Cupid Crucified

In the aerial fields told of in Virgil's verse where groves of myrtle o'ershade lovers lorn, the heroines were holding frantic rites, each one of them bearing tokens of the death she died of old, and wandering in a great wood, lit by scanty light, 'mid tufted reeds, and full-blown poppies, and still meres without a ripple, and unbabbling streams, along whose banks flowers of woe hung drooping in the murky light, bearing the names of kings and boys of old: here was admiring Narcissus, Hyacinthus, son of Oebalus, golden-headed Crocus, Adonis purple-stained, and Aeas of Salamis inscribed with the word of woe. All things which, fraught with grief or with the pangs of love, prolong the memory of sorrow even when death is passed, call back again the heroines to the lives which they have lost. Here pregnant Semele, robbed of her hopes, bewails her birth-pangs amid the lightning, and in the void rends a charred cradle and brandishes the harmless fire of an imagined thunderbolt. Bewailing the unavailing gift of manhood in which she once rejoiced, Caenis grieves for her restoration to her former shape. Procris still staunches her wounds, and loves the fatal hand of Cephalus which struck her down. The maid of Sestos carries her smoking earthen lamp and casts herself headlong from her tower. And man-like Sappho, doomed to be slain by the shafts of love for Lesbian Phaon threatens to leap from cloud-wrapped Leucas. Sad Eriphyle refuses the necklace of Harmonia unhappy in her son and luckless in her husband. Here also the whole story of Minos and aery Crete glimmers like some faint-limned pictured scene. Pasiphae follows the footsteps of her snow-white bull, forlorn Ariadne carries a ball of twine in her hand, hopeless Phaedra looks back at the tablets - she has cast away. This w ears a halter, this the empty semblance of a crown, while this hesitates in shame to enter her hiding-place in the heifer wrought by Daedalus. Laodamia ' cries out on those two nights passed all too soon in unreal joys, one with her living lord, one with her dead. Elsewhere, fierce with drawn swords all, stand Thisbe and Canace and Sidonian Elissa: this carries her husband's blade, that her father's, and the third her guest's. She also wanders here, even as of old o'er Latmus' rocks when she was wont to woo the slumbering Endymion, — twy-horned Luna with her torch and starry diadem. A hundred more besides, renewing the wounds of their old passions, revive their pangs with plaints both sweet and sad.

Into the midst of these Love rashly broke scattering the darkness of that murky gloom with rustling wings. All recognized the boy, and as their thoughts leapt back, they knew him for the one transgressor against them all, though the damp clouds obscured the sheen of his golden-studded belt, his quiver, and the flame of his glowing torch. Yet they recognize him, and essay to wield their phantom strength against him, and upon their one foe, now lighted on a realm not his own where he could ply his wings but feebly under the clogging weight of night, gathering in a throng they press: him trembling and vainly seeking to escape, they dragged into the midst of the crowding band. A myrtle-tree is chosen, well known in that sad grove and hateful from the vengeance of the gods. Thereon had Proserpine, once slighted, tormented Adonis, mindful of his Venus. On the tall trunk of this Love was hung up, his hands bound behind his back, his feet tied fast; and though he weeps, they lay on him no milder punishment. Love is found guilty without charge, condemned without a judge. Each to acquit herself of blame, seeks to lay her offences to another's charge. All upbraid him, and prepare to use on him the tokens of the death they once endured: these are their choice weapons, this is vengeance sweet — each eagerly to avenge her grief with that which slew her. One holds a halter ready, another advances the unreal phantom of a sword, another displays yawning rivers, jagged rocks, the horrors of the raging sea, and a deep that has no waves. Some shake firebrands, and in frenzy menace him with torches which crackle without fire. Myrrha, with glistening tears, rends open her ripe womb and hurls at the trembling boy the drops of sparkling amber which trickle from her stem. A few pretend to pardon, but only seek to mock him and with sharp-pointed bodkins draw his dainty blood from which roses spring, or let their lamps' flame play wantonly upon his tender frame. His very mother, too, the lady Venus, as guilty of like shame, passes fearlessly through this frenzied throng. And hastening not to plead for her son entrapped, she redoubles his fear, and kindles their slackening rage with new bitterness. She lays to her son's charge her own disgrace because she endured the hidden bonds set by her husband, when taken in the act with Mars, because Hellespontine Priapus is laughed to scorn for his deformity, because Eryx is cruel, and because Hermaphroditus is of neither sex. But words were not enough: with her rosy wreath golden Venus scourged the boy who wept and feared yet harsher punishment. From his torn body the entwined roses drew forth a ruddy dew with many a stroke and, though already dyed before, took on a hue more fiery red. Thereat the fierce threats died away, and the punishment seemed too great for the offence, as like to leave the guilt on Venus' side. The heroines themselves intervene, each one preferring to blame Fate's cruelty for her death. Then the fond mother thanked them for laying by their griefs to forgive the boy and to pardon his offences.

Such visions with their night-born shapes sometimes disturb his rest, disquieting it with idle fears. When these he has endured through a great part of the night, Cupid flees forth, banishing sleep's gloom at last, flits forth to the gods above, and passes forth by the gate of ivory.