WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY
Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)
Vol. 1, No. 20: March 16, 2022
Celebrating Women’s History Month
Episode #3: Siduri, the First Sibyl
Siduri: The First Sibyl in World Literature
In this week’s installment, I
would like to introduce my readers to Siduri, an ancient Mesopotamian Sibyl who
appears to be the first of her kind in world literature and mythology. Due to
her appearance in the Gilgamesh Epic (the world’s oldest known
epic poem), Siduri was remembered with reverence throughout the ancient Near
East, and later ages would transform her into the Babylonian (a/k/a Persian
Sibyl), a sage and seer who appears in numerous works of Classical, medieval,
and Renaissance art and literature.
The Persian (a/k/a Babylonian)
Sibyl, as portrayed by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel;. (Image Credit:
Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)
Excerpt from the Preface to the Sibylline Oracles (5th
Century CE)
Sibyl is a Latin word meaning
prophetess, or rather soothsayer; hence the female soothsayers were called by
one name. Now Sibyls, according to many writers, have arisen in different times
and places, to the number of ten. There was first the Chaldean, or rather the
Persian (Sibyl), whose proper name is Sambethe. She was of the family of the
most blessed Noah, and is said to have foretold the exploits of Alexander of
Macedon; Nicanor, who wrote the life of Alexander, mentions her. The second was
the Libyan, of whom Euripides makes mention in the preface of (his play) the
Lamia. The third was the Delphian, born at Delphi, and spoken of by Chrysippus
in his book on divination. The fourth was the Italian, in Cimmerium in Italy,
whose son Evander founded in Rome the shrine of Pan which is called the
Lupercal. The fifth was the Erythræan, who predicted the Trojan war, and of
whom Apollodorus the Erythræan bears positive testimony. The sixth was the
Samian, whose proper name is Phyto, of whom Eratosthenes wrote. The seventh was
the Cumman, called Amalthea, also Herophile, and in some places Taraxandra. But
Vergil calls the Cumæan Sibyl Deiphobe, daughter of Glaucus. The eighth was the
Hellespontine, born in the village of Marpessus near the small town of
Gergithion, which, according to Heraclides of Pontus, was formerly, in the time
of Solon and Cyrus, within the boundaries of the Troad. The ninth was the
Phrygian, and the tenth the Tiburtine, named Albunæa.
It is said, moreover, that the
Cumæan Sibyl once brought nine books of her oracles to Tarquinius Priscus, who
was at that time King of the Romans, and demanded for them three hundred pieces
of gold. But having been disdain fully treated, and not even questioned as to
what they were, she committed three of them to the fire. Again, in another
audience with the king she brought forward the six remaining books, and still
demanded the same amount. But not being deemed worthy of attention, again she
burned three more. Then a third time bringing the three that were left, and
asking the same price, she said that if he would not procure them, she would
burn these also. Then, it is said, the king examined them and was astonished,
and gave for them a hundred pieces of gold, took them in charge and made
request for the others. But she declared that neither had she the like of those
that were burned nor had she any such knowledge apart from inspiration, but
that certain persons from various cities and countries had at times excerpted
what was esteemed by them necessary and useful, and that out of these excerpts
a collection ought to be made. And this (the Romans) did as quickly as
possible. For that which was given from God, though truly laid up in a corner,
did not escape their search. And the books of all the Sibyls were deposited in
the Capitol of ancient Rome. Those of the Cumæan Sibyl, however, were hidden
and not made known to many, because she proclaimed more especially and
distinctly things that were to happen in Italy, while the others became known
to all. But those that were written by the Erythræan Sibyl have the name that was
given her from the place; while the other books are without inscription to mark
who is the author of each, but are without distinction (of authorship).
“Sibyl”
By John Howard Payne (1791-1852)
This is the
glamor of the world antique:
The
thyme-scents of Hymettus fill the air,
And in the
grass narcissus-cups are fair.
The full
brook wanders through the ferns to seek
The amber
haunts of bees; and on the peak
Of the soft
hill, against the gold-marged sky,
She stands,
a dream from out the days gone by.
Entreat her
not. Indeed, she will not speak!
Her eyes are
full of dreams; and in her ears
There is the
rustle of immortal wings;
And ever and
anon the slow breeze bears
The mystic
murmur of the songs she sings.
Entreat her
not: she sees thee not, nor hears
Aught but
the sights and sounds of bygone springs.
Siduri in the Gilgamesh Epic
After the death of his steadfast
warrior-companion, Enkidu, King Gilgamesh of Uruk went on a quest to find the
secret of immortality in the far eastern regions of the world. The following
summary describes the events leading up to his meeting with Siduri, along with
the advice that she gives to help him deal with his heartfelt grief.
Excerpt from Chapter 8 of Myths of Babylonia and Assyria by
Donald A. MacKenzie (1915)
[Slightly Modernized by the Editor]
Gilgamesh set out on his journey
and in time reached a mountain chasm. Gazing on the rugged heights, he beheld
fierce lions and his heart trembled. Then he cried upon the Moon god, who took
pity upon him, and under divine protection the hero pressed onward. He crossed
the rocky range and then found himself confronted by the tremendous mountain of
Mashu – "Sunset Hill,” which divided the land of the living from the
western land of the dead. The mountain peak rose to heaven, and its foundations
were in Arallu, the underworld. A dark tunnel pierced it and could be entered
through a door, but the door was shut and on either side were two monsters of
horrible aspect – the gigantic "scorpion man" and his wife, whose
heads reached to the clouds. When Gilgamesh beheld them he swooned with terror.
But they did him no harm, perceiving that he was a son of a god and had a body
like a god.
When Gilgamesh revived, he
realized that the monsters regarded him with eyes of sympathy. Addressing the
scorpion giant, he told that he desired to visit his ancestor, Utnapishtim, who
sat in the council of the gods and had divine attributes. The giant warned him
of the dangers which he would encounter, saying that the mountain passage was
twelve miles long and beamless and black. Gilgamesh, however, resolved to
encounter any peril, for he was no longer afraid, and he was allowed to go
forward. So he entered through the monster-guarded mountain door and plunged
into thick unbroken darkness. For twice twelve hours he groped blindly onward,
until he saw a ray of light. Quickening his steps, he then escaped from the
dreadful tunnel and once more rejoiced in the rays of the Sun. He found himself
in an enchanted garden, and in the midst of it he saw a divine and beautiful
tree towards which he hastened. On its gleaming branches hung clusters of
precious stones and its leaves were of lapis lazuli. His eyes were dazzled, but
he did not linger there. Passing many other wonderful trees, he came to a
shoreland, and he knew that he was drawing nigh to the Sea of Death. The
country which he entered was ruled over by the sea lady whose name was Siduri.
When she saw the pilgrim drawing nigh, she entered her palace and shut the
door.
Gilgamesh called out requesting
that he should be allowed to enter, and mingled his entreaties with threats to
break open the door. In the end Siduri appeared and spoke, saying:
“Gilgamesh, whither
are you hurrying?
The life
that you seek, you will not find.
When the
gods created humanity,
They fixed
death for humankind.
Life they
took in their own hand.
You, O
Gilgamesh, let your belly be filled!
Day and
night be merry,
Daily
celebrate a feast,
Day and
night dance and make merry!
Clean be your
clothes,
Your head be
washed, bathe in water!
Look
joyfully on the child that grasps your hand,
Be happy
with the wife in your arms!”
Gilgamesh did not accept the
counsel of the fatalistic sea lady. He asked her how he could reach Utnapishtim,
his ancestor, saying he was prepared to cross the Sea of Death: if he could not
cross it he would die of grief.
Siduri answered him, saying:
"O Gilgamesh, no mortal is ferried over this great sea. Who can pass over
it save Shamash alone? The way is full of peril. O Gilgamesh, how canst thou
battle against the billows of death?"
At length, however, the sea lady
revealed to the pilgrim that he might obtain the aid of the sailor, Urshanabi,
who served his ancestor Utnapishtim.
A Biblical Echo of Siduri’s Advice:
Ecclesiastes 9:7-9 (JPS 1917)
Go thy way, eat thy bread with
joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God hath already accepted thy
works.
Let thy garments be always
white; and let thy head lack no oil.
Enjoy life with the wife whom
thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which He hath given thee
under the Sun, all the days of thy vanity; for that is thy portion in life, and
in thy labor wherein thou laborest under the Sun.
King Gilgamesh bids farewell to
Siduri the Sibyl and one of her acolytes in this illustration from Ishtar
and Izdubar, a versified English paraphrase of the Gilgamesh Epic
by Leonidas Le Cenci Hamilton, published in 1884. (Image Credit: Public Domain
via Wikimedia Commons)
“Sybil”
By Julia Ward Howe (1819-1910)
Your head is
wild with books, Sybil,
But your
heart is good and kind—
I feel a new
contentment near you,
A pleasure
of the mind.
Glad should
I be to sit beside you,
And let long
hours glide by,
Reading,
through all your sweet narrations,
The language
of your eye.
Since the
maternal saint I worshipped
Did look and
love her last,
No woman
o’er my wayward spirit
Such gentle
spell has cast.
Oh! tell me
of your varied fortunes,
For you know
not, from your face
Looks out
strange sadness, lit with rapture,
And
melancholy grace.
You are a
gem, whose native brilliance
Could never
wholly reign,
An opal,
whose prismatic fire
A white
cloud doth restrain.
And thus,
the mood to which you move me
Is never
perfect, quite,
‘Tis pity,
wonderment, and pleasure,
Opacity and
light.
Bear me then
in your presence, Sybil,
And leave
your hand in mine,
For, though
human be my nature,
You’ve made
it half divine.
Further Reading
·
https://www.sacred-texts.com/ane/iai/index.htm à Ishtar and Izdubar
·
https://www.jasoncolavito.com/epic-of-gilgamesh.html à Gilgamesh Epic
·
https://classicalwisdom.com/mythology/sibyl-cumae/ à The Sibyl of Cumae, Italy
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