CHAPTER VII.
Proserpine - Glaucus
and Scylla.
WHEN Jupiter and his brothers had defeated the Titars and
banished them to Tartarus, a new enemy rose up against the gods.
They were the giants Typhon, Briareus, Enceladus, and others.
Some of them had a hundred arms, others breathed out fire. They
were finally subdued and buried alive under Mount AEtna, where
they still sometimes struggle to get loose, and shake the whole
island with earthquakes. Their breath comes up through the
mountain, and is what men call the eruption of the volcano.
The fall of these monsters shook the earth, so that Pluto was
alarmed, and feared that his kingdom would be laid open to the
light of day. Under this apprehension, he mounted his chariot,
drawn by black horses, and took a circuit of inspection to
satisfy himself of the extent of the damage. While he was thus
engaged, Venus, who was sitting on Mount Eryx playing with her
boy Cupid, espied him, and said, "My son, take your darts with
which you conquer all, even Jove himself, and send one into the
breast of yonder dark monarch, who rules the realm of Tartarus.
Why should he alone escape? Seize the opportunity to extend your
empire and mine. Do you not see that even in heaven some despise
our power?
Minerva the wise, and
Diana the huntress, defy us;
and there is that daughter of Ceres, who threatens to follow
their example. Now do you, if you have any regard for your own
interest or mine, join these two in one." The boy unbound his
quiver, and selected his sharpest and truest arrow; then
straining the bow against his knee, he attached the string, and,
having made ready, shot the arrow with its barbed point right
into the heart of Pluto.
In the vale of Enna there is a lake embowered in woods, which
screen it from the fervid rays of the sun, while the moist
ground is covered with flowers, and Spring reigns perpetual.
Here Proserpine was playing with her companions, gathering
lilies and violets, and filling her basket and her apron with
them, when Pluto saw her, loved her, and carried her off. She
screamed for help to her mother and companions; and when in her
fright she dropped the corners of her apron and let the flowers
fall, childlike she felt the loss of them as an addition to her
grief. The ravisher urged on his steeds, calling them each by
name, and throwing loose over their heads and necks his
iron-coloured reins. When he reached the River Cyane, and it
opposed his passage, he struck the river-bank with his trident,
and the earth opened and gave him a passage to Tartarus.
Ceres sought her daughter all the world over. Bright-haired
Aurora, when she came forth in the morning, and Hesperus when he
led out the stars in the evening, found her still busy in the
search. But it was all unavailing. At length, weary and sad, she
sat down upon a stone, and continued sitting nine days and
nights, in the open air, under the sunlight and moonlight and
falling showers. It was where now stands the city of Eleusis,
then the home of an old man named Celeus. He was out on the
field, gathering acorns and blackberries, and sticks for his
fire. His little girl was driving home their two goats, and as
she passed the goddess, who appeared in the guise of an old
woman, she said to her, "Mother,"- and the name was sweet to the
ears of Ceres,- "why do you sit here alone upon the rocks?" The
old man also stopped, though his load was heavy, and begged her
to come into his cottage, such as it was. She declined, and he
urged her. "Go in peace," she replied, "and be happy in your
daughter; I have lost mine." As she spoke, tears- or something
like tears, for the gods never weep- fell down her cheeks upon
her bosom. The compassionate old man and his child wept with
her. Then said he, "Come with us, and despise not our humble
roof; so may your daughter be restored to you in safety." "Lead
on," said she, "I cannot resist that appeal!" So she rose from
the stone and went with them. As they walked he told her that
his only son, a little boy, lay very sick, feverish, and
sleepless. She stooped and gathered some poppies. As they
entered the cottage, they found all in great distress, for the
boy seemed past hope of recovery. Metanira, his mother, received
her kindly, and the goddess stooped and kissed the lips of the
sick child. Instantly the paleness left his face, and healthy
vigour returned to his body. The whole family were delighted-
that is, the father, mother, and little girl, for they were all;
they had no servants. They spread the table, and put upon it
curds and cream, apples, and honey in the comb. While they ate,
Ceres mingled poppy juice in the milk of the boy. When night
came and all was still, she arose, and taking the sleeping boy,
moulded his limbs with her hands, and uttered over him three
times a solemn charm, then went and laid him in the ashes. His
mother, who had been watching what her guest was doing, sprang
forward with a cry and snatched the child from the fire. Then
Ceres assumed her own form, and a divine splendour shone all
around. While they were overcome with astonishment, she said,
"Mother, you have been cruel in your fondness to your son. I
would have made him immortal, but you have frustrated my
attempt. Nevertheless, he shall be great and useful. He shall
teach men the use of the plough, and the rewards which labour
can win from the cultivated soil." So saying, she wrapped a
cloud about her, and mounting her chariot rode away.
Ceres continued her search for her daughter, passing from
land to land, and across seas and rivers, till at length she
returned to Sicily, whence she at first set out, and stood by
the banks of the River Cyane, where Pluto made himself a passage
with his prize to his own dominions. The river nymph would have
told the goddess all she had witnessed, but dared not, for fear
of Pluto; so she only ventured to take up the girdle which
Proserpine had dropped in her flight, and waft it to the feet of
the mother. Ceres, seeing this, was no longer in doubt of her
loss, but she did not yet know the cause, and laid the blame on
the innocent land. "Ungrateful soil," said she, "which I have
endowed with fertility and clothed with herbage and nourishing
grain, no more shall you enjoy my favours." Then the cattle
died, the plough broke in the furrow, the seed failed to come
up; there was too much sun, there was too much rain; the birds
stole the seeds- thistles and brambles were the only growth.
Seeing this, the fountain Arethusa interceded for the land.
"Goddess," said she, "blame not the land; it opened unwillingly
to yield a passage to your daughter. I can tell you of her fate,
for I have seen her. This is not my native country; I came
hither from Elis. I was a woodland nymph, and delighted in the
chase. They praised my beauty, but I cared nothing for it, and
rather boasted of my hunting exploits. One day I was returning
from the wood, heated with exercise, when I came to a stream
silently flowing, so clear that you might count the pebbles on
the bottom. The willows shaded it, and the grassy bank sloped
down to the water's edge. I approached, I touched the water with
my foot. I stepped in knee-deep, and not content with that, I
laid my garments on the willows and went in. While I sported in
the water, I heard an indistinct murmur coming up as out of the
depths of the stream; and made haste to escape to the nearest
bank. The voice said, 'Why do you fly, Arethusa? I am Alpheus,
the god of this stream.' I ran, he pursued; he was not more
swift than I, but he was stronger, and gained upon me, as my
strength failed. At last, exhausted, I cried for help to
Diana.
'Help me, goddess! help your votary!' The goddess heard, and
wrapped me suddenly in a thick cloud. The river god looked now
this way and now that, and twice came close to me, but could not
find me. 'Arethusa! Arethusa!' he cried. Oh, how I trembled,-
like a lamb that hears the wolf growling outside the fold. A
cold sweat came over me, my hair flowed down in streams; where
my foot stood there was a pool. In short, in less time than it
takes to tell it, I became a fountain. But in this form Alpheus
knew me and attempted to mingle his stream with mine. Diana
cleft the ground, and I, endeavouring to escape him, plunged
into the cavern, and through the bowels of the earth came out
here in Sicily. While I passed through the lower parts of the
earth, I saw your
Proserpine. She was sad, but no longer showing
alarm in her countenance. Her look was such as became a queen-
the queen of Erebus; the powerful bride of the monarch of the
realms of the dead."
When Ceres heard this, she stood for a while like one
stupefied; then turned her chariot towards heaven, and hastened
to present herself before the throne of Jove. She told the story
of her bereavement, and implored Jupiter to interfere to procure
the restitution of her daughter. Jupiter consented on one
condition, namely, that Proserpine should not during her stay in
the lower world have taken any food; otherwise, the Fates
forbade her release. Accordingly,
Mercury was sent, accompanied
by Spring, to demand Proserpine of Pluto. The wily monarch
consented; but, alas! the maiden had taken a pomegranate which
Pluto offered her, and had sucked the sweet pulp from a few of
the seeds. This was enough to prevent her complete release; but
a compromise was made, by which she was to pass half the time
with her mother, and the rest with her husband Pluto.
Ceres allowed herself to be pacified with this arrangement,
and restored the earth to her favour. Now she remembered Celeus
and his family, and her promise to his infant son Triptolemus.
When the boy grew up, she taught him the use of the plough, and
how to sow the seed. She took him in her chariot, drawn by
winged dragons, through all the countries of the earth,
imparting to mankind valuable grains, and the knowledge of
agriculture. After his return, Triptolemus built a magnificent
temple to Ceres in Eleusis, and established the worship of the
goddess, under the name of the Eleusinian mysteries, which, in
the splendour and solemnity of their observance, surpassed all
other religious celebrations among the Greeks.
There can be little doubt of this story of Ceres and
Proserpine being an allegory. Proserpine signifies the seed-corn
which when cast into the ground lies there concealed- that is,
she is carried off by the god of the underworld. It reappears-
that is, Proserpine is restored to her mother. Spring leads her
back to the light of day.
Milton alludes to the story of Proserpine in "Paradise Lost,"
Book IV.:
"...Not that fair field
Of Enna where Proserpine gathering flowers,
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis
Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain
To seek her through the world,-
...might with this Paradise
Of Eden strive."
Hood, in his "Ode to Melancholy," uses the same allusion very
beautifully:
"Forgive, if somewhile I forget,
In woe to come the present bliss;
As frighted Proserpine let fall
Her flowers at the sight of Dis."
The River Alpheus does in fact disappear underground, in part
of its course, finding its way through subterranean channels
till it again appears on the surface. It was said that the
Sicilian fountain Arethusa was the same stream, which, after
passing under the sea, came up again in Sicily. Hence the story
ran that a cup thrown into the Alpheus appeared again in
Arethusa. It is this fable of the underground course of Alpheus
that Coleridge alludes to in his poem of "Kubla Khan":
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree,
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea."
In one of Moore's juvenile poems he thus alludes to the same
story, and to the practice of throwing garlands or other light
objects on his stream to be carried downward by it, and
afterwards reproduced at its emerging:
"O my beloved, how divinely sweet
Is the pure joy when kindred spirits meet!
Like him the river god, whose waters flow,
With love their only light, through caves below,
Wafting in triumph all the flowery braids
And festal rings, with which Olympic maids
Have decked his current, as an offering meet
To lay at Arethusa's shining feet.
Think, when he meets at last his fountain bride,
What perfect love must thrill the blended tide!
Each lost in each, till mingling into one,
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun,
A type of true love, to the deep they run."
The following extract from Moore's "Rhymes on the Road" gives
an account of a celebrated picture by Albano, at Milan, called a
Dance of Loves:
"'Tis for the theft of Enna's flower from earth
These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth,
Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath;-
Those that are nearest Linked in order bright,
Cheek after cheek, like rosebuds in a wreath;
And those more distant showing from beneath
The others' wings their little eyes of light.
While see! among the clouds, their eldest brother,
But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss,
This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother,
Who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss."
Bartholomäus Spranger Glaucus and Scylla
GLAUCUS AND SCYLLA.
Glaucus was a fisherman. One day he had drawn his nets to land,
and had taken a great many fishes of various kinds. So he
emptied his net, and. proceeded to sort the fishes on the grass.
The place where he stood was a beautiful island in the river, a
solitary spot, uninhabited, and not used for pasturage of
cattle, not ever visited by any but himself. On a sudden, the
fishes, which had been laid on the grass, began to revive and
move their fins as if they were in the water; and while he
looked on astonished, they one and all moved off to the water,
plunged in, and swam away. He did not know what to make of this,
whether some god had done it or some secret power in the
herbage. "What herb has such a power?" he exclaimed; and
gathering some of it, he tasted it. Scarce had the juices of the
plant reached his palate when he found himself agitated with a
longing desire for the water. He could no longer restrain
himself, but bidding farewell to earth, he plunged into the
stream. The gods of the water received him graciously, and
admitted him to the honour of their society. They obtained the
consent of Oceanus and Tethys, the sovereigns of the sea, that
all that was mortal in him should be washed away. A hundred
rivers poured their waters over him. Then he lost all sense of
his former nature and all consciousness. When he recovered, he
found himself changed in form and mind. His hair was sea-green,
and trailed behind him on the water; his shoulders grew broad,
and what had been thighs and legs assumed the form of a fish's
tail. The sea-gods complimented him on the change of his
appearance, and he fancied himself rather a good-looking
personage.
One day Glaucus saw the beautiful maiden Scylla, the
favourite of the water-nymphs, rambling on the shore, and when
she had found a sheltered nook, laving her limbs in the clear
water. He fell in love with her, and showing himself on the
surface, spoke to her, saying such things as he thought most
likely to win her to stay; for she turned to run immediately on
the sight of him, and ran till she had gained a cliff
overlooking the sea. Here she stopped and turned round to see
whether it was a god or a sea animal, and observed with wonder
his shape and colour. Glaucus partly emerging from the water,
and supporting himself against a rock, said, "Maiden, I am no
monster, nor a sea animal, but a god: and neither Proteus nor
Triton ranks higher than I. Once I was a mortal, and followed
the sea for a living; but now I belong wholly to it." Then he
told the story of his metamorphosis, and how he had been
promoted to his present dignity, and added, "But what avails all
this if it fails to move your heart?" He was going on in this
strain, but Scylla turned and hastened away.
Glaucus was in despair, but it occurred to him to consult the
enchantress Circe. Accordingly he repaired to her island- the
same where afterwards Ulysses landed, as we shall see in one of
our later stories. After mutual salutations, he said, "Goddess,
I entreat your pity; you alone can relieve the pain I suffer.
The power of herbs I know as well as any one, for it is to them
I owe my change of form. I love Scylla. I am ashamed to tell you
how I have sued and promised to her, and how scornfully she has
treated me. I beseech you to use your incantations, or potent
herbs, if they are more prevailing, not to cure me of my love,-
for that I do not wish,- but to make her share it and yield me a
like return." To which Circe replied, for she was not insensible
to the attractions of the sea-green deity, "You had better
pursue a willing object; you are worthy to be sought, instead of
having to seek in vain. Be not diffident, know your own worth. I
protest to you that even I, goddess though I be, and learned in
the virtues of plants and spells, should not know how to refuse
you. If she scorns you scorn her; meet one who is ready to meet
you half way, and thus make a due return to both at once." To
these words Glaucus replied, "Sooner shall trees grow at the
bottom of the ocean, and sea-weed on the top of the mountains,
than I will cease to love Scylla, and her alone."
The goddess was indignant, but she could not punish him,
neither did she wish to do so, for she liked him too well; so
she turned all her wrath against her rival, poor Scylla. She
took plants of poisonous powers and mixed them together, with
incantations and charms. Then she passed through the crowd of
gambolling beasts, the victims of her art, and proceeded to the
coast of Sicily, where Scylla lived. There was a little bay on
the shore to which Scylla used to resort, in the heat of the
day, to breathe the air of the sea, and to bathe in its waters.
Here the goddess poured her poisonous mixture, and muttered over
it incantations of mighty power. Scylla came as usual and
plunged into the water up to her waist. What was her horror to
perceive a brood of serpents and barking monsters surrounding
her! At first she could not imagine they were a part of herself,
and tried to run from them, and to drive them away; but as she
ran she carried them with her, and when she tried to touch her
limbs, she found her hands touch only the yawning jaws of
monsters. Scylla remained rooted to the spot. Her temper grew as
ugly as her form, and she took pleasure in devouring hapless
mariners who came within her grasp. Thus she destroyed six of
the companions of Ulysses, and tried to wreck the ships of
AEneas, till at last she was turned into a rock, and as such
still continues to be a terror to mariners.
Keats, in his "Endymion," has given a new version of the
ending of "Glaucus and Scylla." Glaucus consents to Circe's
blandishments, till he by chance is witness to her transactions
with her beasts. Disgusted with her treachery and cruelty, he
tries to escape from her, but is taken and brought back, when
with reproaches she banishes him, sentencing him to pass a
thousand years in decrepitude and pain. He returns to the sea,
and there finds the body of Scylla, whom the goddess has not
transformed but drowned. Glaucus learns that his destiny is
that, if he passes his thousand years in collecting all the
bodies of drowned lovers, a youth beloved of the gods will
appear and help him. Endymion fulfils this prophecy, and aids in
restoring Glaucus to youth, and Scylla and all the drowned
lovers to life.
The following is Glaucus's account of his feelings after his
"sea-change":
"I plunged for life or death. To interknit
One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff
Might seem a work of pain; so not enough
Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,
And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt
Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;
Forgetful utterly of self-intent,
Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow.
Then like a new-fledged bird that first doth show
His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,
I tried in fear the pinions of my will.
'Twas freedom! and at once I visited
The ceaseless wonders of his ocean-bed,"
etc.- Keats.
