BULFINCH’S MYTHOLOGY

THE AGE OF FABLE

OR STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES

by Thomas Bulfinch

[1855]

CHAPTER XXIV

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE – ARISTAEUS – AMPHION – LINUS -THAMYRIS – MARSYAS – MELAMPUS – MUSAEUS

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

ORPHEUS was the son of Apollo and the Muse Calliope. He was
presented by his father with a lyre and taught to play upon it,
which he did to such perfection that nothing could withstand the charm
of his music. Not only his fellow-mortals, but wild beasts were
softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by their
fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay. Nay, the very trees
and rocks were sensible to the charm. The former crowded round him and
the latter relaxed somewhat of their hardness, softened by his notes.

Hymen had been called to bless with his presence the nuptials of
Orpheus with Eurydice; but though he attended, he brought no happy
omens with him. His very torch smoked and brought tears into their
eyes. In coincidence with such prognostics, Eurydice, shortly after
her marriage, while wandering with the nymphs, her companions, was
seen by the shepherd Aristaeus, who was struck by her beauty and
made advances to her. She fled, and in flying trod upon a snake in the
grass, was bitten in the foot, and died. Orpheus sang his grief to all
who breathed the upper air, both gods and men, and finding it all
unavailing resolved to seek his wife in the regions of the dead. He
descended by a cave situated on the side of the promontory of Taenarus
and arrived at the Stygian realm. He passed through crowds of ghosts
and presented himself before the throne of Pluto and Proserpine.
Accompanying the words with the lyre, he sung, “O deities of the
under-world, to whom all we who live must come, hear my words, for
they are true. I come not to spy out the secrets of Tartarus, nor to
try my strength against the three-headed dog with snaky hair who
guards the entrance. I come to seek my wife, whose opening years the
poisonous viper’s fang has brought to an untimely end. Love has led me
here, Love, a god all powerful with us who dwell on the earth, and, if
old traditions say true, not less so here. I implore you by these
abodes full of terror, these realms of silence and uncreated things,
unite again the thread of Eurydice’s life. We all are destined to you,
and sooner or later must pass to your domain. She too, when she
shall have filled her term of life, will rightly be yours. But till
then grant her to me, I beseech you. If you deny me, I cannot return
alone; you shall triumph in the death of us both.”

As he sang these tender strains, the very ghosts shed tears.
Tantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his efforts for
water, Ixion’s wheel stood still, the vulture ceased to tear the
giant’s liver, the daughters of Danaus rested from their task of
drawing water in a sieve, and Sisyphus sat on his rock to listen. Then
for the first time, it is said, the cheeks of the Furies were wet with
tears. Proserpine could not resist, and Pluto himself gave way.
Eurydice was called. She came from among the new-arrived ghosts,
limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her
away with him on one condition, that he should not turn around to look
at her till they should have reached the upper air. Under this
condition they proceeded on their way, he leading, she following,
through passages dark and steep, in total silence, till they had
nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus,
in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still
following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne
away. Stretching out their arms to embrace each other, they grasped
only the air! Dying now a second time, she yet cannot reproach her
husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her?
“Farewell,” she said, “a last farewell,”- and was hurried away, so
fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.

Orpheus endeavoured to follow her, and besought permission to return
and try once more for her release; but the stern ferryman repulsed him
and refused passage. Seven days he lingered about the brink, without
food or sleep; then bitterly accusing of cruelty the powers of Erebus,
he sang his complaints to the rocks and mountains, melting the
hearts of tigers and moving the oaks from their stations. He held
himself aloof from womankind, dwelling constantly on the
recollection of his sad mischance. The Thracian maidens tried their
best to captivate him, but he repulsed their advances. They bore
with him as long as they could; but finding him insensible one day,
excited by the rites of Bacchus, one of them exclaimed, “See yonder
our despiser!” and threw at him her javelin. The weapon, as soon as it
came within the sound of his lyre, fell harmless at his feet. So did
also the stones that they threw at him. But the women raised a
scream and drowned the voice of the music, and then the missiles
reached him and soon were stained with his blood. The maniacs tore him
limb from limb, and threw his head and his lyre into the river Hebrus,
down which they floated, murmuring sad music, to which the shores
responded a plaintive symphony. The Muses gathered up the fragments of
his body and buried them at Libethra, where the nightingale is said to
sing over his grave more sweetly than in any other part of Greece. His
lyre was placed by Jupiter among the stars. His shade passed a
second time to Tartarus. where he sought out his Eurydice and embraced
her with eager arms. They roam the happy fields together now,
sometimes he leading, sometimes she; and Orpheus gazes as much as he
will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty for a thoughtless glance.

The story of Orpheus has furnished Pope with an illustration of
the power of music, for his “Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day.” The following
stanza relates the conclusion of the story:

“But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes;
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if ’tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,
All alone,
He makes his moan,
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost!
Now with furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,
Amidst Rhodope’s snows.
See, wild as the winds o’er the desert he flies;
Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals’ cries.
Ah, see, he dies!
Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue:
Eurydice the woods
Eurydice the floods
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.”

The superior melody of the nightingale’s song over the grave of
Orpheus is alluded to by Southey in his “Thalaba”:

“Then on his ear what sounds
Of harmony arose!
Far music and the distance-mellowed song
From bowers of merriment;
The waterfall remote;
The murmuring of the leafy groves;
The single nightingale
Perched in the rosier by, so richly toned,
That never from that most melodious bird
Singing a love song to his brooding mate,
Did Thracian shepherd by the grave
Of Orpheus hear a sweeter melody,
Though there the spirit of the sepulchre
All his own power infuse, to swell
The incense that he loves.”

ARISTAEUS, THE BEE-KEEPER.

Man avails himself of the instincts of the inferior animals for
his own advantage. Hence sprang the art of keeping bees. Honey must
first have been known as a wild product, the bees building their
structures in hollow trees or holes in the rocks, or any similar
cavity that chance offered. Thus occasionally the carcass of a dead
animal would be occupied by the bees for that purpose. It was no doubt
from some such incident that the superstition arose that the bees were
engendered by the decaying flesh of the animal; and Virgil, in the
following story, shows how this supposed fact may be turned to account
for renewing the swarm when it has been lost by disease or accident.

Aristaeus, who first taught the management of bees, was the son of
the water-nymph Cyrene. His bees had perished, and he resorted for aid
to his mother. He stood at the river side and thus addressed her: “O
mother, the pride of my life is taken from me! I have lost my precious
bees. My care and skill have availed me nothing, and you, my mother,
have not warded off from me the blow of misfortune.” His mother
heard these complaints as she sat in her palace at the bottom of the
river, with her attendant nymphs around her. They were engaged in
female occupations, spinning and weaving, while one told stories to
amuse the rest. The sad voice of Aristaeus interrupting their
occupation, one of them put her head above the water and seeing him,
returned and gave information to his mother, who ordered that he
should be brought into her presence. The river at her command opened
itself and let him pass in, while it stood curled like a mountain on
either side. He descended to the region where the fountains of the
great rivers lie; he saw the enormous receptacles of waters and was
almost deafened with the roar, while he surveyed them hurrying off
in various directions to water the face of the earth. Arriving at
his mother’s apartment, he was hospitably received by Cyrene and her
nymphs, who spread their table with the richest dainties. They first
poured out libations to Neptune, then regaled themselves with the
feast, and after that Cyrene thus addressed him: “There is an old
prophet named Proteus, who dwells in the sea and is a favourite of
Neptune, whose herd of sea-calves he pastures. We nymphs hold him in
great respect, for he is a learned sage and knows all things, past,
present, and to come. He can tell you, my son, the cause of the
mortality among your bees and how you may remedy it. But he will not
do it voluntarily, however you may entreat him. You must compel him by
force. If you seize him and chain him, he will answer your questions
in order to get released, for he cannot by all his arts get away if
you hold fast the chains. I will carry you to his cave, where he comes
at noon to take his midday repose. Then you may easily secure him. But
when he finds himself captured, his resort is to a power he
possesses of changing himself into various forms. He will become a
wild boar or a fierce tiger, a scaly dragon or lion with yellow
mane. Or be will make a noise like the crackling of flames or the rush
of water, so as to tempt you to let go the chain, when he will make
his escape. But you have only to keep him fast bound, and at last when
he finds all his arts unavailing, he will return to his own figure and
obey your commands.” So saying she sprinkled her son with fragrant
nectar, the beverage of the gods, and immediately an unusual vigour
filled his frame, and courage his heart, while perfume breathed all
around him.

The nymph led her son to the prophet’s cave and concealed him
among the recesses of the rocks, while she herself took her place
behind the clouds. When noon came and the hour when men and herds
retreat from the glaring sun to indulge in quiet slumber, Proteus
issued from the water, followed by his herd of sea-calves which spread
themselves along the shore. He sat on the rock and counted his herd;
then stretched himself on the floor of the cave and went to sleep.
Aristaeus hardly allowed him to get fairly asleep before he fixed
the fetters on him and shouted aloud. Proteus, waking and finding
himself captured, immediately resorted to his arts, becoming first a
fire, then a flood, then a horrible wild beast, in rapid succession.
But finding all would not do, he at last resumed his own form and
addressed the youth in angry accents: “Who are you, bold youth, who
thus invade my abode, and what do you want with me?” Aristaeus
replied, “Proteus, you know already, for it is needless for any one to
attempt to deceive you. And do you also cease your efforts to elude
me. I am led hither by divine assistance, to know from you the cause
of my misfortune and how to remedy it.” At these words the prophet,
fixing on him his grey eyes with a piercing look, thus spoke: “You
receive the merited reward of your deeds, by which Eurydice met her
death, for in flying from you she trod upon a serpent, of whose bite
she died. To avenge her death, the nymphs, her companions, have sent
this destruction to your bees. You have to appease their anger, and
thus it must be done: Select four bulls, of perfect form and size, and
four cows of equal beauty, build four altars to the nymphs, and
sacrifice the animals, leaving their carcasses in the leafy grove.
To Orpheus and Eurydice you shall pay such funeral honours as may
allay their resentment. Returning after nine days, you will examine
the bodies of the cattle slain and see what will befall.” Aristaeus
faithfully obeyed these directions. He sacrificed the cattle, he
left their bodies in the grove, he offered funeral honours to the
shades of Orpheus and Eurydice; then returning on the ninth day he
examined the bodies of the animals, and, wonderful to relate! a
swarm of bees had taken possession of one of the carcasses and were
pursuing their labours there as in a hive.

In “The Task,” Cowper alludes to the story of Aristaeus, when
speaking of the ice-palace built by the Empress Anne of Russia. He has
been describing the fantastic forms which ice assumes in connection
with waterfalls. etc.:

“Less worthy of applause though more admired
Because a novelty, the work of man,
Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ,
Thy most magnificent and mighty freak,
The wonder of the north. No forest fell
When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores
T’ enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods
And make thy marble of the glassy wave.
In such a palace Aristaeus found
Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale
Of his lost bees to her maternal ear.”

Milton also appears to have had Cyrene and her domestic scene in his
mind when he describes to us Sabrina, the nymph of the river Severn,
in the Guardian-spirit’s song in “Comus”:

“Sabrina fair!
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-drooping hair;
Listen for dear honour’s sake,
Goddess of the silver lake!
Listen and save.”

The following are other celebrated mythical poets and musicians,
some of whom were hardly inferior to Orpheus himself:

AMPHION

Amphion was the son of Jupiter and Antiope, queen of Thebes. With
his twin brother Zethus, he was exposed at birth on Mount Cithaeron,
where they grew up among the shepherds, not knowing their parentage.
Mercury gave Amphion a lyre and taught him to play upon it, and his
brother occupied himself in hunting and tending the flocks.
Meanwhile Antiope, their mother, who had been treated with great
cruelty by Lycus, the usurping king of Thebes, and by Dirce, his wife,
found means to inform her children of their rights and to summon
them to her assistance. With a band of their fellow-herdsmen they
attacked and slew Lycus, and tying Dirce by the hair of her head to
a bull, let him drag her till she was dead.* Amphion, having become
king of Thebes, fortified the city with a wall. It is said that when
he played on his lyre the stones moved of their own accord and took
their places in the wall.

See Tennyson’s poem of “Amphion” for an amusing use made of this
story.

* The punishment of Dirce is the subject of a celebrated group of
statuary now in the Museum at Naples.

LINUS

Linus was the instructor of Hercules in music, but having one day
reproved his pupil rather harshly, he roused the anger of Hercules,
who struck him with his lyre and killed him.

THAMYRIS

An ancient Thracian bard, who in his presumption challenged the
Muses to a trial of skill, and being overcome in the contest, was
deprived by them of his sight. Milton alludes to him with other
blind bards, when speaking of his own blindness, “Paradise Lost,” Book
III. 35.

MARSYAS

Minerva invented the flute, and played upon it to the delight of all
the celestial auditors; but the mischievous urchin Cupid having
dared to laugh at the queer face which the goddess made while playing,
Minerva threw the instrument indignantly away, and it fell down to
earth and was found by Marsyas. He blew upon it, and drew from it such
ravishing sounds that he was tempted to challenge Apollo himself to
a musical contest. The god of course triumphed, and punished Marsyas
by flaying him alive.

MELAMPUS

Melampus was the first mortal endowed with prophetic powers.
Before his house there stood an oak tree containing a serpent’s
nest. The old serpents were killed by the servants, but Melampus
took care of the young ones and fed them carefully. One day when he
was asleep under the oak the serpents licked his ears with their
tongues. On awaking he was astonished to find that he now understood
the language of birds and creeping things. This knowledge enabled
him to foretell future events, and he became a renowned soothsayer. At
one time his enemies took him captive and kept him strictly
imprisoned. Melampus in the silence of the night heard the woodworms
in the timbers talking together, and found out by what they said
that the timbers were nearly eaten through and the roof would soon
fall in. He told his captors and demanded to be let out, warning
them also. They took his warning, and thus escaped destruction, and
regarded Melampus and held him in high honour.

MUSAEUS

A semi-mythological personage who was represented by one tradition
to be the son of Orpheus. He is said to have written sacred poems
and oracles. Milton couples his name with that of Orpheus in his “Il
Penseroso”:

“But O, sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek.”