|Age Of Fable Or Beauties Of
Author: Bulfinch, Thomas
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, his white horse with its gay
caparisons, 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 any thing 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 soaring 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 lone 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 for est; 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
"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 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
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."