We have already seen, in Chapter X., that Lord Bacon regarded the great mass of the Greek myths as allegories. Another ingenious mode of interpreting the artistically beautiful mythology of the Greeks is eloquently expressed by Wordsworth, in his poem, "The Excursion":—
In that fair clime, the lonely Herdsman, stretched
On the soft grass through half a summer day,
With music lulled his indolent repose;
And, in some fit of weariness, if he,
When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear
A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds
Which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetched
Even from the blazing chariot of the Sun
A beardless youth who touched a golden lute,
And filled the illumined groves with ravishment.
The mighty Hunter, lifting up his eyes
Towards the crescent Moon, with grateful heart
Called on the lovely Wanderer who bestowed
That timely light to share his joyous sport,
And hence a beaming Goddess with her nymphs
Across the lawn and through the darksome grove
(Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes
By echo multiplied from rock or cave)
Swept in the storm of chase, as moon and stars
Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven
When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked
His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked
The Naiad. Sunbeams upon distant hills
Gliding apace, with shadows in their train,
Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed
Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.
The Zephyrs, fanning, as they passed, their wings,
Lacked not for love fair objects whom they wooed
With gentle whisper. Withered boughs grotesque,
Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age,
From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth
In the low vale, or on steep mountain side;
And sometimes intermixed with stirring horns
Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard;
These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood
Of gamesome deities; or Pan himself,
The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god.
This figurative or poetical element in the classical mythology would, doubtless, be understood by the more cultured sections of the ancient populations of the later period, at least to a certain extent. For instance; Ovid distinctly states that under the name Vesta direct reference is made to fire. Socrates, too, understood nothing more than the north wind in the name Boreas. I have previously referred to the statement of Diodorus Siculus, that although the mythographers spoke of Prometheus stealing fire from heaven, they merely intended to imply that he was the inventor of the "chark," or fire-producing instrument. Some, if not all, of the earlier Greek writers, however, including Homer and Hesiod, appear, like the mass of the populace, to have treated their mythic personages as actual concrete beings.
Farrer, in his "Origin of Language," forcibly illustrates the figurative character of much of our ordinary every-day speech. He says,—"The continual metaphors by which we compare our thoughts and emotions to the changes of the outer world—sadness to a cloudy sky, calm to the silvery rays of the moonlight, anger to waves agitated by the wind—are not, as Schelling observed, a mere play of the imagination, but are an expression, in two different languages, of the same thought of the Creator, and one serves to interpret the other. 'Nature is visible spirit, spirit invisible nature.'"
Shakspere is supposed to have founded some portions of his Tempest on a narrative of the shipwreck of Sir John Somers on one of the Bermuda islands. These islands were then uninhabited by man, and generally believed to be "enchanted." Old Stowe, in his "Annals," speaking of this shipwreck, among other things, says these islands "were, of all nations, said and supposed to be enchanted and inhabited with witches and devills, which grow by reason of accustomed monstrous thunder, storms, and tempests." One of Shakspere's commentators, referring to this passage, says,—"This account by old Stowe of the elemental growth and generation of the hags and imps and devils and abortions of the island, is fearfully fine. Caliban and Sycorax and Setebos, might well be imagined to have first glared into life through the long fermenting incantation of 'accustomed monstrous thunder.'" Ruskin says "the whole play of the Tempest is an allegorical representation of the powers of true, and, therefore, spiritual, liberty, as opposed to true, and, therefore, carnal and brutal, slavery. There is not a sentence nor a rhyme sung or uttered by Ariel or Caliban throughout the play which has not this under meaning."
Herbert Spencer has truly said, "We too often forget that not only is there 'a soul of goodness in things evil,' but very generally also, a soul of truth in things erroneous."
Thus, these despised and contemned traditionary superstitions of our progenitors are found, nevertheless, to enshrine much valuable material, by a careful study of which we may obtain a deeper insight into some of the more subtle or hidden features of the human soul, the nature and progress of man's intellectual growth, of the origin and development of language as a medium of mental intercommunion, and of the true natural basis on which rest some of the greatest triumphs of plastic and poetic art that have astonished, delighted, and instructed mankind for countless generations.
FOOTNOTES:
[36] Penny Cyclop., article Syntipas.—Syntipas is the "title of a collection of stories written in Greek, and bearing the name of Michael Andreopulos, but the collection is evidently translated from an Oriental work.... Many of the stories of Syntipas are found in an Arabic manuscript of the 'Arabian Nights,' in the British Museum. The whole style of the stories points evidently to an Indian origin. The same may be said of the collection named Pancha Tantra, the original of the Fables of Pilpay, and some other Indian stories."
[37] Sir John Lubbock, in his "Pre-historic Times," says,—"Nor will tradition supply the place of history. At best it is untrustworthy and short-lived. Thus in 1770 the New Zealanders had no recollection of Tasman's visit. Yet this took place in 1643, less than 130 years before, and must have been to them an event of the greatest possible importance and interest. In the same way the North American Indians soon lost all tradition of De Soto's expedition, although 'by its striking incidents it was so well suited to impress the Indian mind.'" This is no doubt true in relation to many matters which leave behind no religious or superstitious element. When this, however, is superadded, tradition becomes, as Dasent expresses it, remarkable for its toughness, or enduring vitality. Other authorities say, however, that on Cook's arrival, the tradition of Tasman's visit was preserved amongst the natives of the Tonga or Friendly Islands.