Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology

by Thomas Bulfinch

  his father, and finally exhibited the golden branch, at sight of which Charon's wrath

  relaxed, and he made haste to turn his bark to the shore, and receive them on board.

  The boat, adapted only to the light freight of bodiless spirits, groaned under the weight

  of the hero. They were soon conveyed to the opposite shore. There they were

  encountered by the three-headed dog Cerberus, with his necks bristling with snakes.

  He barked with all his-three throats till the Sibyl threw him a medicated cake, which he

  eagerly devoured, and then stretched himself out in his den and fell asleep. Aeneas

  and the Sibyl sprang to land. The first sound that struck their ears was the wailing of

  young children, who had died on the threshold of life, and near to these were they who

  had perished under false charges. Minos presides over them as judge, and examines

  the deeds of each. The next class was of those who had died by their own hand,

  hating life and seeking refuge in death. O, how willingly would they now endure

  poverty, labor, and any other infliction, if they might but return to life! Next were

  situated the regions of sadness, divided off into retired paths, leading through groves

  of myrtle. Here roamed those who had fallen victims to unrequited love, not freed from

  pain even by death itself. Among these, Aeneas thought he descried the form of Dido,

  with a wound still recent. In the dim light he was for a moment uncertain, but

  approaching, perceived it was indeed herself. Tears fell from his eyes, and he

  addressed her in the accents of love. "Unhappy Dido! was then the rumor true that you

  had perished? and was I, alas! the cause? I call the gods to witness that my departure

  from you was reluctant, and in obedience to the commands of Jove; nor could I believe

  that my absence would have cost you so dear. Stop, I beseech you, and refuse me

  not a last farewell." She stood for a moment with averted countenance, and eyes fixed

  on the ground, and then silently passed on, as insensible to his pleadings as a rock.

  Aeneas followed for some distance; then, with a heavy heart, rejoined his companion

  and resumed his route.

  They next entered the fields where roam the heroes who have fallen in battle.

  Here they saw many shades of Grecian and Trojan warriors. The Trojans thronged

  around him, and could not be satisfied with the sight. They asked the cause of his

  coming, and plied him with innumerable questions. But the Greeks, at the sight of his

  armor glittering through the murky atmosphere, recognized the hero, and filled with

  terror turned their backs and fled, as they used to do on the plains of Troy.

  Aeneas would have lingered long with his Trojan friends, but the Sibyl hurried

  him away. They next came to a place where the road divided, the one leading to

  Elysium, the other to the regions of the condemned. Aeneas beheld on one side the

  walls of a mighty city, around which Phlegethon rolled its fiery waters. Before him was

  the gate of adamant that neither gods nor men can break through. An iron tower stood

  by the gate, on which Tisiphone, the avenging Fury, kept guard. From the city were

  heard groans, and the sound of the scourge, the creaking of iron, and the clanking of

  chains. Aeneas, horror-struck, inquired of his guide what crimes were those whose

  punishments produced the sounds he heard? The Sibyl answered, "Here is the

  judgment hall of Rhadamanthus, who brings to light crimes done in life, which the

  perpetrator vainly thought impenetrably hid. Tisiphone applies her whip of scorpions,

  and delivers the offender over to her sister Furies. At this moment with horrid clang

  the brazen gates unfolded, and Aeneas saw within, a Hydra with fifty heads, guarding

  the entrance. The Sibyl told him that the gulf of Tartarus descended deep, so that its

  recesses were as far beneath their feet as heaven was high above their heads. In the

  bottom of this pit, the Titan race, who warred against the gods, lie prostrate;

  Salmoneus, also, who presumed to vie with Jupiter, and built a bridge of brass over

  which he drove his chariot that the sound might resemble thunder, launching flaming

  brands at his people in imitation of lightning, till Jupiter struck him with a real

  thunderbolt, and taught him the difference between mortal weapons and divine. Here,

  also, is Tityus, the giant, whose form is so immense that as he lies, he stretches over

  nine acres, while a vulture preys upon his liver, which as fast as it is devoured grows

  again, so that his punishment will have no end.

  Aeneas saw groups seated at tables loaded with dainties, while near by stood a

  Fury who snatched away the viands from their lips, as fast as they prepared to taste

  them. Others beheld suspended over their heads huge rocks, threatening to fall,

  keeping them in a state of constant alarm. These were they who had hated their

  brothers, or struck their parents, or defrauded the friends who trusted them, or who,

  having grown rich, kept their money to themselves, and gave no share to others; the

  last being the most numerous class. Here also were those who had violated the

  marriage vow, or fought in a bad cause, or failed in fidelity to their employers. Here

  was one who had sold his country for gold, another who perverted the laws, making

  them say one thing to-day and another tomorrow.

  Ixion was there, fastened to the circumference of a wheel ceaselessly revolving;

  and Sisyphus, whose task was to roll a huge stone up to a hill- top, but when the steep

  was well-nigh gained, the rock, repulsed by some sudden force, rushed again

  headlong down to the plain. Again he toiled at it, while the sweat bathed all his weary

  limbs, but all to no effect. There was Tantalus, who stood in a pool, his chin level with

  the water, yet he was parched with thirst, and found nothing to assuage it; for when he

  bowed his hoary head, eager to quaff, the water fled away, leaving the ground at his

  feet all dry. Tall trees laden with fruit stooped their heads to him, pears,

  pomegranates, apples, and luscious figs; but when with a sudden grasp he tried to

  seize them, winds whirled them high above his reach.

  The Sibyl now warned Aeneas that it was time to turn from these melancholy

  regions and seek the city of the blessed. They passed through a middle tract of

  darkness, and came upon the Elysian fields, the groves where the happy reside. They

  breathed a freer air, and saw all objects clothed in a purple light. The region has a sun

  and stars of its own. The inhabitants were enjoying themselves in various ways, some

  in sports on the grassy turf, in games of strength or skill, others dancing or singing.

  Orpheus struck the chords of his lyre, and called forth ravishing sounds. Here Aeneas

  saw the founders of the Trojan state, magnanimous heroes who lived in happier times.

  He gazed with admiration on the war chariots and glittering arms now reposing in

  disuse. Spears stood fixed in the ground, and the horses, unharnessed, roamed over

  the plain. The same pride in splendid armor and generous steeds which the old

  heroes felt in life, accompanied them here. He saw another group feasting, and

  listening to the strains of music. They were in a laurel grove, whence the great river

  Po has its origin, and flows out among men. Here dwelt those who fell by wounds

  received in their coun
try's cause, holy priests also, and poets who have uttered

  thoughts worthy of Apollo, and others who have contributed to cheer and adorn life by

  their discoveries in the useful arts, and have made their memory blessed by rendering

  service to mankind. They wore snow-white fillets about their brows. The Sibyl

  addressed a group of these, and inquired where Anchises was to be found. They were

  directed where to seek him, and soon found him in a verdant valley, where he was

  contemplating the ranks of his posterity, their destinies and worthy deeds to be

  achieved in coming times. When he recognized Aeneas approaching, he stretched out

  both hands to him, while tears flowed freely. "Have you come at last," said he, "long

  expected, and do I behold you after such perils past? O my son, how have I trembled

  for you as I have watched your career!" To which Aeneas replied, "O father! your

  image was always before me to guide and guard me." Then he endeavored to enfold

  his father in his embrace, but his arms enclosed only an unsubstantial image.

  Aeneas perceived before him a spacious valley, with trees gently waving to the

  wind, a tranquil landscape, through which the river Lethe flowed. Along the banks of

  the stream wandered a countless multitude, numerous as insects in the summer air.

  Aeneas, with surprise, inquired who were these. Anchises answered, "They are souls

  to which bodies are to be given in due time. Meanwhile they dwell on Lethe's bank,

  and drink oblivion of their former lives." "O, father!" said Aeneas, "is it possible that any

  can be so in love with life, as to wish to leave these tranquil seats for the upper world?"

  Anchises replied by explaining the plan of creation. The Creator, he told him, originally

  made the material of which souls are composed, of the four elements, fire, air, earth,

  and water, all which when united took the form of the most excellent part, fire, and

  became flame. This material was scattered like seed among the heavenly bodies, the

  sun, moon, and stars. Of this seed the inferior gods created man and all other

  animals, mingling it with various proportions of earth, by which its purity was alloyed

  and reduced. Thus the more earth predominates in the composition, the less pure is

  the individual; and we see men and women with their full-grown bodies have not the

  purity of childhood. So in proportion to the time which the union of body and soul has

  lasted, is the impurity contracted by the spiritual part. This impurity must be purged

  away after death, which is done by ventilating the souls in the current of winds, or

  merging them in water, or burning out their impurities by fire. Some few, of whom

  Anchises intimates that he is one, are admitted at once to Elysium, there to remain.

  But the rest, after the impurities of earth are purged away, are sent back to life

  endowed with new bodies, having had the remembrance of their former lives

  effectually washed away by the waters of Lethe. Some, however, there still are, so

  thoroughly corrupted, that they are not fit to be intrusted with human bodies, and these

  are made into brute animals, lions, tigers, cats, dogs, monkeys, &c. This is what the

  ancients called Metempsychosis, or the transmigration of souls; a doctrine which is still

  held by the natives of India, who scruple to destroy the life, even of the most

  insignificant animal, not knowing but it may be one of their relations in an altered form.

  Anchises, having explained so much, proceeded to point out to Aeneas

  individuals of his race, who were hereafter to be born, and to relate to him the exploits

  they should perform in the world. After this he reverted to the present, and told his son

  of the events that remained to him to be accomplished before the complete

  establishment of himself and his followers in Italy. Wars were to be waged, battles

  fought, a bride to be won, and in the result a Trojan state founded, from which should

  rise the Roman power, to be in time the sovereign of the world.

  Aeneas and the Sibyl then took leave of Anchises, and returned by some short

  cut, which the poet does not explain, to the upper world.

  Elysium.

  Virgil, we have seen, places his Elysium under the earth, and assigns it for a

  residence to the spirits of the blessed. But in Homer Elysium forms no part of the

  realms of the dead. He places it on the west of the earth, near Ocean, and describes it

  as a happy land, where there is neither snow, nor cold, nor rain, and always fanned by

  the delightful breezes of Zephyrus. Hither favored heroes pass without dying and live

  happy under the rule of Rhadamanthus. The Elysium of Hesiod and Pindar is in the

  Isles of the Blessed, or Fortunate Islands, in the Western Ocean. From these sprang

  the legend of the happy island Atlantis. This blissful region may have been wholly

  imaginary, but possibly may have sprung from the reports of some storm-driven

  mariners who had caught a glimpse of the coast of America.

  J. R. Lowell, in one of his shorter poems, claims for the present age some of the

  privileges of that happy realm Addressing the Past, he says, -

  "Whatever of true life there was in thee,

  Leaps in our age's veins."

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  "Here, 'mid the bleak waves of our strife and care,

  Float the green 'Fortunate Isles,'

  Where all thy hero-spirits dwell and share

  Our martyrdoms and toils.

  The present moves attended

  With all of brave and excellent and fair

  That made the old time splendid."

  Milton also alludes to the same fable in P. L., Book III., l. 568.

  "Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old,

  Fortunate fields and groves and flowery vales,

  Thrice happy isles."

  And in Book II. he characterizes the rivers of Erebus according to the meaning of

  their names in the Greek language: -

  "Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate,

  Sad Acheron of sorrow black and deep;

  Cocytus named of lamentation loud

  Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon

  Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.

  Far off from these a slow and silent stream,

  Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls

  Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks

  Forthwith his former state and being forgets,

  Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain."

  The Sibyl.

  As Aeneas and the Sibyl pursued their way back to earth, he said to her,

  "Whether thou be a goddess or a mortal beloved of the gods, by me thou shalt always

  be held in reverence. When I reach the upper air, I will cause a temple to be built to thy

  honor, and will myself bring offerings." "I am no goddess," said the Sibyl; "I have no

  claim to sacrifice or offering. I am mortal; yet if I could have accepted the love of Apollo,

  I might have been immortal. He promised me the fulfilment of my wish, if I would consent

  to be his. I took a handful of sand, and holding it forth, said, 'Grant me to see as many

  birthdays as there are sand grains in my hand.' Unluckily I forgot to ask for enduring

  youth. This also he would have granted, could I have accepted his love, but offended at

  my refusal, he allowed me to grow old. My youth and youthful strength fled long ago. I

  have lived seven hundred years, and to equal the nu
mber of the sand-grains, I have still

  to see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests. My body shrinks up as years

  increase, and in time, I shall be lost to sight, but my voice will remain, and future ages

  will respect my sayings.

  These concluding words of the Sibyl alluded to her prophetic power. In her cave

  she was accustomed to inscribe on leaves gathered from the trees the names and fates

  of individuals. The leaves thus inscribed were arranged in order within the cave, and

  might be consulted by her votaries. But if perchance at the opening of the door the wind

  rushed in and dispersed the leaves, the Sibyl gave no aid to restoring them again, and

  the oracle was irreparably lost.

  The following legend of the Sibyl is fixed at a later date. In the reign of one of the

  Tarquins there appeared before the king a woman who offered him nine books for sale.

  The king refused to purchase them, whereupon the woman went away and burned three

  of the books, and returning offered the remaining books for the same price she had

  asked for the nine. The king again rejected them; but when the woman, after burning

  three books more, returned and asked for the three remaining the same price which she

  had before asked for the nine, his curiosity was excited, and he purchased the books.

  They were found to contain the destinies of the Roman state. They were kept in the

  temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, preserved in a stone chest, and allowed to be inspected

  only by especial officers appointed for that duty, who on great occasions consulted them

  and interpreted their oracles to the people.

  There were various Sibyls; but the Cumaean Sibyl, of whom Ovid and Virgil write,

  is the most celebrated of them. Ovid's story of her life protracted to one thousand years

  may be intended to represent the various Sibyls as being only reappearances of one and

  the same individual.

  Young, in the Night Thoughts, alludes to the Sibyl Speaking of Worldly Wisdom,