GROUP VI.

THE BLENDING OF HISTORY AND
MYTHOLOGY.

THE story of Ariadne, through whose cleverness Theseus, the semi-mythical founder of Athens, threaded the Labyrinth and slew the Minotaur, has been written in prose repeatedly; no one has told it more acceptably than Hawthorne in "Tanglewood Tales." But the end of this story is not satisfactory so far as the heroine is oncerned, for the faithless Theseus, when he and the 1est of his companions are ready to sail for home, basely deserts Ariadne, leaving her asleep on the island of Naxos.

The sequel to this tale is found in the writings of both Greek and Latin authors.

We select the following paraphrases on some of their poems.

HOW BACCHUS FINDS ARIADNE SLEEPING. [NONNUS.]

MRS. BROWNING.

When Bacchus first beheld the desolate

And sleeping Ariadne, wonder straight

Was mixed with love in his great golden eyes;

He turned to his Bacchantes in surprise,

And said with guarded voice: "Hush! strike no more
Your brazen cymbals; keep those voices still
Of voice and pipe; and since ye stand before
Queen Cypris, let her slumber as she will!
And yet the cestus is not here in proof.

A Grace, perhaps, whom sleep has stolen aloof:
In which case, as the morning shines in view,
Wake this Aglaia! yet in Naxos, who

Would veil a Grace so? Hush! And if that she
Were Hebe, which of all the gods can be

The pourer-out of wine? or if we think

She's like the shining moon by ocean's brink,
The guide of herds, - why, could she sleep without
Endymion's breath upon her cheek? or if I doubt
Of silver-footed Thetis, used to tread

These shores, —even she (in reverence be it said)
Has no such rosy beauty to dress deep
With the blue waves. The Loxian goddess might
Repose so from her hunting-toil aright
Beside the sea, since toil gives birth to sleep,

But who would find her with her tunic loose

Thus? Stand off, Thracian! stand off! Do not leap,

Not this way! Leave that piping, since I choose,

O dearest Pan, and let Athené rest!

And yet if she be Pallas, - truly guessed,

Her lance is - where? her helm and ægis—where?"
As Bacchus closed, the miserable Fair

Awoke at last, sprang upward from the sands,
And gazing wild on that wild throng that stands
Around, around her and no Theseus there!
Her voice went moaning over shore and sea,
Beside the halcyon's cry; she called her love;
She named her hero, and raged maddeningly
Against the brine of waters; and above,

Sought the ship's track, and cursed the hours she slept,
And still the chiefest execration swept

Against Queen Paphia, mother of the ocean;

And cursed and prayed by times in her emotion
The winds all round.

Her grief did make her glorious; her despair
Adorned her with its weight. Poor wailing child!
She looked like Venus when the goddess smiled
At liberty of godship, debonair;

Poor Ariadne! and her eyelids fair

Hid looks beneath them lent her by Persuasion

And every Grace, with tears of Love's own passion.

She wept long; then she spoke : — "Sweet sleep did come While sweetest Theseus went. O, glad and dumb

I wish he had left me still! for in my sleep

I saw his Athens, and did gladly keep

My new bride-state within my Theseus' hall ;
And heard the pomp of Hymen, and the call
Of 'Ariadne, Ariadne,' sung

In choral joy; and there, with joy, I hung
Spring-blossoms round love's altar! ay, and wore
A wreath myself; and felt him evermore,
Oh, evermore beside me, with his mighty
Grave head bowed down in prayer to Aphrodite !
Why, what a sweet, sweet dream! He went with it
And left me here unwedded where I sit !

Persuasion help me! The dark night did make me
A brideship the fair morning takes away;

My Love had left me when the Hour did wake me;
And while I dreamed of marriage, as I say,
And blest it well, my blessed Theseus left me;
And thus the sleep I loved so has bereft me.
Speak to me, rocks, and tell my grief to-day,
Who stole my
love of Athens?"

HOW BACCHUS COMFORTS ARIADNE.

MRS. BROWNING.

Then Bacchus' subtle speech her sorrow crossed : —

66

O maiden, dost thou mourn for having lost

The false Athenian heart? and dost thou still
Take thought of Theseus, when thou mayst at will
Have Bacchus for a husband? Bacchus bright!
A god in place of mortal! Yes, and though
The mortal youth be charming in thy sight,
That man of Athens cannot strive below,
In beauty and valor, with my deity!
Thou'lt tell me of the labyrinthine dweller,
The fierce man-bull he slew: I pray thee, be,
Fair Ariadne, the true deed's true teller,
And mention thy clue's help! because, forsooth,
Thine armed Athenian hero had not found
A power to fight on that prodigious ground,
Unless a lady in her rosy youth

Had lingered near him; not to speak the truth
Too definitely out till names be known

Like Paphia's- Love's and Ariadne's own.

Thou wilt not say that Athens can compare
With Æther, nor that Minos rules like Zeus,
Nor yet that Gnossus has such golden air

As high Olympus. Ha! for noble use
We came to Naxos! Love has well intended

To change thy bridegroom! Happy thou; defended
From entering Theseus' earthly hall,

That thou mayst hear the laughters rise and fall

Instead, where Bacchus rules! Or wilt thou choose

A still-surpassing glory?-take it all,

A heavenly house, Kronion's self for kin,

A place where Cassiopea sits within

Inferior light, for all her daughter's sake

Since Perseus, even amid the stars, must take
Andromeda in chains ætherial !

But I will wreathe thee, sweet, an astral crown,
And as my queen and spouse thou shalt be known
Mine, the crown-lover's!" Thus, at length, he proved
His comfort on her; and the maid was moved;
And casting Theseus' memory down the brine,
She straight received the troth of her divine
Fair Bacchus; Love stood by to close the rite:
The marriage-chorus struck up clear and light,
Flowers sprouted fast about the chamber green,
And with spring-garlands on their heads, I ween,
The Orchomenian dancers came along,
And danced their rounds in Naxos to the song.
A Hamadryad sang a nuptial dit

Right shrilly; and a Naiad sate beside
A fountain, with her bare foot shelving it,
And hymned of Ariadne, beauteous bride,
Whom thus the god of grapes had deified.
Ortygia sang out, louder than her wont,
An ode which Phoebus gave her to be tried,
And leapt in chorus, with her steadfast front,
While prophet Love, the stars have called a brother,
Burnt in his crown, and twined in one another
His love-flower with the purple roses, given

In type of that new crown assigned in heaven.

NOTE. For allusions to Ariadne's crown, see Longfellow's poem, "The Hanging of the Crane."

THE SLEEPING ARIADNE.

THIS statue is in the Museum of Sculpture in the Vatican and it has a world-wide fame. It is said to be