Myths of Greece and Rome Part 7

"'Dear, I am with thee only while I keep My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see My face, I must forsake thee: the high G.o.ds Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself From the full gaze of Knowledge.'"

Lewis Morris.

Psyche solemnly promised to respect her mysterious lover's wishes, and gave herself up entirely to the enjoyment of his company. All night long they talked; and when the first faint streak of light appeared above the horizon, Cupid bade Psyche farewell, promising to return with the welcome shades of night. All day long Psyche thought of him, longed for him, and, as soon as the sun had set, sped to the bower where the birds were sleepily trilling forth their evening song, and breathlessly waited until he came to join her.

"Now on broad pinions from the realms above Descending Cupid seeks the Cyprian grove; To his wide arms enamor'd Psyche springs, And clasps her lover with aurelian wings. A purple sash across His shoulder bends, And fringed with gold the quiver'd shafts suspends."

Darwin.

Although the hours of day seemed interminable, spent as they were in complete solitude, Psyche found the hours of night all too short in the sweet society of Love. Her every wish was gratified almost as soon as expressed; and at last, encouraged by her lover's evident anxiety to please her, she gave utterance to her longing to see and converse with her sisters once more. The ardent lover could not refuse to grant this request, yet Psyche noticed that his consent seemed somewhat hesitating and reluctant.

The next morning, while enjoying a solitary stroll, Psyche suddenly encountered her two sisters. After rapturous embraces and an incoherent volley of questions and answers, they settled down to enjoy a long talk. Psyche related her desperate attempt at suicide, her miraculous preservation from certain death, her aerial journey, her entrance into the enchanted palace, her love for her mysterious nightly visitor,--all, in short, that had happened since she had left her father's home.

Now, the elder sisters had always been jealous of Psyche's superior beauty; and when they saw her luxurious surroundings, and heard her raptures about her lover, they were envious, and resolved to mar the happiness which they could not enjoy. They therefore did all in their power to convince poor Psyche that her lover must be some monster, so hideous that he dare not brave the broad light of day, lest he should make her loathe him, and further added, that, if she were not very careful, he would probably end by devouring her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CUPID AWAKENING PSYCHE.--Thumann.]

They thereupon advised poor troubled Psyche to conceal a lamp and dagger in her lover's apartment, and to gaze upon him in secret, when his eyes were closed in sleep. If the light of the lamp revealed, as they felt sure it would, the hideous countenance and distorted form of a monster, they bade her use the dagger to kill him. Then, satisfied with their work, the sisters departed, leaving Psyche alone to carry out their evil suggestions.

When safe at home once more, the sisters constantly brooded over the tale Psyche had poured into their ears, and, hoping to secure as luxurious a home and as fascinating a lover, they each hurried off in secret to the mountain gorge, cast themselves over the precipice, and--perished.

Night having come, bringing the usually so welcome Cupid, Psyche, tortured with doubt, could with difficulty conceal her agitation. After repeated efforts to charm her from her silent mood, Cupid fell asleep; and, as soon as his regular breathing proclaimed him lost in slumber, Psyche noiselessly lighted her lamp, seized her dagger, and, approaching the couch with great caution, bent over her sleeping lover. The lamp, which she held high above her head, cast its light full upon the face and form of a handsome youth.

"Now trembling, now distracted; bold, And now irresolute she seems; The blue lamp glimmers in her hold, And in her hand the dagger gleams. Prepared to strike, she verges near, Then, the blue light glimmering from above, The hideous sight expects with fear-- And gazes on the G.o.d of Love."

Apollonius.

Psyche's heart beat loudly with joy and pride as she beheld, instead of the monster, this graceful youth; and as she hung over him, enraptured, she forgot all caution. An inadvertent motion tipped her lamp, and one drop of burning oil, running over the narrow brim, fell upon Cupid's naked shoulder.

The sudden pain made him open his eyes with a start. The lighted lamp, the glittering dagger, the trembling Psyche, told the whole story. Cupid sprang from the couch, seized his bow and arrows, and, with a last sorrowful, reproachful glance at Psyche, flew away through the open window, exclaiming,-- "'Farewell! There is no Love except with Faith, And thine is dead! Farewell! I come no more!'"

Lewis Morris.

[Sidenote: Psyche forsaken.]

When he had vanished into the dusky air without, the balmy night winds ceased to blow; and suddenly a tempest began to rage with such fury, that poor frightened Psyche dared not remain alone in the palace, but hastened out into the gardens, where she soon lost consciousness of her misery in a deep swoon. When she opened her eyes once more, the storm had ceased, the sun was high in the heavens, and palace and gardens had vanished.

Poor Psyche lingered there the following and many succeeding nights, vainly hoping for Cupid's return, and shedding many bitter tears of repentance. Finally she resolved to commit suicide, and, with that purpose in view, plunged into a neighboring river; but the G.o.d of the stream caught and carried her ash.o.r.e, where his daughters, the water nymphs, restored her to life. Thus forced to live, Psyche wandered about disconsolate, seeking Cupid, and questioning all she met, the nymphs, Pan, and Ceres, who compa.s.sionately listened to her confession of love for her husband.

"Not as the earthly loves which throb and flush Round earthly shrines was mine, but a pure spirit, Lovelier than all embodied love, more pure And wonderful; but never on his eyes I looked, which still were hidden, and I knew not The fas.h.i.+on of his nature; for by night, When visual eyes are blind, but the soul sees, Came he, and bade me seek not to inquire Or whence he came or wherefore. Nor knew I His name. And always ere the coming day, As if he were the Sun G.o.d, lingering With some too well loved maiden, he would rise And vanish until eve."

Lewis Morris.

Ceres had often seen Cupid, and had heard that very morning that he was having a wound in his shoulder dressed by Venus: so she advised Psyche to go to the G.o.ddess of Beauty, to enter her service, and to perform every task with cheerful alacrity, knowing that such a course would ultimately bring about a meeting and reconciliation between the lovers.

Psyche gratefully accepted and followed Ceres' advice, and labored early and late to satisfy her exacting mistress, who appointed such difficult tasks, that the poor girl would never have been able to accomplish them had she not been aided by all the beasts and insects, who loved her dearly.

[Sidenote: Psyche's journey to Hades.]

Venus repeatedly tested her fidelity and endurance, and finally resolved, as a crucial experiment, to send her to Hades to fetch a box of beauty ointment, for which Proserpina alone had the recipe. Directed by Zephyrus, her old friend, Psyche encountered the terrors of Hades in safety, delivered her message, and in return received a small box. The gates of Hades were closed behind her, and she had nearly finished her last task, when she suddenly fancied that it would be wise to appropriate a little of the magic preparation to efface the traces of sleepless nights and many tears.

The box, however, contained naught but the spirit of Sleep, who, pouncing upon Psyche, laid her low by the roadside. Cupid, pa.s.sing by, saw her there, marked the ravages of grief, remembered his love and her suffering, and, wrestling with the spirit, forced him to reenter the narrow bounds of his prison, and woke Psyche with a loving kiss.

"'Dear, unclose thine eyes. Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more, But am thine own forever.'"

Lewis Morris.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHARON AND PSYCHE.--Neide.]

Then, hand in hand, they winged their flight to Olympus, entered the council hall; and there Cupid presented Psyche, his chosen bride, to the a.s.sembled deities, who all promised to be present at the nuptial ceremony. Venus even, forgetting all her former envy, welcomed the blus.h.i.+ng bride, who was happy ever after.

The ancients, for whom Cupid was an emblem of the heart, considered Psyche the personification of the soul, and represented her with b.u.t.terfly wings; that little insect being another symbol of the soul, which cannot die.

[Sidenote: Berenice's Hair.]

One of the latest myths concerning Venus is that of Berenice, who, fearing for her beloved husband's life, implored the G.o.ddess to protect him in battle, vowing to sacrifice her luxuriant hair if he returned home in safety. The prayer was granted, and Berenice's beautiful locks laid upon Venus' shrine, whence they, however, very mysteriously disappeared. An astrologer, consulted concerning the supposed theft, solemnly pointed to a comet rapidly coming into view, and declared that the G.o.ds had placed Berenice's hair among the stars, there to s.h.i.+ne forever in memory of her wifely sacrifice.

[Sidenote: Wors.h.i.+p of Venus.]

Venus, G.o.ddess of beauty, is represented either entirely naked, or with some scanty drapery called a "cestus." Seated in her chariot, formed of a single pearl sh.e.l.l, and drawn by snow-white doves, her favorite birds, she journeyed from shrine to shrine, complacently admiring the lavish decorations of jewels and flowers her wors.h.i.+pers provided. The offerings of young lovers were ever those which found most favor in her sight.

"Venus loves the whispers Of plighted youth and maid, In April's ivory moonlight Beneath the chestnut shade."

Macaulay.

Numerous ancient and some modern statues of this G.o.ddess grace the various art galleries, but among them all the most perfect is the world-renowned Venus de Milo.

Venus' festivals were always scenes of graceful amus.e.m.e.nts; and her votaries wore wreaths of fresh, fragrant flowers, the emblem of all natural beauty.

CHAPTER VIII.

MERCURY.

[Sidenote: Birth of Mercury.]

As already repeatedly stated in the course of this work, Jupiter was never a strictly faithful spouse, and, in spite of his wife's remonstrances, could not refrain from indulging his caprice for every pretty face he met along his way. It is thus, therefore, that he yielded to the charms of Maia, G.o.ddess of the plains, and spent some blissful hours in her society. This divine couple's happiness culminated when they first beheld their little son, Mercury (Hermes, Psychopompus, Oneicopompus), who was born in a grotto on Mount Cyllene, in Arcadia,-- "Mercury, whom Maia bore, Sweet Maia, on Cyllene's h.o.a.ry top."

Virgil (Cowper's tr.).

This infant G.o.d was quite unlike mortal children, as will readily be perceived by the numerous pranks he played immediately after his birth. First he sprang from his mother's knee, grasped a tortoise sh.e.l.l lying on the ground, bored holes in its sides, stretched strings across its concavity, and, sweeping his hands over them, produced strains of sweetest music, thus inventing the first lyre.

"So there it lay, through wet and dry, As empty as the last new sonnet, Till by and by came Mercury, And, having mused upon it, 'Why here,' cried he, 'the thing of things In shape, material, and dimension! Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, A wonderful invention.'"

Lowell.

[Sidenote: Mercury's theft.]

Being very hungry toward evening, young Mercury escaped from his sleeping mother, and sallied out in search of food. He had not gone very far, before he came to a wide meadow, where Apollo's herds were at pasture. The oxen were fat and sleek; and the mischievous little G.o.d, after satisfying himself that they were young, and therefore promised to be tender and juicy, drove fifty of them off to a secluded spot, taking good care to envelop their feet in leafy branches, so they would leave no traces. Then, his hiding place being reached in safety, Mercury coolly killed two of the oxen, which he proceeded to eat.

Apollo soon missed his cattle, and began to search for some clew to their hiding place or to the thief. He could, however, discover nothing but some broken twigs and scattered leaves. Suddenly he remembered that the babe whose birth had been announced early that morning in high Olympus had been appointed G.o.d of thieves. He therefore lost no more time in useless search and conjecture, but strode off to Mount Cyllene, where he found Mercury peacefully sleeping in his cradle. With a rude shake, the sun G.o.d roused him from his slumbers, and bade him restore the stolen cattle. Mercury pretended innocence, until Apollo, exasperated, dragged him off to Olympus, where he was convicted of the theft, and condemned to restore the stolen property. Mercury yielded to the decree, produced the remaining oxen, and, in exchange for the two missing, gave Apollo the lyre he had just fas.h.i.+oned.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FLYING MERCURY.--Bologna. (National Museum, Florence.)]

This, like most other myths, admits of a natural explanation. Apollo (the Sun) was supposed by the ancients to possess great herds of cattle and sheep,--the clouds; and Mercury, the personification of the wind, born in the night, after a few hours' existence waxes sufficiently strong to drive away the clouds and conceal them, leaving no trace of his pa.s.sage except a few broken branches and scattered leaves.

[Sidenote: Mercury's wand, cap, and shoes.]

The gift of the lyre pleased Apollo so well, that he in return wished to make a present to Mercury, and gave him a magic wand, called Caduceus, which had the power of reconciling all conflicting elements. Mercury, anxious to test it, thrust it between two quarreling snakes, who immediately wound themselves in amity around it. This so pleased him, that he bade them remain there forever, and used the wand on all occasions.

"A snake-encircl'd wand; By cla.s.sic authors term'd Caduceus And highly fam'd for several uses."

Goldsmith.

Mercury was in due time appointed messenger of the G.o.ds, who, to make him fleet of foot, presented him with winged sandals, the Talaria, which endowed him with marvelous rapidity of motion. As these sandals did not seem quite sufficient, however, the G.o.ds added the winged cap, Petasus, to the winged shoes.

"Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublime Beyond the tall tree tops; and in less time Than shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he dropt Towards the ground; but rested not, nor stopt One moment from his home; only the sward He with his wand light touch'd, and heavenward Swifter than sight was gone."

Keats.

Mercury was not only the messenger of the G.o.ds, but was also appointed G.o.d of eloquence, commerce, rain, wind, and the special patron of travelers, shepherds, cheats, and thieves.

[Sidenote: Story of Io.]

Jupiter often intrusted to Mercury messages of a delicate nature, and always found him an invaluable ally; but the faithful messenger was never so much needed or so deeply appreciated as during Jupiter's courts.h.i.+p of Io, the peerless daughter of the river G.o.d Inachus.

To avoid Juno's recriminations, Jupiter had carried on this affair with even more than his usual secrecy, visiting his beloved only when quite certain that his wife was asleep, and taking the further precaution of spreading a cloud over the spot where he generally met her, to s.h.i.+eld her from all chance of being seen from Olympus.

One fine afternoon, all conditions being favorable, Jupiter hastened down to earth to see Io, and began to stroll with her up and down the river edge. They heeded not the noonday heat, for the cloud over their heads screened them from the sun's too ardent rays.

From some cause Juno's slumbers were less protracted than usual, and she soon arose from her couch to look about her realm, the atmosphere, and convince herself that all was well. Her attention was soon attracted by an opaque, immovable cloud near the earth,--a cloud which had no business there, for had she not bidden them all lie still on the blue until she awoke? Her suspicions being aroused by the presence of this cloud, she sought her husband in Olympus, and, not finding him, flew down to earth, brus.h.i.+ng the cloud aside in her haste.

Jupiter, thus warned of her coming, had but time to change the maiden beside him into a heifer, ere his wife alighted and inquired what he was doing there. Carelessly the G.o.d pointed to the heifer, and declared he had been whiling away the time by creating it; but the explanation failed to satisfy Juno, who, seeing no other living creature near, suspected that her spouse had been engaged in a clandestine flirtation, and had screened its fair object from her wrath only by a sudden transformation.

Dissimulating these suspicions with care, Juno begged her husband to give her his new creation, which request he could not refuse, but granted most reluctantly, thus adding further confirmation to her jealous fears. The Queen of Heaven then departed, taking Io with her, and placed her under the surveillance of Argus, one of her servants, who possessed myriad eyes, but one half of which he closed at a time.

"The eyes of Argus, sentinel of Heaven: Those thousand eyes that watch alternate kept, Nor all o'er all his body waked or slept."

Statius (Elton's tr.).

[Sidenote: Argus' watch.]

She bade him watch the heifer closely, and report anything unusual in its actions. One day, therefore, as he was watching his charge pasture by the river, Argus heard her relate to her father, Inachus, the story of her transformation, and immediately imparted his discovery to Juno, who, advising still closer watchfulness, sent him back to his post.

Jupiter, in the mean while, was in despair; for days had pa.s.sed without his being able to exchange a word with Io, or deliver her from her imprisonment. Finally he called Mercury to his aid, and bade him devise some plan to rescue her. Armed with a handful of poppies, Mercury approached Argus, and offered to while away the time by telling him tales.

As Mercury was the prince of story-tellers, this offer was not to be despised, and Argus joyfully accepted; but instead of exerting himself to be entertaining, Mercury droned out such lengthy, uninteresting stories, that Argus soon closed half his eyes in profound sleep. Still talking in the same monotonous way, Mercury softly shook the poppies over the giant's head, until one by one the remaining eyelids closed, and Argus was wrapped in complete slumber.

Then Mercury seized the giant's sword, and with one well-directed blow severed his head from the huge trunk. Only one half of the task was successfully accomplished; and while Mercury was driving the heifer away, Juno discovered his attempt, and promptly sent an enormous gadfly to torment the poor beast, who, goaded to madness by its cruel stings, fled wildly from one country to another, forded streams, and finally plunged into the sea, since called Ionian. After swimming across it, she took refuge in Egypt, where Jupiter restored her to all her girlish loveliness, and where her son Epaphus was born, to be the first king and the founder of Memphis.

"In coming time that hollow of the sea Shall bear the name Ionian, and present A monument of Io's pa.s.sage through, Unto all mortals."

E. B. Browning.

Juno mourned the loss of her faithful Argus most bitterly, and, gathering up his myriad eyes, scattered them over the tail of her favorite bird, the peac.o.c.k, to have some memento of her faithful servant ever near her.

"From Argus slain a painted peac.o.c.k grew, Fluttering his feathers stain'd with various hue."

Moschus.

This story also is an allegory. Io personifies the moon, restlessly wandering from place to place; Argus, the heavens, whose starry eyes keep ceaseless watch over the moon's every movement; Mercury is the rain, whose advent blots out the stars one by one, thus killing Argus, who else was never known to close all his eyes at once.

[Sidenote: Mercury's offices and wors.h.i.+p.]

To Mercury was intrusted the charge of conducting the souls of the departed to Hades, and when occupied in this way he bore the name of Psychopompus, while, when addressed as conductor of Dreams, he was Oneicopompus.

"Gently as a kiss came Death to sever From spirit flesh, and to the realm of gloom The pallid shades with fearless brow descended To Hades, by the winged G.o.d attended."

Boyesen.

He was one of the twelve princ.i.p.al G.o.ds of Olympus, and was widely wors.h.i.+ped. Temples, altars, and shrines were dedicated to his service throughout the ancient countries. His statues were considered sacred boundary marks, and their removal punished by death. Solemn annual festivals were held in Rome in Mercury's honor in the month of May, and from him received their name of Mercuralia.

CHAPTER IX.

MARS.

[Sidenote: Mars' character.]

Mars (Ares), son of Jupiter and Juno, was the G.o.d of war, the personification of the angry clouded sky, and, although but little wors.h.i.+ped in Greece, was one of the princ.i.p.al Roman divinities. He is said to have first seen the light in Thrace, a country noted for its fierce storms and war-loving people.

"Infant Mars, where Thracia's mountains rose, Press'd with his hardy limbs th' incrusted snows."

Statius (Elton's tr.).