daughters of the Sun, refused all comfort. Day and night they wept
together about their brother's grave by the river, until the Gods took
pity and changed them all into poplar-trees. And ever after that they wept
sweet tears of amber, clear as sunlight.
NIOBE
By Josephine Preston Peabody
There are so many tales of the vanity of kings and queens that the half of
them cannot be told.
There was Cassiopæia, queen of Æthiopia, who boasted that her beauty
outshone the beauty of all the sea-nymphs, so that in anger they sent a
horrible sea-serpent to ravage the coast. The king prayed of an oracle to
know how the monster might be appeased, and learned that he must offer up
his own daughter, Andromeda. The maiden was therefore chained to a rock by
the sea-side, and left to her fate. But who should come to rescue her but
a certain young hero, Perseus, who was hastening homeward after a perilous
adventure with the snaky-haired Gorgons. Filled with pity at the story of
Andromeda, he waited for the dragon, met and slew him, and set the maiden
free. As for the boastful queen, the Gods forgave her, and at her death
she was set among the stars. That story ended well.
But there was once a queen of Thebes, Niobe, fortunate above all women,
and yet arrogant in the face of the gods. Very beautiful she was, and
nobly born, but above all things she boasted of her children, for she had
seven sons and seven daughters.
Now there came the day when the people were wont to celebrate the feast of
Latona, mother of Apollo and Diana; and Niobe, as she stood looking upon
the worshipers on their way to the temple, was filled with overweening
pride.
"Why do you worship Latona before me?" she cried out. "What does she
possess that I have not in greater abundance? She has but two children,
while I have seven sons and as many daughters. Nay, if she robbed me out
of envy, I should still be rich. Go back to your houses; you have not eyes
to know the rightful goddess."
Such impiety was enough to frighten any one, and her subjects returned to
their daily work, awestruck and silent.
But Apollo and Diana were filled with wrath at this insult to their divine
mother. Not only was she a great goddess and a power in the heavens, but
during her life on earth she had suffered many hardships for their sake.
The serpent Python had been sent to torment her; and, driven from land to
land, under an evil spell, beset with dangers, she had found no
resting-place but the island of Delos, held sacred ever after to her and
her children. Once she had even been refused water by some churlish
peasants, who could not believe in a goddess if she appeared in humble
guise and travel-worn. But these men were all changed into frogs.
It needed no word from Latona herself to rouse her children to vengeance.
Swift as a thought, the two immortal archers, brother and sister, stood in
Thebes, upon the towers of the citadel. Near by, the youth were pursuing
their sports, while the feast of Latona went neglected. The sons of Queen
Niobe were there, and against them Apollo bent his golden bow. An arrow
crossed the air like a sunbeam, and without a word the eldest prince fell
from his horse. One by one his brothers died by the same hand, so swiftly
that they knew not what had befallen them, till all the sons of the royal
house lay slain. Only the people of Thebes, stricken with terror, bore the
news to Queen Niobe, where she sat with her seven daughters. She would not
believe in such a sorrow.
"Savage Latona," she cried, lifting her arms against the heavens, "never
think that you have conquered. I am still the greater."
At that moment one of her daughters sank beside her. Diana had sped an
arrow from her bow that is like the crescent moon. Without a cry, nay,
even as they murmured words of comfort, the sisters died, one by one. It
was all as swift and soundless as snowfall.
Only the guilty mother was left, transfixed with grief. Tears flowed from
her eyes, but she spoke not a word, her heart never softened; and at last
she turned to stone, and the tears flowed down her cold face forever.
PYRAMUS AND THISBE
By Josephine Preston Peabody
Venus did not always befriend true lovers, as she had befriended
Hippomenes, with her three golden apples. Sometimes, in the enchanted
island of Cyprus, she forgot her worshipers far away, and they called on
her in vain.
So it was in the sad story of Hero and Leander, who lived on opposite
borders of the Hellespont. Hero dwelt at Sestos, where she served as a
priestess, in the very temple of Venus; and Leander's home was in Abydos,
a town on the opposite shore. But every night this lover would swim across
the water to see Hero, guided by the light which she was wont to set in
her tower. Even such loyalty could not conquer fate. There came a great
storm, one night, that put out the beacon, and washed Leander's body up
with the waves to Hero, and she sprang into the water to rejoin him, and
so perished.
Not wholly unlike this was the fate of Halcyone, a queen of Thessaly, who
dreamed that her husband Ceyx had been drowned, and on waking hastened to
the shore to look for him. There she saw her dream come true,--his
lifeless body floating towards her on the tide; and as she flung herself
after him, mad with grief, the air upheld her and she seemed to fly.
Husband and wife were changed into birds; and there on the very water, at
certain seasons, they build a nest that floats unhurt,--a portent of calm
for many days and safe voyage for the ships. So it is that seamen love
these birds and look for halcyon weather.
But there once lived in Babylonia two lovers named Pyramus and Thisbe, who
were parted by a strange mischance. For they lived in adjoining houses;
and although their parents had forbidden them to marry, these two had
found a means of talking together through a crevice in the wall.
Here, again and again, Pyramus on his side of the wall and Thisbe on hers,
they would meet to tell each other all that had happened during the day,
and to complain of their cruel parents. At length they decided that they
would endure it no longer, but that they would leave their homes and be
married, come what might. They planned to meet, on a certain evening, by a
mulberry-tree near the tomb of King Ninus, outside the city gates. Once
safely met, they were resolved to brave fortune together.
So far all went well. At the appointed time, Thisbe, heavily veiled,
managed to escape from home unnoticed, and after a stealthy journey
through the streets of Babylon, she came to the grove of mulberries near
the tomb of Ninus. The place was deserted, and once there she put off the
veil from her face to see if Pyramus waited anywhere among the shadows.
She heard the sound of a footfall and turned to behold--not Pyramus, but a
creature unwelcome to any tryst--none other than a lioness crouching to
drink from the pool hard by.
Without a cry, Thisbe fled, dropping her veil as she ran. She found a
hiding-place among the rocks at some distance, and there she waited, not
knowing what else to do.
The lioness, having quenched her thirst (after some ferocious meal),
turned from the spring and, coming upon the veil, sniffed at it curiously,
tore and tossed it with her reddened jaws,--as she would have done with
Thisbe herself,--then dropped the plaything and crept away to the forest
once more.
It was but a little after this that Pyramus came hurrying to the
meeting-place, breathless with eagerness to find Thisbe and tell her what
had delayed him. He found no Thisbe there. For a moment he was confounded.
Then he looked about for some signs of her, some footprint by the pool.
There was the trail of a wild beast in the grass, and near by a woman's
veil, torn and stained with blood; he caught it up and knew it for
Thisbe's.
So she had come at the appointed hour, true to her word; she had waited
there for him alone and defenseless, and she had fallen a prey to some
beast from the jungle! As these thoughts rushed upon the young man's mind,
he could endure no more.
"Was it to meet me, Thisbe, that you came to such a death!" cried he. "And
I followed all too late. But I will atone. Even now I come lagging, but by
no will of mine!"
So saying, the poor youth drew his sword and fell upon it, there at the
foot of that mulberry-tree which he had named as the trysting-place, and
his life-blood ran about the roots.
During these very moments, Thisbe, hearing no sound and a little
reassured, had stolen from her hiding-place and was come to the edge of
the grove. She saw that the lioness had left the spring, and, eager to
show her lover that she had dared all things to keep faith, she came
slowly, little by little, back to the mulberry-tree.
She found Pyramus there, according to his promise. His own sword was in
his heart, the empty scabbard by his side, and in his hand he held her
veil still clasped. Thisbe saw these things as in a dream, and suddenly
the truth awoke her. She saw the piteous mischance of all; and when the
dying Pyramus opened his eyes and fixed them upon her, her heart broke.
With the same sword she stabbed herself, and the lovers died together.
There the parents found them, after a weary search, and they were buried
together in the same tomb. But the berries of the mulberry-tree turned red
that day, and red they have remained ever since.
STORIES OF THE TROJAN WAR
THE APPLE OF DISCORD
By Josephine Preston Peabody
There was once a war so great that the sound of it has come ringing down
the centuries from singer to singer, and will never die.
The rivalries of men and gods brought about many calamities, but none so
heavy as this; and it would never have come to pass, they say, if it had
not been for jealousy among the immortals,--all because of a golden apple!
But Destiny has nurtured ominous plants from little seeds; and this is how
one evil grew great enough to overshadow heaven and earth.
The sea-nymph Thetis (whom Zeus himself had once desired for his wife) was
given in marriage to a mortal, Peleus, and there was a great wedding-feast
in heaven. Thither all the immortals were bidden, save one, Eris, the
goddess of Discord, ever an unwelcome guest. But she came unbidden. While
the wedding-guests sat at feast, she broke in upon their mirth, flung
among them a golden apple, and departed with looks that boded ill. Some
one picked up the strange missile and read its inscription, "For the
Fairest;" and at once discussion arose among the goddesses. They were all
eager to claim the prize, but only three persisted.
Venus, the very goddess of beauty, said that it was hers by right; but
Juno could not endure to own herself less fair than another, and even
Athene coveted the palm of beauty as well as of wisdom, and would not give
it up! Discord had indeed come to the wedding-feast. Not one of the Gods
dared to decide so dangerous a question,--not Zeus himself,--and the three
rivals were forced to choose a judge among mortals.
Now there lived on Mount Ida, near the city of Troy, a certain young
shepherd by the name of Paris. He was as comely as Ganymede himself,--that
Trojan youth whom Zeus, in the shape of an eagle, seized and bore away to
Olympus, to be a cup-bearer to the gods. Paris, too, was a Trojan of royal
birth, but like Oedipus, he had been left on the mountain in his infancy,
because the oracle had foretold that he would be the death of his kindred
and the ruin of his country. Destiny saved and nurtured him to fulfill
that prophecy. He grew up as a shepherd and tended his flocks on the
mountain, but his beauty held the favor of all the wood-folk there and won
the heart of the nymph Oenone.
To him, at last, the three goddesses intrusted the judgment and the golden
apple. Juno first stood before him in all her glory as queen of Gods and
men, and attended by her favorite peacocks as gorgeous to see as royal
fan-bearers.
[Illustration: TO HIM, AT LAST, THE THREE GODDESSES INTRUSTED THE JUDGMENT
AND THE GOLDEN APPLE]
"Use but the judgment of a prince, Paris," she said, "and I will give thee
wealth and kingly power."
Such majesty and such promises would have moved the heart of any man; but
the eager Paris had at least to hear the claims of the other rivals.
Athene rose before him, a vision welcome as daylight, with her sea-gray
eyes and golden hair beneath a golden helmet.
"Be wise in honoring me, Paris," she said, "and I will give thee wisdom
that shall last forever, great glory among men, and renown in war."
Last of all, Venus shone upon him, beautiful as none can ever hope to be.
If she had come, unnamed, as any country maid, her loveliness would have
dazzled him like sea-foam in the sun; but she was girt with her magical
Cestus, a spell of beauty that no one can resist.
Without a bribe she might have conquered, and she smiled upon his dumb
amazement, saying, "Paris, thou shalt yet have for wife the fairest woman
in the world."
At these words, the happy shepherd fell on his knees and offered her the
golden apple. He took no heed of the slighted goddesses, who vanished in a
cloud that boded storm.
From that hour he sought only the counsel of Venus, and only cared to find
the highway to his new fortunes. From her he learned that he was the son
of King Priam of Troy, and with her assistance he deserted the nymph
Oenone, whom he had married, and went in search of his royal kindred.
For it chanced at that time that Priam proclaimed a contest of strength
between his sons and certain other princes, and promised as prize the most
splendid bull that could be found among the herds of Mount Ida. Thither
came the herdsmen to choose, and when they led away the pride of Paris's
heart, he followed to Troy, thinking that he would try his fortune and
perhaps win back his own.
The games took place before Priam and Hecuba and all their children,
including those noble princes Hector and Helenus, and the young Cassandra,
their sister. This poor maiden had a sad story, in spite of her royalty;
for, because she had once disdained Apollo, she was fated to foresee all
things, and ever to have her prophecies disbelieved. On this fateful day,
she alone was oppressed with strange forebodings.
But if he who was to be the ruin of his country had returned, he had come
victoriously. Paris won the contest. At the very moment of his honor, poor
Cassandra saw him with her prophetic eyes; and seeing as well all the
guilt and misery that he was to bring upon them, she broke into bitter
lamentations, and would have warned her kindred against the evil to come.
But the Trojans gave little heed; they were wont to look upon her visions
as spells of madness. Paris had come back to them a glorious youth and a
victor; and when he made known the secret of his birth, they cast the
words of the oracle to the winds, and received the shepherd as a long-lost
prince.
Thus far all went happily. But Venus, whose promise had not yet been
fulfilled, bade Paris procure a ship and go in search of his destined
bride. The prince said nothing of this quest, but urged his kindred to let
him go; and giving out a rumor that he was to find his father's lost
sister Hesione, he set sail for Greece, and finally landed at Sparta.
There he was kindly received by Menelaus, the king, and his wife, Fair
Helen.
This queen had been reared as the daughter of Tyndarus and Queen Leda, but
some say that she was the child of an enchanted swan, and there was indeed
a strange spell about her. All the greatest heroes of Greece had wooed her
before she left her father's palace to be the wife of King Menelaus, and
Tyndarus, fearing for her peace, had bound her many suitors by an oath.
According to this pledge, they were to respect her choice, and to go to
the aid of her husband if ever she should be stolen away from him. For in
all Greece there was nothing so beautiful as the beauty of Helen. She was
the fairest woman in the world.
Now thus did Venus fulfill her promise and the shepherd win his reward
with dishonor. Paris dwelt at the court of Menelaus for a long time,
treated with a royal courtesy which he ill repaid. For at length, while
the king was absent on a journey to Crete, his guest won the heart of Fair
Helen, and persuaded her to forsake her husband and sail away to Troy, or
Ilium.
King Menelaus returned to find the nest empty of the swan. Paris and the
fairest woman in the world were well across the sea.
When this treachery came to light, all Greece took fire with indignation.
The heroes remembered their pledge, and wrath came upon them at the wrong
done to Menelaus. But they were less angered with Fair Helen than with
Paris, for they felt assured that the queen had been lured from her
country and out of her own senses by some spell of enchantment. So they
took counsel how they might bring back Fair Helen to her home and husband.
Years had come and gone since that wedding-feast when Eris had flung the
apple of discord, like a firebrand, among the guests. But the spark of
dissension that had smouldered so long burst into flame now, and, fanned
by the enmities of men and the rivalries of the Gods, it seemed like to
fire heaven and earth.
A few of the heroes answered the call to arms unwillingly. Time had
reconciled them to the loss of Fair Helen, and they were loath to leave
home and happiness for war, even in her cause.
One of these was Odysseus, or Ulysses, king of Ithaca, who had married
Penelope, and was quite content with his kingdom and his little son
Telemachus. Indeed, he was so unwilling to leave them that he feigned
madness in order to escape service, appeared to forget his own kindred,
and went ploughing the seashore and sowing salt in the furrows. But a
messenger, Palamedes, who came with the summons to war, suspected that
this sudden madness might be a stratagem, for the king was far famed as a
man of many devices. He therefore stood by, one day (while Ulysses,
pretending to take no heed of him, went ploughing the sand) and he laid
the baby Telemachus directly in the way of the ploughshare. For once the
wise man's craft deserted him. Ulysses turned the plough sharply, caught
up the little prince, and there his fatherly wits were manifest! After
this he could no longer play madman. He had to take leave of his beloved
wife Penelope and set out to join the heroes, little dreaming that he was
not to return for twenty years. Once embarked, however, he set himself to
work in the common cause of the heroes, and was soon as ingenious as
Palamedes in rousing laggard warriors.
There remained one who was destined to be the greatest warrior of all.
This was Achilles, the son of Thetis,--foretold in the day of Prometheus
as a man who should far outstrip his own father in glory and greatness.
Years had passed since the marriage of Thetis to King Peleus, and their
son Achilles was now grown to manhood, a wonder of strength indeed, and,
moreover, invulnerable. For his mother, forewarned of his death in the
Trojan War, had dipped him in the sacred river Styx when he was a baby, so
that he could take no hurt from any weapon. From head to foot she had
plunged him in, only forgetting the little heel that she held him by, and
this alone could be wounded by any chance. But even with such precautions
Thetis was not content. Fearful at the rumors of war to be, she had her
son brought up, in woman's dress, among the daughters of King Lycomedes of
Scyros, that he might escape the notice of men and cheat his destiny.
To this very palace, however, came Ulysses in the guise of a merchant, and
he spread his wares before the royal household,--jewels and ivory, fine
fabrics, and curiously wrought weapons. The king's daughters chose girdles
and veils and such things as women delight in; but Achilles, heedless of
the like, sought out the weapons, and handled them with such manly
pleasure that his nature stood revealed. So he, too, yielded to his
destiny and set out to join the heroes.
Everywhere men were banded together, building the ships and gathering
supplies. The allied forces of Greece (the Achaians, as they called
themselves) chose Agamemnon for their commander-in-chief. He was a mighty
man, king of Mycenæ and Argos, and the brother of the wronged Menelaus.
Second to Achilles in strength was the giant Ajax; after him Diomedes,
then wise Ulysses, and Nestor, held in great reverence because of his
experienced age and fame. These were the chief heroes. After two years of
busy preparation, they reached the port of Aulis, whence they were to sail
for Troy.
But here delay held them. Agamemnon had chanced to kill a stag which was
sacred to Diana, and the army was visited by pestilence, while a great
calm kept the ships imprisoned. At length the oracle made known the reason
of this misfortune and demanded for atonement the maiden Iphigenia,
Agamemnon's own daughter. In helpless grief the king consented to offer
her up as a victim, and the maiden was brought, ready for sacrifice. But
at the last moment Diana caught her away in a cloud, leaving a white hind
in her place, and carried her to Tauris in Scythia, there to serve as a
priestess in the temple. In the mean time, her kinsfolk, who were at a
loss to understand how she had disappeared, mourned her as dead. But Diana
had accepted their child as an offering, and healing came to the army, and
the winds blew again. So the ships set sail.
Meanwhile, in Troy across the sea, the aged Priam and Hecuba gave shelter
to their son Paris and his stolen bride. They were not without misgivings
as to these guests, but they made ready to defend their kindred and the
citadel.
There were many heroes among the Trojans and their allies, brave and
upright men, who little deserved that such reproach should be brought upon
them by the guilt of Prince Paris. There were Æneas and Deïphobus, Glaucus
and Sarpedon, and Priam's most noble son Hector, chief of all the forces,
and the very bulwark of Troy. These and many more were bitterly to regret
the day that had brought Paris back to his home. But he had taken refuge
with his own people, and the Trojans had to take up his cause against the
hostile fleet that was coming across the sea.
Even the Gods took sides. Juno and Athene, who had never forgiven the
judgment of Paris, condemned all Troy with him and favored the Greeks, as
did also Neptune, god of the sea. But Venus, true to her favorite,
furthered the interests of the Trojans with all her power, and persuaded
the warlike Mars to do likewise. Zeus and Apollo strove to be impartial,
but they were yet to aid now one side, now another, according to the
fortunes of the heroes whom they loved.
Over the sea came the great embassy of ships, sped hither safely by the
god Neptune; and the heroes made their camp on the plain before Troy.
First of all Ulysses and King Menelaus himself went into the city and
demanded that Fair Helen should be given back to her rightful husband.
This the Trojans refused, and so began the siege of Troy.
THE QUARREL BETWEEN AGAMEMNON AND ACHILLES
By Alfred J. Church
The Greeks sacked the city of Chryse, where was a temple of Apollo, and a
priest that served the temple. And when they divided the spoil, they gave
to King Agamemnon with other gifts, the priest's daughter, Chryseïs.
Thereupon there came to the camp Chryses, the priest, wishing to ransom
his daughter. Much gold he brought with him, and on his staff of gold he
carried the holy garland, that men might reverence him the more. He went
to all the chiefs, and to the sons of Atreus first of all, saying,--
"Loose, I pray you, my dear daughter, and take the ransom for her; so may
the gods that dwell in Olympus grant you to take the city of Troy, and to
have safe return to your homes."
Then all the others spake him fair, and would have done what he wished.
Only Agamemnon would not have it so.
"Get thee out, graybeard!" he cried in great wrath. "Let me not find thee
lingering now by the ships, neither coming hither again, or it shall be
the worse for thee, for all thy priesthood. And as for thy daughter, I
shall carry her away to Argos, when I shall have taken this city of Troy."
Then the old man went out hastily in great fear and trouble. And he walked
in his sorrow by the shore of the sounding sea, and prayed to his god
Apollo.
"Hear me, god of the silver bow! If I have built thee a temple, and
offered thee fat of many bullocks and rams, hear me, and avenge my tears
on the Greeks with thine arrows!"