spread. Golden lamps shed their radiance throughout the palace, and
clouds of incense rolled up from the altar of Hymen, the god of happy
nuptials. But Hypermnestra, heart-sick at the mockery, loathed the
rich viands and the fumes of incense seemed to choke her.
The feast was over, and the young bridegrooms, crowned with chaplets
of fresh flowers and dressed in wedding robes, had drunk deeply of
drugged wine, and were half asleep before they reached their bridal
chambers--led like lambs to the slaughter!
* * * * *
Hypermnestra sat up on her couch, listening with straining ears.
Surely it was groaning she heard, on this side and on that. Her
sisters were obeying their father's command, and dared she alone be
disobedient? By her side lay young Lynceus, flushed with wine and
sleep, his head thrown back, his breast bare. Nearer and louder
sounded the groans, and she knew that Danaüs would speedily be coming
to count the dead. In her terror she raised her weapon, and would have
stricken first her lover and then herself.
"On earth," she cried, "there is no escape. I will die with my love,
and we will go together to the realms of Tartarus, I the bride and he
the bridegroom of Death."
But as she bent over the sleeping Lynceus her hot tears awoke him, and
he stretched out his arms to embrace her. She started aside like a
guilty thing and hid her dagger, and cried to Lynceus: "Arise, fly
hence! else will to-night be to thee an everlasting night!"
"What sayest thou?" he murmured, only half awake. "Art mocking me? Is
that a dagger in thy left hand?"
"Rise and fly, while there is yet time!" she cried again. "Thy
brothers are already dead, treacherously slain by their brides. The
dawn is near; soon it will be too late. Leave me; fly! I cannot bear
to see thee slain!"
Then Lynceus sprang up and fled, and scarcely had he gone when Danaüs,
gloating over his victims, entered to see if Hypermnestra had been
obedient as her sisters. But Hypermnestra, fearful no longer, rose and
faced him, holding out the bloodless dagger.
"Take back thy weapon, cruel father," she cried. "Nay, and if thou
wilt, smite me therewith, slaying me with the death I would not bring
upon my husband. But not in death itself shalt thou hear me say, 'I
repent.'"
Strong and beautiful she stood there in the dawn, her eyes shining
with triumph. But her father, enraged at the escape of one victim,
struck her to the ground and ordered slaves to drag her by the hair to
the palace dungeon. And not many days after, seated in the city hall
of justice, he caused her to be brought before him to be sentenced for
her disobedience. So slaves dragged in Hypermnestra, and she stood
there before a great multitude, chains on her hands and feet, her
white robe besmirched by the dungeon, but with the light of triumph
still shining in her eyes. And all the people, seeing her, cried with
one voice: "Spare her, O king!" and as his wrath burned yet fiercer as
a fire that meets the blast, the prayer became a threat: "Spare her,
thou cruel king!" But Danaüs, remembering the oracle, gnashed upon
them with his teeth and rose as if to smite Hypermnestra with his own
hand. But even as he rose a voice like thunder smote upon his ear:
"Hold, thou cursed king!" and the crowd made way for a young warrior
to pass. Like a young god, Lynceus rushed upon Danaüs and slew him at
a stroke, and all the people hailed him as King over Argos, and his
wife Hypermnestra as Queen.
* * * * *
But the guilty sisters of Hypermnestra, seeing what had chanced, fled
from Argos, whither none knew or cared. And poets tell that after
death their shades in Tartarus were condemned evermore to draw water
in bottomless urns, a warning to all false wives and traitors; but
Hypermnestra has won for herself a name that will live for all time as
a maiden tender and true, who loved greatly and dared greatly.
OEDIPUS AT COLONOS
BY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD
Not far from the beautiful city of Athens, and within sight of its
temple-crowned citadel, the Acropolis, lies the village of Colonos.
Here, on the slope of the hill, once stood a sacred grove of laurel,
whose evergreen sprays adorn Apollo's hair; of olive, planted there by
the gray-eyed goddess, Minerva, protectress of Athens; and of vine,
the gift of Bacchus.
To this grove there came one day an old man, blind and meanly clad,
but for all that venerable and noble of aspect, the unfortunate King
Oedipus, led by his daughter Antigone, the sole prop and comfort of
his old age.
Sad indeed had been the fate of Oedipus. It had been decreed by the
immortal gods that he should slay his father, King Laïus, and while he
was still a babe in arms Laïus bade his servants take the child and
leave him amongst the bare rocks of Cithæron. Here the forsaken infant
was found by a shepherd, who bore him far away from his own city of
Thebes to Corinth. Merope the queen chanced to see the child, and
struck by the likeness to her own child whom she had just lost, she
adopted him, and he was brought up in the palace, believing himself to
be truly the son of those with whom he dwelt. But having learnt from
the oracle of Apollo that he was doomed to slay his own father, he
left Corinth in order to escape that doom, and on the road it fell on
him without his being aware of it. For he met a choleric old man in a
chariot, who tried to thrust him out of the path, and in defending
himself against the old man's goad he smote him with his staff and
slew him, not knowing who he was. But this was his father, Laïus, King
of Thebes.
Oedipus, journeying on, with no thought but to get far from Corinth
and avoid all possibility of parricide, came by chance to his own
unknown city, Thebes. Here he delivered the people from a monstrous
plague, the Sphinx, and they chose him by acclamation for their king.
Thereafter he ruled them well and happily till the wrath of the gods
fell upon them for the unavenged murder of their late king. Then did
Oedipus turn his mind to seek out the slayer of Laïus, and seeking
diligently he found, in the end, that he himself had slain the king,
and that the king was his own father. In grief and horror at his own
unwitting crime, he stabbed and lacerated his own eyes. To crown his
cup of sorrows he was driven from his home by his wicked and ambitious
sons, and he wandered out into the world a blind beggar, guided and
supported by his faithful daughter Antigone.
Far had they wandered, and they were worn with toil and hunger when
they sank down to rest beside the sacred grove of Colonos. Antigone
guessed that the tower-crowned hill she saw before her in the distance
guarded Athens, but she did not know what place this might be where
her father rested, and was about to seek some one from whom to
inquire, when by chance a man passed by along the road. Oedipus was
beginning to ask this stranger to tell them somewhat of the place
whither his wanderings had brought him, but the man interrupted his
half-spoken question by telling him instantly to leave his seat, for
this grove was the home of dread and mighty goddesses, and no man was
permitted to set foot within the close, or even to approach the
precincts.
Then Oedipus asked the name of these goddesses. The wayfarer himself
called them Eumenides, the Gracious Ones; at Athens they were known as
the Semnai, or Dread Ladies; but their proper name was the Erinys, or
Avengers of Blood.
When Oedipus heard this he was glad, for the oracle had promised that
the end of all his woes should come when he reached the shrine of the
Dread Goddesses, and that as a sign that his troubles were over there
should come a clap of thunder from a cloudless sky. Moreover the
oracle foretold a blessing on the land that gave him burial. Therefore
Oedipus begged the stranger to go in all haste to summon to him
Theseus, the great and just King of Athens. But meanwhile the Thebans
also had heard from the oracle that peace and prosperity should be to
the last resting-place of the toil-worn Oedipus, and they had sent out
to seek him and bring him back to his own city.
It was beside the grove of the Dread Goddesses that the Thebans found
their uncrowned king, but he refused to return to a land that had
driven him forth from its borders, choosing rather to die where he
was, in the land of his adoption, the hospitable state of Athens. But
the Thebans were angered at his refusal, and seized and bore off his
faithful daughter Antigone. And the old king was in sore distress; but
when he appealed to Theseus to help him, Theseus stood his friend and
pursued the band that was bearing away Antigone, and brought her back
to her father, safe and sound.
Then came to Oedipus yet another to crave the blessing of the
uncrowned king, never so powerful as in his last hours. This was
Polynices, the elder son of Oedipus. His younger brother had driven
him out from Thebes and taken the throne himself, and now Polynices
was collecting an army to go back and drive his brother away and make
himself king again.
But Oedipus would not help his wicked son, but cursed him instead,
foretelling how the two brothers, the last of an accursed house,
should fall by each other's hands, and neither of them should ever
enjoy the kingdom for which they strove.
Antigone entreated her brother to give up the fatal feud that could
profit neither brother, but Polynices said he could not now turn back
and desert his sworn allies, and he departed very sorrowful to meet
his doom.
And as he went, from the clear sky there came a sudden clap of
thunder. Then Oedipus sent in haste for Theseus, for he knew that here
was the promised sign, and that his troublous life was all but over.
Theseus came quickly to see what was amiss with his old friend, and
found him anxiously waiting, while the thunder roared louder and the
forked lightning brought terror to all the beholders.
Then said Oedipus: "The gods are showing now that the time of my doom
is come. Blind though I am, I myself will guide my own steps to the
spot where I am doomed to die, but thou alone, O Theseus, shalt know
where is my resting-place, and thou shalt tell it to none on earth
save when thy death-hour comes, and then shalt thou disclose it to thy
eldest born. He in like manner shall hand the secret on, and thus
shall peace and prosperity forever dwell in this land. Touch me not.
Let me find my hallowed grave myself. Think of me sometimes when I am
gone, and thou and all thy state are prosperous."
Then the old man allowed his weeping daughters to lave his limbs and
put on him a garment meet for the grave.
And when this was done, and Antigone still clung weeping to her
father, there came first a roll of thunder, and after the thunder a
voice that called: "Ho, Oedipus, why tarriest thou?"
Then the old king arose and called on Theseus and begged him to care
for his daughters, and Theseus vowed to be a true friend to the
desolate maidens. And Oedipus kissed his daughters and sent them
weeping away, and only Theseus saw the blessed end of a man in life
more sinned against than sinning, or knew the last resting-place of
the body of King Oedipus.
Antigone craved leave to visit her father's sepulcher, but not even
she was allowed to know where was the secret burial-place; and when
she was told that her father had willed that no mortal save Theseus
should know the spot, she submitted, and only begged permission to go
back to Thebes and try to save her brothers from their doom. But it
was in vain that the gentle maiden strove to bring peace where was
nothing but hatred. The two brothers, fighting in single combat, slew
each other, and because Polynices had brought a great host against his
own city, the Thebans cast his body without their walls and forbade
that any man should sprinkle dust upon it, so should its soul never
find rest, as a punishment for all its misdeeds. But Antigone would
not leave her brother's corpse unburied. Her sister Ismene dared not
help in such a deed, so the heroic maiden went alone, poured the
three libations due to the dead, and scattered dust upon her brother's
body, thus giving rest to his soul.
Then Creon, King of the Thebans, was wroth with the maiden, and he
commanded that she should be taken to a cave, and the mouth be barred
with rocks. She should be given just enough food and water to prevent
the guilt of her death falling upon the city, and left to pine away in
her rocky dungeon. And the guards led her away and did the king's
bidding. But when Creon's only son heard what was done he forced his
way into that tomb of the living, for he loved Antigone, and would
have delivered her at the price of his own life. For this he was too
late; the princess had not waited to die by slow starvation within the
walled-up cavern, she had strangled herself. The young prince, in his
despair, smote himself with his own sword and fell dead beside the
body of Antigone. So was the vengeance of the Erinys accomplished, and
the work of the Avengers of Blood ended.
MIDAS
BY H. P. MASKELL
Once upon a time there was born to Gordius, King of Phrygia, a son
whom he named Midas. While this son was an infant in his cradle the
ants were seen to creep in and put grains of golden wheat into his
mouth. From this the wise men foretold that he would be exceeding rich
and miserly, and choked with riches.
When Midas grew up to manhood and succeeded his father as king, it was
soon proved that the seers were true prophets. He loved wealth and
riches for their own sake. Merchants were sent far and wide to trade
in all kinds of produce, and brought back their gains to swell his
coffers. He caused mines to be dug for the precious metals. As fast as
the money came in he invested it again in new ventures, and everything
he undertook succeeded. Hence the saying arose: "All that Midas
touches turns into gold."
Now it happened that Silenus, the foster-father of Bacchus, had
wandered into Phrygia, and being an old man and overcome with wine--he
was a terrible toper--the rustics used him roughly; and when he was
sober they bound him with cords and took him as a prisoner to Midas.
The king had been taught the rites of Bacchus, and as soon as he
recognized Silenus, he rebuked the ignorant rustics and treated him
with great honor, ordaining a special festival of ten days and ten
nights to celebrate the visit of his guest. Bacchus, meanwhile, had
been mourning the loss of his tutor. In gratitude to Midas for
restoring his foster-father and preserving him from insult, he gave
Midas the choice of any favor he desired.
"All I desire," replied Midas, "is to be the richest king on earth.
Make that a truth which men say about me, that everything I touch
shall turn to gold."
"You might have asked for something better," murmured the god, with a
sigh. "But as you wish, so shall it be."
Scarcely able to believe it could be true, Midas hurried away to test
the reality of his good fortune. An oak grew by the roadside. He took
hold of a small twig; it was a twig of gold. He picked up a clod of
earth; it was no longer clay, but a huge nugget. Passing through a
cornfield, all the ears that brushed against his hand became ears of
gold. Plucking an apple from a tree, it was at once like to the golden
apple that Paris gave to Venus.
When he reached his palace and put his hand upon the doorpost, the
wood turned yellow and glistened at his touch. The basin in which he
washed his hands became a golden bowl, filled to the brim with
gold-dust.
"Now, indeed," he cried with joy, "wealth and power are mine. My
riches will be endless. Thanks be given to the gods for this most
wonderful and precious of all gifts. What in the world is better than
gold?"
While he was thus rejoicing, his servants entered and spread the table
for a banquet. He seated himself and took a piece of bread in his
hand. But it was no longer bread; it was hard, solid gold. He seized a
goblet of wine, but to no purpose; he could not quench his thirst with
a stream of gold! Too late he saw his folly. The richest man on
earth, he was doomed to die of hunger and thirst. Nothing on earth was
so useless to him as his gold!
Raising his hands towards heaven, he implored the pardon of the gods.
"Have mercy on me, for I repent me of my greed; have pity and deliver
me from this awful curse!"
Bacchus, seeing that he was cured of his sordid folly, took pity on
him, and showed him how the baneful gift could be got rid of. "Go to
Sardis," said he, "and track the river to its well-head. Plunge thy
head beneath the bubbling spring, and purge thyself from the curse."
The king hastened to bathe in the spring, and so gained relief: the
golden virtue left the human body and entered into the water. And even
now the sands of Pactolus glitter with grains of gold-dust.
* * * * *
After this stern lesson, Midas no longer cared to go on amassing
riches, but turned his attention to country sports and to music. Sad
to tell, however, his folly and conceit led to trouble even in this,
for he was but a sorry musician, and yet he set up for being a
virtuoso. Some nymphs had listened with pleasure to Pan playing on his
rustic reeds, and persuaded the minstrel to challenge Apollo, God of
Music, to a contest. Old Tmolus, the ruler of the mountain, agreed to
act as umpire. Pan's music was rude and uncouth; but when Apollo
touched the strings of his lyre his very posture showed the master's
skill, and so sweet were the notes that all present agreed with the
decision that to Apollo the prize must be given. Midas alone protested
that the judgment was unfair, and that Pan's music was superior. As a
fit punishment for his crass stupidity Apollo caused his ears to grow
longer and longer, with gray hairs all over them, and twitching like
the ears of an ass. Midas fled away amid the laughter of the deities
and nymphs, and as quickly as possible concealed his disgrace under a
thick turban.
None of the people of Phrygia had been present at the musical contest,
and for a long time Midas succeeded in hiding the shameful deformity
from his subjects. However, the barber who trimmed his hair was
obliged to know of it. He did not dare tell any one what he had seen;
yet he found it harder every day to keep such a secret to himself. At
last, as the only way he could conceive to relieve his mind of the
burden, he went into a distant field, dug a hole in the ground, and
whispered into it, "Midas has ass's ears." Then he shoveled the earth
back, having delivered himself, and yet, as he thought, buried the
secret quite safely.
A year passed. A clump of reeds had grown on the spot where the fatal
secret lay buried. The reeds rustled gently as they were stirred by
the south wind, and the goatherds passing by with their flocks were
drawn to the place by the strange sounds that arose. The reeds seemed
to be whispering the story one to another: "Midas has ass's ears."
And the wind carried the news to the reeds on the thatched sheds of
the farm, so that they were soon quivering to tell their tale--when
the farmer came in to supper, his goodwife called to him: "Such a
funny saying has been running in my head all day--where it comes from
is a mystery: 'Midas has ass's ears.'"
The flowers told it to the trees, and the trees told it to the birds.
Men and women learnt it they knew not how, but all who heard it found
themselves forced by some mysterious impulse to repeat it to their
neighbors, till all through the land of Phrygia rang the strange
tidings: "Midas has ass's ears!"
The hunger for gold may be cured, if taken in time; but not even a god
can cure one who has ass's ears and lets the secret out.
PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA
BY V. C. TURNBULL
On the shores of the Great Sea there dwelt in ancient times a simple
folk of shepherds and tillers of the ground, who called themselves the
Blameless Æthiops. They were a pious race, and worshiped in particular
Atergatis, Queen of the Fishes. Year by year they dwelt in peace among
their flocks and herds, their fields of barley and flax, and their
vines that bore purple grapes on the sunny hillsides.
But a great trouble fell upon this happy folk. For the earth heaved
and yawned, and the dwellings of the people fell, and the sea poured
in on the land, flooding and laying waste the golden harvest fields.
Then a greater terror followed, for out of the sea rose a monster huge
and terrible, such as never man had seen. Riding on the flood he came,
bearing down upon the terrified people, and into his maw he swept
their fattest sheep and kine, and also, alas! their fairest sons and
daughters. And thus he came night after night, till the people's
hearts failed them, and in their utter misery they sought counsel of
their king. And King Cepheus spoke unto them, and said: "Surely, my
people, ye have sinned, and offended our great sea-god. Let us go to
his temple and offer gifts, and inquire of his priests, and learn
which of you has sinned."
So they went with their King Cepheus to consult the priests of the
sea-gods whom they worshiped. And when many sacrifices had been
offered, the priests cast lots to find who it was who had angered the
gods and caused them to plague the land. And the lot fell upon
Cassiopoeia, the queen.
Then Cassiopoeia stood up before all the people, her ebon hair falling
to her feet and her eyes shining with tears, as she cried, and said:
"O my friends, I have sinned in my pride, and brought this evil on
your homes. For not many days since my heart was lifted up and I
boasted myself fairer than all the Nereids. And they, hearing, have
risen in their wrath to avenge the insult. Pardon me, O my friends,
for thus have I drawn desolation upon our land."
And all the people were silent, but the priests made answer: "Truly
hast thou spoken, O Queen, and assuredly has thy boasting been our
curse. Now, therefore, take thy daughter Andromeda and bind her to a
rock on the seashore, so that when the monster cometh again he shall
see that we have given him our best, even our king's daughter.
Perchance he will have mercy and spare her when he sees our
repentance, but anywise he will depart whence he came and trouble us
no more."
Then King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopoeia rose up and went down to their
palace in grief too great for tears. And they took Andromeda, their
only child, the fairest maiden in the land, and withal the tenderest
and truest, and carried her down to the sea-shore. And all the people
followed, weeping bitterly, for to many of them Andromeda had spoken
kind words, and to not a few had she done gracious deeds. Yet when
they thought on their own desolate homes, where no children played,
they told themselves that the young princess must die for the people.
So they led Andromeda to the base of a sea-washed crag, and riveted
her white arms with chains of brass to the black rock. And
Cassiopoeia, kissing her, cried: "O child, forgive thy wretched
mother!"
And Andromeda answered: "It is not thou, mother, but the sea-god who
hath done me to death."
And the queen kissed her yet again, and departed weeping. All the
people followed, and night fell, and she was left alone. Out of the
sky looked down the white moon behind the cloud rack, and not more
fair was she than this maiden standing on the black rock like a white
statue, half hid by the streaming locks that rippled to her knee.
So all night she stood and waited for her doom, most time mute with
terror, but at whiles lamenting, and calling on the gods for pity. But
no answer came save the thunder of the sea upon the rocks and the
scream of the sea-birds wheeling between earth and sky.
Morning came, flinging roses from her car and scattering gold across
the waters, and as those in bitterest pain of heart take strange note
of passing things, Andromeda's eyes, dull and despairing, watched the
sea-birds at their play. Among them came one flying swifter and
greater than osprey or sea-eagle, and the gulls all dived at his
approach. As the winged form drew nigh Andromeda was aware that this
was no sea-bird; and soon she perceived a youth, godlike and strong,
whose plumed sandals carried him over the deep as lightly as if he had
been indeed a bird. Blue as the sea were his eyes, and his hair shone
in the morning sun like spun gold. From his shoulder floated a
goat-skin, on his arm he carried a brazen shield, and on his thigh
hung a sword that flashed like diamonds in the sun. Straight to
Andromeda he flew, and putting back the hair that covered her face he
gazed into her eyes with love and pity, as he cried: "O maiden,
beautiful and pitiful, what cruelty hath brought thee to this pass?"