the army, saw it strike the breastplate of a gigantic and
fierce-looking warrior. Immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to
take it for granted that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his
weapon, he smote his next neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet
asunder and stretched him on the ground. In an instant those nearest
the fallen warrior began to strike at one another with their swords,
and stab with their spears. The confusion spread wider and wider. Each
man smote down his brother, and was himself smitten down before he had
time to exult in his victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew
their blasts shriller and shriller; each soldier shouted a battle-cry,
and often fell with it on his lips. It was the strangest spectacle of
causeless wrath, and of mischief for no good end, that had ever been
witnessed; but, after all, it was neither more foolish nor more wicked
than a thousand battles that have since been fought, in which men have
slain their brothers with just as little reason as these children of
the dragon's teeth. It ought to be considered, too, that the dragon
people were made for nothing else; whereas other mortals were born to
love and help one another.
Well, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was
strewn with helmeted heads that had been cut off. Of all the thousands
that began the fight, there were only five left standing. These now
rushed from different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle
of it, clashed their swords and struck at each other's hearts as
fiercely as ever.
"Cadmus," said the voice again, "bid those five warriors sheathe their
swords. They will help you to build the city."
Without hesitating an instant, Cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect
of a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them,
spoke to the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.
"Sheathe your weapons!" said he.
And forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five
remaining sons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with
their swords, returned them to the scabbards, and stood before Cadmus
in a rank, eying him as soldiers eye their captain while awaiting the
word of command.
These five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's
teeth, and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army. They were
almost giants, indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never
could have lived through so terrible a fight. They still had a very
furious look, and, if Cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at
one another with fire flashing out of their eyes. It was strange, too,
to observe how the earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was
incrusted here and there on their bright breastplates, and even
begrimed their faces; just as you may have seen it clinging to beets
and carrots when pulled out of their native soil. Cadmus hardly knew
whether to consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable;
although, on the whole, he concluded that there was human nature in
them, because they were so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready
to shed blood.
They looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and
evidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one
battlefield to another, all over the wide world. But Cadmus was wiser
than these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them,
and knew better how to use their strength and hardihood.
"Come!" said he. "You are sturdy fellows. Make yourselves useful!
Quarry some stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to
build a city."
The five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their
business to overthrow cities, not to build them up. But Cadmus looked
at them with a stern eye, and spoke to them in a tone of authority, so
that they knew him for their master, and never again thought of
disobeying his commands. They set to work in good earnest, and toiled
so diligently, that, in a very short time, a city began to make its
appearance. At first, to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome
disposition. Like savage beasts, they would doubtless have done one
another mischief, if Cadmus had not kept watch over them and quelled
the fierce old serpent that lurked in their hearts when he saw it
gleaming out of their wild eyes. But, in course of time, they got
accustomed to honest labor, and had sense enough to feel that there
was more true enjoyment in living at peace, and doing good to one's
neighbor, than in striking at him with a two-edged sword. It may not
be too much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and by grow as
wise and peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors who sprang
from the dragon's teeth.
And now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the
workmen. But the palace of Cadmus was not yet erected, because they
had left it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new
improvements of architecture, and make it very commodious, as well as
stately and beautiful. After finishing the rest of their labors, they
all went to bed betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning,
and to get at least the foundation of the edifice laid before
nightfall. But, when Cadmus arose and took his way towards the site
where the palace was to be built, followed by his five sturdy workmen
marching all in a row, what do you think he saw?
What should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been
seen in the world? It was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of
stone, and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and a portico
along the front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted
the habitation of a mighty king. It had grown up out of the earth in
almost as short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from
the dragon's teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of
the stately edifice had ever been planted.
When the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine
making it look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.
"Long live King Cadmus," they cried, "in his beautiful palace!"
And the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels,
shouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank (for they still had
a soldier-like sort of behavior, as their nature was), ascended the
palace steps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista
of lofty pillars that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At
the farther extremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him,
Cadmus beheld a female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with
a royal robe, and a crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and
the richest necklace that ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with
delight. He fancied it his long-lost sister Europa, now grown to
womanhood, coming to make him happy, and to repay him, with her sweet
sisterly affection, for all those weary wanderings in quest of her
since he left King Agenor's palace--for the tears that he had shed, on
parting with Phoenix and Cilix--for the heartbreakings that had made
the whole world seem dismal to him over his dear mother's grave.
But, as Cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that
her features were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it
required to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy
betwixt himself and her.
"No, Cadmus," said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field
of the armed men, "this is not that dear sister Europa whom you have
sought so faithfully all over the wide world. This is Harmonia, a
daughter of the sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers,
and mother. You will find all those dear ones in her alone."
So King Cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend Harmonia, and
found a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would
doubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by
the wayside. Before many years went by, there was a group of rosy
little children (but how they came thither has always been a mystery
to me) sporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the
palace, and running joyfully to meet King Cadmus when affairs of state
left him at leisure to play with them. They called him father, and
Queen Harmonia mother. The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth
grew very fond of these small urchins, and were never weary of
showing them how to shoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march
in military order, blowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable
rub-a-dub upon a little drum.
But King Cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth
in his children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly
duties to teach them their A B C--which he invented for their benefit,
and for which many little people, I am afraid, are not half so
grateful to him as they ought to be.
ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE
BY V. C. TURNBULL
"Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing;
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
"Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing-care and grief-of-heart
Fall asleep, or hearing, die."
SHAKESPEARE.
Never was musician like Orpheus, who sang songs, inspired by the
Muses, to a lyre that was given to him by Apollo. So mighty indeed was
the magic of his music, that Nature herself owned his sway. Not only
did rocks and rills repeat his lays, but the very trees uprooted
themselves to follow in his train, and the savage beasts of the forest
were tamed and fawned upon him as he played and sang.
But of all who hearkened enchanted to those matchless strains, none
drew deeper delight therefrom than the singer's newly wed wife, the
young and lovely Eurydice. Hour by hour she sat at his feet hearkening
to the music of his voice and lyre, and the gods themselves might
have envied the happy pair.
And surely some god did look with envious eye upon those two. For on
an evil day, Eurydice, strolling with her maidens through a flowery
meadow, was bitten on her foot by a viper and perished in all her
beauty ere the sun went down.
Then Orpheus, terrible in his anguish, swore that death itself should
not forever rob him of his love. His song, which could tame wild
beasts and drag the ancient trees from their roots, should quell the
powers of hell and snatch back Eurydice from their grasp.
Thus he swore, calling on the gods to help him; and taking his lyre in
his hand he set forth on that fearful pilgrimage from which never
man--unless, like Hercules, he was a hero, half man and half god--had
returned alive.
And now he reaches the downward path, the end whereof is lost in
gloom. Deeper and deeper he descended till the light of day was quite
shut out, and with it all the sounds of the pleasant earth. Downward
through the silence as of the grave, downward through darkness deeper
than that of any earthly night. Then out of the darkness, faint at
first, but louder as he went on, came sounds that chilled his
blood--shrieks and groans of more than mortal anguish, and the
terrible voices of the Furies, speaking words that cannot be uttered
in any human tongue.
When Orpheus heard these things his knees shook and his feet paused as
if rooted to the ground. But remembering once more his love and all
his grief, he struck his lyre and sang, till his dirge, reverberating
like a coronach or funeral march, drowned all the sounds of hell. And
Charon, the old ferryman, subdued by the melody, ferried him over the
ninefold Styx which none save the dead might cross; and when Orpheus
reached the other side great companies of pale ghosts flocked round
him on that drear shore; for the singer was no shadowy ghost like
themselves, but a mortal, beautiful though woebegone, and his song
spoke to them as with a thousand voices of the sunlight and the
familiar earth, and of those who were left behind in their well-loved
homes.
But Orpheus, not finding Eurydice among these, made no tarrying.
Onward he passed, over the flaming flood of Phlegethon, through the
cloud-hung and adamantine portals of Tartarus. Here Pluto, lord of the
under-world, sits enthroned, and round him sinners do penance for the
evil that they wrought upon earth. There Ixion, murderer of his
father-in-law, is racked upon the ever-turning wheel, and Tantalus,
who slew his son, endures eternal hunger in sight of food and eternal
fear from the stone ever ready to fall. There the daughters of Danaüs
cease not to pour water into bottomless urns. There Sisyphus, who
broke faith with the gods when they permitted him to return a little
while to the upper world, evermore rolls up a steep hill a great stone
that, falling back from the summit, crushes the wretch in its downward
rush.
But now a great marvel was seen in hell. For as Orpheus entered
singing, his melodies, the first that had ever sounded in that dread
abode, caused all its terrors for a moment to cease. Tantalus caught
no more at the fruits that slipped through his fingers, Ixion's wheel
ceased to turn, the daughters of Danaüs paused at their urns, and
Sisyphus rested on his rock. Nay, the very Furies themselves ceased to
scourge their victims, and the snakes that mingled with their locks
hung down, forgetting to hiss.
So came Orpheus to the throne of great Pluto, by whose side sat
Proserpine, his Queen. And the king of the infernal gods asked: "What
wouldst thou, mortal, who darest to enter unbidden this our realm of
death?"
Orpheus answered, touching his lyre the while: "Not as a spy or a foe
have I come where no living wight hath ventured before, but I seek my
wife, slain untimely by the fangs of a serpent. Such love as mine for
a maiden such as she must melt the stoniest heart. Thy heart is not
all of stone, and thou too didst once love an earthly maiden. By these
places filled with horrors, and by the silence of these boundless
realms, I entreat thee restore Eurydice to life."
He paused, and all Tartarus waited with him for a reply. The terrible
eyes of Pluto were cast down, and to Proserpine came a memory of the
far-off days when she too was a maid upon earth sporting in the
flowery meads of Enna. Then Orpheus struck again his magic strings and
sang: "To thee we all belong; to thee soon or late we all must come.
It is but for a little space that I crave my Eurydice. Nay, without
her I will not return. Grant, therefore, my prayer, O Pluto, or slay
me here and now."
Then Pluto raised his head and spoke: "Bring hither Eurydice."
And Eurydice, still pale and limping from her mortal wound, was
brought from among the shades of the newly dead.
And Pluto said: "Take back, Orpheus, thy wife Eurydice, and lead her
to the upper world again. But go thou before and leave her to follow
after. Look not once back till thou hast passed my borders and canst
see the sun, for in the moment when thou turnest thy head, thy wife is
lost to thee again and forever."
Then with great joy Orpheus turned and led Eurydice from thence. They
left behind the tortured dead and the gibbering ghosts; they crossed
the flaming Phlegethon, and Charon rowed them once more over the
ninefold Styx; and up the dark path they went, the cries of Tartarus
sounding ever fainter in their ears; and anon the light of the sun
shone faint and far where the path returned to earth, and as they
pressed forward the song of the little birds made answer to the lyre
of Orpheus.
But the cup of happiness was dashed from the lips that touched its
brim. For even as they stood upon the uttermost verge of the dark
place, the light of the sun just dawning upon their faces and their
feet within a pace of earthly soil, Eurydice stumbled and cried out in
pain.
Without a thought Orpheus turned to see what ailed her, and in that
moment was she caught from him. Far down the path he saw her, a ghost
once more, fading from his sight like smoke as her faint form was lost
in the gloom; only for a moment could he see her white arms stretched
towards him in vain; only once could he hear her last heart-broken
farewell.
Down the path rushed Orpheus, clamoring for his Eurydice lost a second
time; but vain was all his grief, for not again would Charon row him
across the Styx. So the singer returned to earth, his heart broken,
and all joy gone from his life. Thenceforth his one consolation was to
sit upon Mount Rhodope singing his love and his loss. And the Thracian
women, worshipers of Bacchus, kindling at his strains, called to him
to join in their wild rites. But when he turned from them with
loathing, they fell upon him, tearing him limb from limb. And his head
they cast into the river Hebrus, whose banks bore to the Ægean Sea
that long-drawn wail: "Eurydice, Eurydice!" And still as we hear the
music of that sweet name we think of "infinite passion, and the pain
of finite hearts that yearn."
But the gods, first punishing the Thracian women by turning them into
trees, took the lyre of Orpheus and set it among the stars. And
Orpheus himself, once more entering by the gate of death the regions
of the dead, seeks and finds his beloved Eurydice. Now may they walk
side by side, now Orpheus, if he goes before, may look back in safety
upon the face of his loved one. For the sorrows of life are over and
the pangs of death are past, and no shadow of parting can come between
the singer and his love in the Elysium of the Blessed.
HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES
PART I. HERCULES AND THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Did you ever hear of the golden apples that grew in the garden of the
Hesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price by
the bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of
nowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit
on a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those
apples exists any longer.
And even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of
the Hesperides was overrun with weeds, many doubted whether there
could be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon their
branches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have seen
any. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to stories
of the golden apple tree, and resolved to discover it when they should
be big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver thing
than any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of
them returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder
that they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that there
was a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of
which were always on the watch while the other fifty slept.
But it was quite a common thing with youths, when tired of too much
peace and rest, to go in search of the garden of the Hesperides. And
once the adventure was undertaken by a hero who had enjoyed very
little peace or rest since he came into the world. At the time of
which I am going to speak, he was wandering through the pleasant land
of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand and a bow and quiver slung
across his shoulders. He was wrapped in the skin of the biggest and
fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he himself had
killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind and generous and noble,
there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart. As he
went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the right
road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew
anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have
laughed at the question, if the stranger had not carried so big a
club.
So he journeyed on, still making the same inquiry, until at last he
came to the brink of a river, where some beautiful girls sat twining
wreaths of flowers.
"Can you tell me, pretty maidens," asked the stranger, "whether this
is the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?"
The girls had been having a fine time together, weaving the flowers
into wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. But, on hearing the
stranger's question, they dropped all their flowers on the grass and
gazed at him with astonishment.
"The garden of the Hesperides!" cried one. "We thought mortals had
been weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,
bold stranger, what do you want there?"
"A certain king, who is my cousin," replied he, "has ordered me to get
him three of the golden apples."
"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples," observed
another of the damsels, "desire to obtain them for themselves, or to
present to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this
king, your cousin, so very much?"
"Perhaps not," replied the stranger, sighing. "He has often been
severe and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him."
"And do you know," asked the damsel who had first spoken, "that a
terrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden
apple tree?"
"I know it well," answered the stranger calmly. "But from my cradle
upwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with
serpents and dragons."
The maidens looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's skin
which he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and they
whispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who might
reasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other men.
But then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if he
possessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a
monster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to
see this brave and handsome traveler attempt what was so very
dangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the
dragon's hundred ravenous mouths.
"Go back," cried they all; "go back to your own home! Your mother,
beholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she
do more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the
golden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not
wish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!"
The stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He
carelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that
lay half buried in the earth near by. With the force of that idle
blow, the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger
no more effort to achieve this feat of strength than for one of the
young maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.
"Do you not believe," said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,
"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred
heads?"
Then he sat down on the grass and told them the story of his life, or
as much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first
cradled in a warrior's brazen shield.
When the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked
around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
"Perhaps you may have heard of me before," said he, modestly. "My name
is Hercules."
"We had already guessed it," replied the maidens; "for your wonderful
deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange any
longer that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the
Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!"
Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty
shoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with
roses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it
about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms that
not a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It
looked all like a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands,
and danced around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own
accord, and grew into a choral song in honor of the illustrious
Hercules.
And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know
that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it
had cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But still he was not
satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy
of so much honor, while there remained any bold adventure to be
undertaken.
"Dear maidens," said he, when they paused to take breath, "now that
you know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of
the Hesperides?"
"Ah! must you go so soon?" they exclaimed. "You that have performed so
many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content
yourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful
river?"
Hercules shook his head.
"I must depart now," said he.
"We will then give you the best directions we can," replied the
damsels. "You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and
compel him to inform you where the golden apples are to be found."
"The Old One!" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. "And pray
who may the Old One be?"
"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!" answered one of the
damsels. "He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very
beautiful; but we do not think it proper to be acquainted with them,
because they have sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must
talk to this Old Man of the Sea. He is a seafaring person, and knows
all about the garden of the Hesperides, for it is situated in an
island which he is often in the habit of visiting."