Books: Proserpine and Midas
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Mary Shelley >> Proserpine and Midas
But--and this is sufficient for our purpose--every one knows what the
Elgin Marbles have done for Keats and Shelley; and what inspirations
were derived from their pilgrimages in classic lands by all the poets
of this and the following generation, from Byron to Landor. Such
experiences could not but react on the common conception of mythology.
A knowledge of the great classical sculpture of Greece could not but
invest with a new dignity and chastity the notions which so far had
been nurtured on the Venus de' Medici and the Belvedere Apollo--even
Shelley lived and possibly died under their spell. And 'returning to
the nature which had inspired the ancient myths', the Romantic poets
must have felt with a keener sense 'their exquisite vitality'.
[Footnote: J. A, Symonds, _Studies of the Greek Poets_, ii, p. 258.]
The whole tenor of English Romanticism may be said to have been
affected thereby.
For English Romanticism--and this is one of its most distinctive
merits--had no exclusiveness about it. It was too spontaneous, one
would almost say, too unconscious, ever to be clannish. It grew,
untrammelled by codes, uncrystallized into formulas, a living thing
always, not a subject-matter for grandiloquent manifestoes and more or
less dignified squabbles. It could therefore absorb and turn to
account elements which seemed antagonistic to it in the more
sophisticated forms it assumed in other literatures. Thus, whilst
French Romanticism--in spite of what it may or may not have owed to
Chenier--became often distinctly, deliberately, wilfully anti-
classical, whilst for example [Footnote: As pointed out by Brunetiere,
_Evolution de la Poesie lyrique_, ii, p. 147.] Victor Hugo in that
all-comprehending _Legende des Siecles_ could find room for the Hegira
and for Zim-Zizimi, but did not consecrate a single line to the
departed glories of mythical Greece, the Romantic poets of England may
claim to have restored in freshness and purity the religion of
antiquity. Indeed their voice was so convincing that even the great
Christian chorus that broke out afresh in the Victorian era could not
entirely drown it, and Elizabeth Barrett had an apologetic way of
dismissing 'the dead Pan', and all the 'vain false gods of Hellas',
with an acknowledgement of
your beauty which confesses
Some chief Beauty conquering you.
This may be taken to have been the average attitude, in the forties,
towards classical mythology. That twenty years before, at least in the
Shelley circle, it was far less grudging, we now have definite proof.
Not only was Shelley prepared to admit, with the liberal opinion of
the time, that ancient mythology 'was a system of nature concealed
under the veil of allegory', a system in which 'a thousand fanciful
fables contained a secret and mystic meaning': [Footnote: _Edinb.
Rev._, July 1808.] he was prepared to go a considerable step farther,
and claim that there was no essential difference between ancient
mythology and the theology of the Christians, that both were
interpretations, in more or less figurative language, of the great
mysteries of being, and indeed that the earlier interpretation,
precisely because it was more frankly figurative and poetical than the
later one, was better fitted to stimulate and to allay the sense of
wonder which ought to accompany a reverent and high-souled man
throughout his life-career.
In the earlier phase of Shelley's thought, this identification of the
ancient and the modern faiths was derogatory to both. The letter which
he had written in 1812 for the edification of Lord Ellenborough
revelled in the contemplation of a time 'when the Christian religion
shall have faded from the earth, when its memory like that of
Polytheism now shall remain, but remain only as the subject of
ridicule and wonder'. But as time went on, Shelley's views became less
purely negative. Instead of ruling the adversaries back to back out of
court, he bethought himself of venturing a plea in favour of the older
and weaker one. It may have been in 1817 that he contemplated an
'Essay in favour of polytheism'.[Footnote: Cf. our _Shelley's Prose in
the Bodleian MSS_., 1910, p. 124.] He was then living on the fringe of
a charmed circle of amateur and adventurous Hellenists who could have
furthered the scheme. His great friend, Thomas Love Peacock, 'Greeky
Peaky', was a personal acquaintance of Thomas Taylor 'the Platonist',
alias 'Pagan Taylor'. And Taylor's translations and commentaries of
Plato had been favourites of Shelley in his college days. Something at
least of Taylor's queer mixture of flaming enthusiasm and tortuous
ingenuity may be said to appear in the unexpected document we have now
to examine.
It is a little draft of an Essay, which occurs, in Mrs. Shelley's
handwriting, as an insertion in her Journal for the Italian period.
The fragment--for it is no more--must be quoted in full. [Footnote:
From the 'Boscombe' MSS. Unpublished.]
The necessity of a Belief in the
Heathen Mythology
to a Christian
If two facts are related not contradictory of equal probability & with
equal evidence, if we believe one we must believe the other.
1st. There is as good proof of the Heathen Mythology as of the
Christian Religion.
2ly. that they [do] not contradict one another.
Con[clusion]. If a man believes in one he must believe in both.
Examination of the proofs of the Xtian religion--the Bible & its
authors. The twelve stones that existed in the time of the writer
prove the miraculous passage of the river Jordan. [Footnote: Josh. iv.
8.--These notes are _not_ Shelley's.] The immoveability of the Island
of Delos proves the accouchement of Latona [Footnote: _Theogn_. 5
foll.; Homer's _Hymn to Apollo_, i. 25.]--the Bible of the Greek
religion consists in Homer, Hesiod & the Fragments of Orpheus &c.--All
that came afterwards to be considered apocryphal--Ovid = Josephus--of
each of these writers we may believe just what we cho[o]se.
To seek in these Poets for the creed & proofs of mythology which are
as follows--Examination of these--1st with regard to proof--2 in
contradiction or conformity to the Bible--various apparitions of God
in that Book [--] Jupiter considered by himself--his attributes--
disposition [--] acts--whether as God revealed himself as the Almighty
to the Patriarchs & as Jehovah to the Jews he did not reveal himself
as Jupiter to the Greeks--the possibility of various revelations--that
he revealed himself to Cyrus. [Footnote: Probably Xenophon, _Cyrop_.
VIII. vii. 2.]
The inferior deities--the sons of God & the Angels--the difficulty of
Jupiter's children explained away--the imagination of the poets--of
the prophets--whether the circumstance of the sons of God living with
women [Footnote: Gen. vi.] being related in one sentence makes it more
probable than the details of Greek--Various messages of the Angels--of
the deities--Abraham, Lot or Tobit. Raphael [--]Mercury to Priam
[Footnote: _Iliad_, xxiv.]--Calypso & Ulysses--the angel wd then play
the better part of the two whereas he now plays the worse. The ass of
Balaam--Oracles--Prophets. The revelation of God as Jupiter to the
Greeks---a more successful revelation than that as Jehovah to the
Jews--Power, wisdom, beauty, & obedience of the Greeks--greater & of
longer continuance--than those of the Jews. Jehovah's promises worse
kept than Jupiter's--the Jews or Prophets had not a more consistent or
decided notion concerning after life & the Judgements of God than the
Greeks [--] Angels disappear at one time in the Bible & afterwards
appear again. The revelation to the Greeks more complete than to the
Jews--prophesies of Christ by the heathens more incontrovertible than
those of the Jews. The coming of X. a confirmation of both religions.
The cessation of oracles a proof of this. The Xtians better off than
any but the Jews as blind as the Heathens--Much more conformable to an
idea of [the] goodness of God that he should have revealed himself to
the Greeks than that he left them in ignorance. Vergil & Ovid not
truth of the heathen Mythology, but the interpretation of a heathen--
as Milton's Paradise Lost is the interpretation of a Christian
religion of the Bible. The interpretation of the mythology of Vergil &
the interpretation of the Bible by Milton compared--whether one is
more inconsistent than the other--In what they are contradictory.
Prometheus desmotes quoted by Paul [Footnote: Shelley may refer to the
proverbial phrase 'to kick against the pricks' (Acts xxvi. 14), which,
however, is found in Pindar and Euripides as well as in Aeschylus
(_Prom._ 323).] [--] all religion false except that which is revealed--
revelation depends upon a certain degree of civilization--writing
necessary--no oral tradition to be a part of faith--the worship of the
Sun no revelation--Having lost the books [of] the Egyptians we have no
knowledge of their peculiar revelations. If the revelation of God to
the Jews on Mt Sinai had been more peculiar & impressive than some of
those to the Greeks they wd not immediately after have worshiped a
calf--A latitude in revelation--How to judge of prophets--the proof
[of] the Jewish Prophets being prophets.
The only public revelation that Jehovah ever made of himself was on Mt
Sinai--Every other depended upon the testimony of a very few & usually
of a single individual--We will first therefore consider the
revelation of Mount Sinai. Taking the fact plainly it happened thus.
The Jews were told by a man whom they believed to have supernatural
powers that they were to prepare for that God wd reveal himself in
three days on the mountain at the sound of a trumpet. On the 3rd day
there was a cloud & lightning on the mountain & the voice of a trumpet
extremely loud. The people were ordered to stand round the foot of the
mountain & not on pain of death to infringe upon the bounds--The man
in whom they confided went up the mountain & came down again bringing
them word
The draft unfortunately leaves off here, and we are unable to know for
certain whether this Shelleyan paradox, greatly daring, meant to
minimize the importance of the 'only public revelation' granted to the
chosen people. But we have enough to understand the general trend of
the argument. It did not actually intend to sap the foundations of
Scriptural authority. But it was bold enough to risk a little shaking
in order to prove that the Sacred Books of the Greeks and Romans did
not, after all, present us with a much more rickety structure. This
was a task of conciliation rather than destruction. And yet even this
conservative view of the Shelleys' exegesis cannot--and will not--
detract from the value of the above document. Surely, this curious
theory of the equal 'inspiration' of Polytheism and the Jewish or
Christian religions, whether it was invented or simply espoused by
Mrs. Shelley, evinces in her--for the time being at least--a very
considerable share of that adventurous if somewhat uncritical alacrity
of mind which carried the poet through so many religious and political
problems. It certainly vindicates her, more completely perhaps than
anything hitherto published, against the strictures of those who knew
her chiefly or exclusively in later years, and could speak of her as a
'most conventional slave', who 'even affected the pious dodge', and
'was not a suitable companion for the poet'. [Footnote: Trelawny's
letter, 3 April 1870; in Mr. H. Buxton Forman's edition, 1910, p.
229.] Mrs. Shelley--at twenty-three years of age--had not yet run the
full 'career of her humour'; and her enthusiasm for classical
mythology may well have, later on, gone the way of her admiration for
Spinoza, whom she read with Shelley that winter (1820-1), as Medwin
notes, [Footnote: I. e. ed. H. Buxton Forman, p. 253.] and 'whose
arguments she then thought irrefutable--_tempora mutantur!_'
However that may be, the two little mythological dramas on
_Proserpine_ and _Midas_ assume, in the light of that enthusiasm, a
special interest. They stand--or fall--both as a literary, and to a
certain extent as an intellectual effort. They are more than an
attitude, and not much less than an avowal. Not only do they claim our
attention as the single poetical work of any length which seems to
have been undertaken by Mrs. Shelley; they are a unique and touching
monument of that intimate co-operation which at times, especially in
the early years in Italy, could make the union of 'the May' and 'the
Elf' almost unreservedly delightful. It would undoubtedly be fatuous
exaggeration to ascribe a very high place in literature to these
little Ovidian fancies of Mrs. Shelley. The scenes, after all, are
little better than adaptations--fairly close adaptations--of the Latin
poet's well-known tales.
Even _Proserpine_, though clearly the more successful of the two, both
more strongly knit as drama, and less uneven in style and
versification, cannot for a moment compare with the far more original
interpretations of Tennyson, Swinburne, or Meredith. [Footnote:
_Demeter and Persephone_, 1889; _The Garden of Proserpine_, 1866; _The
Appeasement of Demeter_, 1888.] But it is hardly fair to draw in the
great names of the latter part of the century. The parallel would be
more illuminating--and the final award passed on Mrs. Shelley's
attempt more favourable--if we were to think of a contemporary
production like 'Barry Cornwall's' _Rape of Proserpine_, which, being
published in 1820, it is just possible that the Shelleys should have
known. B. W. Procter's poem is also a dramatic 'scene', written 'in
imitation of the mode originated by the Greek Tragic Writers'. In fact
those hallowed models seem to have left far fewer traces in Barry
Cornwall's verse than the Alexandrian--or pseudo-Alexandrian--
tradition of meretricious graces and coquettish fancies, which the
eighteenth century had already run to death. [Footnote: To adduce an
example--in what is probably not an easily accessible book to-day:
Proserpine, distributing her flowers, thus addresses one of her
nymphs:
For this lily,
Where can it hang but at Cyane's breast!
And yet 'twill wither on so white a bed,
If flowers have sense for envy.]
And, more damnable still, the poetical essence of the legend, the
identification of Proserpine's twofold existence with the grand
alternation of nature's seasons, has been entirely neglected by the
author. Surely his work, though published, is quite as deservedly
obscure as Mrs. Shelley's derelict manuscript. _Midas_ has the
privilege, if it be one, of not challenging any obvious comparison.
The subject, since Lyly's and Dryden's days, has hardly attracted the
attention of the poets. It was so eminently fit for the lighter kinds
of presentation that the agile bibliographer who aimed at completeness
would have to go through a fairly long list of masques, [Footnote:
There is one by poor Christopher Smart.] comic operas, or 'burlettas',
all dealing with the ludicrous misfortunes of the Phrygian king. But
an examination of these would be sheer pedantry in this place. Here
again Mrs. Shelley has stuck to her Latin source as closely as she
could. [Footnote: Perhaps her somewhat wearying second act, on the
effects of the gold-transmuting gift, would have been shorter, if Ovid
(_Metam._ xi. 108-30) had not himself gone into such details on the
subject.] She has made a gallant attempt to connect the two stories
with which Midas has ever since Ovid's days been associated, and a
distinct--indeed a too perceptible--effort to press out a moral
meaning in this, as she had easily extricated a cosmological meaning
in the other tale.
Perhaps we have said too much to introduce these two little
unpretending poetical dramas. They might indeed have been allowed to
speak for themselves. A new frame often makes a new face; and some of
the best known and most exquisite of Shelley's lyrics, when restored
to the surroundings for which the poet intended them, needed no other
set-off to appeal to the reader with a fresh charm of quiet classical
grace and beauty. But the charm will operate all the more unfailingly,
if we remember that this clear classical mood was by no means such a
common element in the literary atmosphere of the times--not even a
permanent element in the authors' lives. We have here none of the
feverish ecstasy that lifts _Prometheus_ and _Hellas_ far above the
ordinary range of philosophical or political poetry. But Shelley's
encouragement, probably his guidance and supervision, have raised his
wife's inspiration to a place considerably higher than that of
_Frankenstein_ or _Valperga_. With all their faults these pages
reflect some of that irradiation which Shelley cast around his own
life--the irradiation of a dream beauteous and generous, beauteous in
its theology (or its substitute for theology) and generous even in its
satire of human weaknesses.
MYTHOLOGICAL DRAMAS.
Unless otherwise pointed out--by brackets, or in the notes--the text,
spelling, and punctuation of the MS. have been strictly adhered to.
PROSERPINE.
A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CERES.
PROSERPINE.
INO, EUNOE. Nymphs attendant upon Proserpine.
IRIS.
ARETHUSA, Naiad of a Spring.
Shades from Hell, among which Ascalaphus.
Scene; the plain of Enna, in Sicily.
PROSERPINE.
ACT I.
_Scene; a beautiful plain, shadowed on one side by an
overhanging rock, on the other a chesnut wood. Etna
at a distance._
_Enter Ceres, Proserpine, Ino and Eunoe._
_Pros._ Dear Mother, leave me not! I love to rest
Under the shadow of that hanging cave
And listen to your tales. Your Proserpine
Entreats you stay; sit on this shady bank,
And as I twine a wreathe tell once again
The combat of the Titans and the Gods;
Or how the Python fell beneath the dart
Of dread Apollo; or of Daphne's change,--
That coyest Grecian maid, whose pointed leaves
Now shade her lover's brow. And I the while
Gathering the starry flowers of this fair plain
Will weave a chaplet, Mother, for thy hair.
But without thee, the plain I think is vacant,
Its [Footnote: There is an apostrophe _on_ the s.]
blossoms fade,--its tall fresh grasses droop,
Nodding their heads like dull things half asleep;--
Go not, dear Mother, from your Proserpine.
_Cer._ My lovely child, it is high Jove's command:-- [2]
The golden self-moved seats surround his throne,
The nectar is poured out by Ganymede,
And the ambrosia fills the golden baskets;
They drink, for Bacchus is already there,
But none will eat till I dispense the food.
I must away--dear Proserpine, farewel!--
Eunoe can tell thee how the giants fell;
Or dark-eyed Ino sing the saddest change
Of Syrinx or of Daphne, or the doom
Of impious Prometheus, and the boy
Of fair Pandora, Mother of mankind.
This only charge I leave thee and thy nymphs,--
Depart not from each other; be thou circled
By that fair guard, and then no earth-born Power
Would tempt my wrath, and steal thee from their sight[.]
But wandering alone, by feint or force,
You might be lost, and I might never know
Thy hapless fate. Farewel, sweet daughter mine,
Remember my commands.
_Pros._ --Mother, farewel!
Climb the bright sky with rapid wings; and swift
As a beam shot from great Apollo's bow
Rebounds from the calm mirror of the sea
Back to his quiver in the Sun, do thou
Return again to thy loved Proserpine.
(_Exit Ceres._)
And now, dear Nymphs, while the hot sun is high [3]
Darting his influence right upon the plain,
Let us all sit beneath the narrow shade
That noontide Etna casts.--And, Ino, sweet,
Come hither; and while idling thus we rest,
Repeat in verses sweet the tale which says
How great Prometheus from Apollo's car
Stole heaven's fire--a God-like gift for Man!
Or the more pleasing tale of Aphrodite;
How she arose from the salt Ocean's foam,
And sailing in her pearly shell, arrived
On Cyprus sunny shore, where myrtles
[Footnote: MS. _mytles._] bloomed
And sweetest flowers, to welcome Beauty's Queen;
And ready harnessed on the golden sands
Stood milk-white doves linked to a sea-shell car,
With which she scaled the heavens, and took her seat
Among the admiring Gods.
_Eun._ Proserpine's tale
Is sweeter far than Ino's sweetest aong.
_Pros._ Ino, you knew erewhile a River-God,
Who loved you well and did you oft entice
To his transparent waves and flower-strewn banks.
He loved high poesy and wove sweet sounds,
And would sing to you as you sat reclined
On the fresh grass beside his shady cave,
From which clear waters bubbled, dancing forth,
And spreading freshness in the noontide air. [4]
When you returned you would enchant our ears
With tales and songs which did entice the fauns,
[Footnote: MS. _fawns_]
With Pan their King from their green haunts, to hear.
Tell me one now, for like the God himself,
Tender they were and fanciful, and wrapt
The hearer in sweet dreams of shady groves,
Blue skies, and clearest, pebble-paved streams.
_Ino._ I will repeat the tale which most I loved;
Which tells how lily-crowned Arethusa,
Your favourite Nymph, quitted her native Greece,
Flying the liquid God Alpheus, who followed,
Cleaving the desarts of the pathless deep,
And rose in Sicily, where now she flows
The clearest spring of Enna's gifted plain.
[Sidenote: By Shelley [Footnote: Inserted in a later hand,
here as p. 18.] ]
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows,
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
From cloud, and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks
With her rainbow locks,
Streaming among the streams,--
Her steps paved with green [5]
The downward ravine,
Which slopes to the Western gleams:--
And gliding and springing,
She went, ever singing
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.
Then Alpheus bold
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks;--with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below:--
And the beard and the hair
Of the river God were
Seen through the torrent's sweep
As he followed the light [6]
Of the fleet nymph's flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.
Oh, save me! oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!
The loud ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer[,]
And under the water
The Earth's white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam,
Behind her descended
Her billows unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:--
Like a gloomy stain
On the Emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,
As an eagle pursueing
A dove to its ruin,
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers [7]
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones,
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams,
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light,
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest's
[Footnote: The intended place of the apostrophe is not clear.]
night:--
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword fish dark,
Under the Ocean foam,
[Footnote: MS. _Ocean' foam_ as if a genitive was meant;
but cf. _Ocean foam_ in the Song of Apollo
(_Midas_).]
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts,
They passed to their Dorian Home.
And now from their fountains
In Enna's mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted,
Grown single hearted
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap [8]
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill[,--]
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel,--
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;--
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky,
When they love, but live no more.
_Pros._ Thanks, Ino dear, you have beguiled an hour
With poesy that might make pause to list
The nightingale in her sweet evening song.
But now no more of ease and idleness,
The sun stoops to the west, and Enna's plain
Is overshadowed by the growing form
Of giant Etna:--Nymphs, let us arise,
And cull the sweetest flowers of the field,
And with swift fingers twine a blooming wreathe
For my dear Mother's rich and waving hair.
_Eunoe._ Violets blue and white anemonies
Bloom on the plain,--but I will climb the brow [9]
Of that o'erhanging hill, to gather thence
That loveliest rose, it will adorn thy crown;
Ino, guard Proserpine till my return.