{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XXV/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XXV","id":"wikisource_The_Age_of_Fable_Chapter_XXV","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_XXV","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Subpages"],"text":"XXV. ARION \u2014 IBYCUS \u2014 SIMONIDES \u2014 SAPPHO\n\nThe poets whose adventures compose this chapter were real persons\nsome of whose works yet remain, and their influence on poets who\nsucceeded them is yet more important than their poetical remains.\nThe adventures recorded of them in the following stories rest on\nthe same authority as other narratives of the \"Age of Fable,\" that\nis, of the poets who have told them. In their present form, the\nfirst two are translated from the German, Arion from Schlegel, and\nIbycus from Schiller.\n\nARION\n\nArion was a famous musician, and dwelt in the court of Periander,\nking of Corinth, with whom he was a great favorite. There was to\nbe a musical contest in Sicily, and Arion longed to compete for\nthe prize. He told his wish to Periander, who besought him like a\nbrother to give up the thought. \"Pray stay with me,\" he said, \"and\nbe contented. He who strives to win may lose.\" Arion answered, \"A\nwandering life best suits the free heart of a poet. The talent\nwhich a god bestowed on me, I would fain make a source of pleasure\nto others. And if I win the prize, how will the enjoyment of it be\nincreased by the consciousness of my widespread fame!\" He went,\nwon the prize, and embarked with his wealth in a Corinthian ship\nfor home. On the second morning after setting sail, the wind\nbreathed mild and fair. \"O Periander,\" he exclaimed, \"dismiss your\nfears! Soon shall you forget them in my embrace. With what lavish\nofferings will we display our gratitude to the gods, and how merry\nwill we be at the festal board!\" The wind and sea continued\npropitious. Not a cloud dimmed the firmament. He had not trusted\ntoo much to the ocean\u2014but he had to man. He overheard the seamen\nexchanging hints with one another, and found they were plotting to\npossess themselves of his treasure. Presently they surrounded him\nloud and mutinous, and said, \"Arion, you must die! If you would\nhave a grave on shore, yield yourself to die on this spot; but if\notherwise, cast yourself into the sea.\" \"Will nothing satisfy you\nbut my life?\" said he. \"Take my gold, and welcome. I willingly buy\nmy life at that price.\" \"No, no; we cannot spare you. Your life\nwould be too dangerous to us. Where could we go to escape from\nPeriander, if he should know that you had been robbed by us? Your\ngold would be of little use to us, if on returning home, we could\nnever more be free from fear.\" \"Grant me, then,\" said he, \"a last\nrequest, since nought will avail to save my life, that I may die,\nas I have lived, as becomes a bard. When I shall have sung my\ndeath song, and my harp-strings shall have ceased to vibrate, then\nI will bid farewell to life, and yield uncomplaining to my fate.\"\nThis prayer, like the others, would have been unheeded,\u2014they\nthought only of their booty,\u2014but to hear so famous a musician,\nthat moved their rude hearts. \"Suffer me,\" he added, \"to arrange\nmy dress. Apollo will not favor me unless I be clad in my minstrel\ngarb.\"\n\nHe clothed his well-proportioned limbs in gold and purple fair to\nsee, his tunic fell around him in graceful folds, jewels adorned\nhis arms, his brow was crowned with a golden wreath, and over his\nneck and shoulders flowed his hair perfumed with odors. His left\nhand held the lyre, his right the ivory wand with which he struck\nits chords. Like one inspired, he seemed to drink the morning air\nand glitter in the morning ray. The seamen gazed with admiration.\nHe strode forward to the vessel's side and looked down into the\ndeep blue sea. Addressing his lyre, he sang, \"Companion of my\nvoice, come with me to the realm of shades. Though Cerberus may\ngrowl, we know the power of song can tame his rage. Ye heroes of\nElysium, who have passed the darkling flood,\u2014ye happy souls, soon\nshall I join your band. Yet can ye relieve my grief? Alas, I leave\nmy friend behind me. Thou, who didst find thy Eurydice, and lose\nher again as soon as found; when she had vanished like a dream,\nhow didst thou hate the cheerful light! I must away, but I will\nnot fear. The gods look down upon us. Ye who slay me unoffending,\nwhen I am no more, your time of trembling shall come. Ye Nereids,\nreceive your guest, who throws himself upon your mercy!\" So\nsaying, he sprang into the deep sea. The waves covered him, and\nthe seamen held on their way, fancying themselves safe from all\ndanger of detection.\n\nBut the strains of his music had drawn round him the inhabitants\nof the deep to listen, and Dolphins followed the ship as if\nchained by a spell. While he struggled in the waves, a Dolphin\noffered him his back, and carried him mounted thereon safe to\nshore. At the spot where he landed, a monument of brass was\nafterwards erected upon the rocky shore, to preserve the memory of\nthe event.\n\nWhen Arion and the dolphin parted, each to his own element, Arion\nthus poured forth his thanks: \"Farewell, thou faithful, friendly\nfish! Would that I could reward thee; but thou canst not wend with\nme, nor I with thee. Companionship we may not have. May Galatea,\nqueen of the deep, accord thee her favor, and thou, proud of the\nburden, draw her chariot over the smooth mirror of the deep.\"\n\nArion hastened from the shore, and soon saw before him the towers\nof Corinth. He journeyed on, harp in hand, singing as he went,\nfull of love and happiness, forgetting his losses, and mindful\nonly of what remained, his friend and his lyre. He entered the\nhospitable halls, and was soon clasped in the embrace of\nPeriander. \"I come back to thee, my friend,\" he said. \"The talent\nwhich a god bestowed has been the delight of thousands, but false\nknaves have stripped me of my well-earned treasure; yet I retain\nthe consciousness of wide spread fame.\" Then he told Periander all\nthe wonderful events that had befallen him, who heard him with\namazement. \"Shall such wickedness triumph?\" said he. \"Then in vain\nis power lodged in my hands. That we may discover the criminals,\nyou must remain here in concealment, and so they will approach\nwithout suspicion.\" When the ship arrived in the harbor, he\nsummoned the mariners before him. \"Have you heard anything of\nArion?\" he inquired. \"I anxiously look for his return.\" They\nreplied, \"We left him well and prosperous in Tarentum.\" As they\nsaid these words, Arion stepped forth and faced them. His well-proportioned limbs were arrayed in gold and purple fair to see,\nhis tunic fell around him in graceful folds, jewels adorned his\narms, his brow was crowned with a golden wreath, and over his neck\nand shoulders flowed his hair perfumed with odors; his left hand\nheld the lyre, his right the ivory wand with which he struck its\nchords. They fell prostrate at his feet, as if a lightning bolt\nhad struck them. \"We meant to murder him, and he has become a god.\nO Earth, open and receive us!\" Then Periander spoke. \"He lives,\nthe master of the lay! Kind Heaven protects the poet's life. As\nfor you, I invoke not the spirit of vengeance; Arion wishes not\nyour blood. Ye slaves of avarice, begone! Seek some barbarous\nland, and never may aught beautiful delight your souls!\"\n\nSpenser represents Arion, mounted on his dolphin, accompanying the\ntrain of Neptune and Amphitrite:\n\nThen was there heard a most celestial sound\n\nOf dainty music which did next ensue,\n\nAnd, on the floating waters as enthroned,\n\nArion with his harp unto him drew\n\nThe ears and hearts of all that goodly crew;\n\nEven when as yet the dolphin which him bore\n\nThrough the Aegean Seas from pirates' view,\n\nStood still, by him astonished at his lore,\n\nAnd all the raging seas for joy forgot to roar.\"\n\nByron, in his \"Childe Harold,\" Canto II., alludes to the story of\nArion, when, describing his voyage, he represents one of the\nseamen making music to entertain the rest:\n\n\"The moon is up; by Heaven a lovely eve!\n\nLong streams of light o'er dancing waves expand;\n\nNow lads on shore may sigh and maids believe;\n\nSuch be our fate when we return to land!\n\nMeantime some rude Arion's restless hand\n\nWakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;\n\nA circle there of merry listeners stand,\n\nOr to some well-known measure featly move\n\nThoughtless as if on shore they still were free to rove.\"\n\nIBYCUS\n\nIn order to understand the story of Ibycus which follows it is\nnecessary to remember, first, that the theatres of the ancients\nwere immense fabrics capable of containing from ten to thirty\nthousand spectators, and as they were used only on festival\noccasions, and admission was free to all, they were usually\nfilled. They were without roofs and open to the sky, and the\nperformances were in the daytime. Secondly, the appalling\nrepresentation of the Furies is not exaggerated in the story. It\nis recorded that \u00c6schylus, the tragic poet, having on one\noccasion represented the Furies in a chorus of fifty performers,\nthe terror of the spectators was such that many fainted and were\nthrown into convulsions, and the magistrates forbade a like\nrepresentation for the future.\n\nIbycus, the pious poet, was on his way to the chariot races and\nmusical competitions held at the Isthmus of Corinth, which\nattracted all of Grecian lineage. Apollo had bestowed on him the\ngift of song, the honeyed lips of the poet, and he pursued his way\nwith lightsome step, full of the god. Already the towers of\nCorinth crowning the height appeared in view, and he had entered\nwith pious awe the sacred grove of Neptune. No living object was\nin sight, only a flock of cranes flew overhead taking the same\ncourse as himself in their migration to a southern clime. \"Good\nluck to you, ye friendly squadrons,\" he exclaimed, \"my companions\nfrom across the sea. I take your company for a good omen. We come\nfrom far and fly in search of hospitality. May both of us meet\nthat kind reception which shields the stranger guest from harm!\"\n\nHe paced briskly on, and soon was in the middle of the wood. There\nsuddenly, at a narrow pass, two robbers stepped forth and barred\nhis way. He must yield or fight. But his hand, accustomed to the\nlyre, and not to the strife of arms, sank powerless. He called for\nhelp on men and gods, but his cry reached no defender's ear. \"Then\nhere must I die,\" said he, \"in a strange land, unlamented, cut off\nby the hand of outlaws, and see none to avenge my cause.\" Sore\nwounded, he sank to the earth, when hoarse screamed the cranes\noverhead. \"Take up my cause, ye cranes,\" he said, \"since no voice\nbut yours answers to my cry.\" So saying he closed his eyes in\ndeath.\n\nThe body, despoiled and mangled, was found, and though disfigured\nwith wounds, was recognized by the friend in Corinth who had\nexpected him as a guest. \"Is it thus I find you restored to me?\"\nhe exclaimed. \"I who hoped to entwine your temples with the wreath\nof triumph in the strife of song!\"\n\nThe guests assembled at the festival heard the tidings with\ndismay. All Greece felt the wound, every heart owned its loss.\nThey crowded round the tribunal of the magistrates, and demanded\nvengeance on the murderers and expiation with their blood.\n\nBut what trace or mark shall point out the perpetrator from amidst\nthe vast multitude attracted by the splendor of the feast? Did he\nfall by the hands of robbers or did some private enemy slay him?\nThe all-discerning sun alone can tell, for no other eye beheld\nit. Yet not improbably the murderer even now walks in the midst of\nthe throng, and enjoys the fruits of his crime, while vengeance\nseeks for him in vain. Perhaps in their own temple's enclosure he\ndefies the gods mingling freely in this throng of men that now\npresses into the amphitheatre.\n\nFor now crowded together, row on row, the multitude fill the seats\ntill it seems as if the very fabric would give way. The murmur of\nvoices sounds like the roar of the sea, while the circles widening\nin their ascent rise tier on tier, as if they would reach the sky.\n\nAnd now the vast assemblage listens to the awful voice of the\nchorus personating the Furies, which in solemn guise advances with\nmeasured step, and moves around the circuit of the theatre. Can\nthey be mortal women who compose that awful group, and can that\nvast concourse of silent forms be living beings?\n\nThe choristers, clad in black, bore in their fleshless hands\ntorches blazing with a pitchy flame. Their cheeks were bloodless,\nand in place of hair writhing and swelling serpents curled around\ntheir brows. Forming a circle, these awful beings sang their\nhymns, rending the hearts of the guilty, and enchaining all their\nfaculties. It rose and swelled, overpowering the sound of the\ninstruments, stealing the judgment, palsying the heart, curdling\nthe blood.\n\n\"Happy the man who keeps his heart pure from guilt and crime! Him\nwe avengers touch not; he treads the path of life secure from us.\nBut woe! woe! to him who has done the deed of secret murder. We\nthe fearful family of Night fasten ourselves upon his whole being.\nThinks he by flight to escape us? We fly still faster in pursuit,\ntwine our snakes around his feet, and bring him to the ground.\nUnwearied we pursue; no pity checks our course; still on and on,\nto the end of life, we give him no peace nor rest.\" Thus the\nEumenides sang, and moved in solemn cadence, while stillness like\nthe stillness of death sat over the whole assembly as if in the\npresence of superhuman beings; and then in solemn march completing\nthe circuit of the theatre, they passed out at the back of the\nstage.\n\nEvery heart fluttered between illusion and reality, and every\nbreast panted with undefined terror, quailing before the awful\npower that watches secret crimes and winds unseen the skein of\ndestiny. At that moment a cry burst forth from one of the\nuppermost benches\u2014\"Look! look! comrade, yonder are the cranes of\nIbycus!\" And suddenly there appeared sailing across the sky a dark\nobject which a moment's inspection showed to be a flock of cranes\nflying directly over the theatre. \"Of Ibycus! did he say?\" The\nbeloved name revived the sorrow in every breast. As wave follows\nwave over the face of the sea, so ran from mouth to mouth the\nwords, \"Of Ibycus! him whom we all lament, whom some murderer's\nhand laid low! What have the cranes to do with him?\" And louder\ngrew the swell of voices, while like a lightning's flash the\nthought sped through every heart, \"Observe the power of the\nEumenides! The pious poet shall be avenged! the murderer has\ninformed against himself. Seize the man who uttered that cry and\nthe other to whom he spoke!\"\n\nThe culprit would gladly have recalled his words, but it was too\nlate. The faces of the murderers, pale with terror, betrayed their\nguilt. The people took them before the judge, they confessed their\ncrime, and suffered the punishment they deserved.\n\nSIMONIDES\n\nSimonides was one of the most prolific of the early poets of\nGreece, but only a few fragments of his compositions have\ndescended to us. He wrote hymns, triumphal odes, and elegies. In\nthe last species of composition he particularly excelled. His\ngenius was inclined to the pathetic, and none could touch with\ntruer effect the chords of human sympathy. The \"Lamentation of\nDanae,\" the most important of the fragments which remain of his\npoetry, is based upon the tradition that Danae and her infant son\nwere confined by order of her father, Acrisius, in a chest and set\nadrift on the sea. The chest floated towards the island of\nSeriphus, where both were rescued by Dictys, a fisherman, and\ncarried to Polydectes, king of the country, who received and\nprotected them. The child, Perseus, when grown up became a famous\nhero, whose adventures have been recorded in a previous chapter.\n\nSimonides passed much of his life at the courts of princes, and\noften employed his talents in panegyric and festal odes, receiving\nhis reward from the munificence of those whose exploits he\ncelebrated. This employment was not derogatory, but closely\nresembles that of the earliest bards, such as Demodocus, described\nby Homer, or of Homer himself, as recorded by tradition.\n\nOn one occasion, when residing at the court of Scopas, king of\nThessaly, the prince desired him to prepare a poem in celebration\nof his exploits, to be recited at a banquet. In order to diversify\nhis theme, Simonides, who was celebrated for his piety, introduced\ninto his poem the exploits of Castor and Pollux. Such digressions\nwere not unusual with the poets on similar occasions, and one\nmight suppose an ordinary mortal might have been content to share\nthe praises of the sons of Leda. But vanity is exacting; and as\nScopas sat at his festal board among his courtiers and sycophants,\nhe grudged every verse that did not rehearse his own praises. When\nSimonides approached to receive the promised reward Scopas\nbestowed but half the expected sum, saying, \"Here is payment for\nmy portion of thy performance; Castor and Pollux will doubtless\ncompensate thee for so much as relates to them.\" The disconcerted\npoet returned to his seat amidst the laughter which followed the\ngreat man's jest. In a little time he received a message that two\nyoung men on horseback were waiting without and anxious to see\nhim. Simonides hastened to the door, but looked in vain for the\nvisitors. Scarcely, however, had he left the banqueting hall when\nthe roof fell in with a loud crash, burying Scopas and all his\nguests beneath the ruins. On inquiring as to the appearance of the\nyoung men who had sent for him, Simonides was satisfied that they\nwere no other than Castor and Pollux themselves.\n\nSAPPHO\n\nSappho was a poetess who flourished in a very early age of Greek\nliterature. Of her works few fragments remain, but they are enough\nto establish her claim to eminent poetical genius. The story of\nSappho commonly alluded to is that she was passionately in love\nwith a beautiful youth named Phaon, and failing to obtain a return\nof affection she threw herself from the promontory of Leucadia\ninto the sea, under a superstition that those who should take that\n\"Lover's-leap\" would, if not destroyed, be cured of their love.\n\nByron alludes to the story of Sappho in \"Childe Harold,\" Canto\nII.:\n\n\"Childe Harold sailed and passed the barren spot\n\nWhere sad Penelope o'erlooked the wave,\n\nAnd onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot,\n\nThe lover's refuge and the Lesbian's grave.\n\nDark Sappho! could not verse immortal save\n\nThat breast imbued with such immortal fire?\n\n\"\u2019Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve\n\nChilde Harold hailed Leucadia's cape afar;\" etc.\n\nThose who wish to know more of Sappho and her \"leap\" are referred\nto the \"Spectator,\" Nos. 223 and 229. See also Moore's \"Evenings\nin Greece.\"","title":"The Age of Fable/Chapter XXV","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":3266}