day after day the tide of battle surged around the walls of the town.
But strive as they might the men of Crete won no inch of ground, but
the men of Megara drove their foes before them like sheep.
At length the warriors of King Minos began to murmur among themselves
and to repeat the words that King Nisus had spoken to the herald.
"If the city of Megara is indeed defended by the deathless gods," said
they, "what avails it to fight and to strive?"
And Minos knew that his men murmured, and his heart was sore within
him.
The Princess Scylla looked forth one day upon the host that was
besieging the city of her home, and she chanced to see King Minos pass
quite close to her casement. So near was he that she could see his
face quite plainly. Pale and sorrowful he looked with grief at the
death of his son and disappointment at the failure of his attack. He
stood for a moment looking despairingly at the strong walls of his
enemy's city, seeking and seeking as often before, and ever in vain,
to find some way for his warriors to win passage into the town. At
length he passed on his way, sad and dejected, for he saw no way at
all of gaining the mastery in the strife.
But the heart of the princess beat fast with love and sorrow. "Alas!"
she thought to herself, "King Minos is fighting a hopeless battle, for
none may gain any advantage over my father, so long as he keeps safe
the purple lock of hair that the gods have placed upon his head as a
spell against every evil. Vain is the strength of the warriors of
Crete, vain the wisdom of their king. The bright lock of King Nisus
will hold him and his people safe through every attack."
The princess covered her face with her hands, and sat for a little
space silent and miserable. Then on a sudden she raised her head and a
new light was in her eyes. She was the only child of King Nisus, and
when he died the city and the palace would be hers. The only man whom
she had ever wished to wed was the stately King Minos. If he would but
wed her all would be well; he should reign, as her husband, over the
city against which he was leading his warriors in vain. And surely
King Minos would willingly wed her as a reward if she put within his
power the victory he had striven in vain to wrest for himself from the
men of Megara.
There was feasting that night in the hall of King Nisus, and the
princess herself poured out her father's wine, and he was well pleased
that she should wait upon him, for of late she had moped in her
chamber and refused to share his feasts. But when the banquet was over
a strange drowsiness weighed down the eyelids of King Nisus, for
Scylla had mingled the juice of poppy and mandragora with the wine.
Then the king sought his bed and lay there as one in a swoon, and his
guards, who had drunk of the poppied wine, slept also as they kept
watch before the door of Nisus. And when all was dark and still the
princess Scylla stole softly to her father's chamber, holding a pair
of shears in her hand.
She drew back the heavy purple curtain that the moonlight might stream
into the room, and then, kneeling beside the couch, she sought the
bright lock on which depended the fortune of Megara, and with her
shears she shore it off. Then, drawing the curtain close again that
the moonlight might not awake the king, she hid the lock safely in the
corner of her veil, and glided silently from the room.
The moon was making a glittering path across the sea that murmured
softly on the rocks, and all was still and dark within the city, when
the watchman of the Cretan host saw a woman drawing near. Her bent
head was shrouded in a dark veil, so that he could see naught of her
face as she came, but she called to him in his own tongue, praying to
be led forthwith to King Minos.
"Nay, maiden, whosoever thou may'st be," replied the man. "The king is
asleep in his tent at this hour, and none may have speech with him."
"I will hold thee blameless, friend," said the princess; and the man
was awed by her imperial speech and manner, and turning he led her to
the tent of King Minos, passed within the curtains, roused the king,
and brought him forth into the moonlight.
"Who art thou who would'st speak with me?" asked the king, glancing
keenly at the veiled woman.
"I must speak with thee alone," she whispered, for she was now
overcome with shame, and her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth.
But the king recognized at once the voice, and bidding the sentinel go
back to his post, he asked in amazement: "What would'st thou with me,
Princess Scylla?"
Then the maiden flung back the veil from her head, and taking heart of
courage, looked straight into the eyes of King Minos. "In the days
that are gone," she made answer, "kind words were spoken between thee
and me, O King. Remember now thy past affection, and look upon me
gently, for through great peril come I to win happiness for both our
peoples, and for thee and me, if thou wilt have it so."
And King Minos read her love in the eyes of the maiden, but in his own
heart was naught but bitterness for the unatoned death of his son and
for his many days of fruitless warfare. Nevertheless he spoke gentle
words, for he hoped that the love of Scylla might bring him profit.
Then the princess took from her bosom her father's magic lock, and
held it out to the king. "Behold the fortune of my father and of his
people," she said. "This bright lock was placed on my father's head by
the undying gods, and as long as it was safe no evil could befall him
or his people; but I have shorn it off and brought it to thee, for
peace is better than war, love is stronger than hate; and surely thou
wilt look kindly upon her who plucks victory from defeat, and holds it
forth for thee and thy warriors to take."
Then King Minos took the lock, and he smiled upon Scylla as he made
answer: "I take thy gift, fair maiden; when the battle shall be ended
we will speak of the requital."
So, wrapping her veil once more around her head, Scylla passed forth
from the tent of King Minos, and took her way, not back to the towers
of her home, but down to the sea-shore. Here she found a hidden nook
among the rocks where she flung herself down, fordone and distracted
by her own fierce hopes and fears.
She had thought to be very happy when she looked once more upon the
face of King Minos and heard him speak kindly to her; but there was no
joy in her palpitating heart: only a vague dread as she remembered the
smile of the king and a vague hope as she repeated to herself his
words of promise.
Lulled by the sound of the lapping waves and murmuring over and over
to herself, "When the battle shall be ended we will speak of the
requital," the wearied princess sank at length to sleep.
The sky above her head flushed crimson with the rising of the sun; the
warriors of King Minos came forth from their tents and set themselves
in battle array. All through that day the princess slept on, while the
men of Megara rushed to defend their crumbling walls, and King Nisus,
roused from his heavy sleep, discovered his loss and flung himself
into the front of the battle, knowing that now he fought in vain,
since the magic lock was gone that had brought victory to him and his
people.
Sore amazed were the men of Megara to find that their foes were
driving them backwards. At first they fought desperately, hoping that
the Cretans were gaining the advantage only for a time, but presently
it began to be whispered through the ranks that the favor of the
immortals had deserted Megara, and men flung down their arms and fled
headlong.
The sky was reddened again by the sunset when Scylla was roused from
her long slumber of exhaustion by the tramp of armed men close to her
hiding-place. Lifting herself up, she peered cautiously between the
rocks, and saw the Cretan warriors, bearing the spoils of the
plundered city, returning to their ships. For King Minos was in haste
to journey on and make Athens share in the punishment of Megara, since
it was on a journey from Megara to Athens that his son Androgeos had
been slain, and both the cities shared in the guilt of the slayer.
Scylla watched the hurrying ranks, at first not understanding what
they did. Then, on a sudden, she saw approaching the stately form of
King Minos, and she came forth from among the rocks, and waited,
hoping he might look upon her. But seeing that he made as though he
would pass by, the princess stood in his path.
Then said King Minos coldly: "What wilt thou with me, maiden?"
And a great fear caught at the heart of Scylla, and she clasped her
hands to her bosom as though she were at her last gasp. Yet with a
supreme effort she made her last appeal: "My home is desolate, my
father slain. 'Tis I, his daughter, who gave the battle to thy hands.
I come, King Minos, to claim my promised guerdon."
And King Minos made answer: "There is no gift in the world precious
enough to make requital to a maiden who by her own deed has slain her
father and laid her home in ruins and the pride of her people in the
dust. I will not mock thee, princess, by striving to equal thy gift."
And King Minos passed on his way to his ship; and as they followed him
his warriors gazed with horror upon the maiden who had given the life
of her father into the hand of his enemy; for all men knew by now that
the safety of Nisus and his city had depended upon the magic lock, and
that his daughter had shorn it from him and given it to King Minos.
But Scylla stood on the rocky pathway where she had hearkened to the
mocking words of King Minos, and the blue heavens seemed black above
her head, and the silver sea black beneath her feet, and nowhere in
the world was there for her any help or comfort.
The troops of warriors passed her by and embarked in the ships that
waited for them there below the cliff. The sunlight faded and the moon
came out, and still the stricken maiden leant against the rock where
Minos had dashed all her hopes to ruin.
At length the song of the mariners came up from the sea, telling that
the men were on board and the ships ready to sail, and with a cry of
bitter anguish Scylla crept to the top of the rock that overlooked the
sea. She saw the ship of King Minos moving slowly from the shore, and
clasping her hands above her head, she leapt from the tall cliff.
And men say that the gods had pity on her, and changed her into a
sea-lark. But her father was wrath with her even in death, and he
craved of the infernal powers the boon of vengeance. Therefore he was
turned into a sea-eagle, and still the father, with hooked hands and
ravenous beak, watches from his mountain walls to swoop upon his
feathered daughter, who flits along the shore and cowers in the
crannies of the rocks.
THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE
BY M. M. BIRD
"The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus
and Thisby."--SHAKESPEARE.
In Babylon of old, where walls were first built of bricks, two houses
had been set so close together that they shared one roof. Two families
came to dwell in them, and young Pyramus of the one house soon made
acquaintance with fair Thisbe of the other. Their friendship grew and
ripened into love. But alas! a deathless feud had arisen to separate
the two families, and the unhappy lovers were inexorably divided.
Still, though angry parents could forbid their love and could prevent
them meeting, all this could not avail to kill their love. The
thwarted pair could but gaze upon each other, could only look and
sigh: yet that was enough to feed the flame of love. And at last they
found a way to reach each other's ears, as lovers will: a chink
between two bricks in the wall that divided the two houses--a little
chink where the cement had crumbled away, so small it had never been
noticed and filled in. Through this friendly chink young Pyramus
breathed his vows, and fair Thisbe answered him with tender words.
Their eager lips pressed the unresponsive brick, their hands that
longed to clasp each other were kept apart by the hard, unfeeling
wall. Their sighs and softly spoken words of love alone could pierce
the barrier that divided them.
At last they resolved to defy the cruel parents who thus wronged their
love; to steal out one night in the concealing darkness, and fly
together despite all opposition.
Outside the town, beside a little brook and shaded by a widespread
mulberry tree, stood the tomb of Ninus. Here they agreed to meet at
nightfall.
Impatiently they watched the sun sink slowly down the western sky and
bathe in the western sea. Thisbe, with caution, unbarred her father's
door and stole softly forth, veiling her face and hasting through the
town to the spot where the tomb stood on the open plain.
But in the darkness other creatures had come forth. A lioness,
scouring the plain in search of prey, had slain an ox. Surfeited with
flesh and all besmeared with blood, it came swiftly to the brook to
slake its thirst. By the light of the moon Thisbe, approaching the
trysting-place, saw the fearful beast. She flew trembling across the
plain to the neighboring rocks and hid within a cave. And as she fled
her floating veil dropped from her shoulders and was left upon the
ground.
When the queen of beasts had drunk her fill, she came bounding back
across the plain. She found the veil, and this she tore and mouthed
with jaws still wet with the blood of the slaughtered ox. And then
went on her way.
Young Pyramus, who could not elude his parents so soon, came hastening
to the tryst. By the moonlight he noted the footprints of the savage
beast beside the brook, and farther on his anguished eyes beheld his
loved Thisbe's torn and blood-stained veil. Convinced that the beast
had slain his love, he cried in his agony of grief that the fault was
his in that he had not been first at the tryst to protect her, and
cursed the malevolence of fate that had caused him to fix the spot
where she should meet her death. He kissed the veil so torn, so dear
to him. And then, crying that Death should not divide two hearts so
fond, he drew his sword and plunged it into his breast. The life-blood
spurted from the grievous wound and besprinkled all the white clusters
of the mulberry.
Cautiously the trembling Thisbe left her hiding-place among the rocks,
fearing lest delay should make her lover think her untrue, and neared
the appointed spot. But though the tomb and the brook were there as of
old, the tree she could not recognize with its new burden of crimson
clusters.
As she gazed in doubt, her eyes fell on a form that lay stretched upon
the ground. She saw her lover bathed in his blood.
She shrieked and tore her hair; she raised him, clasped him, bathed
with her tears his gaping wound. She cried to him to wake and answer
his poor Thisbe. His dying eyes unclosed in one long look of love, and
then he died in her arms.
She gazed around, saw her torn veil, and saw his own sword lying,
blood-stained and sheathless, by his side. She saw that by his own
hand he had inflicted the fatal wound; that, believing her dead, he
had not chosen to survive.
Should her love be weaker than his? She it was who had been the
innocent cause of his death, and she would share it. One prayer she
breathed that their cruel parents would grant them at last to be
joined together, and in one urn confine their ashes. Of the drooping
mulberry tree, beneath whose kindly shade she made her piteous lament,
she begged one boon--that by the purple color of its fruit it would
bear perpetual witness to their love and their untimely death.
Then in her bosom she plunged the sword, yet warm with the blood of
its slaughtered lord, and fell dead beside him.
The prayer that dying Thisbe breathed was heard by compassionate gods
and parents. Their ashes were mixed in one golden urn, and from that
sad day the fruit of the mulberry tree has been stained a lustrous
purple.
HERO AND LEANDER
BY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD
The goddess Venus was the Queen of Love and Beauty, and her worship
was spread over all the world, for indeed she was one of the greatest
of the immortals, and even the father of gods and of men himself had
to own her power.
She had many great and noted temples, and one of these was at Sestos,
close by the side of the Hellespont, the sea in which Helle sank and
was drowned when the Golden Ram carried off her brother Phrixus and
herself.
When this tale begins the priestess of the temple of Venus at Sestos
was a very beautiful maiden called Hero. It was her duty to tend the
altar of the goddess, to offer sacrifices, to hang up the votive
offerings of worshipers round the walls, and to see that the slaves
appointed to the work kept the marble steps and pillars always shining
and polished.
And many a youth came to worship at the temple, less for the sake of
the goddess than for the beautiful priestess; but Hero never gave a
glance at any man but carefully fulfilled her daily task, and every
night retired to a tall tower on the cliff beside the sea, where she
lived alone with an aged nurse who loved her dearly and was ready to
do anything for her.
Every year a great festival was held at Sestos, in honor of Adonis,
the beautiful boy whom Venus had loved, and who had been slain by a
wild boar. To this festival flocked all the countryside. Large-eyed
oxen drew the creaking wagons all adorned with flowers and grasses,
and crowded with rustics from the inland farms, and across the narrow
strait came gay barges, bringing worshipers from the villages along
the opposite shore. In the festal company there came one day from the
town of Abydos, a beautiful youth named Leander. He was tall and
straight as a young poplar, his bright eyes had a ready smile, his red
lips a pleasant word for every one, but no maiden had ever yet won his
love.
Leander only laughed at these reproaches, but hidden within his heart
was the dream of a maiden fairer and sweeter than any he yet had seen,
to whom he would give his whole heart, and who, so he dreamt, would
give him love for love.
So it came about that when the yearly feast of Venus at Sestos
returned, Leander determined to go and sacrifice at the altar of the
goddess and pray to her that he might meet the maiden of his heart's
desire.
With the throng of worshipers Leander mounted the hill to the temple
of Venus. White marble steps led up to a bright crystal pavement that
was called by the citizens of Sestos the glass of Venus. The walls
were of veined marble, and on the dome a cunning artist had painted a
vine of vivid green, with Bacchus, the friend of Venus, gathering the
purple grapes. On the wall behind was Proteus, the changeful god of
the changeful sea, whence Venus had arisen. Rich offerings of gold,
silver, precious stones, and gorgeous raiment hung on the walls
between the carven figures. Leander gazed his fill at all these
wonders, till his eyes were caught and held by the statue of the
goddess that stood on a pedestal in the middle of the temple. Beneath
her feet was a great sea-shell, borne on a breaking wave; in her
hands, held close against her breast, a pair of doves; her face,
looking out upon her worshipers, was such a miracle of loveliness that
the gazer caught his breath in awe and wonder.
Before the statue stood a little silver altar, and at this the
priestess was kneeling when Leander came to the temple, for the
sacrifice was just about to be consummated. For a while Leander saw
nothing but the face of the marble goddess; then the kneeling
priestess, robed in her gauzy veil, arose and faced for a moment the
congregation of worshipers. Leander's eyes turned from the marble
image to the living woman who stood before it, and the eyes of Hero
met his. As if fascinated they gazed at one another, while in both
their hearts flamed up the sudden fire of love.
The worshipers all knelt, and Leander knelt with them, but his prayer
was not to Venus: his soul was full and overflowing with love for the
fair priestess, and it was of her alone he thought.
It seemed as though Hero had read his thoughts, for as one who walks
in his sleep she drew nearer to the young man.
He started to his feet, and bending forward grasped her hand. The
sacrifice was over, the worshipers were dispersing, the two were left
alone, and for a moment they stood motionless, both of them trembling
and awed at their own emotion.
But when Hero, as if waking from a dream, strove to free her hand,
Leander tightened his hold and whispered eagerly: "Nay, leave me not,
fair maiden, for I love thee. Never before have I cared aught for
mortal maid, but now thou art more to me than everything in the world
beside."
Hero flushed a rosy red, and her long eyelashes veiled the light of
her eyes.
"I know thee not, kind youth," she faltered, struggling betwixt love
and maiden modesty, abashed at what she had done, and at the thought
of how Leander's words had made her heart leap for joy. "It is not
fitting that I should speak with thee--here." And then, in a lower
whisper, turning half away and blushing more deeply than before, the
maiden added hastily: "I dwell alone with my servant in yonder tower
by the sea-shore, and when I leave the service of the goddess I ever
put a light in the turret at the top, so that those on the sea may
know where the haven lies and steer safely home. But thou must not
seek me there."
And snatching her hand from Leander's grasp the affrighted maiden
turned and fled, while the tears sprang to her eyes, and as she ran
she wept and smiled. As she mounted the slope that led to her tower on
the cliff she slackened her pace, and dashing the tears from her eyes,
looked back. Leander stood still where she had left him, gazing after
her. Flinging her veil back over her shoulder she resumed her homeward
way, slowly and with many a backward look.
When she came to her tower Hero told her old servant to lay out all in
readiness for the evening meal, and then to retire to her chamber
above.
"Thou art overtired, my pretty one," said the old crone. "These
crowded festivals and long days of sacrifice are too much for such a
tender flower as thou. Never fear, I will leave thee here in
peace--and see, I will light thy lamp in the turret above, even now
in the daylight, then may I seek the couch whereof my old bones ever
are full fain, and thou shalt not need to climb those weary stairs."
"As thou wilt, good nurse," answered Hero, turning aside to take off
her veil and to hide her blush of pleasure. She had told Leander that
the light was the signal that her office was ended for the day--would
he notice it? Would he come?
She wandered out in the twilight and broke off branches of roses to
deck the room; she put on the table the candied fruits and honey-cakes
and wine of Cyprus that the worshipers of Venus offer to her
priestess. The heavy footsteps of the old dame sounded as she mounted
the stair and came back to her chamber and her wished-for bed. Then
silence fell on the tower, and Hero sat with beating heart and waited.
Leander had climbed to the top of the cliff, and there had lain down
with his face to the sea, determined to keep his eyes from the tower
till there was a reasonable chance of seeing the light.
"When I see it glow," said Leander to himself, "then shall I too know
where the haven lies, and steer safely home."
He closed his eyes that he might see once more in fancy the sweet
averted face under the fine veil.
A noise below the cliff made him look up; the boat that had come from
Abydos in the morning was starting back again. He watched it with a
smile. It seemed to him a lifetime since he stepped from its deck upon
the quay. Straight across to the other shore of this narrow arm of the
sea was but a mile, but the slanting course to Abydos was full three
miles' distance. Leander watched the boat as she left the quay with
all his friends on board; then he could wait no longer; he looked up
at Hero's tower; and there, in the top of the turret, flamed the
signal light.
Small pause made Leander when once he had seen that.
Meanwhile, from her casement, Hero too had seen the boat putting out
for Abydos, and believing Leander to be on board, gone from Sestos
perhaps forever, the maiden sank down beside her open door, and
covering her face with her hands she wept sore.
"Alas," she murmured, "he is gone, gone, gone! The boat has sailed
away."
Leander, as he mounted the rocky stairs that led to the turret,
overheard the maiden's cry, and, rushing forward, he flung himself on
his knees beside her and softly kissed her fingers. Then, looking up
with a start, the maiden would fain have seemed wroth at the sight of
him, but it was too late. She had yielded at a touch, and Love was
lord of all.