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 CHAPTER XIII

NISUS AND SCYLLA--ECHO AND NARCISSUS--CLYTIE--HERO AND LEANDER

NISUS AND SCYLLA


Minos, king of Crete, made war upon Megara. Nisus was king of
Megara, and Scylla was his daughter. The siege had now lasted six
months and the city still held out, for it was decreed by fate
that it should not be taken so long as a certain purple lock,
which glittered among the hair of King Nisus, remained on his
head. There was a tower on the city walls, which overlooked the
plain where Minos and his army were encamped. To this tower Scylla
used to repair, and look abroad over the tents of the hostile
army. The siege had lasted so long that she had learned to
distinguish the persons of the leaders. Minos, in particular,
excited her admiration. Arrayed in his helmet, and bearing his
shield, she admired his graceful deportment; if he threw his
javelin skill seemed combined with force in the discharge; if he
drew his bow Apollo himself could not have done it more
gracefully. But when he laid aside his helmet, and in his purple
robes bestrode his white horse with its gay caparisons, and reined
in its foaming mouth, the daughter of Nisus was hardly mistress of
herself; she was almost frantic with admiration. She envied the
weapon that he grasped, the reins that he held. She felt as if she
could, if it were possible, go to him through the hostile ranks;
she felt an impulse to cast herself down from the tower into the
midst of his camp, or to open the gates to him, or to do anything
else, so only it might gratify Minos. As she sat in the tower, she
talked thus with herself: "I know not whether to rejoice or grieve
at this sad war. I grieve that Minos is our enemy; but I rejoice
at any cause that brings him to my sight. Perhaps he would be
willing to grant us peace, and receive me as a hostage. I would
fly down, if I could, and alight in his camp, and tell him that we
yield ourselves to his mercy. But then, to betray my father! No!
rather would I never see Minos again. And yet no doubt it is
sometimes the best thing for a city to be conquered, when the
conqueror is clement and generous. Minos certainly has right on
his side. I think we shall be conquered; and if that must be the
end of it, why should not love unbar the gates to him, instead of
leaving it to be done by war? Better spare delay and slaughter if
we can. And O if any one should wound or kill Minos! No one surely
would have the heart to do it; yet ignorantly, not knowing him,
one might. I will, I will surrender myself to him, with my country
as a dowry, and so put an end to the war. But how? The gates are
guarded, and my father keeps the keys; he only stands in my way. O
that it might please the gods to take him away! But why ask the
gods to do it? Another woman, loving as I do, would remove with
her own hands whatever stood in the way of her love. And can any
other woman dare more than I? I would encounter fire and sword to
gain my object; but here there is no need of fire and sword. I
only need my father's purple lock. More precious than gold to me,
that will give me all I wish."

While she thus reasoned night came on, and soon the whole palace
was buried in sleep. She entered her father's bedchamber and cut
off the fatal lock; then passed out of the city and entered the
enemy's camp. She demanded to be led to the king, and thus
addressed him: "I am Scylla, the daughter of Nisus. I surrender to
you my country and my father's house. I ask no reward but
yourself; for love of you I have done it. See here the purple
lock! With this I give you my father and his kingdom." She held
out her hand with the fatal spoil. Minos shrunk back and refused
to touch it. "The gods destroy thee, infamous woman," he
exclaimed; "disgrace of our time! May neither earth nor sea yield
thee a resting-place! Surely, my Crete, where Jove himself was
cradled, shall not be polluted with such a monster!" Thus he said,
and gave orders that equitable terms should be allowed to the
conquered city, and that the fleet should immediately sail from
the island.

Scylla was frantic. "Ungrateful man," she exclaimed, "is it thus
you leave me?--me who have given you victory,--who have sacrificed
for you parent and country! I am guilty, I confess, and deserve to
die, but not by your hand." As the ships left the shore, she
leaped into the water, and seizing the rudder of the one which
carried Minos, she was borne along an unwelcome companion of their
course. A sea-eagle ing aloft,--it was her father who had been
changed into that form,--seeing her, pounced down upon her, and
struck her with his beak and claws. In terror she let go the ship
and would have fallen into the water, but some pitying deity
changed her into a bird. The sea-eagle still cherishes the old
animosity; and whenever he espies her in his lofty flight you may
see him dart down upon her, with beak and claws, to take vengeance
for the ancient crime.

ECHO AND NARCISSUS

Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she
devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana,
and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was
fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument, would have the
last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had
reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her
talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs made their
escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon Echo in
these words: "You shall forfeit the use of that tongue with which
you have cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond
of--reply. You shall still have the last word, but no power to
speak first."

This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the
chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his
footsteps. O how she longed to address him in the softest accents,
and win him to converse! but it was not in her power. She waited
with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready.
One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted
aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here." Narcissus looked
around, but seeing no one called out, "Come." Echo answered,
"Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun
me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said
the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words,
and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck.
He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than
you should have me!" "Have me," said she; but it was all in vain.
He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of
the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among
mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her
flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks and there was
nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to
reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of
having the last word.

Narcissus's cruelty in this case was not the only instance. He
shunned all the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo. One
day a maiden who had in vain endeavored to attract him uttered a
prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love
and meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and
granted the prayer.

There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the
shepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats
resorted, nor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it
defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh
around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came
one day the youth, fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He
stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he
thought it was some beautiful water-spirit living in the
fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes,
those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the
rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of
health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He
brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to
embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned
again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not
tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he
hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image.
He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful being, do you
shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The nymphs love
me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch
forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and answer my
beckonings with the like." His tears fell into the water and
disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed, "Stay, I
entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch
you." With this, and much more of the same kind, he cherished the
flame that consumed him, so that by degrees he lost his color, his
vigor, and the beauty which formerly had so charmed the nymph
Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas!
alas!" she answered him with the same words. He pined away and
died; and when his shade passed the Stygian river, it leaned over
the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The nymphs
mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote
their breasts Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile
and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found;
but in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with
white leaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of
Narcissus.

Milton alludes to the story of Echo and Narcissus in the Lady's
song in "Comus." She is seeking her brothers in the forest, and
sings to attract their attention:

    "Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen
         Within thy aery shell
       By slow Meander's margent green,
     And in the violet-embroidered vale,
       Where the love-lorn nightingale
     Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;
     Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
       That likest thy Narcissus are?
         O, if thou have
       Hid them in some flowery cave,
         Tell me but where,
     Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere,
     So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
   And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies."

Milton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account which he
makes Eve give of the first sight of herself reflected in the
fountain:

    "That day I oft remember when from sleep
     I first awaked, and found myself reposed
     Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where
     And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
     Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound
     Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
     Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved
     Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went
     With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
     On the green bank, to look into the clear
     Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.
     As I bent down to look, just opposite
     A shape within the watery gleam appeared,
     Bending to look on me. I started back;
     It started back; but pleased I soon returned,
     Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks
     Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed
     Mine eyes till now, and pined wi vain desire,
     Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,
     What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;'" etc.

    --Paradise Lost, Book IV.

No one of the fables of antiquity has been oftener alluded to by
the poets than that of Narcissus. Here are two epigrams which
treat it in different ways. The first is by Goldsmith:

"ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING

    "Sure 'twas by Providence designed,
       Rather in pity than in hate,
     That he should be like Cupid blind,
       To save him from Narcissus' fate."

The other is by Cowper:

"ON AN UGLY FELLOW

    "Beware, my friend, of crystal brook
     Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
       Thy nose, thou chance to see;
     Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
     And self-detested thou would'st pine,
       As self-enamoured he."

CLYTIE

Clytie was a water-nymph and in love with Apollo, who made her no
return. So she pined away, sitting all day long upon the cold
ground, with her unbound tresses streaming over her shoulders.
Nine days she sat and tasted neither food nor drink, her own tears
and the chilly dew her only food. She gazed on the sun when he
rose, and as he passed through his daily course to his setting;
she saw no other object, her face turned constantly on him. At
last, they say, her limbs rooted in the ground, her face became a
flower [Footnote: The sunflower.] which turns on its stem so as
always to face the sun throughout its daily course; for it retains
to that extent the feeling of the nymph from whom it sprang.

Hood, in his "Flowers," thus alludes to Clytie:

    "I will not have the mad Clytie,
       Whose head is turned by the sun;
     The tulip is a courtly quean,
       Whom therefore I will shun;
     The cowslip is a country wench,
       The violet is a nun;--
     But I will woo the dainty rose,
       The queen of every one."

The sunflower is a favorite emblem of constancy. Thus Moore uses
it:

    "The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
       But as truly loves on to the close;
     As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
       The same look that she turned when he rose."

HERO AND LEANDER

Leander was a youth of Abydos, a town of the Asian side of the
strait which separates Asia and Europe. On the opposite shore, in
the town of Sestos, lived the maiden Hero, a priestess of Venus.
Leander loved her, and used to swim the strait nightly to enjoy
the company of his mistress, guided by a torch which she reared
upon the tower for the purpose. But one night a tempest arose and
the sea was rough; his strength failed, and he was drowned. The
waves bore his body to the European shore, where Hero became aware
of his death, and in her despair cast herself down from the tower
into the sea and perished.

The following sonnet is by Keats:

"ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER

    "Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,
       Down looking aye, and with a chasten'd light
       Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
     And meekly let your fair hands joined be
     As if so gentle that ye could not see,
       Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,
       Sinking away to his young spirit's night,
     Sinking bewilder'd'mid the dreary sea.
     'Tis young Leander toiling to his death
       Nigh swooning he doth purse his weary lips
     For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile
       O horrid dream! see how his body dips
     Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile;
     He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!"

The story of Leander's swimming the Hellespont was looked upon as
fabulous, and the feat considered impossible, till Lord Byron
proved its possibility by performing it himself. In the "Bride of
Abydos" he says,

    "These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne."

The distance in the narrowest part is almost a mile, and there is
a constant current setting out from the Sea of Marmora into the
Archipelago. Since Byron's time the feat has been achieved by
others; but it yet remains a test of strength and skill in the art
of swimming sufficient to give a wide and lasting celebrity to any
one of our readers who may dare to make the attempt and succeed in
accomplishing it.

In the beginning of the second canto of the same poem, Byron thus
alludes to this story:

    "The winds are high on Helle's wave,
     As on that night of stormiest water,
    When Love, who sent, forgot to save
    The young, the beautiful, the brave,
    The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.

    O, when alone along the sky
    The turret-torch was blazing high,
    Though rising gale and breaking foam,
    And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
    And clouds aloft and tides below,
    With signs and sounds forbade to go,
    He could not see, he would not hear
    Or sound or sight foreboding fear.
    His eye but saw that light of love,
    The only star it hailed above;
    His ear but rang with Hero's song,
    'Ye waves, divide not lovers long.'
    That tale is old, but love anew
    May nerve young hearts to prove as true."


