The Classic Myths in English Literature and in Art (2nd ed.) (1911). Bulfinch Thomas. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Bulfinch Thomas
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in the Mænad dances, Jupiter as a satyr wooed and won her. She bore him two sons, Amphion and Zethus, who, being exposed at birth on Mount Cithæron, grew up among the shepherds, not knowing their parentage. After various adventures Antiope fell into the hands of her uncle Lycus, the usurping king of Thebes, who, egged on by his wife Dirce, treated her with extreme cruelty. Finally, when doomed by Dirce to be dragged to death behind a bull, Antiope found means to inform her children of her kinship to them. As it happened, they had been ordered to execute the cruel sentence upon their mother. But with a band of their fellow herdsmen, they attacked and slew Lycus instead, and, tying Dirce by the hair of her head to a bull, let her perish by her own device.75

      While among the herdsmen, Amphion had been the special care of Mercury, who gave him a lyre and taught him to play upon it. His brother Zethus had occupied himself in hunting and tending the flocks. Amphion himself is one of the most famous of mythical musicians. Having become king of Thebes, it is said that when he played on his lyre, stones moved of their own accord and took their places in the wall with which he was fortifying the city.

      Fig. 51. Amphion and Zethus

      … 'Tis said he had a tuneful tongue,

      Such happy intonation,

      Wherever he sat down and sung

      He left a small plantation;

      Wherever in a lonely grove

      He set up his forlorn pipes,

      The gouty oak began to move,

      And flounder into hornpipes.

      The mountain stirred its bushy crown,

      And, as tradition teaches,

      Young ashes pirouetted down

      Coquetting with young beeches;

      And briony-vine and ivy-wreath

      Ran forward to his rhyming,

      And from the valleys underneath

      Came little copses climbing.

      The linden broke her ranks and rent

      The woodbine wreaths that bind her,

      And down the middle, buzz! she went

      With all her bees behind her:

      The poplars, in long order due,

      With cypress promenaded,

      The shock-head willows, two and two,

      By rivers gallopaded.

      Came wet-shot alder from the wave,

      Came yews, a dismal coterie;

      Each plucked his one foot from the grave,

      Poussetting with a sloe-tree:

      Old elms came breaking from the vine,

      The vine streamed out to follow,

      And, sweating rosin, plumped the pine

      From many a cloudy hollow.

      And wasn't it a sight to see,

      When, ere his song was ended,

      Like some great landslip, tree by tree,

      The country-side descended;

      And shepherds from the mountain-eaves

      Looked down, half-pleased, half-frightened,

      As dashed about the drunken leaves

      The random sunshine lightened.76

      The musician's life was, however, not all harmony and happiness. Owing to the pride of his wife Niobe, daughter of King Tantalus, there befell him and his house a crushing calamity, which is narrated among the exploits of Apollo and Diana.

      63. Jupiter, a Friend of Man. The kindly interest evinced by the Thunderer toward mortals is displayed in the story of Baucis and Philemon. Once on a time Jupiter, in human shape, visited the land of Phrygia, and with him Mercury, without his wings.

      They presented themselves as weary travelers at many a door, seeking rest and shelter, but found all closed; for it was late, and the inhospitable inhabitants would not rouse themselves to open for their reception. At last a small thatched cottage received them, where Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon had grown old together. Not ashamed of their poverty, they made it endurable by moderate desires and kind dispositions. When the two guests crossed the humble threshold and bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the old man placed a seat, on which Baucis, bustling and attentive, spread a cloth, and begged them to sit down. Then she raked out the coals from the ashes, kindled a fire, and prepared some pot-herbs and bacon for them. A beechen bowl was filled with warm water, that their guests might wash. While all was doing, they beguiled the time with conversation.

      The old woman with trembling hand set the table. One leg was shorter than the rest, but a piece of slate put under restored the level. When it was steady she rubbed the table down with sweet-smelling herbs. Upon it she set some of chaste Minerva's olives, some cornel berries preserved in vinegar, and added radishes and cheese, with eggs lightly cooked in the ashes. The meal was served in earthen dishes; and an earthenware pitcher, with wooden cups, stood beside them. When all was ready the stew, smoking hot, was set on the table. Some wine, not of the oldest, was added, and for dessert, apples and wild honey.

      Now while the repast proceeded, the old folks were astonished to see that the wine, as fast as it was poured out, renewed itself in the pitcher of its own accord. Struck with terror, Baucis and Philemon recognized their heavenly guests, fell on their knees, and with clasped hands implored forgiveness for their poor entertainment. There was an old goose, which they kept as the guardian of their humble cottage, and they bethought them to make this a sacrifice in honor of their guests. But the goose, too nimble for the old folk, with the aid of feet and wings eluded their pursuit and at last took shelter between the gods themselves. They forbade it to be slain, and spoke in these words: "We are gods. This inhospitable village shall pay the penalty of its impiety; you alone shall go free from the chastisement. Quit your house and come with us to the top of yonder hill." They hastened to obey. The country behind them was speedily sunk in a lake, only their own house left standing. While they gazed with wonder at the sight, that old house of theirs was changed. Columns took the place of the corner posts, the thatch grew yellow and appeared a gilded roof, the floors became marble, the doors were enriched with carving and ornaments of gold. Then spoke Jupiter in benignant accents: "Excellent old man, and woman worthy of such a husband, speak, tell us your wishes. What favor have you to ask of us?" Philemon took counsel with Baucis a few moments, then declared to the gods their common wish. "We ask to be priests and guardians of this thy temple, and that one and the same hour may take us both from life." Their prayer was granted. When they had attained a great age, as they stood one day before the steps of the sacred edifice and were telling the story of the place, Baucis saw Philemon begin to put forth leaves, and Philemon saw Baucis changing in like manner. While still they exchanged parting words, a leafy crown grew over their heads. "Farewell, dear spouse," they said together, and at the same moment the bark closed over their mouths. The Tyanean shepherd still shows the two trees, – an oak and a linden, standing side by side.77

      The story of Baucis and Philemon has been imitated by Swift in a burlesque style, the actors in the change being two wandering saints, and the house being changed into a church, of which Philemon is made the parson:

      … They scarce had spoke, when, fair and soft,

      The roof began to mount aloft;

      Aloft rose every beam and rafter;

      The heavy wall climbed slowly after.

      The chimney widened and grew higher,

      Became a steeple with a spire.

      The kettle to the top was hoist,

      And there stood fastened to a joist,

      But


<p>75</p>

Roscher, Ausf. Lex. Lfg. 3, 379 [Schirmer]. Originals in Pausanias, Apollodorus, and Hyginus.

<p>76</p>

From Tennyson's Amphion. See Horace, Ars Poet. 394.

<p>77</p>

Ovid, Metam. 8, 620-724.