neither was it defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around
it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came one day the youth fatigued with
hunting, heated and 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 and answer my beckonings with
the like." 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 he lost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which formerly had
so charmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed,
"Alas! alas!" she answered him with the same words. 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.
Milton alludes to the story of Echo and Narcissus in the Lady's song in Comus.
She is seeking her brothers in the forest, and sings to attract their attention.
"Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy aery shell
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale,
Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere,
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies."
Milton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account which he makes Eve
give of the first sight of herself reflected in the fountain: -
"That day I oft remember when from sleep
I first awaked, and found myself reposed
Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved
Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite
A shape within the watery gleam appeared,
Bending to look on me. I started back;
It started back; but pleased I soon returned,
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;'" &c.
Paradise Lost, Book IV
No one of the fables of antiquity has been oftener alluded so by the poets than
that of Narcissus. Here are two epigrams which treat it in different ways. The first is by
Goldsmith: -
"On a beautiful Youth, struck blind by Lightning."
"Sure 'twas by Providence designed,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be like Cupid blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate."
The other is by Cowper: -
"On an ugly Fellow.
"Beware, my friend, of crystal brook
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou would'st pine
As self-enamoured he."
Clytie.
Clytie was a water-nymph and in love with Apollo, who made her no return. So
she pined away, sitting all day long upon the cold ground, with her unbound tresses
streaming over her shoulders. Nine days she sat and tasted neither food nor drink, her
own tears and the chilly dew her only food. She gazed on the sun when he rose, and as
he passed through his daily course to his setting; she saw no other object, her face
turned constantly on him. At last, they say, her limbs rooted in the ground, her face
became a flower, ^* which turns on its stem so as always to face the sun throughout its
daily course; for it retains to that extent the feeling of the nymph from whom it sprang.
[Footnote *: The Sunflower]
Hood in his Flowers thus alludes to Clytie: -
"I will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly quean,
Whom therefore I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of every one."
The sunflower is a favorite emblem of constancy. Thus Moore uses it: -
"The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look that she turned when he rose."
Hero And Leander.
Leander was a youth of Abydos, a town of the Asian side of 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 reared 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.
The following sonnet is by Keats: -
On A Picture Of Leander.
Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,
Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light,
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
And meekly let your fair hands joined be,
As if so gentle that ye could not see,
Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,
Sinking away
to his young spirit's night,
Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea.
'Tis young Leander toiling to his death.
Nigh swooning he doth purse his weary lips
For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile
O horrid dream! see how his body dips
Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile;
He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!
The story of Leander's swimming the Hellespont was looked upon as fabulous,
and the feat considered impossible, till Lord Byron proved its possibility by performing it
himself. In the Bride of Abydos he says, -
"These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne."
The distance in the narrowest part is almost a mile, and there is a constant
current setting out from the Sea of Marmora into the Archipelago. Since Byron's time the
feat has been achieved by others; but it yet remains a test of strength and skill in the art
of swimming sufficient to give a wide and lasting celebrity to any one of our readers who
may dare to make the attempt and succeed in accomplishing it.
In the beginning of the second canto of the same poem, Byron thus alludes to
this story: -
"The winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormiest water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,
The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
O, when alone along the sky
The turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale and breaking foam,
And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds forbade to go,
He could not see, he would not hear
Or sound or sight foreboding fear.
His eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hailed above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
'Ye waves, divide not lovers long.'
That tale is old, but love anew
May nerve young hearts to prove as true."
Chapter XIV: Minerva - Niobe
Minerva.
Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, was the daughter of Jupiter. She was said to
have leaped forth from his brain, mature, and in complete armor. She presided over
the useful and ornamental arts, both those of men, - such as agriculture and navigation
- and those of women, - spinning, weaving, and needle-work. She was also a warlike
divinity; but it was defensive war only that she patronized, and she had no sympathy
with Mars's savage love of violence and bloodshed. Athens was her chosen seat, her
own city, awarded to her as the prize of a contest with Neptune, who also aspired to it.
The tale ran that in the reign of Cecrops, the first king of Athens, the two deities
contended for the possession of the city. The gods decreed that it should be awarded
to that one who produced the gift most useful to mortals. Neptune gave the horse;
Minerva produced the olive. The gods gave judgment that the olive was the more
useful of the two, and awarded the city to the goddess; and it was named after her,
Athens, her name in Greek being Athene.
There was another contest, in which a mortal dared to come in competition with
Minerva. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who had attained such skill in the arts of
weaving and embroidery that the Nymphs themselves would leave their groves and
fountains to come and gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was
done, but beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took the wool in its rude
state and formed it into rolls, or separated it with her fingers and carded it till it looked
as light and soft as a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove the web,
or, after it was woven, adorned it with her needle, one would have said that Minerva
herself had taught her. But this she denied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil
even of a goddess. "Let Minerva try her skill with mine," said she; "if beaten, I will pay
the penalty." Minerva heard this and was displeased. She assumed the form of an old
woman, and went and gave Arachne some friendly advice. "I have had much
experience," said she, "and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your
fellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess. On the contrary, I
advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you have said, and as she is merciful,
perhaps she will pardon you." Arachne stopped her spinning, and looked at the old
dame with anger in her countenance. "Keep your counsel," said she, "for your
daughters or hand-maids; for my part, I know what I say, and I stand to it. I am not
afraid of the goddess; let her try her skill, if she dare venture." "She comes," said
Minerva; and dropping her disguise, stood confessed. The Nymphs bent low in
homage, and all the bystanders paid reverence. Arachne alone was unterrified. She
blushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek, and then she grew pale. But she
stood to her resolve, and with a foolish conceit of her own skill rushed on her fate.
Minerva forbore no longer, nor interposed any further advice. They proceed to the
contest. Each takes her station and attaches the web to the beam. Then the slender
shuttle is passed in and out among the threads. The reed with its fine teeth strikes up
the woof into its place and compacts the web. Both work with speed; their skilful
hands move rapidly, and the excitement of the contest makes the labor light. Wool of
Tyrian dye is contrasted with that of other colors, shaded off into one another so
adroitly that the joining deceives the eye. Like the bow, whose long arch tinges the
heavens, formed by sunbeams reflected from the shower, ^* in which, where the colors
meet they seem as one, but at a little distance from the point of contact are wholly
different.
[Footnote *: This correct description of the rainbow is literally translated from
Ovid.]
Minerva wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Neptune. Twelve of
the heavenly powers are represented, Jupiter, with august gravity, sitting in the midst.
Neptune, the ruler of the sea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the
earth, from which a horse has leaped forth. Minerva depicted herself with helmed
head, her Aegis covering her breast. Such was the central circle; and in the four
corners were represented incidents illustrating the displeasure of the gods at such
presumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them. These were meant as
warnings to her rival to give up the contest before it was too late.
Arachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit the failings and
errors of the gods. One scene represented Leda caressing the swan, under which
form Jupiter had disguised himself; and another, Danae, in the brazen tower in which
her father had imprisoned her, but where the god effected his entrance in the form of a
golden shower. Still another depicted Europa deceived by Jupiter under the disguise
of a bull. Encouraged by the tameness of the animal, Europa ventured to mount his
back, whereupon Jupiter advanced into the sea, and swam with her to Crete. You
would have thought it was a real bull, so naturally was it wrought, and so natural the
water in which it swam. She seemed to look with longing eyes back upon the shore
&
nbsp; she was leaving, and to call to her companions for help. She appeared to shudder
with terror at the sight of the heaving waves, and to draw back her feet from the water.
Arachne filled her canvas with similar subjects, wonderfully well done, but
strongly marking her presumption and impiety. Minerva could not forbear to admire,
yet felt indignant at the insult. She struck the web with her shuttle, and rent it in
pieces; she then touched the forehead of Arachne, and made her feel her guilt and
shame. She could not endure it, and went and hanged herself Minerva pitied her as
she saw her suspended by a rope. "Live," she said, "guilty woman - and that you may
preserve the memory of this lesson continue to hang, both you and your descendants,
to all future times." She sprinkled her with the juices of aconite, and immediately her
hair came off, and her nose and ears likewise. Her form shrank up, and her head grew
smaller yet; her fingers cleaved to her side, and served for legs. All the rest of her is
body, out of which she spins her thread, often hanging suspended by it, in the same
attitude as when Minerva touched her and transformed her into a spider.
Spenser tells the story of Arachne in his Muiopotmos, adhering very closely to his
master Ovid, but improving upon him in the conclusion of the story. The two stanzas
which follow tell what was done after the goddess had depicted her creation of the
olive tree: -
"Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly,
With excellent device and wondrous slight,
Fluttering among the olives wantonly,
That seemed to live, so like it was in sight;
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,
The silken down with which his back is dight,
His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,
His glorious colors, and his glistening eyes." ^*
[Footnote *: Sir James Mackintosh says of this, "Do you think that even a
Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology Page 14