Showing posts with label Bacchus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bacchus. Show all posts

Wednesday, 11 December 2013

The Birth of Bacchus

Of all the Olympian deities at the head of the Classical Pantheon, one was something of an enigma among the rest. Dionysus, or Bacchus as the Romans knew him, had a curious pedigree. His mother was no grand spirit of the forest nor thundering deity, but an otherwise ordinary mortal woman. His father, on the other hand, was none other than Zeus the Thunderer, King of the Gods and son of the Titan Kronos. From this peculiar union came a peculiar child, brought forth in a most peculiar birth...


Jupiter and Semele
Painting by Sebastiano Ricci
Daughter of Cadmus, founder of the great city of Thebes and sower of the Dragon's Teeth, and Harmonia his wife, Semele lived a relatively ordinary life in the Boeotian countryside as a priestess of Zeus. That was, although, until the day came when after a sacrifice, she swam in the river Asopus. Far overhead, an eagle soared. Regal though the imperial bird was, its feathered form within concealed the true Emperor of the Sky. For no eagle it was in truth, but Zeus himself, come to collect his offering. But the eyes of an eagle are keen indeed, and from on high the Thunderer spotted the one from whom this offering had come. Under the gentle, glassy surface of the Asopus his baleful gaze pierced, and there his priestess he saw. Not for the first time nor the last did the Son of Kronos become ensnared by a mortal woman. Down to the earthly plain the thunderous monarch descended, and so began the affair that would spell her doom. No mortal yet had resisted the charms of Zeus, and hapless Semele would not be the first. The deed done, back to Olympus he retreated, assured of secrecy. Or so he thought.

Hera alone, Queen of the gods, ever watchful of the infidelities of her husband, scoured the earthly plain. Her feud with Semele's kin ran deep, for she "joy'd to see the race of Cadmus bleed; for still she kept Europa in her mind". A nameless spy in her league brought word to her that Semele, daughter of Cadmus was rich with the seed of a god, and carried in her womb a future god. Her paranoia and suspicions flared, and to terrible fury was she roused. "Are my reproaches of so small a force? 'Tis time I then pursue another course: It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die, if I'm indeed the mistress of the Sky". In the Classical World, the dark powers had no fury like a Hera scorned, and she concocted a vile stratagem in her vengeful mind, and vowed that Semele would die, and her slayer would be none other than Zeus himself.


In a golden cloud she descended to the Earth, coming to the gates of Semele's lodge. But no divine form did she take, but the wrinkled visage of Beroe, Semele's nurse. "In her trembling gait she totters on, and learns to tattle in the nurse's tone". Greeting oblivious Semele as only the special bond between nurse and child can, she was welcomed warmly into the daughter's house. Veiling her rage, Hera beguiled Semele with softly spoken stories and fables of old. Semele confided in her nurse the affair, and that she indeed bore the seed of Jove. If her veins of ichor thundered with anger, the goddess buried it deep within. She sowed doubt in Semele's mind, and asked how she could know that this man was indeed the Lord of Olympus. To test the veracity of her suspicion, the nurse proposed a simple test:


                  " Bid him, when next he courts the rites of your affection,
                    Descend triumphant from th' ethereal sky,
                    In all the pomp of his divinity,
                    Encompass'd round by those celestial charms... "
                         - HERA'S RUSE


The Birth of Bacchus
Painting by Nicolas Poussin
The unwary girl, snared on Hera's trap, was racked with doubt at what she said. Who was in truth the father of her as yet unborn child? She had to know, and would not rest until she knew. So when Zeus the father of gods and men came once more to the maiden's fold, Semele confronted him, though hid her ruse. She asked the Son of Kronos if she could have but one thing. Zeus replied "Whate'er you ask, may Styx confirm my voice, choose what you will, and you shall have your choice". Powerful indeed are the winds of Fate, for though mighty indeed was the ruler of Olympus, even he to Fate must bow, and to renege on a promise would be to overturn the cosmos in fire. He dare not refuse her request now. "Then", said Semele, "when next you seek my arms, may you descend in those celestial charms...". Zeus immediately felt a pang of dread, for no mortal could bear to look upon a god in his full glory, too fiery to behold to mortal eyes. He longed to defeat her call, but he had given his word and dare not refuse.


Bacchus Enthroned
Painting by Rubens
So resigned to his beloved's fate, Zeus the Thunderer rose to Olympus. "To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds his awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds; whilst all around, in terrible array, his thunders rattle, and his light'nings play". The Son of Kronos to him summoned all ethereal powers of the Heavens, the very essence of a god, the powers which wove the Universe together, the power to rend it asunder, the power to level mountains and the power to induce love and hate, the power to shatter pride and citadel alike, the power to melt the Earth and freeze the Sea, the power to give rise to live and the power to obliterate it all. To him now he called these things, there to show the true power of no mere god, but the god of gods himself. Worked up to holy fire and divine conflagration, radiating with power, "the illustrious god, descending from his height, came rushing on her in a storm of light". As the mightiest tidal wave summoned from Poseidon's depths crashes upon the lowliest shell upon the beach, the power of Zeus fell upon mortal Semele now. To feeble her frame, to weak her sight, even with eyes closed, in face of ageless omnipotence and thunder's fury, amidst all the wonders she desired Semele was consumed, her mortal form blasted asunder as Hera knew it would be. So her vile schemes bore the accursed fruit, for her rival had been undone by the adulterer himself.

Torn with grief, a tear dropped from the eye of Zeus, until through saddened sight he saw one ray of hope. A child, where once Semele stood, lonely and alive amid the destruction screaming lay. Spared his poor mother's fate, for within his veins flowed the life force of the father, Bacchus drew his first breath. Yet the boy was not yet fully formed. Nine cycles of the moon had not yet come to pass since his conception:


                 " But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb,
                   Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb:
                   and, of on ancient tales we may rely,
                   Inclos'd th' abortive infant in his thigh... "
                         - ZEUS TAKES THE INFANT BACCHUS


So the Thunderer took his son under his alas omnipotent wing. Months passed and Zeus felt a pain in his leg. Knowing the time had come, to the land of the Niseans he came, and from the thigh of Zeus was Bacchus born again, complete at last. To the care of their people the Thunderer placed the babe, where in peace and serenity he would be raised nurtured on Nisean milk. But the adventures of Bacchus had all but begun, and the rage of Hera was far from quenched...



United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

The Midas Touch

What we do in the heat of the moment can very often be the thing which defines a person. Often it is in such moments that decisions are made which can make or break a person. One who is too readily slave to the passions will crumble. One such man was Midas, whose story more than any other issues the dire warning - Be careful what you wish for...


Drunken Silenus
Painting by Peter Paul Rubens
Long ago in most ancient times, the satyrs and nymphs, servants of the wine god Bacchus, came from far and wide in the country to honour their god of the grape. Great was the party, and greater still the revelry. The dances rose, and the wine flowed, and Bacchus was appeased. When the fell rites at last saw an end, the inebriated spirits retreated to the shadows. All but one. For, after the night's indulgences, the aged Silenus, feeble with age and wine, had lost his way. The drunkard collapsed in a field, paralytic from drink, and as the Sun rose, mortal men soon spotted him. For he slept in the pastures of deepest Anatolia, where in such days there was once a powerful kingdom known as Phrygia. Ruling the great city of Pessinus was her King, Midas, son of Gordias, a poor farmer, and the goddess Cybele. The Phrygians, puzzled by their intoxicated guest, bound him in chains, and brought him before their dread sovereign. But Midas was a learned man, schooled in the ways of the Olympians, and saw the rites of the debauched god. Seeing the pedigree of his strange guest, however depraved he might be, Midas welcomed Silenus to his court. The King treated the spirit kindly, declaring a feast in honour of Bacchus. For ten days and nights festivity reigned, in merriment and in joy, and Midas honoured all good bonds between host and guest. The eleventh came, and Midas faithfully lead the catatonic spirit back to the fields, and the welcoming arms of his deity. That day the god of wine, Bacchus himself, stalked Phrygian fields, in search of his kin, father as he was to them. Hearing the exuberance of the extravaganza, the god saw Silenus seated there, pride of place before the Phrygian court, and the god was pleased. Entering the royal pastures in all his divine glory, Bacchus came to the suppliant King, and kindly was his gaze. Bacchus spoke to Midas, and offered him one wish, unbound by limit, that he might reward the kindness of the mortal King. Midas, his might racing at this mighty gift, alas that he delayed not to think! The King, seeing visions of bounty beyond dreams, burst out:


         " 'Give me' says he, nor thought he asked too much,
            That with my body whatsoe'er I touch,
            Chang'd from the nature which it held of old,
            May be as yellow gold... "
                    - THE WISH OF MIDAS

Bacchus, son of Zeus, frowned, disappointment clear upon his Olympian face. Unimpressed, yet true to his word, the god granted Midas his fatal wish, though deep inside did he think a fool no better wish could find. At Bacchus' command, all things would transform at the King's touch. Wood, metal and all other things now became as gold at Midas' touch. His pact honoured, the wine god departed those lands, spirited away to Mount Olympus, knowing the folly that had now been unleashed.


In the moment, however, Midas was ecstatic to the core. Wide was his smile, and high were his leaps of triumph, as he paraded through his realm. Too excited to delay, "down from a lowly branch a twig he drew, the twig strait glitter'd with a golden hue: he takes a stone, the stone was turn'd to gold; a clod he touched, and the crumbling mold acknowledg'd soon the great transforming pow'r...". The King cast his eye far and wide, all consuming greed taking his mind in its vice like grip. Into the meadows he went, and over the sheaves of corn his fingers did he run. His grasp emerged, ears of dazzling gold shining. To the orchards next he dashed, plucking an apple from on high. He stoops to look upon his succulent prize, but lush it is no longer, for now it seems of bright Hesperian gold, as that fruit which accursed Paris scorned of old. Returning to the palace, hewn of magnificent marble columns high. Carelessly, he layed his fatal hands upon the gate, a flash, and with shining gold the fluted pillars blaze. Feeling warm from the day's activity, the King moves to bathe in soothing waters. Into amphorae the servants take the ice cold stream, and over the King do they pour, but in vain, for at his touch the water is as Danae's shower. To see these spectacles of nature strange, fire Midas like never before. His realm would be the greatest in all the world, a realm of gold itself. What could possibly stand before him now, what could possibly be the folly of such a mighty gift? Not far beyond did the King have to look to see the answer plain.


Midas's Daughter
Illustration by Walter Crane
Overjoyed at his omnipotence, the King declared a sumptuous feast, celebrating the eternal wealth of his land, with guests invited from far and wide. Spread with glorious meats, cheeses, fruits and the bounty of the earth was the table, and the hunger stricken King sat down at once. Reaching eagerly for a nearby plate, Midas raises it to his mouth, "whose pow'rful hands the bread no sooner hold, but its whole substance is transform'd to gold". Shocked to his soul, Midas reached desperately for the delicious meat on his other side. But no! That too is now as a nugget of purest gold. Fearful now, his seizes his goblet, now gold, and drinks deeply of the grape. but, "touch'd by his lips, a gilded cordial grew; unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold, it trickles from his jaws fluid gold". Terror cold his body now did flood, as starvation now stalked Midas, and Death close behind, scythe raised to claim the foolish King. But worse was to come, for in that moment a great cry of joy rang in the halls. The daughter of the King, overjoyed to see her father returned from his travels, ran across the hall to embrace him. Before Midas could react, she threw herself into his lethal arms. With a scream of anguish, the King looked on, powerless to help, as the girl's warm flesh was now hard, cold, and gold, a statue now. All present recoiled in fear from the King, fearful of his 'gift'.


Midas pleas to Bacchus
Painting by Nicolas Poussin
To his knees did Midas fall, wracked with grief and guilt raw. "Starving in all his various plenty lies, sick of his wish, he now detests the pow'r, for which he ask'd so earnestly before". The pain of loss, mingled with the agony of famine struck the King now, tortured too by dreadful thirst. Tearing from the now gilded halls of his golden court, Midas fled into the hills, tears shining as the sun. After a long time of wretched grief, he casts his eyes about. It is the very same pasture whence the god had granted this cursed gift. Throwing his arms to Heaven, the King threw himself upon the mercy of Bacchus. " 'Oh father Bacchus, I have sinn'd', he cried, 'and foolishly thy gracious gift apply'd! Thy pity now, repenting, I implore; Oh! may I feel the golden plague no more". Pity it was that moved Bacchus to his salvation, as the wine god saw his suffering. The voice of the god rang in Midas' ears, as the gift was swept aside and cruel metamorphosis stayed its hand. Bidding the weary King to the river near, Bacchus released all things from their golden gaol. Into the stream Midas plunged, and the gift of gold washed away with the rapids. The evil stain was washed away, though ever after were the riverbeds of Asia golden in their hue. From its curing fount all things were restored, and the King's daughter was statue no more, but adoring daughter as before. Too happy to speak, Midas thanked Bacchus in his heart, and a better man Midas ever after was, though never ceasing was his hatred of wealth...


United Kingdom

The Metamorphoses
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A Roman epic poem, telling many of the myths of the Classical world)

United States

The Metamorphoses

Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A Roman epic poem, telling many of the myths of the Classical world)