  Amaryllis told to the three young women and the three philosophers, as if they were little children, this fable. “Travellers I have known, who have gone to Caril by ascending the MÉandre far beyond the range of the shepherds, have seen the River God asleep in the shade on the river-bank. He had a long green beard, and his face was wrinkled like the river’s grey and rocky banks from which trailed dripping plants. His old eyelids seemed dead as they overhung the eyes which were for ever blind. It is likely that if any one went to find him now, he would not be discovered alive. “Now this was the father of Byblis by his marriage with the nymph CyanÉe; I will tell you the story of the unhappy Byblis.” In the grotto from which the river emerged in a mysterious way the nymph CyanÉe gave birth to twins; one was a son who was named Caunos, and the other a girl to whom the name of Byblis was given. They both grew up upon the banks of the MÉandre, and sometimes CyanÉe showed them beneath its transparent surface the divine appearance of their father, whose soul disturbed its flowing stream. The only world the children knew was the forest in which they were born. They had never seen the sun except through the network of its branches. Byblis never left her brother, and walked with her arm around his neck. She wore a little tunic which her mother As soon as it was light enough for them to walk in the woods, they wandered far away, playing with the fruits which had fallen to the ground, or searching for the largest and most sweetly-scented flowers. They always shared their finds and never quarrelled, so that their mother spoke proudly of them to the other nymphs her friends. Now when twelve years from the day of their birth had sped, their mother became uneasy and sometimes followed them. The two children played no longer, and when they returned from a day in the forest, they brought back nothing with When the heat was too great they glided beneath the low branches, and lying on their breasts upon the sweet-smelling grass talked and adored each other without ever withdrawing from each other’s embrace. Then CyanÉe took her son aside and said to him— “Why are you sad?” Caunos replied— “I am not sad. I used to be when I was playing and laughing. Now everything is changed. I no longer feel the need of play, and if I do not laugh it is because I am happy.” Then CyanÉe asked him, “Why are you happy?” The answer which Caunos gave her was— “Because I look at Byblis.” CyanÉe asked him too— “Why is it that you do not now look at the forest?” “Because Byblis’ hair is softer and more scented than the grass; because Byblis’ eyes—” But CyanÉe stopped him. “Child! be silent!” Hoping to cure him of his illicit passion, she at once took him to a mountain-nymph who had seven daughters most wondrously and indescribably beautiful. Both of them, after planning together, said to him— “Make your choice, Caunos, and the one who pleases you shall be your wife.” But Caunos looked at the seven young girls as unmovedly as if he had been looking at seven rocks; for the image of Byblis quite filled his little soul, and For a month CyanÉe took her son from mountain to mountain, and from plain to plain without succeeding in diverting him from his desire. At last realizing that she would never overcome his obstinate passion, she began to hate her son and accuse him of infamous conduct. But the child did not understand why his mother reproached him. Why among all women was he to be refused the one he loved? Why was it that caresses, which would have been permissible in the importunate arms of another, became criminal in the arms of his beloved Byblis? For what mysterious reason was it that a sentiment which he knew to be good, tender and capable of any sacrifice, was deemed worthy of every punishment? Zeus, he thought, married his sister, and Aphrodite dared to deceive her brother Ares with her brother HephaÏstos. For he Now CyanÉe said to her son— “I disown you as my child!” She made a sign to a Centaur which was going towards the sea, and had Caunos placed upon its back. Then the beast went rapidly away. For some time CyanÉe followed her son with her eyes. Caunos in his fright clung to the shoulders of the beast, and was sometimes buried in its monstrous mane. Then Centaur moved with long and powerful strides; it travelled in a straight line, and soon grew small in the distance. Then it turned behind a clump of bushes, and reappeared looking from afar like a tiny and almost stationary speck. At last CyanÉe could see it no longer. Slowly the mother of Byblis retraced her steps into the forest. She was sad, but at the same time proud of saving by a forced separation the destiny of her two children; and she thanked the gods for giving her the strength to accomplish such a heartrending duty. “Now,” she thought, “Byblis being alone will forget the brother who has been sacrificed for her. She will fall in love with the first man who knows how to caress her, and from the marriage-bed will spring, as is right, a race half human and half divine. Blest are the immortal gods!” But when she returned to the grotto, little Byblis had disappeared. When Byblis found herself alone upon the little bed of green leaves upon which she had slept by her brother’s side every night, she had in vain tried to sleep; but that evening dreams came not to her. She went out into the warm night. A gentle breath of air swayed the darkness of the forest. She sat down and watched the flowing stream. “Why,” she thought, “has not Caunos come back. What has called him away and kept him from me. Who is it, father, that is separating us?” As this last idea came to her she leant over the spring. “Father!” she repeated, “father! where is Caunos? Reveal the secret to me?” A murmur of the water answered— “Far away.” Byblis in affright quickly continued— “When will he return? When will he come back to me?” “Never,” the spring replied. “Dead! Is he dead?” “No.” “Where shall I see him again?” The spring spake no more. Its gentle ripple resumed its monotonous sound. No divine presence seemed to live in its clear waters. Byblis got up and fled. She knew the path by which Caunos had started with his mother. It was a narrow track which wound from tree to tree as it buried itself in the forest. She had not traversed it often, for it ran through a valley infested with serpents and dangerous beasts. This time her desire overcame her fear, and she tremblingly followed the path with all the speed of which her little bare feet were capable. The night was not very dark; but the shadows thrown by the moon are black, and behind the mighty trees Byblis had to feel her way. She reached a spot where the pathway split in two. Which direction was she to take, which path was she to follow? On her knees she for a long time sought for a footstep to guide her. But the earth was dry. Byblis could see nothing. As she lifted her head she perceived that, hidden in the foliage of an oak, a tree-nymph with green breasts was watching her with a smile. “Oh!” Byblis cried, “which way did they go? Tell me if you saw them.” The tree-nymph extended one of her long branch-like arms to the right, and Byblis thanked her with a grateful glance. She walked on that night for a long way. The pathway seemed never-ending, and, besides, it was hardly visible beneath a covering of dead leaves; it ceaselessly At last worn out with fatigue Byblis fell to the ground and went to sleep. She awakened in the morning when the sun was high in the heavens with a soft, warm sensation upon her outstretched hand. She opened her eyes to see a white hind gently licking her. But at Byblis’ first movement the graceful animal jumped up, pricked its ears, and fixed its lovely dark eyes, which glittered like a mountain stream, upon a distant point. “Hind,” Byblis said, “to whom do you belong? If your mistress is the Goddess Artemis guide me, for I know her. I offer up to her in the full moonlight libations of goat’s milk which are very pleasing to her, and, hind, she loves me dearly. If you are one of her company listen to the voice of my anguish, and be sure that by so The hind appeared to understand; it started off at a pace slow enough for the child to follow. In this way they both traversed a vast expanse of forest and crossed two streams, the hind crossing them with a bound while Byblis had to wade knee-deep across them. Byblis was full of confidence. She was now sure that she was upon the right track; without a doubt the hind had been sent by the goddess herself out of gratitude for her devoutness, and the divine animal was leading her through the woods to her beloved brother from whom she would never again be separated. Every step took her nearer to the place where she would see Caunos again. She could even now feel upon her breast the fugitive’s affectionate embrace. A part of his breath seemed to have entered into the atmosphere and to have charmed the breeze. Suddenly the hind stopped. She slid her long head between two young trees, where at the same time the horns of a stag appeared, and just as if she had reached the end of her journey the hind lay down with her hoofs beneath her and her head upon the ground. “Caunos!” Byblis called aloud, “Caunos, where are you?” Her only answer was from the stag, as he took a few steps towards her and threatened her with his terrible horns, which were interwoven like ten brown serpents. Then Byblis understood that the hind, like her, had come to meet her lover, and that it was perhaps useless to reckon upon the help of these entirely absorbed by an inward passion. She turned back, but she was lost. She took another track, which rapidly descended to an invisible path. Her poor little weary feet stumbled over the stones, caught in the roots, and slipped upon the They were two nymphs of different orders, one of them having authority over the forests and the other the spring waters. The oread had brought to the naiad the fresh offerings received from men, and both of them were bathing in the stream, sporting and embracing as they did so. “Naiad,” Byblis said, “have you seen the son of CyanÉe?” “Yes. His shadow has passed over me. It was yesterday at sunset.” “From what direction did he come?” “I do not know.” “Where was he going?” “I did not follow him.” Byblis uttered a profound sigh. “Did you,” she asked the other nymph, “see the son of CyanÉe?” “Yes. Far away from here in the mountains.” “Whence did he come?” “I did not follow him.” “Where was he going?” “I have forgotten.” Then she continued, rising up in the midst of the flowing waters as she spake— “Remain with us, young girl, stay. Why do you still think of him, who is absent? We have treasured up for you boundless present joys. There is no future happiness worth the trouble of pursuit.” But Byblis did not think that the nymph had spoken the truth. Although she was unable to express the ideas of her little soul, she could not conceive any greater joy than to suffer in the pursuit of happiness. During the first day of her useless journey she had counted on the assistance and zeal of the unknown creatures. When she saw that they were careless about aiding her destiny she relied solely upon But the two immortals repeated their words of wisdom. “Stay with us, young girl, stay. Why do you still think of the absent one? There is no future happiness worth the trouble of pursuit.” Long, long afterwards the child as she crossed the mysterious mountain could hear in the distance two clear voices, calling together— “Byblis!” For a night and day Byblis traversed the mountain. She made anxious inquiries of all the deities of the woods, of the trees, of the glades and the thickets. She recounted her sorrows many times; she tremblingly implored their assistance, and wrung her little hands. But not one of them had seen Caunos. She climbed up so high that her mother’s holy name was quite unknown to all she met, and the unconcerned nymphs did not understand her. She wanted to retrace her steps, but she was lost. On every side she was surrounded by a confused colonnade of enormous pine-trees. There were no more paths. There was no horizon. She ran in every direction. She called out in despair. There was not even an echo to be heard. Then as her weary eyelids drooped lower and lower she lay down upon the ground and a passing dream told her in measured tones— “You will never see your brother, you will never set eyes upon him again.” She awoke with a start, with her arms outstretched and her mouth open, but she was so overwhelmed with sorrow and anguish that she had not the strength to cry out. The moon rose red like blood behind the high black outlines of the pine-trees. Byblis could hardly see it. It seemed to her that a humid veil had been dropped over her long eyes. An eternal silence had enveloped the sleeping woods. Then a large tear gathered in the corner of her left eye. Byblis had never before wept. She believed that she was about to die, and The tear grew, trembled, became larger still and then suddenly trickled down her cheek. Byblis remained motionless with fixed eyes in the light of the moon. Then a large tear filled the corner of her right eye. It grew like the other and trickled down her right cheek. Two other tears came, two burning drops which flowed down the moist track made by the other. They reached the corner of her mouth; a delightful bitterness overcame the worn-out child. Then never more would her hand touch the beloved hand of Caunos. Never more would she see the gleam of his black eyes, his dear head, and wavy hair. Never again would they sleep side by side in each other’s arms upon the same bed of leaves. The forests no longer knew his name. An overwhelming outburst of despair The tears which had been gradually born in her, rose to her eyes, welled up, overflowed, trickled in a warm flood over her cheeks, bathed her tiny breasts and fell upon her entwined legs. She did not feel them trickle one by one between her long lashes: they were a gentle and never-ending stream, an inexhaustible flood, the outpouring of an enchanted sea. But awakened by the moonlight the deities of the forest had gathered from every side. The bark of the trees became transparent and allowed the faces of the nymphs to be seen; and even the quivering naiads left the water and the rocks and came into the woods. They all crowded around Byblis and But now Byblis could hear nothing, neither voices, footsteps, nor the night wind. Her attitude little by little became eternal. Her skin had assumed beneath the deluge of tears the smooth white tint of marble washed by the waters. The wind would not have disturbed one of her hairs which were as long as her arms. She died like pure marble. A vague light still illuminated her vision. Suddenly it went out; but fresh tears still flowed from her eyes. In that way was Byblis changed into a fountain.
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