Share a myth V

The chosen myth for this post is derived from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The story of Narcissus is so popular the grand public mostly know something about it, even if not the particulars. The original is longish, therefore bits and pieces shall be shared in this post, in hopes that the most significant are featured.

“When her time was come, that nymph most fair brought forth a child with whom one could have fallen in love even in his cradle, and she called him Narcissus.

Cephisus’ child had reached his sixteenth year, and could be counted at once boy and man. Many lads and many girls fell in love with him, but his soft young body housed a pride so unyielding that none of those boys or girls dared to touch him. One day, as he was driving timid deers into his nets, he was seen by that talkative nymph who cannot stay silent when another speaks, but yet has not learned to speak first herself. Her name is Echo, and she always answers back.

Echo still had a body then, she was not just a voice: but although she was always chattering, her power of speech was no different from what it is now. All she could do was to repeat the last words of the many phrases that she heard.

So, when she saw Narcissus wandering through the lonely countryside, Echo fell in love with him, and followed secretly in his footsteps. The more closely she followed, the nearer was the fire which scorched her: just as sulphur, smeared round the tops of torches is quickly kindled when a flame is brought near it.

The boy, by chance, had wandered away from his faithful band of comrades, and he called out: “Is there anybody here?”, Echo answered: “Here!”. Narcissus stood still in astonishment, looking round in every direction, and cried at the pitch of his voice: “Come!”, as he called, she called in reply.

To make good her words she came out of the wood and made to throw her arms around the neck she loved: but he fled from her, crying as he did so, “Away with these embraces! I would die before I would have you touch me!”. Her only answer was: “I would have you touch me!”. Thus scorned, she concealed herself in the woods, hiding her shamed face in the shelter of the leaves, and ever since that day, she dwells in lonely caves. Yet still her love remained firmly rooted in her heart, and was increased by the pain of having been rejected. She became wrinkled and wasted; all the freshness of her beauty withered into the air. Only her voice and her bones were left.

Narcissus had played with her affections, treating her as he had previously treated other spirits of the waters and the woods, and his male admirers too. Then one of those he had scorned raised up his hands to heaven and prayed: ” May he himself fall in love with another, as we have done with him! May he too be unable to gain his loved one!”. Nemesis heard and granted his righteous prayer.

There was a clear pool, with shining silvery waters, where shepherds had never made their way; no goats that pasture on the mountains, no cattle had ever come there. Narcissus, wearied with the hunting in the heat of the day, lay down here. While he sought to quench his thirst, another thirst grew in him, and as he drank, he was enchanted by the beautiful reflection that he saw. He fell in love with an insubstantial hope, mistaking a mere shadow for a real body.

He did not know what he was looking at, but was fired by the sight, and excited by the very illusion that deceived his eyes. Poor foolish boy, why vainly grasp at the fleeting image that eludes you? The thing you are seeing does not exist, only turn aside and you will lose what you love. What you see is but the shadow cast by your reflection; in itself it is nothing. It comes with you, and lasts while you are there; it will go when you go, if go you can.

His tears disturbed the water, so that the pool rippled, and the image grew dim. He saw it disappearing, and cried aloud: “Where are you fleeing? Cruel creature, stay, do not desert one who loves you! Let me look upon you, if I cannot touch you. Let me, by looking, feed my ill-starred love.” In his grief, he tore away the upper portion of his tunic, and beat his bared breast with hands as white as marble. His breast flushed rosily where he struck it. When Narcissus saw this reflected in the water, he could bear it no longer. As golden wax melts with gentle heat, as morning frosts are thawed by the warmth of the sun, so he was worn and wasted away with love, and slowly consumed by its hidden fire. His fair complexion with its rosy flush faded away, gone with his youthful strength, and all the beauties which lately charmed his eyes. Nothing remained of that body which Echo once had loved.”

Visual: “Metamorphosis of Narcissus” by Dali, 1937.