CADMUS--THE MYRMIDONS
Jupiter, under the disguise of a bull, had carried away Europa,
the daughter of Agenor, king of Phoenicia. Agenor commanded his
son Cadmus to go in search of his sister, and not to return
without her. Cadmus went and sought long and far for his sister,
but could not find her, and not daring to return unsuccessful,
consulted the oracle of Apollo to know what country he should
settle in. The oracle informed him that he should find a cow in
the field, and should follow her wherever she might wander, and
where she stopped, should build a city and call it Thebes. Cadmus
had hardly left the Castalian cave, from which the oracle was
delivered, when he saw a young cow slowly walking before him. He
followed her close, offering at the same time his prayers to
Phoebus. The cow went on till she passed the shallow channel of
Cephisus and came out into the plain of Panope. There she stood
still, and raising her broad forehead to the sky, filled the air
with her lowings. Cadmus gave thanks, and stooping down kissed the
foreign soil, then lifting his eyes, greeted the surrounding
mountains. Wishing to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he sent his
servants to seek pure water for a libation. Near by there stood an
ancient grove which had never been profaned by the axe, in the
midst of which was a cave, thick covered with the growth of
bushes, its roof forming a low arch, from beneath which burst
forth a fountain of purest water. In the cave lurked a horrid
serpent with a crested head and scales glittering like gold. His
eyes shone like fire, his body was swollen with venom, he vibrated
a triple tongue, and showed a triple row of teeth. No sooner had
the Tyrians dipped their pitchers in the fountain, and the in-
gushing waters made a sound, than the glittering serpent raised
his head out of the cave and uttered a fearful hiss. The vessels
fell from their hands, the blood left their cheeks, they trembled
in every limb. The serpent, twisting his scaly body in a huge
coil, raised his head so as to overtop the tallest trees, and
while the Tyrians from terror could neither fight nor fly, slew
some with his fangs, others in his folds, and others with his
poisonous breath.
Cadmus, having waited for the return of his men till midday, went
in search of them. His covering was a lion's hide, and besides his
javelin he carried in his hand a lance, and in his breast a bold
heart, a surer reliance than either. When he entered the wood, and
saw the lifeless bodies of his men, and the monster with his
bloody jaws, he exclaimed, "O faithful friends, I will avenge you,
or share your death." So saying he lifted a huge stone and threw
it with all his force at the serpent. Such a block would have
shaken the wall of a fortress, but it made no impression on the
monster. Cadmus next threw his javelin, which met with better
success, for it penetrated the serpent's scales, and pierced
through to his entrails. Fierce with pain, the monster turned back
his head to view the wound, and attempted to draw out the weapon
with his mouth, but broke it off, leaving the iron point rankling
in his flesh. His neck swelled with rage, bloody foam covered his
jaws, and the breath of his nostrils poisoned the air around. Now
he twisted himself into a circle, then stretched himself out on
the ground like the trunk of a fallen tree. As he moved onward,
Cadmus retreated before him, holding his spear opposite to the
monster's opened jaws. The serpent snapped at the weapon and
attempted to bite its iron point. At last Cadmus, watching his
chance, thrust the spear at a moment when the animal's head thrown
back came against the trunk of a tree, and so succeeded in pinning
him to its side. His weight bent the tree as he struggled in the
agonies of death.
While Cadmus stood over his conquered foe, contemplating its vast
size, a voice was heard (from whence he knew not, but he heard it
distinctly) commanding him to take the dragon's teeth and sow them
in the earth. He obeyed. He made a furrow in the ground, and
planted the teeth, destined to produce a crop of men. Scarce had
he done so when the clods began to move, and the points of spears
to appear above the surface. Next helmets with their nodding
plumes came up, and next the shoulders and breasts and limbs of
men with weapons, and in time a harvest of armed warriors. Cadmus,
alarmed, prepared to encounter a new enemy, but one of them said
to him, "Meddle not with our civil war." With that he who had
spoken smote one of his earth-born brothers with a sword, and he
himself fell pierced with an arrow from another. The latter fell
victim to a fourth, and in like manner the whole crowd dealt with
each other till all fell, slain with mutual wounds, except five
survivors. One of these cast away his weapons and said, "Brothers,
let us live in peace!" These five joined with Cadmus in building
his city, to which they gave the name of Thebes.
Cadmus obtained in marriage Harmonia, the daughter of Venus. The
gods left Olympus to honor the occasion with their presence, and
Vulcan presented the bride with a necklace of surpassing
brilliancy, his own workmanship. But a fatality hung over the
family of Cadmus in consequence of his killing the serpent sacred
to Mars. Semele and Ino, his daughters, and Actaeon and Pentheus,
his grandchildren, all perished unhappily, and Cadmus and Harmonia
quitted Thebes, now grown odious to them, and emigrated to the
country of the Enchelians, who received them with honor and made
Cadmus their king. But the misfortunes of their children still
weighed upon their minds; and one day Cadmus exclaimed, "If a
serpent's life is so dear to the gods, I would I were myself a
serpent." No sooner had he uttered the words than he began to
change his form. Harmonia beheld it and prayed to the gods to let
her share his fate. Both became serpents. They live in the woods,
but mindful of their origin, they neither avoid the presence of
man nor do they ever injure any one.
There is a tradition that Cadmus introduced into Greece the
letters of the alphabet which were invented by the Phoenicians.
This is alluded to by Byron, where, addressing the modern Greeks,
he says:
"You have the letters Cadmus gave,
Think you he meant them for a slave?"
Milton, describing the serpent which tempted Eve, is reminded of
the serpents of the classical stories and says:
... "--pleasing was his shape,
And lovely never since of serpent kind
Lovelier; not those that in Illyria changed
Hermione and Cadmus, nor the god
In Epidaurus"
For an explanation of the last allusion, see Oracle of
Aesculapius, p. 298.
THE MYRMIDONS
The Myrmidons were the soldiers of Achilles, in the Trojan war.
From them all zealous and unscrupulous followers of a political
chief are called by that name, down to this day. But the origin of
the Myrmidons would not give one the idea of a fierce and bloody
race, but rather of a laborious and peaceful one.
Cephalus, king of Athens, arrived in the island of Aegina to seek
assistance of his old friend and ally Aeacus, the king, in his war
with Minos, king of Crete. Cephalus was most kindly received, and
the desired assistance readily promised. "I have people enough,"
said Aeacus, "to protect myself and spare you such a force as you
need." "I rejoice to see it," replied Cephalus, "and my wonder has
been raised, I confess, to find such a host of youths as I see
around me, all apparently of about the same age. Yet there are
many individuals whom I previously knew, that I look for now in
vain. What has become of them?" Aeacus groaned, and replied with a
voice of sadness, "I have been intending to tell you, and will now
do so, without more delay, that you may see how from the saddest
beginning a happy result sometimes flows. Those whom you formerly
knew are now dust and ashes! A plague sent by angry Juno
devastated the land. She hated it because it bore the name of one
of her husband's female favorites. While the disease appeared to
spring from natural causes we resisted it, as we best might, by
natural remedies; but it soon appeared that the pestilence was too
powerful for our efforts, and we yielded. At the beginning the sky
seemed to settle down upon the earth, and thick clouds shut in the
heated air. For four months together a deadly south wind
prevailed. The disorder affected the wells and springs; thousands
of snakes crept over the land and shed their poison in the
fountains. The force of the disease was first spent on the lower
animals--dogs, cattle, sheep, and birds The luckless ploughman
wondered to see his oxen fall in the midst of their work, and lie
helpless in the unfinished furrow. The wool fell from the bleating
sheep, and their bodies pined away. The horse, once foremost in
the race, contested the palm no more, but groaned at his stall and
died an inglorious death. The wild boar forgot his rage, the stag
his swiftness, the bears no longer attacked the herds. Everything
languished; dead bodies lay in the roads, the fields, and the
woods; the air was poisoned by them, I tell you what is hardly
credible, but neither dogs nor birds would touch them, nor
starving wolves. Their decay spread the infection. Next the
disease attacked the country people, and then the dwellers in the
city. At first the cheek was flushed, and the breath drawn with
difficulty. The tongue grew rough and swelled, and the dry mouth
stood open with its veins enlarged and gasped for the air. Men
could not bear the heat of their clothes or their beds, but
preferred to lie on the bare ground; and the ground did not cool
them, but, on the contrary, they heated the spot where they lay.
Nor could the physicians help, for the disease attacked them also,
and the contact of the sick gave them infection, so that the most
faithful were the first victims. At last all hope of relief
vanished, and men learned to look upon death as the only deliverer
from disease. Then they gave way to every inclination, and cared
not to ask what was expedient, for nothing was expedient. All
restraint laid aside, they crowded around the wells and fountains
and drank till they died, without quenching thirst. Many had not
strength to get away from the water, but died in the midst of the
stream, and others would drink of it notwithstanding. Such was
their weariness of their sick beds that some would creep forth,
and if not strong enough to stand, would die on the ground. They
seemed to hate their friends, and got away from their homes, as
if, not knowing the cause of their sickness, they charged it on
the place of their abode. Some were seen tottering along the road,
as long as they could stand, while others sank on the earth, and
turned their dying eyes around to take a last look, then closed
them in death.
"What heart had I left me, during all this, or what ought I to
have had, except to hate life and wish to be with my dead
subjects? On all sides lay my people strewn like over-ripened
apples beneath the tree, or acorns under the storm-shaken oak. You
see yonder a temple on the height. It is sacred to Jupiter. O how
many offered prayers there, husbands for wives, fathers for sons,
and died in the very act of supplication! How often, while the
priest made ready for sacrifice, the victim fell, struck down by
disease without waiting for the blow! At length all reverence for
sacred things was lost. Bodies were thrown out unburied, wood was
wanting for funeral piles, men fought with one another for the
possession of them. Finally there were none left to mourn; sons
and husbands, old men and youths, perished alike unlamented.
"Standing before the altar I raised my eyes to heaven. 'O
Jupiter,' I said, 'if thou art indeed my father, and art not
ashamed of thy offspring, give me back my people, or take me also
away!' At these words a clap of thunder was heard. 'I accept the
omen,' I cried; 'O may it be a sign of a favorable disposition
towards me!' By chance there grew by the place where I stood an
oak with wide-spreading branches, sacred to Jupiter. I observed a
troop of ants busy with their labor, carrying minute grains in
their mouths and following one another in a line up the trunk of
the tree. Observing their numbers with admiration, I said, 'Give
me, O father, citizens as numerous as these, and replenish my
empty city.' The tree shook and gave a rustling sound with its
branches, though no wind agitated them. I trembled in every limb,
yet I kissed the earth and the tree. I would not confess to myself
that I hoped, yet I did hope. Night came on and sleep took
possession of my frame oppressed with cares. The tree stood before
me in my dreams, with its numerous branches all covered with
living, moving creatures. It seemed to shake its limbs and throw
down over the ground a multitude of those industrious grain-
gathering animals, which appeared to gain in size, and grow larger
and larger, and by and by to stand erect, lay aside their
superfluous legs and their black color, and finally to assume the
human form. Then I awoke, and my first impulse was to chide the
gods who had robbed me of a sweet vision and given me no reality
in its place. Being still in the temple, my attention was caught
by the sound of many voices without; a sound of late unusual to my
ears. While I began to think I was yet dreaming, Telamon, my son,
throwing open the temple gates, exclaimed: 'Father, approach, and
behold things surpassing even your hopes!' I went forth; I saw a
multitude of men, such as I had seen in my dream, and they were
passing in procession in the same manner. While I gazed with
wonder and delight they approached and kneeling hailed me as their
king. I paid my vows to Jove, and proceeded to allot the vacant
city to the new-born race, and to parcel out the fields among them
I called them Myrmidons, from the ant (myrmex) from which they
sprang. You have seen these persons; their dispositions resemble
those which they had in their former shape. They are a diligent
and industrious race, eager to gain, and tenacious of their gains.
Among them you may recruit your forces. They will follow you to
the war, young in years and bold in heart." This description of
the plague is copied by Ovid from the account which Thucydides,
the Greek historian, gives of the plague of Athens. The historian
drew from life, and all the poets and writers of fiction since his
day, when they have had occasion to describe a similar scene, have
borrowed their details from him.