BULFINCH’S MYTHOLOGY

THE AGE OF FABLE

OR STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES

by Thomas Bulfinch

[1855]

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
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 favourite 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 endeavoured 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 forests; 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 be lost his colour, his vigour, 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 tither 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;” 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,* 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.

* 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 favourite 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.”