{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_III/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_III","id":"wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_III","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Age_of_Fable/Chapter_III","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Subpages"],"text":"III. APOLLO AND DAPHNE \u2014 PYRAMUS AND THISBE \u2014 CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS\n\nThe slime with which the earth was covered by the waters of the\nflood produced an excessive fertility, which called forth every\nvariety of production, both bad and good. Among the rest, Python,\nan enormous serpent, crept forth, the terror of the people, and\nlurked in the caves of Mount Parnassus. Apollo slew him with his\narrows\u2014weapons which he had not before used against any but\nfeeble animals, hares, wild goats, and such game. In commemoration\nof this illustrious conquest he instituted the Pythian games, in\nwhich the victor in feats of strength, swiftness of foot, or in\nthe chariot race was crowned with a wreath of beech leaves; for\nthe laurel was not yet adopted by Apollo as his own tree.\n\nThe famous statue of Apollo called the Belvedere represents the god after this victory over the serpent Python. To this Byron alludes in his \"Childe Harold,\" iv., 161:\n\n\"... The lord of the unerring bow,\n\nThe god of life, and poetry, and light,\n\nThe Sun, in human limbs arrayed, and brow\n\nAll radiant from his triumph in the fight\n\nThe shaft has just been shot; the arrow bright\n\nWith an immortal's vengeance; in his eye\n\nAnd nostril, beautiful disdain, and might\n\nAnd majesty flash their full lightnings by,\n\nDeveloping in that one glance the Deity.\"\n\nAPOLLO AND DAPHNE\n\nDaphne was Apollo's first love. It was not brought about by\naccident, but by the malice of Cupid. Apollo saw the boy playing\nwith his bow and arrows; and being himself elated with his recent\nvictory over Python, he said to him, \"What have you to do with\nwarlike weapons, saucy boy? Leave them for hands worthy of them.\nBehold the conquest I have won by means of them over the vast\nserpent who stretched his poisonous body over acres of the plain!\nBe content with your torch, child, and kindle up your flames, as\nyou call them, where you will, but presume not to meddle with my\nweapons.\" Venus's boy heard these words, and rejoined, \"Your\narrows may strike all things else, Apollo, but mine shall strike\nyou.\" So saying, he took his stand on a rock of Parnassus, and\ndrew from his quiver two arrows of different workmanship, one to\nexcite love, the other to repel it. The former was of gold and\nsharp pointed, the latter blunt and tipped with lead. With the\nleaden shaft he struck the nymph Daphne, the daughter of the river\ngod Peneus, and with the golden one Apollo, through the heart.\nForthwith the god was seized with love for the maiden, and she\nabhorred the thought of loving. Her delight was in woodland sports\nand in the spoils of the chase. Many lovers sought her, but she\nspurned them all, ranging the woods, and taking no thought of\nCupid nor of Hymen. Her father often said to her, \"Daughter, you\nowe me a son-in-law; you owe me grandchildren.\" She, hating the\nthought of marriage as a crime, with her beautiful face tinged all\nover with blushes, threw arms around her father's neck, and said,\n\"Dearest father, grant me this favor, that I may always remain\nunmarried, like Diana.\" He consented, but at the same time said,\n\"Your own face will forbid it.\"\n\nApollo loved her, and longed to obtain her; and he who gives\noracles to all the world was not wise enough to look into his own\nfortunes. He saw her hair flung loose over her shoulders, and\nsaid, \"If so charming in disorder, what would it be if arranged?\"\nHe saw her eyes bright as stars; he saw her lips, and was not\nsatisfied with only seeing them. He admired her hands and arms,\nnaked to the shoulder, and whatever was hidden from view he\nimagined more beautiful still. He followed her; she fled, swifter\nthan the wind, and delayed not a moment at his entreaties. \"Stay,\"\nsaid he, \"daughter of Peneus; I am not a foe. Do not fly me as a\nlamb flies the wolf, or a dove the hawk. It is for love I pursue\nyou. You make me miserable, for fear you should fall and hurt\nyourself on these stones, and I should be the cause. Pray run\nslower, and I will follow slower. I am no clown, no rude peasant.\nJupiter is my father, and I am lord of Delphos and Tenedos, and\nknow all things, present and future. I am the god of song and the\nlyre. My arrows fly true to the mark; but, alas! an arrow more\nfatal than mine has pierced my heart! I am the god of medicine,\nand know the virtues of all healing plants. Alas! I suffer a\nmalady that no balm can cure!\"\n\nThe nymph continued her flight, and left his plea half uttered.\nAnd even as she fled she charmed him. The wind blew her garments,\nand her unbound hair streamed loose behind her. The god grew\nimpatient to find his wooings thrown away, and, sped by Cupid,\ngained upon her in the race. It was like a hound pursuing a hare,\nwith open jaws ready to seize, while the feebler animal darts\nforward, slipping from the very grasp. So flew the god and the\nvirgin\u2014he on the wings of love, and she on those of fear. The\npursuer is the more rapid, however, and gains upon her, and his\npanting breath blows upon her hair. Her strength begins to fail,\nand, ready to sink, she calls upon her father, the river god:\n\"Help me, Peneus! open the earth to enclose me, or change my form,\nwhich has brought me into this danger!\" Scarcely had she spoken,\nwhen a stiffness seized all her limbs; her bosom began to be\nenclosed in a tender bark; her hair became leaves; her arms became\nbranches; her foot stuck fast in the ground, as a root; her face,\nbecame a tree-top, retaining nothing of its former self but its\nbeauty. Apollo stood amazed. He touched the stem, and felt the\nflesh tremble under the new bark. He embraced the branches, and\nlavished kisses on the wood. The branches shrank from his lips.\n\"Since you cannot be my wife,\" said he, \"you shall assuredly be my\ntree. I will wear you for my crown; I will decorate with you my\nharp and my quiver; and when the great Roman conquerors lead up\nthe triumphal pomp to the Capitol, you shall be woven into wreaths\nfor their brows. And, as eternal youth is mine, you also shall be\nalways green, and your leaf know no decay.\" The nymph, now changed\ninto a Laurel tree, bowed its head in grateful acknowledgment.\n\n\u00a0\n\nThat Apollo should be the god both of music and poetry will not\nappear strange, but that medicine should also be assigned to his\nprovince, may. The poet Armstrong, himself a physician, thus\naccounts for it:\n\n\"Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,\n\nExpels diseases, softens every pain;\n\nAnd hence the wise of ancient days adored\n\nOne power of physic, melody, and song.\"\n\nThe story of Apollo and Daphne is often alluded to by the poets.\nWaller applies it to the case of one whose amatory verses, though\nthey did not soften the heart of his mistress, yet won for the\npoet wide-spread fame:\n\n\"Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,\n\nThough unsuccessful, was not sung in vain.\n\nAll but the nymph that should redress his wrong,\n\nAttend his passion and approve his song.\n\nLike Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,\n\nHe caught at love and filled his arms with bays.\"\n\nThe following stanza from Shelley's \"Adonais\" alludes to Byron's\nearly quarrel with the reviewers:\n\n\"The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;\n\nThe obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead;\n\nThe vultures, to the conqueror's banner true,\n\nWho feed where Desolation first has fed,\n\nAnd whose wings rain contagion: how they fled,\n\nWhen like Apollo, from his golden bow,\n\nThe Pythian of the age one arrow sped\n\nAnd smiled! The spoilers tempt no second blow;\n\nThey fawn on the proud feet that spurn them as they go.\"\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE\n\nPyramus was the handsomest youth, and Thisbe the fairest maiden,\nin all Babylonia, where Semiramis reigned. Their parents occupied\nadjoining houses; and neighborhood brought the young people\ntogether, and acquaintance ripened into love. They would gladly\nhave married, but their parents forbade. One thing, however, they\ncould not forbid\u2014that love should glow with equal ardor in the\nbosoms of both. They conversed by signs and glances, and the fire\nburned more intensely for being covered up. In the wall that\nparted the two houses there was a crack, caused by some fault in\nthe structure. No one had remarked it before, but the lovers\ndiscovered it. What will not love discover! It afforded a passage\nto the voice; and tender messages used to pass backward and\nforward through the gap. As they stood, Pyramus on this side,\nThisbe on that, their breaths would mingle. \"Cruel wall,\" they\nsaid, \"why do you keep two lovers apart? But we will not be\nungrateful. We owe you, we confess, the privilege of transmitting\nloving words to willing ears.\" Such words they uttered on\ndifferent sides of the wall; and when night came and they must say\nfarewell, they pressed their lips upon the wall, she on her side,\nhe on his, as they could come no nearer.\n\nNext morning, when Aurora had put out the stars, and the sun had\nmelted the frost from the grass, they met at the accustomed spot.\nThen, after lamenting their hard fate, they agreed, that next\nnight, when all was still, they would slip away from watchful\neyes, leave their dwellings and walk out into the fields; and to\ninsure a meeting, repair to a well-known edifice standing without\nthe city's bounds, called the Tomb of Ninus, and that the one who\ncame first should await the other at the foot of a certain tree.\nIt was a white mulberry tree, and stood near a cool spring. All\nwas agreed on, and they waited impatiently for the sun to go down\nbeneath the waters and night to rise up from them. Then cautiously\nThisbe stole forth, unobserved by the family, her head covered\nwith a veil, made her way to the monument and sat down under the\ntree. As she sat alone in the dim light of the evening she\ndescried a lioness, her jaws reeking with recent slaughter,\napproaching the fountain to slake her thirst. Thisbe fled at the\nsight, and sought refuge in the hollow of a rock. As she fled she\ndropped her veil. The lioness after drinking at the spring turned\nto retreat to the woods, and seeing the veil on the ground, tossed\nand rent it with her bloody mouth.\n\nPyramus, having been delayed, now approached the place of meeting.\nHe saw in the sand the footsteps of the lion, and the color fled\nfrom his cheeks at the sight. Presently he found the veil all rent\nand bloody. \"O hapless girl,\" said he, \"I have been the cause of\nthy death! Thou, more worthy of life than I, hast fallen the first\nvictim. I will follow. I am the guilty cause, in tempting thee\nforth to a place of such peril, and not being myself on the spot\nto guard thee. Come forth, ye lions, from the rocks, and tear this\nguilty body with your teeth.\" He took up the veil, carried it with\nhim to the appointed tree, and covered it with kisses and with\ntears. \"My blood also shall stain your texture,\" said he, and\ndrawing his sword plunged it into his heart. The blood spurted\nfrom the wound, and tinged the white mulberries of the tree all\nred; and sinking into the earth reached the roots, so that the red\ncolor mounted through the trunk to the fruit.\n\nBy this time Thisbe, still trembling with fear, yet wishing not to\ndisappoint her lover, stepped cautiously forth, looking anxiously\nfor the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had escaped. When\nshe came to the spot and saw the changed color of the mulberries\nshe doubted whether it was the same place. While she hesitated she\nsaw the form of one struggling in the agonies of death. She\nstarted back, a shudder ran through her frame as a ripple on the\nface of the still water when a sudden breeze sweeps over it. But\nas soon as she recognized her lover, she screamed and beat her\nbreast, embracing the lifeless body, pouring tears into its\nwounds, and imprinting kisses on the cold lips. \"O Pyramus,\" she\ncried, \"what has done this? Answer me, Pyramus; it is your own\nThisbe that speaks. Hear me, dearest, and lift that drooping\nhead!\" At the name of Thisbe Pyramus opened his eyes, then closed\nthem again. She saw her veil stained with blood and the scabbard\nempty of its sword. \"Thy own hand has slain thee, and for my\nsake,\" she said. \"I too can be brave for once, and my love is as\nstrong as thine. I will follow thee in death, for I have been the\ncause; and death which alone could part us shall not prevent my\njoining thee. And ye, unhappy parents of us both, deny us not our\nunited request. As love and death have joined us, let one tomb\ncontain us. And thou, tree, retain the marks of slaughter. Let thy\nberries still serve for memorials of our blood.\" So saying she\nplunged the sword into her breast. Her parents ratified her wish,\nthe gods also ratified it. The two bodies were buried in one\nsepulchre, and the tree ever after brought forth purple berries,\nas it does to this day.\n\n\u00a0\n\nMoore, in the \"Sylph's Ball,\" speaking of Davy's Safety Lamp, is\nreminded of the wall that separated Thisbe and her lover:\n\n\"O for that Lamp's metallic gauze,\n\nThat curtain of protecting wire,\n\nWhich Davy delicately draws\n\nAround illicit, dangerous fire!\n\nThe wall he sets 'twixt Flame and Air,\n\n(Like that which barred young Thisbe's bliss,)\n\nThrough whose small holes this dangerous pair\n\nMay see each other, but not kiss.\"\n\nIn Mickle's translation of the \"Lusiad\" occurs the following\nallusion to the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, and the metamorphosis\nof the mulberries. The poet is describing the Island of Love:\n\n\"... here each gift Pomona's hand bestows\n\nIn cultured garden, free uncultured flows,\n\nThe flavor sweeter and the hue more fair\n\nThan e'er was fostered by the hand of care.\n\nThe cherry here in shining crimson glows,\n\nAnd stained with lovers' blood, in pendent rows,\n\nThe mulberries o'erload the bending boughs.\"\n\nIf any of our young readers can be so hard-hearted as to enjoy a\nlaugh at the expense of poor Pyramus and Thisbe, they may find an\nopportunity by turning to Shakspeare's play of the \"Midsummer\nNight's Dream,\" where it is most amusingly burlesqued.\n\nCEPHALUS AND PROCRIS\n\nCephalus was a beautiful youth and fond of manly sports. He would\nrise before the dawn to pursue the chase. Aurora saw him when she\nfirst looked forth, fell in love with him, and stole him away. But\nCephalus was just married to a charming wife whom he devotedly\nloved. Her name was Procris. She was a favorite of Diana, the\ngoddess of hunting, who had given her a dog which could outrun\nevery rival, and a javelin which would never fail of its mark; and\nProcris gave these presents to her husband. Cephalus was so happy\nin his wife that he resisted all the entreaties of Aurora, and she\nfinally dismissed him in displeasure, saying, \"Go, ungrateful\nmortal, keep your wife, whom, if I am not much mistaken, you will\none day be very sorry you ever saw again.\"\n\nCephalus returned, and was as happy as ever in his wife and his\nwoodland sports. Now it happened some angry deity had sent a\nravenous fox to annoy the country; and the hunters turned out in\ngreat strength to capture it. Their efforts were all in vain; no\ndog could run it down; and at last they came to Cephalus to borrow\nhis famous dog, whose name was Lelaps. No sooner was the dog let\nloose than he darted off, quicker than their eye could follow him.\nIf they had not seen his footprints in the sand they would have\nthought he flew. Cephalus and others stood on a hill and saw the\nrace. The fox tried every art; he ran in a circle and turned on\nhis track, the dog close upon him, with open jaws, snapping at his\nheels, but biting only the air. Cephalus was about to use his\njavelin, when suddenly he saw both dog and game stop instantly.\nThe heavenly powers who had given both were not willing that\neither should conquer. In the very attitude of life and action\nthey were turned into stone. So lifelike and natural did they\nlook, you would have thought, as you looked at them, that one was\ngoing to bark, the other to leap forward.\n\nCephalus, though he had lost his dog, still continued to take\ndelight in the chase. He would go out at early morning, ranging\nthe woods and hills unaccompanied by any one, needing no help, for\nhis javelin was a sure weapon in all cases. Fatigued with hunting,\nwhen the sun got high he would seek a shady nook where a cool\nstream flowed, and, stretched on the grass, with his garments\nthrown aside, would enjoy the breeze. Sometimes he would say\naloud, \"Come, sweet breeze, come and fan my breast, come and allay\nthe heat that burns me.\" Some one passing by one day heard him\ntalking in this way to the air, and, foolishly believing that he\nwas talking to some maiden, went and told the secret to Procris,\nCephalus's wife. Love is credulous. Procris, at the sudden shock,\nfainted away. Presently recovering, she said, \"It cannot be true;\nI will not believe it unless I myself am a witness to it.\" So she\nwaited, with anxious heart, till the next morning, when Cephalus\nwent to hunt as usual. Then she stole out after him, and concealed\nherself in the place where the informer directed her. Cephalus\ncame as he was wont when tired with sport, and stretched himself\non the green bank, saying, \"Come, sweet breeze, come and fan me;\nyou know how I love you! you make the groves and my solitary\nrambles delightful.\" He was running on in this way when he heard,\nor thought he heard, a sound as of a sob in the bushes. Supposing\nit some wild animal, he threw his javelin at the spot. A cry from\nhis beloved Procris told him that the weapon had too surely met\nits mark. He rushed to the place, and found her bleeding, and with\nsinking strength endeavoring to draw forth from the wound the\njavelin, her own gift. Cephalus raised her from the earth, strove\nto stanch the blood, and called her to revive and not to leave him\nmiserable, to reproach himself with her death. She opened her\nfeeble eyes, and forced herself to utter these few words: \"I\nimplore you, if you have ever loved me, if I have ever deserved\nkindness at your hands, my husband, grant me this last request; do\nnot marry that odious Breeze!\" This disclosed the whole mystery:\nbut alas! what advantage to disclose it now! She died; but her\nface wore a calm expression, and she looked pityingly and\nforgivingly on her husband when he made her understand the truth.\n\n\u00a0\n\nMoore, in his \"Legendary Ballads,\" has one on Cephalus and\nProcris, beginning thus:\n\n\"A hunter once in a grove reclined,\n\nTo shun the noon's bright eye,\n\nAnd oft he wooed the wandering wind\n\nTo cool his brow with its sigh\n\nWhile mute lay even the wild bee's hum,\n\nNor breath could stir the aspen's hair,\n\nHis song was still, 'Sweet Air, O come!'\n\nWhile Echo answered, 'Come, sweet Air!'\"","title":"The Age of Fable/Chapter III","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":3352}