Theseus & The Minotaur, the Labyrinth & Mazes in Classical Mythology

from Pseudo-Apollodorus Biblioteca Book 3.1; Epitome.1 p. 2 translated by J.G. Frazer Europa, Minos and Pasiphae Theseus [and the Minotaur]

from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book VIII p.4 The Minotaur, Theseus, and Ariadne Daedalus and Icarus

from Ovid’s Heroides Book X: The Lament of Ariadne p.6

from Clay tablet found at Knossus ca. 1400, Linear B script p.9 translated by Hermann Kern

from The Odyssey, Bk XVIII:468-617 Hephaestus forges Achilles’ armour p.9

from The Golden Bough: A Study in Comparative Religion p.10 by J.G. Frazer

quoted in Encyclopaedia Brittanica p.10 synopsis of Pliny the Elder, Natural History [passage on the four famous labyrinths of antiquity]

from Histories, Book 2 p.11 by Herodotus [passage on the Egyptian labyrinth]

from the Writings of Marcus Varro, on the tomb of Lars Porsena p.11

from Pseudo-Apollodorus Biblioteca Book 3 translated by J.G. Frazer Europa, Minos and Pasiphae

Theseus [and the Minotaur]

Europa, Minos and Pasiphae

[3.1.1] Having now run over the family of Inachus and described them from Belus down to the Heraclids, we have next to speak of the house of Agenor. For as I have said, Libya had by Poseidon two sons, Belus and Agenor. Now Belus reigned over the Egyptians and begat the aforesaid sons; but Agenor went to Phoenicia, married Telephassa, and begat a daughter Europa and three sons, Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix. But some say that Europa was a daughter not of Agenor but of Phoenix.

Zeus loved her, and turning himself into a tame bull, he mounted her on his back and conveyed her through the sea to Crete. There Zeus bedded with her, and she bore Minos, Sarpedon, and Rhadamanthys; but according to Homer, Sarpedon was a son of Zeus by Laodamia, daughter of Bellerophon.

On the disappearance of Europa her father Agenor sent out his sons in search of her, telling them not to return until they had found Europa. With them her mother, Telephassa, and Thasus, son of Poseidon, or according to Pherecydes, of Cilix, went forth in search of her. But when, after diligent search, they could not find Europa, they gave up the thought of returning home, and took up their abode in divers places; Phoenix settled in Phoenicia; Cilix settled near Phoenicia, and all the country subject to himself near the river Pyramus he called Cilicia; and Cadmus and Telephassa took up their abode in Thrace and in like manner Thasus founded a city Thasus in an island off Thrace and dwelt there.

[3.1.2] Now Asterius, prince of the Cretans, married Europa and brought up her children. But when they were grown up, they quarrelled with each other; for they loved a boy called Miletus, son of Apollo by Aria, daughter of Cleochus. As the boy was more friendly to Sarpedon, Minos went to war and had the better of it, and the others fled. Miletus landed in Caria and there founded a city which he called Miletus after himself; and Sarpedon allied himself with Cilix, who was at war with the Lycians, and having stipulated for a share of the country, he became king of Lycia. And Zeus granted him to live for three generations. But some say that they loved Atymnius, the son of Zeus and Cassiepea, and that it was about him that they quarrelled.

Rhadamanthys legislated for the islanders, but afterwards he fled to Boeotia and married Alcmena; and since his departure from the world he acts as judge in Hades along with Minos. Minos, residing in Crete, passed laws, and married Pasiphae, daughter of the Sun and Perseis; but Asclepiades says that his wife was Crete, daughter of Asterius. He begat sons, to wit, Catreus, Deucalion, Glaucus, and Androgeus: and daughters, to wit, Acalle, Xenodice, Ariadne, Phaedra; and by a nymph Paria he had Eurymedon, Nephalion, Chryses, and Philolaus; and by Dexithea he had Euxanthius.

[3.1.3] Asterius dying childless, Minos wished to reign over Crete, but his claim was opposed. So he alleged that he had received the kingdom from the gods, and in proof of it he said that whatever he prayed for would be done. And in sacrificing to Poseidon he prayed that a bull might appear from the depths, promising to sacrifice it when it appeared. Poseidon did send him up a fine bull, and Minos obtained the kingdom, but he sent the bull to the herds and sacrificed another.[Being the first to obtain the dominion of the sea, he extended his rule over almost all the islands.]

[3.1.4] But angry at him for not sacrificing the bull, Poseidon made the animal savage, and contrived that Pasi- phae should conceive a passion for it. In her love for the bull she found an accomplice in Daedalus, an architect, who had been banished from Athens for murder. He constructed a wooden cow on wheels, took it, hollowed it out in the inside, sewed it up in the hide of a cow which he had skinned, and set it in the meadow in which the bull used to graze. Then he introduced Pasiphae into it; and the bull came and coupled with it, as if it were a

real cow. And she gave birth to Asterius, who was called the Minotaur. He had the face of a bull, but the rest of him was human; and Minos, in compliance with certain oracles, shut him up and guarded him in the Labyrinth. Now the Labyrinth which Daedalus constructed was a chamber “that with its tangled windings perplexed the outward way.” The story of the Minotaur, and Androgeus, and Phaedra, and Ariadne, I will tell hereafter in my account of Theseus.

Theseus [and the Minotaur]

[E.1.1–4 details some adventures of Theseus—raised in obscurity by his mother, a priestess —on his Journey to Athens to meet his father Aegeus for the first time.]

So, having cleared the road, Theseus came to Athens.

[E.1.5] But Medea, being then wedded to Aegeus, plotted against him and persuaded Aegeus to beware of him as a traitor. And Aegeus, not knowing his own son, was afraid and sent him against the Marathonian bull.

[E.1.6] And when Theseus had killed it, Aegeus presented to him a poison which he had received the selfsame day from Medea. But just as the draught was about to be administered to him, he gave his father the sword, and on recognizing it Aegeus dashed the cup from his hands. And when Theseus was thus made known to his father and informed of the plot, he expelled Medea.

E.1.7] And he was numbered among those who were to be sent as the third tribute to the Minotaur; or, as some affirm, he offered himself voluntarily. And as the ship had a black sail, Aegeus charged his son, if he returned alive, to spread white sails on the ship.

[3.1.8] And when he came to Crete, Ariadne, daughter of Minos, being amorously disposed to him, offered to help him if he would agree to carry her away to Athens and have her to wife. Theseus having agreed on oath to do so, she besought Daedalus to disclose the way out of the labyrinth.

[3.1.9] And at his suggestion she gave Theseus a clue when he went in; Theseus fastened it to the door, and, drawing it after him, entered in. And having found the Minotaur in the last part of the labyrinth, he killed him by smiting him with his fists; and drawing the clue after him made his way out again. And by night he arrived with Ariadne and the children at Naxos. There Dionysus fell in love with Ariadne and carried her off; and having brought her to Lemnos he enjoyed her, and begat Thoas, Staphylus, Oenopion, and Peparethus. 3.1.10] In his grief on account of Ariadne, Theseus forgot to spread white sails on his ship when he stood for port; and Aegeus, seeing from the acropolis the ship with a black sail, supposed that Theseus had perished; so he cast himself down and died. [3.1.11] But Theseus succeeded to the sovereignty of Athens, and killed the sons of Pallas, fifty in number; like- wise all who would oppose him were killed by him, and he got the whole government to himself.

[3.1.12] On being apprized of the flight of Theseus and his company, Minos shut up the guilty Daedalus in the labyrinth, along with his son Icarus, who had been borne to Daedalus by Naucrate, a female slave of Minos. But Daedalus constructed wings for himself and his son, and enjoined his son, when he took to flight, neither to fly high, lest the glue should melt in the sun and the wings should drop off, nor to fly near the sea, lest the pinions should be detached by the damp.

[3.1.13] But the infatuated Icarus, disregarding his father’s injunctions, soared ever higher, till, the glue melting, he fell into the sea called after him Icarian, and perished. But Daedalus made his way safely to Camicus in Sicily.

[3.1.14] And Minos pursued Daedalus, and in every country that he searched he carried a spiral shell and prom- ised to give a great reward to him who should pass a thread through the shell, believing that by that means he should discover Daedalus. And having come to Camicus in Sicily, to the court of Cocalus, with whom Daedalus was concealed, he showed the spiral shell. Cocalus took it, and promised to thread it, and gave it to Daedalus;

[3.1.15] and Daedalus fastened a thread to an ant, and, having bored a hole in the spiral shell, allowed the ant

to pass through it. But when Minos found the thread passed through the shell, he perceived that Daedalus was with Cocalus, and at once demanded his surrender. Cocalus promised to surrender him, and made an entertain- ment for Minos; but after his bath Minos was undone by the daughters of Cocalus; some say, however, that he died through being drenched with boiling water.

[3.1.16] Theseus joined Hercules in his expedition against the Amazons and carried off Antiope, or, as some say, Melanippe; but Simonides calls her Hippolyte.1Wherefore the Amazons marched against Athens, and having taken up a position about the Areopagusthey were vanquished by the Athenians under Theseus. And though he had a son Hippolytus by the Amazon,

[E.1.17] Theseus afterwards received from Deucalion in marriage Phaedra, daughter of Minos; and when her marriage was being celebrated, the Amazon that had before been married to him appeared in arms with her Amazons, and threatened to kill the assembled guests. But they hastily closed the doors and killed her. However, some say that she was slain in battle by Theseus.

[E.1.18] And Phaedra, after she had borne two children, Acamas and Demophon, to Theseus, fell in love with the son he had by the Amazon, to wit, Hippolytus, and besought him to lie with her. Howbeit, he fled from her embraces, because he hated all women. But Phaedra, fearing that he might accuse her to his father, cleft open the doors of her bed-chamber, rent her garments, and falsely charged Hippolytus with an assault.

E.1.19] Theseus believed her and prayed to Poseidon that Hippolytus might perish. So, when Hippolytus was riding in his chariot and driving beside the sea, Poseidon sent up a bull from the surf, and the horses were fright- ened, the chariot dashed in pieces, and Hippolytus, entangled in the reins, was dragged to death. And when her passion was made public, Phaedra hanged herself.

********

from Ovid’s Metamorphoses Bk VIII: The Minotaur, Theseus, and Ariadne

Bk VIII: Daedalus and Icarus

Bk VIII:The Minotaur, Theseus, and Ariadne

When Minos reached Cretan soil he paid his dues to Jove, with the sacrifice of a hundred bulls, and hung up his war trophies to adorn the palace. The scandal concerning his family grew, and the queen’s unnatural adultery was evident from the birth of a strange hybrid monster. Minos resolved to remove this shame, the Minotaur, from his house, and hide it away in Tala labyrinth with blind passageways. Daedalus, celebrated for his skill in architecture, laid out the design, and confused the clues to direction, and led the eye into a tortuous maze, by the windings of alternating paths. No differently from the way in which the watery Maeander deludes the sight, flowing backwards and forwards in its changeable course, through the meadows of Phrygia, facing the running waves advancing to meet it, now directing its uncertain waters towards its source, now towards the open sea: so Daedalus made the endless pathways of the maze, and was scarcely able to recover the entrance himself: the building was as deceptive as that.

In there, Minos walled up the twin form of bull and man, and twice nourished it on Athenian blood, but the third repetition of the nine-year tribute by lot, caused the monster’s downfall. When, through the help of the virgin princess, Ariadne, by rewinding the thread, Theseus, son of Aegeus, won his way back to the elusive threshold, that no one had previously regained, he immediately set sail for Dia, stealing the daughter of Minos away with him, then cruelly abandoned his companion on that shore. Deserted and weeping bitterly, as she was, Bac-

chus-Liber brought her help and comfort. So that she might shine among the eternal stars, he took the crown from her forehead, and set it in the sky. It soared through the rarified air, and as it soared its jewels changed to bright fires, and took their place, retaining the appearance of a crown, as the Corona Borealis, between the kneeling Hercules and the head of the serpent that Ophiuchus holds.

Bk VIII:183-235 Daedalus and Icarus

Meanwhile Daedalus, hating Crete, and his long exile, and filled with a desire to stand on his native soil, was imprisoned by the waves. ‘He may thwart our escape by land or sea’ he said ‘but the sky is surely open to us: we will go that way: Minos rules everything but he does not rule the heavens’. So saying he applied his thought to new invention and altered the natural order of things. He laid down lines of feathers, beginning with the small- est, following the shorter with longer ones, so that you might think they had grown like that, on a slant. In that way, long ago, the rustic pan-pipes were graduated, with lengthening reeds. Then he fastened them together with thread at the middle, and bees’-wax at the base, and, when he had arranged them, he flexed each one into a gentle curve, so that they imitated real bird’s wings. His son, Icarus, stood next to him, and, not realising that he was handling things that would endanger him, caught laughingly at the down that blew in the passing breeze, and softened the yellow bees’-wax with his thumb, and, in his play, hindered his father’s marvellous work.

When he had put the last touches to what he had begun, the artificer balanced his own body between the two wings and hovered in the moving air. He instructed the boy as well, saying ‘Let me warn you, Icarus, to take the middle way, in case the moisture weighs down your wings, if you fly too low, or if you go too high, the sun scorches them. Travel between the extremes. And I order you not to aim towards Bootes, the Herdsman, or Helice, the Great Bear, or towards the drawn sword of Orion: take the course I show you!’ At the same time as he laid down the rules of flight, he fitted the newly created wings on the boy’s shoulders. While he worked and issued his warnings the ageing man’s cheeks were wet with tears: the father’s hands trembled.

He gave a never to be repeated kiss to his son, and lifting upwards on his wings, flew ahead, anxious for his com- panion, like a bird, leading her fledglings out of a nest above, into the empty air. He urged the boy to follow, and showed him the dangerous art of flying, moving his own wings, and then looking back at his son. Some angler catching fish with a quivering rod, or a shepherd leaning on his crook, or a ploughman resting on the handles of his plough, saw them, perhaps, and stood there amazed, believing them to be gods able to travel the sky.

And now Samos, sacred to Juno, lay ahead to the left (Delos and Paros were behind them), Lebinthos, and Ca- lymne, rich in honey, to the right, when the boy began to delight in his daring flight, and abandoning his guide, drawn by desire for the heavens, soared higher. His nearness to the devouring sun softened the fragrant wax that held the wings: and the wax melted: he flailed with bare arms, but losing his oar-like wings, could not ride the air. Even as his mouth was crying his father’s name, it vanished into the dark blue sea, the Icarian Sea, called after him. The unhappy father, now no longer a father, shouted ‘Icarus, Icarus where are you? Which way should I be looking, to see you?’ ‘Icarus’ he called again. Then he caught sight of the feathers on the waves, and cursed his inventions. He laid the body to rest, in a tomb, and the island was named Icaria after his buried child.

********

from Ovid’s Heroides. Boox X. The Lament of Ariadne

Ariadne to Theseus

Even now, left to the wild beasts, she might live, cruel Theseus. Do you expect her to have endured this too, patiently? The whole tribe of creatures contrive to be gentler than you: not one have I had less confidence in than you.

Theseus, what you read has been sent to you from this land, from which your sails carried your ship without me, in which my sleep, and you, evilly betrayed me, conceiving your plans against me while I slept.

It was the time when the earth’s first sprinkled with glassy frost, and the hidden birds lament in the leaves: waking uncertainly, and stirring languidly in sleep, half-turning, my hand reached out for Theseus: there was no one there. I drew back, and tried again, and moved my arm across the bed: no one there.

Fear broke through my drowsiness: terrified, I rose and hurled my body from the empty bed. Straight away my hands drummed on my breast, and tore at my hair, just as it was, on waking, from my confused sleep.

There was a moon: I looked and saw nothing but the shore: wherever my eyes could see, there was nothing but sand. I ran here and there without any sense of purpose, the deep sand slowing a girl’s feet.

Meanwhile I called: ‘Theseus!’ over the whole beach your name echoing from the hollow cliffs and as often as I called you, the place itself called too: the place itself wished to give aid to my misery.

There was a hill: a few bushes were visible on its summit: a crag hangs there hollowed out by the harsh waves I climbed it: courage gave me strength: and I scanned the wide waters from that height with my gaze.

Then I saw – now the cruel winds were also felt – your ship driven before a fierce southerly gale. Either with what I saw, or what I may have thought I’d seen I was frozen like ice and half-alive.

But grief allowed no time for languor. I was roused by it, and roused, I called to Theseus at the top of my voice. ‘Where are you going?’ I shouted ‘turn back, wicked Theseus!

Work your ship! You’re without one of your number!’ So I called. When my voice failed I beat my breast instead: my blows were interspaced with my words. If you could not hear at least you might still see: I made wide signals with my outstretched hands.

I hung a white cloth on a tall branch, hoping those who’d forgotten would remember me. Now you were lost to sight. Then finally I wept: till then my cheeks were numb with grief.

What could my eyes do but weep at myself, once they had ceased to see your sails?

Either I wandered alone, with dishevelled hair, like a Maenad shaken by the Theban god: or I sat on the cold rock gazing at the sea, and I was as much a stone as the stones I sat on.

Often I seek again the bed that accepted us both, but it shows no sign of that acceptance, and I touch what I can of the traces of you, instead of you, and the sheets your body warmed.

I lie there and, wetting the bed with my flowing tears, I cry out: ‘We two burdened you, restore the two! We came here together: why shouldn’t we go together? Faithless bed, where’s the better part of me now? What am I to do? Why endure alone? The island’s unploughed:

I see no human beings: I can’t imagine there’s an ox. The land’s encircled by the sea on every side: no sailors, no ship to set sail on its uncertain way. Suppose I was given companions, winds and ship, where would I make for? My country denies me access.

If my boat slid gently through peaceful waters, calmed by Aeolian winds, I’d be an exile still.

I could not gaze at you, Crete, split in a hundred cities, a land that was known to the infant Jove. But my father and that land justly ruled by my father, those dear names, were both betrayed by me. while you, the victor who retraced your steps, would have died in the winding labyrinth, unless guided by the thread I gave you,

Then, you said to me: ‘I swear by the dangers overcome, that you’ll be mine while we both shall live.’ We live, and I’m not yours, Theseus, if you still live, I’m a woman buried by the fraud of a lying man.

Club that killed my brother, the Minotaur, condemn me too! The promise that you gave should be dissolved by death. Now I see not only what I must endure, but what any castaway would suffer.

A thousand images of dying fill my mind, and I fear death less than delay in that penalty of death. At every moment I dream it, coming from here or there, as if wolves tore my entrails with eager teeth. Perhaps this land breeds tawny lions? Who knows if this island harbours savage tigers?

And they say that the ocean throws up huge sea-lions: and who could prevent some sword piercing my side?

If only I might not be a captive, bound with harsh chains, nor draw out endless threads with a slave’s hand, I whose father is Minos, whose mother is the Sun’s daughter, because of that I remember the more, that I was bound to you! If I see the ocean, the land and the wide shore, I fear many things on land, many on the waves. The sky remains: I fear visions from the gods: I’m forsaken, a prey and food for swift beasts.

If men live here and cultivate this place, I distrust them: I’ve thoroughly learned to fear wounds from strangers. I wish my brother Androgeos lived and you Athens, land of Cecrops, hadn’t paid with your children’s deaths for his impious murder: and that you, Theseus hadn’t killed the Minotaur, half man, half bull, wielding a knotted club in your strong hand:

and that I hadn’t given you the thread that marked your way back, the thread so often received back into the hand that drew it. I’m not surprised that victory was yours, and the monster, prone, lay groaning on the Cretan earth. His horns could not pierce your iron heart: though you might fail to shield it, your breast would be safe. There you revealed flints and adamants, there you’ve a Theseus harder than flint.

Cruel sleep, why did you hold me there, senseless? Rather I should have been buried forever in eternal night. You too cruel winds, you gales, all too ready and officious in bringing tears to me: cruel right hand that causes my death, and my brother’s, and offered the promise I asked, an empty name: Sleep, the breeze, the promise conspired against me: one girl, I’m betrayed by three causes.

So it seems I’ll die without seeing my mother’s tears, and there’ll be no one to close my eyes. My unhappy spirit will vanish on a foreign breeze, no friendly hand will anoint my laid-out body. The seabirds will hover over my unburied bones: these are the ceremonies fit for my tomb.

You’ll be carried to Athens, and be received by your homeland, where you’ll stand in the high fortress of your city, and speak cleverly of the death of man and bull, and the labyrinth’s winding paths cut from the rock: speak of me also, abandoned in a lonely land: I’m not to be dropped, secretly, from your list! Your father’s not Aegeus: Aethra, daughter of Pittheus, is not your mother: your creators were stone and sea.

May the gods have ordained that you saw me from the high stern, that my mournful figure altered your expression. Now see me not with your eyes, but as you can, with your mind, clinging to a rock the fickle sea beats against: see my dishevelled hair like one who is in mourning and my clothes heavy with tears like rain!

My body trembles like ears of wheat struck by a north wind

and the letters I write waver in my unsteady fingers.

I don’t entreat you by my kindness, since that has ended badly: let no gratitude be owed for my deeds. But no punishment either. If I’m not the cause of your health, that’s still no reason why you should cause me harm.

These hands weary of beating my sad breast for you, unhappily I stretch them out over the wide waters: I mournfully display to you what remains of my hair: I beg you by these tears your actions have caused: turn your ship, Theseus, fall back against the wind:

if I die first, you can still bear my bones.

********

from Clay tablet found at Knossus ca. 1400, Linear B script

“One jar of honey to all the gods, one jar of honey to the Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

********

from The Odyssey, BkXVIII:468-617 Hephaestus forges Achilles’ armour

Then he inlaid an intricate dancing floor like that which Daedalus once made in spacious Cnossos for long-haired Ariadne. Young men, and girls worth many cattle, were dancing there, their hands clasping one another’s wrists. The girls wore white linen with pretty garlands on their heads; the young men fine-woven tunics with a soft sheen, daggers of gold hang- ing from their silver belts. Here, they danced lightly with skilful steps, like the motion a potter gives his wheel when testing it out to see how it will run. There, they ran in lines to meet each other. And enjoying the lovely scene, a host of people stood round about, while a pair of acrobats whirled among them, keeping time to the dance.

********

from The Golden Bough: A Study in Comparative Religion by J.G. Frazer

In Greece, on the other hand, the king’s fate seems to have hung in the balance at the end of every eight years, ready to fly up and kick the beam as soon as the opposite scale was loaded with a falling star.

Whatever its origin may have been, the cycle of eight years appears to have coincided with the normal length of the king’s reign in other parts of Greece besides Sparta. Thus Minos, king of Cnossus in Crete, whose great palace has been un- earthed in recent years, is said to have held office for periods of eight years together. At the end of each period he retired for a season to the oracular cave on Mount Ida, and there communed with his divine father Zeus, giving him an account of his kingship in the years that were past, and receiving from him instructions for his guidance in those which were to come. The tradition plainly implies that at the end of every eight years the king’s sacred powers needed to be renewed by intercourse with the godhead, and that without such a renewal he would have forfeited his right to the throne. Without being unduly rash we may surmise that the tribute of seven youths and seven maidens whom the Athenians were bound to send to Minos every eight years had some connexion with the renewal of the king’s power for another octen- nial cycle. Traditions varied as to the fate which awaited the lads and damsels on their arrival in Crete; but the common view appears to have been that they were shut up in the labyrinth, there to be devoured by the Minotaur, or at least to be imprisoned for life. Perhaps they were sacrificed by being roasted alive in a bronze image of a bull, or of a bull-headed man, in order to renew the strength of the king and of the sun, whom he personated. This at all events is suggested by the legend of Talos, a bronze man who clutched people to his breast and leaped with them into the fire, so that they were roasted alive. He is said to have been given by Zeus to Europa, or by Hephaestus to Minos, to guard the island of Crete, which he patrolled thrice daily. According to one account he was a bull, according to another he was the sun. Probably he was identical with the Minotaur, and stripped of his mythical features was nothing but a bronze image of the sun repre- sented as a man with a bull’s head.

In order to renew the solar fires, human victims may have been sacrificed to the idol by being roasted in its hollow body or placed on its sloping hands and allowed to roll into a pit of fire. It was in the latter fashion that the Carthaginians sacrificed their offspring to Moloch. The children were laid on the hands of a calf-headed image of bronze, from which they slid into a fiery oven, while the people danced to the music of flutes and timbrels to drown the shrieks of the burning victims. The resemblance which the Cretan traditions bear to the Carthaginian practice suggests that the worship associated with the names of Minos and the Minotaur may have been powerfully influenced by that of a Semitic Baal. In the tradition of Phalaris, tyrant of Agrigentum, and his brazen bull we may have an echo of …

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