CHAPTER XIII.
Nisus and Scylla- Echo and
Narcissus - Clytie - Hero
and Leander.
MINOS, king of Crete, made war upon Megara. Nisus was king of
Megara, and Scylla was his daughter. The siege had now lasted
six months and the city still held out, for it was decreed by
fate that it should not be taken so long as a certain purple
lock, which glittered among the hair of King Nisus, remained on
his head. There was a tower on the city walls, which overlooked
the plain where Minos and his army were encamped. To this tower
Scylla used to repair, and look abroad over the tents of the
hostile army. The siege had lasted so long that she had learned
to distinguish the persons of the leaders. Minos, in particular,
excited her admiration. Arrayed in his helmet, and bearing his
shield, she admired his graceful deportment; if he threw his
javelin skill seemed combined with force in the discharge; if he
drew his bow Apollo himself could not have done it more
gracefully. But when he laid aside his helmet, and in his purple
robes bestrode his white horse with its gay caparisons, and
reined in its foaming mouth, the daughter of Nisus was hardly
mistress of herself; she was almost frantic with admiration. She
envied the weapon that he grasped, the reins that he held. She
felt as if she could, if it were possible, go to him through the
hostile ranks; she felt an impulse to cast herself down from the
tower into the midst of his camp, or to open the gates to him,
or to do anything else, so only it might gratify Minos. As she
sat in the tower, she talked thus with herself: "I know not
whether to rejoice or grieve at this sad war. I grieve that
Minos is our enemy; but I rejoice at any cause that brings him
to my sight. Perhaps he would be willing to grant us peace, and
receive me as a hostage. I would fly down, if I could, and
alight in his camp, and tell him that we yield ourselves to his
mercy. But then, to betray my father! No! rather would I never
see Minos again. And yet no doubt it is sometimes the best thing
for a city to be conquered, when the conqueror is clement and
generous. Minos certainly has right on his side. I think we
shall be conquered; and if that must be the end of it, why
should not love unbar the gates to him, instead of leaving it to
be done by war? Better spare delay and slaughter if we can. And
O if any one should wound or kill Minos! No one surely would
have the heart to do it; yet ignorantly, not knowing him, one
might. I will, I will surrender myself to him, with my country
as a dowry, and so put an end to the war. But how? The gates are
guarded, and my father keeps the keys; he only stands in my way.
O that it might please the gods to take him away! But why ask
the gods to do it? Another woman, loving as I do, would remove
with her own hands whatever stood in the way of her love. And
can any other woman dare more than I? I would encounter fire and
sword to gain my object; but here there is no need of fire and
sword. I only need my father's purple lock. More precious than
gold to me, that will give me all I wish."
While she thus reasoned night came on, and soon the whole
palace was buried in sleep. She entered her father's bedchamber
and cut off the fatal lock; then passed out of the city and
entered the enemy's camp. She demanded to be led to the king,
and thus addressed him: "I am Scylla, the daughter of Nisus. I
surrender to you my country and my father's house. I ask no
reward but yourself: for love of you I have done it. See here
the purple lock! With this I give you my father and his
kingdom." She held out her hand with the fatal spoil. Minos
shrunk back and refused to touch it. "The gods destroy thee,
infamous woman," he exclaimed; "disgrace of our time! May
neither earth nor sea yield thee a resting-place! Surely, my
Crete, where Jove himself was cradled, shall not be polluted
with such a monster!" Thus he said, and gave orders that
equitable terms should be allowed to the conquered city, and
that the fleet should immediately sail from the island.
Scylla was frantic. "Ungrateful man," she exclaimed, "is it
thus you leave me?- me who have given you victory,- who have
sacrificed for you parent and country! I am guilty, I confess,
and deserve to die, but not by your hand." As the ships left the
shore, she leaped into the water, and seizing the rudder of the
one which carried Minos, she was borne along an unwelcome
companion of their course. A sea-eagle soaring aloft,- it was
her father who had been changed into that form,- seeing her,
pounced down upon her, and struck her with his beak and claws.
In terror she let go the ship and would have fallen into the
water, but some pitying deity changed her into a bird. The
sea-eagle still cherishes the old animosity; and whenever he
espies her in his lofty flight you may see him dart down upon
her, with beak and claws, to take vengeance for the ancient
crime.
Nicolas Poussin
Echo and Narcissus.
Echo and
Narcissus
Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills,
where she devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a
favourite of
Diana, and attended her in the chase. But Echo had
one failing; she was fond of talking, and whether in chat or
argument, would have the last word. One day
Juno was seeking her
husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among
the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess
till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she
passed sentence upon Echo in these words: "You shall forfeit the
use of that tongue with which you have cheated me, except for
that one purpose you are so fond of- reply. You shall still have
the last word, but no power to speak first."
This nymph saw
Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued
the chase upon the mountains. She loved him and followed his
footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest
accents, and win him to converse! but it was not in her power.
She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her
answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his
companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here."
Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, "Come."
Echo answered, "Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again,
"Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join
one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her
heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to
throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming,
"Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!" "Have
me," said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went
to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time
forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form
faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her
bones were changed into rocks and there was nothing left of her
but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one
who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last
word.
Narcissus's cruelty in this case was not the only instance.
He shunned all the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo.
One day a maiden who had in vain endeavoured to attract him
uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it
was to love and meet no return of affection. The avenging
goddess heard and granted the prayer.
There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which
the shepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats
resorted, nor any of the beasts of the forests; neither was it
defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh
around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came
one day the youth, fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He
stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he
thought it was some beautiful water-spirit living in the
fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes,
those locks curled like the locks of
Bacchus or
Apollo, the
rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of
health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He
brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to
embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned
again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not
tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest. while he
hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own
image. He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful
being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you.
The nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon
me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile
upon me and answer my beckonings with the like." His tears fell
into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he
exclaimed, "Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you,
if I may not touch you." With this, and much more of the same
kind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by
degrees be lost his colour, his vigour, and the beauty which
formerly had so charmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him,
however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas! alas! she answered him
with the same words. He pined away and died; and when his shade
passed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a
look of itself in the waters. The nymphs mourned for him,
especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts
Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile and would
have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its
place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves,
which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.
Milton alludes to the story of Echo and Narcissus in the
Lady's song in "Comus." She is seeking her brothers in the
forest, and sings to attract their attention:
"Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
Within thy aery shell
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale,
Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?
O, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere,
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies."
Milton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account
which he makes Eve give of the first sight of herself reflected
in the fountain.
"That day I oft remember when from sleep
I first awaked, and found myself reposed
Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved
Pure as the expanse of heaven; I tither went
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite
A shape within the watery gleam appeared,
Bending to look on me. I started back;
It started back; but pleased I soon returned,
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;" etc.
Paradise Lost, Book IV.
No one of the fables of antiquity has been oftener alluded to
by the poets than that of Narcissus. Here are two epigrams which
treat it in different ways. The first is by Goldsmith:
"ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.
"Sure 'twas by Providence designed
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be like Cupid blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate."
The other is by Cowper:
"ON AN UGLY FELLOW.
"Beware, my friend, of crystal brook
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou would'st pine,
As self-enamoured he."
Frederic
Leighton
Clytie
CLYTIE.
Clytie was a water-nymph and in love with
Apollo, who made her
no return. So she pined away, sitting all day long upon the cold
ground, with her unbound tresses streaming over her shoulders.
Nine days she sat and tasted neither food nor drink, her own
tears, and the chilly dew her only food. She gazed on the sun
when he rose, and as he passed through his daily course to his
setting; she saw no other object, her face turned constantly on
him. At last, they say, her limbs rooted in the ground, her face
became a flower,* which turns on its stem so as always to face
the sun throughout its daily course; for it retains to that
extent the feeling of the nymph from whom it sprang.
Hood, in his "Flowers," thus alludes to Clytie:
"I will not have the mad Clytie:
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly quean,
Whom therefore I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun;-
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of every one."
The sunflower is a favourite emblem of constancy. Thus Moore
uses it:
"The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look that she turned when he rose."
William Etty Hero and Leander
HERO AND LEANDER.
Leander was a youth of Abydos, a town of the Asian side of the
strait which separates Asia and Europe. On the opposite shore,
in the town of Sestos, lived the maiden Hero, a priestess of
Venus. Leander loved her, and used to swim the strait nightly to
enjoy the company of his mistress, guided by a torch which she
reared upon the tower for the purpose. But one night a tempest
arose and the sea was rough; his strength failed, and he was
drowned. The waves bore his body to the European shore, where
Hero became aware of his death, and in her despair cast herself
down from the tower into the sea and perished.
The following sonnet is by Keats:
"ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER.
"Come hither all sweet Maidens soberly
Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
And meekly let your fair hands joined be,
As if so gentle that ye could not see,
Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,
Sinking away to his young spirit's night,
Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea.
'Tis young Leander toiling to his death.
Nigh swooning he doth purse his weary lips
For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.
O horrid dream! see how his body dips
Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile;
He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!"
The story of Leander's swimming the Hellespont was looked
upon as fabulous, and the feat considered impossible, till Lord
Byron proved its possibility by performing it himself. In the
"Bride of Abydos" he says,
"These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne."
The distance in the narrowest part is almost a mile, and
there is a constant current setting out from the Sea of Marmora
into the Archipelago. Since Byron's time the feat has been
achieved by others; but it yet remains a test of strength and
skill in the art of swimming sufficient. to give a wide and
lasting celebrity to any one of our readers who may dare to make
the attempt and succeed in accomplishing it.
In the beginning, of the second canto of the same poem, Byron
thus alludes to this story:
"The winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormiest water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,
The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
O, when alone along the sky
The turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale and breaking foam,
And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds forbade to go,
He could not see, he would not hear
Or sound or sight foreboding fear.
His eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hailed above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
'Ye waves, divide not lovers long.'
That tale is old, but love anew
May nerve young hearts to prove as true."
