Echo and Narcissus
(Roman Mythology)
Echo was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and whether in chat or argument would have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon Echo in these words: "You shall forfeit the use of that tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond of REPLY. You shall still have the last word, but no power to speak first."
This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps. Oh, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to converse, but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here." Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, "Come." Echo answered, "Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me." "Have me," said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one
who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word.
Narcissus was cruel not in this case alone. He shunned all the rest of the nymphs as he had done poor Echo. One day a maiden, who had in vain endeavored to attract him, uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the prayer.
There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the shepherds never drove their flocks. Nor did the mountain goats resort to it, nor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came
one day the youth fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful water=spirit living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes, those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not
tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image. He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and answer my beckonings with the like." His tears fell into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed, "Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch you." With this, and much more of the same
kind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by degrees he lost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which formerly had so charmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas! Alas!" she answered him with the same words. He pined away and died; and when his shade
passed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The nymphs mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts, Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile, and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.
This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps. Oh, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to converse, but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?" Echo replied, "Here." Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, "Come." Echo answered, "Come." As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question. "Let us join one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me." "Have me," said she; but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one
who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word.
Narcissus was cruel not in this case alone. He shunned all the rest of the nymphs as he had done poor Echo. One day a maiden, who had in vain endeavored to attract him, uttered a prayer that he might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no return of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the prayer.
There was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the shepherds never drove their flocks. Nor did the mountain goats resort to it, nor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it defaced with fallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around it, and the rocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came
one day the youth fatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He stooped down to drink, and saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful water=spirit living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration at those bright eyes, those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or Apollo, the rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the glow of health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself. He brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to embrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned again after a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not
tear himself away; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he hovered over the brink of the fountain gazing upon his own image. He talked with the supposed spirit: "Why, beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely my face is not one to repel you. The nymphs love me, and you yourself look not indifferent upon me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the same; and you smile upon me and answer my beckonings with the like." His tears fell into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it depart, he exclaimed, "Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon you, if I may not touch you." With this, and much more of the same
kind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by degrees he lost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which formerly had so charmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he exclaimed, "Alas! Alas!" she answered him with the same words. He pined away and died; and when his shade
passed the Stygian river, it leaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The nymphs mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they smote their breasts, Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral pile, and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found; but in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white leaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.
Arachne and Athena
(Greek Mythology)
A long time ago in a place called Lydia lived a young spinner and weaver called Arachne. Lydia had a reputation for producing splendid textiles and had some of the finest spinners and weavers in the world. No spinner or weaver was more talented or gifted than Arachne.
Arachne wove all sorts of beautiful pictures into her cloth. Often the scenes were so life like that people felt they could almost touch and feel what was going on. Visitors travelled many miles to see her beautiful work. Not only were her finished products beautiful to look at, but just watching her weave was a sight to behold. Even the nymphs of the forest would stop their play and look on in wonder.
Arachne was rightly very proud of her work but she was also very arrogant. So remarkable were her works that observers often commented that she must have been trained by Athena, the goddess of wisdom and crafts, also known for her ability to spin and weave beautiful pictures. Arachne was scornful of this. Why she said, should she, with all her talent, be placed in an inferior place to the goddess? She would tell visitors that the Goddess herself could not produce work any better.
When news of Arachne's bold claim reached Athena she was very angry, but she decided to give the young woman a chance to redeem herself. So one day she disguised herself as an old peasant woman and went to visit Arachne. She gently warned her to be careful not to offend the gods by comparing her talents to those of an immortal.
But Arachne told the old woman to save her breath. She boasted that she welcomed a contest with Athena, and, if she lost, would suffer whatever punishment the goddess decided.
At this Athena revealed her true form. The visitors who had come to watch Arachne's weaving were very afraid, but Arachne stood her ground. She had made a claim, and she would prove it.
It was decided they would compete by each creating a tapestry. The two of them set up their looms in the same room and the contest began, the mortal Arachne at her loom and the goddess Athena at hers. They wove from early in the morning until it got too dark to see. The next day they compared what they had done.
Athena had woven a stunning cloth showing the gods and goddesses together on Mount Olympus doing good deeds for people. A beautiful scene had developed from the threads. Those witnessing the competition marveled at the work produced by the goddess. Arachne, however, had woven a cloth that made fun of the gods and goddesses. It showed them getting drunk and behaving very badly. Nevertheless, so exquisite was the mortal's work that the characters in the scene were lifelike.
When Athena saw it she was even angrier than she had been before. She was forced to admit that Arachne's work was flawless but the disrespectful choice of subject made her finally lose her temper. Athena destroyed Arachne's tapestry and loom. Then she touched her forehead, making sure that she felt guilt for her actions.
Arachne was ashamed but the guilt was so overwhelming it was far too deep for a mortal to bear. Realizing her folly Arachne was crushed with shame. Terrified and in turmoil she ran into a nearby wood and hanged herself from a tree.
Athena had not expected Arachne to take her own life and took pity on her.
Sprinkling Arachne with the juices of the aconite plant, Athena loosened the rope, which became a cobweb; then she said gently, "Spin if you wish to spin". At this Arachne slowly came back to life but not in human form, for as Athena spoke her words Arachne's nose and ears disappeared, her arms and legs became long and slender and new legs grew beside them, then her whole body shrank until she was just a tiny little spider.
For the rest of her life Arachne was to hang from a thread and to be a great weaver and the descendents of Arachne still weave their magic webs all over the earth today.
Arachne wove all sorts of beautiful pictures into her cloth. Often the scenes were so life like that people felt they could almost touch and feel what was going on. Visitors travelled many miles to see her beautiful work. Not only were her finished products beautiful to look at, but just watching her weave was a sight to behold. Even the nymphs of the forest would stop their play and look on in wonder.
Arachne was rightly very proud of her work but she was also very arrogant. So remarkable were her works that observers often commented that she must have been trained by Athena, the goddess of wisdom and crafts, also known for her ability to spin and weave beautiful pictures. Arachne was scornful of this. Why she said, should she, with all her talent, be placed in an inferior place to the goddess? She would tell visitors that the Goddess herself could not produce work any better.
When news of Arachne's bold claim reached Athena she was very angry, but she decided to give the young woman a chance to redeem herself. So one day she disguised herself as an old peasant woman and went to visit Arachne. She gently warned her to be careful not to offend the gods by comparing her talents to those of an immortal.
But Arachne told the old woman to save her breath. She boasted that she welcomed a contest with Athena, and, if she lost, would suffer whatever punishment the goddess decided.
At this Athena revealed her true form. The visitors who had come to watch Arachne's weaving were very afraid, but Arachne stood her ground. She had made a claim, and she would prove it.
It was decided they would compete by each creating a tapestry. The two of them set up their looms in the same room and the contest began, the mortal Arachne at her loom and the goddess Athena at hers. They wove from early in the morning until it got too dark to see. The next day they compared what they had done.
Athena had woven a stunning cloth showing the gods and goddesses together on Mount Olympus doing good deeds for people. A beautiful scene had developed from the threads. Those witnessing the competition marveled at the work produced by the goddess. Arachne, however, had woven a cloth that made fun of the gods and goddesses. It showed them getting drunk and behaving very badly. Nevertheless, so exquisite was the mortal's work that the characters in the scene were lifelike.
When Athena saw it she was even angrier than she had been before. She was forced to admit that Arachne's work was flawless but the disrespectful choice of subject made her finally lose her temper. Athena destroyed Arachne's tapestry and loom. Then she touched her forehead, making sure that she felt guilt for her actions.
Arachne was ashamed but the guilt was so overwhelming it was far too deep for a mortal to bear. Realizing her folly Arachne was crushed with shame. Terrified and in turmoil she ran into a nearby wood and hanged herself from a tree.
Athena had not expected Arachne to take her own life and took pity on her.
Sprinkling Arachne with the juices of the aconite plant, Athena loosened the rope, which became a cobweb; then she said gently, "Spin if you wish to spin". At this Arachne slowly came back to life but not in human form, for as Athena spoke her words Arachne's nose and ears disappeared, her arms and legs became long and slender and new legs grew beside them, then her whole body shrank until she was just a tiny little spider.
For the rest of her life Arachne was to hang from a thread and to be a great weaver and the descendents of Arachne still weave their magic webs all over the earth today.
Sehkmet
(Egyptian Mythology)
There was a time in ancient Egypt where humans entered into a conspiracy to overthrow the Gods. They blasphemed against Ra, king of Gods and men, and heretical priests and magicians plotted ways to turn against the Gods for their destruction, using those very powers the Gods had given to men that they might flourish and grow great upon the earth. Ra, hearing of this plan, called to meet with him the most ancient and potent Deities, those who had been with him in the primeval waters before the time when with his eye, the sun, he had made life. The Gods counseled together and it was decided that Sekhmet, the force against which no other force avails, would appear on the earth and quell the rebellion. Sekhmet would manifest and punish all those who had held in their minds evil images and imagined wicked plots.
Then Sekhmet walked among men and destroyed them and drank their blood. Night after night Sekhmet waded in blood, slaughtering humans, tearing and rending their bodies, and drinking their blood. The other Gods decided that the slaughter was enough and should stop, but they could find no way to stop Sekhmet, who was drunk on human blood. As the carnage went on, the Gods recognized that Sekhmet, Her rage sustained by intoxication, would implacably proceed with the killing until the last human life had been extinguished.
Then Ra had brought to him from Elephantine certain plants which have been said to be the Solanaceae family and which can be brewed as powerful mind-altering drugs. Those plants, and possibly also opium or hemp, were sent to the God Sekti at Heliopolis. Sekti added these drugs to a mixture of beer and also human blood, until seven thousand great jugs of the substance had been made. The jars were taken to a place where Sekhmet would pass and there were poured out onto the ground, inundating the fields for a great distance. And when Sekhmet came to these fields and perceived what She thought to be blood, She rejoiced and drank all of the liquid. Then "Her heart was filled with joy," Her mind was changed, and She thought no more of destroying mankind.
Then Sekhmet walked among men and destroyed them and drank their blood. Night after night Sekhmet waded in blood, slaughtering humans, tearing and rending their bodies, and drinking their blood. The other Gods decided that the slaughter was enough and should stop, but they could find no way to stop Sekhmet, who was drunk on human blood. As the carnage went on, the Gods recognized that Sekhmet, Her rage sustained by intoxication, would implacably proceed with the killing until the last human life had been extinguished.
Then Ra had brought to him from Elephantine certain plants which have been said to be the Solanaceae family and which can be brewed as powerful mind-altering drugs. Those plants, and possibly also opium or hemp, were sent to the God Sekti at Heliopolis. Sekti added these drugs to a mixture of beer and also human blood, until seven thousand great jugs of the substance had been made. The jars were taken to a place where Sekhmet would pass and there were poured out onto the ground, inundating the fields for a great distance. And when Sekhmet came to these fields and perceived what She thought to be blood, She rejoiced and drank all of the liquid. Then "Her heart was filled with joy," Her mind was changed, and She thought no more of destroying mankind.
A Hymn of Sekhmet
Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day.
Mine is a heart of corneal, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers.
I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters.
I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself.
I will what I will.
Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.
Mine is a heart of corneal, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers.
I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters.
I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself.
I will what I will.
Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.