeing the veil on the ground, tossed and rent it
with her bloody mouth.
Pyramus, having been delayed, now approached the place of
meeting. He saw in the sand the footsteps of the lion. Presently he found the
veil all rent and bloody. He took up the veil, carried it with him to the
appointed tree, and covered it with kisses and with tears. "My blood also
shall stain your texture," said he, and drawing his sword plunged it into
his heart. The blood spurted from the wound, and tinged the white mulberries of
the tree all red; and sinking into the earth reached the roots, so that the red
colour mounted through the trunk to the fruit.
By this time Thisbe, still trembling with
fear, stepped cautiously forth,
looking anxiously for the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had escaped.
When she came to the spot and saw the changed colour of the mulberries she
doubted whether it was the same place. While she hesitated she saw someone
struggling in the agonies of death. She started back, but as soon as she
recognized her lover, she screamed and beat her breast, embracing the lifeless
body, pouring tears into its wounds, and imprinting kisses on the cold lips.
She saw her veil stained with blood and the
scabbard empty of its sword. "Thy own hand has slain thee, for my
sake," she said. "I too can be brave for once, and my love is as
strong as thine. I will follow thee in death, for I have been the cause; and
death which alone could part us shall not prevent my joining thee. And ye, unhappy
parents of us both, deny us not our united request. As love and death have
joined us, let one tomb contain us. And thou, tree, retain the marks of
slaughter. Let thy berries still serve for memorials of our blood."
So saying she plunged the sword into her breast.
Her parents ratified her wish, the gods also ratified it. The two bodies were
buried in one sepulchre, and the tree ever after brought forth purple berries,
as it does to this day.
Baucis and Philemon
On a certain hill in Phrygia stands a linden
tree and an oak, enclosed by a low wall. Not far from the spot is a marsh,
formerly good habitable land, but now indented with pools, the resort of fen‑birds
and cormorants. Once on a time Jupiter (Zeus), in human shape, visited this
country, and with him his son Mercury (Hermes) without his wings. They
presented themselves, as weary travellers, at many a door, seeking rest and
shelter, but found all closed, for it was late, and the inhospitable
inhabitants would not rouse themselves to open for their reception.
At last a humble mansion received them, a small
thatched cottage, where Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon,
united when young, had grown old together. Not ashamed of their poverty, they
made it endurable by moderate desires and kind dispositions. One need not look
there for master or for servant; they two were the whole household, master and
servant alike.
When the two heavenly guests crossed the humble
threshold, and bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the old man placed
a seat, on which Baucis, bustling and attentive, spread a cloth, and begged
them to sit down. Then she raked out the coals from the ashes, and kindled up a
fire, fed it with leaves and dry bark, and with her scanty breath blew it into
a flame. She brought out of a corner split sticks and dry branches, broke them
up, and placed them under the small kettle. Her husband collected some pot‑herbs
in the garden, and she shred them from the stalks, and prepared them for the pot.
He reached down with a forked stick a flitch of bacon hanging in the chimney,
cut a small piece, and put it in the pot to boil with the herbs, setting away
the rest for another time. A bowl was filled with warm water, that their guests
might wash. While all was doing, they beguiled the time with conversation.
On
the bench designed for the guests was laid a cushion stuffed with
sea‑weed; and a cloth, only produced on great
occasions, but ancient and coarse enough, was spread over that. The old lady,
with her apron on, with trembling hand set the table. One leg was shorter than
the rest, but a piece of slate put
under restored the level. When fixed, she rubbed the table down with some sweet‑smelling
herbs. Upon it she set some olives, some berries preserved in vinegar, and
added radishes and cheese, with eggs lightly cooked in the ashes. All were
served in earthen dishes, and an earthenware pitcher, with wooden cups, stood
beside them. When all was ready, the stew, smoking hot, was set on the table.
Some wine, not of the oldest, was added; and for dessert, apples and wild
honey; and over and above all, friendly faces, and simple but hearty welcome.
Now while the repast proceeded, the old folks
were astonished to see that the wine, as fast as it was poured out, renewed
itself in the pitcher, of its own accord. Struck with terror, Baucis and
Philemon recognized their heavenly guests, fell on their knees, and with
clasped hands implored forgiveness for their poor entertainment.
There was an old goose, which they kept as the
guardian of their humble cottage; and they wanted to sacrifice this in honour
of their guests. But the goose, too nimble for the old folks, eluded their
pursuit, and at last took shelter between the gods themselves. They forbade it
to be slain; and spoke in these words: "We are gods. This inhospitable
village shall pay the penalty of its impiety; you alone shall go free from the
chastisement. Quit your house, and come with us to the top of yonder hill."
They hastened to obey, and, staff in hand,
laboured up the steep ascent. There, turning their eyes below, they beheld all
the country sunk in a lake, only their own house left standing. While they
gazed at the sight, and lamented the fate of their neighbours, that old house
of theirs was changed into a temple. Columns took the place of the corner
posts, the thatch grew yellow and
appeared a gilded roof, the floors became marble, the doors were enriched with
carving and ornaments.
Then Jupiter spoke: "Excellent old man, and
woman worthy of such a husband, speak, tell us your wishes; what favour have
you to ask of us?" Philemon took counsel with Baucis a few moments; then
declared to the gods their united wish, "We ask to be priests and
guardians of this your temple; and since here we have passed our lives in love
and concord, we wish that one and the same hour may take us both from life,
that I may not live to see her grave, nor be laid in my own by her."
Their prayer was granted. They were the keepers
of the temple as long as they lived. When they were very old, as they stood one
day before the steps of the sacred edifice, Baucis saw Philemon begin to put
forth leaves, and old Philemon saw Baucis changing in like manner. And now a
leafy crown had grown over their heads, while exchanging parting words, as long
as they could speak. "Farewell, dear spouse," they said, together,
and at the same moment the bark closed over their mouths. The Tyanean shepherd
still shows the two trees, standing side by side, made out of the two good old
people.
Echo and Narcissus
Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods
and hills but Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and whether always
wanted the last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who was amusing
himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till
the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon
Echo: "You shall forfeit the use of that tongue with which you have
cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond of‑ reply. You shall
still have the last word, but no power to speak first."
Echo saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he was
hunting in the mountains. She loved him and followed him. She longed to address
him but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak
first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, separated from his
companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied,
"Here." Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out,
"Come." Echo answered, "Come," and hastened to the spot,
ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming,
"Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!" "Have
me," said she; but it was all in vain.
From that time forth she lived in hiding. Her
form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were
changed into rocks and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that
she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old
habit of having the last word.
Narcissus's cruelty in this case was not the
only instance. He shunned all the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo.
One day a maiden
who had in vain endeavoured to attract him
uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love and
meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the
prayer.
There was a clear fountain, with water like
silver. Hither came one day the youth, thirsty. He stooped down to drink, and
saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful water‑spirit
living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes,
those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the rounded cheeks, the
ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of health and exercise over all. He
fell in love with himself. He brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged
his arms in to embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned
again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not tear himself
away; he lost all thought of food or rest. while he hovered over the brink of
the fountain gazing upon his own image.
He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why,
beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The
nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch
forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me." His tears fell into
the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed,
"Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch
you." With this, and much more of the same kind, he cherished the flame
that consumed him, so that by degrees be lost his colour, his vigour, and
beauty. He pined away and died; and when his shade passed the Stygian river, it
leaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters.
The nymphs mourned for him, especially the water‑nymphs;
and when they smote their breasts Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral
pile and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its
place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which bears
the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.
Icarus
Icarus was the son of the inventor Daedalus and
a slave named Naucrate. King Minos of Crete imprisoned Daedalus and Icarus in
the Labyrinth to punish Daedalus for helping the hero Theseus to kill the
monster called the Minotaur and to escape with Minos' daughter, Ariadne.
Daedalus knew that Minos controlled any escape routes by land or sea, but Minos
could not prevent an escape by flight. So Daedalus used his skills to build
wings for himself and Icarus. He used wax and string to fasten feathers to
reeds of varying lengths to imitate the curves of birds' wings.
When their wings were ready, Daedalus warned
Icarus to fly at medium altitude. If he flew too high, the sun could melt the
wax of his wings, and the sea could dampen the feathers if he flew too low.
Once they had escaped Crete, Icarus became
exhilarated by flight. Ignoring his father's warning, he flew higher and
higher. The sun melted the wax holding his wings together, and the boy fell
into the water and drowned.
Daedalus looked down to see feathers floating in
the waves, and realized what had happened. He buried his son on an island which
would be called Icaria, and the sea into which Icarus had fallen would ever
after be called the Icarian Sea (between the Cyclades and Asia Minor).
Pan and Syrinx
There was a certain nymph, whose name was
Syrinx, who was much beloved by the satyrs and spirits of the wood; but she
would have none of them, but was a faithful worshipper of Diana (Artemis), and
followed the chase. You would have thought it was Diana herself, had you seen
her in her hunting dress, only that her bow was of horn and Diana's of silver.
One day, as she was
returning from the chase, Pan met her, told her just this, and added more of
the same sort. She ran away, without stopping to hear his compliments, and he
pursued till she came to the bank
of the river, where be overtook her, and she had only time to call for help on
her friends the water nymphs.
They heard and consented. Pan threw his arms
around what he supposed to be the form of the nymph and found he embraced only
a tuft of reeds! As he breathed a sigh, the air sounded through the reeds, and
produced a plaintive melody. The god, charmed with the novelty and with the
sweetness of the music, said, 'Thus, then, at least, you shall be mine.' And he
took some of the reeds, and placing them together of unequal lengths, side by
side, made an instrument which he called Syrinx, in honour of the nymph.
Diana and Actaeon
There was a valley thick enclosed with cypresses
and pines, sacred to the huntress queen, Diana (Artemis). In the extremity of
the valley was a cave. A fountain burst out from one side, whose open basin was
bounded by a grassy rim. Here the virgin goddess of the woods used to come when
weary with hunting and bathe her limbs in the sparkling water.
One day, while the goddess was bathing, quite
naked, Actaeon came to the place, led thither by his destiny. As he presented
himself at the entrance of the cave, the nymphs, seeing a man, screamed and
rushed towards the goddess to hide her with their bodies, but she was taller
than the rest and overtopped them all by a head. She dashed water into the face
of the intruder, adding these words: "Now go and tell, if you can, that
you have seen Diana naked."
Immediately a pair of branching stag's horns
grew out of his head, his neck gained in length, his ears grew sharp‑pointed,
his hands became feet, his arms long legs, his body was covered with a hairy
spotted hide. Fear took the place of his former boldness, and the hero fled. He
could not but admire his own speed; but then he saw his horns in the water,
"Ah, wretched me!" he would have said, but no sound followed the
effort. He groaned, and tears flowed down the face which had taken the place of
his own. Yet his consciousness remained. What shall he do?‑ go home to seek the
palace, or lie hid in the woods? While he hesitated, his dogs saw him.
They rushed after him swifter than the wind.
Over rocks cliffs, through mountain gorges he fled and they followed. Where he
had often chased the stag and cheered on his pack, his pack now chased him,
cheered on by his huntsmen. He longed to cry out, "I am Actaeon; recognize
your master!" but the words came not at his will. The air resounded with
the bark of the dogs. Presently one fastened on his back, another seized his
shoulder. While they held their master, the rest of the pack came up and buried
their teeth in his flesh.
His friends and fellow‑huntsmen cheered on the
dogs, and looked everywhere for Actaeon calling on him to join the sport. At
the sound of his name he turned his head, and heard them regret that he should
be away. He earnestly wished he was. He would have been well pleased to see the
exploits of his dogs, but to feel them was too much. They were all around
him, rending and tearing; and it was not till
they had torn his life out that the anger of Diana was satisfied.
Pygmalion
Pygmalion was a sculptor, and had made with
wonderful skill a statue of ivory, so beautiful that no living woman came
anywhere near it. It was indeed the perfect semblance of a maiden that seemed
to be alive, and only prevented from moving by modesty. His art was so perfect
that it concealed itself and its product looked like the workmanship of nature.
Pygmalion admired his own work, and at last fell in love with the counterfeit
creation. Oftentimes he laid his hand upon it as if to assure himself whether
it were living or not, and could not even then believe that it was only ivory.
He caressed it, and gave it presents such as young girls love, ‑ bright shells
and polished stones, little birds and flowers of various hues, beads and amber.
He put raiment on its limbs, and jewels on its fingers, and a necklace about
its neck. To the ears he hung earrings, and strings of pearls upon the breast.
Her dress became her, and she looked not less charming than when unattired. He
laid her on a couch spread with cloths of Tyrian dye, and called her his wife,
and put her head upon a pillow of the softest feathers, as if she could enjoy
their softness.
The festival of Venus (Aphrodite) was at hand ‑
a festival celebrated with great pomp at Cyprus. Pygmalion stood before the
altar and timidly said, "Ye gods, who can do all things, give me, I pray
you, for my wife" ‑ he dared not say "my ivory virgin," but said instead ‑
"one like my ivory virgin." Venus knew the thought he would have uttered; and caused the flame
on the altar to shoot up thrice in a fiery point into the air.
When he returned home, he went to see his
statue, and leaning over the couch, gave a kiss to the mouth. It seemed to be
warm. He pressed its lips again, he laid his hand upon the limbs; the ivory
felt soft to his touch and yielded to his fingers like the wax of Hymettus.
While he stands astonished and glad, though doubting, and fears he may be
mistaken, again and again with a lover's ardour he touches the object of his
hopes. It was indeed alive! The veins when pressed yielded to the finger and
again resumed their roundness. Then at last the votary of Venus found words to
thank the goddess, and pressed his lips upon lips as real as his own.
The virgin felt the kisses and blushed, and
opening her timid eyes to the light, fixed them at the same moment on her
lover.
Venus and Adonis
Venus (Aphrodite), playing one day with her boy
Cupid (Eros), wounded her bosom with one of his arrows. She beheld Adonis, and
was captivated with him. Him she followed and bore him company. She who used to
love to recline in the shade, now rambles through the woods and over the hills,
dressed like the huntress Diana; and chases hares and stags, or other game that
it is safe to hunt, but keeps clear of wolves and bears, reeking with
slaughter. She charged Adonis, too, to beware of such dangerous animals.
Having given him this warning, she mounted her
chariot drawn by swans, and drove away through the air. But Adonis was too
noble to heed such counsels. The dogs had roused a wild boar from his lair, and
the youth threw his spear and wounded the animal with sidelong stroke. The
beast drew out the weapon with his jaws, and rushed after Adonis, who turned
and ran; but the boar overtook
him, buried his tusks in his side, and stretched him dying upon the plain.
Venus, in her swan‑drawn chariot, had not yet
reached Cyprus, when she heard coming up through mid‑air the groans of her
beloved, and turned back to earth. She saw from on high his lifeless body
bathed in blood. She beat her breast and tore her hair. Reproaching the Fates,
she said, "Yet theirs shall be but a partial triumph; memorials of my
grief shall endure, and the spectacle of your death, my Adonis, and of my
lamentation shall be annually renewed. Your blood shall be changed into a
flower; that consolation none can envy me." Thus speaking, she sprinkled
nectar on the blood; and there sprang up a flower of bloody hue. It is said the
wind blows the blossoms open, and afterwards blows the petals away; so it is
called Anemone, or Wind Flower.
Hero and Leander
Leander was a youth of Abydos, a town of the
Asian side of the Hellespont, the strait which separates Asia and Europe. On the opposite shore, in the
town of Sestos, lived the maiden Hero, a priestess of Venus. Leander loved her, and used to swim the strait
nightly to enjoy the company of his mistress, guided by a torch which she
placed upon the tower for the purpose. But one night a tempest arose and the
sea was rough; his strength failed, and he was drowned. The waves bore his body
to the European shore, where Hero became aware of his death, and in her despair
cast herself down from the tower into the sea and perished.
Orpheus and Eurydice
Orpheus was the son of Apollo and the Muse
Calliope. He was presented by his
father with a lyre and taught to play upon it, which he did to such perfection
that nothing could withstand the charm of his music. Not only his fellow‑mortals,
but wild beasts were softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by
their fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay. The very trees and rocks
were sensible to the charm. The former crowded round him and the latter relaxed
somewhat of their hardness, softened by his notes.
Eurydice, shortly after her marriage, trod upon a snake in the grass, was
bitten in the foot, and died. Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the
upper air, both gods and men, and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek
his wife in the regions of the dead (Hades). He descended by a cave situated on
the side of the promontory of Taenarus and arrived at the Stygian realm. He
passed through crowds of ghosts and presented himself before the throne of
Pluto (Hades) and Proserpine (Persephone). Accompanying the words with the
lyre, he sang.
As he sang, the very ghosts shed tears.
Tantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his efforts for water,
Ixion's wheel stood still, the vulture ceased to tear the giant's liver, the
daughters of Danaus rested from their task of drawing water in a sieve, and
Sisyphus sat on his rock to listen. Then for the first time, it is said, the
cheeks of the Furies were wet with tears. Proserpine could not resist, and
Pluto himself gave way. Eurydice was called. She came from among the new‑arrived
ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her away
with him on one condition, that he should not turn around to look at her till
they should have reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on
their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and steep, in total
silence, till they had nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world,
when Orpheus, in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was
still following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
Stretching out their arms to embrace each other,
they grasped only the air! Dying now a second time, "Farewell," she said, "a last farewell,"‑
and was hurried away, so fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.
Orpheus sang his complaints to the rocks and
mountains, melting the hearts of tigers and moving the oaks from their
stations. He held himself aloof from womankind, dwelling constantly on the
recollection of his sad mischance. The Thracian maidens tried their best to
captivate him, but he repulsed their advances. Finding him one day, excited by
the rites of Bacchus (Dionysos), one of them exclaimed, "See yonder our despiser!" and threw at
him her javelin. The weapon, as soon as it came within the sound of his lyre, fell harmless at his
feet. So did also the stones that they threw at him. But the women raised a
scream and drowned the voice of the music, and then the missiles reached him
and soon were stained with his blood.
The maniacs tore him limb from limb, and threw
his head and his lyre into the river Hebrus, down which they floated, murmuring
sad music, to which the shores responded a plaintive symphony. The Muses
gathered up the fragments of his body and buried them at Libethra, where the
nightingale is said to sing over his grave more sweetly than in any other part
of Greece. His lyre was placed by Jupiter among the stars (constellation of
Lyra). His shade passed a second time to Tartarus where he sought out his
Eurydice and embraced her with eager arms. They roam the happy fields together
now, sometimes he leading,
sometimes she; and Orpheus gazes as much as he will upon her, no longer
incurring a penalty for a thoughtless glance.