Part 18 (1/2)

”Bold Bellerophon (so Jove decreed In wrath) fell headlong from the fields of air.”

Wordsworth.

This fall, which would doubtless have killed any one but a mythological hero, merely deprived Bellerophon of his eyesight; and ever after he groped his way disconsolately, thinking of the happy days when he rode along the paths of air, and gazed upon the beautiful earth at his feet.

Bellerophon, mounted upon Pegasus, winging his flight through the air or fighting the Chimaera, is a favorite subject in sculpture and painting, which has frequently been treated by ancient artists, a few of whose most noted works are still extant in various museums.

This story, like many others, is merely a sun myth, in which Bellerophon, the orb of day, rides across the sky on Pegasus, the fleecy white clouds, and slays Chimaera, the dread monster of darkness, which he alone can overcome. Driven from home early in life, Bellerophon wanders throughout the world like his brilliant prototype, and, like it, ends his career in total darkness.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MINOR DIVINITIES.

[Sidenote: Naiades and Oreades.]

According to the ancients' belief, every mountain, valley, plain, lake, river, grove, and sea was provided with some lesser deity, whose special duty was a.s.signed by the powerful G.o.ds of Olympus. These were, for instance, the Naiades, beautiful water nymphs, who dwelt in the limpid depths of the fountains, and were considered local patrons of poetry and song.

The Oreades, or mountain nymphs, were supposed to linger in the mountain solitudes, and guide weary travelers safely through their rocky mazes.

”Mark how the climbing Oreads Beckon thee to their Arcades!”

Emerson.

[Sidenote: Napaeae and Dryades.]

As for the Napaeae, they preferred to linger in the valleys, which were kept green and fruitful by their watchful care, in which task they were ably seconded by the Dryades, the nymphs of vegetation.

The very trees in the forest and along the roadside were supposed to be each under the protection of a special divinity called Hamadryad, said to live and die with the tree intrusted to her care.

”When the Fate of Death is drawing near, First wither on the earth the beauteous trees, The bark around them wastes, the branches fall, And the nymph's soul, at the same moment, leaves The sun's fair light.”

Homer.

[Sidenote: Story of Dryope.]

A sweet and touching story was told by the ancients of a mortal who was changed into a Hamadryad. This young girl, whose name was Dryope, was a beautiful young princess, the daughter of Baucis, so bright and clever, that all who knew her loved her dearly. Of course, as soon as she was old enough to think of marriage, a host of suitors asked her hand, each eager to win for his bride one so beautiful and gifted.

”No nymph of all Oechalia could compare, For beauteous form, with Dryope the fair.”

Ovid (Pope's tr.).

Fully aware of the importance of making a wise choice, Dryope took her time, and finally decided to marry Andraemon, a worthy young prince, who possessed every charm calculated to win a fair girl's heart. The young people were duly married, and daily rejoiced in their happiness, which seemed almost too great for earth, when they became the parents of a charming little son.

Every day Dryope carried the child along the banks of a little lake close by the palace, where bloomed a profusion of gay-colored flowers.

”A lake there was, with shelving banks around, Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd. Those shades, unknowing of the Fates, she sought, And to the Naiads flowery garlands brought; Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she press'd Between her arms.”

Ovid (Pope's tr.).

One day, while wandering there as usual, accompanied by her sister, she saw a lotus blossom, and pointed it out to her little son. He no sooner saw the brilliant flower, than he stretched out his little hands. To please him, the fond mother plucked it and gave it to him.

She had scarcely done so, when she noticed drops of blood trickling from the broken stem; and while she stood there, speechless with wonder, a voice was heard accusing her of having slain Lotis, a nymph, who, to escape the pursuit of Priapus, G.o.d of the shade, had a.s.sumed the guise of a flower.

”Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true), As from Priapus' lawless love she flew, Forsook her form; and fixing here became A flowery plant, which still preserves her name.”

Ovid (Pope's tr.).

Recovering from her first speechless terror, Dryope turned to flee, with a pitiful cry of compa.s.sion on her pale lips, but, to her astonishment, she could not leave the spot: her feet seemed rooted to the ground. She cast a rapid glance downward to ascertain what could so impede her progress, and noticed the rough bark of a tree growing with fearful rapidity all around her.

Higher and higher it rose, from her knees to her waist, and still it crept upward, in spite of her frantic attempts to tear it away from her shapely limbs. In despair she raised her trembling hands and arms to heaven to implore aid; but, ere the words were spoken, her arms were transformed into twisted branches, and her hands were filled with leaves.

Nothing human now remained of poor Dryope except her sweet, tear-stained face; but this too would soon vanish under the all-involving bark. She therefore took hasty leave of her father, sister, husband, and son, who, attracted by her first cry, had rushed to give her all the a.s.sistance in their power. The last words were quickly spoken, but none too soon, for the bark closed over the soft lips and hid the lovely features from view.

”She ceased at once to speak, and ceased to be, And all the nymph was lost within the tree: Yet latent life through her new branches reign'd, And long the plant a human heat retain'd.”

Ovid (Pope's tr.).

One of Dryope's last requests had been that her child might often play beneath her shady branches; and when the pa.s.sing winds rustled through her leaves, the ancients said it was ”Dryope's lone lulling of her child.”

[Sidenote: Satyrs and Pan.]

The male divinities of the woods, which were also very numerous, were mostly Satyrs,--curious beings with a man's body and a goat's legs, hair, and horns. They were all pa.s.sionately fond of music and revelry, and were wont to indulge in dancing at all times and in all places. The most famous among all the Satyrs was Silenus, Bacchus' tutor; and Pan, or Consentes, G.o.d of the shepherds, and the personification of nature. The latter was the reputed son of Mercury and a charming young nymph named Penelope; and we are told, that, when his mother first beheld him, she was aghast, for he was the most homely as well as the most extraordinary little creature she had ever seen. His body was all covered with goat's hair, and his feet and ears were also those of a goat.

Amused at the sight of this grotesque little divinity, Mercury carried him off to Olympus, where all the G.o.ds turned him into ridicule. Pan was widely wors.h.i.+ped in olden times, however; and the ancients not only decked his altars with flowers, but sang his praises, and celebrated festivals in his honor.

”He is great and he is just, He is ever good, and must Be honored. Daffodillies, Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Let us fling, while we sing, Ever Holy! Ever Holy! Ever honored! Ever young! The great Pan is ever sung!”

Beaumont and Fletcher.

[Sidenote: Story of Syrinx.]

Pan was equally devoted to music, the dance, and pretty nymphs. He saw one of the nymphs, Syrinx, whom he immediately loved; but unfortunately for him, she, frightened at his appearance, fled. Exasperated by her persistent avoidance of him, Pan once pursued and was about to overtake her, when she paused, and implored Gaea to protect her. The prayer was scarcely ended, when she found herself changed into a clump of reeds, which the panting lover embraced, thinking he had caught the maiden, who had stood in that very spot a few moments before.

His deception and disappointment were so severe, that they wrung from him a prolonged sigh, which, pa.s.sing through the rustling reeds, produced plaintive tones. Pan, seeing Syrinx had gone forever, took seven pieces of the reed, of unequal lengths, bound them together, and fas.h.i.+oned from them a musical instrument, which was called by the name of the fair nymph.

”Fair, trembling Syrinx fled Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. Poor nymph!--poor Pan!--how he did weep to find Naught but a lovely sighing of the wind Along the reedy stream; a half-heard strain Full of sweet desolation--balmy pain.”

Keats.

Pan was supposed to delight in slyly overtaking belated travelers and inspiring them with sudden and unfounded fears,--from him called ”panic.” He is generally represented with a syrinx and shepherd's crook, and a pine garland around his misshapen head.

[Sidenote: Silvan deities.]