Chapter 94
The stories are brought together into a "single _saga_, free from inconsistencies and contradictions." This gives the book all the charm of a single story made of many dramatic episodes. Francillon's version of the familiar tale of Narcissus and Echo follows by permission of the publishers. (Copyright. Ginn & Co., Boston.)
THE NARCISSUS
R. E. FRANCILLON
There was a very beautiful nymph named Echo, who had never, in all her life, seen anybody handsomer than the G.o.d Pan. You have read that Pan was the chief of all the Satyrs, and what hideous monsters the Satyrs were. So, when Pan made love to her, she very naturally kept him at a distance: and, as she supposed him to be no worse-looking than the rest of the world, she made up her mind to have nothing to do with love or lovemaking, and was quite content to ramble about the woods all alone.
But one day, to her surprise, she happened to meet with a young man who was as different from Pan as any creature could be. Instead of having a goat's legs and long hairy arms, he was as graceful as Apollo himself: no horns grew out of his forehead, and his ears were not long, pointed, and covered with hair, but just like Echo's own. And he was just as beautiful in face as he was graceful in form. I doubt if Echo would have thought even Apollo himself so beautiful.
The nymphs were rather shy, and Echo was the very shyest of them all.
But she admired him so much she could not leave the spot, and at last she even plucked up courage enough to ask him, "What is the name of the most beautiful being in the whole world?"
"Whom do you mean?" asked he. "Yourself? If you want to know your own name, you can tell it better than I can."
"No," said Echo, "I don't mean myself. I mean _you_. What is _your_ name?"
"My name is Narcissus," said he. "But as for my being beautiful--that is absurd."
"Narcissus!" repeated Echo to herself. "It is a beautiful name. Which of the nymphs have you come to meet here in these woods all alone? She is lucky--whoever she may be."
"I have come to meet n.o.body," said Narcissus. "But--am I really so beautiful? I have often been told so by other girls, of course; but really it is more than I can quite believe."
"And you don't care for any of those girls?"
"Why, you see," said Narcissus, "when all the girls one knows call one beautiful, there's no reason why I should care for one more than another. They all seem alike when they are all always saying just the same thing. Ah! I do wish I could see myself, so that I could tell if it was really true. I would marry the girl who could give me the wish of my heart--to see myself as other people see me. But as n.o.body can make me do that, why, I suppose I shall get on very well without marrying anybody at all."
Looking-gla.s.ses had not been invented in those days, so that Narcissus had really never seen even so much of himself as his chin.
"What!" cried Echo, full of hope and joy; "if I make you see your own face, you will marry _me_?"
"I said so," said he. "And of course what I say I'll do, I'll do."
"Then--come with me!"
Echo took him by the hand and led him to the edge of a little lake in the middle of the wood, full of clear water.
"Kneel down, Narcissus," said she, "and bend your eyes over the waterside. That lake is the mirror where Diana comes every morning to dress her hair, and in which, every night, the moon and the stars behold themselves. Look into that water, and
Narcissus kneeled down and looked into the lake. And, better than in any common looking-gla.s.s, he saw the reflected image of his own face--and he looked, and looked, and could not take his eyes away.
But Echo at last grew tired of waiting. "Have you forgotten what you promised me?" asked she. "Are you content now? Do you see now that what I told you is true?"
He lifted his eyes at last. "Oh, beautiful creature that I am!" said he.
"I am indeed the most divine creature in the whole wide world. I love myself madly. Go away. I want to be with my beautiful image, with myself, all alone. I can't marry you. I shall never love anybody but myself for the rest of my days." And he kneeled down and gazed at himself once more, while poor Echo had to go weeping away.
Narcissus had spoken truly. He loved himself and his own face so much that he could think of nothing else: he spent all his days and nights by the lake, and never took his eyes away. But unluckily his image, which was only a shadow in the water, could not love him back again. And so he pined away until he died. And when his friends came to look for his body, they found nothing but a flower, into which his soul had turned.
So they called it the Narcissus, and we call it so still. And yet I don't know that it is a particularly conceited or selfish flower.
As for poor Echo, she pined away too. She faded and faded until nothing was left of her but her voice. There are many places where she can even now be heard. And she still has the same trick of saying to vain and foolish people whatever they say to themselves, or whatever they would like best to hear said to them. If you go where Echo is, and call out loudly, "I am beautiful!"--she will echo your very words.
259
"The Apple of Discord" is also taken, by permission of the publishers, from Francillon's _G.o.ds and Heroes_. It is the story of how the world's first great war was brought about.
Teachers who wish to use some of the stories from Homer's _Iliad_ might well follow this story with some selected episodes from that work. The prose translation of the _Iliad_ by Lang, Leaf, and Myers is the most satisfactory.
Of versions adapted for children, Church's _Story of the Iliad_ has long been a favorite.
THE APPLE OF DISCORD
R. E. FRANCILLON
Never was such a wedding-feast known as that of Peleus and Thetis. And no wonder; for Peleus was King of Thessaly, and Thetis was a G.o.ddess--the G.o.ddess who keeps the gates of the West, and throws them open for the chariot of the Sun to pa.s.s through when its day's journey is done.
Not only all the neighboring kings and queens came to the feast, but the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses besides, bringing splendid presents to the bride and bridegroom. Only one G.o.ddess was not there, because she had not been invited; and she had not been invited for the best of all reasons. Her name was Ate, which means Mischief; and wherever she went she caused quarreling and confusion. Jupiter had turned her out of heaven for setting even the G.o.ds by the ears; and ever since then she had been wandering about the earth, making mischief, for they would not have her even in Hades.
"So they won't have _Me_ at their feast!" she said to herself, when she heard the sound of the merriment to which she had not been bidden. "Very well; they shall be sorry. I see a way to make a bigger piece of mischief than ever was known."
So she took a golden apple, wrote some words upon it, and, keeping herself out of sight, threw it into the very middle of the feasters, just when they were most merry.
n.o.body saw where the apple came from; but of course they supposed it had been thrown among them for frolic; and one of the guests, taking it up, read aloud the words written on it. The words were:
"FOR THE MOST BEAUTIFUL!"
--nothing more.
"What a handsome present somebody has sent me!" said Juno, holding out her hand for the apple.
"Sent _you_?" asked Diana. "What an odd mistake, to be sure! Don't you see it is for the most beautiful? I will thank you to hand me what is so clearly intended for _Me_."
"You seem to forget _I_ am present!" said Vesta, making a s.n.a.t.c.h at the apple.
"Not at all!" said Ceres; "only I happen to be here, too. And who doubts that where I am there is the most beautiful?"
"Except where _I_ am," said Proserpine.
"What folly is all this!" said Minerva, the wise. "Wisdom is the only true beauty; and everybody knows that I am the wisest of you all."
"But it's for the _most_ beautiful!" said Venus. "The idea of its being for anybody but _Me_!"
Then every nymph and G.o.ddess present, and even every woman, put in her claim, until from claiming and disputing it grew to arguing and wrangling and downright quarreling: insults flew about, until the merriment grew into an angry din, the like of which had never been heard. But as it became clear that it was impossible for everybody to be the most beautiful, the claimants gradually settled down into three parties--some taking the side of Venus, others of Juno, others of Minerva.
"We shall never settle it among ourselves," said one, when all were fairly out of breath with quarreling. "Let the G.o.ds decide."
For the G.o.ds had been silent all the while; and now they looked at one another in dismay at such an appeal. Jupiter, in his heart, thought Venus the most beautiful; but how could he dare decide against either his wife Juno or his daughter Minerva? Neptune hated Minerva on account of their old quarrel; but it was awkward to choose between his daughter Venus and his sister Juno, of whose temper he, as well as Jupiter, stood in awe. Mars was ready enough to vote for Venus; but then he was afraid of a scandal. And so with all the G.o.ds--not one was bold enough to decide on such a terrible question as the beauty of three rival G.o.ddesses who were ready to tear out each other's eyes. For Juno was looking like a thundercloud, and Minerva like lightning, and Venus like a smiling but treacherous sea.