Arnobius, says that Attis was a shepherd, with whom Cybele fell in

love in her old age. Unmoved by her rank, and repelled by her faded

charms, he despised her advances. Midas, King of Pessinus, on seeing

this, destined his own daughter, Agdistis, for the young Attis.

Fearing the resentment of Cybele, he caused the gates of the city to

be shut on the day on which the marriage was to be solemnized.

Cybele being informed of this, hastened to Pessinus, and, destroying

the gates, met with Attis, who had concealed himself behind a pine

tree, and caused him to be emasculated; on which Agdistis committed

self-destruction in a fit of sorrow.

Servius, Lactantius, and St. Augustine, give another version of the

story, which it is not necessary here to enlarge upon, any farther

than to say, that it depicts the love of a powerful queen for a

young man who repulsed her advances. Ovid, also, gives a similar

account in the fourth Book of the Fasti, line 220. Other authors,

quoted by Arnobius, have given some additional circumstances, the

origin of which it is almost impossible to guess at. They say that a

female called Nana, by touching a pomegranate or an almond tree,

which grew from the blood of Agdistis whom Bacchus had slain,

conceived Attis, who afterwards became very dear to Cybele.

All that we can conclude from these accounts, and more especially

from that given by Ovid in the Fasti, is, that the worship of Cybele

being established in Phrygia, Attis was one of her priests; and

that, as he led the example of mutilating himself, all her other

priests, who were called Galli, submitted to a similar operation,

to the great surprise of the uninitiated, who were not slow in

inventing some wonderful story to account for an act so

extraordinary.

FABLE III. [X.106-142]

Cyparissus is about to kill himself for having slain, by accident,

a favourite deer; but, before he is able to execute his design,

Apollo transforms him into a Cypress.

Amid this throng was present the cypress, resembling the cone,[18] now a

tree, {but} once a youth, beloved by that God who fits the lyre with the

strings, and the bow with strings. For there was a large stag, sacred to

the Nymphs who inhabit the Carthæan fields; and, with his horns

extending afar, he himself afforded an ample shade to his own head. His

horns were shining with gold, and a necklace studded with gems,[19]

falling upon his shoulders, hung down from his smooth round neck;

a silver ball,[20] fastened with little straps, played upon his

forehead; and pendants of brass,[21] of equal size, shone on either ear

around his hollow temples. He, too, void of fear, and laying aside his

natural timorousness, used to frequent the houses, and to offer his neck

to be patted by any hands, even though unknown {to him}.

But yet, above all others, he was pleasing to thee, Cyparissus, most

beauteous of the nation of Cea.[22] Thou wast wont to lead the stag to

new pastures, and to the streams of running waters; sometimes thou didst

wreathe flowers of various colours about his horns, and at other times,

seated on his back, {like} a horseman, {first} in this direction and

{then} in that, thou didst guide his easy mouth with the purple bridle.

’Twas summer and the middle of the day, and the bending arms of the

Crab, that loves the sea-shore, were glowing with the heat of the sun;

the stag, fatigued, was reclining his body on the grassy earth, and was

enjoying the coolness from the shade of a tree. By inadvertence the boy

Cyparissus pierced him with a sharp javelin; and, when he saw him dying

from the cruel wound, he resolved to attempt to die {as well}. What

consolations did not Phœbus apply? and he advised him to grieve with

moderation, and according to the occasion. Still did he lament, and as a

last favour, he requested this of the Gods above, that he might mourn

for ever. And now, his blood quite exhausted by incessant weeping, his

limbs began to be changed into a green colour, and the hair, which but

lately hung from his snow-white forehead, to become a rough bush, and,

a stiffness being assumed, to point to the starry heavens with a

tapering top. The God {Phœbus} lamented deeply, and in his sorrow he

said, “Thou shalt be mourned by me, and shalt mourn for others, and

shalt {ever} attend upon those who are sorrowing[23] {for the dead}.”

[Footnote 18: _Resembling the cone._--Ver. 106. In the Roman

Circus for the chariot races, a low wall ran lengthways down the

course, which, from its resemblance in position to the spinal

bone, was called by the name of ‘spina.’ At each extremity of this

‘spina,’ there were placed upon a base, three large cones, or

pyramids of wood, in shape very much like cypress trees, to which

fact allusion is here made. They were called ‘metæ,’ ‘goals.’]

[Footnote 19: _Studded with gems._--Ver. 113. Necklaces were much

worn in ancient times by the Indians, Persians, and Egyptians.

They were more especially used by the Greek and Roman females as

bridal ornaments. The ‘monile baccatum,’ or ‘bead necklace,’ was

the most common, being made of berries, glass, or other materials,

strung together. They were so strung with thread, silk, or wire,

and links of gold. Emeralds seem to have been much used for this

purpose, and amber was also similarly employed. Thus Ovid says,

in the second Book of the Metamorphoses, line 366, that the amber

distilled from the trees, into which the sisters of Phaëton were

changed, was sent to be worn by the Latian matrons. Horses and

favourite animals, as in the present instance, were decked with

‘monilia,’ or necklaces.]

[Footnote 20: _A silver ball._--Ver. 114. The ‘bulla’ was a ball

of metal, so called from its resemblance in shape to a bubble of

water. These were especially worn by the Roman children, suspended

from the neck, and were mostly made of thin plates of gold, being

of about the size of a walnut. The use of these ornaments was

derived from the people of Etruria; and though originally worn

only by the children of the Patricians, they were subsequently

used by all of free birth. The children of the Libertini, or

‘freedmen,’ indeed wore ‘bullæ,’ but they were only made of

leather. The ‘bulla’ was laid aside at the same time as the ‘toga

prætexta,’ and was on that occasion consecrated to the Lares. The

bulls of the Popes of Rome, received their names from this word;

the ornament which was pendent from the rescript or decree being

used to signify the document itself.]

[Footnote 21: _Pendants of brass._--Ver. 116. The ear-ring was

called among the Greeks ἐνώτιον, and by the Romans ‘inauris.’ The

Greeks also called it ἐλλόβιον, from its being inserted in the

lobe of the ear. Earrings were worn by both sexes among the

Lydians, Persians, Libyans, Carthaginians, and other nations.

Among the Greeks and Romans, the females alone were in the habit

of wearing them. As with us, the ear-ring consisted of a ring and

drop, the ring being generally of gold, though bronze was

sometimes used by the common people. Pearls, especially those of

elongated form, which were called ‘elenchi,’ were very much valued

for pendants.]

[Footnote 22: _Nation of Cea._--Ver. 120. Cea was one of the

Cyclades, and Carthæa was one of its four cities.]

[Footnote 23: _Who are sorrowing._--Ver. 142. The Poet in this

manner accounts for the Roman custom of placing branches of

Cypress before the doors of houses in which a dead body lay. Pliny

the Elder says, that the Cypress was sacred to Pluto, and that for

that reason it was used at funerals, and was placed upon the pile.

Varro says, that it was used for the purpose of removing, by its

own strong scent, the bad smell of the spot where the bodies were

burnt, and also of the bodies themselves. It was also said to be

so used, because, when once its bark is cut, it withers, and is

consequently emblematical of the frail tenure of human life.]

EXPLANATION.

Cyparissus, who, according to Ovid was born at Carthæa, a town in

the isle of Cea, was probably a youth of considerable poetical

talent and proficiency in the polite arts, which caused him to be

deemed the favourite of Apollo. His transformation into a Cypress is

founded on the resemblance between their names, that tree being

called by the Greeks κυπάρισσος. The conclusion of the story is that

Apollo, to console himself, enjoined that the Cypress tree should be

the symbol of sorrow, or in other words that it should be used at

funerals and be planted near graves and sepulchres; which fiction

was most likely founded on the fact, that the tree was employed for

those purposes; perhaps because its branches, almost destitute of

leaves, have a somewhat melancholy aspect.

Some ancient writers also tell us that Cyparissus was a youth

beloved by the God Sylvanus, for which reason that God is often

represented with branches of Cypress in his hand.

FABLE IV. [X.143-161]

Jupiter, charmed with the beauty of the youth Ganymede, transforms

himself into an Eagle, for the purpose of carrying him off. He is

taken up into Heaven, and is made the Cup-bearer of the Divinities.

Such a grove {of trees} had the bard attracted {round him}, and he sat

in the midst of an assembly of wild beasts, and of a multitude of birds.

When he had sufficiently tried the strings struck with his thumb, and

perceived that the various tones, though they gave different sounds,

{still} harmonize, in this song he raised his voice: “Begin, my parent

Muse, my song from Jove, all things submit to the sway of Jove. By me,

often before has the power of Jove been sung. In loftier strains have I

sung of the Giants, and the victorious thunderbolts scattered over the

Phlegræan plains.[24] Now is there occasion for a softer lyre; and let

us sing of youths beloved by the Gods above, and of girls surprised by

unlawful flames, who, by their wanton desires, have been deserving of

punishment.

“The king of the Gods above was once inflamed with a passion for

Ganymede, and something was found that Jupiter preferred to be, rather

than what he was. Yet into no bird does he vouchsafe to be transformed,

but that which can carry his bolts.[25] And no delay {is there}.

Striking the air with his fictitious wings, he carries off the youth of

Ilium; who even now mingles his cups {for him}, and, much against the

will of Juno, serves nectar to Jove.”

[Footnote 24: _Phlegræan plains._--Ver. 151. Some authors place

the Phlegræan {plains} near Cumæ, in Italy, and say that in a spot

near there, much impregnated with sulphur, Jupiter, aided by

Hercules and the other Deities, conquered the Giants with his

lightnings. Others say that their locality was in that part of

Macedonia which was afterwards called Pallene; others again,

in Thessaly, or Thrace.]

[Footnote 25: _Carry his bolts._--Ver. 158. The eagle was feigned

to be the attendant bird of Jove, among other reasons, because it

was supposed to fly higher than any other bird, to be able to fix

its gaze on the sun without being dazzled, and never to receive

injury from lightning. It was also said to have been the

armour-bearer of Jupiter in his wars against the Titans, and to

have carried his thunderbolts.]

EXPLANATION.

The rape of Ganymede is probably based upon an actual occurrence,

which may be thus explained. Tros, the king of Troy, having

conquered several of his neighbours, as Eusebius, Cedrenus, and

Suidas relate, sent his son Ganymede into Lydia, accompanied by

several of the nobles of his court, to offer sacrifice in the temple

dedicated to Jupiter; Tantalus, the king of that country, who was

ignorant of the designs of the Trojan king, took his people for

spies, and put Ganymede in prison. He having been arrested in a

temple of Jupiter, by order of a prince, whose ensign was an eagle,

it gave occasion for the report that he had been carried off by

Jupiter in the shape of an eagle.

The reason why Jupiter is said to have made Ganymede his cup-bearer

is difficult to conjecture, unless we suppose that he had served his

father, in that employment at the Trojan court. The poets say that

he was placed by the Gods among the Constellations, where he shines

as Aquarius, or the Water-bearer.

The capture of Ganymede occasioned a protracted and bloody war

between Tros and Tantalus; and after their death, Ilus, the son of

Tros, continued it against Pelops, the son of Tantalus, and obliged

him to quit his kingdom and retire to the court of Œnomaüs, king of

Pisa, whose daughter he married, and by her had a son named Atreus,

who was the father of Agamemnon and Menelaüs. Thus we see that

probably Paris, the great grandson of Tros, carried off Helen, as a

reprisal on Menelaüs, the great grandson of Tantalus, the persecutor

of Ganymede. Agamemnon did not fail to turn this fact to his own

advantage, by putting the Greeks in mind of the evils which his

family had suffered from the kings of Troy.

FABLE V. [X.162-219]

As Apollo is playing at quoits with the youth Hyacinthus, one of

them, thrown by the Divinity, rebounds from the earth, and striking

Hyacinthus on the head, kills him. From his blood springs up the

flower which still bears his name.

“Phœbus would have placed thee too, descendant of Amycla,[26] in the

heavens, if the stern Fates had given him time to place thee there.

Still, so far as is possible, thou art immortal; and as oft as the

spring drives away the winter, and the Ram succeeds the watery Fish, so

often dost thou spring up and blossom upon the green turf. Thee, beyond

{all} others, did my father love, and Delphi, situate in the middle[27]

of the earth, was without its guardian {Deity}, while the God was

frequenting the Eurotas, and the unfortified Sparta;[28] and neither his

lyre nor his arrows were {held} in esteem {by him}.

“Unmindful of his own dignity, he did not refuse to carry the nets, or

to hold the dogs, or to go, as his companion, over the ridges of the

rugged mountains; and by lengthened intimacy he augmented his flame. And

now Titan was almost in his mid course between the approaching and the

past night, and was at an equal distance from them both; {when} they

stripped their bodies of their garments, and shone with the juice of the

oily olive, and engaged in the game of the broad quoit.[29] First,

Phœbus tossed it, well poised, into the airy breeze, and clove the

opposite clouds with its weight. After a long pause, the heavy mass fell

on the hard ground, and showed skill united with strength. Immediately

the Tænarian youth,[30] in his thoughtlessness, and urged on by

eagerness for the sport, hastened to take up the circlet; but the hard

ground sent it back into the air with a rebound against thy face,

Hyacinthus.

“Equally as pale as the youth does the Divinity himself turn; and he

bears up thy sinking limbs; and at one moment he cherishes thee, at

another, he stanches thy sad wound; {and} now he stops the fleeting life

by the application of herbs. His skill is of no avail. The wound is

incurable. As if, in a well-watered garden, any one should break down

violets, or poppies, and lilies, as they adhere to their yellow stalks;

drooping, they would suddenly hang down their languid heads, and could

not support themselves; and would look towards the ground with their

tops. So sink his dying features; and, forsaken by its vigour, the neck

is a burden to itself, and reclines upon the shoulder. ‘Son of Œbalus,’

says Phœbus, ‘thou fallest, deprived of thy early youth; and I look on

thy wound as my own condemnation. Thou art {the object of} my grief, and

{the cause of} my crime. With thy death is my right hand to be charged;

I am the author of thy destruction. Yet what is my fault? unless to

engage in sport can be termed a fault; unless it can be called a fault,

too, to have loved thee. And oh! that I could give my life for thee, or

together with thee; but since I am restrained by the decrees of destiny,

thou shalt ever be with me, and shalt dwell on my mindful lips. The lyre

struck with my hand, my songs, too, shall celebrate thee; and,

{becoming} a new flower, by the inscription {on thee}, thou shalt

imitate[31] my lamentations. The time, too, shall come, at which a most

valiant hero[32] shall add his {name} to this flower, and it shall be

read upon the same leaves.’

“While such things are being uttered by the prophetic lips of Apollo,

behold! the blood which, poured on the ground, has stained the grass,

ceases to be blood, and a flower springs up, more bright than the Tyrian

purple, and it assumes the appearance which lilies {have}, were there

not in this a purple hue, {and} in them that of silver. This was not

enough for Phœbus, for ’twas he that was the author of this honour. He

himself inscribed his own lamentations on the leaves, and the flower has

‘ai, ai,’ inscribed {thereon}; and the mournful characters[33] {there}

are traced. Nor is Sparta ashamed to have given birth to Hyacinthus; and

his honours continue to the present time; the Hyacinthian festival[34]

returns, too, each year, to be celebrated with the prescribed

ceremonials, after the manner of former {celebrations}.”

[Footnote 26: _Descendant of Amycla._--Ver. 162. Hyacinthus is

here called Amyclides, as though being the son of Amycla, whereas,

in line 196 he is called ‘Œbalides,’ as though the son of Œbalus.

Pausamas and Apollodorus (in one instance) say that he was the son

of Amycla, the Lacedæmonian, who founded the city of Amyclæ;

though, in another place, Apollodorus says that Piërus was his

father. On the other hand, Hyginus, Lucian, and Servius say that

he was the son of Œbalus. Some explain ‘Amyclide,’ as meaning

‘born at Amyclæ;’ and, indeed, Claudian says that he was born

there. Others, again, would have Œbalide to signify ‘born at

Œbalia.’ But, if he was the son of Amycla, this could not be the

signification, as Œbalia was founded by Œbalus, who was the

grandson of Amycla. The poet, most probably, meant to style him

the descendant of Amycla, as being his great grandson, and the son

of Œbalus. Again, in the 217th line of this Book, the Poet says

that he was born at Sparta; but, in the fifth Book of the Fasti,

line 223, he mentions Therapnæ, a town of Laconia, as having been

his birthplace. Perizonius thinks that Ovid has here inadvertently

confounded the different versions of the story of Hyacinthus.]

[Footnote 27: _In the middle._--Ver. 168. Delphi, situated on a

ridge of Parnassus, was styled the navel of the world, as it was

supposed to be situate in the middle of the earth. The story was,

that Jupiter, having let go two eagles, or pigeons, at the

opposite extremities of the earth, with the view of ascertaining

the central spot of it, they met in their flight at this place.]

[Footnote 28: _Unfortified Sparta._--Ver. 169. Sparta was not

fortified, because Lycurgus considered that it ought to trust for

its defence to nothing but the valour and patriotism of its

citizens.]

[Footnote 29: _The broad quoit._--Ver. 177. The ‘discus,’ or

quoit, of the ancients, was made of brass, iron, stone, or wood,

and was about ten or twelve inches in diameter. Sometimes, a heavy

mass of iron, of spherical form, was thrown instead of the

‘discus.’ It was perforated in the middle, and a rope or thong

being passed through, was used in throwing it.]

[Footnote 30: _The Tænarian youth._--Ver. 183. Hyacinthus is so

called, not as having been born there, but because Tænarus was a

famous headland or promontory of Laconia, his native country.]

[Footnote 31: _Thou shalt imitate._--Ver. 206. The blood of

Hyacinthus, changing into a flower, according to the ideas of the

poets, the words Αἰ, Αἰ, expressive, in the Greek language, of

lamentation, were said to be impressed on its leaves.]

[Footnote 32: _Most valiant hero._--Ver. 207. He alludes to Ajax,

the son of Telamon, from whose blood, when he slew himself,

a similar flower was said to have arisen, with the letters Αἰ, Αἰ,

on its leaves, expressive either of grief, or denoting the first

two letters of his name, Αἴας. See Book xiii. line 397. The

hyacinth was the emblem of death, among the ancient Greeks.]

[Footnote 33: _Mournful characters._--Ver. 216. The letters are

called ‘funesta,’ because the words αἰ, αἰ were the expressions of

lamentation at funerals.]

[Footnote 34: _Hyacinthian festival._--Ver. 219. The Hyacinthia

was a festival celebrated every year at Amyclæ, in Laconia, by the

people of that town and of Sparta. Some writers say that it was

held solely in honour of Apollo; others, of Hyacinthus; but it is

much more probable, that it was intended to be in honour of both

Apollo and Hyacinthus. The festival lasted for three days, and

began on the longest day of the Spartan month, Hecatombæus. On the

first and last day, sacrifices were offered to the dead, and the

fate of Hyacinthus was lamented. Garlands were forbidden to be

worn on those days, bread was not allowed to be eaten, and no

songs were recited in praise of Apollo. On the second day,

rejoicing and amusements prevailed; the praises of Apollo were

sung, and horse races were celebrated; after which, females,

riding in chariots made of wicker-work, and splendidly adorned,

formed a beautiful procession. On this day, sacrifices were

offered, and the citizens kept open houses for their friends and

relations. Athenæus mentions a favourite meal of the Laconians on

this occasion, which was called κοπίς, and consisted of cakes,

bread, meat, broth, raw herbs, figs, and other fruits, with the

seeds of the lupine. Macrobius says, that chaplets of ivy were

worn at the Hyacinthia; but, of course, that remark can only apply

to the second day. Even when they had taken the field against an

enemy, the people of Amyclæ were in the habit of returning home on

the approach of the Hyacinthia, to celebrate that festival.]

EXPLANATION.

Hyacinthus, as Pausanias relates, was a youth of Laconia. His father

educated him with so much care, that he was looked upon as the

favourite of Apollo, and of the Muses. As he was one day playing

with his companions, he unfortunately received a blow on the head

from a quoit, from the effects of which he died soon after. Some

funeral verses were probably composed on the occasion; in which it

was said, with the view of comforting his relations, that Boreas,

jealous of the affection which Apollo had evinced for the youth, had

turned aside the quoit with which they played; and thus, by degrees,

in length of time the name of Apollo became inseparably connected

with the story.

The Lacedæmonians each year celebrated a solemn festival near his

tomb, where they offered sacrifices to him; and we are told by

Athenæus, that they instituted games in his honour, which were

called after his name. Pausanias makes mention of his tomb, upon

which he says was engraved the figure of Apollo. His alleged change

into the flower of the same name is probably solely owing to the

similarity of their names. It is not very clear what flower it is

that was known to the ancients under the name of Hyacinthus.

Dioscorides believes it to be that called ‘vaccinium’ by the Romans,

which is of a purple colour, and on which can be traced, though

imperfectly, the letters αἰ (alas!) mentioned by Ovid. The

lamentations of Apollo, on the death of Hyacinthus, formed the

subject of bitter, and, indeed, deserved raillery, for several of

the satirical writers among the ancients.

FABLE VI. [X.220-242]

Venus, incensed at the Cerastæ for polluting the island of Cyprus,

which is sacred to her, with the human sacrifices which they offer

to their Gods, transforms them into bulls; and the Propœtides, as a

punishment for their dissolute conduct, are transformed into rocks.

“But if, perchance, you were to ask of Amathus,[35] abounding in metals,

whether she would wish to have produced the Propœtides; she would deny

it, as well as those whose foreheads were of old rugged with two horns,

from which they also derived the name of Cerastæ. Before the doors of

these was standing an altar of Jupiter Hospes,[36] {a scene} of tragic

horrors; if any stranger had seen it stained with blood, he would have

supposed that sucking calves had been killed there, and Amathusian

sheep;[37] strangers were slain there. Genial Venus, offended at the

wicked sacrifices {there offered}, was preparing to abandon her own

cities and the Ophiusian lands.[38] ‘But how,’ said she, ‘have these

delightful spots, how have my cities offended? What criminality is there

in them? Let the inhuman race rather suffer punishment by exile or by

death, or if there is any middle course between death and exile; and

what can that be, but the punishment of changing their shape?’

“While she is hesitating into what she shall change them, she turns her

eyes towards their horns, and is put in mind that those may be left to

them; and {then} she transforms their huge limbs into {those of} fierce

bulls.

“And yet the obscene Propœtides presumed to deny that Venus is a

Goddess; for which they are reported the first {of all women} to have

prostituted their bodies,[39] with their beauty, through the anger of

the Goddess. And when their shame was gone, and the blood of their face

was hardened, they were, by a slight transition, changed into hard

rocks.”

[Footnote 35: _Amathus._--Ver. 220. Amathus was a city of Cyprus,

sacred to Venus, and famous for the mines in its neighbourhood.]

[Footnote 36: _Jupiter Hospes._--Ver. 224. Jupiter, in his

character of Ζεῦς ξένιος, was the guardian and protector of

travellers and wayfarers.]

[Footnote 37: _Amathusian sheep._--Ver. 227. Amathusia was one of

the names of the island of Cyprus.]

[Footnote 38: _Ophiusian lands._--Ver. 229. Cyprus was anciently

called Ophiusia, on account of the number of serpents that

infested it; ὄφις being the Greek for a serpent.]

[Footnote 39: _Their bodies._--Ver. 240. The women of Cyprus were

notorious for the levity of their character. We learn from

Herodotus that they had recourse to prostitution to raise their

marriage portions.]

EXPLANATION.

The Cerastæ, a people of the island of Cyprus, were, perhaps, said

to have been changed into bulls, to show the barbarous nature and

rustic manners of those islanders, who stained their altars with the

blood of strangers, in sacrifice to the Gods.

An equivocation of names also, probably, aided in originating the

story. The island of Cyprus is surrounded with promontories which

rise out of the sea, and whose pointed rocks appear at a distance

like horns, from which it had the name of Cerastis, the Greek word

κέρας, signifying a ‘horn.’ Thus, the inhabitants having the name of

Cerastæ, it was most easy to invent a fiction of their having been

once turned into oxen, to account the more readily for their bearing

that name.

The Propœtides, who inhabited the same island, were females of very

dissolute character. Justin, and other writers, mention a singular

and horrible custom in that island, of prostituting young girls in

the very temple of Venus. It was most probably the utter disregard

of these women for common decency, that occasioned the poets to say

that they were transformed into rocks.

FABLE VII. [X.243-297]

Pygmalion, shocked by the dissolute lives of the Propœtides, throws

off all fondness for the female sex, and resolves on leading a life

of perpetual celibacy. Falling in love with a statue which he has

made, Venus animates it; on which he marries this new object of his

affections, and has a son by her, who gives his name to the island.

“When Pygmalion saw these women spending their lives in criminal

pursuits, shocked at the vices which Nature had {so} plentifully

imparted to the female disposition, he lived a single life without a

wife, and for a long time was without a partner of his bed. In the

meantime, he ingeniously carved {a statue of} snow-white ivory with

wondrous skill; and gave it a beauty with which no woman can be born;

and {then} conceived a passion for his own workmanship. The appearance

was that of a real virgin, whom you might suppose to be alive, and if

modesty did not hinder her, to be desirous to move; so much did art lie

concealed under his skill. Pygmalion admires it; and entertains, within

his breast, a flame for this fictitious body.

“Often does he apply his hands to the work, to try whether it is a

{human} body, or whether it is ivory; and yet he does not own it to be

ivory. He gives it kisses, and fancies that they are returned, and

speaks to it, and takes hold of it, and thinks that his fingers make an

impression on the limbs which they touch, and is fearful lest a livid

mark should come on her limbs {when} pressed. And one while he employs

soft expressions, at another time he brings her presents that are

agreeable to maidens, {such as} shells, and smooth pebbles, and little

birds, and flowers of a thousand tints, and lilies, and painted balls,

and tears of the Heliades, that have fallen from the trees. He decks her

limbs, too, with clothing, and puts jewels on her fingers; he puts,

{too}, a long necklace on her neck. Smooth pendants hang from her ears,

and bows from her breast.[40] All things are becoming {to her}; and she

does not seem less beautiful than when naked. He places her on coverings

dyed with the Sidonian shell, and calls her the companion of his bed,

and lays down her reclining neck upon soft feathers, as though it were

sensible.

“A festival of Venus, much celebrated throughout all Cyprus, had {now}

come; and heifers, with snow-white necks, having their spreading horns

tipped with gold, fell, struck {by the axe}. Frankincense, too, was

smoking, when, having made his offering, Pygmalion stood before the

altar, and timorously said, ‘If ye Gods can grant all things, let my

wife be, I pray,’ {and} he did not dare to say ‘this ivory maid,’ {but}

‘like to this {statue} of ivory.’ The golden Venus, as she herself was

present at her own festival, understood what that prayer meant; and as

an omen of the Divinity being favourable, thrice was the flame kindled

up, and it sent up a tapering flame into the air. Soon as he returned,

he repaired to the image of his maiden, and, lying along the couch, he

gave her kisses. She seems to grow warm. Again he applies his mouth;

with his hands, too, he feels her breast. The pressed ivory becomes

soft, and losing its hardness, yields to the fingers, and gives way,

just as Hymettian wax[41] grows soft in the sun, and being worked with

the fingers is turned into many shapes, and becomes pliable by the very

handling. While he is amazed, and is rejoicing, {though} with

apprehension, and is fearing that he is deceived; the lover again and

again touches the object of his desires with his hand. It is a {real}

body; the veins throb, when touched with the thumb.

“Then, indeed, the Paphian hero conceives {in his mind} the most lavish

expressions, with which to give thanks to Venus, and at length presses

lips, no {longer} fictitious, with his own lips. The maiden, too, feels

the kisses given her, and blushes; and raising her timorous eyes towards

the light {of day}, she sees at once her lover and the heavens. The

Goddess was present at the marriage which she {thus} effected. And now,

the horns of the moon having been nine times gathered into a full orb,

she brought forth Paphos; from whom the island derived its name.”

[Footnote 40: _Bows from her breast._--Ver. 265. The ‘Redimiculum’

was a sort of fillet, or head band, worn by females. Passing over

the shoulders, it hung on each side, over the breast. In the

statues of Venus, it was often imitated in gold. Clarke translates

it by the word ‘solitaire.’]

[Footnote 41: _Hymettian wax._--Ver. 284. Hymettus was a mountain

of Attica, much famed for its honey.]

EXPLANATION.

The Pygmalion here mentioned must not be mistaken for the person of

the same name, who was the brother of Dido, and king of Tyre. The

story is most probably an allegory, which was based on the fact that

Pygmalion being a man of virtuous principles, and disgusted with the

vicious conduct of the women of Cyprus, took a great deal of care in

training the mind and conduct of a young female, whom he kept at a

distance from the contact of the prevailing vices; and whom, after

having recovered her from the obdurate and rocky state to which the

other females were reduced, he made his wife, and had a son by her

named Paphos; who was said to have been the founder of the city of

Cyprus, known by his name.

FABLE VIII. [X.298-518]

Myrrha, the daughter of Cinyras and Cenchris, having conceived an

incestuous passion for her own father, and despairing of satisfying

it, attempts to hang herself. Her nurse surprises her in the act,

and prevents her death. Myrrha, after repeated entreaties and

assurances of assistance, discloses to her the cause of her despair.

The nurse, by means of a stratagem, procures her the object of her

desires, which being discovered by her father, he pursues his

daughter with the intention of killing her. Myrrha flies from her

father’s dominions and being delivered of Adonis, is transformed

into a tree.

“Of him was that Cinyras sprung, who, if he had been without issue,

might have been reckoned among the happy. Of horrible events shall I

{now} sing. Daughters, be far hence; far hence be parents, {too}; or, if

my verse shall charm your minds, let credit not be given to me in this

part {of my song}, and do not believe that it happened; or, if you will

believe, believe as well in the punishment of the deed.

“Yet, if Nature allows this crime to appear to have been committed,

I congratulate the Ismarian matrons, and my own {division of the} globe.

I congratulate this land, that it is afar from those regions which

produced so great an abomination. Let the Panchæan land[42] be rich in

amomum, and let it produce cinnamon, and its zedoary,[43] and

frankincense distilling from its tree, and its other flowers, so long as

it produces the myrrh-tree, as well. The new tree was not of so much

worth {as to be a recompense for the crime to which it owed its origin}.

Cupid himself denies, Myrrha, that it was his arrows that injured thee;

and he defends his torches from that imputation; one of the three

Sisters kindled {this flame} within thee, with a Stygian firebrand and

with swelling vipers. It is a crime to hate a parent; {but} this love is

a greater degree of wickedness than hatred. On every side worthy nobles

are desiring thee {in marriage}, and throughout the whole East the

youths come to the contest for thy bed. Choose out of all these one for

thyself, Myrrha, so that, in all that number, there be not one person,

{namely, thy father}.

“She, indeed, is sensible {of her criminality}, and struggles hard

against her infamous passion, and says to herself, ‘Whither am I being

carried away by my feelings? What am I attempting? I beseech you, O ye

Gods, and natural affection, and ye sacred ties of parents, forbid this

guilt: defend me from a crime so great! if, indeed, this be a crime. But

yet the ties of parent and child are said not to forbid this {kind of}

union; and other animals couple with no distinction. It is not

considered shameful for the heifer to mate with her sire; his own

daughter becomes the mate of the horse; the he-goat, too, consorts with

the flocks of which he is the father; and the bird conceives by him,

from whose seed she herself was conceived. Happy they, to whom these

things are allowed! The care of man has provided harsh laws, and what

Nature permits, malignant ordinances forbid. {And} yet there are said to

be nations[44] in which both the mother is united to the son, and the

daughter to the father, and natural affection is increased by a twofold

passion. Ah, wretched me! that it was not my chance to be born there,

{and that} I am injured by my lot {being cast} in this place! {but} why

do I ruminate on these things? Forbidden hopes, begone! He is deserving

to be beloved, but as a father {only}. Were I not, therefore, the

daughter of the great Cinyras, with Cinyras I might be united. Now,

because he is so much mine, he is not mine, and his very nearness {of

relationship} is my misfortune.

“‘A stranger, I were more likely to succeed. I could wish to go far away

hence, and to leave my native country, so I might {but} escape this

crime. A fatal delusion detains me {thus} in love; that being present,

I may look at Cinyras, and touch him, and talk with him, and give him

kisses, if nothing more is allowed me. But canst thou hope for anything

more, impious maid? and dost thou not perceive both how many laws, and

{how many} names thou art confounding? Wilt thou be both the rival of

thy mother, and the harlot of thy father? Wilt thou be called the sister

of thy son, and the mother of thy brother? and wilt thou not dread the

Sisters that have black snakes for their hair, whom guilty minds see

threatening their eyes and their faces with their relentless torches?

But do not thou conceive criminality in thy mind, so long as thou hast

suffered none in body, and violate not the laws of all-powerful Nature

by forbidden embraces. Suppose he were to be compliant, the action

itself forbids {thee; but} he is virtuous, and regardful of what is

right. And {yet}, O that there were a like infatuation in him!’

“{Thus} she says; but Cinyras, whom an honourable crowd of suitors is

causing to be in doubt what he is to do, inquires of herself, as he

repeats their names, of which husband she would wish {to be the wife}.

At first she is silent; and, fixing her eyes upon her father’s

countenance, she is in confusion, and fills her eyes with the warm

tears. Cinyras, supposing this to be {the effect} of virgin bashfulness,

bids her not weep, and dries her cheeks, and gives her kisses. On these

being given, Myrrha is too much delighted; and, being questioned what

sort of a husband she would have, she says, ‘One like thyself.’ But he

praises the answer not {really}[45] understood by him, and says, ‘Ever

be thus affectionate.’ On mention being made of affection, the maiden,

conscious of her guilt, fixed her eyes on the ground.

“It is {now} midnight, and sleep has dispelled the cares, and {has

eased} the minds {of mortals}. But the virgin daughter of Cinyras, kept

awake, is preyed upon by an unconquerable flame, and ruminates upon her

wild desires. And one while she despairs, and at another she resolves to

try; and is both ashamed, and {yet} is desirous, and is not certain what

she is to do; and, just as a huge tree, wounded by the axe, when the

last stroke {now} remains, is in doubt, {as it were}, on which side it

is to fall, and is dreaded in each direction; so does her mind, shaken

by varying passions, waver in uncertainty, this way and that, and

receives an impulse in either direction; {and} no limit or repose is

found for her love, but death: ’tis death that pleases her. She raises

herself upright, and determines to insert her neck[46] in a halter; and

tying her girdle to the top of the door-post, she says, ‘Farewell, dear

Cinyras, and understand the cause of my death;’ and {then} fits the

noose to her pale neck.

“They say that the sound of her words reached the attentive ears of her

nurse,[47] as she was guarding the door of her foster-child. The old

woman rises, and opens the door; and, seeing the instruments of the

death she has contemplated, at the same moment she cries aloud, and

smites herself, and rends her bosom, and snatching the girdle from her

neck, tears it to pieces. {And} then, at last, she has time to weep,

then to give her embraces, and to inquire into the occasion for the

halter. The maid is silent, {as} {though} dumb, and, without moving,

looks upon the earth; and {thus} detected, is sorry for her attempt at

death in this slow manner. The old woman {still} urges her; and laying

bare her grey hair, and her withered breasts, begs her, by her cradle

and by her first nourishment, to entrust her with that which is causing

her grief. She, turning from her as she asks, heaves a sigh. The nurse

is determined to find it out, and not to promise her fidelity only.

‘Tell me,’ says she, ‘and allow me to give thee assistance; my old age

is not an inactive one. If it is a frantic passion, I have the means of

curing it with charms and herbs; if any one has hurt thee by spells, by

magic rites shalt thou be cured; or if it is the anger of the Gods, that

anger can be appeased by sacrifice. What more {than these} can I think

of? No doubt thy fortunes and thy family are prosperous, and in the way

of continuing so; thy mother and thy father are {still} surviving.’

Myrrha, on hearing her father’s {name}, heaves a sigh from the bottom of

her heart. Nor, even yet, does her nurse apprehend in her mind any

unlawful passion; {and} still she has a presentiment that it is

something {connected with} love. Persisting in her purpose, she entreats

her, whatever it is, to disclose it to her, and takes her, as she weeps,

in her aged lap; and so embracing her in her feeble arms, she says,

‘Daughter, I understand it; thou art in love, and in this case (lay

aside thy fears) my assiduity will be of service to thee; nor shall thy

father ever be aware of it.’

“Furious, she sprang away from her bosom; and pressing the bed with her

face, she said, ‘Depart, I entreat thee, and spare my wretched shame.’

Upon the other insisting, she said, ‘Either depart, or cease to inquire

why it is I grieve; that which thou art striving to know, is impious.’

The old woman is struck with horror, and stretches forth her hands

palsied both with years and with fear, and suppliantly falls before the

feet of her foster-child. And one while she soothes her, sometimes she

terrifies her {with the consequences}, if she is not made acquainted

with it; and {then} she threatens her with the discovery of the halter,

{and} of her attempted destruction, and promises her good offices, if

the passion is confided to her. She lifts up her head, and fills the

breast of her nurse with tears bursting forth; and often endeavouring to

confess, as often does she check her voice; and she covers her blushing

face with her garments, and says, ‘O, mother, happy in thy husband!’

Thus much {she says}; and {then} she sighs. A trembling shoots through

the chilled limbs and the bones of her nurse, for she understands her;

and her white hoariness stands bristling with stiff hair all over her

head; and she adds many a word to drive away a passion so dreadful, if

{only} she can. But the maiden is well aware that she is not advised to

a false step; still she is resolved to die, if she does not enjoy him

whom she loves. ‘Live {then},’ says {the nurse}, ‘thou shalt enjoy

thy----’ and, not daring to say ‘parent,’ she is silent; and {then} she

confirms her promise with an oath.

“The pious matrons were {now} celebrating the annual festival of

Ceres,[48] on which, having their bodies clothed with snow-white robes,

they offer garlands made of ears of corn, as the first fruits of the

harvest; and for nine nights they reckon embraces, and the contact of a

husband, among the things forbidden. Cenchreïs, the king’s wife, is

absent in that company, and attends the mysterious rites. Therefore,

while his bed is without his lawful wife, the nurse, wickedly

industrious, having found Cinyras overcome with wine, discloses to him a

real passion, {but} under a feigned name, and praises the beauty {of the

damsel}. On his enquiring the age of the maiden, she says, ‘She is of

the same age as Myrrha.’ After she is commanded to bring her, and as

soon as she has returned home, she says, ‘Rejoice, my fosterling, we

have prevailed.’ The unhappy maid does not feel joy throughout her

entire body, and her boding breast is sad. And still she does rejoice:

so great is the discord in her mind.

“’Twas the time when all things are silent, and Boötes had turned his

wain with the pole obliquely directed among the Triones.[49] She

approaches to {perpetrate} her enormity. The golden moon flies from the

heavens; black clouds conceal the hiding stars; the night is deprived of

its fires. Thou, Icarus, dost conceal thy rising countenance; and

{thou}, Erigone, raised to the heavens through thy affectionate love for

thy father. Three times was she recalled by the presage of her foot

stumbling; thrice did the funereal owl give an omen by its dismal cry.

Yet {onward} she goes, and the gloom and the dark night lessen her

shame. In her left hand she holds that of her nurse, the other, by

groping, explores the secret road. {And} now she is arrived at the door

of the chamber; and now she opens the door; now she is led in; but her

knees tremble beneath her sinking hams, her colour and her blood vanish;

and her courage deserts her as she moves along. The nearer she is to

{the commission of} her crime, the more she dreads it, and she repents

of her attempt, and could wish to be able to return unknown. The old

woman leads her on by the hand as she lingers, and when she has

delivered her up on her approach to the lofty bed, she says, ‘Take her,

Cinyras, she is thy own,’ and {so} unites their doomed bodies. The

father receives his own bowels into the polluted bed, and allays her

virgin fears, and encourages her as she trembles. Perhaps, too, he may

have called her by a name {suited to} her age, and she may have called

him ‘father,’ that the {appropriate} names might not be wanting in this

deed of horror. Pregnant by her father, she departs from the chamber,

and, in her impiety, bears his seed in her incestuous womb, and carries

{with her}, criminality in her conception. The ensuing night repeats the

guilty deed; nor on that {night} is there an end. At last, Cinyras,

after so many embraces, longing to know who is his paramour, on lights

being brought in, discovers both the crime and his own daughter.

“His words checked through grief, he draws his shining sword from the

scabbard as it hangs. Myrrha flies, rescued from death by the gloom and

the favour of a dark night; and wandering along the wide fields, she

leaves the Arabians famed for their palms, and the Panchæan fields. And

she wanders during nine horns of the returning moon; when, at length,

being weary, she rests in the Sabæan country,[50] and with difficulty

she supports the burden of her womb. Then, uncertain what to wish, and

between the fear of death and weariness of life, she uttered such a

prayer {as this}: ‘O ye Deities, if any of you favour those who are

penitent; I have deserved severe punishment, and I do not shrink from

it. But that, neither existing, I may pollute the living, nor dead,

those who are departed, expel me from both these realms; and

transforming me, deny me both life and death.’ {Some} Divinity {ever}

regards the penitent; at least, the last of her prayers found its Gods

{to execute it}. For the earth closes over her legs as she speaks, and a

root shoots forth obliquely through her bursting nails, {as} a firm

support to her tall trunk. Her bones, too, become hard wood, and her

marrow continuing in the middle, her blood changes into sap, her arms

into great branches, her fingers into smaller ones; her skin grows hard

with bark. And now the growing tree has run over her heavy womb, and has

covered her breast, and is ready to enclose her neck. She cannot endure

delay, and sinks down to meet the approaching wood, and hides her

features within the bark. Though she has lost her former senses together

with her {human} shape, she still weeps on, and warm drops distil[51]

from the tree. There is a value even in her tears, and the myrrh

distilling from the bark, retains the name of its mistress, and will be

unheard-of in no {future} age.

“But the infant conceived in guilt grows beneath the wood, and seeks out

a passage, by which he may extricate himself, having left his mother.

Her pregnant womb swells in the middle of the tree. The burden distends

the mother, nor have her pangs words of their own {whereby to express

themselves}; nor can Lucina be invoked by her voice {while} bringing

forth. Yet she is like one struggling {to be delivered}; and the bending

tree utters frequent groans, and is moistened with falling tears. Gentle

Lucina stands by the moaning boughs, and applies her hands, and utters

words that promote delivery. The tree gapes open, in chinks, and through

the cleft bark it discharges the living burden. The child cries; the

Naiads, laying him on the soft grass, anoint him with the tears of his

mother.

“Even Envy {herself} would have commended his face; for just as the

bodies of naked Cupids are painted in a picture, such was he. But that

their dress may not make any difference, either give to him or take away

from them, the polished quivers.”

[Footnote 42: _The Panchæan land._--Ver. 309. Panchæa was a region

of Arabia Felix, abounding in the choicest wines and frankincense.

Here, the Phœnix was said to find the materials for making its

nest.]

[Footnote 43: _Its zedoary._--Ver. 308. ‘Costus,’ or ‘costum,’ was

an Indian shrub, which yielded a fragrant ointment, much esteemed

by the ancients. Clarke translates it ‘Coysts,’ a word apparently

of his own coining.]

[Footnote 44: _Said to be nations._--Ver. 331. We do not read of

any such nations, except the fabulous Troglodytes of Ethiopia, who

were supposed to live promiscuously, like the brutes. Attica, king

of the Huns, long after Ovid’s time, married his own daughter,

amid the rejoicings of his subjects.]

[Footnote 45: _Not really._--Ver. 365. That is to say, not

understood by him in the sense in which Myrrha meant it.]

[Footnote 46: _To insert her neck._--Ver. 378. ‘Laqueoque

innectere fauces Destinat,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘And resolves

to stitch up her neck in a halter.’]

[Footnote 47: _Of her nurse._--Ver. 382. Antoninus Liberalis gives

this hag the name of Hippolyte.]

[Footnote 48: _Festival of Ceres._--Ver. 431. Commentators, in

general, suppose that he here alludes to the festival of the

Thesmophoria, which was celebrated in honour of Demeter, or Ceres,

in various parts of Greece; in general, by the married women,

though the virgins joined in some of the ceremonies. Demosthenes,

Diodorus Siculus, and Plutarch, say that it was first celebrated

by Orpheus; while Herodotus states, that it was introduced from

Egypt by the daughters of Danaüs; and that, after the Dorian

conquest, it fell into disuse, being retained only by the people

of Arcadia. It was intended to commemorate the introduction of

laws and the regulations of civilized life, which were generally

ascribed to Demeter. It is not known whether the festival lasted

four or five days with the Athenians. Many days were spent by the

matrons in preparing for its celebration. The solemnity was

commenced by the women walking in procession from Athens to

Eleusis. In this procession they carried on their heads

representations of the laws which had been introduced by Ceres,

and other symbols of civilized life. They then spent the night at

Eleusis, in celebrating the mysteries of the Goddess. The second

day was one of mourning, during which the women sat on the ground

around the statues of Ceres, taking no food but cakes made of

sesame and honey. On it no meetings of the people were held.

Probably it was in the afternoon of this day that there was a

procession at Athens, in which the women walked bare-footed behind

a waggon, upon which were baskets, with sacred symbols. The third

day was one of merriment and festivity among the women, in

commemoration of Iämbe, who was said to have amused the Goddess

during her grief at the loss of Proserpine. An atoning sacrifice,

called ζήμια, was probably offered to the Goddess, at the end of

this day. It is most probable that the ceremonial lasted but three

days. The women wore white dresses during the period of its

performance, and they adopted the same colour during the

celebration of the Cerealia at Rome. Burmann thinks, that an

Eastern festival, in honour of Ceres, is here referred to. If so,

no accounts of it whatever have come down to us.]

[Footnote 49: _Among the Triones._--Ver. 446. ‘Triones’. This

word, which is applied to the stars of the Ursa Major, or

Charles’s Wain, literally means ‘oxen;’ and is by some thought to

come from ‘tero,’ ‘to bruise,’ because oxen were used for the

purpose of threshing corn; but it is more likely to have its

origin from ‘terra,’ ‘the earth,’ because oxen were used for

ploughing. The Poet employs this periphrasis, to signify the

middle of the night.]

[Footnote 50: _Sabæan country._--Ver. 480. Sabæa, or Saba, was a

region of Arabia Felix, now called ‘Yemen.’ It was famed for its

myrrh, frankincense, and spices. In the Scriptures it is called

Sheba, and it was the queen of this region, who came to listen to

the wisdom of Solomon.]

[Footnote 51: _Warm drops distil._--Ver. 500. He alludes to the

manner in which frankincense is produced, it exuding from the bark

of the tree in drops; this gum, Pliny the Elder and Lucretius call

by the name of ‘stacta,’ or ‘stacte.’ The ancients flavoured their

wines with myrrh.]

EXPLANATION.

Le Clerc, forming his ideas on what Lucian, Phurnutus, and other

authors have said on the subject, explains the story of Cinyras and

Myrrha in the following manner. Cynnor, or Cinyras, the grandfather

of Adonis, having one day drank to excess, fell asleep in a posture

which violated the rules of decency. Mor, or Myrrha, his

daughter-in-law, the wife of Ammon, together with her son Adonis,

seeing him in that condition, acquainted her husband with her

father’s lapse. On his repeating this to Cinyras, the latter was so

full of indignation, that he loaded Myrrha and Adonis with

imprecations.

Loaded with the execrations of her father, Myrrha retired into

Arabia, where she remained some time; and because Adonis passed some

portion of his youth there, the poets feigned that Myrrha was

delivered of him in that country. Her transformation into a tree was

only invented on account of the equivocal character of her name,

‘Mor,’ which meant in the Arabic language ‘Myrrh.’ It is very

probable that the story was founded on a tradition among the

Phœnicians of the history of Noah, and of the malediction which Ham

drew on himself by his undutiful conduct towards his father.

FABLE IX. [X.519-707]

Adonis is educated by the Naiads. His beauty makes a strong

impression on the Goddess Venus, and, in her passion, she traverses

the same wilds in pursuit of the youth, which his mother did, when

flying from the wrath of her father. After chasing the wild beasts,

she invites Adonis to a poplar shade, where she warns him of his

danger in hunting lions, wild boars, and such formidable animals.

On this occasion, too, she relates the adventures of Hippomenes and

Atalanta. The beauty of the latter was such, that her charms daily

attracted crowds of suitors. Having consulted the oracle, whether

she shall marry, she is answered that a husband will certainly prove

her destruction. On this, to avoid marrying, she makes it a rule to

offer to run with her suitors, promising that she herself will be

the prize of the victor, but only on condition that immediate death

shall be the fate of those who are vanquished by her. As she excels

in running, her design succeeds, and several suitors die in the

attempt to win her. Hippomenes, smitten with her charms, is not

daunted at their ill success; but boldly enters the lists, after

imploring the aid of Venus. Atalanta is struck with his beauty, and

is much embarrassed, whether she shall yield to the charms of the

youth, or to the dissuasions of the oracle. Hippomenes attracts her

attention in the race, by throwing down some golden apples which

Venus has given him, and then, reaching the goal before her, he

carries off the reward of victory. Venus, to punish his subsequent

ingratitude towards her, raises his desires to such a pitch, that he

incurs the resentment of Cybele, by defiling her shrine with the

embraces of his mistress; on which they are both transformed into

lions, and thenceforth draw the chariot of the Goddess.

“Winged time glides on insensibly and deceives us; and there is nothing

more fleeting than years. He, born of his own sister and of his

grandfather, who, so lately enclosed in a tree, was so lately born, and

but just now a most beauteous infant, is now a youth, now a man, {and}

now more beauteous than he {was before}. {And} now he pleases even

Venus,[52] and revenges the flames of his mother, {kindled by her}. For,

while the boy that wears the quiver is giving kisses to his mother, he

unconsciously grazes her breast with a protruding arrow. The Goddess,

wounded, pushed away her son with her hand. The wound was inflicted more

deeply than it seemed to be, and at first had deceived {even} herself.

Charmed with the beauty of the youth, she does not now care for the

Cytherian shores, nor does she revisit Paphos, surrounded with the deep

sea, and Cnidos,[53] abounding in fish, or Amathus, rich in metals.

“She abandons even the skies; him she {ever} attends; and she who has

been always accustomed to indulge in the shade, and to improve her

beauty, by taking care of it, wanders over the tops of mountains,

through the woods, and over bushy rocks, bare to the knee and with her

robes tucked up after the manner of Diana, and she cheers on the dogs,

and hunts animals that are harmless prey, either the fleet hares, or the

stag with its lofty horns, or the hinds; she keeps afar from the fierce

boars, and avoids the ravening wolves, and the bears armed with claws,

and the lions glutted with the slaughter of the herds. Thee, too,

Adonis, she counsels to fear them, if she can aught avail by advising

thee. And she says, “Be brave against those {animals} that fly; boldness

is not safe against those that are bold. Forbear, youth, to be rash at

my hazard, and attack not the wild beasts to which nature has granted

arms, lest thy {thirst for} glory should cost me dear. Neither thy age,

nor thy beauty, nor {other} things which have made an impression on

Venus, make any impression on lions and bristly boars, and the eyes and

the tempers of wild beasts. The fierce boars carry lightning[54] in

their curving tusks; there is rage and fury unlimited in the tawny

lions; and the {whole} race is odious to me.”

“Upon his asking, what is the reason, she says, ‘I will tell thee, and

thou wilt be surprised at the prodigious result of a fault long since

committed. But {this} toil to which I am unaccustomed has now fatigued

me, and see! a convenient poplar invites us, by its shade, and the turf

furnishes a couch. Here I am desirous to repose myself, together with

thee;’ and {forthwith} she rests herself on the ground, and presses at

once the grass and himself. And with her neck reclining on the bosom of

the youth, smiling, she thus says, and she mingles kisses in the midst

of her words:--

“Perhaps thou mayst have heard how a certain damsel excelled the

swiftest men in the contest of speed. That report was no idle tale; for

she did excel them. Nor couldst thou have said, whether she was more

distinguished in the merit of her swiftness, or in the excellence of her

beauty. Upon her consulting the oracle about a husband, the God said to

her, ‘Thou hast no need, Atalanta, of a husband; avoid obtaining a

husband. And yet thou wilt not avoid it, and, while {still} living, thou

wilt lose thyself.’ Alarmed with the response of the God, she lives a

single life in the shady woods, and determinedly repulses the pressing

multitude of her suitors with these conditions. ‘I am not,’ says she,

‘to be gained, unless first surpassed in speed. Engage with me in

running. Both a wife and a wedding shall be given as the reward of the

swift; death {shall be} the recompense of the slow. Let that be the

condition of the contest.’ She, indeed, was cruel {in this proposal};

but (so great is the power of beauty) a rash multitude of suitors agreed

to these terms. Hippomenes had sat, as a spectator, of this unreasonable

race, and said, ‘Is a wife sought by any one, amid dangers so great?’

And {thus} he condemned the excessive ardour of the youths. {But} when

he beheld her face, and her body with her clothes laid aside, such as

mine is, or such as thine would be, {Adonis}, if thou wast to become a

woman, he was astonished, and raising his hands, he said, ‘Pardon me, ye

whom I was just now censuring; the reward which you contended for was

not yet known to me.’

“In commending her, he kindles the flame, and wishes that none of the

young men may run more swiftly than she, and, in his envy, is

apprehensive of it. ‘But why,’ says he, ‘is my chance in this contest

left untried? The Divinity himself assists the daring.’ While Hippomenes

is pondering such things within himself, the virgin flies with winged

pace. Although she appears to the Aonian youth to go no less swiftly

than the Scythian arrow, he admires her still more in her beauty, and

the very speed makes her beauteous. The breeze that meets her bears back

her pinions on her swift feet, and her hair is thrown over her ivory

shoulders and the leggings which are below her knees with their

variegated border, and upon her virgin whiteness her body has contracted

a blush; no otherwise than as when purple hangings[55] over a whitened

hall tint it with a shade of a similar colour. While the stranger is

observing these things, the last course is run,[56] and the victorious

Atalanta is adorned with a festive crown. The vanquished utter sighs,

and pay the penalty, according to the stipulation. Still, not awed by

the end of these young men, he stands up in the midst; and fixing his

eyes on the maiden, he says, ‘Why dost thou seek an easy victory by

conquering the inactive? Contend {now} with me. If fortune shall render

me victorious, thou wilt not take it ill to be conquered by one so

illustrious. For my father was Megareus, Onchestius his;[57] Neptune was

his grandsire; I am the great grandson of the king of the waves. Nor is

my merit inferior to my extraction. Or if I shall be conquered, in the

conquest of Hippomenes thou wilt have a great and honourable name.’

“As he utters such words as these, the daughter of Schœneus regards him

with a benign countenance, and is in doubt whether she shall wish to be

overcome or to conquer; and thus she says: ‘What Deity, a foe to the

beauteous, wishes to undo this {youth}? and commands him, at the risk of

a life {so} dear, to seek this alliance? In my own opinion, I am not of

so great value. Nor {yet} am I moved by his beauty. Still, by this, too,

I could be moved. But, {’tis} because he is still a boy; ’tis not

himself that affects me, but his age. And is it not, too, because he has

courage and a mind undismayed by death? And is it not, besides, because

he is reckoned fourth in descent from the {monarch} of the sea? And is

it not, because he loves me, and thinks a marriage with me of so much

worth as to perish {for it}, if cruel fortune should deny me to him?

Stranger, while {still} thou mayst, begone, and abandon an alliance

stained with blood. A match with me is cruelly hazardous. No woman will

be unwilling to be married to thee; and thou mayst be desired {even} by

a prudent maid. But why have I any concern for thee, when so many have

already perished? Let him look to it; {and} let him die, since he is not

warned by the fate of so many of my wooers, and is impelled onwards to

weariness of life.

“‘Shall he then die because he was desirous with me to live? And shall

he suffer an undeserved death, the reward of his love? My victory will

not be able to support the odium {of the deed}. But it is no fault of

mine. I wish thou wouldst desist! or since thou art {thus} mad, would

that thou wast more fleet {than I!} But what a feminine look[58] there

is in his youthful face! Ah, wretched Hippomenes, I would that I had not

been seen by thee! Thou wast worthy to have lived! And if I had been

more fortunate; and if the vexatious Divinities had not denied me {the

blessings of} marriage, thou wast one with whom I could have shared my

bed.’ Thus she said; and as one inexperienced, and smitten by Cupid for

the first time, not knowing what she is doing, she is in love, and {yet}

does not know that she is in love.

“{And} now, both the people and her father, demanded the usual race,

when Hippomenes, the descendant of Neptune, invoked me with anxious

voice; ‘I entreat that Cytherea may favour my undertaking, and aid the

passion that she has inspired {in me}.’ The breeze, not envious, wafted

to me this tender prayer; I was moved, I confess it; nor was any long

delay made in {giving} aid. There is a field, the natives call it by

name the Tamasenian {field},[59] the choicest spot in the Cyprian land;

this the elders of former days consecrated to me, and ordered to be

added as an endowment for my temple. In the middle of this field a tree

flourishes, with yellow foliage, {and} with branches tinkling with

yellow gold. Hence, by chance as I was coming, I carried three golden

apples, that I had plucked, in my hand; and being visible to none but

him, I approached Hippomenes, and I showed him what {was to be} the use

of them. The trumpets have {now} given the signal, when each {of them}

darts precipitately from the starting place, and skims the surface of

the sand with nimble feet. You might have thought them able to pace the

sea with dry feet, and to run along the ears of white standing corn

{while} erect. The shouts and the applause of the populace give courage

to the youth, and the words of those who exclaim, ‘Now, now, Hippomenes,

is the moment to speed onward! make haste. Now use all thy strength!

Away with delay! thou shalt be conqueror.’ It is doubtful whether the

Megarean hero, or the virgin daughter of Schœneus rejoiced the most at

these sayings. O how often when she could have passed by him, did she

slacken her speed, and {then} unwillingly left behind the features that

long she had gazed upon.

“A parched panting is coming from his faint mouth, and the goal is

{still} a great way off. Then, at length, the descendant of Neptune

throws one of the three products of the tree. The virgin is amazed, and

from a desire for the shining fruit, she turns from her course, and

picks up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passes her. The theatres ring[60]

with applause. She makes amends for her delay, and the time that she has

lost, with a swift pace, and again she leaves the youth behind. And,

retarded by the throwing of a second apple, again she overtakes the

{young} man, and passes by him. The last part of the race {now}

remained. ‘{And} now,’ said he, ‘O Goddess, giver of this present, aid

me;’ and {then} with youthful might, he threw the shining gold, in an

oblique direction, on one side of the plain, in order that she might

return the more slowly. The maiden seemed to be in doubt, whether she

should fetch it; I forced her to take it up, and added weight to the

apple, when she had taken it up, and I impeded her, both by the

heaviness of the burden, and the delay in reaching it. And that my

narrative may not be more tedious than that race, the virgin was outrun,

and the conqueror obtained the prize.

“And was I not, Adonis, deserving that he should return thanks to me,

and the tribute of frankincense? but, in his ingratitude, he gave me

neither thanks nor frankincense. I was thrown into a sudden passion; and

provoked at being slighted, I provided by {making} an example, that I

should not be despised in future times, and I aroused myself against

them both. They were passing by a temple, concealed within a shady wood,

which the famous Echion had formerly built for the Mother of the Gods,

according to his vow; and the length of their journey moved them to take

rest {there}. There, an unseasonable desire of caressing {his wife}

seized Hippomenes, excited by my agency. Near the temple was a recess,

with {but} little light, like a cave, covered with native pumice stone,

{one} sacred from ancient religious observance; where the priest had

conveyed many a wooden image of the ancient Gods. This he entered, and

he defiled the sanctuary by a forbidden crime. The sacred images turned

away their eyes, and the Mother {of the Gods}, crowned with turrets,[61]

was in doubt whether she should plunge these guilty ones in the Stygian

stream. That seemed {too} light a punishment. Wherefore yellow manes

cover their necks so lately smooth; their fingers are bent into claws,

of their shoulders are made fore-legs;[62] their whole weight passes

into their breasts. The surface of the sand is swept by their tails.[63]

Their look has anger {in it}; instead of words they utter growls;

instead of chambers they haunt the woods; and dreadful to others, {as}

lions, they champ the bits of Cybele with subdued jaws. Do thou, beloved

by me, avoid these, and together with these, all kinds of wild beasts

which turn not their backs in flight, but their breasts to the fight;

lest thy courage should be fatal to us both.”

[Footnote 52: _Pleases even Venus._--Ver. 524. According to

Apollodorus, Venus had caused Myrrha to imbibe her infamous

passion, because she had treated the worship of that Goddess with

contempt.]

[Footnote 53: _Cnidos._--Ver. 531. This was a city of Caria,

situate on a promontory. Strangers resorted thither, to behold a

statue of Venus there, which was made by Praxiteles.]

[Footnote 54: _Carry lightning._--Ver. 551. The lightning shock

seems to be attributed to the wild boar, from the vehemence with

which he strikes down every impediment in his way.]

[Footnote 55: _Purple hangings._--Ver. 595. Curtains, or hangings,

called ‘aulæa,’ were used by the ancients to ornament their halls,

sitting rooms, and bed chambers. In private houses they were also

sometimes hung as coverings over doors, and in the interior, as

substitutes for them. In the palace of the Roman emperors,

a slave, called ‘velarius,’ was posted at each of the principal

doors, to raise the curtain when any one passed through. Window

curtains were also used by the Romans, while they were employed in

the temples, to veil the statue of the Divinity. Ovid here speaks

of them as being of purple colour; while Lucretius mentions them

as being of yellow, red, and rusty hue.]

[Footnote 56: _Last course is run._--Ver. 597. Among the Romans,

the race consisted of seven rounds of the Circus, or rather

circuits of the ‘spina,’ or wall, in the midst of it, at each end

of which was the ‘meta,’ or goal. Livy and Dio Cassius speak of

seven conical balls, resembling eggs, which were called ‘ova,’ and

were placed upon the ‘spina.’ Their use was to enable the

spectators to count the number of rounds which had been run, for

which reason they were seven in number; and as each round was run,

one of the ‘ova’ was put up, or, according to Varro, taken down.

The form of the egg was adopted in honour of Castor and Pollux,

who were said to have been produced from eggs. The words

‘novissima meta’ here mean either ‘the last part of the course,’

or, possibly, ‘the last time round the course.’]

[Footnote 57: _Onchestius his._--Ver. 605. But Hyginus says that

Neptune was the father of Megareus, or Macareus, as the Scholiast

of Sophocles calls him. Neptune being the father of Onchestius,

Hippomenes was the fourth from Neptune, inclusively. Onchestius

founded a city of that name in Bœotia, in honour of Neptune, who

had a temple there; in the time of Pausanias the place was in

ruins. That author tells us that Megareus aided Nisus against

Minos, and was slain in that war.]

[Footnote 58: _A feminine look._--Ver. 631. Clarke renders this

line-- ‘But what a lady-like countenance there is in his boyish

face!’]

[Footnote 59: _Tamasenian field._--Ver. 644. Tamasis, or Tamaseus,

is mentioned by Pliny as a city of Cyprus.]

[Footnote 60: _The theatres ring._--Ver. 668. ‘Spectacula’ may

mean either the seats, or benches, on which the spectators sat,

or an amphitheatre. The former is most probably the meaning in the

present instance.]

[Footnote 61: _Crowned with turrets._--Ver. 696. Cybele, the

Goddess of the Earth, was usually represented as crowned with

turrets, and drawn in a chariot by lions.]

[Footnote 62: _Are made fore-legs._--Ver. 700. ‘Armus’ is

generally the shoulder of a brute; while ‘humerus’ is that of a

man. ‘Armus’ is sometimes used to signify the human shoulder.]

[Footnote 63: _By their tails._--Ver. 701. Pliny the Elder remarks

that the temper of the lion is signified by his tail, in the same

way as that of the horse by his ears. When in motion, it shows

that he is angry; when quiet, that he is in a good temper.]

EXPLANATION.

The Atalanta who is mentioned in this story was the daughter of

Schœneus, and the granddaughter of Athamas, whose misfortunes

obliged him to retire into Bœotia, where he built a little town,

which was called after his name, as we learn from Pausanias and

Eustathius. Ovid omits to say that it was one of the conditions of

the agreement, that the lover was to have the start in the race.

According to some writers, the golden apples were from the gardens

of the Hesperides; while, according to others, they were plucked by

Venus in the isle of Cyprus. The story seems to be founded merely on

the fact, that Hippomenes contrived by means of bribes to find the

way to the favour of his mistress.

Apollodorus, however, relates the story in a different manner;

he says that the father of Atalanta desiring to have sons, but no

daughters, exposed her, on her birth, in a desert, that she might

perish. A she-bear found the infant, and nourished it, until it was

discovered by some hunters. As the damsel grew up, she made hunting

her favourite pursuit, and slew two Centaurs, who offered her

violence, with her arrows. On her parents pressing her to marry, she

consented to be the wife of that man only who could outrun her, on

condition that those who were conquered by her in the race should be

put to death. Several of her suitors having failed in the attempt,

one of the name of Melanion, by using a similar stratagem to that

attributed by Ovid to Hippomenes, conquered her in the race, and

became her husband. Having profaned the temple of Jupiter, they were

transformed, Melanion into a lion, and Atalanta into a lioness.

According to Apollodorus, her father’s name was Iasius, though in

his first book he says she was the daughter of Schœneus. He also

says that she was the same person that was present at the hunt of

the Calydonian boar, though other writers represent them to have

been different personages. Euripides makes Mænalus to have been the

name of her father.

Atalanta had by Melanion, or, as some authors say, by Mars, a son

named Parthenopæus, who was present at the Theban war. Ælian gives a

long account of her history, which does not very much differ from

the narrative of Apollodorus.

FABLE X. [X.708-739]

Adonis being too ardent in the pursuit of a wild boar, the beast

kills him, on which Venus changes his blood into a flower of crimson

colour.

“She, indeed, {thus} warned him; and, harnessing her swans, winged her

way through the air; but his courage stood in opposition to her advice.

By chance, his dogs having followed its sure track, roused a boar, and

the son of Cinyras pierced him, endeavouring to escape from the wood,

with a wound from the side. Immediately the fierce boar, with his

crooked snout, struck out the hunting-spear, stained with his blood, and

{then} pursued him, trembling and seeking a safe retreat, and lodged his

entire tusks in his groin, and stretched him expiring on the yellow

sand.

“Cytherea, borne in her light chariot[64] through the middle of the air,

had not yet arrived at Cyprus upon the wings of her swans. She

recognized afar his groans, as he was dying, and turned her white birds

in that direction. And when, from the lofty sky, she beheld him half

dead, and bathing his body in his own blood, she rapidly descended, and

rent both her garments and her hair, and she smote her breast with her

distracted hands. And complaining of the Fates, she says, ‘But, however,

all things shall not be in your power; the memorials of my sorrow,

Adonis, shall ever remain; and the representation of thy death, repeated

yearly, shall exhibit an imitation of my mourning. But thy blood shall

be changed into a flower. Was it formerly allowed thee, Persephone, to

change the limbs[65] of a female into fragrant mint; and shall the hero,

the son of Cinyras, {if} changed, be a cause of displeasure against me?’

Having thus said, she sprinkles his blood with odoriferous nectar,

which, touched by it, effervesces, just as the transparent bubbles are

wont to rise in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause longer than a full

hour, when a flower sprang up from the blood, of the same colour {with

it}, such as the pomegranates are wont to bear, which conceal their

seeds beneath their tough rind. Yet the enjoyment of it is but

short-lived; for the same winds[66] which give it a name, beat it down,

as it has but a slender hold, and is apt to fall by reason of its

extreme slenderness.”

[Footnote 64: _In her light chariot._--Ver. 717. ‘Vecta levi curru

Cytherea,’ Clarke quaintly renders, ‘The Cytherean Goddess riding

in her light chair.’]

[Footnote 65: _To change the limbs._--Ver. 729. Proserpine was

said to have changed the Nymph, ‘Mentha,’ into a plant of that

name, which we call ‘mint.’ Some writers say that she found her

intriguing with Pluto while, according to other writers, she was

the mistress of Pollux.]

[Footnote 66: _The same winds._--Ver. 739. The flower which sprang

from the blood of Adonis was the anemone, or wind-flower, of which

Pliny the Elder says-- ‘This flower never opens but when the wind

is blowing, from which too, it receives its name, as ἄνεμος means

the wind.’ --(Book i. c. 23).]

EXPLANATION.

Theocritus, Bion, Hyginus, and Antoninus Liberalis, beside several

other authors, relate the history of the loves of Venus and Adonis.

They inform us of many particulars which Ovid has here neglected to

remark. They say that Mars, jealous of the passion which Venus had

for Adonis, implored the aid of Diana, who, to gratify his revenge,

sent the boar that destroyed the youth. According to some writers,

it was Apollo himself that took the form of that animal; and they

say that Adonis descending to the Infernal Regions, Proserpine fell

in love with him, and refused to allow him to return,

notwithstanding the orders of Jupiter. On this, the king of heaven

fearing to displease both the Goddesses, referred the dispute to the

Muse Calliope, who directed that Adonis should pass one half of his

time with Venus on earth, and the other half in the Infernal

Regions. They also tell us that it took up a year before the dispute

could be determined, and that the Hours brought Adonis at last to

the upper world, on which, Venus being dissatisfied with the

decision of Calliope, instigated the women of Thrace to kill her son

Orpheus.

The mythologists have considered this story to be based on grounds

either historical or physical. Cicero, in his Discourse on the

Nature of the Gods, says, that there were several persons who had

the name of Venus, and that the fourth, surnamed Astarte, was a

Syrian, who married Adonis, the son of Cinyras, king of Cyprus.

Hunting in the forests of Mount Libanus, or Lebanon, he was wounded

in the groin by a wild boar, which accident ultimately caused his

death. Astarte caused the city of Byblos and all Syria to mourn for

his loss; and, to keep his name and his sad fate in remembrance,

established feasts in his honour, to be celebrated each year. Going

still further, if we suppose the story to have originated in

historical facts, it seems not improbable that Adonis did not die of

his wound, and that, contrary to all expectation, he was cured; as

the Syrians, after having mourned for several days during his

festival, rejoiced as though he had been raised from the dead, at a

second festival called ‘The Return.’ The worship both of Venus and

Adonis probably originated in Syria, and was spread through Asia

Minor into Greece; while the Carthaginians, a Phœnician colony

introduced it into Sicily. The festival of Adonis is most amusingly

described by Theocritus the Sicilian poet, in his ‘Adoniazusæ.’ Some

authors have suggested that Adonis was the same with the Egyptian

God Osiris, and that the affliction of Venus represented that of

Isis at the death of her husband. According to Hesiod, Adonis was

the son of Phœnix and Alphesibœa, while Panyasis says that he was

son of Theias, the king of the Assyrians.

In support of the view which some commentators take of the story of

Adonis having been founded on physical circumstance, we cannot do

better than quote the able remarks of Mr. Keightley on the subject.

He says (Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, p. 109)-- “The tale

of Adonis is apparently an Eastern mythus. His very name is Semitic

(Hebrew ‘Adon,’ ‘Lord’), and those of his parents also refer to that

part of the world. He appears to be the same with the Thammuz,

mentioned by the prophet Ezekiel, and to be a Phœnician

personification of the sun who, during a part of the year is absent,

or, as the legend expresses it, with the Goddess of the under world:

during the remainder with Astarte, the regent of heaven. It is

uncertain when the Adonia were first celebrated in Greece; but we

find Plato alluding to the gardens of Adonis, as boxes of flowers

used in them were called; and the ill fortune of the Athenian

expedition to Sicily was in part ascribed to the circumstance of the

fleet having sailed during that festival.”

This notion of the mourning for Adonis being a testimony of grief

for the absence of the Sun during the winter, is not, however, to be

too readily acquiesced in. Lobeck (Aglaophamus, p. 691), for

example, asks, with some appearance of reason, why those nations

whose heaven was mildest, and their winter shortest, should so

bitterly bewail the regular changes of the seasons, as to feign that

the Gods themselves were carried off or slain; and he shrewdly

observes, that, in that case, the mournful and the joyful parts of

the festival should have been held at different times of the year,

and not joined together, as they were. He further inquires, whether

the ancient writers, who esteemed these Gods to be so little

superior to men, may not have believed them to have been really and

not metaphorically put to death? And, in truth, it is not easy to

give a satisfactory answer to these questions.

BOOK THE ELEVENTH.

FABLE I. [XI.1-84]

While Orpheus is singing to his lyre on Mount Rhodope, the women of

Thrace celebrate their orgies. During that ceremony they take

advantage of the opportunity to punish Orpheus for his indifference

towards their sex; and, in the fury inspired by their rites, they

beat him to death. His head and lyre are carried by the stream of

the river Hebrus into the sea, and are cast on shore on the isle of

Lesbos. A serpent, about to attack the head when thrown on shore,

is changed into a stone, and the Bacchanals who have killed him are

transformed into trees.

While with songs such as these, the Thracian poet is leading the woods

and the natures of savage beasts, and the following rocks, lo! the

matrons of the Ciconians, having their raving breasts covered with the

skins of wild beasts, from the summit of a hill, espy Orpheus adapting

his voice to the sounded strings {of his harp}. One of these, tossing

her hair along the light breeze, says, “See! see! here is our

contemner!” and hurls her spear at the melodious mouth of the bard of

Apollo: {but}, being wreathed at the end with leaves, it makes a mark

without any wound. The weapon of another is a stone, which, when thrown,

is overpowered in the very air by the harmony of his voice and his lyre,

and lies before his feet, a suppliant, as it were, for an attempt so

daring.

But still this rash warfare increases, and {all} moderation departs, and

direful fury reigns {triumphant}. And {yet} all their weapons would have

been conquered by his music; but the vast clamour, and the Berecynthian

pipe[1] with the blown horns, and the tambourines, and the clapping of

hands, and Bacchanalian yells, prevented the sound of the lyre from

being heard. Then, at last, the stones became red with the blood of the

bard, {now} no longer heard. But first the Mænades lay hands on

innumerable birds, even yet charmed with his voice as he sang, and

serpents, and a throng of wild beasts, the glory of {this} audience of

Orpheus; and after that, they turn upon Orpheus with blood-stained right

hands; and they flock together, as the birds, if at any time they see

the bird of night strolling about by day; {and} as when the stag that is

doomed to die[2] in the morning sand in the raised amphitheatre is a

prey to the dogs; they both attack the bard, and hurl the thyrsi,

covered with green leaves, not made for such purposes as these. Some

throw clods, some branches torn from trees, others flint stones. And

that weapons may not be wanting for their fury, by chance some oxen are

turning up the earth with the depressed ploughshare; and not far from

thence, some strong-armed peasants, providing the harvest with plenteous

sweat, are digging the hard fields; they, seeing this {frantic} troop,

run away, and leave the implements of their labour; and there lie,

dispersed throughout the deserted fields, harrows and heavy rakes, and

long spades.

After they, in their rage, have seized upon these, and have torn to

pieces the oxen with their threatening horns, they return to the

destruction of the bard; and they impiously murder him, extending his

hands, and then for the first time uttering words in vain, and making no

effect on them with his voice. And (Oh Jupiter!) through those lips

listened to by rocks, and understood by the senses of wild beasts, his

life breathed forth, departs into the breezes.[3] The mournful birds,

the crowd of wild beasts, the hard stones, the woods that oft had

followed thy song bewailed thee. Trees, {too}, shedding their foliage,

mourned thee, losing their leaves. They say, too, that rivers swelled

with their own tears; and the Naiads and Dryads had mourning garments of

dark colour, and dishevelled hair. The limbs lie scattered[4] in various

places. Thou, Hebrus, dost receive the head and the lyre; and (wondrous

{to relate}!) while it rolls down the midst of the stream, the lyre

complains in I know not what kind of mournful strain. His lifeless

tongue, {too}, utters a mournful sound, {to which} the banks mournfully

reply. And now, borne onward to the sea, they leave their native stream,

and reach the shores of Methymnæan Lesbos.[5] Here an infuriated serpent

attacks the head thrown up on the foreign sands, and the hair

besprinkled with the oozing blood. At last Phœbus comes to its aid, and

drives it away as it tries to inflict its sting, and hardens the open

jaws of the serpent into stone, and makes solid its gaping mouth just as

it is. His ghost descends under the earth, and he recognizes all the

spots which he has formerly seen; and seeking Eurydice through the

fields of the blessed, he finds her, and enfolds her in his eager arms.

Here, one while, they walk together side by side,[6] and at another time

he follows her as she goes before, and {again} at another time, walking

in front, precedes her; and now, in safety, Orpheus looks back upon his

own Eurydice.

Yet Lyæus did not suffer this wickedness to go unpunished; and grieving

for the loss of the bard of his sacred rites, he immediately fastened

down in the woods, by a twisting root, all the Edonian matrons who had

committed this crime. For he drew out the toes of her feet, just as each

one had pursued him, and thrust them by their sharp points into the

solid earth. And, as when a bird has entangled its leg in a snare, which

the cunning fowler has concealed, and perceives that it is held fast, it

beats its wings, and, fluttering, tightens the noose with its struggles;

so, as each one of these had stuck fast, fixed in the ground, in her

alarm, she attempted flight in vain; but the pliant root held her fast,

and confined her, springing forward[7] {to escape}. And while she is

looking where her toes are, where, {too}, are her feet and her nails,

she sees wood growing up upon her well-turned legs. Endeavouring, too,

to smite her thigh, with grieving right hand, she strikes solid oak; her

breast, too, becomes oak; her shoulders are oak. You would suppose that

her extended arms are real boughs, and you would not be deceived in {so}

supposing.

[Footnote 1: _Berecynthian pipe._--Ver. 16. This pipe, made of

box-wood, was much used in the rites of Cybele, or Berecynthia.]

[Footnote 2: _Doomed to die._--Ver. 26. The Romans were wont to

exhibit shows of hunting in the amphitheatre in the morning; and

at mid-day the gladiatorial spectacles commenced. The ‘arena’ was

the name given to the central open space, which derived its name

from the sand with which it was covered, chiefly for the purpose

of absorbing the blood of the wild beasts and of the combatants.

Caligula, Nero, and Carus showed their extravagant disposition by

using cinnabar and borax instead of sand. In the earlier

amphitheatres there were ditches, called ‘Euripi,’ between the

open space, or arena, and the seats, to defend the spectators from

the animals. They were introduced by Julius Cæsar, but were filled

up by Nero, to gain space for the spectators. Those who fought

with the beasts (as it will be remembered St. Paul did at Ephesus)

were either condemned criminals or captives, or persons who did so

for pay, being trained for the purpose. Lucius Metellus was the

first that we read of who introduced wild beasts in the theatre

for the amusement of the public. He exhibited in the Circus one

hundred and forty-two elephants, which he brought from Sicily,

after his victory over the Carthaginians, and which are said to

have been slain, more because the Romans did not know what to do

with them, than for the amusement of the public. Lions and

panthers were first exhibited by M. Fulvius, after the Ætolian

war. In the Circensian games, exhibited by the Curule Ædiles,

P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica, and P. Lentulus, B.C. 168, there were

sixty-three African panthers and forty bears and elephants. These

latter animals were sometimes introduced to fight with bulls.

Sylla, when Prætor, exhibited one hundred lions, which were

pierced with javelins. We also read of hippopotami and crocodiles

being introduced for the same purpose, while cameleopards were

also hunted in the games given by Julius Caesar in his third

consulship. He also introduced bull fights, and Augustus first

exhibited the rhinoceros, and a serpent, fifty cubits in length.

When Titus constructed his great amphitheatre, five thousand wild

beasts and four thousand tame animals were slain; while in the

games celebrated by Trajan, after his victories over the Dacians,

eleven thousand animals are said to have been killed. For further

information on this subject, the reader is referred to the article

‘Venatio,’ in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities,

which valuable work contains a large quantity of interesting

matter on this barbarous practice of the Romans.]

[Footnote 3: _Into the breezes._--Ver. 43. ‘In ventos anima

exhalata recessit’ is rendered by Clarke-- ‘his life breathed out,

marches off into the wind.’]

[Footnote 4: _Limbs lie scattered._--Ver. 50. The limbs of Orpheus

were collected by the Muses, and, according to Pausanias, were

buried by them in Dium in Macedonia, while his head was carried to

Lesbos.]

[Footnote 5: _Methymnæan Lesbos._--Ver. 55. Methymna was a town in

the isle of Lesbos, famed for its wines.]

[Footnote 6: _Side by side._--Ver. 64. ‘Conjunctis passibus’ means

‘at an equal pace, and side by side.’]

[Footnote 7: _Springing forward._--Ver. 78. ‘Exsultantem’ is

rendered by Clarke, ‘bouncing hard to get away.’]

EXPLANATION.

Some of the ancient mythologists say that the story of the serpent,

changed into stone for insulting the head of Orpheus, was founded on

the history of a certain inhabitant of the isle of Lesbos, who was

punished for attacking the reputation of Orpheus. This critic

excited contempt, as a malignant and ignorant person, who

endeavoured, as it were, to sting the character of the deceased

poet, and therefore, by way of exposing his spite and stupidity, he

was said to have been changed from a serpent into a stone. According

to Philostratus, the poet’s head was preserved in the temple of

Apollo at Lesbos; and he tells us that Diomedes, and Neoptolemus,

the son of Achilles, brought Philoctetes to Troy, after having

explained to him the oracular response which the head of Orpheus had

given to him from the bottom of a cave at Lesbos.

The harp of Orpheus was preserved in the same temple; and so many

wonders were reported of it, that Neanthus, the son of the tyrant

Pytharus, purchased it of the priests of Apollo, believing that its

sound would be sufficient to put rocks and trees in motion; but,

according to Lucian, he succeeded so ill, that on his trying the

harp, the dogs of the neighbouring villages fell upon him and tore

him to pieces.

The transformation of the women of Thrace into trees, for the murder

of Orpheus, is probably an allegory intended to show that these

furious and ill-conditioned females did not escape punishment for

their misdeeds; and that they were driven by society to pass the

rest of their lives in woods and caverns.

FABLE II. [XI.85-145]

Bacchus, having punished the Thracian women for the murder of

Orpheus, leaves Thrace. His tutor, Silenus, having become

intoxicated, loses his companions, and is brought by some Phrygian

peasants to Midas. He sends him to Bacchus, on which the God, in

acknowledgment of his kindness, promises him whatever favour he may

desire. Midas asks to be able to turn everything that he touches

into gold. This power is granted; but, soon convinced of his folly,

Midas begs the God to deprive him of it, on which he is ordered to

bathe in the river Pactolus. He obeys the God, and communicates the

power which he possesses to the stream; from which time that river

has golden sands.

And this is not enough for Bacchus. He resolves to forsake the country

itself, and, with a superior train, he repairs to the vineyards of his

own Tymolus, and Pactolus; although it was not golden at that time, nor

to be coveted for its precious sands. The usual throng, {both} Satyrs

and Bacchanals, surround him, but Silenus is away. The Phrygian rustics

took him, as he was staggering with age and wine, and, bound with

garlands, they led him to {their} king, Midas, to whom, together with

the Cecropian Eumolpus,[8] the Thracian Orpheus had intrusted the

{mysterious} orgies {of Bacchus}. Soon as he recognized this associate

and companion of these rites, he hospitably kept a festival on the

coming of this guest, for twice five days, and {as many} nights joined

in succession.

“And now the eleventh Lucifer had closed the lofty host of the stars,

when the king came rejoicing to the Lydian lands, and restored Silenus

to the youth, his foster-child. To him the God, being glad at the

recovery of his foster-father, gave the choice of desiring a favour,

pleasing, {indeed}, but useless, {as it turned out}. He, destined to

make a foolish use of the favour, says, ‘Cause that whatever I shall

touch with my body shall be turned into yellow gold.’ Liber assents to

his wish, and grants him the hurtful favour, and is grieved that he has

not asked for something better. The Berecynthian hero[9] departs joyful,

and rejoices in his own misfortune, and tries the truth of his promise

by touching everything. And, hardly believing himself, he pulls down a

twig from a holm-oak, growing on a bough not lofty; the twig becomes

gold. He takes up a stone from the ground; the stone, too, turns pale

with gold. He touches a clod, also; by his potent touch the clod becomes

a mass {of gold}. He plucks some dry ears of corn, that wheat is golden.

He holds an apple taken from a tree, you would suppose that the

Hesperides had given it. If he places his fingers upon the lofty

door-posts, {then} the posts are seen to glisten. When, too, he has

washed his hands in the liquid stream, the water flowing from his hands

might have deceived Danaë. He scarcely can contain his own hopes in his

mind, imagining everything to be of gold. As he is {thus} rejoicing, his

servants set before him a table supplied with dainties, and not

deficient in parched corn. But then, whether he touches the gifts of

Ceres with his right hand, the gifts of Ceres, {as gold}, become hard;

or if he attempts to bite the dainties with hungry teeth, those

dainties, upon the application of his teeth, shine as yellow plates of

gold. {Bacchus}, the grantor of this favour, he mingles with pure water;

you could see liquid gold flowing through his jaws.

“Astonished at the novelty of his misfortune, being both rich and

wretched, he wishes to escape from his wealth, and {now} he hates what

but so lately he has wished for; no plenty relieves his hunger, dry

thirst parches his throat, and he is deservedly tormented by the {now}

hated gold; and raising his hands towards heaven, and his shining arms,

he says, “Grant me pardon, father Lenæus; I have done wrong, but have

pity on me, I pray, and deliver me from this specious calamity!”

Bacchus, the gentle Divinity among the Gods, restored him, as he

confessed that he had done wrong, {to his former state}, and annulled

his given promise, and the favour that was granted: “And that thou mayst

not remain overlaid with thy gold, so unhappily desired, go,” said he,

“to the river adjoining to great Sardis,[10] and trace thy way, meeting

the waters as they fall from the height of the mountain, until thou

comest to the rise of the stream. And plunge thy head beneath the

bubbling spring, where it bursts forth most abundantly, and at once

purge thy body, at once thy crime.” The king placed himself beneath the

waters prescribed; the golden virtue tinged the river, and departed from

the human body into the stream. And even now, the fields, receiving the

ore of this ancient vein {of gold}, are hard, growing of pallid colour,

from their clods imbibing the gold.

[Footnote 8: _Eumolpus._--Ver. 93. There were three celebrated

persons of antiquity named Eumolpus. The first was a Thracian, the

son of Neptune and Chione, who lived in the time of Erectheus,

king of Athens, against whom he led the people of Eleusis, and who

established the Eleusinian mysteries. Some of his posterity

settling at Athens, the Eumolpus here named was born there. He was

the son of Musæus and the disciple of Orpheus. The third Eumolpus

is supposed to have lived between the times of the two already

named.]

[Footnote 9: _Berecynthian hero._--Ver. 106. Midas is so called

from mount Berecynthus in Phrygia.]

[Footnote 10: _Sardis._--Ver. 137. The city of Sardis was the

capital of Lydia, where Crœsus had his palace. The river Pactolus

flowed through it.]

EXPLANATION.

The ancients divided the Divinities into several classes, and in the

last class, which Ovid calls the populace, or commonalty of the

Gods, were the Satyrs and Sileni. The latter, according to

Pausanias, were no other than Satyrs of advanced age. There seems,

however, to have been one among them, to whom the name of Silenus

was especially given, and to him the present story relates.

According to Pindar and Pausanias he was born at Malea, in Laconia;

while Theopompus, quoted by Ælian, represents him as being the son

of a Nymph. He was inferior to the higher Divinities, but superior

to man, in not being subject to mortality. He was represented as

bald, flat-nosed, and red-faced, a perfect specimen of a drunken old

man. He is often introduced either sitting on an ass, or reeling

along on foot, with a thyrsus to support him.

He was said to have tended the education of the infant Bacchus, and

indeed, according to the author whose works are quoted as those of

Orpheus, he was an especial favourite of the Gods; while some

writers represent him not as a drunken old man, but as a learned

philosopher and a skilful commander. Lucian combines the two

characters, and describes him as an aged man with large straight

ears and a huge belly, wearing yellow clothes, and generally mounted

on an ass, or supported by a staff, but, nevertheless, as being a

skilful general. Hyginus says, that the Phrygian peasants found

Midas near a fountain, into which, according to Xenophon, some one

had put wine, which had made him drunk. In his interview with Midas,

according to Theopompus, as quoted by Ælian, they had a conversation

concerning that unknown region of the earth, to which Plato refers

under the name of the New Atlantis, and which, after long employing

the speculations of the ancient philosophers, was realized to the

moderns in the discovery of America. The passage is sufficiently

curious to deserve to be quoted. He says, “Asia, Europe, and Libya,

are but three islands, surrounded by the ocean; but beyond that

ocean there is a vast continent, whose bounds are entirely unknown

to us. The men and the animals of that country are much larger, and

live much longer than those of this part of the world. Their towns

are fine and magnificent; their customs are different from ours; and

they are governed by different laws. They have two cities, one of

which is called ‘the Warlike,’ and the other ‘the Devout.’ The

inhabitants of the first city are much given to warfare, and make

continual attacks upon their neighbours, whom they bring under their

subjection. Those who inhabit the other city are peaceable, and

blessed with plenty; the earth without toil or tillage furnishing

them with abundance of the necessaries of life. Except their sick,

they all live in the midst of riches and continual festivity and

pleasure; but they are so just and righteous that the Gods

themselves delight to go frequently and pass their time among them.

“The warlike people of the first city having extended their

conquests in their own vast continent, made an irruption into ours,

with a million of men, as far as the country of the Hyperboreans;

but when they saw their mode of living, they deemed them to be

unworthy of their notice, and returned home. These warriors rarely

die of sickness; they delight in warfare, and generally lose their

lives in battle. There is also in this new world another numerous

people called Meropes; and in their country is a place called

‘Anostus,’ that is to say, ‘not to be repassed,’ because no one ever

comes back from thence. It is a dreadful abyss, having no other than

a reddish sort of light. There are two rivers in that place; one

called the River of Sorrow, and the other the River of Mirth. Trees

as large as planes grow about these rivers. Those who eat of the

fruit of the trees growing near the River of Sorrow, pass their

lives in affliction, weeping continually, even to their last breath;

but such as eat of the fruit of the other trees, forget the past,

and revert through the different stages of their life, and then

die.”

Ælian regards the passage as a mere fable, and the latter part is

clearly allegorical. The mention of the two cities, ‘the Warlike’

and ‘the Devout,’ can hardly fail to remind us of Japan, with its

spiritual and temporal capitals.

Some writers say, that Silenus was the king of Caria, and was the

contemporary and friend of Midas, to whom his counsel proved of

considerable service, in governing his dominions. He was probably

called the foster-father or tutor, of Bacchus, because he introduced

his worship into Phrygia and the neighbouring countries.

FABLE III. [XI.146-193]

Pan is so elated with the praises of some Nymphs who hear the music

of his pipe, that he presumes to challenge Apollo to play with him.

The mountain God, Tmolus, who is chosen umpire of the contest,

decides in favour of Apollo, and the whole company approve of his

judgment except Midas, who, for his stupidity in preferring Pan,

receives a pair of asses’ ears. He carefully conceals them till they

are discovered by his barber, who publishes his deformity in a very

singular manner.

He, abhorring riches, inhabited the woods and the fields, and {followed}

Pan, who always dwells in caves of the mountains; but his obtuse

understanding[11] still remained, and the impulse of his foolish mind

was fated again, as before, to be an injury to its owner. For the lofty

Tmolus, looking far and wide over the sea, stands erect, steep with its

lofty ascent; and extending in its descent on either side, is bounded on

the one side by Sardis, on the other by the little Hypæpæ.

While Pan is there boasting of his strains to the charming Nymphs, and

is warbling a little tune upon the reeds joined with wax, daring to

despise the playing of Apollo in comparison with his own, he comes to

the unequal contest under the arbitration of Tmolus.[12] The aged umpire

seats himself upon his own mountain, and frees his ears of the

{incumbering} trees. His azure-coloured hair is only covered with oak,

and acorns hang around his hollow temples. And looking at the God of the

flocks, he says, “there is no delay in {me}, your umpire.” He sounds his

rustic reeds, and delights Midas with his uncouth music; for he, by

chance, is present as he plays. After this the sacred Tmolus turns his

face towards the countenance of Apollo; his words follow {the direction

of} his face. He, having his yellow head wreathed with Parnassian

laurel, sweeps the ground with his robe, soaked in Tyrian purple,[13]

and supports with his left hand his lyre, adorned with gems and Indian

ivory; the other hand holds the plectrum. The very posture is that of an

artist. He then touches the strings with a skilful thumb; charmed by the

sweetness of which, Tmolus bids Pan to hold his reeds in submission to

the lyre; and the judgment and decision of the sacred mountain pleases

them all. Yet it is blamed, and is called unjust by the voice of Midas

alone. But the Delian {God} does not allow his stupid ears to retain

their human shape: but draws them out to a {great} length, and he fills

them with grey hairs, and makes them unsteady at the lower part, and

gives them the power of moving. The rest {of his body} is that of a man;

in one part alone is he condemned {to punishment}; and he assumes the

ears of the slowly moving ass.

He, indeed, concealed them, and endeavoured to veil his temples, laden

with this foul disgrace, with a purple turban. But a servant, who was

wont to cut his hair, when long, with the steel {scissars}, saw it; who,

when he did not dare disclose the disgraceful thing he had seen, though

desirous to publish it, and yet could not keep it secret, retired, and

dug up the ground, and disclosed, in a low voice, what kind of ears he

had beheld on his master, and whispered it to the earth cast up. And

{then} he buried this discovery of his voice with the earth thrown in

again, and, having covered up the ditch, departed in silence.

There, a grove, thick set with quivering reeds, began to rise; and as

soon as it came to maturity, after a complete year, it betrayed its

planter. For, moved by the gentle South wind, it repeated the words

{there} buried, and disclosed the ears of his master.

[Footnote 11: _Obtuse understanding._--Ver. 148. ‘Pingue sed

ingenium mansit,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘but he continued a

blockhead still.’]

[Footnote 12: _Tmolus._--Ver. 156. This was the tutelary divinity

of the mountain of Tmolus, or Tymolus.]

[Footnote 13: _Soaked in Tyrian purple._--Ver. 166. Being

saturated with Tyrian purple, the garment would be ‘dibaphus,’ or

‘twice dipt;’ being first dyed in the grain, and again when woven.

Of course, these were the most valuable kind of cloths.]

EXPLANATION.

Midas, according to Pausanias, was the son of Gordius and Cybele,

and reigned in the Greater Phrygia. Strabo says that he and his

father kept their court near the river Sangar, in cities which, in

the time of that author had become mean villages. As Midas was very

rich, and at the same time very frugal, it was reported that

whatever he touched was at once turned into gold; and Bacchus was

probably introduced into his story, because Midas had favoured the

introduction of his worship, and was consequently supposed to have

owed his success to the good offices of that Divinity. He was

probably the first who extracted gold from the sands of the river

Pactolus, and in that circumstance the story may have originated.

Strabo says that Midas found the treasures which he possessed in the

mines of Mount Bermius. It was said that in his infancy some ants

were seen to creep into his cradle, and to put grains of wheat in

his mouth, which was supposed to portend that he would be rich and

frugal.

As he was very stupid and ignorant, the fable of his preference of

the music of Pan to that of Apollo was invented, to which was added,

perhaps, as a mark of his stupidity, that the God gave him a pair of

asses’ ears. The scholiast of Aristophanes, to explain the story,

says either it was intended to shew that Midas, like the ass, was

very quick of hearing, or in other words, had numerous spies in all

parts of his dominions; or, it was invented, because his usual place

of residence was called Onouta, ὄνου ὦτα, ‘the ears of an ass.’

Strabo says that he took a draught of warm bullock’s blood, from the

effects of which he died; and, according to Plutarch, he did so to

deliver himself from the frightful dreams with which he was

tormented.

Tmolus, the king of Lydia, according to Clitophon, was the son of

Mars and the Nymph Theogene, or, according to Eustathius, of Sipylus

and Eptonia. Having violated Arriphe, a Nymph of Diana, he was, as a

punishment, tossed by a bull, and falling on some sharp pointed

stakes, he lost his life, and was buried on the mountain that

afterwards bore his name.

FABLE IV. [XI.194-220]

Apollo and Neptune build the walls of Troy for king Laomedon, who

refuses to give the Gods the reward which he has promised: on which

Neptune punishes his perjury by an inundation of his country.

Laomedon is then obliged to expose his daughter to a sea monster,

in order to appease the God. Hercules delivers her; and Laomedon

defrauds him likewise of the horses which he has promised him.

In revenge, Hercules plunders the city of Troy, and carries off

Hesione, whom he gives in marriage to his companion Telamon.

The son of Latona, having {thus} revenged himself, departs from Tmolus,

and, borne through the liquid air, rests on the plains of Laomedon, on

this side of the narrow sea of Helle, the daughter of Nephele. On the

right hand of Sigæum and on the left of the lofty Rhœtæum,[14] there is

an ancient altar dedicated to the Panomphæan[15] Thunderer. Thence, he

sees Laomedon {now} first building the walls of rising Troy, and that

this great undertaking is growing up with difficult labour, and requires

no small resources. And {then}, with the trident-bearing father of the

raging deep, he assumes a mortal form, and for the Phrygian king they

build the walls,[16] a sum of gold being agreed on for the defences.

The work is {now} finished; the king refuses the reward, and, as a

completion of his perfidy, adds perjury to his false words. “Thou shalt

not escape unpunished,” says the king of the sea; and he drives all his

waters towards the shores of covetous Troy. He turns the land, too, into

the form of the sea, and carries off the wealth of the husbandmen, and

overwhelms the fields with waves. Nor is this punishment sufficient: the

daughter of the king, is also demanded for a sea monster. Chained to the

rugged rocks, Alcides delivers her, and demands the promised reward, the

horses agreed upon; and the recompense of so great a service being

denied him, he captures the twice-perjured walls of conquered Troy. Nor

does Telamon, a sharer in the warfare, come off without honour; and he

obtains Hesione, who is given to him.

But Peleus was distinguished by a Goddess for his wife; nor was he more

proud of the name of his grandfather than that of his father-in-law.[17]

Since, not to his lot alone did it fall to be the grandson of Jove; to

him alone, was a Goddess given for a wife.

[Footnote 14: _Rhœtæum._--Ver. 197. Sigæum and Rhœtæum were two

promontories, near Troy, between which was an altar dedicated to

Jupiter Panomphæus.]