{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XIV/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XIV","id":"wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XIV","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_XIV","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Subpages"],"text":"MINERVA \u2014 NIOBE\n\nMinerva, the goddess of wisdom, was the daughter of Jupiter. She\nwas said to have leaped forth from his brain, mature, and in\ncomplete armor. She presided over the useful and ornamental arts,\nboth those of men\u2014such as agriculture and navigation\u2014and those\nof women,\u2014spinning, weaving, and needlework. She was also a\nwarlike divinity; but it was defensive war only that she\npatronized, and she had no sympathy with Mars's savage love of\nviolence and bloodshed. Athens was her chosen seat, her own city,\nawarded to her as the prize of a contest with Neptune, who also\naspired to it. The tale ran that in the reign of Cecrops, the\nfirst king of Athens, the two deities contended for the possession\nof the city. The gods decreed that it should be awarded to that\none who produced the gift most useful to mortals. Neptune gave the\nhorse; Minerva produced the olive. The gods gave judgment that the\nolive was the more useful of the two, and awarded the city to the\ngoddess; and it was named after her, Athens, her name in Greek\nbeing Athene.\n\nThere was another contest, in which a mortal dared to come in\ncompetition with Minerva. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who\nhad attained such skill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that\nthe nymphs themselves would leave their groves and fountains to\ncome and gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was\ndone, but beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took\nthe wool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated\nit with her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft\nas a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove the\nweb, or, after it was woven, adorned it with her needle, one would\nhave said that Minerva herself had taught her. But this she\ndenied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a\ngoddess. \"Let Minerva try her skill with mine,\" said she; \"if\nbeaten I will pay the penalty.\" Minerva heard this and was\ndispleased. She assumed the form of an old woman and went and gave\nArachne some friendly advice \"I have had much experience,\" said\nshe, \"and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your\nfellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess. On\nthe contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you\nhave said, and as she is merciful perhaps she will pardon you.\"\nArachne stopped her spinning and looked at the old dame with anger\nin her countenance. \"Keep your counsel,\" said she, \"for your\ndaughters or handmaids; for my part I know what I say, and I stand\nto it. I am not afraid of the goddess; let her try her skill, if\nshe dare venture.\" \"She comes,\" said Minerva; and dropping her\ndisguise stood confessed. The nymphs bent low in homage, and all\nthe bystanders paid reverence. Arachne alone was unterrified. She\nblushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek, and then she grew\npale. But she stood to her resolve, and with a foolish conceit of\nher own skill rushed on her fate. Minerva forbore no longer nor\ninterposed any further advice. They proceed to the contest. Each\ntakes her station and attaches the web to the beam. Then the\nslender shuttle is passed in and out among the threads. The reed\nwith its fine teeth strikes up the woof into its place and\ncompacts the web. Both work with speed; their skilful hands move\nrapidly, and the excitement of the contest makes the labor light.\nWool of Tyrian dye is contrasted with that of other colors, shaded\noff into one another so adroitly that the joining deceives the\neye. Like the bow, whose long arch tinges the heavens, formed by\nsunbeams reflected from the shower, in\nwhich, where the colors meet they seem as one, but at a little\ndistance from the point of contact are wholly different.\n\nMinerva wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Neptune.\nTwelve of the heavenly powers are represented, Jupiter, with\naugust gravity, sitting in the midst. Neptune, the ruler of the\nsea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the\nearth, from which a horse has leaped forth. Minerva depicted\nherself with helmed head, her Aegis covering her breast. Such was\nthe central circle; and in the four corners were represented\nincidents illustrating the displeasure of the gods at such\npresumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them. These were\nmeant as warnings to her rival to give up the contest before it\nwas too late.\n\nArachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit\nthe failings and errors of the gods. One scene represented Leda\ncaressing the swan, under which form Jupiter had disguised\nhimself; and another, Dana\u00eb, in the brazen tower in which her\nfather had imprisoned her, but where the god effected his entrance\nin the form of a golden shower. Still another depicted Europa\ndeceived by Jupiter under the disguise of a bull. Encouraged by\nthe tameness of the animal Europa ventured to mount his back,\nwhereupon Jupiter advanced into the sea and swam with her to\nCrete. You would have thought it was a real bull, so naturally was\nit wrought, and so natural the water in which it swam. She seemed\nto look with longing eyes back upon the shore she was leaving, and\nto call to her companions for help. She appeared to shudder with\nterror at the sight of the heaving waves, and to draw back her\nfeet from the water.\n\nArachne filled her canvas with similar subjects, wonderfully well\ndone, but strongly marking her presumption and impiety. Minerva\ncould not forbear to admire, yet felt indignant at the insult. She\nstruck the web with her shuttle and rent it in pieces, she then\ntouched the forehead of Arachne and made her feel her guilt and\nshame. She could not endure it and went and hanged herself.\nMinerva pitied her as she saw her suspended by a rope. \"Live,\" she\nsaid, \"guilty woman! and that you may preserve the memory of this\nlesson, continue to hang, both you and your descendants, to all\nfuture times.\" She sprinkled her with the juices of aconite, and\nimmediately her hair came off, and her nose and ears likewise. Her\nform shrank up, and her head grew smaller yet; her fingers cleaved\nto her side and served for legs. All the rest of her is body, out\nof which she spins her thread, often hanging suspended by it, in\nthe same attitude as when Minerva touched her and transformed her\ninto a spider.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSpenser tells the story of Arachne in his \"Muiopotmos,\" adhering very closely to his master Ovid, but improving upon him in the conclusion of the story. The two stanzas which follow tell what was done after the goddess had depicted her creation of the olive tree:\n\n\"Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly,\n\nWith excellent device and wondrous slight,\n\nFluttering among the olives wantonly,\n\nThat seemed to live, so like it was in sight;\n\nThe velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,\n\nThe silken down with which his back is dight,\n\nHis broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,\n\nHis glorious colors, and his glistening eyes.\"\n\n\"Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid\n\nAnd mastered with workmanship so rare,\n\nShe stood astonied long, ne aught gainsaid;\n\nAnd with fast-fixed eyes on her did stare,\n\nAnd by her silence, sign of one dismayed,\n\nThe victory did yield her as her share;\n\nYet did she inly fret and felly burn,\n\nAnd all her blood to poisonous rancor turn.\"\n\nAnd so the metamorphosis is caused by Arachne's own mortification\nand vexation, and not by any direct act of the goddess.\n\nThe following specimen of old-fashioned gallantry is by Garrick:\n\nUpon a Lady's Embroidery\n\n\"Arachne once, as poets tell,\n\nA goddess at her art defied,\n\nAnd soon the daring mortal fell\n\nThe hapless victim of her pride.\n\n\"O, then beware Arachne's fate;\n\nBe prudent, Chloe, and submit,\n\nFor you'll most surely meet her hate,\n\nWho rival both her art and wit.\"\n\nTennyson, in his \"Palace of Art,\" describing the works of art with\nwhich the palace was adorned, thus alludes to Europa:\n\n\"... sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped\n\nFrom off her shoulder, backward borne,\n\nFrom one hand drooped a crocus, one hand grasped\n\nThe mild bull's golden horn.\"\n\nIn his \"Princess\" there is this allusion to Danae:\n\n\"Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars,\n\nAnd all thy heart lies open unto me.\"\n\nNIOBE\n\nThe fate of Arachne was noised abroad through all the country, and\nserved as a warning to all presumptuous mortals not to compare\nthemselves with the divinities. But one, and she a matron too,\nfailed to learn the lesson of humility. It was Niobe, the queen of\nThebes. She had indeed much to be proud of; but it was not her\nhusband's fame, nor her own beauty, nor their great descent, nor\nthe power of their kingdom that elated her. It was her children;\nand truly the happiest of mothers would Niobe have been if only\nshe had not claimed to be so. It was on occasion of the annual\ncelebration in honor of Latona and her offspring, Apollo and\nDiana,\u2014when the people of Thebes were assembled, their brows\ncrowned with laurel, bearing frankincense to the altars and paying\ntheir vows,\u2014that Niobe appeared among the crowd. Her attire was\nsplendid with gold and gems, and her aspect beautiful as the face\nof an angry woman can be. She stood and surveyed the people with\nhaughty looks. \"What folly,\" said she, \"is this!\u2014to prefer beings\nwhom you never saw to those who stand before your eyes! Why should\nLatona be honored with worship, and none be paid to me? My father\nwas Tantalus, who was received as a guest at the table of the\ngods; my mother was a goddess. My husband built and rules this\ncity, Thebes, and Phrygia is my paternal inheritance. Wherever I\nturn my eyes I survey the elements of my power; nor is my form and\npresence unworthy of a goddess. To all this let me add I have\nseven sons and seven daughters, and look for sons-in-law and\ndaughters-in-law of pretensions worthy of my alliance. Have I not\ncause for pride? Will you prefer to me this Latona, the Titan's\ndaughter, with her two children? I have seven times as many.\nFortunate indeed am I, and fortunate I shall remain! Will any one\ndeny this? My abundance is my security. I feel myself too strong\nfor Fortune to subdue. She may take from me much; I shall still\nhave much left. Were I to lose some of my children, I should\nhardly be left as poor as Latona with her two only. Away with you\nfrom these solemnities,\u2014put off the laurel from your brows,\u2014have\ndone with this worship!\" The people obeyed, and left the sacred\nservices uncompleted.\n\nThe goddess was indignant. On the Cynthian mountain top where she\ndwelt she thus addressed her son and daughter: \"My children, I who\nhave been so proud of you both, and have been used to hold myself\nsecond to none of the goddesses except Juno alone, begin now to\ndoubt whether I am indeed a goddess. I shall be deprived of my\nworship altogether unless you protect me.\" She was proceeding in\nthis strain, but Apollo interrupted her. \"Say no more,\" said he;\n\"speech only delays punishment.\" So said Diana also. Darting\nthrough the air, veiled in clouds, they alighted on the towers of\nthe city. Spread out before the gates was a broad plain, where the\nyouth of the city pursued their warlike sports. The sons of Niobe\nwere there with the rest,\u2014some mounted on spirited horses richly\ncaparisoned, some driving gay chariots. Ismenos, the first-born,\nas he guided his foaming steeds, struck with an arrow from above,\ncried out, \"Ah me!\" dropped the reins, and fell lifeless. Another,\nhearing the sound of the bow,\u2014like a boatman who sees the storm\ngathering and makes all sail for the port,\u2014gave the reins to his\nhorses and attempted to escape. The inevitable arrow overtook him\nas he fled. Two others, younger boys, just from their tasks, had\ngone to the playground to have a game of wrestling. As they stood\nbreast to breast, one arrow pierced them both. They uttered a cry\ntogether, together cast a parting look around them, and together\nbreathed their last. Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing them fall,\nhastened to the spot to render assistance, and fell stricken in\nthe act of brotherly duty. One only was left, Ilioneus. He raised\nhis arms to heaven to try whether prayer might not avail. \"Spare\nme, ye gods!\" he cried, addressing all, in his ignorance that all\nneeded not his intercessions; and Apollo would have spared him,\nbut the arrow had already left the string, and it was too late.\n\nThe terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made\nNiobe acquainted with what had taken place. She could hardly think\nit possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared and amazed\nthat they had been able to do it. Her husband, Amphion,\noverwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself. Alas! how different\nwas this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away the people\nfrom the sacred rites, and held her stately course through the\ncity, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of her foes! She\nknelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed now one, now another of\nher dead sons. Raising her pallid arms to heaven, \"Cruel Latona,\"\nsaid she, \"feed full your rage with my anguish! Satiate your hard\nheart, while I follow to the grave my seven sons. Yet where is\nyour triumph? Bereaved as I am, I am still richer than you, my\nconqueror.\" Scarce had she spoken, when the bow sounded and struck\nterror into all hearts except Niobe's alone. She was brave from\nexcess of grief. The sisters stood in garments of mourning over\nthe biers of their dead brothers. One fell, struck by an arrow,\nand died on the corpse she was bewailing. Another, attempting to\nconsole her mother, suddenly ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to\nthe earth. A third tried to escape by flight, a fourth by\nconcealment, another stood trembling, uncertain what course to\ntake. Six were now dead, and only one remained, whom the mother\nheld clasped in her arms, and covered as it were with her whole\nbody. \"Spare me one, and that the youngest! O spare me one of so\nmany!\" she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.\nDesolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and\nseemed torpid with grief. The breeze moved not her hair, no color\nwas on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable, there was\nno sign of life about her. Her very tongue cleaved to the roof of\nher mouth, and her veins ceased to convey the tide of life. Her\nneck bent not, her arms made no gesture, her foot no step. She was\nchanged to stone, within and without. Yet tears continued to flow;\nand borne on a whirlwind to her native mountain, she still\nremains, a mass of rock, from which a trickling stream flows, the\ntribute of her never-ending grief.\n\n\u00a0\n\nThe story of Niobe has furnished Byron with a fine illustration of\nthe fallen condition of modern Rome:\n\n\"The Niobe of nations! there she stands,\n\nChildless and crownless in her voiceless woe;\n\nAn empty urn within her withered hands,\n\nWhose holy dust was scattered long ago;\n\nThe Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now:\n\nThe very sepulchres lie tenantless\n\nOf their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow,\n\nOld Tiber! through a marble wilderness?\n\nRise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.\"\n\nChilde Harold, IV. 79.\n\nThis affecting story has been made the subject of a celebrated\nstatue in the imperial gallery of Florence. It is the principal\nfigure of a group supposed to have been originally arranged in the\npediment of a temple. The figure of the mother clasped by the arm\nof her terrified child is one of the most admired of the ancient\nstatues. It ranks with the Laocoon and the Apollo among the\nmasterpieces of art. The following is a translation of a Greek\nepigram supposed to relate to this statue:\n\n\"To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain;\n\nThe sculptor's art has made her breathe again.\"\n\nTragic as is the story of Niobe, we cannot forbear to smile at the\nuse Moore has made of it in \"Rhymes on the Road\":\n\n\"'Twas in his carriage the sublime\n\nSir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme,\n\nAnd, if the wits don't do him wrong,\n\n'Twixt death and epics passed his time,\n\nScribbling and killing all day long;\n\nLike Ph\u0153bus in his car at ease,\n\nNow warbling forth a lofty song,\n\nNow murdering the young Niobes.\"\n\nSir Richard Blackmore was a physician, and at the same time a very\nprolific and very tasteless poet, whose works are now forgotten,\nunless when recalled to mind by some wit like Moore for the sake\nof a joke.","title":"The Age of Fable/Chapter XIV","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":2893}