Myths of Greece and Rome Part 6

Several beautiful children were born to Mars and Venus. Hermione, or Harmonia, their daughter, married Cadmus, King of Thebes; and Cupid (Cupido, Eros, Amor), their little son, was appointed G.o.d of love. Although nursed with tender solicitude, this second-born child did not grow as other children do, but remained a small, rosy, chubby child, with gauzy wings and roguish, dimpled face. Alarmed for his health, Venus consulted Themis, who oracularly replied, "Love cannot grow without Pa.s.sion."

In vain the G.o.ddess strove to catch the concealed meaning of this answer. It was only revealed to her when Anteros, G.o.d of pa.s.sion, was born. When with his brother, Cupid grew and flourished, until he became a handsome, slender youth; but when separated from him, he invariably resumed his childish form and mischievous habits.

[Sidenote: Venus and Adonis.]

Venus, however, did not lavish all her love upon Mars, for she is said to have felt a tender pa.s.sion for a young man named Adonis, a bold young hunter, whose rash pursuit of dangerous game caused Venus many anxious alarms. In vain she besought him to forego the pleasures of the chase and remain with her. He laughingly escaped, and continued to join the other hunters in his favorite sport. But, alas! one day, after an exciting pursuit, he boldly attacked a wild boar, which, goaded to madness, turned upon him, buried his strong tusk in the youth's unprotected side, and trampled him to death.

"The white tusk of a boar has transpierced his white thigh.

"The youth lieth dead while his dogs howl around, And the nymphs weep aloud from the mists of the hill."

Bion (Mrs. Browning's tr.).

Venus ran straight to the scene of his tragic death, rus.h.i.+ng through underbrush and briers, tearing her delicate skin, and her blood tingeing all the white roses along her way to a faint pink. When she arrived, she found her beloved Adonis cold in death, and her pa.s.sionate caresses met with no response. Then she burst into such a pa.s.sion of tears, that the wood and water nymphs, the G.o.ds, men, and all nature in fact, joined with her to mourn the beloved youth.

"Her loss the Loves deplore: Woe, Venus, woe! Adonis is no more."

Bion (Elton's tr.).

[Ill.u.s.tration: SLEEPING LOVE.--Perrault.]

Very reluctantly Mercury at last appeared to lead the soul of the departed down into the Infernal Regions, where it was welcomed by Proserpina, queen of the realm, and led to the place where pure and virtuous mortals enjoyed an eternity of bliss. Venus, still inconsolable, shed countless tears, which, as they dropped upon the ground, were changed to anemones, while the red drops which had fallen from Adonis' side were transformed into red roses.

"As many drops as from Adonis bled, So many tears the sorrowing Venus shed: For every drop on earth a flower there grows: Anemones for tears; for blood the rose."

Bion (Elton's tr.).

As time did not soften Venus' grief, but, on the contrary, made it more and more unendurable, she went to Olympus, where she fell at Jupiter's feet, imploring him to release Adonis from death's embrace, or allow her to share his lot in Hades.

To allow Beauty to desert the earth was not possible, nor could he resist her pleading: so he finally decreed that Adonis should be restored to her longing arms. But Pluto, whose subject he had now become, refused to yield up Adonis; and after much dispute a compromise was agreed upon, by virtue of which Adonis was allowed to spend one half of the year on earth, providing he spent the remaining six months in the Elysian Fields.

In early spring, therefore, Adonis left the Lower World, and came with bounding tread to join his beloved. On his path the flowers bloomed and the birds sang, to show their joy at his coming. An emblem of vegetation, which rises from the ground in early spring to deck the earth with beautiful foliage and flowers, and cause the birds to sing for gladness, Adonis reluctantly returned to Hades, when Winter, the cruel boar, slew him again with his white tusk, and made nature again droop, and mourn his departure.

"But even in death, so strong is Love, I could not wholly die; and year by year, When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives, Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth Across the gulf."

Lewis Morris.

[Sidenote: Venus and Anchises.]

The G.o.ddess of Beauty also loved Anchises, Prince of Troy, but, ashamed of lavis.h.i.+ng favors upon a mere mortal, extorted from him a promise that he would never reveal their secret marriage. Unfortunately, however, Anchises was of a boastful disposition, and ere long yielded to temptation and revealed the secret, incurring her wrath to such an extent, that some mythologists accuse her of borrowing one of Jupiter's thunderbolts and slaying him. Others, however, report that Anchises lived to a ripe old age, and escaped from burning Troy on his son AEneas' back. Venus' love was, however, all transferred to her son AEneas, whom she signally protected throughout his checkered career.

[Sidenote: Story of Hero and Leander.]

Venus' most ardent admirers and faithful wors.h.i.+pers were the young people, for she delighted in their youthful sentiments, and was ever ready to lend a helping hand to all true lovers when apparently insurmountable obstacles appeared on their path.

This was the case with a lovely maiden by the name of Hero, who was dedicated by her parents to Venus' service, and, as soon as old enough, spent all her time in the temple, ministering to the G.o.ddess, or in a lonely tower by the sea, where she dwelt alone with her aged nurse.

"Honey-sweet Hero, of a princely race, Was priestess to Queen Venus in that place; And at her father's tower, by the sea set-- Herself a Queen of Love, though maiden yet-- Dwelt."

Edwin Arnold.

The maiden's beauty increased with her years, until the fame of her loveliness spread throughout her native city Sestus, and even pa.s.sed over the h.e.l.lespont and reached Abydus, where Leander, the bravest and handsomest youth of the town, was fired with a desire to view the charming young priestess.

Just at that time a solemn festival in honor of Venus was to be celebrated at Sestus, to which all the youths and maidens were cordially invited. Under pretext of paying homage to the G.o.ddess, Leander entered her temple, and saw the young priestess, whose charms far surpa.s.sed all descriptions.

Venus, as has already been stated, was always deeply interested in young lovers; and when she saw these two, so well matched in beauty and grace, she bade Cupid pierce them with his love darts, which behest the mischief-loving G.o.d immediately obeyed.

"G.o.d Eros, setting notch to string, Wounded two bosoms with one shaft-shooting, A maiden's and a youth's--Leander he, And lovely Hero, Sestos' sweetest, she; She of her town, and he of his, the boast; A n.o.ble pair!"

Edwin Arnold.

An undying pa.s.sion was thus simultaneously kindled in both young hearts; and, thanks to Venus' a.s.sistance, Leander managed to exchange a few words with Hero, declared his love, implored her to view his suit kindly, and, above all, to grant him a private interview, or he would surely die.

The maiden listened to his pleading with mingled joy and terror, for she knew her parents would never consent to their union. Then, afraid lest some one should notice that she was talking to a stranger, she bade him depart; but he refused to go until he had learned where she lived, and proposed to swim across the h.e.l.lespont when the shades of night had fallen, and none could see his goal, and pay her a visit in her lonely tower.

"'Sweet! for thy love,' he cried, 'the sea I'd cleave, Though foam were fire, and waves with flame did heave, I fear not billows if they bear to thee; Nor tremble at the hissing of the sea! And I will come--oh! let me come--each night, Swimming the swift flood to my dear delight: For white Abydos, where I live, doth front Thy city here, across our h.e.l.lespont.'"

Edwin Arnold.

At last his prayers overcame the maiden's scruples, and she arranged to receive him in her sea-girt tower, promising at a given hour to light a torch and hold it aloft to guide him safely across the sea. Then only he departed.

Night came on; darkness stole over the earth; and Leander impatiently paced the sandy sh.o.r.e, and watched for the promised signal, which no sooner appeared, than he exultantly plunged into the dark waves, and parted them with l.u.s.ty strokes, as he hastened across the deep to join his beloved. At times the huge billows towered above his head; but when he had escaped their threatening depths, and rose up on their foamy crests, he could catch a glimpse of the torch burning brightly, and pictured to himself the shy, sweet blushes which would dye Hero's cheek as he clasped her to his pa.s.sionate heart.

"Leander had no fear--he cleft the wave-- What is the peril fond hearts will not brave!"

Landon.

Venus, from the top of "many-peaked Olympus," smilingly viewed the success of her scheme, and nerved Leander's arm to cleave the rapid current. At last he reached the tower steps, and was lovingly greeted by Hero, whose heart had throbbed with anxiety at the thought of the perils her lover was braving for the sake of seeing her once more.

It was only when the dawn began to whiten the east, that the lovers finished their interview and parted, he to return to Abydus, and she to prepare for the daily duties which would soon claim her attention. But separation by day was all these fond lovers could endure, and night after night, as soon as the first stars appeared, Hero lighted her torch, and Leander hastened to her, to linger by her side till dawn.

"Thus pa.s.s'd the summer shadows in delight: Leander came as surely as the night, And when the morning woke upon the sea, It saw him not, for back at home was he."

Hunt.

No one suspected their meetings; and all went well until the first fierce storms of winter swept down over the h.e.l.lespont. Hero, in the gray dawn of a winter's morning, besought her lover not to leave her to battle against the waves, which beat so violently against the stone tower; but he gently laughed at her fears, and departed, promising to return at night as usual.

The storm, which had raged so fiercely already in the early morning, increased in violence as the day wore on, until the waves were lashed into foam, while the wind howled more and more ominously as the darkness came on again; but none of these signs could deter Leander from visiting Hero.

"There came one night, the wildest of the year, When the wind smote like edge of hissing spear, And the pale breakers thundered on the beach."

Edwin Arnold.

All day long Hero had hoped that her lover would renounce his nightly journey; but still, when evening came, she lighted her torch to serve as beacon, should he risk all to keep his word. The wind blew so fiercely, that the torch wavered and flickered, and nearly went out, although Hero protected its feeble flame by standing over it with outstretched robes.

At sight of the wonted signal, Leander, who had already once been beaten back by the waves, made a second attempt to cross the strait, calling upon the G.o.ds to lend him their aid. But this time his prayers were unheard, drowned in the fury of the storm; yet he struggled on a while longer, with Hero's name on his lips.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HERO AND LEANDER.--Bodenhausen.]

At last, exhausted and ready to sink, he lifted his eyes once more to view the cheering light. It was gone, extinguished by a pa.s.sing gust of wind. Like a stone Leander sank, once, twice, thrice, and the billows closed forever over his head.

Hero in the mean while had relighted her torch, and, quite unconscious of the tragedy which had taken place, stood on the tower, straining her eyes to pierce the darkness. All night long she waited and watched for the lover who did not come; and, when the first sunbeams shone over the tossing sea, she cast an anxious glance over the waters to Abydus. No one was in sight as far as she could see. She was about to descend to pursue her daily tasks, when, glancing at the foot of the tower, she saw her lover's corpse heaving up and down on the waves.

"As shaken on his restless pillow, His head heaves with the heaving billow; That hand, whose motion is not life, Yet feebly seems to menace strife, Flung by the tossing tide on high, Then level'd with the wave."

Byron.

Hero's heart broke at this sad sight, and she longed to die, too, that she might not be parted from Leander. To hasten their meeting, she threw herself into the sea, and perished in the waves, close by his side. Thus lived and died the faithful lovers, whose attachment has pa.s.sed into a proverb.

Byron, the celebrated English bard, attempted Leander's feat of swimming across the h.e.l.lespont, and, on his return from that dangerous venture, wrote the following lines, which are so familiar to all English-speaking people:-- "The winds are high on h.e.l.le's wave, As on that night of stormy water When Love, who sent, forgot to save The young, the beautiful, the brave, The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter. Oh! when alone along the sky Her turret torch was blazing high, Though rising gale, and breaking foam, And shrieking sea-birds warn'd 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 sign foreboding fear; His eye but saw that light of love, The only star it hail'd 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."

[Sidenote: Pyramus and Thisbe.]

An equally loving and unfortunate pair were Pyramus and Thisbe. Although no waves divided them, and they had the good fortune to occupy adjoining houses in Babylon, their parents having quarreled, they were forbidden to see or speak to each other. This decree wrung their tender hearts; and their continuous sighs finally touched Venus, who prepared to give them her aid. Thanks to this G.o.ddess's kind offices, a crack was discovered in the party wall, through which the lovers could peep at each other, converse, and even, it is said, exchange a kiss or two.

Sundry stolen interviews through this crack made them long for uninterrupted and unrestrained meetings: so they made an appointment to meet on a certain day and hour, under a white mulberry tree, just without the city gates.

Thisbe, anxious to see her lover, was the first to reach the trysting place, and, as she slowly paced back and forth to while away the time of waiting, she wondered what had happened to delay Pyramus. Her meditation was suddenly broken by a rustling sound in some neighboring bushes; and, thinking Pyramus was concealed there, she was about to call to him that he was discovered, when, instead of her lover, she saw a lion emerge from the thicket and come towards her, slowly las.h.i.+ng his sides with his tail, and licking his b.l.o.o.d.y jaws. With one terrified shriek the girl ran away, dropping her veil, which the lion caught in his b.l.o.o.d.y mouth and tore to shreds, before beating a retreat into the forest.

Shortly after, Pyramus came rus.h.i.+ng up, out of breath, and full of loving excuses for Thisbe, who was not there, however, to receive them. Wondering at her absence, Pyramus looked around, and after a short investigation discerned the lion's footprints and the mangled veil. These signs sufficed to convince him that Thisbe had perished, and in a fit of despair he drew his dagger from its sheath and thrust it into his heart.

A few minutes later, Thisbe cautiously drew near, peering anxiously about to discover whether the lion were still lurking near. Her first glance showed her Pyramus stretched dead beneath the mulberry tree, with her b.l.o.o.d.y veil pressed convulsively to his lips. With a cry of terror she flew to his side, and tried to revive him; but, when a.s.sured that all her efforts were in vain, she drew the dagger from his breast, and, plunging it into her own bosom, fell beside him quite lifeless.

"In her bosom plunged the sword, All warm and reeking from its slaughtered lord."

Ovid (Eusden's tr.).

Since that ominous day the fruit of the mulberry tree, which had been white, a.s.sumed a blood-like hue, dyed by the blood which flowed from the death wounds of Pyramus and Thisbe.

[Sidenote: Echo and Narcissus.]

The lovely and talkative nymph Echo lived free from care and whole of heart until she met Narcissus, hunting in the forest. This frivolous young lady no sooner beheld the youth, than she fell deeply in love with him, and was proportionately grieved when she saw that he did not return her affections.

All her blandishments were unavailing, and, in her despair at his hard-heartedness, she implored Venus to punish him by making him suffer the pangs of unrequited love; then, melancholy and longing to die, she wandered off into the mountains, far from the haunts of her former companions, and there, brooding continually over her sorrow, pined away until there remained naught of her but her melodious voice.

The G.o.ds, displeased at her lack of proper pride, condemned her to haunt rocks and solitary places, and, as a warning to other impulsive maidens, to repeat the last sounds which fell upon her ear.

"But her voice is still living immortal,-- The same you have frequently heard In your rambles in valleys and forests, Repeating your ultimate word."

Saxe.

Venus alone had not forgotten poor Echo's last pa.s.sionate prayer, and was biding her time to punish the disdainful Narcissus. One day, after a prolonged chase, he hurried to a lonely pool to slake his thirst.

"In some delicious ramble, he had found A little s.p.a.ce, with boughs all woven round; And in the midst of all, a clearer pool Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping."

Keats.

Quickly he knelt upon the gra.s.s, and bent over the pellucid waters to take a draught; but he suddenly paused, surprised. Down near the pebbly bottom he saw a face so pa.s.sing fair, that he immediately lost his heart, for he thought it belonged to some water nymph gazing up at him through the transparent flood.

With sudden pa.s.sion he caught at the beautiful apparition; but, the moment his arms touched the water, the nymph vanished. Astonished and dismayed, he slowly withdrew to a short distance, and breathlessly awaited the nymph's return.

The agitated waters soon resumed their mirrorlike smoothness; and Narcissus, approaching noiselessly on tiptoe, and cautiously peeping into the pool, became aware first of curly, tumbled locks, and then of a pair of beautiful, watchful, anxious eyes. Evidently the nymph had just concluded to emerge from her hiding place to reconnoiter.

More prudent this time, the youth gradually bent further over the pool; and, rea.s.sured by his kindly glances, the nymph's whole head appeared. In gentle tones the youth now addressed her; and her ruby lips parted and moved as if she were answering, though not a sound came to his ear. In his excitement he began to gesticulate, whereupon two snowy arms repeated his every gesture; but when, encouraged by her loving glances and actions, he tried once more to clasp her in his arms, she vanished as rapidly as the first time.

Time and again the same pantomime was enacted, and time and again the nymph eluded his touch; but the enamored youth could not tear himself away from the spot haunted by this sweet image, whose sensitive face reflected his every emotion, and who grew as pale and wan as he,--evidently, like him, a victim to love and despair.

Even the shades of night could not drive Narcissus away from his post, and, when the pale moonbeams illumined his retreat, he bent over the pool to ascertain whether she too were anxious and sleepless, and saw her gazing longingly up at him.

There Narcissus lingered day and night, without eating or drinking, until he died, little suspecting that the fancied nymph was but his own image reflected in the clear waters. Echo was avenged; but the G.o.ds of Olympus gazed compa.s.sionately down upon the beautiful corpse, and changed it into a flower bearing the youth's name, which has ever since flourished beside quiet pools, wherein its pale image is clearly reflected.

"A lonely flower he spied, A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride, Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness, To woo its own sad image into nearness: Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move; But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love."

Keats.

[Sidenote: Pygmalion and Galatea.]

Pygmalion, King of Cyprus, was a very celebrated sculptor. All his leisure moments were spent in the faithful portrayal of the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses. One day his practiced hand fas.h.i.+oned an image of Galatea. It was so beautiful that even before it was entirely finished its author loved it. When completed, Pygmalion admired it still more, deemed it too beautiful to remain inanimate, and besought Venus to give it life, stating that he wished a wife just like it.

As Pygmalion had always been an obdurate bachelor, and had frequently declared he would never marry, Venus was delighted to see him at last a victim of the tender pa.s.sion, and resolved to grant his request. Pygmalion clasped the exquisite image to his breast to infuse some of his own warmth into the icy bosom, and pressed kiss after kiss upon the chiseled lips, until at last they grew soft and warm at his touch, and a faint color flushed the pale cheeks, as a breath dilated her lungs, and sent her blood coursing along her veins,-- "As once with prayers in pa.s.sion flowing, Pygmalion embraced the stone, Till, from the frozen marble glowing, The light of feeling o'er him shone."

Schiller.

Pygmalion's delight at seeing his fair image a living and breathing maiden was unbounded, and after a short but pa.s.sionate wooing the object of his affections became his happy wife.

[Sidenote: Cupid and Psyche.]

In those same remote ages of "sweet mythology" there lived a king whose three daughters were world-renowned on account of their matchless beauty. Psyche, the youngest of the sisters, was so lovely, that her father's subjects declared her worthy to be called the G.o.ddess of Beauty, and offered to pay homage to her instead of to Venus. Offended by this proposal, which Psyche had good sense enough to refuse, Venus resolved to demonstrate forcibly to that benighted race that the maiden was mortal. She therefore bade her son Cupid slay her.

Armed with his bow and arrows, and provided with a deadly poison, Cupid set out to do her bidding, and at nightfall reached the palace, crept noiselessly past the sleeping guards, along the deserted halls, and came to Psyche's apartment, into which he glided unseen. Stealthily he approached the couch upon which the fair maiden was sleeping, and bent over her to administer the poisoned dose.

A moonbeam falling athwart her face revealed her unequaled loveliness, and made Cupid start back in surprise; but, as he did so, one of his own love arrows came into contact with his rosy flesh, and inflicted a wound, from which he was to suffer for many a weary day.

All unconscious of the gravity of his hurt, he hung enraptured over the sleeping maiden, and let her fair image sink into his heart; then, noiselessly as he had entered, he stole out again, vowing he would never harm such innocence and beauty.

Morning dawned. Venus, who had expected to see the sun illumine her rival's corpse, saw her sporting as usual in the palace gardens, and bitterly realized that her first plan had completely failed. She therefore began to devise various torments of a petty kind, and persecuted the poor girl so remorselessly, that she fled from home with the firm intention of putting an end to the life she could no longer enjoy in peace.

To achieve this purpose, Psyche painfully toiled up a rugged mountain, and, creeping to the very edge of a great precipice, cast herself down, expecting to be dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks below; but Cupid, who had indignantly though helplessly seen all his mother's persecutions, had followed Psyche unseen, and, when he perceived her intention to commit suicide, he called to Zephyrus (the South Wind), and entreated him to catch the maiden in his strong yet gentle arms, and bear her off to a distant isle.

Consequently, instead of a swift, sharp fall and painful death, Psyche felt herself gently wafted over hill and dale, across sparkling waters; and, long before she wearied of this new mode of travel, she was gently laid on a flowery bank, in the midst of an exquisite garden.

Bewildered, she slowly rose to her feet, rubbed her pretty eyes to make sure she was not dreaming, and wonderingly strolled about the beautiful grounds. Ere long she came to an enchanted palace, whose portals opened wide to receive her, while gentle voices bade her enter, and invisible hands drew her over the threshold and waited upon her.

When night came, and darkness again covered the earth, Cupid appeared in search of his beloved Psyche. In the perfumed dusk he confessed his love, and tenderly begged for some return.

Now, although the fading light would not permit her to discern the form or features of her unknown lover, Psyche listened to his soft tones with unconcealed pleasure, and soon consented to their union. Cupid then entreated her to make no attempt to discover his name, or to catch a glimpse of his face, warning her that if she did so he would be forced to leave her, never to return.