<h1 id="id00792" style="margin-top: 5em">CHAPTER XXIV</h1>
<h5 id="id00793">ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE—ARISTAEUS—AMPHION—LINUS—THAMYRIS—
MARSYAS—MELAMPUS—MUSAEUS</h5>
<h5 id="id00794">ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE</h5>
<p id="id00795" style="margin-top: 2em">Orpheus was the son of Apollo and the Muse Calliope. He was
presented by his father with a Lyre and taught to play upon it,
which he did to such perfection that nothing could withstand the
charm of his music. Not only his fellow-mortals but wild beasts
were softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by
their fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay. Nay, the very
trees and rocks were sensible to the charm. The former crowded
round him and the latter relaxed somewhat of their hardness,
softened by his notes.</p>
<p id="id00796">Hymen had been called to bless with his presence the nuptials of
Orpheus with Eurydice; but though he attended, he brought no happy
omens with him. His very torch smoked and brought tears into their
eyes. In coincidence with such prognostics, Eurydice, shortly
after her marriage, while wandering with the nymphs, her
companions, was seen by the shepherd Aristaeus, who was struck
with her beauty and made advances to her. She fled, and in flying
trod upon a snake in the grass, was bitten in the foot, and died.
Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the upper air, both
gods and men, and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek his
wife in the regions of the dead. He descended by a cave situated
on the side of the promontory of Taenarus and arrived at the
Stygian realm. He passed through crowds of ghosts and presented
himself before the throne of Pluto and Proserpine. Accompanying
the words with the lyre, he sung, "O deities of the underworld, to
whom all we who live must come, hear my words, for they are true.
I come not to spy out the secrets of Tartarus, nor to try my
strength against the three-headed dog with snaky hair who guards
the entrance. I come to seek my wife, whose opening years the
poisonous viper's fang has brought to an untimely end. Love has
led me here, Love, a god all powerful with us who dwell on the
earth, and, if old traditions say true, not less so here. I
implore you by these abodes full of terror, these realms of
silence and uncreated things, unite again the thread of Eurydice's
life. We all are destined to you and sooner or later must pass to
your domain. She too, when she shall have filled her term of life,
will rightly be yours. But till then grant her to me, I beseech
you. If you deny me I cannot return alone; you shall triumph in
the death of us both."</p>
<p id="id00797">As he sang these tender strains, the very ghosts shed tears.
Tantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his efforts
for water, Ixion's wheel stood still, the vulture ceased to tear
the giant's liver, the daughters of Danaus rested from their task
of drawing water in a sieve, and Sisyphus sat on his rock to
listen. Then for the first time, it is said, the cheeks of the
Furies were wet with tears. Proserpine could not resist, and Pluto
himself gave way. Eurydice was called. She came from among the
new-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was
permitted to take her away with him on one condition, that he
should not turn around to look at her till they should have
reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on
their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and
steep, in total silence, till they had nearly reached the outlet
into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment of
forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following,
cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
Stretching out their arms to embrace each other, they grasped only
the air! Dying now a second time, she yet cannot reproach her
husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her?
"Farewell," she said, "a last farewell,"—and was hurried away, so
fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.</p>
<p id="id00798">Orpheus endeavored to follow her, and besought permission to
return and try once more for her release; but the stern ferryman
repulsed him and refused passage. Seven days he lingered about the
brink, without food or sleep; then bitterly accusing of cruelty
the powers of Erebus, he sang his complaints to the rocks and
mountains, melting the hearts of tigers and moving the oaks from
their stations. He held himself aloof from womankind, dwelling
constantly on the recollection of his sad mischance. The Thracian
maidens tried their best to captivate him, but he repulsed their
advances. They bore with him as long as they could; but finding
him insensible one day, excited by the rites of Bacchus, one of
them exclaimed, "See yonder our despiser!" and threw at him her
javelin. The weapon, as soon as it came within the sound of his
lyre, fell harmless at his feet. So did also the stones that they
threw at him. But the women raised a scream and drowned the voice
of the music, and then the missiles reached him and soon were
stained with his blood. The maniacs tore him limb from limb, and
threw his head and his lyre into the river Hebrus, down which they
floated, murmuring sad music, to which the shores responded a
plaintive symphony. The Muses gathered up the fragments of his
body and buried them at Libethra, where the nightingale is said to
sing over his grave more sweetly than in any other part of Greece.
His lyre was placed by Jupiter among the stars. His shade passed a
second time to Tartarus, where he sought out his Eurydice and
embraced her with eager arms. They roam the happy fields together
now, sometimes he leading, sometimes she; and Orpheus gazes as
much as he will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty for a
thoughtless glance.</p>
<p id="id00799">The story of Orpheus has furnished Pope with an illustration of
the power of music, for his "Ode for St. Cecilia's Day" The
following stanza relates the conclusion of the story:</p>
<p id="id00800"> "But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes;<br/>
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!<br/>
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?<br/>
No crime was thine, if't is no crime to love.<br/>
Now under hanging mountains,<br/>
Beside the falls of fountains,<br/>
Or where Hebrus wanders,<br/>
Rolling in meanders,<br/>
All alone,<br/>
He makes his moan,<br/>
And calls her ghost,<br/>
Forever, ever, ever lost!<br/>
Now with furies surrounded,<br/>
Despairing, confounded,<br/>
He trembles, he glows,<br/>
Amidst Rhodope's snows<br/>
See, wild as the winds o'er the desert he flies;<br/>
Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries;<br/>
Ah, see, he dies!<br/>
Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,<br/>
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue:<br/>
Eurydice the woods<br/>
Eurydice the floods<br/>
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung"<br/></p>
<p id="id00801">The superior melody of the nightingale's song over the grave of<br/>
Orpheus is alluded to by Southey in his "Thalaba":<br/></p>
<p id="id00802"> "Then on his ear what sounds<br/>
Of harmony arose'<br/>
Far music and the distance-mellowed song<br/>
From bowers of merriment,<br/>
The waterfall remote,<br/>
The murmuring of the leafy groves;<br/>
The single nightingale<br/>
Perched in the rosier by, so richly toned,<br/>
That never from that most melodious bird<br/>
Singing a love song to his brooding mate,<br/>
Did Thracian shepherd by the grave<br/>
Of Orpheus hear a sweeter melody,<br/>
Though there the spirit of the sepulchre<br/>
All his own power infuse, to swell<br/>
The incense that he loves"<br/></p>
<h5 id="id00803">ARISTAEUS, THE BEE-KEEPER</h5>
<p id="id00804">Man avails himself of the instincts of the inferior animals for
his own advantage. Hence sprang the art of keeping bees. Honey
must first have been known as a wild product, the bees building
their structures in hollow trees or holes in the rocks, or any
similar cavity that chance offered. Thus occasionally the carcass
of a dead animal would be occupied by the bees for that purpose.
It was no doubt from some such incident that the superstition
arose that the bees were engendered by the decaying flesh of the
animal; and Virgil, in the following story, shows how this
supposed fact may be turned to account for renewing the swarm when
it has been lost by disease or accident:</p>
<p id="id00805">Aristaeus, who first taught the management of bees, was the son of
the water-nymph Cyrene. His bees had perished, and he resorted for
aid to his mother. He stood at the river side and thus addressed
her: "O mother, the pride of my life is taken from me! I have lost
my precious bees. My care and skill have availed me nothing, and
you my mother have not warded off from me the blow of misfortune."
His mother heard these complaints as she sat in her palace at the
bottom of the river, with her attendant nymphs around her. They
were engaged in female occupations, spinning and weaving, while
one told stories to amuse the rest. The sad voice of Aristaeus
interrupting their occupation, one of them put her head above the
water and seeing him, returned and gave information to his mother,
who ordered that he should be brought into her presence. The river
at her command opened itself and let him pass in, while it stood
curled like a mountain on either side. He descended to the region
where the fountains of the great rivers lie; he saw the enormous
receptacles of waters and was almost deafened with the roar, while
he surveyed them hurrying off in various directions to water the
face of the earth. Arriving at his mother's apartment, he was
hospitably received by Cyrene and her nymphs, who spread their
table with the richest dainties. They first poured out libations
to Neptune, then regaled themselves with the feast, and after that
Cyrene thus addressed him: "There is an old prophet named Proteus,
who dwells in the sea and is a favorite of Neptune, whose herd of
sea-calves he pastures. We nymphs hold him in great respect, for
he is a learned sage and knows all things, past, present, and to
come. He can tell you, my son, the cause of the mortality among
your bees, and how you may remedy it. But he will not do it
voluntarily, however you may entreat him. You must compel him by
force. If you seize him and chain him, he will answer your
questions in order to get released, for he cannot by all his arts
get away if you hold fast the chains. I will carry you to his
cave, where he comes at noon to take his midday repose. Then you
may easily secure him. But when he finds himself captured, his
resort is to a power he possesses of changing himself into various
forms. He will become a wild boar or a fierce tiger, a scaly
dragon or lion with yellow mane. Or he will make a noise like the
crackling of flames or the rush of water, so as to tempt you to
let go the chain, when he will make his escape. But you have only
to keep him fast bound, and at last when he finds all his arts
unavailing, he will return to his own figure and obey your
commands." So saying she sprinkled her son with fragrant nectar,
the beverage of the gods, and immediately an unusual vigor filled
his frame, and courage his heart, while perfume breathed all
around him.</p>
<p id="id00806">The nymph led her son to the prophet's cave and concealed him
among the recesses of the rocks, while she herself took her place
behind the clouds. When noon came and the hour when men and herds
retreat from the glaring sun to indulge in quiet slumber, Proteus
issued from the water, followed by his herd of sea-calves which
spread themselves along the shore. He sat on the rock and counted
his herd; then stretched himself on the floor of the cave and went
to sleep. Aristaeus hardly allowed him to get fairly asleep before
he fixed the fetters on him and shouted aloud. Proteus, waking and
finding himself captured, immediately resorted to his arts,
becoming first a fire, then a flood, then a horrible wild beast,
in rapid succession. But finding all would not do, he at last
resumed his own form and addressed the youth in angry accents:
"Who are you, bold youth, who thus invade my abode, and what do
yot want of me?" Aristaeus replied, "Proteus, you know already,
for it is needless for any one to attempt to deceive you. And do
you also cease your efforts to elude me. I am led hither by divine
assistance, to know from you the cause of my misfortune and how to
remedy it." At these words the prophet, fixing on him his gray
eyes with a piercing look, thus spoke: "You receive the merited
reward of your deeds, by which Eurydice met her death, for in
flying from you she trod upon a serpent, of whose bite she died.
To avenge her death, the nymphs, her companions, have sent this
destruction to your bees. You have to appease their anger, and
thus it must be done: Select four bulls, of perfect form and size,
and four cows of equal beauty, build four altars to the nymphs,
and sacrifice the animals, leaving their carcasses in the leafy
grove. To Orpheus and Eurydice you shall pay such funeral honors
as may allay their resentment. Returning after nine days, you will
examine the bodies of the cattle slain and see what will befall."
Aristaeus faithfully obeyed these directions. He sacrificed the
cattle, he left their bodies in the grove, he offered funeral
honors to the shades of Orpheus and Eurydice; then returning on
the ninth day he examined the bodies of the animals, and,
wonderful to relate! a swarm of bees had taken possession of one
of the carcasses and were pursuing their labors there as in a
hive.</p>
<p id="id00807">In "The Task," Cowper alludes to the story of Aristaeus, when
speaking of the ice-palace built by the Empress Anne of Russia. He
has been describing the fantastic forms which ice assumes in
connection with waterfalls, etc.:</p>
<p id="id00808"> "Less worthy of applause though more admired<br/>
Because a novelty, the work of man,<br/>
Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ,<br/>
Thy most magnificent and mighty freak,<br/>
The wonder of the north. No forest fell<br/>
When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores<br/>
T' enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods<br/>
And make thy marble of the glassy wave.<br/>
In such a palace Aristaeus found<br/>
Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale<br/>
Of his lost bees to her maternal ear."<br/></p>
<p id="id00809">Milton also appears to have had Cyrene and her domestic scene in
his mind when he describes to us Sabrina, the nymph of the river
Severn, in the Guardian-spirit's Song in "Comus":</p>
<p id="id00810"> "Sabrina fair!<br/>
Listen where thou art sitting<br/>
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave<br/>
In twisted braids of lilies knitting<br/>
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;<br/>
Listen for dear honor's sake,<br/>
Goddess of the silver lake!<br/>
Listen and save."<br/></p>
<p id="id00811">The following are other celebrated mythical poets and musicians,
some of whom were hardly inferior to Orpheus himself:</p>
<h5 id="id00812">AMPHION</h5>
<p id="id00813">Amphion was the son of Jupiter and Antiope, queen of Thebes. With
his twin brother Zethus he was exposed at birth on Mount
Cithaeron, where they grew up among the shepherds, not knowing
their parentage. Mercury gave Amphion a lyre and taught him to
play upon it, and his brother occupied himself in hunting and
tending the flocks. Meanwhile Antiope, their mother, who had been
treated with great cruelty by Lycus, the usurping king of Thebes,
and by Dirce, his wife, found means to inform her children of
their rights and to summon them to her assistance. With a band of
their fellow-herdsmen they attacked and slew Lycus, and tying
Dirce by the hair of her head to a bull, let him drag her till she
was dead. Amphion, having become king of Thebes, fortified the
city with a wall. It is said that when he played on his lyre the
stones moved of their own accord and took their places in the
wall.</p>
<p id="id00814">See Tennyson's poem of "Amphion" for an amusing use made of this
story.</p>
<h5 id="id00815">LINUS</h5>
<p id="id00816">Linus was the instructor of Hercules in music, but having one day
reproved his pupil rather harshly, he roused the anger of
Hercules, who struck him with his lyre and killed him.</p>
<h5 id="id00817">THAMYRIS</h5>
<p id="id00818">An ancient Thracian bard, who in his presumption challenged the
Muses to a trial of skill, and being overcome in the contest, was
deprived by them of his sight. Milton alludes to him with other
blind bards, when speaking of his own blindness, "Paradise Lost,"
Book III., 35.</p>
<h5 id="id00819">MARSYAS</h5>
<p id="id00820">Minerva invented the flute, and played upon it to the delight of
all the celestial auditors; but the mischievous urchin Cupid
having dared to laugh at the queer face which the goddess made
while playing, Minerva threw the instrument indignantly away, and
it fell down to earth, and was found by Marsyas. He blew upon it,
and drew from it such ravishing sounds that he was tempted to
challenge Apollo himself to a musical contest. The god of course
triumphed, and punished Marsyas by flaying him alive.</p>
<h5 id="id00821">MELAMPUS</h5>
<p id="id00822">Melampus was the first mortal endowed with prophetic powers.
Before his house there stood an oak tree containing a serpent's
nest. The old serpents were killed by the servants, but Melampus
took care of the young ones and fed them carefully. One day when
he was asleep under the oak the serpents licked his ears with
their tongues. On awaking he was astonished to find that he now
understood the language of birds and creeping things. This
knowledge enabled him to foretell future events, and he became a
renowned soothsayer. At one time his enemies took him captive and
kept him strictly imprisoned. Melampus in the silence of the night
heard the woodworms in the timbers talking together, and found out
by what they said that the timbers were nearly eaten through and
the roof would soon fall in. He told his captors and demanded to
be let out, warning them also. They took his warning, and thus
escaped destruction, and rewarded Melampus and held him in high
honor.</p>
<p id="id00823">MUSAEUS A semi-mythological personage who was represented by one
tradition to be the son of Orpheus. He is said to have written
sacred poems and oracles. Milton couples his name with that of
Orpheus in his "Il Penseroso":</p>
<p id="id00824"> "But O, sad virgin, that thy power<br/>
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,<br/>
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing<br/>
Such notes as warbled to the string,<br/>
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,<br/>
And made Hell grant what love did seek."<br/></p>
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