Bulfinch's Mythology: The Age of Fable

Ch. 7: Cadmus and the Myrmidons

Jupiter, under the disguise of a bull, had carried away to the

island of Crete, Europa, the daughter of Agenor king of

Phoenicia. Agenor commanded his son Cadmus to go in search of

his sister, and not to return without her. Cadmus went and

sought long and far for his sister, but could not find her, and

not daring to return unsuccessful, consulted the oracle of Apollo

to know what country he should settle in. The oracle informed

him that he should find a cow in the field, and should follow her

wherever she might wander, and where she stopped, should build a

city and call it Thebes. Cadmus had hardly left the Castalian

cave, from which the oracle was delivered, when he saw a young

cow slowly walking before him. He followed her close, offering

at the same time his prayers to Phoebus. The cow went on till

she passed the shallow channel of Cephisus and came out into the

plain of Panope. There she stood still, and raising her broad

forehead to the sky, filled the air with her lowings. Cadmus

gave thanks, and stooping down kissed the foreign soil, then

lifting his eyes, greeted the surrounding mountains. Wishing to

offer a sacrifice to Jupiter, he sent his servants to seek pure

water for a libation. Nearby there stood an ancient grove which

had never been profaned by the axe, in the midst of which was a

cave, thick covered with the growth of bushes, its roof forming a

low arch, from beneath which burst forth a fountain of purest

water. In the cave lurked a horrid serpent with a crested head

and scales glittering like gold. His eyes shone like fire, his

body was swollen with venom, he vibrated a triple tongue, and

showed a triple row of teeth. No sooner had the Tyrians (Cadmus

and his companions came from Tyre, the chief city of Phoenicia)

dipped their pitchers in the fountain, and the ingushing waters

made a sound, than the glittering serpent raised his head out of

the cave and uttered a fearful hiss. The vessels fell from their

hands, the blood left their cheeks, they trembled in every limb.

The serpent, twisting his scaly body in a huge coil, raised his

head so as to overtop the tallest trees, and while the Tyrians

from terror could neither fight nor fly, slew some with his

fangs, others in his folds, and others with his poisonous breath.

Cadmus having waited for the return of his men till midday, went

in search of them. His covering was a lion's hide, and besides

his javelin he carried in his hand a lance, and in his breast a

bold heart, a surer reliance than either. When he entered the

wood and saw the lifeless bodies of his men, and the monster with

his bloody jaws, he exclaimed, "O faithful friends, I will avenge

you, or share your death." So saying he lifted a huge stone and

threw it with all his force at the serpent. Such a block would

have shaken the wall of a fortress, but it made no impression on

the monster. Cadmus next threw his javelin, which met with

better success, for it penetrated the serpent's scales, and

pierced through to his entrails. Fierce with pain the monster

turned back his head to view the wound, and attempted to draw out

the weapon with his mouth, but broke it off, leaving the iron

point rankling in his flesh. His neck swelled with rage, bloody

foam covered his jaws, and the breath of his nostrils poisoned

the air around. Now he twisted himself into a circle, then

stretched himself out on the ground like the trunk of a fallen

tree. As he moved onward, Cadmus retreated before him, holding

his spear opposite to the monster's opened jaws. The serpent

snapped at the weapon and attempted to bite its iron point. At

last Cadmus, watching his chance, thrust the spear at a moment

when the animal's thrown back came against the trunk of a tree,

and so succeeded in pinning him to its side. His weight bent the

tree as he struggled in the agonies of death.

While Cadmus stood over his conquered foe, contemplating its vast

size, a voice was heard (from whence he knew not, but he heard it

distinctly), commanding him to take the dragon's teeth and sow

them in the earth. He obeyed. He made a furrow in the ground,

and planted the teeth, destined to produce a crop of men. Scarce

had he done so when the clods began to move, and the points of

spears to appear above the surface. Next helmets, with their

nodding plumes, came up, and next, the shoulders and breasts and

limbs of men with weapons, and in time a harvest of armed

warriors. Cadmus, alarmed, prepared to encounter a new enemy,

but one of them said to him, "Meddle not with our civil war."

With that he who had spoken smote one of his earth-born brothers

with a sword, and he himself fell pierced with an arrow from

another. The latter fell victim to a fourth, and in like manner

the whole crowd dealt with each other till all fell slain with

mutual wounds except five survivors. One of these cast away his

weapons and said, "Brothers, let us live in peace!" These five

joined with Cadmus in building his city, to which they gave the

name of Thebes.

Cadmus obtained in marriage Harmonia, the daughter of Venus. The

gods left Olympus to honor the occasion with their presence, and

Vulcan presented the bride with a necklace of surpassing

brilliancy, his own workmanship. But a fatality hung over the

family of Cadmus in consequence of his killing the serpent sacred

to Mars. Semele and Ino, his daughters, and Actaeon and

Pentheius, his grandchildren, all perished unhappily; and Cadmus

and Harmonia quitted Thebes, now grown odious to them, and

emigrated to the country of the Enchelians, who received them

with honor and made Cadmus their king. But the misfortunes of

their children still weighed upon their minds; and one day Cadmus

exclaimed, "If a serpent's life is so dear to the gods, I would I

were myself a serpent." No sooner had he uttered the words than

he began to change his form. Harmonia beheld it, and prayed to

the gods to let her share his fate. Both became serpents. They

lie in the woods, but mindful of their origin they neither avoid

the presence of man nor do they ever injure any one.

There is a tradition that Cadmus introduced into Greece the

letters of the alphabet which were invented by the Phoenicians.

This is alluded to by Byron, where, addressing the modern Greeks,

he says:

"You have the letters Cadmus gave,

Think you he meant them for a slave?"

Milton, describing the serpent which tempted Eve, is reminded of

the serpents of the classical stories, and says,

"-----pleasing was his shape,

And lovely; never since of serpent kind

Lovelier; not those that in Illyria changed

Hermione and Cadmus, nor the god

in Epidaurus."

The "god in Epidaurus" was AEsculapius. Serpents were held

sacred to him.

THE MYRMIDONS

The Myrmidons were the soldiers of Achilles in the Trojan war.

>From them all zealous and unscrupulous followers of a political

chief are called by that name down to this day. But the origin

of the Myrmidons would not give one the idea of a fierce and

bloody race, but rather of a laborious and peaceful one.

Cephalus, king of Athens, arrived in the island of AEgina to seek

assistance of his old friend and ally AEacus, the king, in his

wars with Minos, king of Crete. Cephalus was kindly received,

and the desired assistance readily promised. "I have people

enough," said AEacus, "to protect myself and spare you such a

force as you need." "I rejoice to see it," replied Cephalus,

"and my wonder has been raised, I confess, to find such a host of

youths as I see around me, all apparently of about the same age.

Yet there are many individuals whom I previously knew that I look

for now in vain. What has become of them?" AEacus groaned, and

replied with a voice of sadness, "I have been intending to tell

you, and will now do so without more delay, that you may see how

from the saddest beginning a happy result sometimes flows. Those

whom you formerly knew are now dust and ashes! A plague sent by

angry Juno devastated the land. She hated it because it bore the

name of one of her husband's female favorites. While the disease

appeared to spring from natural causes we resisted it as we best

might by natural remedies; but it soon appeared that the

pestilence was too powerful for our efforts, and we yielded. At

the beginning the sky seemed to settle down upon the earth, and

thick clouds shut in the heated air. For four months together a

deadly south wind prevailed. The disorder affected the wells and

springs; thousands of snakes crept over the land and shed their

poison in the fountains. The force of the disease was first

spent on the lower animals; dogs, cattle, sheep, and birds. The

luckless ploughman wondered to see his oxen fall in the midst of

their work, and lie helpless in the unfinished furrow. The wool

fell from the bleating sheep, and their bodies pined away. The

horse, once foremost in the race, contested the palm no more, but

groaned at his stall, and died an inglorious death. The wild

boar forgot his rage, the stag his swiftness, the bears no longer

attacked the herds. Everything languished; dead bodies lay in

the roads, the fields, and the woods; the air was poisoned by

them. I tell you what is hardly credible, but neither dogs nor

birds would touch them, nor starving wolves. Their decay spread

the infection. Next the disease attacked the country people, and

then the dwellers in the city. At first the cheek was flushed,

and the breath drawn with difficulty. The tongue grew rough and

swelled, and the dry mouth stood open with its veins enlarged and

gasped for the air. Men could not bear the heat of their clothes

or their beds, but preferred to lie on the bare ground; and the

ground did not cool them, but on the contrary, they heated the

spot where they lay. Nor could the physicians help, for the

disease attacked them also, and the contact of the sick gave them

infection, so that the most faithful were the first victims. At

last all hope of relief vanished and men learned to look upon

death as the only deliverer from disease. Then they gave way to

every inclination, and cared not to ask what was expedient, for

nothing was expedient. All restraint laid aside, they crowded

around the wells and fountains, and drank till they died, without

quenching thirst. Many had not strength to get away from the

water, but died in the midst of the stream, and others would

drink of it notwithstanding. Such was their weariness of their

sick-beds that some would creep forth, and if not strong enough

to stand, would die on the ground. They seemed to hate their

friends, and got away from their homes, as if, not knowing the

cause of their sickness, they charged it on the place of their

abode. Some were seen tottering along the road, as long as they

could stand, while others sank on the earth, and turned their

dying eyes around to take a last look, then closed them in death.

"What heart had I left me, during all this, or what ought I to

have had, except to hate life and wish to be with my dead

subjects? On all sides lay my people strewn like over-ripened

apples beneath the tree, or acorns under the storm-shaken oak.

You see yonder s temple on the height. It is sacred to Jupiter.

Oh, how many offered prayers there; husbands for wives, fathers

for sons, and died in the very act of supplication! How often,

while the priest made ready for sacrifice, the victim fell,

struck down by disease without waiting for the blow. At length

all reverence for sacred things was lost. Bodies were thrown out

unburied, wood was wanting for funeral piles, men fought with one

another for the possession of them. Finally there were none left

to mourn; sons and husbands, old men and youths, perished alike

unlamented.

"Standing before the altar I raised my eyes to heaven. 'Oh,

Jupiter,' I said, 'if thou art indeed my father, and art not

ashamed of thy offspring, give me back my people, or take me also

away!' At these words a clap of thunder was heard. 'I accept

the omen,' I cried; 'oh, may it be a sign of a favorable

disposition towards me!' By chance there grew by the place where

I stood an oak with wide-spreading branches, sacred to Jupiter.

I observed a troop of ants busy with their labor, carrying minute

grains in their mouths and following one another in a line up the

trunk of the tree. Observing their numbers with admiration, I

said, 'Give me, oh father, citizens as numerous as these, and

replenish my empty city.' The tree shook and gave a rustling

sound with its branches though no wind agitated them. I trembled

in every limb, yet I kissed the earth and the tree. I would not

confess to myself that I hoped, yet I did hope. Night came on

and sleep took possession of my frame oppressed with cares. The

tree stood before me in my dreams, with its numerous branches all

covered with living, moving creatures. It seemed to shake its

limbs and throw down over the ground a multitude of those

industrious grain-gathering animals, which appeared to gain in

size, and grow larger, and by-and-by to stand erect, lay aside

their superfluous legs and their black color, and finally to

assume the human form. Then I awoke, and my first impulse was to

chide the gods who had robbed me of a sweet vision and given me

no reality in its place. Being still in the temple my attention

was caught by the sound of many voices without; a sound of late

unusual to my ears. While I began to think I was yet dreaming,

Telamon, my son, throwing open the temple-gates, exclaimed,

'Father, approach, and behold things surpassing even your hopes!'

I went forth; I saw a multitude of men, such as I had seen in my

dream, and they were passing in procession in the same manner.

While I gazed with wonder and delight they approached, and

kneeling, hailed me as their king. I paid my vows to Jove, and

proceeded to allot the vacant city to the new-born race, and to

parcel out the fields among them. I called them Myrmidons from

the ant (myrmex), from which they sprang. You have seen these

persons; their dispositions resemble those which they had in

their former shape. They are a diligent and industrious race,

eager to gain, and tenacious of their gains. Among them you may

recruit your forces. They will follow you to the war, young in

years and bold in heart."

This description of the plague is copied by Ovid from the account

which Thucydides, the Greek historian, gives of the plague of

Athens. The historian drew from life, and all the poets and

writers of fiction since his day, when they have had occasion to

describe a similar scene, have borrowed their details from him.