yet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the
rock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong
enough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and
curly-headed boy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone,
striving, child as he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done
without taking both of his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock
seemed to be sinking farther and farther into the ground. The moss
grew over it thicker and thicker, until at last it looked almost like
a soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of granite peeping out.
The overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often
as the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some
of which crept quite over its surface. To all appearance the rock was
as firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth's substance.
But difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be
such a vigorous youth that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly
come when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump
of stone.
"Mother, I do believe it has started!" cried he, after one of his
attempts. "The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!"
"No, no, child!" his mother hastily answered. "It is not possible that
you can have moved it, such a boy as you still are!"
Nor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place
where he fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by
the movement of the rock. But Æthra sighed and looked disquieted; for,
no doubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a
child, and that, in a little while hence, she must send him forth
among the perils and troubles of the world.
It was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting
on the moss-covered stone. Æthra had once more told him the
oft-repeated story of his father, and how gladly he would receive
Theseus at his stately palace, and how he would present him to his
courtiers and the people, and tell them that here was the heir of his
dominions. The eyes of Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would
hardly sit still to hear his mother speak.
"Dear mother Æthra," he exclaimed, "I never felt half so strong as
now! I am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel
myself a man! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the
stone."
"Ah, my dearest Theseus," replied his mother, "not yet! not yet!"
"Yes, mother," he said resolutely, "the time has come!"
Then Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained
every sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole
brave heart into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish
stone, as if it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he
resolved now to succeed, or else to perish there and let the rock be
his monument forever! Æthra stood gazing at him, and clasped her
hands, partly with a mother's pride and partly with a mother's sorrow.
The great rock stirred! Yes; it was raised slowly from the bedded moss
and earth, uprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was
turned upon its side. Theseus had conquered!
While taking breath he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled
upon him through her tears.
"Yes, Theseus," she said, "the time has come, and you must stay no
longer at my side! See what King Ægeus, your royal father, left for
you, beneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms and laid
it on the spot whence you have now removed it."
Theseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another
slab of stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat
resembled a roughly made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had
served as the lid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt,
and a pair of sandals.
"That was your father's sword," said Æthra, "and those were his
sandals. When he went to be King of Athens, he bade me treat you as a
child until you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy
stone. That task being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in
order to follow in your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword,
so that you may fight giants and dragons, as King Ægeus did in his
youth."
"I will set out for Athens this very day!" cried Theseus.
But his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she
got ready some necessary articles for his journey. When his
grandfather, the wise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to
present himself at his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to
get on board of a vessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive
within fifteen miles of Athens, without either fatigue or danger.
"The roads are very bad by land," quoth the venerable king; "and they
are terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad like
Theseus is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey all by
himself. No, no; let him go by sea!"
But when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears
and was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were
to be met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful
farewell to his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness; and,
after affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth, with a good
many of her tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth
must be told, that had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun
and wind dry them, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt
of his sword and taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.
I cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell
Theseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say that he quite
cleared that part of the country of the robbers about whom King
Pittheus had been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named
Procrustes, and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way
of making fun of the poor travelers who happened to fall into his
clutches. In his cavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretense of
hospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but if they happened
to be shorter than the bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by
main force; or, if they were too tall, he lopped off their heads or
feet, and laughed at what he had done as an excellent joke. Thus,
however weary a man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of
Procrustes. Another of these robbers, named Sinis, must likewise have
been a very great scoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging his
victims off a high cliff into the sea; and in order to give him
exactly his deserts, Theseus tossed him off the very same place. But
if you will believe me, the sea would not pollute itself by receiving
such a bad person into its bosom, neither would the earth, having once
got rid of him, consent to take him back; so that, between the cliff
and the sea, Sinis stuck fast in the air, which was forced to bear the
burden of his naughtiness.
Thus, by the time he reached his journey's end, Theseus had done many
valiant feats with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained
the renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame
traveled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he
entered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the street
corners and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and Castor
and Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king,
would turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took
longer strides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a
magnificent reception at his father's court, since he came thither
with Fame to blow her trumpet before him, and cry to King Ægeus,
"Behold your son!"
THESEUS AND THE WITCH MEDEA
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Theseus little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here in
this very Athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited
him than any which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the
truth. You must understand that the father of Theseus, though not very
old in years, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and
had thus grown aged before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to
live a very great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom
into their own hands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in
Athens, and learned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he
would not be at all the kind of person to let them steal away his
father's crown and scepter, which ought to be his own by right of
inheritance. Thus these bad-hearted nephews of King Ægeus, who were
the own cousins of Theseus, at once became his enemies. A still more
dangerous enemy was Medea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the
king's wife, and wanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead
of letting it be given to the son of Æthra, whom she hated.
It so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who
he was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all
their evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's
best friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance.
They proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a
stranger, in order to try whether Ægeus would discover in the young
man's features any likeness either to himself or his mother Æthra, and
thus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented, for he fancied that
his father would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his
heart. But while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King
Ægeus that a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain
knowledge, intended to put him to death and get possession of his
royal crown.
"And he is now waiting for admission to your Majesty's presence,"
added they.
"Aha!" cried the old king, on hearing this. "Why, he must be a very
wicked young fellow, indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with
him?"
In reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. You have
heard already of this enchantress, and the wicked arts that she
practised upon men. Amongst a thousand other bad things, she knew how
to prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to whomsoever might so
much as touch it with his lips.
So when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty
woman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.
"Leave that to me, please your Majesty," she replied. "Only admit this
evil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite
him to drink a goblet of wine. Your Majesty is well aware that I
sometimes amuse myself with distilling very powerful medicines. Here
is one of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is
one of my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the
goblet, and let the young man taste it, and I will answer for it, he
shall quite lay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither."
As she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she
meant nothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus before his
father's eyes. And King Ægeus, like most other kings, thought any
punishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting
against his life. He therefore made little or no objection to Medea's
scheme, and as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that
the young stranger should be admitted into his presence. The goblet
was set on a table beside the king's throne, and a fly, meaning just
to sip a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead.
Observing this, Medea looked round at the nephews and smiled again.
When Theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object
that he seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat
on his magnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a scepter
in his hand. His aspect was stately and majestic, although his years
and infirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump
of lead and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up
together and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears, both of joy and
sorrow, sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it
was to see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to
support him with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with
the alacrity of his loving spirit. When a son takes his father into
his warm heart, it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by
the heat of Medea's magic caldron. And this was what Theseus resolved
to do. He could scarcely wait to see whether King Ægeus would
recognize him, so eager was he to throw himself into his arms.
Advancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little
speech, which he had been thinking about as he came up the stairs. But
he was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out
of his heart and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find
utterance together. And therefore, unless he could have laid his full,
over-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what
to do or say. The cunning Medea observed what was passing in the young
man's mind. She was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been
before; for (and it makes me tremble to tell you of it) she did her
worst to turn all this unspeakable love with which Theseus was
agitated to his own ruin and destruction.
"Does your Majesty see his confusion?" she whispered in the king's
ear. "He is so conscious of guilt that he trembles and cannot speak.
The wretch lives too long! Quick; Offer him the wine!"
Now King Ægeus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger as he
drew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either in
his white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his
beautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he
had seen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his
knee when a baby, and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man,
while he himself grew old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and
would not suffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities, although
they were the voice of his deepest heart, telling him, as plainly as
it could speak, that here was his dear son, and Æthra's son, coming to
claim him for a father. The enchantress again whispered in the king's
ear, and compelled him, by her witchcraft, to see everything under a
false aspect.
He made up his mind therefore to let Theseus drink off the poisoned
wine.
"Young man," said he, "you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality
to so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this
goblet. It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as
I bestow only on those who are worthy of it! None is more worthy to
quaff it than yourself!"
So saying, King Ægeus took the golden goblet from the table and was
about to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities and
partly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's
life, however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his
heart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of
what he was going to do--for all these reasons the king's hand
trembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over.
In order to strengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the
precious poison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to
him: "Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? There is
the very sword with which he meant to slay you. How sharp, and bright,
and terrible it is! Quick!--let him taste the wine, or perhaps he may
do the deed even yet."
At these words Ægeus drove every thought and feeling out of his
breast, except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be
put to death. He sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of
wine with a steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly
severity; for, after all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a
treacherous enemy with a deceitful smile upon his face.
"Drink!" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn
a criminal to be beheaded. "You have well deserved of me such wine as
this!"
Theseus held out his hand to take the wine. But before he touched it,
King Ægeus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted
sword that hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.
"That sword!" he cried. "How came you by it?"
"It was my father's sword," replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice.
"These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is Æthra) told me
his story while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since
I grew strong enough to lift the heavy stone and take the sword and
sandals from beneath it and come to Athens to seek my father."
"My son! my son!" cried King Ægeus, flinging away the fatal goblet and
tottering down from the throne, to fall into the arms of Theseus.
"Yes, these are Æthra's eyes; it is my son."
I have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the
wicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs she hurried out of the room,
and going to her private chamber, lost no time in setting her
enchantments at work. In a few moments she heard a great noise of
hissing snakes outside of the chamber window; and behold! there was
her fiery chariot and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and
twisting in the air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of
the palace, and all ready to set off on an aërial journey. Medea
stayed only long enough to take her son with her, and to steal the
crown jewels, together with the king's best robes and whatever other
valuable things she could lay hands on; and getting into the chariot,
she whipped up the snakes and ascended high over the city.
The king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he
could to the window and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never
to come back. The whole people of Athens too, who had run out of doors
to see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect
of getting rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered
precisely such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more
venomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the
chariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were
scattering a million of curses among them. In so doing, however, she
unintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first
water, together with a thousand great pearls and two thousand
emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes, to which she had
helped herself out of the king's strong-box. All these came pelting
down, like a shower of many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of
grown people and children, who forthwith gathered them up and carried
them back to the palace. But King Ægeus told them that they were
welcome to the whole, and to twice as many more, if he had them, for
the sake of his delight at finding his son and losing the wicked
Medea. And, indeed, if you had seen how hateful was her last look, as
the flaming chariot flew upward, you would not have wondered that both
king and people should think her departure a good riddance.
THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
And now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father.
The old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his
throne (which was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell
about his dear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts
to lift the ponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and
active a young man to be willing to spend all his time in relating
things which had already happened. His ambition was to perform other
and more heroic deeds, which should be better worth telling in prose
and verse. Nor had he been long in Athens before he caught and chained
a terrible mad bull, and made a public show of him, greatly to the
wonder and admiration of good King Ægeus and his subjects. But pretty
soon he undertook an affair that made all his foregone adventures seem
like mere boy's play. The occasion of it was as follows:
One morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have
had a very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind,
even now that his eyes were open. For it appeared as if the air was
full of a melancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he
could hear sobs, and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep,
quiet sighs, which came from the king's palace, and from the streets,
and from the temples, and from every habitation in the city. And all
these mournful noises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts,
united themselves into the one great sound of affliction which had
startled Theseus from slumber. He put on his clothes as quickly as he
could (not forgetting his sandals and gold-hilted sword), and
hastening to the king, inquired what it all meant.
[Illustration: THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR]
"Alas! my son," quoth King Ægeus, heaving a long sigh, "here is a very
lamentable matter in hand! This is the woefullest anniversary in the
whole year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of
the youths and maidens of Athens shall go to be devoured by the
horrible Minotaur!"
"The Minotaur!" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and, like a brave young
prince as he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. "What kind
of a monster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's
life, to slay him?"
But King Ægeus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that
it was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole
affair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain
dreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a
man and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of
a creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were
suffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island,
or in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be
tormented by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over
Crete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the
Minotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for
mischief's sake. A few years before this time there had been a war
between the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the
Athenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could
they obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven
young men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet
monster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past this grievous
calamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks with
which the city was now filled were caused by the people's woe, because
the fatal day had come again when the fourteen victims were to be
chosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters
might be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they
themselves might be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that
detestable man-brute.
But when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that
he seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face, it was
indignant, despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one
look.
"Let the people of Athens this year draw lots for only six young men,
instead of seven," said he. "I will myself be the seventh; and let the
Minotaur devour me if he can!"
"Oh, my dear son!" cried King Ægeus, "why should you expose yourself
to this horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to
hold yourself above the destinies of common men."
"It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir to your
kingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects,"
answered Theseus. "And you, my father, being king over this people,
and answerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice
what is dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the
poorest citizen should come to any harm."
The old king shed tears, and besought Theseus not to leave him
desolate in his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to
know the happiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus,
however, felt that he was in the right, and therefore would not give
up his resolution. But he assured his father that he did not intend to
be eaten up unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur
devoured him, it should not be without a battle for his dinner. And
finally, since he could not help it, King Ægeus consented to let him
go. So a vessel was got ready, and rigged with black sails; and
Theseus, with six other young men and seven tender and beautiful
damsels, came down to the harbor to embark. A sorrowful multitude
accompanied them to the shore. There was the poor old king, too,
leaning on his son's arm, and looking as if his single heart held all
the grief of Athens.