Flavius Josephus - "The Antiquities of the Jews"

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The Age of Fable

T >> Thomas Bulfinch >> The Age of Fable




There is a tradition that Cadmus introduced into Greece the
letters of the alphabet which were invented by the Phoenicians.
This is alluded to by Byron, where, addressing the modern Greeks,
he says:

"You have the letters Cadmus gave,
Think you he meant them for a slave?"

Milton, describing the serpent which tempted Eve, is reminded of
the serpents of the classical stories and says:

... "--pleasing was his shape,
And lovely never since of serpent kind
Lovelier; not those that in Illyria changed
Hermione and Cadmus, nor the god
In Epidaurus"

For an explanation of the last allusion, see Oracle of
Aesculapius, p. 298.

THE MYRMIDONS

The Myrmidons were the soldiers of Achilles, in the Trojan war.
From them all zealous and unscrupulous followers of a political
chief are called by that name, down to this day. But the origin of
the Myrmidons would not give one the idea of a fierce and bloody
race, but rather of a laborious and peaceful one.

Cephalus, king of Athens, arrived in the island of Aegina to seek
assistance of his old friend and ally Aeacus, the king, in his war
with Minos, king of Crete. Cephalus was most kindly received, and
the desired assistance readily promised. "I have people enough,"
said Aeacus, "to protect myself and spare you such a force as you
need." "I rejoice to see it," replied Cephalus, "and my wonder has
been raised, I confess, to find such a host of youths as I see
around me, all apparently of about the same age. Yet there are
many individuals whom I previously knew, that I look for now in
vain. What has become of them?" Aeacus groaned, and replied with a
voice of sadness, "I have been intending to tell you, and will now
do so, without more delay, that you may see how from the saddest
beginning a happy result sometimes flows. Those whom you formerly
knew are now dust and ashes! A plague sent by angry Juno
devastated the land. She hated it because it bore the name of one
of her husband's female favorites. While the disease appeared to
spring from natural causes we resisted it, as we best might, by
natural remedies; but it soon appeared that the pestilence was too
powerful for our efforts, and we yielded. At the beginning the sky
seemed to settle down upon the earth, and thick clouds shut in the
heated air. For four months together a deadly south wind
prevailed. The disorder affected the wells and springs; thousands
of snakes crept over the land and shed their poison in the
fountains. The force of the disease was first spent on the lower
animals--dogs, cattle, sheep, and birds The luckless ploughman
wondered to see his oxen fall in the midst of their work, and lie
helpless in the unfinished furrow. The wool fell from the bleating
sheep, and their bodies pined away. The horse, once foremost in
the race, contested the palm no more, but groaned at his stall and
died an inglorious death. The wild boar forgot his rage, the stag
his swiftness, the bears no longer attacked the herds. Everything
languished; dead bodies lay in the roads, the fields, and the
woods; the air was poisoned by them, I tell you what is hardly
credible, but neither dogs nor birds would touch them, nor
starving wolves. Their decay spread the infection. Next the
disease attacked the country people, and then the dwellers in the
city. At first the cheek was flushed, and the breath drawn with
difficulty. The tongue grew rough and swelled, and the dry mouth
stood open with its veins enlarged and gasped for the air. Men
could not bear the heat of their clothes or their beds, but
preferred to lie on the bare ground; and the ground did not cool
them, but, on the contrary, they heated the spot where they lay.
Nor could the physicians help, for the disease attacked them also,
and the contact of the sick gave them infection, so that the most
faithful were the first victims. At last all hope of relief
vanished, and men learned to look upon death as the only deliverer
from disease. Then they gave way to every inclination, and cared
not to ask what was expedient, for nothing was expedient. All
restraint laid aside, they crowded around the wells and fountains
and drank till they died, without quenching thirst. Many had not
strength to get away from the water, but died in the midst of the
stream, and others would drink of it notwithstanding. Such was
their weariness of their sick beds that some would creep forth,
and if not strong enough to stand, would die on the ground. They
seemed to hate their friends, and got away from their homes, as
if, not knowing the cause of their sickness, they charged it on
the place of their abode. Some were seen tottering along the road,
as long as they could stand, while others sank on the earth, and
turned their dying eyes around to take a last look, then closed
them in death.

"What heart had I left me, during all this, or what ought I to
have had, except to hate life and wish to be with my dead
subjects? On all sides lay my people strewn like over-ripened
apples beneath the tree, or acorns under the storm-shaken oak. You
see yonder a temple on the height. It is sacred to Jupiter. O how
many offered prayers there, husbands for wives, fathers for sons,
and died in the very act of supplication! How often, while the
priest made ready for sacrifice, the victim fell, struck down by
disease without waiting for the blow! At length all reverence for
sacred things was lost. Bodies were thrown out unburied, wood was
wanting for funeral piles, men fought with one another for the
possession of them. Finally there were none left to mourn; sons
and husbands, old men and youths, perished alike unlamented.

"Standing before the altar I raised my eyes to heaven. 'O
Jupiter,' I said, 'if thou art indeed my father, and art not
ashamed of thy offspring, give me back my people, or take me also
away!' At these words a clap of thunder was heard. 'I accept the
omen,' I cried; 'O may it be a sign of a favorable disposition
towards me!' By chance there grew by the place where I stood an
oak with wide-spreading branches, sacred to Jupiter. I observed a
troop of ants busy with their labor, carrying minute grains in
their mouths and following one another in a line up the trunk of
the tree. Observing their numbers with admiration, I said, 'Give
me, O father, citizens as numerous as these, and replenish my
empty city.' The tree shook and gave a rustling sound with its
branches, though no wind agitated them. I trembled in every limb,
yet I kissed the earth and the tree. I would not confess to myself
that I hoped, yet I did hope. Night came on and sleep took
possession of my frame oppressed with cares. The tree stood before
me in my dreams, with its numerous branches all covered with
living, moving creatures. It seemed to shake its limbs and throw
down over the ground a multitude of those industrious grain-
gathering animals, which appeared to gain in size, and grow larger
and larger, and by and by to stand erect, lay aside their
superfluous legs and their black color, and finally to assume the
human form. Then I awoke, and my first impulse was to chide the
gods who had robbed me of a sweet vision and given me no reality
in its place. Being still in the temple, my attention was caught
by the sound of many voices without; a sound of late unusual to my
ears. While I began to think I was yet dreaming, Telamon, my son,
throwing open the temple gates, exclaimed: 'Father, approach, and
behold things surpassing even your hopes!' I went forth; I saw a
multitude of men, such as I had seen in my dream, and they were
passing in procession in the same manner. While I gazed with
wonder and delight they approached and kneeling hailed me as their
king. I paid my vows to Jove, and proceeded to allot the vacant
city to the new-born race, and to parcel out the fields among them
I called them Myrmidons, from the ant (myrmex) from which they
sprang. You have seen these persons; their dispositions resemble
those which they had in their former shape. They are a diligent
and industrious race, eager to gain, and tenacious of their gains.
Among them you may recruit your forces. They will follow you to
the war, young in years and bold in heart." This description of
the plague is copied by Ovid from the account which Thucydides,
the Greek historian, gives of the plague of Athens. The historian
drew from life, and all the poets and writers of fiction since his
day, when they have had occasion to describe a similar scene, have
borrowed their details from him.





CHAPTER XIII

NISUS AND SCYLLA--ECHO AND NARCISSUS--CLYTIE--HERO AND LEANDER

NISUS AND SCYLLA


Minos, king of Crete, made war upon Megara. Nisus was king of
Megara, and Scylla was his daughter. The siege had now lasted six
months and the city still held out, for it was decreed by fate
that it should not be taken so long as a certain purple lock,
which glittered among the hair of King Nisus, remained on his
head. There was a tower on the city walls, which overlooked the
plain where Minos and his army were encamped. To this tower Scylla
used to repair, and look abroad over the tents of the hostile
army. The siege had lasted so long that she had learned to
distinguish the persons of the leaders. Minos, in particular,
excited her admiration. Arrayed in his helmet, and bearing his
shield, she admired his graceful deportment; if he threw his
javelin skill seemed combined with force in the discharge; if he
drew his bow Apollo himself could not have done it more
gracefully. But when he laid aside his helmet, and in his purple
robes bestrode his white horse with its gay caparisons, and reined
in its foaming mouth, the daughter of Nisus was hardly mistress of
herself; she was almost frantic with admiration. She envied the
weapon that he grasped, the reins that he held. She felt as if she
could, if it were possible, go to him through the hostile ranks;
she felt an impulse to cast herself down from the tower into the
midst of his camp, or to open the gates to him, or to do anything
else, so only it might gratify Minos. As she sat in the tower, she
talked thus with herself: "I know not whether to rejoice or grieve
at this sad war. I grieve that Minos is our enemy; but I rejoice
at any cause that brings him to my sight. Perhaps he would be
willing to grant us peace, and receive me as a hostage. I would
fly down, if I could, and alight in his camp, and tell him that we
yield ourselves to his mercy. But then, to betray my father! No!
rather would I never see Minos again. And yet no doubt it is
sometimes the best thing for a city to be conquered, when the
conqueror is clement and generous. Minos certainly has right on
his side. I think we shall be conquered; and if that must be the
end of it, why should not love unbar the gates to him, instead of
leaving it to be done by war? Better spare delay and slaughter if
we can. And O if any one should wound or kill Minos! No one surely
would have the heart to do it; yet ignorantly, not knowing him,
one might. I will, I will surrender myself to him, with my country
as a dowry, and so put an end to the war. But how? The gates are
guarded, and my father keeps the keys; he only stands in my way. O
that it might please the gods to take him away! But why ask the
gods to do it? Another woman, loving as I do, would remove with
her own hands whatever stood in the way of her love. And can any
other woman dare more than I? I would encounter fire and sword to
gain my object; but here there is no need of fire and sword. I
only need my father's purple lock. More precious than gold to me,
that will give me all I wish."

While she thus reasoned night came on, and soon the whole palace
was buried in sleep. She entered her father's bedchamber and cut
off the fatal lock; then passed out of the city and entered the
enemy's camp. She demanded to be led to the king, and thus
addressed him: "I am Scylla, the daughter of Nisus. I surrender to
you my country and my father's house. I ask no reward but
yourself; for love of you I have done it. See here the purple
lock! With this I give you my father and his kingdom." She held
out her hand with the fatal spoil. Minos shrunk back and refused
to touch it. "The gods destroy thee, infamous woman," he
exclaimed; "disgrace of our time! May neither earth nor sea yield
thee a resting-place! Surely, my Crete, where Jove himself was
cradled, shall not be polluted with such a monster!" Thus he said,
and gave orders that equitable terms should be allowed to the
conquered city, and that the fleet should immediately sail from
the island.

Scylla was frantic. "Ungrateful man," she exclaimed, "is it thus
you leave me?--me who have given you victory,--who have sacrificed
for you parent and country! I am guilty, I confess, and deserve to
die, but not by your hand." As the ships left the shore, she
leaped into the water, and seizing the rudder of the one which
carried Minos, she was borne along an unwelcome companion of their
course. A sea-eagle ing aloft,--it was her father who had been
changed into that form,--seeing her, pounced down upon her, and
struck her with his beak and claws. In terror she let go the ship
and would have fallen into the water, but some pitying deity
changed her into a bird. The sea-eagle still cherishes the old
animosity; and whenever he espies her in his lofty flight you may
see him dart down upon her, with beak and claws, to take vengeance
for the ancient crime.

ECHO AND NARCISSUS

Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she
devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana,
and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was
fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument, would have the
last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had
reason to fear, 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 in
these words: "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."

This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the
chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his
footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest accents,
and win him to converse! 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, being 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." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun
me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said
the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words,
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.
He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of
the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among
mountain cliffs. 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 endeavored 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, to which the
shepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats
resorted, nor any of the beasts of the forest; 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 wi vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;'" etc.

--Paradise Lost, Book IV.

No one of the fables of antiquity has been oftener alluded to 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 [Footnote: The sunflower.] 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.

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 needlework. 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.

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