only his wand, with which he presented himself as a shepherd driving his flock. As he
strolled on he blew upon his pipes. These were what are called in the Syrinx or
Pandean pipes. Argus listened with delight, for he had never seen the instrument
before. "Young man," said he, "come and take a seat by me on this stone. There is
no better place for your flock to graze in than hereabouts, and here is a pleasant
shade such as shepherds love." Mercury sat down, talked, and told stories till it grew
late, and played upon his pipes his most soothing strains, hoping to lull the watchful
eyes to sleep, but all in vain; for Argus still contrived to keep some of his eyes open
though he shut the rest.
Among other stories, Mercury told him how the instrument on which he played
was invented. "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, 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 he 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 honor of the nymph." Before Mercury had finished his story he saw Argus's
eyes all asleep. As his head nodded forward on his breast, Mercury with one stroke
cut his neck through, and tumbled his head down the rocks. O, hapless Argus! the
light of your hundred eyes is quenched at once! Juno took them and put them as
ornaments on the tail of her peacock, where they remain to this day.
But the vengeance of Juno was not yet satiated. She sent a gadfly to torment Io,
who fled over the whole world from its pursuit. She swam through the Ionian Sea,
which derived its name from her, then roamed over the plains of Illyria, ascended
Mount Haemus, and crossed the Thracian strait, thence named the Bosphorus,
(cowford,) rambled on through Scythia, and the country of the Cimmerians, and arrived
at last on the banks of the Nile. At length Jupiter interceded for her, and upon his
promising not to pay her any more attentions Juno consented to restore her to her
form. It was curious to see her gradually recover her former self. The coarse hairs fell
from her body, her horns shrank up, her eyes grew narrower, her mouth shorter; hands
and fingers came instead of hoofs to her fore feet; in fine there was nothing left of the
heifer, except her beauty. At first she was afraid to speak for fear she should low, but
gradually she recovered her confidence and was restored to her father and sisters.
In a poem dedicated to Leigh Hunt, by Keats, the following allusion to the story of
Pan and Syrinx occurs: -
"So did he feel who pulled the boughs aside,
That we might look into a forest wide,
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.
Poor nymph - poor Pan - how he did weep to find
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind
Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain,
Full of sweet desolation, balmy pain"
Callisto.
Callisto was another maiden who excited the jealousy of Juno, and the goddess
changed her into a boar. "I will take away," said she, "that beauty with which you have
captivated my husband." Down fell Callisto on her hands and knees; she tried to stretch
out her arms in supplication, - they were already beginning to be covered with black hair.
Her hands grew rounded, became armed with crooked claws, and served for feet; her
mouth, which Jove used to praise for its beauty, became a horrid pair of jaws; her voice,
which if unchanged would have moved the heart to pity, became a growl, more fit to
inspire terror. Yet her former disposition remained, and with continual groaning, she
bemoaned her fate, and stood upright as well as she could, lifting up her paws to beg for
mercy; and felt that Jove was unkind, though she could not tell him so. Ah, how often,
afraid to stay in the woods all night alone, she wandered about the neighborhood of her
former haunts; how often, frightened by the dogs, did she, so lately a huntress, fly in
terror from the hunters! Often she fled from the wild beasts, forgetting that she was now
a wild beast herself; and, bear as she was, was afraid of the bears.
One day a youth espied her as he was hunting. She saw him and recognized
him as her own son, now grown a young man. She stopped and felt inclined to embrace
him. As she was about to approach, he, alarmed, raised his hunting spear, and was on
the point of transfixing her, when Jupiter, beholding, arrested the crime, and snatching
away both of them, placed them in the heavens as the Great and Little Bear.
Juno was in a rage to see her rival so set in honor, and hastened to ancient
Tethys and Oceanus, the powers of ocean, and in answer to their inquiries, thus told the
cause of her coming. "Do you ask why I, the queen of the gods, have left the heavenly
plains and sought your depths. Learn that I am supplanted in heaven, - my place is
given to another. You will hardly believe me; but look when night darkens the world, and
you shall see the two of whom I have so much reason to complain exalted to the
heavens, in that part where the circle is the smallest, in the neighborhood of the pole.
Why should any one hereafter tremble at the thought of offending Juno, when such
rewards are the consequence of my displeasure! See what I have been able to effect! I
forbade her to wear the human form, - she is placed among the stars! So do my
punishments result, - such is the extent of my power! Better that she should have
resumed her former shape, as I permitted Io to do. Perhaps he means to marry her, and
put me away! But you, my foster- parents, if you feel for me, and see with displeasure
this unworthy treatment of me, show it, I beseech you, by forbidding this guilty couple
from coming into your waters." The powers of the ocean assented, and consequently the
two constellations of the Great and Little Bear move round and round in heaven, but
never sink, as the other stars do, beneath the ocean.
Milton alludes to the fact that the constellation of the Bear never sets, when he
says -
"Let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear," &c.
And Prometheus, in J. R. Lowell's poem, says, -
"One after one the stars have risen and set,
Sparkling upon the hoar f
rost of my chain;
The Bear that prowled all night about the fold
Of the North-star, hath shrunk into his den,
Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the Dawn."
The last star in the tail of the Little Bear is the Pol star, called also the Cynosure.
Milton says, -
"Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
While the landscape round it measures.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies
The Cynosure of neighboring eyes."
The reference here is both to the Pole-star as the guide of mariners, and to the
magnetic attraction of the North. He calls it also the "Star of Arcady," because Callisto's
boy was named Arcas, and they lived in Arcadia. In Comus, the brother, benighted in the
woods, says, -
" - Some gentle taper!
Though a rush candle, from the wicker hole
Of some clay habitation, visit us
With thy long levelled rule of streaming light,
And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynosure."
Diana And Actaeon.
Thus, in two instances, we have seen Juno's severity to her rivals; now let us
learn how a virgin goddess punished an invader of her privacy.
It was midday, and the sun stood equally distant from either goal, when young
Actaeon, son of King Cadmus, thus addressed the youths who with him were hunting the
stag in the mountains: -
"Friends, our nets and our weapons are wet with the blood of our victims; we
have had sport enough for one day, and to-morrow we can renew our labors. Now, while
Phoebus parches the earth, let us put by our implements and indulge ourselves with
rest."
There was a valley thick enclosed with cypresses and pines, sacred to the
huntress queen, Diana. In the extremity of the valley was a cave, not adorned with art,
but nature had counterfeited art in its construction, for she had turned the arch of its roof
with stones as delicately fitted as if by the hand of man. A fountain burst out from one
side, whose open basin was bounded by a grassy rim. Here the goddess of the woods
used to come when weary with hunting and lave her virgin limbs in the sparkling water.
One day, having repaired thither with her nymphs, she handed her javelin, her
quiver, and her bow to one, her robe to another, while a third unbound the sandals from
her feet. Then Crocale, the most skilful of them, arranged her hair, and Nephele, Hyale
and the rest drew water in capacious urns. While the goddess was thus employed in the
labors of the toilet, behold Actaeon, having quitted his companions, and rambling without
any especial object, 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. Such a color as tinges the clouds at sunset or at dawn,
came over the countenance of Diana thus taken by surprise. Surrounded as she was by
her nymphs, she yet turned half away, and sought with a sudden impulse for her arrows.
As they were not at hand, she dashed the water into the face of the intruder, adding
these words; "Now go and tell, if you can, that you have seen Diana unapparelled."
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 when 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? The latter he was afraid, the former he was ashamed to do. While he
hesitated the dogs saw him. First Melampus, a Spartan dog, gave the signal with his
bark, then Pamphagus, Dorceus, Lelaps, Theron, Nape, Tigris, and all the rest, rushed
after him swifter than the wind. Over rocks and cliffs, through mountain gorges that
seemed impracticable, 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. He groaned, - not in a human voice, yet certainly not
in a stag's, - and falling on his knees, raised his eyes, and would have raised his arms in
supplication, if he had had them. His friends and fellow-huntsmen cheered on the dogs,
and looked every where 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.
In Shelley's poem Adonais is the following allusion to the story of Actaeon: -
"Midst others of less note came one frail form,
A phantom among men: companionless
As the last cloud of an expiring storm,
Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,
Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness,
Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray
With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness;
And his own Thoughts, along that rugged way,
Pursued like raging hounds their father and their prey.'
Stanza 31.
The allusion is probably to Shelly himself.
Latona And The Rustics.
Some thought the goddess in this instance more severe than was just, while
others praised her conduct as strictly consistent with her virgin dignity. As usual, the
recent event brought older ones to mind, and one of the bystanders told this story.
"Some countrymen of Lycia once insulted the goddess Latona, but not with impunity.
When I was young, my father, who had grown too old for active labors, sent me to Lycia
to drive thence some choice oxen, and there I saw the very pond and marsh where the
wonder happened. Near by stood an ancient altar, black with the smoke of sacrifice and
almost buried among the reeds. I inquired whose altar it might be, whether of Faunus or
the Naiads or some god of the neighboring mountain, and one of the country people
replied, 'No mountain or river god possesses this altar but she whom royal Juno in her
jealousy drove from land to land, denying her any spot of earth whereon to rear her
twins. Bearing in her arms the infant deities, Latona reached this land, weary with her
burden and parched with thirst. By chance she espied in the bottom of the valley this
pond of clear water, where the country people were at work gathering willows and
osiers. The goddess approached, a
nd kneeling on the bank would have slaked her thirst
in the cool stream, but the rustics forbade her. 'Why do you refuse me water?' said she;
'water is free to all. Nature allows no one to claim as property the sunshine, the air, or
the water. I come to take my share of the common blessing. Yet I ask it of you as a
favor. I have no intention of washing my limbs in it, weary though they be, but only to
quench my thirst. My mouth is so dry that I can hardly speak. A draught of water would
be nectar to me; it would revive me, and I would own myself indebted to you for life itself.
Let these infants move your pity, who stretch out their little arms as if to plead for me;'
and the children, as it happened, were stretching out their arms.
"Who would not have been moved with these gentle words of the goddess? But
these clowns persisted in their rudeness; they even added jeers and threats of violence
if she did not leave the place. Nor was this all. They waded into the pond and stirred up
the mud with their feet, so as to make the water unfit to drink. Latona was so angry that
she ceased to mind her thirst. She no longer supplicated the clowns, but lifting her hands
to heaven exclaimed, 'May they never quit that pool, but pass their lives there!' And it
came to pass accordingly. They now live in the water, sometimes totally submerged,
then raising their heads above the surface or swimming upon it. Sometimes they come
out upon the bank, but soon leap back again into the water. They still use their base
voices in railing, and though they have the water all to themselves, are not ashamed to
croak in the midst of it. Their voices are harsh, their throats bloated, their mouths have
become stretched by constant railing, their necks have shrunk up and disappeared, and
their heads are joined to their bodies. Their backs are green, their disproportioned
bellies white, and in short they are now frogs, and dwell in the slimy pool."
Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology Page 5