by the monster Geryoneus. In the Island of Erytheia, in the middle of
the Stream of Ocean, lived the monster, his herd guarded by the
two-headed hound Orthus--that hound was the brother of Cerberus, the
three-headed hound that kept guard in the Underworld.
Mounted upon the bull given Minos by Poseidon, Heracles fared across
the sea. He came even to the straits that divide Europe from Africa,
and there he set up two pillars as a memorial of his journey--the
Pillars of Heracles that stand to this day. He and the bull rested
there. Beyond him stretched the Stream of Ocean; the Island of Erytheia
was there, but Heracles thought that the bull would not be able to bear
him so far.
And there the sun beat upon him, and drew all strength away from him,
and he was dazed and dazzled by the rays of the sun. He shouted out
against the sun, and in his anger he wanted to strive against the sun.
Then he drew his bow and shot arrows upward. Far, far out of sight the
arrows of Heracles went. And the sun god, Helios, was filled with
admiration for Heracles, the man who would attempt the impossible by
shooting arrows at him; then did Helios fling down to Heracles his
great golden cup.
Down, and into the Stream of Ocean fell the great golden cup of Helios.
It floated there wide enough to hold all the men who might be in a
ship. Heracles put the bull of Minos into the cup of Helios, and the
cup bore them away, toward the west, and across the Stream of Ocean.
Thus Heracles came to the Island of Erytheia. All over the island
straggled the red cattle of Geryoneus, grazing upon the rich pastures.
Heracles, leaving the bull of Minos in the cup, went upon the island;
he made a club for himself out of a tree and he went toward the cattle.
The hound Orthus bayed and ran toward him; the two-headed hound that
was the brother of Cerberus sprang at Heracles with poisonous foam upon
his jaws. Heracles swung his club and struck the two heads off the
hound. And where the foam of the hound's jaws dropped down a poisonous
plant sprang up. Heracles took up the body of the hound, and swung it
around and flung it far out into the Ocean.
Then the monster Geryoneus came upon him. Three bodies he had instead
of one; he attacked Heracles by hurling great stones at him. Heracles
was hurt by the stones. And then the monster beheld the cup of Helios,
and he began to hurl stones at the golden thing, and it seemed that he
might sink it in the sea, and leave Heracles without a way of getting
from the island. Heracles took up his bow and he shot arrow after arrow
at the monster, and he left him dead in the deep grass of the pastures.
Then he rounded up the red cattle, the bulls and the cows, and he drove
them down to the shore and into the golden cup of Helios where the bull
of Minos stayed. Then back across the Stream of Ocean the cup floated,
and the bull of Crete and the cattle of Geryoneus were brought past
Sicily and through the straits called the Hellespont. To Thrace, that
savage land, they came. Then Heracles took the cattle out, and the cup
of Helios sank in the sea. Through the wild lands of Thrace he drove
the herd of Geryoneus and the bull of Minos, and he came into Myceaæ
once more.
But he did not stay to speak with Eurystheus. He started off to find
the Garden of the Hesperides, the Daughters of the Evening Land. Long
did he search, but he found no one who could tell him where the garden
was. And at last he went to Chiron on the Mountain Pelion, and Chiron
told Heracles what journey he would have to make to come to the
Hesperides, the Daughters of the Evening Land.
Far did Heracles journey; weary he was when he came to where Atlas
stood, bearing the sky upon his weary shoulders. As he came near he
felt an undreamt-of perfume being wafted toward him. So weary was he
with his journey and all his toils that he would fain sink down and
dream away in that evening land. But he roused himself, and he
journeyed on toward where the perfume came from. Over that place a star
seemed always about to rise.
He came to where a silver lattice fenced a garden that was full of the
quiet of evening. Golden bees hummed through the air, and there was the
sound of quiet waters. How wild and laborious was the world he had come
from, Heracles thought! He felt that it would be hard for him to return
to that world.
He saw three maidens. They stood with wreaths upon their heads and
blossoming branches in their hands. When the maidens saw him they came
toward him crying out: "O man who has come into the Garden of the
Hesperides, go not near the tree that the sleepless dragon guards!"
Then they went and stood by a tree as if to keep guard over it. All
around were trees that bore flowers and fruit, but this tree had golden
apples amongst its bright green leaves.
Then he saw the guardian of the tree. Beside its trunk a dragon lay,
and as Heracles came near the dragon showed its glittering scales and
its deadly claws.
The apples were within reach, but the dragon, with its glittering
scales and claws, stood in the way. Heracles shot an arrow; then a
tremor went through Ladon, the sleepless dragon; it screamed and then
lay stark. The maidens cried in their grief; Heracles went to the tree,
and he plucked the golden apples and he put them into the pouch he
carried. Down on the ground sank the Hesperides, the Daughters of the
Evening Land, and he heard their laments as he went from the enchanted
garden they had guarded.
Back from the ends of the earth came Heracles, back from the place
where Atlas stood holding the sky upon his weary shoulders. He went
back through Asia and Libya and Egypt, and he came again to Myceaæ and
to the palace of Eurystheus.
He brought to the king the herd of Geryoneus; he brought to the king
the bull of Minos; he brought to the king the girdle of Hippolyte; he
brought to the king the golden apples of the Hesperides. And King
Eurystheus, with his thin white face, sat upon his royal throne and he
looked over all the wonderful things that the hero had brought him. Not
pleased was Eurystheus; rather was he angry that one he hated could win
such wonderful things.
He took into his hands the golden apples of the Hesperides. But this
fruit was not for such as he. An eagle snatched the branch from his
hand, and the eagle flew and flew until it came to where the Daughters
of the Evening Land wept in their garden. There the eagle let fall the
branch with the golden apples, and the maidens set it back upon the
tree, and behold! it grew as it had been growing before Heracles
plucked it.
The next day the heralds of Eurystheus came to Heracles and they told
him of the last labor that he would have to set out to accomplish--this
time he would have to go down into the Underworld, and bring up from
King Aidoneus's realm Cerberus, the three-headed hound.
Heracles put upon him the impenetrable lion's skin and set forth once
more. This might indeed be the last of his life's labors: Cerberus was
not an earthly monster, and he who would struggle with Cerberus in the
Underworld would have the gods of the dead against him.
But Heracles went on. He journeyed to the cave Tainaron, which was an
entrance to the Underworld. Far into that dismal cave he went, and then
down, down, until he came to Acheron, that dim river that has beyond it
only the people of the dead. Cerberus bayed at him from the place where
the dead cross the river. Knowing that he was no shade, the hound
sprang at Heracles, but he could neither bite nor tear through that
impenetrable lion's skin. Heracles held him by the neck of his middle
head so that Cerberus was neither able to bite nor tear nor bellow.
Then to the brink of Acheron came Persephone, queen of the Underworld.
She declared to Heracles that the gods of the dead would not strive
against him if he promised to bring Cerberus back to the Underworld,
carrying the hound downward again as he carried him upward.
This Heracles promised. He turned around and he carried Cerberus, his
hands around the monster's neck while foam dripped from his jaws. He
carried him on and upward toward the world of men. Out through a cave
that was in the land of Troezen Heracles came, still carrying Cerberus
by the neck of his middle head.
From Troezen to Myceaæ the hero went and men fled before him at the
sight of the monster that he carried. On he went toward the king's
palace. Eurystheus was seated outside his palace that day, looking at
the great jar that he had often hidden in, and thinking to himself that
Heracles would never appear to affright him again. Then Heracles
appeared. He called to Eurystheus, and when the king looked up he held
the hound toward him. The three heads grinned at Eurystheus; he gave a
cry and scrambled into the jar. But before his feet touched the bottom
of it Eurystheus was dead of fear. The jar rolled over, and Heracles
looked upon the body that was all twisted with fright. Then he turned
around and made his way back to the Underworld. On the brink of Acheron
he loosed Cerberus, and the bellow of the three-headed hound was heard
again.
II
It was then that Heracles was given arms by the gods the sword of
Hermes, the bow of Apollo, the shield made by Hephaestus; it was then
that Heracles joined the Argonauts and journeyed with them to the edge
of the Caucasus, where, slaying the vulture that preyed upon
Prometheus's liver, he, at the will of Zeus, liberated the Titan.
Thereafter Zeus and Prometheus were reconciled, and Zeus, that neither
might forget how much the enmity between them had cost gods and men,
had a ring made for Prometheus to wear; that ring was made out of the
fetter that had been upon him, and in it was set a fragment of the rock
that the Titan had been bound to.
The Argonauts had now won back to Greece. But before he saw any of them
he had been in Oichalia, and had seen the maiden Iole.
The king of Oichalia had offered his daughter Iole in marriage to the
hero who could excel himself and his sons in shooting with arrows.
Heracles saw Iole, the blue-eyed and childlike maiden, and he longed to
take her with him to some place near the Garden of the Hesperides. And
Iole looked on him, and he knew that she wondered to see him so tall
and so strongly knit even as he wondered to see her so childlike and
delicate.
Then the contest began. The king and his sons shot wonderfully well,
and none of the heroes who stood before Heracles had a chance of
winning. Then Heracles shot his arrows. No matter how far away they
moved the mark, Heracles struck it and struck the very center of it.
The people wondered who this great archer might be. And then a name was
guessed at and went around--Heracles!
When the king heard the name of Heracles he would not let him strive in
the contest any more. For the maiden Iole would not be given as a prize
to one who had been mad and whose madness might afflict him again. So
the king said, speaking in judgment in the market place.
Rage came on Heracles when he heard this judgment given. He would not
let his rage master him lest the madness that was spoken of should come
with his rage. So he left the city of Oichalia declaring to the king
and the people that he would return.
It was then that, wandering down to Crete, he heard of the Argonauts
being near. And afterward he heard of them being in Calydon, hunting
the boar that ravaged Oeneus's country. To Calydon Heracles went. The
heroes had departed when he came into the country, and all the city was
in grief for the deaths of Prince Meleagrus and his two uncles.
On the steps of the temple where Meleagrus and his uncles had been
brought Heracles saw Deianira, Meleagrus's sister. She was pale with
her grief, this tall woman of the mountains; she looked like a
priestess, but also like a woman who could cheer camps of men with her
counsel, her bravery, and her good companionship; her hair was very
dark and she had dark eyes.
Straightway she became friends with Heracles; and when they saw each
other for a while they loved each other. And Heracles forgot Iole, the
childlike maiden whom he had seen in Oichalia.
He made himself a suitor for Deianira, and those who protected her were
glad of Heracles's suit, and they told him they would give him the
maiden to marry as soon as the mourning for Prince Meleagrus and his
uncles was over. Heracles stayed in Calydon, happy with Deianira, who
had so much beauty, wisdom, and bravery.
But then a dreadful thing happened in Calydon; by an accident, while
using his strength unthinkingly, Heracles killed a lad who was related
to Deianira. He might not marry her now until he had taken punishment
for slaying one who was close to her in blood.
As a punishment for the slaying it was judged that Heracles should be
sold into slavery for three years. At the end of his three years'
slavery he could come back to Calydon and wed Deianira.
And so Heracles and Deianira were parted. He was sold as a slave in
Lydia; the one who bought him was a woman, a widow named Omphale. To
her house Heracles went, carrying his armor and wearing his lion's
skin. And Omphale laughed to see this tall man dressed in a lion's skin
coming to her house to do a servant's tasks for her.
She and all in her house kept up fun with Heracles. They would set him
to do housework, to carry water, and set vessels on the tables, and
clear the vessels away. Omphale set him to spin with a spindle as the
women did. And often she would put on Heracles's lion skin and go about
dragging his club, while he, dressed in woman's garb, washed dishes and
emptied pots.
But he would lose patience with these servant's tasks, and then Omphale
would let him go away and perform some great exploit. Often he went on
long journeys and stayed away for long times. It was while he was in
slavery to Omphale that he liberated Theseus from the dungeon in which
he was held with Peirithous, and it was while he still was in slavery
that he made his journey to Troy.
At Troy he helped to repair for King Laomedon the great walls that
years before Apollo and Poseidon had built around the city. As a reward
for this labor he was offered the Princess Hesione in marriage; she was
the daughter of King Laomedon, and the sister of Priam, who was then
called, not Priam but Podarces. He helped to repair the wall, and two
of the Argonauts were there to aid him: one was Peleus and the other
was Telamon. Peleus did not stay for long: Telamon stayed, and to
reward Telamon Heracles withdrew his own claim for the hand of the
Princess Hesione. It was not hard on Heracles to do this, for his
thoughts were ever upon Deianira.
But Telamon rejoiced, for he loved Hesione greatly. On the day they
married Heracles showed the two an eagle in the sky. He said it was
sent as an omen to them--an omen for their marriage. And in memory of
that omen Telamon named his son "Aias"; that is, "Eagle."
Then the walls of Troy were repaired and Heracles turned toward Lydia,
Omphale's home. Not long would he have to serve Omphale now, for his
three years' slavery was nearly over. Soon he would go back to Calydon
and wed Deianira.
As he went along the road to Lydia he thought of all the pleasantries
that had been made in Omphale's house and he laughed at the memory of
them. Lydia was a friendly country, and even though he had been in
slavery Heracles had had his good times there.
He was tired with the journey and made sleepy with the heat of the sun,
and when he came within sight of Omphale's house he lay down by the
side of the road, first taking off his armor, and laying aside his bow,
his quiver, and his shield. He wakened up to see two men looking down
upon him; he knew that these were the Cercopes, robbers who waylaid
travelers upon this road. They were laughing as they looked down on
him, and Heracles saw that they held his arms and his armor in their
hands.
They thought that this man, for all his tallness, would yield to them
when he saw that they had his arms and his armor. But Heracles sprang
up, and he caught one by the waist and the other by the neck, and he
turned them upside down and tied them together by the heels. Now he
held them securely and he would take them to the town and give them
over to those whom they had waylaid and robbed. He hung them by their
heels across his shoulders and marched on.
But the robbers, as they were being bumped along, began to relate
pleasantries and mirthful tales to each other, and Heracles, listening,
had to laugh. And one said to the other, "O my brother, we are in the
position of the frogs when the mice fell upon them with such fury." And
the other said, "Indeed nothing can save us if Zeus does not send an
ally to us as he sent an ally to the frogs." And the first robber said,
"Who began that conflict, the frogs or the mice?" And thereupon the
second robber, his head reaching down to Heracles's waist, began:
THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE
A warlike mouse came down to the brink of a pond for no other reason
than to take a drink of water. Up to him hopped a frog. Speaking in the
voice of one who had rule and authority, the frog said:
"Stranger to our shore, you may not know it, but I am Puff Jaw, king of
the frogs. I do not speak to common mice, but you, as I judge, belong
to the noble and kingly sort. Tell me your race. If I know it to be a
noble one I shall show you my kingly friendship."
The mouse, speaking haughtily, said: "I am Crumb Snatcher, and my race
is a famous one. My father is the heroic Bread Nibbler, and he married
Quern Licker, the lovely daughter of a king. Like all my race I am a
warrior who has never been wont to flinch in battle. Moreover, I have
been brought up as a mouse of high degree, and figs and nuts, cheese
and honeycakes is the provender that I have been fed on."
Now this reply of Crumb Snatcher pleased the kingly frog greatly. "Come
with me to my abode, illustrious Crumb Snatcher," said he, "and I shall
show you such entertainment as may be found in the house of a king."
But the mouse looked sharply at him. "How may I get to your house?" he
asked. "We live in different elements, you and I. We mice want to be in
the driest of dry places, while you frogs have your abodes in the
water."
"Ah," answered Puff jaw, "you do not know how favored the frogs are
above all other creatures. To us alone the gods have given the power to
live both in the water and on the land. I shall take you to my land
palace that is the other side of the pond."
"How may I go there with you?" asked Crumb Snatcher the mouse,
doubtfully.
"Upon my back," said the frog. "Up now, noble Crumb Snatcher. And as we
go I will show you the wonders of the deep."
He offered his back and Crumb Snatcher bravely mounted. The mouse put
his forepaws around the frog's neck. Then Puff jaw swam out. Crumb
Snatcher at first was pleased to feel himself moving through the water.
But as the dark waves began to rise his mighty heart began to quail. He
longed to be back upon the land. He groaned aloud.
"How quickly we get on," cried Puff Jaw; "soon we shall be at my land
palace."
Heartened by this speech, Crumb Snatcher put his tail into the water
and worked it as a steering oar. On and on they went, and Crumb
Snatcher gained heart for the adventure. What a wonderful tale he would
have to tell to the clans of the mice!
But suddenly, out of the depths of the pond, a water snake raised his
horrid head. Fearsome did that head seem to both mouse and frog. And
forgetful of the guest that he carried upon his back, Puff jaw dived
down into the water. He reached the bottom of the pond and lay on the
mud in safety.
But far from safety was Crumb Snatcher the mouse. He sank and rose, and
sank again. His wet fur weighed him down. But before he sank for the
last time he lifted up his voice and cried out and his cry was heard at
the brink of the pond:
"Ah, Puff Jaw, treacherous frog! An evil thing you have done, leaving
me to drown in the middle of the pond. Had you faced me on the land I
should have shown you which of us two was the better warrior. Now I
must lose my life in the water. But I tell you my death shall not go
unavenged--the cowardly frogs will be punished for the ill they have
done to me who am the son of the king of the mice."
Then Crumb Snatcher sank for the last time. But Lick Platter, who was
at the brink of the pond, had heard his words. Straightway this mouse
rushed to the hole of Bread Nibbler and told him of the death of his
princely son.
Bread Nibbler called out the clans of the mice. The warrior mice armed
themselves, and this was the grand way of their arming:
First, the mice put on greaves that covered their forelegs. These they
made out of bean shells broken in two. For shield, each had a lamp's
centerpiece. For spears they had the long bronze needles that they had
carried out of the houses of men. So armed and so accoutered they were
ready to war upon the frogs. And Bread Nibbler, their king, shouted to
them: "Fall upon the cowardly frogs, and leave not one alive upon the
bank of the pond. Henceforth that bank is ours, and ours only. Forward!"
And, on the other side, Puff jaw was urging the frogs to battle. "Let
us take our places on the edge of the pond," he said, "and when the
mice come amongst us, let each catch hold of one and throw him into the
pond. Thus we will get rid of these dry bobs, the mice."
The frogs applauded the speech of their king, and straightway they went
to their armor and their weapons. Their legs they covered with the
leaves of mallow. For breastplates they had the leaves of beets.
Cabbage leaves, well cut, made their strong shields. They took their
spears from the pond side--deadly pointed rushes they were, and they
placed upon their heads helmets that were empty snail shells. So armed
and so accoutered they were ready to meet the grand attack of the mice.
When the robber came to this part of the story Heracles halted his
march, for he was shaking with laughter. The robber stopped in his
story. Heracles slapped him on the leg and said: "What more of the
heroic exploits of the mice?" The second robber said, "I know no more,
but perhaps my brother at the other side of you can tell you of the
mighty combat between them and the frogs." Then Heracles shifted the
first robber from his back to his front, and the first robber said: "I
will tell you what I know about the heroical combat between the frogs
and the mice." And thereupon he began:
The gnats blew their trumpets. This was the dread signal for war.
Bread Nibbler struck the first blow. He fell upon Loud Crier the frog,
and overthrew him. At this Loud Crier's friend, Reedy, threw down spear
and shield and dived into the water. This seemed to presage victory for
the mice. But then Water Larker, the most warlike of the frogs, took up
a great pebble and flung it at Ham Nibbler who was then pursuing Reedy.
Down fell Ham Nibbler, and there was dismay in the ranks of the mice.
Then Cabbage Climber, a great-hearted frog, took up a clod of mud and
flung it full at a mouse that was coming furiously upon him. That
mouse's helmet was knocked off and his forehead was plastered with the
clod of mud, so that he was well-nigh blinded.
It was then that victory inclined to the frogs. Bread Nibbler again
came into the fray. He rushed furiously upon Puff jaw the king.
Leeky, the trusted friend of Puff jaw, opposed Bread Nibbler's
onslaught. Mightily he drove his spear at the king of the mice. But the
point of the spear broke upon Bread Nibbler's shield, and then Leeky
was overthrown.
Bread Nibbler came upon Puff jaw, and the two great kings faced each
other. The frogs and the mice drew aside, and there was a pause in the
combat. Bread Nibbler the mouse struck Puff jaw the frog terribly upon
the toes.
Puff jaw drew out of the battle. Now all would have been lost for the
frogs had not Zeus, the father of the gods, looked down upon the battle.
"Dear, dear," said Zeus, "what can be done to save the frogs? They will
surely be annihilated if the charge of yonder mouse is not halted."
For the father of the gods, looking down, saw a warrior mouse coming on
in the most dreadful onslaught of the whole battle. Slice Snatcher was
the name of this warrior. He had come late into the field. He waited to
split a chestnut in two and to put the halves upon his paws. Then,
furiously dashing amongst the frogs, he cried out that he would not
leave the ground until he had destroyed the race, leaving the bank of
the pond a playground for the mice and for the mice alone.
To stop the charge of Slice Snatcher there was nothing for Zeus to do
but to hurl the thunderbolt that is the terror of gods and men.
Frogs and mice were awed by the thunder and the flame. But still the
mice, urged on by Slice Snatcher, did not hold back from their
onslaught upon the frogs.
Now would the frogs have been utterly destroyed; but, as they dashed
on, the mice encountered a new and a dreadful army. The warriors in
these ranks had mailed backs and curving claws. They had bandy legs and
long-stretching arms. They had eyes that looked behind them. They came
on sideways. These were the crabs, creatures until now unknown to the
mice. And the crabs had been sent by Zeus to save the race of the frogs
from utter destruction.
Coming upon the mice they nipped their paws. The mice turned around and
they nipped their tails. In vain the boldest of the mice struck at the
crabs with their sharpened spears. Not upon the hard shells on the
backs of the crabs did the spears of the mice make any dint. On and on,
on their queer feet and with their terrible nippers, the crabs went.
Bread Nibbler could not rally them any more, and Slice Snatcher ceased
to speak of the monument of victory that the mice would erect upon the
bank of the pond. With their heads out of the water they had retreated
to, the frogs watched the finish of the battle. The mice threw down
their spears and shields and fled from the battleground. On went the
crabs as if they cared nothing for their victory, and the frogs came
out of the water and sat upon the bank and watched them in awe.
Heracles had laughed at the diverting tale that the robbers had told
him; he could not bring them then to a place where they would meet with
captivity or death. He let them loose upon the highway, and the robbers
thanked him with high-flowing speeches, and they declared that if they
should ever find him sleeping by the roadway again they would let him
lie. Saying this they went away, and Heracles, laughing as he thought
upon the great exploits of the frogs and mice, went on to Omphale's
house.
Omphale, the widow, received him mirthfully, and then set him to do
tasks in the kitchen while she sat and talked to him about Troy and the
affairs of King Laomedon. And afterward she put on his lion's skin, and
went about in the courtyard dragging the heavy club after her.
Mirthfully and pleasantly she made the rest of his time in Lydia pass
for Heracles, and the last day of his slavery soon came, and he bade
good-by to Omphale, that pleasant widow, and to Lydia, and he started
off for Calydon to claim his bride Deianira.
Beautiful indeed Deianira looked now that she had ceased to mourn for
her brother, for the laughter that had been under her grief always now
flashed out even while she looked priestess-like and of good counsel;
her dark eyes shone like stars, and her being had the spirit of one who
wanders from camp to camp, always greeting friends and leaving friends
behind her. Heracles and Deianira wed, and they set out for Tiryns,
where a king had left a kingdom to Heracles.
They came to the River Evenus. Heracles could have crossed the river by
himself, but he could not cross it at the part he came to, carrying
Deianira. He and she went along the river, seeking a ferry that might
take them across. They wandered along the side of the river, happy with
each other, and they came to a place where they had sight of a centaur.
Heracles knew this centaur. He was Nessus, one of the centaurs whom he
had chased up the mountain the time when he went to hunt the
Erymanthean boar. The centaurs knew him, and Nessus spoke to Heracles
as if he had friendship for him. He would, he said, carry Heracles's
bride across the river.
Then Heracles crossed the river, and he waited on the other side for
Nessus and Deianira. Nessus went to another part of the river to make
his crossing. Then Heracles, upon the other bank, heard screams--the
screams of his wife, Deianira. He saw that the centaur was savagely
attacking her.
Then Heracles leveled his bow and he shot at Nessus. Arrow after arrow
he shot into the centaur's body. Nessus loosed his hold on Deianira,
and he lay down on the bank of the river, his lifeblood streaming from
him.
Then Nessus, dying, but with his rage against Heracles unabated,
thought of a way by which the hero might be made to suffer for the
death he had brought upon him. He called to Deianira, and she, seeing
he could do her no more hurt, came close to him. He told her that in
repentance for his attack upon her he would bestow a great gift upon
her. She was to gather up some of the blood that flowed from him; his
blood, the centaur said, would be a love philter, and if ever her
husband's love for her waned it would grow fresh again if she gave to
him something from her hands that would have this blood upon it.
Deianira, who had heard from Heracles of the wisdom of the centaurs,
believed what Nessus told her. She took a phial and let the blood pour
into it. Then Nessus plunged into the river and died there as Heracles
came up to where Deianira stood.
She did not speak to him about the centaur's words to her, nor did she
tell him that she had hidden away the phial that had Nessus's blood in
it. They crossed the river at another point and they came after a time
to Tiryns and to the kingdom that had been left to Heracles.
There Heracles and Deianira lived, and a son who was named Hyllos was
born to them. And after a time Heracles was led into a war with
Eurytus--Eurytus who was king of Oichalia.
Word came to Deianira that Oichalia was taken by Heracles, and that the
king and his daughter Iole were held captive. Deianira knew that
Heracles had once tried to win this maiden for his wife, and she feared
that the sight of Iole would bring his old longing back to him.
She thought upon the words that Nessus had said to her, and even as she
thought upon them messengers came from Heracles to ask her to send him
a robe--a beautifully woven robe that she had--that he might wear it
while making a sacrifice. Deianira took down the robe; through this
robe, she thought, the blood of the centaur could touch Heracles and
his love for her would revive. Thinking this she poured Nessus's blood
over the robe.
Heracles was in Oichalia when the messengers returned to him. He took
the robe that Deianira sent, and he went to a mountain that overlooked
the sea that he might make the sacrifice there. Iole went with him.
Then he put on the robe that Deianira had sent. When it touched his
flesh the robe burst into flame. Heracles tried to tear it off, but
deeper and deeper into his flesh the flames went. They burned and
burned and none could quench them.
Then Heracles knew that his end was near. He would die by fire, and
knowing that he piled up a great heap of wood and he climbed upon it.
There he stayed with the flaming robe burning into him, and he begged
of those who passed to fire the pile that his end might come more
quickly.
None would fire the pile. But at last there came that way a young
warrior named Philoctetes, and Heracles begged of him to fire the pile.
Philoctetes, knowing that it was the will of the gods that Heracles
should die that way, lighted the pile. For that Heracles bestowed upon
him his great bow and his unerring arrows. And it was this bow and
these arrows, brought from Philoctetes, that afterward helped to take
Priam's city.
The pile that Heracles stood upon was fired. High up, above the sea,
the pile burned. All who were near that burning fled--all except Iole,
that childlike maiden. She stayed and watched the flames mount up and
up. They wrapped the sky, and the voice of Heracles was heard calling
upon Zeus. Then a great chariot came and Heracles was borne away to
Olympus. Thus, after many labors, Heracles passed away, a mortal
passing into an immortal being in a great burning high above the sea.
V. ADMETUS
I
It happened once that Zeus would punish Apollo, his son. Then he
banished him from Olympus, and he made him put off his divinity and
appear as a mortal man. And as a mortal Apollo sought to earn his bread
amongst men. He came to the house of King Admetus and took service with
him as his herdsman.
For a year Apollo served the young king, minding his herds of black
cattle. Admetus did not know that it was one of the immortal gods who
was in his house and in his fields. But he treated him in friendly
wise, and Apollo was happy whilst serving Admetus.
Afterward people wondered at Admetus's ever-smiling face and
ever-radiant being. It was the god's kindly thought of him that gave
him such happiness. And when Apollo was leaving his house and his
fields he revealed himself to Admetus, and he made a promise to him
that when the god of the Underworld sent Death for him he would have
one more chance of baffling Death than any mortal man.
That was before Admetus sailed on the Argo with Jason and the
companions of the quest. The companionship of Admetus brought happiness
to many on the voyage, but the hero to whom it gave the most happiness
was Heracles. And often Heracles would have Admetus beside him to tell
him about the radiant god Apollo, whose bow and arrows Heracles had
been given.
After that voyage and after the hunt in Calydon Admetus went back to
his own land. There he wed that fair and loving woman, Alcestis. He
might not wed her until he had yoked lions and leopards to the chariot
that drew her. This was a feat that no hero had been able to
accomplish. With Apollo's aid he accomplished it. Thereafter Admetus,
having the love of Alcestis, was even more happy than he had been
before.
One day as he walked by fold and through pasture field he saw a figure
standing beside his herd of black cattle. A radiant figure it was, and
Admetus knew that this was Apollo come to him again. He went toward the
god and he made reverence and began to speak to him. But Apollo turned
to Admetus a face that was without joy.
"What years of happiness have been mine, O Apollo, through your
friendship for me," said Admetus. "Ah, as I walked my pasture land
today it came into my mind how much I loved this green earth and the
blue sky! And all that I know of love and happiness has come to me
through you."
But still Apollo stood before him with a face that was without joy. He
spoke and his voice was not that clear and vibrant voice that he had
once in speaking to Admetus. "Admetus, Admetus," he said, "it is for me
to tell you that you may no more look on the blue sky nor walk upon the
green earth. It is for me to tell you that the god of the Underworld
will have you come to him. Admetus, Admetus, know that even now the god
of the Underworld is sending Death for you."
Then the light of the world went out for Admetus, and he heard himself
speaking to Apollo in a shaking voice: "O Apollo, Apollo, thou art a
god, and surely thou canst save me! Save me now from this Death that
the god of the Underworld is sending for me!"
But Apollo said, "Long ago, Admetus, I made a bargain with the god of
the Underworld on thy behalf. Thou hast been given a chance more than
any mortal man. If one will go willingly in thy place with Death, thou
canst still live on. Go, Admetus. Thou art well loved, and it may be
that thou wilt find one to take thy place."
Then Apollo went up unto the mountaintop and Admetus stayed for a while
beside the cattle. It seemed to him that a little of the darkness had
lifted from the world. He would go to his palace. There were aged men
and women there, servants and slaves, and one of them would surely be
willing to take the king's place and go with Death down to the
Underworld.
So Admetus thought as he went toward the palace. And then he came upon
an ancient woman who sat upon stones in the courtyard, grinding corn
between two stones. Long had she been doing that wearisome labor.
Admetus had known her from the first time he had come into that
courtyard as a little child, and he had never seen aught in her face
but a heavy misery. There she was sitting as he had first known her,
with her eyes bleared and her knees shaking, and with the dust of the
courtyard and the husks of the corn in her matted hair. He went to her
and spoke to her, and he asked her to take the place of the king and go
with Death.
But when she heard the name of Death horror came into the face of the
ancient woman, and she cried out that she would not let Death come near
her. Then Admetus left her, and he came upon another, upon a sightless
man who held out a shriveled hand for the food that the servants of the
palace might bestow upon him. Admetus took the man's shriveled hand,
and he asked him if he would not take the king's place and go with
Death that was coming for him. The sightless man, with howls and
shrieks, said he would not go.
Then Admetus went into the palace and into the chamber where his bed
was, and he lay down upon the bed and he lamented that he would have to
go with Death that was coming for him from the god of the Underworld,
and he lamented that none of the wretched ones around the palace would
take his place.
A hand was laid upon him. He looked up and he saw his tall and
grave-eyed wife, Alcestis, beside him. Alcestis spoke to him slowly and
gravely. "I have heard what you have said, O my husband," said she.
"One should go in your place, for you are the king and have many great
affairs to attend to. And if none other will go, I, Alcestis, will go
in your place, Admetus."
It had seemed to Admetus that ever since he had heard the words of
Apollo that heavy footsteps were coming toward him. Now the footsteps
seemed to stop. It was not so terrible for him as before. He sprang up,
and he took the hands of Alcestis and he said, "You, then, will take my
place?"
"I will go with Death in your place, Admetus," Alcestis said.
Then, even as Admetus looked into her face, he saw a pallor come upon
her; her body weakened and she sank down upon the bed. Then, watching
over her, he knew that not he but Alcestis would go with Death. And the
words he had spoken he would have taken back--the words that had
brought her consent to go with Death in his place.
Paler and weaker Alcestis grew. Death would soon be here for her. No,
not here, for he would not have Death come into the palace. He lifted
Alcestis from the bed and he carried her from the palace. He carried
her to the temple of the gods. He laid her there upon the bier and
waited there beside her. No more speech came from her. He went back to
the palace where all was silent--the servants moved about with heads
bowed, lamenting silently for their mistress.
II
As Admetus was coming back from the temple he heard a great shout; he
looked up and saw one standing at the palace doorway. He knew him by
his lion's skin and his great height. This was Heracles--Heracles come
to visit him, but come at a sad hour. He could not now rejoice in the
company of Heracles. And yet Heracles might be on his way from the
accomplishment of some great labor, and it would not be right to say a
word that might turn him away from his doorway; he might have much need
of rest and refreshment.
Thinking this Admetus went up to Heracles and took his hand and
welcomed him into his house. "How is it with you, friend Admetus?"
Heracles asked. Admetus would only say that nothing was happening in
his house and that Heracles, his hero-companion, was welcome there. His
mind was upon a great sacrifice, he said, and so he would not be able
to feast with him.
The servants brought Heracles to the bath, and then showed him where a
feast was laid for him. And as for Admetus, he went within the chamber,
and knelt beside the bed on which Alcestis had lain, and thought of his
terrible loss.
Heracles, after the bath, put on the brightly colored tunic that the
servants of Admetus brought him. He put a wreath upon his head and sat
down to the feast. It was a pity, he thought, that Admetus was not
feasting with him. But this was only the first of many feasts. And
thinking of what companionship he would have with Admetus, Heracles
left the feasting hall and came to where the servants were standing
about in silence.
"Why is the house of Admetus so hushed to-day?" Heracles asked.
"It is because of what is befalling," said one of the servants.
"Ah, the sacrifice that the king is making," said Heracles. "To what
god is that sacrifice due?"
"To the god of the Underworld," said the servant. "Death is coming to
Alcestis the queen where she lies on a bier in the temple of the gods."
Then the servant told Heracles the story of how Alcestis had taken her
husband's place, going in his stead with Death. Heracles thought upon
the sorrow of his friend, and of the great sacrifice that his wife was
making for him. How noble it was of Admetus to bring him into his house
and give entertainment to him while such sorrow was upon him. And then
Heracles felt that another labor was before him.
"I have dragged up from the Underworld," he thought, "the hound that
guards those whom Death brings down into the realm of the god of the
Underworld. Why should I not strive with Death? And what a noble thing
it would be to bring back this faithful woman to her house and to her
husband! This is a labor that has not been laid upon me, and it is a
labor I will undertake." So Heracles said to himself.
He left the palace of Admetus and he went to the temple of the gods. He
stood inside the temple and he saw the bier on which Alcestis was laid.
He looked upon the queen. Death had not touched her yet, although she
lay so still and so silent. Heracles would watch beside her and strive
with Death for her.
Heracles watched and Death came. When Death entered the temple Heracles
laid hands upon him. Death had never been gripped by mortal hands and
he strode on as if that grip meant nothing to him. But then he had to
grip Heracles. In Death's grip there was a strength beyond strength.
And upon Heracles a dreadful sense of loss came as Death laid hands
upon him a sense of the loss of light and the loss of breath and the
loss of movement. But Heracles struggled with Death although his breath
went and his strength seemed to go from him. He held that stony body to
him, and the cold of that body went through him, and its stoniness
seemed to turn his bones to stone, but still Heracles strove with him,
and at last he overthrew him and he held Death down upon the ground.
"Now you are held by me, Death," cried Heracles. "You are held by me,
and the god of the Underworld will be--made angry because you cannot go
about his business--either this business or any other business. You are
held by me, Death, and you will not be let go unless you promise to go
forth from this temple without bringing one with you." And Death,
knowing that Heracles could hold him there, and that the business of
the god of the Underworld would be left undone if he were held,
promised that he would leave the temple without bringing one with him.
Then Heracles took his grip off Death, and that stony shape went from
the temple.
Soon a flush came into the face of Alcestis as Heracles watched over
her. Soon she arose from the bier on which she had been laid. She
called out to Admetus, and Heracles went to her and spoke to her,
telling her that he would bring her back to her husband's house.
III
Admetus left the chamber where his wife had lain and stood before the
door of his palace. Dawn was coming, and as he looked toward the temple
he saw Heracles coming to the palace. A woman came with him. She was
veiled, and Admetus could not see her features.
"Admetus," Heracles said, when he came before him, "Admetus, there is
something I would have you do for me. Here is a woman whom I am
bringing back to her husband. I won her from an enemy. Will you not
take her into your house while I am away on a journey?"
"You cannot ask me to do this, Heracles," said Admetus. "No woman may
come into the house where Alcestis, only yesterday, had her life."
"For my sake take her into your house," said Heracles. "Come now,
Admetus, take this woman by the hand."
A pang came to Admetus as he looked at the woman who stood beside
Heracles and saw that she was the same stature as his lost wife. He
thought that he could not bear to take her hand. But Heracles pleaded
with him, and he took her by the hand.
"Now take her across your threshold, Admetus," said Heracles.
Hardly could Admetus bear to do this--hardly could he bear to think of
a strange woman being in his house and his own wife gone with Death.
But Heracles pleaded with him, and by the hand he held he drew the
woman across his threshold.
"Now raise her veil, Admetus," said Heracles.
"This I cannot do," said Admetus. "I have had pangs enough. How can I
look upon a woman's face and remind myself that I cannot look upon
Alcestis's face ever again?"
"Raise her veil, Admetus," said Heracles. Then Admetus raised the veil
of the woman he had taken across the threshold of his house. He saw the
face of Alcestis. He looked again upon his wife brought back from the
grip of Death by Heracles, the son of Zeus. And then a deeper joy than
he had ever known came to Admetus. Once more his wife was with him, and
Admetus the friend of Apollo and the friend of Heracles had all that he
cared to have.
VI. HOW ORPHEUS THE MINSTREL WENT DOWN TO THE WORLD OF THE DEAD
Many were the minstrels who, in the early days, went through the world,
telling to men the stories of the gods, telling of their wars and their
births. Of all these minstrels none was so famous as Orpheus who had
gone with the Argonauts; none could tell truer things about the gods,
for he himself was half divine.
But a great grief came to Orpheus, a grief that stopped his singing and
his playing upon the lyre. His young wife Eurydice was taken from him.
One day, walking in the garden, she was bitten on the heel by a
serpent, and straightway she went down to the world of the dead.
Then everything in this world was dark and bitter for the minstrel
Orpheus; sleep would not come to him, and for him food had no taste.
Then Orpheus said: "I will do that which no mortal has ever done
before; I will do that which even the immortals might shrink from
doing: I will go down into the world of the dead, and I will bring back
to the living and to the light my bride Eurydice."
Then Orpheus went on his way to the valley of Acherusia which goes
down, down into the world of the dead. He would never have found his
way to that valley if the trees had not shown him the way. For as he
went along Orpheus played upon his lyre and sang, and the trees heard
his song and they were moved by his grief, and with their arms and
their heads they showed him the way to the deep, deep valley of
Acherusia.
Down, down by winding paths through that deepest and most shadowy of
all valleys Orpheus went. He came at last to the great gate that opens
upon the world of the dead. And the silent guards who keep watch there
for the rulers of the dead were affrighted when they saw a living
being, and they would not let Orpheus approach the gate.
But the minstrel, knowing the reason for their fear, said: "I am not
Heracles come again to drag up from the world of the dead your
three-headed dog Cerberus. I am Orpheus, and all that my hands can do
is to make music upon my lyre."
And then he took the lyre in his hands and played upon it. As he
played, the silent watchers gathered around him, leaving the gate
unguarded. And as he played the rulers of the dead came forth, Aidoneus
and Persephone, and listened to the words of the living man.
"The cause of my coming through the dark and fearful ways," sang
Orpheus, "is to strive to gain a fairer fate for Eurydice, my bride.
All that is above must come down to you at last, O rulers of the most
lasting world. But before her time has Eurydice been brought here. I
have desired strength to endure her loss, but I cannot endure it. And I
come before you, Aidoneus and Persephone, brought here by Love."
When Orpheus said the name of Love, Persephone, the queen of the dead,
bowed her young head, and bearded Aidoneus, the king, bowed his head
also. Persephone remembered how Demeter, her mother, had sought her all
through the world, and she remembered the touch of her mother's tears
upon her face. And Aidoneus remembered how his love for Persephone had
led him to carry her away from the valley in the upper world where she
had been gathering flowers. He and Persephone bowed their heads and
stood aside, and Orpheus went through the gate and came amongst the
dead.
Still upon his lyre he played. Tantalus--who, for his crimes, had been
condemned to stand up to his neck in water and yet never be able to
assuage his thirst--Tantalus heard, and for a while did not strive to
put his lips toward the water that ever flowed away from him;
Sisyphus--who had been condemned to roll up a hill a stone that ever
rolled back Sisyphus heard the music that Orpheus played, and for a
while he sat still upon his stone. And even those dread ones who bring
to the dead the memories of all their crimes and all their faults, even
the Eumenides had their cheeks wet with tears.
In the throng of the newly come dead Orpheus saw Eurydice. She looked
upon her husband, but she had not the power to come near him. But
slowly she came when Aidoneus called her. Then with joy Orpheus took
her hands.
It would be granted them--no mortal ever gained such privilege before
to leave, both together, the world of the dead, and to abide for
another space in the world of the living. One condition there would
be--that on their way up through the valley of Acherusia neither
Orpheus nor Eurydice should look back.
They went through the gate and came amongst the watchers that are
around the portals. These showed them the path that went up through the
valley of Acherusia. That way they went, Orpheus and Eurydice, he going
before her.
Up and up through the darkened ways they went, Orpheus knowing, that
Eurydice was behind him, but never looking back upon her. But as he
went, his heart was filled with things to tell--how the trees were
blossoming in the garden she had left; how the water was sparkling in
the fountain; how the doors of the house stood open, and how they,
sitting together, would watch the sunlight on the laurel bushes. All
these things were in his heart to tell her, to tell her who came behind
him, silent and unseen.
And now they were nearing the place where the valley of Acherusia
opened on the world of the living. Orpheus looked on the blue of the
sky. A white-winged bird flew by. Orpheus turned around and cried, "O
Eurydice, look upon the world that I have won you back to!"
He turned to say this to her. He saw her with her long dark hair and
pale face. He held out his arms to clasp her. But in that instant she
slipped back into the depths of the valley. And all he heard spoken was
a single word, "Farewell!" Long, long had it taken Eurydice to climb so
far, but in the moment of his turning around she had fallen back to her
place amongst the dead.
Down through the valley of Acherusia Orpheus went again. Again he came
before the watchers of the gate. But now he was not looked at nor
listened to, and, hopeless, he had to return to the world of the living.
The birds were his friends now, and the trees and the stones. The birds
flew around him and mourned with him; the trees and stones often
followed him, moved by the music of his lyre. But a savage band slew
Orpheus and threw his severed head and his lyre into the River Hebrus.
It is said by the poets that while they floated in midstream the lyre
gave out some mournful notes and the head of Orpheus answered the notes
with song.
And now that he was no longer to be counted with the living, Orpheus
went down to the world of the dead, not going now by that steep descent
through the valley of Acherusia, but going down straightway. The silent
watchers let him pass, and he went amongst the dead and saw his
Eurydice in the throng. Again they were together, Orpheus and Eurydice,
and as they went through the place that King Aidoneus ruled over, they
had no fear of looking back, one upon the other.
VII. JASON AND MEDEA
Jason and Medea, unable to win to Iolcus, staved at Corinth, at the
court of King Creon. Creon was proud to have Jason in his city, but of
Medea the king was fearful, for he had heard how she had brought about
the death of Apsyrtus, her brother.
Medea wearied of this long waiting in the palace of King Creon. A
longing came upon her to exercise her powers of enchantment. She did
not forget what Queen Arete had said to her--that if she wished to
appease the wrath of the gods she should have no more to do with
enchantments. She did not forget this, but still there grew in her a
longing to use all her powers of enchantment.
And Jason, at the court of King Creon, had his longings, too. He longed
to enter Iolcus and to show the people the Golden Fleece that he had
won; he longed to destroy Pelias, the murderer of his mother and
father; above all he longed to be a king, and to rule in the kingdom
that Cretheus had founded.
Once Jason spoke to Medea of his longing. "O Jason," Medea said, "I
have done many things for thee and this thing also I will do. I will go
into Iolcus, and by my enchantments I will make clear the way for the
return of the Argo and for thy return with thy comrades-yea, and for
thy coming to the kingship, O Jason."
He should have remembered then the words of Queen Arete to Medea, but
the longing that he had for his triumph and his revenge was in the way
of his remembering. He said, "O Medea, help me in this with all thine
enchantments and thou wilt be more dear to me than ever before thou
wert."
Medea then went forth from the palace of King Creon and she made more
terrible spells than ever she had made in Colchis. All night she stayed
in a tangled place weaving her spells. Dawn came, and she knew that the
spells she had woven had not been in vain, for beside her there stood a
car that was drawn by dragons.
Medea the Enchantress had never looked on these dragon shapes before.
When she looked upon them now she was fearful of them. But then she
said to herself, "I am Medea, and I would be a greater enchantress and
a more cunning woman than I have been, and what I have thought of, that
will I carry out." She mounted the car drawn by the dragons, and in the
first light of the day she went from Corinth.
To the places where grew the herbs of magic Medea journeyed in her
dragon-drawn car--to the Mountains Ossa, Pelion, Oethrys, Pindus, and
Olympus; then to the rivers Apidanus, Enipeus, and Peneus. She gathered
herbs on the mountains and grasses on the rivers' banks; some she
plucked up by the roots and some she cut with the curved blade of a
knife. When she had gathered these herbs and grasses she went back to
Corinth on her dragon-drawn car.
Then Jason saw her; pale and drawn was her face, and her eyes were
strange and gleaming. He saw her standing by the car drawn by the
dragons, and a terror of Medea came into his mind. He went toward her,
but in a harsh voice she bade him not come near to disturb the brewing
that she was going to begin. Jason turned away. As he went toward the
palace he saw Glauce, King Creon's daughter; the maiden was coming from
the well and she carried a pitcher of water. He thought how fair Glauce
looked in the light of the morning, how the wind played with her hair
and her garments, and how far away she was from witcheries and
enchantments.
As for Medea, she placed in a heap beside her the magic herbs and
grasses she had gathered. Then she put them in a bronze pot and boiled
them in water from the stream. Soon froth came on the boiling, and
Medea stirred the pot with a withered branch of an apple tree. The
branch was withered it was indeed no more than a dry stick, but as she
stirred the herbs and grasses with it, first leaves, then flowers, and
lastly, bright gleaming apples came on it. And when the pot boiled over
and drops from it fell upon the ground, there grew up out of the dry
earth soft grasses and flowers. Such was the power of renewal that was
in the magical brew that Medea had made.
She filled a phial with the liquid she had brewed, and she scattered
the rest in the wild places of the garden. Then, taking the phial and
the apples that had grown on the withered branch, she mounted the car
drawn by the dragons, and she went once more from Corinth.
On she journeyed in her dragon-drawn car until she came to a place that
was near to Iolcus. There the dragons descended. They had come to a
dark pool. Medea, making herself naked, stood in that dark pool. For a
while she looked down upon herself, seeing in the dark water her white
body and her lovely hair. Then she bathed herself in the water. Soon a
dread change came over her: she saw her hair become scant and gray, and
she saw her body become bent and withered. She stepped out of the pool
a withered and witchlike woman; when she dressed herself the rich
clothes that she had worn before hung loosely upon her, and she looked
the more forbidding because of them. She bade the dragons go, and they
flew through the air with the empty car. Then she hid in her dress the
phial with the liquid she had brewed and, the apples that had grown
upon the withered branch. She picked up a stick to lean upon, and with
the gait of an ancient woman she went hobbling upon the road to Iolcus.
On the streets of the city the fierce fighting men that Pelias had
brought down from the mountains showed themselves; few of the men or
women of the city showed themselves even in the daytime. Medea went
through the city and to the palace of King Pelias. But no one might
enter there, and the guards laid hands upon her and held her.
Medea did not struggle with them. She drew from the folds of her dress
one of the gleaming apples that she carried and she gave it to one of
the guards. "It is for King Pelias," she said. "Give the apple to him
and then do with me as the king would have you do."
The guards brought the gleaming apple to the king. When he had taken it
into his hand and had smelled its fragrance, old trembling Pelias asked
where the apple had come from. The guards told him it had been brought
by an ancient woman who was now outside seated on a stone in the
courtyard.
He looked on the shining apple and he felt its fragrance and he could
not help thinking, old trembling Pelias, that this apple might be the
means of bringing him back to the fullness of health and courage that
he had had before. He sent for the ancient woman who had brought it
that she might tell him where it had come from and who it was that had
sent it to him. Then the guards brought Medea before him.
She saw an old man, white-faced and trembling, with shaking hands and
eyes that looked on her fearfully. "Who are you," he asked, "and from
whence came the apple that you had them bring me?"
Medea, standing before him, looked a withered and shrunken beldame, a
woman bent with years, but yet with eyes that were bright and living.
She came near him and she said: "The apple, O King, came from the
garden that is watched over by the Daughters of the Evening Land. He
who eats it has a little of the weight of old age taken from him. But
things more wonderful even than the shining apples grow in that far
garden. There are plants there the juices of which make youthful again
all aged and failing things. The apple would bring you a little way
toward the vigor of your prime. But the juices I have can bring you to
a time more wonderful--back even to the strength and the glory of your
youth."
When the king heard her say this a light came into his heavy eyes, and
his hands caught Medea and drew her to him. "Who are you?" he cried,
"who speak of the garden watched over by the Daughters of the Evening
Land? Who are you who speak of juices that can bring back one to the
strength and glory of his youth?"
Medea answered: "I am a woman who has known many and great griefs, O
king. My griefs have brought me through the world. Many have searched
for the garden watched over by the Daughters of the Evening Land, but I
came to it unthinkingly, and without wanting them I gathered the
gleaming apples and took from the plants there the juices that can
bring youth back."
Pelias said: "If you have been able to come by those juices, how is it
that you remain in woeful age and decrepitude?"
She said: "Because of my many griefs, king, I would not renew my life.
I would be ever nearer death and the end of all things. But you are a
king and have all things you desire at your hand--beauty and state and
power. Surely if any one would desire it, you would desire to have
youth back to you."
Pelias, when he heard her say this, knew that besides youth there was
nothing that he desired. After crimes that had gone through the whole
of his manhood he had secured for himself the kingdom that Cretheus had
founded. But old age had come on him, and the weakness of old age, and
the power he had won was falling from his hands. He would be overthrown
in his weakness, or else he would soon come to die, and there would be
an end then to his name and to his kingship.
How fortunate above all kings he would be, he thought, if it could be
that some one should come to him with juices that would renew his
youth! He looked longingly into the eyes of the ancient-seeming woman
before him, and he said: "How is it that you show no gains from the
juices that you speak of? You are old and in woeful decrepitude. Even
if you would not win back to youth you could have got riches and state
for that which you say you possess."
Then Medea said: "I have lost so much and have suffered so much that I
would not have youth back at the price of facing the years. I would
sink down to the quiet of the grave. But I hope for some ease before I
die--for the ease that is in king's houses, with good food to eat, and
rest, and servants to wait upon one's aged body. These are the things I
desire, O Pelias, even as you desire youth. You can give me such
things, and I have come to you who desire youth eagerly rather than to
kings who have a less eager desire for it. To you I will give the
juices that bring one back to the strength and the glory of youth."
Pelias said: "I have only your word for it that you possess these
juices. Many there are who come and say deceiving things to a king."
Said Medea: "Let there be no more words between us, O king. To-morrow I
will show you the virtue of the juices I have brought with me. Have a
great vat prepared--a vat that a man could lay himself in with the
water covering him. Have this vat filled with water, and bring to it
the oldest creature you can get--a ram or a goat that is the oldest of
their flock. Do this, O king, and you will be shown a thing to wonder
at and to be hopeful over."
So Medea said, and then she turned around and left the king's presence.
Pelias called to his guards and he bade them take the woman into their
charge and treat her considerately. The guards took Medea away. Then
all day the king mused on what had been told him and a wild hope kept
beating about his heart. He had the servants prepare a great vat in the
lower chambers, and he had his shepherd bring him a ram that was the
oldest in the flock.
Only Medea was permitted to come into that chamber with the king; the
ways to it were guarded, and all that took place in it was secret.
Medea was brought to the closed door by her guard. She opened it and
she saw the king there and the vat already prepared; she saw a ram
tethered near the vat.
Medea looked upon the king. In the light of the torches his face was
white and fierce and his mouth moved gaspingly. She spoke to him
quietly, and said: "There is no need for you to hear me speak. You will
watch a great miracle, for behold! the ram which is the oldest and
feeblest in the flock will become young and invigorated when it comes
forth from this vat."
She untethered the ram, and with the help of Pelias drew it to the vat.
This was not hard to do, for the beast was very feeble; its feet could
hardly bear it upright, its wool was yellow and stayed only in patches
on its shrunken body. Easily the beast was forced into the vat. Then
Medea drew the phial out of her bosom and poured into the water some of
the brew she had made in Creon's garden in Corinth. The water in the
vat took on a strange bubbling, and the ram sank down.
Then Medea, standing beside the vat, sang an incantation.
"O Earth," she sang, "O Earth who dost provide wise men with potent
herbs, O Earth help me now. I am she who can drive the clouds; I am she
who can dispel the winds; I am she who can break the jaws of serpents
with my incantations; I am she who can uproot living trees and rocks;
who can make the mountains shake; who can bring the ghosts from their
tombs. O Earth, help me now." At this strange incantation the mixture
in the vat boiled and bubbled more and more. Then the boiling and
bubbling ceased. Up to the surface came the ram. Medea helped it to
struggle out of the vat, and then it turned and smote the vat with its
head.
Pelias took down a torch and stood before the beast. Vigorous indeed
was the ram, and its wool was white and grew evenly upon it. They could
not tether it again, and when the servants were brought into the
chamber it took two of them to drag away the ram.
The king was most eager to enter the vat and have Medea put in the brew
and speak the incantation over it. But Medea bade him wait until the
morrow. All night the king lay awake, thinking of how he might regain
his youth and his strength and be secure and triumphant thereafter.
At the first light he sent for Medea and he told her that he would have
the vat made ready and that he would go into it that night. Medea
looked upon him, and the helplessness that he showed made her want to
work a greater evil upon him, or, if not upon him, upon his house. How
soon it would have reached its end, all her plot for the destruction of
this king! But she would leave in the king's house a misery that would
not have an end so soon.
So she said to the king: "I would say the incantation over a beast of
the field, but over a king I could not say it. Let those of your own
blood be with you when you enter the vat that will bring such change to
you. Have your daughters there. I will give them the juice to mix in
the vat, and I will teach them the incantation that has to be said."
So she said, and she made Pelias consent to having his daughters and
not Medea in the chamber of the vat. They were sent for and they came
before Medea, the daughters of King Pelias.
They were women who had been borne down by the tyranny of their father;
they stood before him now, two dim-eyed creatures, very feeble and
fearful. To them Medea gave the phial that had in it the liquid to mix
in the vat; also she taught them the words of the incantation, but she
taught them to use these words wrongly.
The vat was prepared in the lower chambers; Pelias and his daughters
went there, and the chamber was guarded, and what happened there was in
secret. Pelias went into the vat; the brew was thrown into it, and the
vat boiled and bubbled as before. Pelias sank down in it. Over him then
his daughters said the magic words as Medea had taught them.
Pelias sank down, but he did not rise again. The hours went past and
the morning came, and the daughters of King Pelias raised frightened
laments. Over the sides of the vat the mixture boiled and bubbled, and
Pelias was to be seen at the bottom with his limbs stiffened in death.
Then the guards came, and they took King Pelias out of the vat and left
him in his royal chamber. The word went through the palace that the
king was dead. There was a hush in the palace then, but not the hush of
grief. One by one servants and servitors stole away from the palace
that was hated by all. Then there was clatter in the streets as the
fierce fighting men from the mountains galloped away with what plunder
they could seize. And through all this the daughters of King Pelias sat
crouching in fear above the body of their father.
And Medea, still an ancient woman seemingly, went through the crowds
that now came on the streets of the city. She told those she went
amongst that the son of Æson was alive and would soon be in their
midst. Hearing this the men of the city formed a council of elders to
rule the people until Jason's coming. In such way Medea brought about
the end of King Pelias's reign.
In triumph she went through the city. But as she was passing the temple
her dress was caught and held, and turning around she faced the ancient
priestess of Artemis, Iphias. "Thou art Æetes's daughter," Iphias said,
"who in deceit didst come into Iolcus. Woe to thee and woe to Jason for
what thou hast done this day! Not for the slaying of Pelias art thou
blameworthy, but for the misery that thou hast brought upon his
daughters by bringing them into the guilt of the slaying. Go from the
city, daughter of King Ætes; never, never wilt thou come back into it."
But little heed did Medea pay to the ancient priestess, Iphias. Still
in the guise of an old woman she went through the streets of the city,
and out through the gate and along the highway that led from Iolcus. To
that dark pool she came where she had bathed herself before. But now
she did not step into the pool nor pour its water over her shrinking
flesh; instead she built up two altars of green sods an altar to Youth
and an altar to Hecate, queen of the witches; she wreathed them with
green boughs from the forest, and she prayed before each. Then she made
herself naked, and she anointed herself with the brew she had made from
the magical herbs and grasses. All marks of age and decrepitude left
her, and when she stood over the dark pool and looked down on herself
she saw that her body was white and shapely as before, and that her
hair was soft and lovely.
She stayed all night between the tangled wood and the dark pool, and
with the first light the car drawn by the scaly dragons came to her.
She mounted the car, and she journeyed back to Corinth.
Into Jason's mind a fear of Medea had come since the hour when he had
seen her mount the car drawn by the scaly dragons. He could not think
of her any more as the one who had been his companion on the Argo. He
thought of her as one who could help him and do wonderful things for
him, but not as one whom he could talk softly and lovingly to. Ah, but
if Jason had thought less of his kingdom and less of his triumphing
with the Fleece of Gold, Medea would not have had the dragons come to
her.
And now that his love for Medea had altered, Jason noted the loveliness
of another--of Glauce, the daughter of Creon, the King of Corinth. And
Glauce, who had red lips and the eyes of a child, saw in Jason who had
brought the Golden Fleece out of Colchis the image of every hero she
had heard about in stories. Creon, the king, often brought Jason and
Glauce together, for his hope was that the hero would wed his daughter
and stay in Corinth and strengthen his kingdom. He thought that Medea,
that strange woman, could not keep a companionship with Jason.
Two were walking in the king's garden, and they were Jason and Glauce.
A shadow fell between them, and when Jason looked up he saw Medea's
dragon car. Down flew the dragons, and Medea came from the car and
stood between Jason and the princess. Angrily she spoke to him. "I have
made the kingdom ready for your return," she said, "but if you would go
there you must first let me deal in my own way with this pretty
maiden." And so fiercely did Medea look upon her that Glance shrank
back and clung to Jason for protection. "O, Jason," she cried, "thou
didst say that I am such a one as thou didst dream of when in the
forest with Chiron, before the adventure of the Golden Fleece drew thee
away from the Grecian lands. Oh, save me now from the power of her who
comes in the dragon car." And Jason said: "I said all that thou hast
said, and I will protect thee, O Glauce."
And then Medea thought of the king's house she had left for Jason, and
of the brother whom she had let be slain, and of the plot she had
carried out to bring Jason back to Iolcus, and a great fury came over
her. In her hand she took foam from the jaws of the dragons, and she
cast the foam upon Glauce, and the princess fell back into the arms of
Jason with the dragon foam burning into her.
Then, seeing in his eyes that he had forgotten all that he owed to her
the winning of the Golden Fleece, and the safety of Argo, and the
destruction of the power of King Pelias seeing in his eyes that Jason
had forgotten all this, Medea went into her dragon-borne car and spoke
the words that made the scaly dragons bear her aloft. She flew from
Corinth, leaving Jason in King Creon's garden with Glauce dying in his
arms. He lifted her up and laid her upon a bed, but even as her friends
came around her the daughter of King Creon died.
And Jason? For long he stayed in Corinth, a famous man indeed, but one
sorrowful and alone. But again there grew in him the desire to rule and
to have possessions. He called around him again the men whose home was
in Iolcus--those who had followed him as bright-eyed youths when he
first proclaimed his purpose of winning the Fleece of Gold. He called
them around him, and he led them on board the Argo. Once more they
lifted sails, and once more they took the Argo into the open sea.
Toward Iolcus they sailed; their passage was fortunate, and in a short
time they brought the Argo safely into the harbor of Pagasae. Oh, happy
were the crowds that came thronging to see the ship that had the famous
Fleece of Gold upon her masthead, and green and sweet smelling were the
garlands that the people brought to wreathe the heads of Jason and his
companions! Jason looked upon the throngs, and he thought that much had
gone from him, but he thought that whatever else had gone something
remained to him--to be a king and a great ruler over a people.
And so Jason came back to Iolcus. The Argo he made a blazing pile of in
sacrifice to Poseidon, the god of the sea. The Golden Fleece he hung in
the temple of the gods. Then he took up the rule of the kingdom that
Cretheus had founded, and he became the greatest of the kings of Greece.
And to Iolcus there came, year after year, young men who would look
upon the gleaming thing that was hung there in the temple of the gods.
And as they looked upon it, young man after young man, the thought
would come to each that he would make himself strong enough and heroic
enough to win for his country something as precious as Jason's GOLDEN
FLEECE. And for all their lives they kept in mind the words that Jason
had inscribed upon a pillar that was placed beside the Fleece of
Gold--the words that Triton spoke to the Argonauts when they were fain
to win their way out of the inland sea:--
THAT IS THE OUTLET TO THE SEA, WHERE THE DEEP WATER LIES UNMOVED AND
DARK; ON EACH SIDE ROLL WHITE BREAKERS WITH SHINING CRESTS; AND THE WAY
BETWEEN FOR YOUR PASSAGE OUT IS NARROW. BUT GO IN JOY, AND AS FOR LABOR
LET THERE BE NO GRIEVING THAT LIMBS IN YOUTHFUL VIGOR SHOULD STILL TOIL.