by Corry Shores
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[May I thank the sources for the images in this entry. It makes a big difference, and I am grateful for that. The sources are listed near the images and at the end.]
Echoes of Reflection
Ovid
Metamorphoses
Book the Third
In Difference & Repetition, Deleuze writes about the pleasure we take in contemplation. He illustrates with the story of Narcissus and Echo. The following summarizes the tale.
The Transformation of Echo
The nymph Liriope had a very beautiful son, Narcissus. She wanted to know his fate. So she asked Tiresias, the seer. He told her that Narcissus will live a long life, unless somehow he comes to "know himself." For, then he will die.
Narcissus turns sixteen. No longer a boy, he enters the age of romance. Being beautiful, many girls fell hopelessly in love with him. But out of vanity, he turns them down.
Many a friend the blooming youth caress'd,Many a love-sick maid her flame confess'd:Such was his pride, in vain the friend caress'd,The love-sick maid in vain her flame confess'd.
Zeus liked to have partners beside his wife. When he would seek romance with the nymphs, the nymph Echo would distract Hera with "subtle stories." Eventually, Hera discovered. She cursed Echo. Now the nymph cannot speak on her own. She can only repeat whatever she hears someone else say.
John William Waterhouse Echo
One day, the "lovesick virgin nymph" Echo spied beautiful Narcissus in the woods. She neared him, wanting to confess her love. But she was only able to wait for him to speak first, so then she might echo back his words.
Sadly, Narcissus rejects her. Embarrassed and heartbroken, she fled into the forest dark. She pines away the rest of her life in caves and other concealed parts of the woods. Soon all that is left of her are her bones and her voice, which we can hear when into hollow caverns we call out to her.
The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,Still dash'd with blushes for her slighted love,Liv'd in the shady covert of the woods,In solitary caves and dark abodes;Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,'Till harrass'd out, and worn away with care,The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is foundIn vaults, where still it doubles ev'ry sound.
The Story of Narcissus
Narcissus continued to reject his nymph admirers. One wanted revenge. Her love for him was all in vain. So she prayed to the gods, asking them if they could make Narcissus suffer unrequited love as well. And her prayers were answered.
In a shady forest there is a fountain pool. The air is so still there, that the surface is like a mirror. Narcissus happens upon it. He is hot. To cool himself, he dips for a drink. But then, he feels a new heat. He's in love. But his fixation is his own image in the pool.
Caravaggio Narcissus
But whilst within the chrystal fount he triesTo quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.For as his own bright image he survey'd,He fell in love with the fantastick shade;And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he descries,The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,And hair that round Apollo's head might flow;With all the purple youthfulness of face,That gently blushes in the wat'ry glass.
When he tries to kiss or embrace his new lover, he only obscures the view by disturbing the waters reflecting his face. But he cannot move away either. For as soon as he steps aside from the pool, his handsome lover dies.
So he remained there motionless gazing at himself, neither eating nor sleeping. Desperate, he pleads the trees for sympathy.
"You trees," says he, "and thou surrounding grove,Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lyeA youth so tortur'd, so perplex'd as I?I, who before me see the charming fair,Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there:In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost
He knows now that it is himself he loves. He wants to unite with himself. But to do so, he would need to separate from himself, so that his own advances do not destroy his beloved image. His excessive self-love causes an overwhelming internal rift.
It is my self I love, my self I see;The gay delusion is a part of me.I kindle up the fires by which I burn,And my own beauties from the well return.Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?Enjoyment but produces my restraint,And too much plenty makes me die for want.How gladly would I from my self remove!And at a distance set the thing I love.My breast is warm'd with such unusual fire,I wish him absent whom I most desire.
Exasperated, Narcissus feels his death drawing upon him. His dying wish is that his lover survive him. But he sees that as his life fades, so too does his beloved reflection.
And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;In all the pride of blooming youth I die.Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.Oh might the visionary youth survive,I should with joy my latest breath resign!But oh! I see his fate involv'd in mine.
Narcissus cries upon the pool, wrinkling and deforming his lover.
Richard Baxter Echo and Narcissus
His tears defac'd the surface of the well,With circle after circle, as they fell:And now the lovely face but half appears,O'er-run with wrinkles, and deform'd with tears.
Narcissus is unhappy to see his lover vanish into the ripples. He wants to die seeing him fully, and completely. He wants to die in his deepest passion for himself. So he tears off his clothes and beats his chest. This produces colorful fruit-like patches on his skin. His own beauty overwhelms him. And he dies.
Let me still feed the flame by which I die;Let me still see, tho' I'm no further blest."Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:His naked bosom redden'd with the blow,In such a blush as purple clusters show,Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refineTheir sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,And with a new redoubled passion dies.
Narcissus melts like ice in the sun, leaving none of his youthful beauty behind.
Echo witnesses Narcissus' death. And she echoed back his sighs and groans. Echo returns Narcissus' 'farewell.' Or was it merely to his lonely self he bids good-bye?
"Farewel," says he; the parting sound scarce fellFrom his faint lips, but she reply'd, "farewel."Then on th' wholsome earth he gasping lyes,'Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,And in the Stygian waves it self admires.
Nothing is left of Narcissus except his namesake flower.
For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:When, looking for his corps, they only foundA rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crown'd.
John William Waterhouse Narcissus
From Ovid Book the Third
The Transformation of Echo
Fam'd far and near for knowing things to come,
From him th' enquiring nations sought their doom;
The fair Liriope his answers try'd,
And first th' unerring prophet justify'd.
This nymph the God Cephisus had abus'd,
With all his winding waters circumfus'd,
And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
Whom the soft maids ev'n then beheld with joy.
The tender dame, sollicitous to know
Whether her child should reach old age or no,
Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies,
"If e'er he knows himself he surely dies."
Long liv'd the dubious mother in suspence,
'Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.
Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
Just turn'd of boy, and on the verge of man;
Many a friend the blooming youth caress'd,
Many a love-sick maid her flame confess'd:
Such was his pride, in vain the friend caress'd,
The love-sick maid in vain her flame confess'd.
Once, in the woods, as he pursu'd the chace,
The babbling Echo had descry'd his face;
She, who in others' words her silence breaks,
Nor speaks her self but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
Of wonted speech; for tho' her voice was left,
Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
To sport with ev'ry sentence in the close.
Full often when the Goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, 'till the lovers slip'd away.
The Goddess found out the deceit in time,
And then she cry'd, "That tongue, for this thy crime,
Which could so many subtle tales produce,
Shall be hereafter but of little use."
Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimick sounds, and accents not her own.
This love-sick virgin, over-joy'd to find
The boy alone, still follow'd him behind:
When glowing warmly at her near approach,
As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
She long'd her hidden passion to reveal,
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dash'd with blushes for her slighted love,
Liv'd in the shady covert of the woods,
In solitary caves and dark abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,
'Till harrass'd out, and worn away with care,
The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles ev'ry sound.
The Story of Narcissus
Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
He still was lovely, but he still was coy;
When one fair virgin of the slighted train
Thus pray'd the Gods, provok'd by his disdain,
"Oh may he love like me, and love like me in vain!"
Rhamnusia pity'd the neglected fair,
And with just vengeance answer'd to her pray'r.
There stands a fountain in a darksom wood,
Nor stain'd with falling leaves nor rising mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
Unsully'd by the touch of men or beasts;
High bow'rs of shady trees above it grow,
And rising grass and chearful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolness of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chace,
Narcissus on the grassie verdure lyes:
But whilst within the chrystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.
For as his own bright image he survey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastick shade;
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he descries,
The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow;
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the wat'ry glass.
By his own flames consum'd the lover lyes,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he slips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindled in thee this unpity'd love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd shadow comes and goes,
Its empty being on thy self relies;
Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.
Still o'er the fountain's wat'ry gleam he stood,
Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food;
Still view'd his face, and languish'd as he view'd.
At length he rais'd his head, and thus began
To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.
"You trees," says he, "and thou surrounding grove,
Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lye
A youth so tortur'd, so perplex'd as I?
I, who before me see the charming fair,
Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there:
In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost:
And yet no bulwark'd town, nor distant coast,
Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.
A shallow water hinders my embrace;
And yet the lovely mimick wears a face
That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
My charms an easy conquest have obtain'd
O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdain'd.
But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
When-e'er I stoop, he offers at a kiss,
And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
When e'er I speak, his moving lips appear
To utter something, which I cannot hear.
"Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
To find out all the long-perplex'd deceit;
It is my self I love, my self I see;
The gay delusion is a part of me.
I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
And my own beauties from the well return.
Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
And too much plenty makes me die for want.
How gladly would I from my self remove!
And at a distance set the thing I love.
My breast is warm'd with such unusual fire,
I wish him absent whom I most desire.
And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
Oh might the visionary youth survive,
I should with joy my latest breath resign!
But oh! I see his fate involv'd in mine."
This said, the weeping youth again return'd
To the clear fountain, where again he burn'd;
His tears defac'd the surface of the well,
With circle after circle, as they fell:
And now the lovely face but half appears,
O'er-run with wrinkles, and deform'd with tears.
"Ah whither," cries Narcissus, "dost thou fly?
Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
Let me still see, tho' I'm no further blest."
Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:
His naked bosom redden'd with the blow,
In such a blush as purple clusters show,
Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine
Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
And with a new redoubled passion dies.
As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
And trickle into drops before the sun;
So melts the youth, and languishes away,
His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the slighted Echo su'd in vain.
She saw him in his present misery,
Whom, spight of all her wrongs, she griev'd to see.
She answer'd sadly to the lover's moan,
Sigh'd back his sighs, and groan'd to ev'ry groan:
"Ah youth! belov'd in vain," Narcissus cries;
"Ah youth! belov'd in vain," the nymph replies.
"Farewel," says he; the parting sound scarce fell
From his faint lips, but she reply'd, "farewel."
Then on th' wholsome earth he gasping lyes,
'Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
And in the Stygian waves it self admires.
For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;
And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
When, looking for his corps, they only found
A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crown'd.
Images from:
Benjamin West Narcissus and Echo (1805) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:West,_Benjamin_-_Narcissus_and_Echo_-_1805.jpg
John William Waterhouse Echo http://www.artmagick.com/pictures/picture.aspx?id=5686&name=study-head-of-echo-1903
Alexandre Cabanel Echo http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Alexandre_Cabanel_-_Echo.jpg
Guy Head Echo http://www.latein-pagina.de/ovid/ovid_m3.htm
Relief of nymph Echo in the Parc del Laberint d’Horta in Barcelona http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Relief_of_Echo_-_Parc_del_Laberint_d%E2%80%99Horta_-_Barcelona.jpg
Caravaggio Narcissus http://www.humnet.ucla.edu/people/ShaneButler/Caravaggio.html
[Unattributed] http://www.latein-pagina.de/ovid/ovid_m3.htm
Francois Lemoyne Narcissus http://www.latein-pagina.de/ovid/ovid_m3.htm
Placido Costanzi Narcissus and Echo (18th Century) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Costanzi_narcissus_and_echo.jpg
Salvador Dalì The Metamorphosis of Narcissus http://wallpapers.bpix.org/nl_13__Metamorphosis_of_Narcissus,_1936-1937,_Salvador_Dali.html
John William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus (1903) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Echo_and_Narcissus.jpg
Nicolas Poussin Narziß und Echo (Narcissus and Echo) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nicolas_Poussin_069.jpg
Richard Baxter Echo and Narcissus http://www.latein-pagina.de/ovid/ovid_m3.htm
[Stefano Bolognini] Narciso ed Eco (Narcissus and Echo) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Affresco_romano_-_Pompei_-_Narciso_ed_Eco.JPG
Nicolas Poussin Echo und Narziß (Echo and Narcissus) (1929-1930) http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nicolas_Poussin_069.jpg
John William Waterhouse Narcissus
Text from:
Ovid. Metamorphoses. Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al, transl. Available online at: http://classics.mit.edu/Ovid/metam.html
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