passage that was to be their great trial. For they landed first in a
country that was full of woods, where they were welcomed by a king who
had heard of the voyagers and of their quest. There they stayed and
hunted for many days in the woods. And there a great loss befell the
Argonauts, for Tiphys, as he went through the woods, was bitten by a
snake and died. He who had braved so many seas and so many storms lost
his life away from the ship. The Argonauts made a tomb for him on the
shore of that land--a great pile of stones, in which they fixed upright
his steering oar. Then they set sail again, and Nauplius was made the
steersman of the ship.
The course was not so clear to Nauplius as it had been to Tiphys. The
steersman did not find his bearings, and for many days and nights the
Argo was driven on a backward course. They came to an island that they
knew to be that Island of Lemnos that they had passed on the first days
of the voyage, and they resolved to rest there for a while, and then to
press on for the passage into the Sea of Pontus.
They brought the Argo near the shore. They blew trumpets and set the
loudest-voiced of the heroes to call out to those upon the island. But
no answer came to them, and all day the Argo lay close to the island.
There were hidden people watching them, people with bows in their hands
and arrows laid along the bowstrings. And the people who thus
threatened the unknowing Argonauts were women and young girls.
There were no men upon the Island of Lemnos. Years before a curse had
fallen upon the people of that island, putting strife between the men
and the women. And the women had mastered the men and had driven them
away from Lemnos. Since then some of the women had grown old, and the
girls who were children when their fathers and brothers had been
banished were now of an age with Atalanta, the maiden who went with the
Argonauts.
They chased the wild beasts of the island, and they tilled the fields,
and they kept in good repair the houses that were built before the
banishing of the men. The older women served those who were younger,
and they had a queen, a girl whose name was Hypsipyle.
The women who watched with bows in their hands would have shot their
arrows at the Argonauts if Hypsipyle's nurse, Polyxo, had not stayed
them. She forbade them to shoot at the strangers until she had brought
to them the queen's commands.
She hastened to the palace and she found the young queen weaving at a
loom. She told her about the ship and the strangers on board the ship,
and she asked the queen what word she should bring to the guardian
maidens.
"Before you give a command, Hypsipyle," said Polyxo, the nurse,
"consider these words of mine. We, the elder women, are becoming
ancient now; in a few years we will not be able to serve you, the
younger women, and in a few years more we will have gone into the grave
and our places will know us no more. And you, the younger women, will
be becoming strengthless, and no more will be you able to hunt in the
woods nor to till the fields, and a hard old age will be before you.
"The ship that is beside our shore may have come at a good time. Those
on board are goodly heroes. Let them land in Lemnos, and stay if they
will. Let them wed with the younger women so that there may be husbands
and wives, helpers and helpmeets, again in Lemnos."
Hypsipyle, the queen, let the shuttle fall from her hands and stayed
for a while looking full into Polyxo's face. Had her nurse heard her
say something like this out of her dreams, she wondered? She bade the
nurse tell the guardian maidens to let the heroes land in safety, and
that she herself would put the crown of King Thoas, her father, upon
her head, and go down to the shore to welcome them.
And now the Argonauts saw people along the shore and they caught sight
of women's dresses. The loudest-voiced amongst them shouted again, and
they heard an answer given in a woman's voice. They drew up the Argo
upon the shore, and they set foot upon the land of Lemnos.
Jason stepped forth at the head of his comrades, and he was met by
Hypsipyle, her father's crown upon her head, at the head of her
maidens. They greeted each other, and Hypsipyle bade the heroes come
with them to their town that was called Myrine and to the palace that
was there.
Wonderingly the Argonauts went, looking on women's forms and faces and
seeing no men. They came to the palace and went within. Hypsipyle
mounted the stone throne that was King Thoas's and the four maidens who
were her guards stood each side of her. She spoke to the heroes in
greeting and bade them stay in peace for as long as they would. She
told them of the curse that had fallen upon the people of Lemnos, and
of how the menfolk had been banished. Jason, then, told the queen what
voyage he and his companions were upon and what quest they were making.
Then in friendship the Argonauts and the women of Lemnos stayed
together--all the Argonauts except Heracles, and he, grieving still for
Hylas, stayed aboard the Argo.
IX. THE LEMNIAN MAIDENS
And now the Argonauts were no longer on a ship that was being dashed on
by the sea and beaten upon by the winds. They had houses to live in;
they had honey-tasting things to eat, and when they went through the
island each man might have with him one of the maidens of Lemnos. It
was a change that was welcome to the wearied voyagers.
They helped the women in the work of the fields; they hunted the beasts
with them, and over and over again they were surprised at how
skillfully the women had ordered all affairs. Everything in Lemnos was
strange to the Argonauts, and they stayed day after day, thinking each
day a fresh adventure.
Sometimes they would leave the fields and the chase, and this hero or
that hero, with her who was his friend amongst the Lemnian maidens,
would go far into that strange land and look upon lakes that were all
covered with golden and silver water lilies, or would gather the blue
flowers from creepers that grew around dark trees, or would hide
themselves so that they might listen to the quick-moving birds that
sang in the thickets. Perhaps on their way homeward they would see the
Argo in the harbor, and they would think of Heracles who was aboard,
and they would call to him. But the ship and the voyage they had been
on now seemed far away to them, and the Quest of the Golden Fleece
seemed to them a story they had heard and that they had thought of, but
that they could never think on again with all that fervor.
When Jason looked on Hypsipyle he saw one who seemed to him to be only
childlike in size. Greatly was he amazed at the words that poured forth
from her as she stood at the stone throne of King Thoas--he was amazed
as one is amazed at the rush of rich notes that comes from the throat
of a little bird; all that she said was made lightning-like by her
eyes--her eyes that were not clear and quiet like the eyes of the
maidens he had seen in Iolcus, but that were dark and burning. Her
mouth was heavy and this heavy mouth gave a shadow to her face that,
but for it, was all bright and lovely.
Hypsipyle spoke two languages--one, the language of the mothers of the
women of Lemnos, which was rough and harsh, a speech to be flung out to
slaves, and the other the language of Greece, which their fathers had
spoken, and which Hypsipyle spoke in a way that made it sound like
strange music. She spoke and walked and did all things in a queenlike
way, and Jason could see that, for all her youth and childlike size,
Hypsipyle was one who was a ruler.
From the moment she took his hand it seemed that she could not bear to
be away from him. Where he walked, she walked too; where he sat she sat
before him, looking at him with her great eyes while she laughed or
sang.
Like the perfume of strange flowers, like the savor of strange fruit
was Hypsipyle to Jason. Hours and hours he would spend sitting beside
her or watching her while she arrayed herself in white or in brightly
colored garments. Not to the chase and not into the fields did Jason
go, nor did he ever go with the others into the Lemnian land; all day
he sat in the palace with her, watching her, or listening to her
singing, or to the long, fierce speeches that she used to make to her
nurse or to the four maidens who attended her.
In the evening they would gather in the hall of the palace, the
Argonauts and the Lemnian maidens who were their comrades. There were
dances, and always Jason and Hypsipyle danced together. All the Lemnian
maidens sang beautifully, but none of them had any stories to tell.
And when the Argonauts would have stories told, the Lemnian maidens
would forbid any tale that was about a god or a hero; only stories that
were about the goddesses or about some maiden would they let be told.
Orpheus, who knew the histories of the gods, would have told them many
stories, but the only story of his that they would come from the dance
to listen to was a story of the goddesses, of Demeter and her daughter
Persephone.
Demeter And Persephone
I
Once when Demeter was going through the world, giving men grain to be
sown in their fields, she heard a cry that came to her from across high
mountains and that mounted up to her from the sea. Demeter's heart
shook when she heard that cry, for she knew that it came to her from
her daughter, from her only child, young Persephone.
She stayed not to bless the fields in which the grain was being sown,
but she hurried, hurried away, to Sicily and to the fields of Enna,
where she had left Persephone. All Enna she searched, and all Sicily,
but she found no trace of Persephone, nor of the maidens whom
Persephone had been playing with. From all whom she met she begged for
tidings, but although some had seen maidens gathering flowers and
playing together, no one could tell Demeter why her child had cried out
nor where she had since gone to.
There were some who could have told her. One was Cyane, a water nymph.
But Cyane, before Demeter came to her, had been changed into a spring
of water. And now, not being able to speak and tell Demeter where her
child had gone to and who had carried her away, she showed in the water
the girdle of Persephone that she had caught in her hands. And Demeter,
finding the girdle of her child in the spring, knew that she had been
carried off by violence. She lighted a torch at Etna's burning
mountain, and for nine days and nine nights she went searching for her
through the darkened places of the earth.
Then, upon a high and a dark hill, the Goddess Demeter came face to
face with Hecate, the Moon. Hecate, too, had heard the cry of
Persephone; she had sorrow for Demeter's sorrow: she spoke to her as
the two stood upon that dark, high hill, and told her that she should
go to Helios for tidings--to bright Helios, the watcher for the gods,
and beg Helios to tell her who it was who had carried off by violence
her child Persephone.
Demeter came to Helios. He was standing before his shining steeds,
before the impatient steeds that draw the sun through the course of the
heavens. Demeter stood in the way of those impatient steeds; she begged
of Helios who sees all things upon the earth to tell her who it was had
carried off by violence, Persephone, her child.
And Helios, who may make no concealment, said: "Queenly Demeter, know
that the king of the Underworld, dark Aidoneus, has carried off
Persephone to make her his queen in the realm that I never shine upon."
He spoke, and as he did, his horses shook their manes and breathed out
fire, impatient to be gone. Helios sprang into his chariot and went
flashing away.
Demeter, knowing that one of the gods had carried off Persephone
against her will, and knowing that what was done had been done by the
will of Zeus, would go no more into the assemblies of the gods. She
quenched the torch that she had held in her hands for nine days and
nine nights; she put off her robe of goddess, and she went wandering
over the earth, uncomforted for the loss of her child. And no longer
did she appear as a gracious goddess to men; no longer did she give
them grain; no longer did she bless their fields. None of the things
that it had pleased her once to do would Demeter do any longer.
II
Persephone had been playing with the nymphs who are the daughters of
Ocean--Phaeno, Ianthe, Melita, Ianeira, Acast--in the lovely fields of
Enna. They went to gather flowers--irises and crocuses, lilies,
narcissus, hyacinths and roseblooms--that grow in those fields. As they
went, gathering flowers in their baskets, they had sight of Pergus, the
pool that the white swans come to sing in.
Beside a deep chasm that had been made in the earth a wonder flower was
growing--in color it was like the crocus, but it sent forth a perfume
that was like the perfume of a hundred flowers. And Persephone thought
as she went toward it that having gathered that flower she would have
something much more wonderful than her companions had.
She did not know that Aidoneus, the lord of the Underworld, had caused
that flower to grow there so that she might be drawn by it to the chasm
that he had made.
As Persephone stooped to pluck the wonder flower, Aidoneus, in his
chariot of iron, dashed up through the chasm, and grasping the maiden
by the waist, set her beside him. Only Cyane, the nymph, tried to save
Persephone, and it was then that she caught the girdle in her hands.
The maiden cried out, first because her flowers had been spilled, and
then because she was being reft away. She cried out to her mother, and
her cry went over high mountains and sounded up from the sea. The
daughters of Ocean, affrighted, fled and sank down into the depths of
the sea.
In his great chariot of iron that was drawn by black steeds Aidoneus
rushed down through the chasm he had made. Into the Underworld he went,
and he dashed across the River Styx, and he brought his chariot up
beside his throne. And on his dark throne he seated Persephone, the
fainting daughter of Demeter.
III
No more did the Goddess Demeter give grain to men; no more did she
bless their fields: weeds grew where grain had been growing, and men
feared that in a while they would famish for lack of bread.
She wandered through the world, her thought all upon her child,
Persephone, who had been taken from her. Once she sat by a well by a
wayside, thinking upon the child that she might not come to and who
might not come to her.
She saw four maidens come near; their grace and their youth reminded
her of her child. They stepped lightly along, carrying bronze pitchers
in their hands, for they were coming to the Well of the Maiden beside
which Demeter sat.
The maidens thought when they looked upon her that the goddess was some
ancient woman who had a sorrow in her heart. Seeing that she was so
noble and so sorrowful-looking, the maidens, as they drew the clear
water into their pitchers, spoke kindly to her.
"Why do you stay away from the town, old mother?" one of the maidens
said. "Why do you not come to the houses? We think that you look as if
you were shelterless and alone, and we should like to tell you that
there are many houses in the town where you would be welcomed."
Demeter's heart went out to the maidens, because they looked so young
and fair and simple and spoke out of such kind hearts. She said to
them: "Where can I go, dear children? My people are far away, and there
are none in all the world who would care to be near me."
Said one of the maidens: "There are princes in the land who would
welcome you in their houses if you would consent to nurse one of their
young children. But why do I speak of other princes beside Celeus, our
father? In his house you would indeed have a welcome. But lately a baby
has been born to our mother, Metaneira, and she would greatly rejoice
to have one as wise as you mind little Demophoon."
All the time that she watched them and listened to their voices Demeter
felt that the grace and youth of the maidens made them like Persephone.
She thought that it would ease her heart to be in the house where these
maidens were, and she was not loath to have them go and ask of their
mother to have her come to nurse the infant child.
Swiftly they ran back to their home, their hair streaming behind them
like crocus flowers; kind and lovely girls whose names are well
remembered--Callidice and Cleisidice, Demo and Callithoe. They went to
their mother and they told her of the stranger-woman whose name was
Doso. She would make a wise and a kind nurse for little Demophoon, they
said. Their mother, Metaneira, rose up from the couch she was sitting
on to welcome the stranger. But when she saw her at the doorway, awe
came over her, so majestic she seemed.
Metaneira would have her seat herself on the couch but the goddess took
the lowliest stool, saying in greeting: "May the gods give you all
good, lady."
"Sorrow has set you wandering from your good home," said Metaneira to
the goddess, "but now that you have come to this place you shall have
all that this house can bestow if you will rear up to youth the infant
Demophoon, child of many hopes and prayers."
The child was put into the arms of Demeter; she clasped him to her
breast, and little Demophoon looked up into her face and smiled. Then
Demeter's heart went out to the child and to all who were in the
household.
He grew in strength and beauty in her charge. And little Demophoon was
not nourished as other children are nourished, but even as the gods in
their childhood were nourished. Demeter fed him on ambrosia, breathing
on him with her divine breath the while. And at night she laid him on
the hearth, amongst the embers, with the fire all around him. This she
did that she might make him immortal, and like to the gods.
But one night Metaneira looked out from the chamber where she lay, and
she saw the nurse take little Demophoön and lay him in a place on the
hearth with the burning brands all around him. Then Metaneira started
up, and she sprang to the hearth, and she snatched the child from
beside the burning brands. "Demophoön, my son," she cried, "what would
this stranger-woman do to you, bringing bitter grief to me that ever I
let her take you in her arms?"
Then said Demeter: "Foolish indeed are you mortals, and not able to
foresee what is to come to you of good or of evil."
"Foolish indeed are you, Metaneira, for in your heedlessness you have
cut off this child from an immortality like to the immortality of the
gods themselves. For he had lain in my bosom and had become dear to me
and I would have bestowed upon him the greatest gift that the Divine
Ones can bestow, for I would have made him deathless and unaging. All
this, now, has gone by. Honor he shall have indeed, but Demophoon will
know age and death."
The seeming old age that was upon her had fallen from Demeter; beauty
and stature were hers, and from her robe there came a heavenly
fragrance. There came such light from her body that the chamber shone.
Metaneira remained trembling and speechless, unmindful even to take up
the child that had been laid upon the ground.
It was then that his sisters heard Demophoon wail; one ran from her
chamber and took the child in her arms; another kindled again the fire
upon the hearth, and the others made ready to bathe and care for the
infant. All night they cared for him, holding him in their arms and at
their breasts, but the child would not be comforted, becauses the
nurses who handled him now were less skillful than was the
goddess-nurse.
And as for Demeter, she left the house of Celeus and went upon her way,
lonely in her heart, and unappeased. And in the world that she wandered
through, the plow went in vain through the ground; the furrow was sown
without any avail, and the race of men saw themselves near perishing
for lack of bread.
But again Demeter came near the Well of the Maiden. She thought of the
daughters of Celeus as they came toward the well that day, the bronze
pitchers in their hands, and with kind looks for the stranger--she
thought of them as she sat by the well again. And then she thought of
little Demophoon, the child she had held at her breast. No stir of
living was in the land near their home, and only weeds grew in their
fields. As she sat there and looked around her there came into
Demeter's heart a pity for the people in whose house she had dwelt.
She rose up and she went to the house of Celeus. She found him beside
his house measuring out a little grain. The goddess went to him and she
told him that because of the love she bore his household she would
bless his fields so that the seed he had sown in them would come to
growth. Celeus rejoiced, and he called all the people together, and
they raised a temple to Demeter. She went through the fields and
blessed them, and the seed that they had sown began to grow. And the
goddess for a while dwelt amongst that people, in her temple at Eleusis.
IV
But still she kept away from the assemblies of the gods. Zeus sent a
messenger to her, Iris with the golden wings, bidding her to Olympus.
Demeter would not join the Olympians. Then, one after the other, the
gods and goddesses of Olympus came to her; none were able to make her
cease from grieving for Persephone, or to go again into the company of
the immortal gods.
And so it came about that Zeus was compelled to send a messenger down
to the Underworld to bring Persephone back to the mother who grieved so
much for the loss of her. Hermes was the messenger whom Zeus sent.
Through the darkened places of the earth Hermes went, and he came to
that dark throne where the lord Aidoneus sat, with Persephone beside
him. Then Hermes spoke to the lord of the Underworld, saying that Zeus
commanded that Persephone should come forth from the Underworld that
her mother might look upon her.
Then Persephone, hearing the words of Zeus that might not be gainsaid,
uttered the only cry that had left her lips since she had sent out that
cry that had reached her mother's heart. And Aidoneus, hearing the
command of Zeus that might not be denied, bowed his dark, majestic head.
She might go to the Upperworld and rest herself in the arms of her
mother, he said. And then he cried out: "Ah, Persephone, strive to feel
kindliness in your heart toward me who carried you off by violence and
against your will. I can give to you one of the great kingdoms that the
Olympians rule over. And I, who am brother to Zeus, am no unfitting
husband for you, Demeter's child."
So Aidoneus, the dark lord of the Underworld said, and he made ready
the iron chariot with its deathless horses that Persephone might go up
from his kingdom.
Beside the single tree in his domain Aidoneus stayed the chariot. A
single fruit grew on that tree, a bright pomegranate fruit. Persephone
stood up in the chariot and plucked the fruit from the tree. Then did
Aidoneus prevail upon her to divide the fruit, and, having divided it,
Persephone ate seven of the pomegranate seeds.
It was Hermes who took the whip and the reins of the chariot. He drove
on, and neither the sea nor the water-courses, nor the glens nor the
mountain peaks stayed the deathless horses of Aidoneus, and soon the
chariot was brought near to where Demeter awaited the coming of her
daughter.
And when, from a hilltop, Demeter saw the chariot approaching, she flew
like a wild bird to clasp her child. Persephone, when she saw her
mother's dear eyes, sprang out of the chariot and fell upon her neck
and embraced her. Long and long Demeter held her dear child in her
arms, gazing, gazing upon her. Suddenly her mind misgave her. With a
great fear at her heart she cried out: "Dearest, has any food passed
your lips in all the time you have been in the Underworld?"
She had not tasted food in all the time she was there, Persephone said.
And then, suddenly, she remembered the pomegranate that Aidoneus had
asked her to divide. When she told that she had eaten seven seeds from
it Demeter wept, and her tears fell upon Persephone's face.
"Ah, my dearest," she cried, "if you had not eaten the pomegranate
seeds you could have stayed with me, and always we should have been
together. But now that you have eaten food in it, the Underworld has a
claim upon you. You may not stay always with me here. Again you will
have to go back and dwell in the dark places under the earth and sit
upon Aidoneus's throne. But not always you will be there. When the
flowers bloom upon the earth you shall come up from the realm of
darkness, and in great joy we shall go through the world together,
Demeter and Persephone."
And so it has been since Persephone came back to her mother after
having eaten of the pomegranate seeds. For two seasons of the year she
stays with Demeter, and for one season she stays in the Underworld with
her dark lord. While she is with her mother there is springtime upon
the earth. Demeter blesses the furrows, her heart being glad because
her daughter is with her once more. The furrows become heavy with
grain, and soon the whole wide earth has grain and fruit, leaves and
flowers. When the furrows are reaped, when the grain has been gathered,
when the dark season comes, Persephone goes from her mother, and going
down into the dark places, she sits beside her mighty lord Aidoneus and
upon his throne. Not sorrowful is she there; she sits with head
unbowed, for she knows herself to be a mighty queen. She has joy, too,
knowing of the seasons when she may walk with Demeter, her mother, on
the wide places of the earth, through fields of flowers and fruit and
ripening grain.
Such was the story that Orpheus told--Orpheus who knew the histories of
the gods.
A day came when the heroes, on their way back from a journey they had
made with the Lemnian maidens, called out to Heracles upon the Argo.
Then Heracles, standing on the prow of the ship, shouted angrily to
them. Terrible did he seem to the Lemnian maidens, and they ran off,
drawing the heroes with them. Heracles shouted to his comrades again,
saying that if they did not come aboard the Argo and make ready for the
voyage to Colchis, he would go ashore and carry them to the ship, and
force them again to take the oars in their hands.
Not all of what Heracles said did the Argonauts hear.
That evening the men were silent in Hypsipyle's hall, and it was
Atalanta, the maiden, who told the evening's story.
Atalanta's Race
There are two Atalantas, she said; she herself, the Huntress, and
another who is noted for her speed of foot and her delight in the
race--the daughter of Schoeneus, King of Boeotia, Atalanta of the Swift
Foot.
So proud was she of her swiftness that she made a vow to the gods that
none would be her husband except the youth who won past her in the
race. Youth after youth came and raced against her, but Atalanta, who
grew fleeter and fleeter of foot, left each one of them far behind her.
The youths who came to the race were so many and the clamor they made
after defeat was so great, that her father made a law that, as he
thought, would lessen their number. The law that he made was that the
youth who came to race against Atalanta and who lost the race should
lose his life into the bargain. After that the youths who had care for
their lives stayed away from Boeotia.
Once there came a youth from a far part of Greece into the country that
Atalanta's father ruled over. Hippomenes was his name. He did not know
of the race, but having come into the city and seeing the crowd of
people, he went with them to the course. He looked upon the youths who
were girded for the race, and he heard the folk say amongst themselves,
"Poor youths, as mighty and as high-spirited as they look, by sunset
the life will be out of each of them, for Atalanta will run past them
as she ran past the others." Then Hippomenes spoke to the folk in
wonder, and they told him of Atalanta's race and of what would befall
the youths who were defeated in it. "Unlucky youths," cried Hippomenes,
"how foolish they are to try to win a bride at the price of their
lives."
Then, with pity in his heart, he watched the youths prepare for the
race. Atalanta had not yet taken her place, and he was fearful of
looking upon her. "She is a witch," he said to himself, "she must be a
witch to draw so many youths to their deaths, and she, no doubt, will
show in her face and figure the witch's spirit."
But even as he said this, Hippomenes saw Atalanta. She stood with the
youths before they crouched for the first dart in the race. He saw that
she was a girl of a light and a lovely form. Then they crouched for the
race; then the trumpets rang out, and the youths and the maiden darted
like swallows over the sand of the course.
On came Atalanta, far, far ahead of the youths who had started with
her. Over her bare shoulders her hair streamed, blown backward by the
wind that met her flight. Her fair neck shone, and her little feet were
like flying doves. It seemed to Hippomenes as he watched her that there
was fire in her lovely body. On and on she went as swift as the arrow
that the Scythian shoots from his bow. And as he watched the race he
was not sorry that the youths were being left behind. Rather would he
have been enraged if one came near overtaking her, for now his heart
was set upon winning her for his bride, and he cursed himself for not
having entered the race.
She passed the last goal mark and she was given the victor's wreath of
flowers. Hippomenes stood and watched her and he did not see the youths
who had started with her--they had thrown themselves on the ground in
their despair.
Then wild, as though he were one of the doomed youths, Hippomenes made
his way through the throng and came before the black-bearded King of
Boeotia. The king's brows were knit, for even then he was pronouncing
doom upon the youths who had been left behind in the race. He looked
upon Hippomenes, another youth who would make the trial, and the frown
became heavier upon his face.
But Hippomenes saw only Atalanta. She came beside her father; the
wreath was upon her head of gold, and her eyes were wide and tender.
She turned her face to him, and then she knew by the wildness that was
in his look that he had come to enter the race with her. Then the flush
that was on her face died away, and she shook her head as if she were
imploring him to go from that place.
The dark-bearded king bent his brows upon him and said, "Speak, O
youth, speak and tell us what brings you here."
Then cried Hippomenes as if his whole life were bursting out with his
words: "Why does this maiden, your daughter, seek an easy renown by
conquering weakly youths in the race? She has not striven yet. Here
stand I, one of the blood of Poseidon, the god of the sea. Should I be
defeated by her in the race, then, indeed, might Atalanta have
something to boast of."
Atalanta stepped forward and said: "Do not speak of it, youth. Indeed I
think that it is some god, envious of your beauty and your strength,
who sent you here to strive with me and to meet your doom. Ah, think of
the youths who have striven with me even now! Think of the hard doom
that is about to fall upon them! You venture your life in the race, but
indeed I am not worthy of the price. Go hence, O stranger youth, go
hence and live happily, for indeed I think that there is some maiden
who loves you well."
"Nay, maiden," said Hippomenes, "I will enter the race and I will
venture my life on the chance of winning you for my bride. What good
will my life and my spirit be to me if they cannot win this race for
me?"
She drew away from him then and looked upon him no more, but bent down
to fasten the sandals upon her feet. And the black-bearded king looked
upon Hippomenes and said, "Face, then, this race to-morrow. You will be
the only one who will enter it. But bethink thee of the doom that
awaits thee at the end of it." The king said no more, and Hippomenes
went from him and from Atalanta, and he came again to the place where
the race had been run.
He looked across the sandy course with its goal marks, and in his mind
he saw again Atalanta's swift race. He would not meet doom at the hands
of the king's soldiers, he knew, for his spirit would leave him with
the greatness of the effort he would make to reach the goal before her.
And he thought it would be well to die in that effort and on that sandy
place that was so far from his own land.
Even as he looked across the sandy course now deserted by the throng,
he saw one move across it, coming toward him with feet that did not
seem to touch the ground. She was a woman of wonderful presence. As
Hippomenes looked upon her he knew that she was Aphrodite, the goddess
of beauty and of love.
"Hippomenes," said the immortal goddess, "the gods are mindful of you
who are sprung from one of the gods, and I am mindful of you because of
your own worth. I have come to help you in your race with Atalanta, for
I would not have you slain, nor would I have that maiden go unwed. Give
your greatest strength and your greatest swiftness to the race, and
behold! here are wonders that will prevent the fleet-footed Atalanta
from putting all her spirit into the race."
And then the immortal goddess held out to Hippomenes a branch that had
upon it three apples of shining gold.
"In Cyprus," said the goddess, "where I have come from, there is a tree
on which these golden apples grow. Only I may pluck them. I have
brought them to you, Hippomenes. Keep them in your girdle, and in the
race you will find out what to do with them, I think."
So Aphrodite said, and then she vanished, leaving a fragrance in the
air and the three shining apples in the hands of Hippomenes. Long he
looked upon their brightness. They were beside him that night, and when
he arose in the dawn he put them in his girdle. Then, before the
throng, he went to the place of the race.
When he showed himself beside Atalanta, all around the course were
silent, for they all admired Hippomenes for his beauty and for the
spirit that was in his face; they were silent out of compassion, for
they knew the doom that befell the youths who raced with Atalanta.
And now Schoeneus, the black-bearded king, stood up, and he spoke to
the throng, saying, "Hear me all, both young and old: this youth,
Hippomenes, seeks to win the race from my daughter, winning her for his
bride. Now, if he be victorious and escape death I will give him my
dear child, Atalanta, and many fleet horses besides as gifts from me,
and in honor he shall go back to his native land. But if he fail in the
race, then he will have to share the doom that has been meted out to
the other youths who raced with Atalanta hoping to win her for a bride."
Then Hippomenes and Atalanta crouched for the start. The trumpets were
sounded and they darted off.
Side by side with Atalanta, Hippomenes went. Her flying hair touched
his breast, and it seemed to him that they were skimming the sandy
course as if they were swallows. But then Atalanta began to draw away
from him. He saw her ahead of him, and then he began to hear the words
of cheer that came from the throng "Bend to the race, Hippomenes! Go
on, go on! Use your strength to the utmost." He bent himself to the
race, but further and further from him Atalanta drew.
Then it seemed to him that she checked her swiftness a little to look
back at him. He gained on her a little. And then his hand touched the
apples that were in his girdle. As it touched them it came into his
mind what to do with the apples.
He was not far from her now, but already her swiftness was drawing her
further and further away. He took one of the apples into his hand and
tossed it into the air so that it fell on the track before her.
Atalanta saw the shining apple. She checked her speed and stooped in
the race to pick it up. And as she stooped Hippomenes darted past her,
and went flying toward the goal that now was within his sight.
But soon she was beside him again. He looked, and he saw that the goal
marks were far, far ahead of him. Atalanta with the flying hair passed
him, and drew away and away from him. He had not speed to gain upon her
now, he thought, so he put his strength into his hand and he flung the
second of the shining apples. The apple rolled before her and rolled
off the course. Atalanta turned off the course, stooped and picked up
the apple.
Then did Hippomenes draw all his spirit into his breast as he raced on.
He was now nearer to the goal than she was. But he knew that she was
behind him, going lightly where he went heavily. And then she was
beside him, and then she went past him. She paused in her speed for a
moment and she looked back on him.
As he raced on, his chest seemed weighted down and his throat was
crackling dry. The goal marks were far away still, but Atalanta was
nearing them. He took the last of the golden apples into his hand.
Perhaps she was now so far that the strength of his throw would not be
great enough to bring the apple before her.
But with all the strength he could put into his hand he flung the
apple. It struck the course before her feet and then went bounding
wide. Atalanta swerved in her race and followed where the apple went.
Hippomenes marvelled that he had been able to fling it so far. He saw
Atalanta stoop to pick up the apple, and he bounded on. And then,
although his strength was failing, he saw the goal marks near him. He
set his feet between them and then fell down on the ground.
The attendants raised him up and put the victor's wreath upon his head.
The concourse of people shouted with joy to see him victor. But he
looked around for Atalanta and he saw her standing there with the
golden apples in her hands. "He has won," he heard her say, "and I have
not to hate myself for bringing a doom upon him. Gladly, gladly do I
give up the race, and glad am I that it is this youth who has won the
victory from me."
She took his hand and brought him before the king. Then Schoeneus, in
the sight of all the rejoicing people, gave Atalanta to Hippomenes for
his bride, and he bestowed upon him also a great gift of horses. With
his dear and hard-won bride, Hippomenes went to his own country, and
the apples that she brought with her, the golden apples of Aphrodite,
were reverenced by the people.
X. THE DEPARTURE FROM LEMNOS
A day came when Heracles left the Argo and went on the Lemnian land. He
gathered the heroes about him, and they, seeing Heracles come amongst
them, clamored to go to hunt the wild bulls that were inland from the
sea.
So, for once, the heroes left the Lemnian maidens who were their
friends. Jason, too, left Hypsipyle in the palace and went with
Heracles. And as they went, Heracles spoke to each of the heroes,
saying that they were forgetting the Fleece of Gold that they had
sailed to gain.
Jason blushed to think that he had almost let go out of his mind the
quest that had brought him from Iolcus. And then he thought upon
Hypsipyle and of how her little hand would stay in his, and his own
hand became loose upon the spear so that it nearly fell from him. How
could he, he thought, leave Hypsipyle and this land of Lemnos behind?
He heard the clear voice of Atalanta as she, too, spoke to the
Argonauts. What Heracles said was brave and wise, said Atalanta.
Forgetfulness would cover their names if they stayed longer in
Lemnos--forgetfulness and shame, and they would come to despise
themselves. Leave Lemnos, she cried, and draw Argo into the sea, and
depart for Colchis.
All day the Argonauts stayed by themselves, hunting the bulls. On their
way back from the chase they were met by Lemnian maidens who carried
wreaths of flowers for them. Very silent were the heroes as the maidens
greeted them. Heracles went with Jason to the palace, and Hypsipyle,
seeing the mighty stranger coming, seated herself, not on the couch
where she was wont to sit looking into the face of Jason, but on the
stone throne of King Thoas, her father. And seated on that throne she
spoke to Jason and to Heracles as a queen might speak.
In the hall that night the heroes and the Lemnian maidens who were with
them were quiet. A story was told; Castor began it and Polydeuces ended
it. And the story that Helen's brothers told was:
The Golden Maid
Epimetheus the Titan had a brother who was the wisest of all
Beings--Prometheus called the Foreseer. But Epimetheus himself was
slow-witted and scatter-brained. His wise brother once sent him a
message bidding him beware of the gifts that Zeus might send him.
Epimetheus heard, but he did not heed the warning, and thereby he
brought upon the race of men troubles and cares.
Prometheus, the wise Titan, had saved men from a great trouble that
Zeus would have brought upon them. Also he had given them the gift of
fire. Zeus was the more wroth with men now because fire, stolen from
him, had been given them; he was wroth with the race of Titans, too,
and he pondered in his heart how he might injure men, and how he might
use Epimetheus, the mindless Titan, to further his plan.
While he pondered there was a hush on high Olympus, the mountain of the
gods. Then Zeus called upon the artisan of the gods, lame Hephaestus,
and he commanded him to make a being out of clay that would have the
likeness of a lovely maiden. With joy and pride Hephaestus worked at
the task that had been given him, and he fashioned a being that had the
likeness of a lovely maiden, and he brought the thing of his making
before the gods and the goddesses.
All strove to add a grace or a beauty to the work of Hephaestus. Zeus
granted that the maiden should see and feel. Athene dressed her in
garments that were as lovely as flowers. Aphrodite, the goddess of
love, put a charm on her lips and in her eyes. The Graces put necklaces
around her neck and set a golden crown upon her head. The Hours brought
her a girdle of spring flowers. Then the herald of the gods gave her
speech that was sweet and flowing. All the gods and goddesses had given
gifts to her, and for that reason the maiden of Hephaestus's making was
called Pandora, the All-endowed.
She was lovely, the gods knew; not beautiful as they themselves are,
who have a beauty that awakens reverence rather than love, but lovely,
as flowers and bright waters and earthly maidens are lovely. Zeus
smiled to himself when he looked upon her, and he called to Hermes who
knew all the ways of the earth, and he put her into the charge of
Hermes. Also he gave Hermes a great jar to take along; this jar was
Pandora's dower.
Epimetheus lived in a deep-down valley. Now one day, as he was sitting
on a fallen pillar in the ruined place that was now forsaken by the
rest of the Titans, he saw a pair coming toward him. One had wings, and
he knew him to be Hermes, the messenger of the gods. The other was a
maiden. Epimetheus marveled at the crown upon her head and at her
lovely garments. There was a glint of gold all around her. He rose from
where he sat upon the broken pillar and he stood to watch the pair.
Hermes, he saw, was carrying by its handle a great jar.
In wonder and delight he looked upon the maiden. Epimetheus had seen no
lovely thing for ages. Wonderful indeed was this Golden Maid, and as
she came nearer the charm that was on her lips and in her eyes came to
the Earth-born One, and he smiled with more and more delight.
Hermes came and stood before him. He also smiled, but his smile had
something baleful in it. He put the hands of the Golden Maid into the
great soft hand of the Titan, and he said, "O Epimetheus, Father Zeus
would be reconciled with thee, and as a sign of his good will he sends
thee this lovely goddess to be thy companion."
Oh, very foolish was Epimetheus the Earth-born One! As he looked upon
the Golden Maid who was sent by Zeus he lost memory of the wars that
Zeus had made upon the Titans and the Elder Gods; he lost memory of his
brother chained by Zeus to the rock; he lost memory of the warning that
his brother, the wisest of all beings, had sent him. He took the hands
of Pandora, and he thought of nothing at all in all the world but her.
Very far away seemed the voice of Hermes saying, "This jar, too, is
from Olympus; it has in it Pandora's dower."
The jar stood forgotten for long, and green plants grew over it while
Epimetheus walked in the garden with the Golden Maid, or watched her
while she gazed on herself in the stream, or searched in the untended
places for the fruits that the Elder Gods would eat, when they feasted
with the Titans in the old days, before Zeus had come to his power. And
lost to Epimetheus was the memory of his brother now suffering upon the
rock because of the gift he had given to men.
And Pandora, knowing nothing except the brightness of the sunshine and
the lovely shapes and colors of things and the sweet taste of the
fruits that Epimetheus brought to her, could have stayed forever in
that garden.
But every day Epimetheus would think that the men and women of the
world should be able to talk to him about this maiden with the
wonderful radiance of gold, and with the lovely garments, and the
marvelous crown. And one day he took Pandora by the hand, and he
brought her out of that deep-lying valley, and toward the homes of men.
He did not forget the jar that Hermes had left with her. All things
that belonged to the Golden Maid were precious, and Epimetheus took the
jar along.
The race of men at the time were simple and content. Their days were
passed in toil, but now, since Prometheus had given them fire, they had
good fruits of their toil. They had well-shaped tools to dig the earth
and to build houses. Their homes were warmed with fire, and fire burned
upon the altars that were upon their ways.
Greatly they reverenced Prometheus, who had given them fire, and
greatly they reverenced the race of the Titans. So when Epimetheus came
amongst them, tall as a man walking with stilts, they welcomed him and
brought him and the Golden Maid to their hearths. And Epimetheus showed
Pandora the wonderful element that his brother had given to men, and
she rejoiced to see the fire, clapping her hands with delight. The jar
that Epimetheus brought he left in an open place.
In carrying it up the rough ways out of the valley Epimetheus may have
knocked the jar about, for the lid that had been tight upon it now
fitted very loosely. But no one gave heed to the jar as it stood in the
open space where Epimetheus had left it.
At first the men and women looked upon the beauty of Pandora, upon her
lovely dresses, and her golden crown and her girdle of flowers, with
wonder and delight. Epimetheus would have every one admire and praise
her. The men would leave off working in the fields, or hammering on
iron, or building houses, and the women would leave off spinning or
weaving, and come at his call, and stand about and admire the Golden
Maid. But as time went by a change came upon the women: one woman would
weep, and another would look angry, and a third would go back sullenly
to her work when Pandora was admired or praised.
Once the women were gathered together, and one who was the wisest
amongst them said: "Once we did not think about ourselves, and we were
content. But now we think about ourselves, and we say to ourselves that
we are harsh and ill-favored indeed compared to the Golden Maid that
the Titan is so enchanted with. And we hate to see our own men praise
and admire her, and often, in our hearts, we would destroy her if we
could."
"That is true," the women said. And then a young woman cried out in a
most yearnful voice, "O tell us, you who are wise, how can we make
ourselves as beautiful as Pandora!"
Then said that woman who was thought to be wise, "This Golden Maid is
Lovely to look upon because she has lovely apparel and all the means of
keeping herself lovely. The gods have given her the ways, and, so her
skin remains fair, and her hair keeps its gold, and her lips are ever
red and her eyes shining. And I think that the means that she has of
keeping lovely are all in that jar that Epimetheus brought with her."
When the woman who was thought to be wise said this, those around her
were silent for a while. But then one arose and another arose, and they
stood and whispered together, one saying to the other that they should
go to the place where the jar had been left by Epimetheus, and that
they should take out of it the salves and the charms and the washes
that would leave them as beautiful as Pandora.
So the women went to that place. On their way they stopped at a pool
and they bent over to see themselves mirrored in it, and they saw
themselves with dusty and unkempt hair, with large and knotted hands,
with troubled eyes, and with anxious mouths.
They frowned as they looked upon their images, and they said in harsh
voices that in a while they would have ways of making themselves as
lovely as the Golden Maid.
And as they went on they saw Pandora. She was playing in a flowering
field, while Epimetheus, high as a man upon stilts, went gathering the
blossoms of the bushes for her. They went on, and they came at last to
the place where Epimetheus had left the jar that held Pandora's dower.
A great stone jar it was; there was no bird, nor flower, nor branch
painted upon it. It stood high as a woman's shoulder. And as the women
looked on it they thought that there were things enough in it to keep
them beautiful for all the days of their lives. But each one thought
that she should not be the last to get her hands into it.
Once the lid had been fixed tightly down on the jar. But the lid was
shifted a little now. As the hands of the women grasped it to take off
the lid the jar was cast down, and the things that were inside spilled
themselves forth.
They were black and gray and red; they were crawling and flying things.
And, as the women looked, the things spread themselves abroad or
fastened themselves upon them.
The jar, like Pandora herself, had been made and filled out of the ill
will of Zeus. And it had been filled, not with salves and charms and
washes, as the women had thought, but with Cares and Troubles. Before
the women came to it one Trouble had already come forth from the
jar--Self-thought that was upon the top of the heap. It was
Self-thought that had afflicted the women, making them troubled about
their own looks, and envious of the graces of the Golden Maid.
And now the others spread themselves out--Sickness and War and Strife
between friends. They spread themselves abroad and entered the houses,
while Epimetheus, the mindless Titan, gathered flowers for Pandora, the
Golden Maid.
Lest she should weary of her play he called to her. He would take her
into the houses of men. As they drew near to the houses they saw a
woman seated on the ground, weeping; her husband had suddenly become
hard to her and had shut the door on her face.
They came upon a child crying because of a pain that he could not
understand. And then they found two men struggling, their strife being
on account of a possession that they had both held peaceably before.
In every house they went to Epimetheus would say, "I am the brother of
Prometheus, who gave you the gift of fire." But instead of giving them
a welcome the men would say, "We know nothing about your relation to
Prometheus. We see you as a foolish man upon stilts."
Epimetheus was troubled by the hard looks and the cold words of the men
who once had reverenced him. He turned from the houses and went away.
In a quiet place he sat down, and for a while he lost sight of Pandora.
And then it seemed to him that he heard the voice of his wise and
suffering brother saying, "Do not accept any gift that Zeus may send
you."
He rose up and he hurried away from that place, leaving Pandora playing
by herself. There came into his scattered mind Regret and Fear. As he
went on he stumbled. He fell from the edge of a cliff, and the sea
washed away the body of the mindless brother of Prometheus.
Not everything had been spilled out of the jar that had been brought
with Pandora into the world of men. A beautiful, living thing was in
that jar also. This was Hope. And this beautiful, living thing had got
caught under the rim of the jar and had not come forth with the others.
One day a weeping woman found Hope under the rim of Pandora's jar and
brought this living thing into the house of men. And now because of
Hope they could see an end to their troubles. And the men and women
roused themselves in the midst of their afflictions and they looked
toward gladness. Hope, that had been caught under the rim of the jar,
stayed behind the thresholds of their houses.
As for Pandora, the Golden Maid, she played on, knowing only the
brightness of the sunshine and the lovely shapes of things. Beautiful
would she have seemed to any being who saw her, but now she had strayed
away from the houses of men and Epimetheus was not there to look upon
her. Then Hephaestus, the lame artisan of the gods, left down his tools
and went to seek her. He found Pandora, and he took her back to
Olympus. And in his brazen house she stays, though sometimes at the
will of Zeus she goes down into the world of men.
When Polydeuces had ended the story that Castor had begun, Heracles
cried out: "For the Argonauts, too, there has been a Golden Maid--nay,
not one, but a Golden Maid for each. Out of the jar that has been with
her ye have taken forgetfulness of your honor. As for me, I go back to
the Argo lest one of these Golden Maids should hold me back from the
labors that make great a man."
So Heracles said, and he went from Hypsipyle's hall. The heroes looked
at each other, and they stood up, and shame that they had stayed so
long away from the quest came over each of them. The maidens took their
hands; the heroes unloosed those soft hands and turned away from them.
Hypsipyle left the throne of King Thoas and stood before Jason. There
was a storm in all her body; her mouth was shaken, and a whole life's
trouble was in her great eyes. Before she spoke Jason cried out: "What
Heracles said is true, O Argonauts! On the Quest of the Golden Fleece
our lives and our honors depend. To Colchis--to Colchis must we go!"
He stood upright in the hall, and his comrades gathered around him. The
Lemnian maidens would have held out their arms and would have made
their partings long delayed, but that a strange cry came to them
through the night. Well did the Argonauts know that cry--it was the cry
of the ship, of Argo herself. They knew that they must go to her now or
stay from the voyage for ever. And the maidens knew that there was
something in the cry of the ship that might not be gainsaid, and they
put their hands before their faces, and they said no other word.
Then said Hypsipyle, the queen, "I, too, am a ruler, Jason, and I know
that there are great commands that we have to obey. Go, then, to the
Argo. Ah, neither I nor the women of Lemnos will stay your going now.
But to-morrow speak to us from the deck of the ship and bid us
farewell. Do not go from us in the night, Jason."
Jason and the Argonauts went from Hypsipyle's hall. The maidens who
were left behind wept together. All but Hypsipyle. She sat on the
throne of King Thoas and she had Polyxo, her nurse, tell her of the
ways of Jason's voyage as he had told of them, and of all that he would
have to pass through. When the other Lemnian women slept she put her
head upon her nurse's, knees and wept; bitterly Hypsipyle wept, but
softly, for she would not have the others hear her weeping.
By the coming of the morning's light the Argonauts had made all ready
for their sailing. They were standing on the deck when the light came,
and they saw the Lemnian women come to the shore. Each looked at her
friend aboard the Argo, and spoke, and went away. And last, Hypsipyle,
the queen, came. "Farewell, Hypsipyle," Jason said to her, and she, in
her strange way of speaking, said:
"What you told us I have remembered--how you will come to the dangerous
passage that leads into the Sea of Pontus, and how by the flight of a
pigeon you will know whether or not you may go that way. O Jason, let
the dove you fly when you come to that dangerous place be Hypsipyle's."
She showed a pigeon held in her hands. She loosed it, and the pigeon
alighted on the ship, and stayed there on pink feet, a white-feathered
pigeon. Jason took up the pigeon and held it in his hands, and the Argo
drew swiftly away from the Lemnian land.
XI. THE PASSAGE OF THE SYMPLEGADES
They came near Salmydessus, where Phineus, the wise king, ruled, and
they sailed past it; they sighted the pile of stones, with the oar
upright upon it that they had raised on the seashore over the body of
Tiphys, the skillful steersman whom they had lost; they sailed on until
they heard a sound that grew more and more thunderous, and then the
heroes said to each other, "Now we come to the Symplegades and the
dread passage into the Sea of Pontus."
It was then that Jason cried out: "Ah, when Pelias spoke of this quest
to me, why did I not turn my head away and refuse to be drawn into it?
Since we came near the dread passage that is before us I have passed
every night in groans. As for you who have come with me, you may take
your ease, for you need care only for your own lives. But I have to
care for you all, and to strive to win for you all a safe return to
Greece. Ah, greatly am I afflicted now, knowing to what a great peril I
have brought you!"
So Jason said, thinking to make trial of the heroes. They, on their
part, were not dismayed, but shouted back cheerful words to him. Then
he said: "O friends of mine, by your spirit my spirit is quickened. Now
if I knew that I was being borne down into the black gulfs of Hades, I
should fear nothing, knowing that you are constant and faithful of
heart."
As he said this they came into water that seethed all around the ship.
Then into the hands of Euphemus, a youth of Iolcus, who was the
keenest-eyed amongst the Argonauts, Jason put the pigeon that Hypsipyle
had given him. He bade him stand by the prow of the Argo, ready to
loose the pigeon as the ship came nigh that dreadful gate of rock.
They saw the spray being dashed around in showers; they saw the sea
spread itself out in foam; they saw the high, black rocks rush
together, sounding thunderously as they met. The caves in the high
rocks rumbled as the sea surged into them, and the foam of the dashing
waves spurted high up the rocks.
Jason shouted to each man to grip hard on the oars. The Argo dashed on
as the rocks rushed toward each other again. Then there was such noise
that no man's voice could be heard above it.
As the rocks met, Euphemus loosed the pigeon. With his keen eyes he
watched her fly through the spray. Would she, not finding an opening to
fly through, turn back? He watched, and meanwhile the Argonauts gripped
hard on the oars to save the ship from being dashed on the rocks. The
pigeon fluttered as though she would sink down and let the spray drown
her. And then Euphemus saw her raise herself and fly forward. Toward
the place where she had flown he pointed. The rowers gave a loud cry,
and Jason called upon them to pull with might and main.
The rocks were parting asunder, and to the right and left broad Pontus
was seen by the heroes. Then suddenly a huge wave rose before them, and
at the sight of it they all uttered a cry and bent their heads. It
seemed to them that it would dash down on the whole ship's length and
overwhelm them all. But Nauplius was quick to ease the ship, and the
wave rolled away beneath the keel, and at the stern it raised the Argo
and dashed her away from the rocks.
They felt the sun as it streamed upon them through the sundered rocks.
They strained at the oars until the oars bent like bows in their hands.
The ship sprang forward. Surely they were now in the wide Sea of Pontus!
The Argonauts shouted. They saw the rocks behind them with the sea fowl
screaming upon them. Surely they were in the Sea of Pontus--the sea
that had never been entered before through the Rocks Wandering. The
rocks no longer dashed together; each remained fixed in its place, for
it was the will of the gods that these rocks should no more clash
together after a mortal's ship had passed between them.
They were now in the Sea of Pontus, the sea into which flowed the river
that Colchis was upon--the River Phasis. And now above Jason's head the
bird of peaceful days, the Halcyon, fluttered, and the Argonauts knew
that this was a sign from the gods that the voyage would not any more
be troublous.
XII. THE MOUNTAIN CAUCASUS
They rested in the harbor of Thynias, the desert island, and sailing
from there they came to the land of the Mariandyni, a people who were
constantly at war with the Bebrycians; there the hero Polydeuces was
welcomed as a god. Twelve days afterward they passed the mouth of the
River Callichorus; then they came to the mouth of that river that flows
through the land of the Amazons, the River Thermodon. Fourteen days
from that place brought them to the island that is filled with the
birds of Ares, the god of war. These birds dropped upon the heroes
heavy, pointed feathers that would have pierced them as arrows if they
had not covered themselves with their shields; then by shouting, and by
striking their shields with their spears, they raised such a clamor as
drove the birds away.
They sailed on, borne by a gentle breeze, until a gulf of the sea
opened before them, and lo! a mountain that they knew bore some mighty
name. Orpheus, looking on its peak and its crags, said, "Lo, now! We,
the Argonauts, are looking upon the mountain that is named Caucasus!"
When he declared the name the heroes all stood up and looked on the
mountain with awe. And in awe they cried out a name, and that name was
"Prometheus!"
For upon that mountain the Titan god was held, his limbs bound upon the
hard rocks by fetters of bronze. Even as the Argonauts looked toward
the mountain a great shadow fell upon their ship, and looking up they
saw a monstrous bird flying. The beat of the bird's wings filled out
the sail and drove the Argo swiftly onward. "It is the bird sent by
Zeus," Orpheus said. "It is the vulture that every day devours the
liver of the Titan god." They cowered down on the ship as they heard
that word--all the Argonauts save Heracles; he stood upright and looked
out toward where the bird was flying. Then, as the bird came near to
the mountain, the Argonauts heard a great cry of anguish go up from the
rocks.
"It is Prometheus crying out as the bird of Zeus flies down upon him,"
they said to one another. Again they cowered down on the ship, all save
Heracles, who stayed looking toward where the great vulture had flown.
The night came and the Argonauts sailed on in silence, thinking in awe
of the Titan god and of the doom that Zeus had inflicted upon him.
Then, as they sailed on under the stars, Orpheus told them of
Prometheus, of his gift to men, and of the fearful punishment that had
been meted out to him by Zeus.
Prometheus
The gods more than once made a race of men: the first was a Golden
Race. Very close to the gods who dwell on Olympus was this Golden Race;
they lived justly although there were no laws to compel them. In the
time of the Golden Race the earth knew only one season, and that season
was everlasting Spring. The men and women of the Golden Race lived
through a span of life that was far beyond that of the men and women of
our day, and when they died it was as though sleep had become
everlasting with them. They had all good things, and that without
labor, for the earth without any forcing bestowed fruits and crops upon
them. They had peace all through their lives, this Golden Race, and
after they had passed away their spirits remained above the earth,
inspiring the men of the race that came after them to do great and
gracious things and to act justly and kindly to one another.
After the Golden Race had passed away, the gods made for the earth a
second race--a Silver Race. Less noble in spirit and in body was this
Silver Race, and the seasons that visited them were less gracious. In
the time of the Silver Race the gods made the seasons--Summer and
Spring, and Autumn and Winter. They knew parching heat, and the bitter
winds of winter, and snow and rain and hail. It was the men of the
Silver Race who first built houses for shelter. They lived through a
span of life that was longer than our span, but it was not long enough
to give wisdom to them. Children were brought up at their mothers'
sides for a hundred years, playing at childish things. And when they
came to years beyond a hundred they quarreled with one another, and
wronged one another, and did not know enough to give reverence to the
immortal gods. Then, by the will of Zeus, the Silver Race passed away
as the Golden Race had passed away. Their spirits stay in the
Underworld, and they are called by men the blessed spirits of the
Underworld.
And then there was made the third race--the Race of Bronze. They were a
race great of stature, terrible and strong. Their armor was of bronze,
their swords were of bronze, their implements were of bronze, and of
bronze, too, they made their houses. No great span of life was theirs,
for with the weapons that they took in their terrible hands they slew
one another. Thus they passed away, and went down under the earth to
Hades, leaving no name that men might know them by.
Then the gods created a fourth race--our own: a Race of Iron. We have
not the justice that was amongst the men of the Golden Race, nor the
simpleness that was amongst the men of the Silver Race, nor the stature
nor the great strength that the men of the Bronze Race possessed. We
are of iron that we may endure. It is our doom that we must never cease
from labor and that we must very quickly grow old.
But miserable as we are to-day, there was a time when the lot of men
was more miserable. With poor implements they had to labor on a hard
ground. There was less justice and kindliness amongst men in those days
than there is now.
Once it came into the mind of Zeus that he would destroy the fourth
race and leave the earth to the nymphs and the satyrs. He would destroy
it by a great flood. But Prometheus, the--Titan god who had given aid
to Zeus against the other Titans--Prometheus, who was called the
Foreseer--could not consent to the race of men being destroyed utterly,
and he considered a way of saving some of them. To a man and a woman,
Deucalion and Pyrrha, just and gentle people, he brought word of the
plan of Zeus, and he showed them how to make a ship that would bear
them through what was about to be sent upon the earth.
Then Zeus shut up in their cave all the winds but the wind that brings
rain and clouds. He bade this wind, the South Wind, sweep over the
earth, flooding it with rain. He called upon Poseidon and bade him to
let the sea pour in upon the land. And Poseidon commanded the rivers to
put forth all their strength, and sweep dykes away, and overflow their
banks.
The clouds and the sea and the rivers poured upon the earth. The flood
rose higher and higher, and in the places where the pretty lambs had
played the ugly sea calves now gambolled; men in their boats drew
fishes out of the tops of elm trees, and the water nymphs were amazed
to come on men's cities under the waves.
Soon even the men and women who had boats were overwhelmed by the rise
of water--all perished then except Deucalion and Pyrrha, his wife; them
the waves had not overwhelmed, for they were in a ship that Prometheus
had shown them how to build. The flood went down at last, and Deucalion
and Pyrrha climbed up to a high and a dry ground. Zeus saw that two of
the race of men had been left alive. But he saw that these two were
just and kindly, and had a right reverence for the gods. He spared
them, and he saw their children again peopling the earth.
Prometheus, who had saved them, looked on the men and women of the
earth with compassion. Their labor was hard, and they wrought much to
gain little. They were chilled at night in their houses, and the winds
that blew in the daytime made the old men and women bend double like a
wheel. Prometheus thought to himself that if men and women had the
element that only the gods knew of--the element of fire--they could
make for themselves implements for labor; they could build houses that
would keep out the chilling winds, and they could warm themselves at
the blaze.
But the gods had not willed that men should have fire, and to go
against the will of the gods would be impious. Prometheus went against
the will of the gods. He stole fire from the altar of Zeus, and he hid
it in a hollow fennel stalk, and he brought it to men.
Then men were able to hammer iron into tools, and cut down forests with
axes, and sow grain where the forests had been. Then were they able to
make houses that the storms could not overthrow, and they were able to
warm themselves at hearth fires. They had rest from their labor at
times. They built cities; they became beings who no longer had heads
and backs bent but were able to raise their faces even to the gods.
And Zeus spared the race of men who had now the sacred element of fire.
But he knew that Prometheus had stolen this fire even from his own
altar and had given it to men. And he thought on how he might punish
the great Titan god for his impiety.
He brought back from the Underworld the giants that he had put there to
guard the Titans that had been hurled down to Tartarus. He brought back
Gyes, Cottus, and Briareus, and he commanded them to lay hands upon
Prometheus and to fasten him with fetters to the highest, blackest crag
upon Caucasus. And Briareus, Cottus, and Gyes seized upon the Titan
god, and carried him to Caucasus, and fettered him with fetters of
bronze to the highest, blackest crag--with fetters of bronze that may
not be broken. There they have left the Titan stretched, under the sky,
with the cold winds blowing upon him, and with the sun streaming down
on him. And that his punishment might exceed all other punishments Zeus
had sent a vulture to prey upon him--a vulture that tears at his liver
each day.
And yet Prometheus does not cry out that he has repented of his gift to
man; although the winds blow upon him, and the sun streams upon him,
and the vulture tears at his liver, Prometheus will not cry out his
repentance to heaven. And Zeus may not utterly destroy him. For
Prometheus the Foreseer knows a secret that Zeus would fain have him
disclose. He knows that even as Zeus overthrew his father and made
himself the ruler in his stead, so, too, another will overthrow Zeus.
And one day Zeus will have to have the fetters broken from around the
limbs of Prometheus, and will have to bring from the rock and the
vulture, and into the Council of the Olympians, the unyielding Titan
god.
When the light of the morning came the Argo was very near to the
Mountain Caucasus. The voyagers looked in awe upon its black crags.
They saw the great vulture circling over a high rock, and from beneath
where the vulture circled they heard a weary cry. Then Heracles, who
all night had stood by the mast, cried out to the Argonauts to bring
the ship near to a landing place.
But Jason would not have them go near; fear of the wrath of Zeus was
strong upon him; rather, he bade the Argonauts put all their strength
into their rowing, and draw far off from that forbidden mountain.
Heracles, not heeding what Jason ordered, declared that it was his
purpose to make his way up to the black crag, and, with his shield and
his sword in his hands, slay the vulture that preyed upon the liver of
Prometheus.
Then Orpheus in a clear voice spoke to the Argonauts. "Surely some
spirit possesses Heracles," he said. "Despite all we do or say he will
make his way to where Prometheus is fettered to the rock. Do not
gainsay him in this! Remember what Nereus, the ancient one of the sea,
declared! Did Nereus not say that a great labor awaited Heracles, and
that in the doing of it he should work out the will of Zeus? Stay him
not! How just it would be if he who is the son of Zeus freed from his
torments the much-enduring Titan god!"
So Orpheus said in his clear, commanding voice. They drew near to the
Mountain Caucasus. Then Heracles, gripping the sword and shield that
were the gifts of the gods, sprang out on the landing place. The
Argonauts shouted farewell to him. But he, filled as he was with an
overmastering spirit, did not heed their words.
A strong breeze drove them onward; darkness came down, and the Argo
went on through the night. With the morning light those who were
sleeping were awakened by the cry of Nauplius--"Lo! The Phasis, and the
utmost bourne of the sea!" They sprang up, and looked with many strange
feelings upon the broad river they had come to.
Here was the Phasis emptying itself into the Sea of Pontus! Up that
river was Colchis and the city of King Æetes, the end of their voyage,
the place where was kept the Golden Fleece! Quickly they let down the
sail; they lowered the mast and they laid it along the deck; strongly
they grasped the oars; they swung the Argo around, and they entered the
broad stream of the Phasis.
Up the river they went with the Mountain Caucasus on their left hand,
and on their right the groves and gardens of Aea, King Æetes's city. As
they went up the stream, Jason poured from a golden cup an offering to
the gods. And to the dead heroes of that country the Argonauts prayed
for good fortune to their enterprise.
It was Jason's counsel that they should not at once appear before King
Æetes, but visit him after they had seen the strength of his city. They
drew their ship into a shaded backwater, and there they stayed while
day grew and faded around them.
Night came, and the heroes slept upon the deck of Argo. Many things
came back to them in their dreams or through their half-sleep: they
thought of the Lemnian maidens they had parted from; of the Clashing
Rocks they had passed between; of the look in the eyes of Heracles as
he raised his face to the high, black peak of Caucasus. They slept, and
they thought they saw before them THE GOLDEN FLEECE; darkness
surrounded it; it seemed to the dreaming Argonauts that the darkness
was the magic power that King Æetes possessed.