———
Upon a subject which has occupied the thoughts, and employed the pens of our most profound thinkers, and our ablest writers, it is perhaps difficult to say much that is likely to interest the reader, without the chance of being irksome from its proving a thrice told tale: and yet the subject is in itself so interesting, and so intimately connected with all that is most fascinating to our remembrances, and so blended with all that reminds us of departed greatness, that it is scarcely possible to pass it coldly by, or to speak in the language of others those ideas which excite our own imaginations.
There was something very pleasing and very poetical in the thought, that each river had its nymph, and every wood its god: that a visible power watched over even the domestic duties of the people, ready to punish or reward; and that, too in a manner so strange and immediate, that it must have greatly affected their minds in stimulating to good, or deterring from evil. They were, indeed, the days of "visible poetry;" the "young hunter," in the pursuit of his favourite sport, might image to his mind the form and figure of Diana, accompanying him in the chase, not perhaps without a holy fear lest she should become visible to him, and the fate of Acteon should prove to be his.
The lover, as he sought the presence of his mistress, might, in his enamoured idea of her beauty, fancy that his idolatry was a real one, and that he wooed Venus in the form of a mortal: or, in the tremor which then as now pervaded the lover's bosom, he might fear that Jove himself would prove a rival, and, swan-like, or in some other as picturesque a form, win her he sought for his own: and thus, every class of society, from the patrician to the peasant, must have been imbued with feelings which, while they believed them to be religious, we regard but as poetical.
Leigh Hunt, who has said many things upon Mythology, quite as beautiful as his subject, remarks:—
"From having a different creed of our own, and always encountering the Heathen Mythology in a poetical and fabulous shape, we are apt to have a false idea of the religious feeling of the ancients. We are in the habit of supposing, that they regarded their fables in the same poetical light as ourselves; that they could not possibly put faith in Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto; in the sacrifice of innocent turtle doves, the libation of wine, and the notions about Tartarus and Ixion.
"The greatest pleasure arising to a modern imagination from the ancient Mythology, is in a mingled sense of the old popular belief, and of the philosophical refinements upon it. We take Apollo, and Mercury and Venus, as shapes that existed in popular credulity, as the greater fairies of the ancient world: and we regard them, at the same time, as personifications of all that is beautiful and genial in the forms and tendencies of creation. But the result, coming, as it does too, through avenues of beautiful poetry, both ancient and modern, is so entirely cheerful, that we are apt to think it must have wanted gravity to more believing eyes. Every forest, to the mind's eye of a Greek, was haunted with superior intelligences. Every stream had its presiding nymph, who was thanked for her draught of water. Every house had its protecting gods which had blessed the inmate's ancestors; and which would bless him
also, if he cultivated the social affections: for the same word which expressed piety towards the Gods, expressed love towards relations and friends. If in all this there was nothing but the worship of a more graceful humanity, there may be worships much worse as well as better.
"Imagine the feelings with which an ancient believer must have gone by the oracular oaks of Dodona, or the calm groves of the Eumenides, or the fountain where Proserpine vanished under ground with Pluto; or the laurelled mountain Parnassus, on the side of which was the temple of Delphi, where Apollo was supposed to be present in person. Imagine Plutarch, a devout and yet a liberal believer, when he went to study theology and philosophy at Delphi: with what feelings must he not have passed along the woody paths of the hill, approaching nearer every instant to the presence of the divinity, and not sure that a glance of light through the trees was not the lustre of the god himself going by. This is mere poetry to us, and very fine it is; but to him it was poetry, and religion, and beauty, and gravity and hushing awe, and a path as from one world to another."
G. Moir Bussey has also observed, with much elegance and feeling:—"The Mythology of the Ancients is one long romance in itself, full of poetry and passion—a mysterious compound of supernatural wonders and of human thoughts and feelings. It entrances us by its marvels in childhood; and in manhood we ponder over it, if not with the same rapturous delight as formerly, yet at least with such a sense of pleasure as that inspired by the perusal of a magnificent poem—the product of immortal mind—refreshing, invigorating, exalting. Beauty and strength—the might of man, and the majesty and sublimity of the misunderstood intelligences of the godhead, not only constituted the worship of the Greeks of old, but governed their lives, their actions, their laws, and the very aspirations of their hearts. They aimed at excellence in the highest, in order that their statues might be installed in their national temples as
those of demi-gods, and the struggle brought them sufficient knowledge and energy to win deathless renown among men. All that they achieved, all that they meditated, bespeaks the soaring of a race bent upon conquering every obstacle—natural or artificial—which stood between them and absolute perfection, whether in legislation, in philosophy, in art, in science, in literature, in poetry, in war, or in dominion."
The reality of an every day world has now set its seal upon all that delighted the days of our youth, and would even arouse us from our reveries on this most charming of subjects: we will conclude with the words of Barry Cornwall—
"Oh! ye delicious fables, where the wave,
And wood, were peopled; and the air, with things
So lovely—why, ah! why has science grave
Scattered afar your secret imaginings?
Why seared the delicate flowers that genius gave,
And dash the diamond drops from fancy's wings.
Alas! the spirit languishes and lies
At mercy of life's dull realities.
"No more by well or bubbling fountain clear
The Naiad dries her tresses in the sun,
Nor longer may we in the branches hear
The Dryad talk, nor see the Oread run
Along the mountains, nor the Nereid steer
Her way among the waves when day is done.
Shadows nor shape remain—"
H E A T H E N M Y T H O L O G Y.
I N T R O D U C T I O N.
In the earlier part of the history of nations, Mythology has always been found to exist; imaginary beings have been adored, and a system of worship established, which, though imperfect in itself, was satisfactory to those, who, looking beyond the abstract circumstance of its idolatry, discovered the grand truth, that however rude, and however barbarous the people, there was a principle evidently acknowledged in their actions, of the necessity of a supreme being; and a feeling, of which they could not dispossess themselves, that a divine being watched over, and was the rewarder of their good, or the punisher of their evil deeds.
The priests of Phœnicia and Egypt were the origin of the elements of this profane faith, and through their means, its transmission may be traced to the Greeks, who, after adopting, purified, or at least assisted in greatly refining it, before its reception by the Romans who multiplied their Gods in about the same degree that their vices increased; while their armies, which overran the
world, doubtless gave to the Scandanavians and the Gauls their ideas of the faith of Odin; and the fables of the Hindoos, and those of the American people, must be ascribed to the same source.
It has been with many an endeavour to trace, in the mythologies of various nations, a resemblance to the more holy histories of our own faith; and they assert that, in many of the fables with which we are familiar, are to be traced the types or symbols of part of that revelation which is the ground-work of our own belief. But this is, at best, so vague and shadowy, that its inculcators get lost in their own inventions, and their followers scarcely comprehend the assertions they are called on implicitly to believe. With this we have nothing to do; the object of the present work being the endeavour to offer a brief and succinct history of those Gods whose adventures have created most interest, and by means of them to give an additional zest to the perusal of the great poets and writers of antiquity, whose works are either founded on these actual adventures, or abound with allusions to them, and without the knowledge of which, it may be asserted, that the mind is scarcely able to do justice to them any more than to modern writers, since the works of the latter teem with images drawn from classical subjects. Nor indeed is this to be wondered at, when we consider the various subjects connected with fable; and in this view of our subject we are borne out by a distinguished writer in the following elegant remarks:
"Men of a phlegmatic disposition," observes Dr. Turner, "or of a censorious temper, never cease to rail against the delightful fictions with which Homer and Hesiod, and their poetical imitators, have enriched and embellished their works; but although these fictions did not contain many useful instructions, and important truths, would there be any reason to attack and destroy a system, which peoples and animates nature, and which makes a solemn temple of the vast universe? These flowers, whose varied and shining beauty you so much admire, are the tears of Aurora. It is the breath of Zephyrus which gently agitates the leaves. The soft murmurings of the waters are the sighs of the Naiades. A god impels the wind; a god pours out the rivers; grapes are the gift of Bacchus; Ceres presides over the harvest; orchards are the care of Pomona. Does a shepherd sound his reed on the summit of a mountain, it is Pan, who with his pastoral pipe returns the amorous lay.
"When the sportsman's horn rouses the attentive ear, it is Diana, armed with her bow and quiver, and more nimble than the stag that she pursues, who takes the diversion of the chase. The sun is a god, who, riding in a car of fire, diffuses his light through the world; the stars are so many divinities, who measure with their golden beams the regular progress of time; the moon presides over the silence of night, and consoles the world for the absence of her brother. Neptune reigns in the sea, surrounded by the Naiades, who dance to the joyous shells of the Tritons. In the highest heaven is seated Jupiter, master and father of men and gods. Under his feet roll the thunders, in the caverns of Etna, forged by the Cyclops; his smile rejoices nature; and his nods shakes the foundation of Olympus. Surrounding the throne of their sovereign, the other divinities quaff nectar, from a cup presented them by the young and beautiful Hebe. In the middle of the great circle shines, with distinguished lustre, the unrivalled beauty of Venus, alone adorned with a splendid girdle in which the Graces for ever play, and in her hand is a smiling boy whose power is universally acknowledged by heaven and earth. Sweet illusions of the fancy! pleasing errors of the mind! what objects of pity are those cold and insensible hearts who have never felt your charms! and what objects of pity and indignation those fierce and savage spirits, who would destroy a world that has so long been the treasury of the arts! a world, imaginary indeed, but delightful, and whose ideal pleasures are so well fitted to compensate for the real troubles and miseries of the world in which we live."
If we turn to a still higher authority (and we acknowledge that the subject has been treated of so often and in so masterly a style by men of whom the world was scarcely worthy, that we are willing rather to present their mature opinions, than to obtrude our own) we shall find that Lord Bacon treats upon the subject in a manner which maintains his high character as a profound thinker. "I am not ignorant," he says, "how uncertain fiction is, and how liable to be wrested to this or that sense, nor how prevalent wit and discourse are, so as ingeniously to apply such meanings as were not thought of originally; but let not the follies and license of a few lessen the esteem due to parables; for that would be profane and bold, since religion delights in such veils and shadows: but, reflecting on human wisdom, I ingenuously confess my real opinion is, that
mystery and allegory were from the original intended in many fables of the ancient poets, this appears apt and conspicuous to me; whether ravished with a veneration for antiquity, or because I find such coherence in the similitude with the things signified, in the very texture of the fable, and in the propriety of the names which are given to the persons or actors in the fables; and no man can positively deny that this was the sense proposed from the beginning, and industriously veiled in this manner.... No one should be moved, if he sometimes finds any addition for the sake of history, or by way of embellishment; or if chronology should happen to be confounded, or if part of one fable should be transferred to another, and a new allegory introduced: for these were all necessary, and to be expected, seeing they are the inventions of men of different ages, and who writ to different ends; some with a view to the nature of things and others to civil affairs. We have another sign, and that no small one, of this hidden sense which we have been speaking of, which is that some of these fables are in the narration so foolish and absurd, that they seem to claim a parable at a distance. Such as are probable may be feigned for amusement, and in imitation of history; but where no such designs appear, but they seem to be what none would imagine or relate, they must be calculated for other uses. What has a great weight with me is, that many of these fables seem not to be invented by those who have related them, Homer, Hesiod, and other writers; for were they the fictions of that age and of those who delivered them down to us, nothing great and exalted, according to my opinion, could be expected from such an origin; but if any one will deliberate on this subject attentively, these will appear to be delivered and related as what were before believed and received, and not as tales then first invented and communicated; besides, as they are told in different manners, by authors of almost the same times, they are easily perceived to be common, and derived from old tradition, and are various only from the additional embellishments diverse writers have bestowed on them.... The wisdom of the ancients was either great or happy, great if these figures were the fruits of their industry; and happy if they looked no further, that they have afforded matter and occasion so worthy of contemplation."