Myth of Byblis ~ Brief Analysis
After having made endless revisions, the nymph Byblis, daughter to Apollo’s son Miletus, finally sends her twin brother Canus a letter in which she expresses her burning passion for him. Upon reading it, Caunus immediately becomes enraged and, disgusted, flees from all of his sister’s attempts to seduce him. After a long chase, the heartbroken and exhausted Byblis abandons hope, and turns into a river from weeping. However, whether the nymph’s transformation is an apt punishment for her forbidden lust or not, it is not the only instance in the myth where Byblis morphs.
Indeed, throughout the tale the tormented protagonist shifts indecisively between a sense of guilt for her desires and a haughty sense of entitlement that justifies them. Though she declares, ashamed, in the second line of her letter that “pudet, ah, pudet edere nomen,” (line 531), her tone changes completely just a few lines later, when, paradoxically revealing her identity, the nymph asserts that “vellem…nec cognita Byblis ante forem, quam spes votorum certa fuisset” (lines 533-34). Thus, because Byblis does mention her name, it is clear that she does not just hope but expects her love to be requited. Nonetheless, the nymph’s demeanor changes once again when she portrays herself as a poor wounded victim of love who “ ut tandem sanior essem, pugnauique diu violenta Cupidinis arma effugere infelix, et plus quam ferre puellam posse putes, ego dura tuli” (lines 542-45).
As Byblis’ vision becomes increasingly blurred by her unyielding passion, the challenge of attracting Caunus itself undergoes a metamorphosis, and Byblis’ shameful, amorous plea turns into an epic chase. In reprimanding her failed first attempt at winning her brother, Byblis employs a complex nautical metaphor (“parte aliqua veli, quails foret aura, notare debueram, tutoque mari decurrere, quae nunc non exploratis impleui lintea ventis. Auferor in scopulos igitur, subuersaque toto obruor oceano, neque habent mea vela recursus.” (lines 590-94)), rendering her lust the hero of a glorious adventure. In Byblis’ second attempt, Ovidian gender roles (as seen in the myth of Apollo and Daphne, and the myth of Io) seem to be reversed as the nymph plays the part of the obstinate suitor who, sick in love, tirelessly pursues Caunus, who becomes the mute, fleeing mistress.
Byblis’ ultimate metamorphosis into a flowing river is, ironically, her prophesied and thus unchangeable fate. Indeed, as she hands the love letter to her messenger, “ominibus certis prohibebar amori indulgere meo, tum cum mihi ferre iubenti excidit et fecit spes nostras cera caducas” (lines 595-97). In desiring a kind of love forbidden to mortal humans, Byblis loses first her sound human mind, and eventually her human form as well.
Indeed, throughout the tale the tormented protagonist shifts indecisively between a sense of guilt for her desires and a haughty sense of entitlement that justifies them. Though she declares, ashamed, in the second line of her letter that “pudet, ah, pudet edere nomen,” (line 531), her tone changes completely just a few lines later, when, paradoxically revealing her identity, the nymph asserts that “vellem…nec cognita Byblis ante forem, quam spes votorum certa fuisset” (lines 533-34). Thus, because Byblis does mention her name, it is clear that she does not just hope but expects her love to be requited. Nonetheless, the nymph’s demeanor changes once again when she portrays herself as a poor wounded victim of love who “ ut tandem sanior essem, pugnauique diu violenta Cupidinis arma effugere infelix, et plus quam ferre puellam posse putes, ego dura tuli” (lines 542-45).
As Byblis’ vision becomes increasingly blurred by her unyielding passion, the challenge of attracting Caunus itself undergoes a metamorphosis, and Byblis’ shameful, amorous plea turns into an epic chase. In reprimanding her failed first attempt at winning her brother, Byblis employs a complex nautical metaphor (“parte aliqua veli, quails foret aura, notare debueram, tutoque mari decurrere, quae nunc non exploratis impleui lintea ventis. Auferor in scopulos igitur, subuersaque toto obruor oceano, neque habent mea vela recursus.” (lines 590-94)), rendering her lust the hero of a glorious adventure. In Byblis’ second attempt, Ovidian gender roles (as seen in the myth of Apollo and Daphne, and the myth of Io) seem to be reversed as the nymph plays the part of the obstinate suitor who, sick in love, tirelessly pursues Caunus, who becomes the mute, fleeing mistress.
Byblis’ ultimate metamorphosis into a flowing river is, ironically, her prophesied and thus unchangeable fate. Indeed, as she hands the love letter to her messenger, “ominibus certis prohibebar amori indulgere meo, tum cum mihi ferre iubenti excidit et fecit spes nostras cera caducas” (lines 595-97). In desiring a kind of love forbidden to mortal humans, Byblis loses first her sound human mind, and eventually her human form as well.