Читать книгу The Mythology of Ancient Greece and Rome - Ultimate Collection - Homer - Страница 26

Aph ro di’te was the goddess of love and beauty. According to one story she was the daughter of Zeus and the goddess Dio’ne; according to the better known story she sprang from the foam of the sea and was wafted gently over the crest of the waves to Cyprus, her sacred island.

Her did the golden-snooded Hours gladly welcome, and clad her about in immortal raiment, and on her deathless head set a well-wrought crown, fair and golden, and in her ears put ear-rings of orichalcum and of precious gold. Her delicate neck and white bosom they adorned with chains of gold, wherewith are bedecked the golden-snooded Hours themselves, when they come to the glad dance of the Gods in the dwelling: of the Father. And when they had adorned her in all goodliness they led her to the Immortals, who gave her greeting when they beheld her, and welcomed her with their hands; and each God prayed that he might lead her home to be his wedded wife, so much they marveled at the beauty of the fair-garlanded Cytherean. (Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite.)

Fig. 31. Birth of Aphrodite from the Sea.

But Zeus gave her as wife to the lame fire-god Hephgestus. It has been already told how she left him for Ares, and how Hephæstus avenged himself and held them up to the ridicule of the other Olympians. Because of her beauty and her power over the hearts of men and gods, Aphrodite naturally aroused the jealousy of the other goddesses. Hera never forgave the Trojan Paris for awarding her the famous golden apple.

Fig. 32. Judgment of Paris.

To the marriage of Pe’leus and the sea-goddess Thetis all the gods were invited except Eris, the Goddess of Discord. To avenge herself for this neglect, Eris threw among the guests a golden apple bearing the inscription, "For the Fairest." Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite each claimed the apple. Unwilling to expose himself to the storm of wrath a choice among the three would raise, Zeus sent them to appear for judgment before Paris. This Paris, the son of the king of Troy, had been exposed as an infant and brought up among shepherds, and was now keeping his sheep on Mt. Ida. The three goddesses came before him, arrayed in all their charms, and each demanded judgment in her favor. As a bribe, Hera offered him power and riches; Athena, glory in war; and Aphrodite, the most beautiful woman in the world as his wife. Whether influenced by her promise or by the surpassing charms of golden-crowned Aphrodite, Paris decided in her favor, and she triumphantly bore off the golden apple. To Paris and the Trojans this judgment proved a curse, since the fulfilment of Aphrodite's promise in giving to Paris Menelaüs' wife, Helen, was the cause of the Trojan War, which ended in the utter destruction of the city.

In the figure of Aphrodite Greek artists tried to express their ideal of beauty and of womanly charm. She is less stately than Hera, with less of strength and intellectuality than Athena. Earlier artists represented her covered by a thin clinging garment, but the statues of a later date are usually quite nude. Her emblems are the apple and pomegranate, the rose and the myrtle, and the tortoise. Her chariot is drawn by sparrows or doves, or, on the waters, to betoken her birth from the sea, by swans.

Not Only men and gods, but all creation witness to Aphrodite's power. By her child Eros (or Cupid) all nature is given life and the power to reproduce itself. Through her power birds and beasts mate and give birth to their young; through her all green things grow and put forth seeds. And so her divine power is shown in the spring, and when the gentle west wind breathed over the land and all the earth grew green and fertile, the Greeks sang songs of praise to violet-crowned Aphrodite and held a festival in her honor. But when the hot Greek summer came, scorching the blossoms and robbing the fields of their beauty, then a note of deep sadness came into the worship of Aphrodite with the celebration of the Adonis feast.

A do’nis was a beautiful youth who grew up under the care of the nymphs. Aphrodite, victim of the same love that made her powerful over all others, loved this youth and devoted herself to the-enjoyment of his company. For his sake she dressed herself like the huntress Artemis and spent her days roaming over the hills with him and following the chase. Dreading his rashness, she made him promise to hunt no dangerous beasts, but to be content with deer and hares and other innocent game. One day, after warning him thus, she entered her chariot drawn by swans and drove away to Olympus. Adonis, on the track of a wild boar, forgot his promise, entered on the chase, and wounded the boar, which turned on him and drove its white tusk into his tender side. As the boy lay dying, Aphrodite, distraught with anguish, came to him. Unable to save her lover, she caused to grow from the drops of his blood the anemone or wind-flower, a delicate purple flower that grows plentifully in the Greek meadows in the spring of the year. In this story Adonis is the springtime, killed by the fierce heat of summer. Each year in commemoration of his death the people went through the city in procession, carrying a bier whereon lay a wax figure of Adonis, covered with flowers, while the women chanted the lament.

Fig. 33. Venus of Aries.

Low on the hills is lying the lovely Adonis, and his thigh with the boar's tusk, his white thigh with the boar's tusk, is wounded, and sorrow on Cypris (Aphrodite) he brings, as softly he breathes his life away. (Bion, Idyl, I. 7 ff. Translation by Andrew Lang.)

At dawn the image was thrown into the sea. Yet the mourning ended with joyful anticipation of Adonis' return from the lower world at the coming of the next spring.

Venus was an old Italian goddess, the giver of bloom and fruitfulness in nature, the protectress of gardens. The Romans identified her with the Greek Aphrodite, the bountiful goddess of love and beauty.

Aphrodite or Venus was always ready to help lovers who were wise enough to go to her. The following famous love stories are some of the many that witness to her power.

Atalan’ta had been warned by the gods that she should never marry; she therefore lived a maiden in the forests and devoted herself to the service of Artemis and the hunt. To the throng of lovers who sought her hand she always answered : "I am not to be won unless first vanquished in a race. Contend with me! My hand shall be the victor's reward, death the penalty of the vanquished." Yet so great was the power of her beauty that even on these hard conditions many entered the contest.

Hip pom’enes had come as a spectator, and, despising women, had laughed at the folly of those who entered the race. But when he saw the maiden the mocking laugh died on his lips. As she ran Atalanta grew continually more beautiful in his eyes; he hated his rivals and dreaded their success. The goal was reached, the crown of victory placed on Atalanta's head, and her suitors paid the penalty. Hippomenes was by no means deterred by their fate; he leaped into the race-course and facing Atalanta said: "It is an easy title to fame you seek against those slow runners! Contend with me, the grandson of Poseidon, and if you win you will gain a name worth winning!" Atalanta looked at him and seemed to doubt whether she would rather vanquish or be vanquished. "What god," said she, "wishes to destroy him and bids him to seek me as wife, at such a risk? I am not worth such a price. It is not that I am touched by his beauty — though I might well be touched by it — but he is still a boy; his youth moves me. Depart, stranger, while you can; some other maiden would be willing to be your wife. Yet why should I pity you, when I have let so many others meet their fate? But I wish that you should depart — or, since you are so foolish, I could wish that you were swifter!" So she hesitated; but the on-lookers demanded the race.

Then Hippomenes called upon Aphrodite to help a daring lover, and the goddess heard. From a tree of golden apples she picked three and gave them to Hippomenes. The trumpeters gave the signal; the racers darted forward. The spectators shouted encouragement to the youth: "Now, now is the time! Quick, quick, Hippomenes!" Many times when she could have passed him the maiden delayed an instant; but the goal was still far off, and averting her eyes she darted ahead. Then Hippomenes threw one of the golden apples. The maiden's eye was caught by the gleam of the gold; she turned aside and picked up the fruit. Hippomenes passed by; the air resounded with applause. Atalanta made up for the delay by an effort and was once more ahead. Delayed by the throwing of a second apple, she again caught up and passed her competitor. Only a short space remained. " Now be with me and help me. Aphrodite! " he prayed. Toward the side of the course with all his strength he threw the last of the golden apples. The girl seemed for an instant to hesitate, but Aphrodite forced her to turn aside once more. Hippomenes was victor and claimed his reward.

In his victory, Hippomenes unluckily forgot to give thanks to Aphrodite, and she, wishing in her anger to destroy him, tempted him to profane the temple of Cybele (see p. 153), the great mother of the gods. In punishment Cybele changed the pair into lions and forced them to draw her chariot.

Pyg ma’lion Pygmalion was the king of Cyprus and a great sculptor. He made out of ivory a statue of Aphrodite, so beautiful that he fell in love with it. As if he had a living woman before him he spoke to the image, embraced and kissed it. He brought to her all sorts of presents such as please maidens, costly dresses, necklaces, and ear-rings. He called her his wife. At a festival of Aphrodite, who was especially worshiped on the island, he offered sacrifice and prayed the goddess to give him a wife exactly like the ivory image. When he came home and embraced the statue it seemed to him to return the pressure; the ivory cheeks glowed with a warm flush; the eyes answered his tender glances; the lips opened to respond to his endearments. The goddess had granted him more than he had dared to ask.

In Abydos, on one side of the Hellespont (now the Dardanelles), lived a young man named Leander; on the opposite side in Sestos, a maiden named Hero lived in a tower by the shore and cared for Aphrodite's sacred swans and sparrows. At a festival of the goddess the two met and immediately fell in love. Though they were forbidden to see one another, every night Leander swam across the Hellespont and stayed with Hero until dawn began to break. One night the wind was high and the water dangerous, but the lover was not deterred. At first love bore him up, and the light his lady showed guided his way. But the wind blew out the flame; his strength failed him and the waters closed over his head. Hero watched out the night in an agony of fear; at dawn she found her lover's body washed ashore.

Pyr’a mus and Thisbe, living in adjoining houses in Babylon, came to know one another, and in time the acquaintance grew into love. They would have married, but their fathers forbade it. They could speak only by nods and signs, but the more the love was kept secret the more ardent it became. In the high wall that separated the two gardens they had found a tiny crack, through which, without exciting suspicion, they might murmur endearments. "O hateful wall," they would say, "why do you stand in the way of lovers? How small a thing it would be for you to allow us to be united, or, if that is too much to ask, that you would at least open a way for our kisses! We are not ungrateful; we confess that it is to you we owe the chance to hear each other's voices." Speaking thus they said good-night and pressed their lips each to his own side of the unresponsive wall. One day, after indulging in these vain regrets, they came to a desperate resolve. When the silence of night had fallen they would escape their guardians' watchful eyes and go out from home. They agreed to meet at the tomb of Ninus, where a white mulberry tree grew beside a spring.

The long day wore away and at last night came. Thisbe cautiously opened the door and passed out unobserved. She had come to the tomb and seated herself under the mulberry tree, when lo! a lioness, her foaming jaws smeared with the blood of fresh-slain cattle, came to drink at the spring. By the rays of the moon poor Thisbe saw her, and with trembling feet she fled to a cave near by. As she fled she dropped her cloak. The lioness, having drunk her fill, was returning to the forest when she chanced to see the cloak where it lay. She tore it with her bloody jaws and so left it.

Pyramus, coming somewhat late, saw in the sand the tracks of the beast. He grew pale. He saw the garment stained with blood. "One night shall destroy two lovers," said he. "Unhappy girl, it is I that have been your death. I bade you come by night to a fearsome place, and came not first myself. Tear my body in pieces and devour my flesh, ye lions that live among the rocks! But it is the part of a coward only to wish for death." He raised Thisbe's mantle, and weeping, pressed kisses upon it. "Receive my blood!" he cried, and plunged his sword into his breast. The blood spurted high, and falHng upon the mulberry tree stained the white berries a dark purple.

Thisbe, still trembling with fright, yet unwilling to fail her lover, returned to seek him. When she came to the spot the changed color of the berries made her uncertain whether she was right. While she hesitated in bewilderment, she saw the body lying on the ground. Shuddering, she recognized her lover and raised a cry of anguish, beating her breast and tearing her hair. She embraced the limp form and, raining kisses upon the cold lips, cried: "O Pyramus, what cruel fate has snatched you from me? Pyramus, answer! Your dearest Thisbe calls you. Hear me, and lift your drooping head!" At the name of Thisbe, Pyramus raised his eyes, already heavy in death, and having seen her, closed them. And she, recognizing her cloak and the naked sword, cried aloud again: "If your hand and your love have destroyed you, unhappy Pyramus, I too have a hand bold for this one deed. Love shall give me too strength for the blow. I shall follow you, at once the cause and the companion of your death. You who could be torn from me by death alone shall be torn from me not even by death." She spoke, and placing the point under her breast, fell upon the sword. The ashes of the lovers rest in one urn, and still the mulberry mourns in dark purple.