Bacchus
Among all the maidens whom Jupiter honored with his love, none was more
beautiful than Semele, daughter of Cadmus and Harmonia. Cadmus was the
brother of Europa, whom Jupiter, in the form of a white bull, carried
on his back across the sea. The maiden's three brothers had been with
her in the meadow, and had witnessed her strange departure, but knowing
that it would be useless to attempt to catch the fleet animal, they
hurried to their father, Agenor, and told him of the manner in which
his favorite daughter had been spirited away. The old man was frenzied
with grief, and bade his three sons to go in search of Europa and not
return until they had found her. The youths set out, accompanied by
their mother, Telephassa, and spent many weary days in a fruitless
search for the stolen maiden. At last Phœnix refused to go any farther,
and, not daring to return to his father, he remained in a land that was
afterwards called in his honor--Phœnicia. Cilix, the second brother,
grew weary of the hopeless quest and settled in a country named
from him--Cilicia; and finally Telephassa, exhausted by fatigue and
grief, died, and Cadmus was left to continue the search alone. He kept
doggedly on for many days, and when he reached the town of Delphi, he
consulted the oracle, hoping to find some clew to help him. To his
surprise the oracle gave this ambiguous answer: "Follow the cow and
settle where she rests." Cadmus left the temple, and before he had
journeyed far he saw a cow walking leisurely in front of him. Judging
this to be the animal intended to guide him, he followed her, and on
the way was joined by a curious crowd who were eager to see where the
absurd procession would finally stop. Some hoped that by accompanying
the hero on his march they might meet with new adventures. The cow at
last lay down in Bœotia, and here Cadmus founded the city of Thebes.[54]
To reward Cadmus for his loving search for Europa, Jupiter gave him in
marriage the fair Harmonia, daughter of Mars and Venus. The child of
this union was Semele, whom Jupiter wooed in the disguise of a mortal;
but such was the maiden's pride that she would not listen to his
pleading until he told her who he really was. Then her love was easily
won, for no pride could be above yielding to the ruler of Olympus.
Jupiter was very happy in the society of Semele, and went down to
earth many times to visit her, but it was inevitable that Juno should
notice his frequent absences, and should set about finding out where
the charm lay that lured him so often to the earth. When she discovered
her beautiful rival, she decided upon an ingenious method of punishing
her, and accordingly took the form of Semele's old nurse, Beroë. By
feigning a loving solicitude for her charge's welfare, she soon won the
confidence of the unsuspecting maiden, and listened with well-concealed
anger while Semele talked of her lover and showed her pride in having
won the affections of the greatest of gods.
The nurse was evidently delighted at Semele's happiness, but seemed
worried over the new suitor's identity, and now and then expressed a
doubt as to whether he really was the great Jupiter. On questioning the
maiden more closely, she assumed a virtuous indignation when Semele
admitted that her lover always visited her in the disguise of a mortal,
and that she had only his word as proof of his divinity. Hearing this,
the old woman urged Semele to make sure that it was no impostor who was
playing on her credulity, and pricked the girl's pride by asking her
why it was that Jupiter--if it were indeed he--should not honor her as
he did the stately Juno by appearing before her in all his splendid
majesty. Then the pretended nurse described the glory of Jupiter as
it was seen by the dwellers in Olympus, and finally so worked upon
Semele's pride and curiosity that the unsuspicious maiden promised to
put her lover to the test. So when Jupiter came again, she begged him
to grant her a favor, and the ruler of the gods, not knowing of Juno's
wiles, readily promised to grant any request Semele might make. To
further bind himself, he swore by the river Styx--the most terrible of
all oaths. Then the maiden bade him return to Olympus, clothe himself
in all his regal apparel--omitting no part of his terrible splendor,
not even the dreaded thunderbolts--and having done this, return to her,
that she might know he was indeed the awful Thunderer.
Jupiter was dismayed at this request, for he knew that no mortal could
endure the greatness of his glory. He begged Semele to ask another
boon; but the maiden was obstinate, and insisted upon her request being
granted. Sorrowfully Jupiter returned to Olympus, and after robing
himself in his fearful majesty, he dimmed the radiance wherever he
could, wrapped about him the mildest lightning, and took in his hand
the feeblest thunderbolt.
"To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds
His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds;
Whilst all around, in terrible array,
His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play.
* * * * *
Thus dreadfully adorned with horror bright
The illustrous god, descending from his height,
Came rushing on her in a storm of light."
--ADDISON'S Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, Book III, line 302.
But in spite of his attempt to lessen his splendor, even this mild
glory so overwhelmed poor Semele that when Jupiter appeared before
her, she dropped dead at his feet. In trying vainly to bring her back
to life, Jupiter did not notice what havoc the lightning, that played
about his head, was making in the palace. In a short time the whole
place was reduced to ashes, and in the smouldering ruins the body of
Semele was consumed. The only person who escaped uninjured was the
infant son of Jupiter and Semele, the golden-haired Bacchus.[55]
Having rescued his son from the burning palace, Jupiter first intrusted
him to his aunt Ino, who cared for him as tenderly as if he were her
own child. But the jealous hatred of Juno was not satisfied with the
death of Semele, and she tried to extend her vengeance to Bacchus by
sending the fury Tisiphone to goad Athamas, the husband of Ino, into
madness. As king of Thebes, Athamas had always been a kind ruler, but
when the frenzy, inspired by cruel Juno, took possession of him, he
imagined that his wife and children were wild beasts, and attempted to
kill them. He did succeed in slaying Learchus, but Ino and her other
son, Melicertes, escaped from his murderous fury, and afterwards became
deities of the ocean.[56]
[Illustration: Faun]
Not daring to leave the infant Bacchus in such a household, and fearing
the further persecutions of Juno, Jupiter took the boy to Mount Nysa,
where the nymphs--the Nysiades--guarded him faithfully. During his
youth, Bacchus was made god of wine and revels, and was intrusted to
the tutorship of Silenus, one of the most famous of the satyrs. This
jovial old man had a bald head, pointed ears, a fat red face, and a
body that was half man and half goat. As he carried a wine bag with him
wherever he went, he was generally tipsy, and would have broken his
neck long before reaching old age if he had tried to walk unsupported;
but some of Bacchus's chosen band of followers always held him up on
either side; or, when they themselves were unsteady, set him on an
ass's back. Thus protected, he roamed about with Bacchus, and taught
him all the craft of wine-growing and the making of choicest wine. The
young god soon became a master of revels, and had a large train of
followers composed of men and women, nymphs, fauns, and satyrs. They
were usually crowned with ivy leaves, and were always drinking wine,
eating grapes, singing, and dancing. The most unruly among them
were the Bacchantes, who, though women, were often so crazed with wine
and the excitement of their dancing that they committed such inhuman
crimes as tearing the musician Orpheus to pieces.[57] Wherever Bacchus
traveled--and it was far and wide--he taught the people the art of
cultivating grapes and making wine. He was always welcomed, and when
they knew he was approaching, men, women, and children flocked to meet
him and his merry company.
Juno tried hard to check his triumphant progress, but she did not
dare take his life for fear of Jupiter's wrath; so she afflicted him
with a kind of madness that drove him forth a wanderer alone over the
earth. He had many adventures during this unhappy period, and finally
landed in Phrygia, where the goddess Rhea cured him and taught him her
religious rites. After this he wandered in Asia and India, teaching
the people the wonderful new art of making wine. When he returned to
Greece, he was welcomed everywhere, until he reached his native city
of Thebes, where his cousin Pentheus was king. When Pentheus heard
that the people were flocking out of the gates to meet Bacchus and his
revelers, he tried to stop the excited crowds and force them to return.
In vain he pleaded, commanded, threatened. Men and women, and even
children, were eager to join in the revels, and would not turn back.
Then Pentheus sent some of his servants to seize Bacchus and bring him
a prisoner to the city. Soon the messengers returned, but they had not
succeeded in getting near the god--so great was the crowd that pressed
eagerly around him. They had, however, captured one of his followers;
and when they dragged their prisoner before the king, he stood in the
presence of the angry monarch without any sign of fear in his calm
face. Pentheus commanded the man to tell what sort of revelry and rites
were performed under the leadership of Bacchus; and threatened to put
him instantly to death if he did not tell the truth. The prisoner
smiled at the king's anger, and seemed quite undisturbed by the threats
against his life. He refused to tell anything of the ceremonies
attending the worship of Bacchus, but began calmly to relate his own
story.
He said that his name was Acetes of Mæonia, and that he was a poor
fisherman by birth, but had himself learned the pilot's art of steering
by the stars. He had thus become master of a cruising vessel; and once,
when he was near the island of Dia,[58] he sent some of his men to
shore for fresh water. They soon returned, bringing with them a youth
whom they had found asleep in the forest, and had captured, hoping
to obtain a large ransom for him, as the lad was surely some king's
son--so haughty and regal was his bearing. When Acetes saw the youth,
he begged his men not to force him on board the ship, for the pilot
felt convinced that it was no mere mortal who stood so proudly before
them. But the sailors would not listen to his advice, and thrust the
youth roughly on board. Then Acetes refused to steer the ship; but
the men only laughed and declared that they could pilot the craft as
well as he. An angry discussion took place on the decks, and soon the
quarreling grew so loud that the captured youth, who had been gazing
listlessly over the sea, turned to the wrangling crew and asked in what
direction the ship was sailing.
"We will steer wherever you wish to go," replied one of the men with a
wink at his companions.
"Then sail back to Naxos, for that is my home," said the youth. The
sailors promised to do so, but turned the ship toward Egypt, where they
hoped to sell their prize for a large sum in gold. Acetes made several
brave attempts to get possession of the helm and steer for Naxos, but
the sailors struck him down, and threatened to throw him overboard if
he interfered in their plans.
Soon the lad seemed to notice that the familiar shores were receding,
and anxiously inquired if they were really sailing toward Naxos.
He begged them not to ill-treat a friendless boy; but to let him
return home in safety. Then the crew, weary of their pretense, told
him brutally that he was being taken to Egypt to be sold as a slave;
and that he could try his pretty speeches on his future master. The
youth did not reply to these taunts, but looked calmly at the jeering
sailors, and raised his hand above his head. Immediately the ship
stopped as if it had been suddenly rooted to the sea; and though the
men pulled frantically at the oars, not an inch could the vessel move.
Then, as in a dream, they saw ivy twining rapidly about the sails,
and wrapping the oars in its strong tendrils. A vine with its heavy
clusters of grapes clung to the mast and the sides of the ship. There
was the delicious smell of crushed fruit in the air, and the fragrance
of new-made wine.
The sailors stared at the transformed ship and at the captured youth,
who now shook off his mask of simplicity and appeared before them in
all his godlike beauty--for it was no other than the divine Bacchus
whom they had derided and had hoped to sell as a slave. The sound of
flutes was heard all around him, and the shrill notes of the pipes. At
the feet of Bacchus crouched tigers, lynxes, and panthers, and the god
himself bore in his hand a staff wreathed with ivy. Then terror seized
the trembling sailors, and they sprang madly over the side of the ship;
but as soon as they touched the water they were changed into dolphins.
Only Acetes was left standing on the deck before the smiling Bacchus,
who bade him have no fear, but take the helm and steer straight for
Naxos. The pilot gladly obeyed, and soon reached the desired port,
where he left his ship and became a follower of the god of wine.
When Acetes finished this remarkable story, King Pentheus swore that
not a word of it was true, and ordered his prisoner to be taken away
at once and executed. The soldiers threw Acetes into a dungeon; but
while the preparations for his execution were being made, his chains
suddenly dropped off and his prison doors flew open. When the jailers
came to lead him to his death, he was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile
the king had learned that the people were thronging around Bacchus on
the Cithæron mountain, just outside the city, and were eagerly joining
in all the joyous rites that attended the worship of the god of wine.
The shouts of the Bacchanals filled the air, and in spite of his anger
against them, Pentheus was curious to see what these ceremonies were
that occasioned such roisterous mirth. So he disguised himself as a
beggar, and joined the shouting crowd that surrounded Bacchus and
his followers. The noisiest of the revelers were the Bacchantes, who
danced and sang in a very frenzy of excitement as they tossed their
ivy wreaths into the air and poured the red wine recklessly upon the
ground. When this group, flushed with wine and half clad, whirled madly
toward him, the king was astonished to see among them his own mother
Agave. As he leaned nearer to the shouting dancers, wondering how his
mother came to join in such orgies, she suddenly saw him, and pointing
a finger at his shrinking figure cried:--
"There is the monster who prowls in our woods. Come on, sisters. I will
be the first to strike the wild boar." Blinded by the madness that
Bacchus had purposely inspired, she rushed upon the terrified king,
followed by the crowd of half-crazed Bacchantes. In vain did Pentheus
cry out that he was her son. Agave and her companions trampled him down
in their fierce onslaught, and in a moment tore him to pieces. Thus was
the worship of Bacchus established in Greece.
The spot that the god of wine loved best was the island of Naxos; and
here he spent much of his time when he was not wandering over the earth
to teach the art of making wine. One day Bacchus was walking on the
seashore with his ivy-crowned company, who followed him singing and
dancing to the music of their shrill pipes. As they neared a spot where
the rocks rise like a cliff above the water's edge, they discovered
a maiden sitting on the white sand. This was Ariadne, who had been
deserted by her lover, Theseus,[59] and left to pine away alone on the
island. For days Ariadne had sat looking mournfully out over the sea;
and now when Bacchus, with his joyous group of revelers, suddenly broke
in upon the silence of her solitude, she was frightened by the sight
of so many strangers. Bacchus soothed her fears, and in a short time
so won the maiden's confidence that he persuaded her to become his
wife. Ariadne was quite content to stay on the island with such a merry
company, and if she ever felt any regret over the faithless Theseus, it
was soon forgotten in the joy of the wedding celebrations, which lasted
for several days. As a marriage gift, Bacchus placed on Ariadne's white
forehead a crown adorned with seven glittering stars; but wonderful as
it was, it did not eclipse the beauty of the wearer. The happiness of
the newly-wedded pair did not last long, however, for in a few months
Ariadne sickened and died. After her death Bacchus left the island,
and did not return there for many years; but before he set sail he
took Ariadne's crown and threw it up into the sky, where it forms a
brilliant constellation known as Corona.
One day Silenus fell asleep in the forest, and his companions,
believing him safe for a while, went away and left him propped up
against a tree with his wine-bag at his side. Here he was found by
some peasants, who were subjects of Midas, king of Lydia. The rustics
watched the sleeping Silenus for a long time, wondering who he might
be. At length the old man woke up, and after rubbing his eyes, asked
the staring peasants where he was. As he received no answer to his
question, Silenus motioned to the rustics to help him up, and then
started to hunt for Bacchus and his lost companions. Seeing him unable
to walk the men led him to the court of King Midas who, as soon as he
saw the wanderer's jolly red face and his body--half goat and half
man--knew at once that it was Silenus, the tutor of Bacchus. This Midas
was the same king who had challenged Apollo to compete in the musical
contest with Pan; and, because of his unfair decision, had been cursed
with ass's ears by the offended god.[60] The fact that Silenus had ears
unlike the average mortal may have made King Midas feel a bit more
sympathy for the old man's distress; but whatever the reason might be,
he entertained Silenus royally for ten days, and then led him back to
his pupil, who had been wondering at his long absence.[61]
Delighted to have Silenus returned to him unharmed, Bacchus promised
to give the king any reward he might name; and Midas, being very
avaricious, asked the god to grant that all that he touched should turn
into gold. Bacchus had hoped that Midas would desire a better gift
than this; but having made a promise, the god was ready to fulfill it,
and he therefore assured the king that his wish was granted. Midas,
overjoyed at his good fortune, hastened back to his palace, and on
the way he hesitatingly tried his new power. He touched some leaves
that hung from the trees near by, and immediately they became golden.
He took up a stone from the roadway, and it turned into gold in his
hand. He plucked an apple, and in a moment it looked like one of the
golden fruit from the garden of the Hesperides. Midas was almost beside
himself with joy; and as soon as he reached his palace he began at once
to turn all its furnishings into gold. He was so delighted with his
wonderful gift that he felt no desire to eat or drink or rest; but at
last he grew a little weary of turning things into gold, and, being
hungry, sat down at his well-filled table.
He took great pleasure in seeing the cloth and the cups and the plates
change as everything else had done at his touch; but to his great
amazement and horror, he also found that the bread he took in his hand,
the food that touched his lips, turned into hard, unyielding gold. He
tried to drink from the shining cups, but the wine in his mouth became
melted gold. Then Midas knew the real meaning of his magic touch, and
realized sorrowfully that until it was taken away, he would slowly
starve in the midst of his great wealth. Already he hated his gift,
and longed for some way to divest himself of his ill-fated power. He
cried aloud to Bacchus for help, but no answer came to his prayers.
Again he besought the god, and this time acknowledged his avarice, and
lamented the greed that had led him to ask for the gift of the golden
touch. Bacchus heard his prayers, and, believing him truly repentant,
commanded him to go to the river Pactolus, trace the stream to its
source, and plunge his head and body into the purifying water. In this
way he could cleanse himself of his fault and its punishment. Midas did
as he was instructed, and came away from the river a wiser and happier,
though a poorer man. If at any time he was ever tempted to regret his
lost gift, he had only to look into the river at the glittering golden
sand on the bed of the stream; for where the king had stood, the sand
was changed into gold, and so it has remained to this very day.[62]