Parallel Myths (24 page)
Authors: J.F. Bierlein
Thisbe crept up from the side of the tomb and saw the dying Pryamus. She took him in her arms and said, “It is I who killed you, my love. I will join you!” Pyramus’s eyes opened for the last time, only to see Thisbe plunging his dagger into her own heart.
Now the gods saw all this, and they are usually on the side of young lovers, regardless of how desperate the situation is. The gods then ordained that the berries of the mulberry tree remain red forever in memory of Pyramus and Thisbe. Some say that young lovers who die by suicide end up in a strange land on the edge of the land of the dead, wandering about for a century as miserable ghosts. But it is generally agreed that the gods allowed Pyramus and Thisbe to spend eternity together.
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON
I
n former days it was common for the gods to venture out among mortals in disguise. This was their best method of “taking the pulse” of the world below. Jupiter [Zeus] and Mercury [Hermes] wanted to find out whether the inhabitants of Phrygia were friendly or not; they had heard complaints about the lack of Phrygian hospitality. Jupiter is the patron of travelers on the road; Hermes is the god of commerce and also a patron of wayfarers. The two gods traveled down in the guise of poor, ragged tramps, going from door to door throughout the length and breadth of Phrygia, among the rich and the poor. Not one door was opened to them.
Finally they came upon the humble little hovel of an elderly couple, Baucis and Philemon. The two old people occupied only one little room and they were very poor indeed. Yet they were the most
hospitable people in all Phrygia. They gathered together the few vegetables and scraps of meat they had and offered them to the strangers. Philemon told the guests, “I have a little wine to refresh you,” and he poured it out of a crude, cracked clay jar for his guests.
Poor as they were, neither Baucis nor Philemon uttered a single word of complaint. In fact, the gods were deeply moved when the old man told them, “We have very little to offer you, strangers, but what little we have is yours.” The gods drank more and more of the wine, and still old Philemon’s cracked jar remained full.
A miracle was taking place—not only did the wine jar remain full but, in place of the common table wine originally in the jar, it now held the finest of vintages. Likewise, when the food was brought to the table, still more food appeared out of nowhere. Baucis and Philemon were mystified. Finally, the gods revealed their true identities and the old couple fell to the ground in reverence.
The gods then told the old people how inhospitable the Phrygians had been to them, and how the kindness of Baucis and Philemon had made a deep impression on them both. Jupiter told them that he was aware that the neighbors had been rude and cruel to Baucis and Philemon, despite their kind hearts. As he finished speaking, Jupiter caused the fields around their tiny hut to flood, killing all the neighbors. Despite the wickedness of the Phrygians, Baucis and Philemon wept for their countrymen.
While the waters rose, so did the hut of Baucis and Philemon, which remained high and dry. Suddenly it was transformed into a shining temple of marble. Jupiter and Mercury appointed Baucis and Philemon priestess and priest of their temple. They faithfully tended the temple until they were well over one hundred years old.
When the couple became too frail to carry out their duties, a wonderful thing happened. Jupiter remembered that Philemon never wished to be separated from his beloved Baucis. Being a sentimental romantic, Jupiter caused them to grow into a beautiful oak tree with its two trunks entwined. Jupiter had kept his promise: Baucis and Philemon remained together forever.
VERTUMNUS AND POMONA
T
he wood nymphs are beautiful creatures that love the forests and avoid the open fields as a rule. However, there was one wood nymph, Pomona, who loved the orchards best of all. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than playing among the grapevines and apple trees. She was so beautiful that many suitors came to see her, including even kings, but she was more interested in dressing vines than in loving.
Among the most ardent of her suitors was Vertumnus, who was partly immortal. It is believed that either his father or his mother was a god or goddess. He was very persistent, but Pomona ignored him. He brought her gifts of flowers and fruit, which she accepted without thanks.
Vertumnus took on the guise of a rude shepherd, and Pomona was even more scornful than before. She treated this country bumpkin with great scorn.
Then one day Vertumnus disguised himself as an old woman out picking fruit. When Pomona encountered this “old woman,” she was friendly, even gracious. The “old woman” told Pomona that she was the most beautiful fruit in the orchard and the most lovely flower of the field. Pomona was flattered. Then the “old woman” kissed Pomona in a manner that no old woman would ever kiss a young girl. Pomona was aghast and disgusted.
To make his point, Vertumnus then pointed to grapes growing on a trellis, saying how lovely they were. Without the trellis, he pointed out, the grapes would be trod underfoot; without the grapes growing on it, the trellis would be useless. The two needed each other. Pomona knew exactly what point Vertumnus was trying to make and she prepared to flee.
Just then, Venus, the goddess of love, appeared and told Pomona, “This is your true husband; it is ordained that you marry him.” Certainly Pomona had no choice after that; the two were married. And it so happened that she fell in love with him over time and they tended the orchards together.
And so it is: Lovers belong together like the trellis and the grape; each is incomplete without the other.
APOLLO AND DAPHNE
D
aphne [Greek for “laurel”] was a wood nymph, the daughter of the river god Peneus. She was one of those free-spirited women in mythology who was more interested in hunting and fishing than in men. Her father despaired that she would ever marry; he was more interested in grandchildren than in having still more game to eat.
The god Apollo saw Daphne one day and fell instandy in love with her. He was unable to think of anything but her and he pursued her to no avail. Daphne was absolutely indifferent to his attentions; it mattered not whether he was god or mortal. She also knew that relationships with gods were often complicated and even dangerous. She was, after all, half divine, yet mortal. Finally Apollo chased her through the forests until she was stricken with fear. There was no way that she could outrun him, so she cried to her father to save her with a miracle.
Suddenly, she felt her feet become rooted in the earth. She could not move. Leaves began to sprout from her arms—she had become a living laurel tree. The gods have a way of sorting things out of the most desperate situations, so they made the laurel tree the sacred tree of Apollo.
To this day, whether at poetry contests or athletic events, both within the purview of Apollo, the winner is crowned with laurels.
NOTE
: In some versions of this myth, Daphne is the daughter of Mother Earth, who saves her. The following is from Ernst Cassirer,
Language and Myth
.
Or take the myth of Daphne, who is saved from Apollo’s embraces by the fact that her mother, the Earth, transforms her into a laurel tree. Again it is only the history of language that can make this myth “comprehensible,” and give it any sort of sense. Who was Daphne? In order to answer this question we must resort
to etymology, that is to say, we must investigate the history of the word. “Daphne” can be traced back to Sanskrit [the language of ancient India] “Ahana,” and Ahana means in Sanskrit, “the redness of dawn.” As soon as we know this, the whole matter becomes clear. The story of Phoebus [a name for Apollo—“the shining one”] and Daphne is nothing but a description of what one may observe every day: first the appearance of the dawnlight in the eastern sky, then the rising of the sun-god who hastens after his bride, then the gradual fading of the red dawn at the touch of his fiery rays, and finally its death and disappearance in Mother Earth. So the decisive condition for the development of the myth was not the natural phenomenon itself, but rather the circumstance that the Greek word for the laurel (daphne) and the Sanskrit word for the dawn are related….
CONIRAYA AND CAVILLACA
There was a very ancient
huaca
*
named Coniraya. Some call him Coniraya Viracocha, as he may have been a son, or even an incarnation, of Viracocha, the sun-god. In any case, he came to earth in the guise of a poor mountain shepherd, dressed in coarse llama wool. Anyone looking at him would have thought him to be a poor
campesino
†
from the mountain highlands. But to those who saw through his guise, it was apparent that Coniraya Viracocha was a great and wise teacher who taught many useful arts to the people—irrigation, terrace farming, keeping records with the
quipu
**
and other important things. During his travels he saw and fell in love with
a haughty female
huaca
named Cavillaca. As she was of the highest lineage, she ignored Coniraya, whom she took for the most vulgar peasant.
So Coniraya assumed the guise of a bird and sat in a lucma fruit tree near the home of Cavillaca. He noticed that Cavillaca liked the lucma best of all fruits. So he fashioned some of his sperm into the form of a lucma fruit, which Cavillaca ate. She then conceived a child.
When she gave birth to this son, she protested that she was a virgin, but no one believed her. She was outraged by the disgrace of having a child out of wedlock and knew that only a
huaca
could do such a thing. So she called all of the
huacas
together to learn who was the father of her child. When the
huacas
arrived, they were all dressed in their finest of clothing, each hoping that Cavillaca might take him as a husband. However, not one of the
huacas
admitted to being the father of the baby. Coniraya, still dressed in the clothing of the poorest shepherd, sat silently in the assembly of the
huacas
.
