Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: PYRRHUS FINDS PHILOCTETES IN A CAVE.]
_HEROES OF THE OLDEN TIME_
*A STORY*
*OF*
*THE GOLDEN AGE*
BY
JAMES BALDWIN
_Illustrated by Howard Pyle_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1927
COPYRIGHT, 1887, 1888, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
JAMES BALDWIN
Printed in the United States of America
TO MAY.
*THE FORE WORD.*
You have heard of Homer, and of the two wonderful poems, the Iliad and
the Odyssey, which bear his name. No one knows whether these poems were
composed by Homer, or whether they are the work of many different poets.
And, in fact, it matters very little about their authorship. Everybody
agrees that they are the grandest poems ever sung or written or read in
this world; and yet, how few persons, comparatively, have read them, or
know any thing about them except at second-hand! Homer commences his
story, not at the beginning, but "in the midst of things;" hence, when
one starts out to read the Iliad without having made some special
preparation beforehand, he finds it hard to understand, and is tempted,
in despair, to stop at the end of the first book. Many people are,
therefore, content to admire the great masterpiece of poetry and
story-telling simply because others admire it, and not because they have
any personal acquaintance with it.
Now, it is not my purpose to give you a "simplified version" of the
Iliad or the Odyssey. There are already many such versions; but the
best way for you, or any one else, to read Homer, is _to read Homer_.
If you do not understand Greek, you can read him in one of the many
English translations. You will find much of the spirit of the original
in the translations by Bryant, by Lord Derby, and by old George Chapman,
as well as in the admirable prose rendering by Butcher and Lang; but you
can get none of it in any so-called simplified version.
My object in writing this "Story of the Golden Age" has been to pave the
way, if I dare say it, to an enjoyable reading of Homer, either in
translations or in the original. I have taken the various legends
relating to the causes of the Trojan war, and, by assuming certain
privileges never yet denied to story-tellers, have woven all into one
continuous narrative, ending where Homer's story begins. The hero of
the Odyssey--a character not always to be admired or commended--is my
hero. And, in telling the story of his boyhood and youth, I have taken
the opportunity to repeat, for your enjoyment, some of the most
beautiful of the old Greek myths. If I have, now and then, given them a
coloring slightly different from the original, you will remember that
such is the right of the story-teller, the poet, and the artist. The
essential features of the stories remain unchanged. I have, all along,
drawn freely from the old tragedians, and now and then from Homer
himself; nor have I thought it necessary in every instance to mention
authorities, or to apologize for an occasional close imitation of some
of the best translations. The pictures of old Greek life have, in the
main, been derived from the Iliad and the Odyssey, and will, I hope,
help you to a better understanding of those poems when you come to make
acquaintance directly with them.
Should you become interested in the "Story of the Golden Age," as it is
here related, do not be disappointed by its somewhat abrupt ending; for
you will find it continued by the master-poet of all ages, in a manner
both inimitable and unapproachable. If you are pleased with the
discourse of the porter at the gate, how much greater shall be your
delight when you stand in the palace of the king, and hearken to the
song of the royal minstrel!
*CONTENTS.*
THE FORE WORD
ADVENTURE
I. A Glimpse of the World
II. A Voyage on the Sea
III. The Centre of the Earth
IV. The Silver-Bowed Apollo
V. The King of Cattle Thieves
VI. Two Famous Boar Hunts
VII. At Old Cheiron's School
VIII. The Golden Apple
IX. The Swineherd
X. The Sea Robbers of Messene
XI. The Bow of Eurytus
XII. The Most Beautiful Woman in the World
XIII. A Race for a Wife
XIV. How a Great Hero met His Master
XV. Long Live the King
XVI. The Children of Prometheus
XVII. A Cause of War
XVIII. An Unwilling Hero
XIX. Heroes in Strange Garb
XX. Becalmed at Aulis
XXI. The Long Siege
THE AFTER WORD
NOTES
INDEX TO PROPER NAMES
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.*
Pyrrhus Finds Philoctetes in a Cave . . . Frontispiece
Odysseus and His Mother
Apollo Slaying the Python
Meleager Refuses to Help in the Defence of the City
The Silver-Footed Thetis Rising from the Waves
The Swineherd Telling His Story to Odysseus
Alpheus and Arethusa
Odysseus Advises King Tyndareus Concerning Helen's Suitors
Deianeira and the Dying Centaur Nessus
Prometheus
Palamedes Tests the Madness of Odysseus
Odysseus and Menelaus Persuading Agamemnon to Sacrifice Iphigenia
_*MAPS.*_
A Glimpse of the World. (The Map which Phemius Drew in the Sand)
General Map of Greece
*A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE.*
_*ADVENTURE I.*_
*A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.*
To the simple-hearted folk who dwelt in that island three thousand years
ago, there was never a sweeter spot than sea-girt Ithaca. Rocky and
rugged though it may have seemed, yet it was indeed a smiling land
embosomed in the laughing sea. There the air was always mild and pure,
and balmy with the breath of blossoms; the sun looked kindly down from a
cloudless sky, and storms seldom broke the quiet ripple of the waters
which bathed the shores of that island home. On every side but one, the
land rose straight up out of the deep sea to meet the feet of craggy
hills and mountains crowned with woods. Between the heights were many
narrow dells green with orchards; while the gentler slopes were covered
with vineyards, and the steeps above them gave pasturage to flocks of
long-wooled sheep and mountain-climbing goats.
On that side of the island which lay nearest the rising sun, there was a
fine, deep harbor; for there the shore bent inward, and only a narrow
neck of land lay between the eastern waters and the western sea. Close
on either side of this harbor arose two mountains, Neritus and Nereius,
which stood like giant watchmen overlooking land and sea and warding
harm away; and on the neck, midway between these mountains, was the
king's white palace, roomy and large, with blossoming orchards to the
right and the left, and broad lawns in front, sloping down to the
water's edge.
Here, many hundreds of years ago, lived Laertes--a man of simple habits,
who thought his little island home a kingdom large enough, and never
sighed for a greater. Not many men had seen so much of the world as he;
for he had been to Colchis with Jason and the Argonauts, and his feet
had trod the streets of every city in Hellas. Yet in all his wanderings
he had seen no fairer land than rocky Ithaca. His eyes had been dazzled
by the brightness of the Golden Fleece, and the kings of Argos and of
Ilios had shown him the gold and gems of their treasure-houses. Yet
what cared he for wealth other than that which his flocks and vineyards
yielded him? There was hardly a day but that he might be seen in the
fields guiding his plough, or training his vines, or in his orchards
pruning his trees, or gathering the mellow fruit. He had all the good
gifts of life that any man needs; and for them he never failed to thank
the great Giver, nor to render praises to the powers above. His queen,
fair Anticleia, daughter of the aged chief Autolycus, was a true
housewife, overseeing the maidens at their tasks, busying herself with
the distaff and the spindle, or plying the shuttle at the loom; and many
were the garments, rich with finest needlework, which her own fair
fingers had fashioned.
To Laertes and Anticleia one child had been born,--a son, who, they
hoped, would live to bring renown to Ithaca. This boy, as he grew,
became strong in body and mind far beyond his playfellows; and those who
knew him wondered at the shrewdness of his speech no less than at the
strength and suppleness of his limbs. And yet he was small of stature,
and neither in face nor in figure was he adorned with any of Apollo's
grace. On the day that he was twelve years old, he stood with his tutor,
the bard Phemius, on the top of Mount Neritus; below him, spread out
like a great map, lay what was to him the whole world. Northward, as
far as his eyes could see, there were islands great and small; and among
them Phemius pointed out Taphos, the home of a sea-faring race, where
Anchialus, chief of warriors, ruled. Eastward were other isles, and the
low-lying shores of Acarnania, so far away that they seemed mere lines
of hazy green between the purple waters and the azure sky. Southward
beyond Samos were the wooded heights of Zacynthus, and the sea-paths
which led to Pylos and distant Crete. Westward was the great sea,
stretching away and away to the region of the setting sun; the watery
kingdom of Poseidon, full of strange beings and unknown dangers,--a sea
upon which none but the bravest mariners dared launch their ships.
The boy had often looked upon these scenes of beauty and mystery, but
to-day his heart was stirred with an unwonted feeling of awe and of
wonder at the greatness and grandeur of the world as it thus lay around
him. Tears filled his eyes as he turned to his tutor. "How kind it was
of the Being who made this pleasant earth, to set our own sunny Ithaca
right in the centre of it, and to cover it all over with a blue dome
like a tent! But tell me, do people live in all those lands that we
see? I know that there are men dwelling in Zacynthus and in the little
islands of the eastern sea; for their fishermen often come to Ithaca,
and I have talked with them. And I have heard my father tell of his
wonderful voyage to Colchis, which is in the region of the rising sun;
and my mother often speaks of her old home in Parnassus, which also is
far away towards the dawn. Is it true that there are men, women, and
children, living in lands which we cannot see? and do the great powers
above us care for them as for the good people of Ithaca? And is there
anywhere another king so great as my father Laertes, or another kingdom
so rich and happy as his?"
Then Phemius told the lad all about the land of the Hellenes beyond the
narrow sea; and, in the sand at their feet, he drew with a stick a map
of all the countries known to him.
[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD.
The Map which Phemius drew in the Sand.]
"We cannot see half of the world from this spot," said the bard,
"neither is Ithaca the centre of it, as it seems to you. I will draw a
picture of it here in the sand, and show you where lies every land and
every sea. Right here in the very centre," said he, heaping up a pile
of sand into the shape of a mountain,--"right here in the very centre of
the world is Mount Parnassus, the home of the Muses; and in its shadow
is sacred Delphi, where stands Apollo's temple. South of Parnassus is
the Bay of Crissa, sometimes called the Corinthian Gulf. The traveller
who sails westwardly through those waters will have on his right hand
the pleasant hills and dales of AEtolia and the wooded lands of Calydon;
while on his left will rise the rugged mountains of Achaia, and the
gentler slopes of Elis. Here to the south of Elis are Messene, and sandy
Pylos where godlike Nestor and his aged father Neleus reign. Here, to
the east, is Arcadia, a land of green pastures and sweet contentment,
unwashed by any sea; and next to it is Argolis,--rich in horses, but
richest of all in noble men,--and Lacedaemon in Laconia, famous for its
warriors and its beautiful women. Far to the north of Parnassus is
Mount Olympus, the heaven-towering home of Zeus, and the place where the
gods and goddesses hold their councils."
Then Phemius, as he was often wont to do, began to put his words into
the form of music; and he sang a song of the world as he supposed it to
be. He sang of Helios the Sun, and of his flaming chariot and his four
white steeds, and of the wonderful journey which he makes every day
above the earth; and he sang of the snowy mountains of Caucasus in the
distant east; and of the gardens of the Hesperides even farther to the
westward; and of the land of the Hyperboreans, which lies beyond the
northern mountains; and of the sunny climes where live the Ethiopians,
the farthest distant of all earth's dwellers. Then he sang of the
flowing stream of Ocean which encircles all lands in its embrace; and,
lastly, of the Islands of the Blest, where fair-haired Rhadamanthus
rules, and where there is neither snow nor beating rains, but
everlasting spring, and breezes balmy with the breath of life.
"O Phemius!" cried the boy, as the bard laid aside his harp, "I never
knew that the world was so large. Can it be that there are so many
countries and so many strange people beneath the same sky?"
"Yes," answered Phemius, "the world is very broad, and our Ithaca is but
one of the smallest of a thousand lands upon which Helios smiles, as he
makes his daily journey through the skies. It is not given to one man
to know all these lands; and happiest is he whose only care is for his
home, deeming it the centre around which the world is built."
"If only the half of what you have told me be true," said the boy, "I
cannot rest until I have seen some of those strange lands, and learned
more about the wonderful beings which live in them. I cannot bear to
think of being always shut up within the narrow bounds of little
Ithaca."
"My dear boy," said Phemius, laughing, "your mind has been greatly
changed within the past few moments. When we came here, a little while
ago, you thought that Neritus was the grandest mountain in the world,
and that Ithaca was the centre round which the earth was built. Then
you were cheerful and contented; but now you are restless and unhappy,
because you have learned of possibilities such as, hitherto, you had not
dreamed about. Your eyes have been opened to see and to know the world
as it is, and you are no longer satisfied with that which Ithaca can
give you."
"But why did you not tell me these things before?" asked the boy.
"It was your mother's wish," answered the bard, "that you should not
know them until to-day. Do you remember what day this is?"
"It is my twelfth birthday. And I remember, too, that there was a
promise made to my grandfather, that when I was twelve years old I
should visit him in his strong halls on Mount Parnassus. I mean to ask
my mother about it at once."
And without waiting for another word from Phemius, the lad ran hurriedly
down the steep pathway, and was soon at the foot of the mountain.
Across the fields he hastened, and through the vineyards where the
vines, trained by his father's own hand, were already hanging heavy with
grapes. He found his mother in the inner hall, sitting before the
hearth, and twisting from her distaff threads of bright sea-purple,
while her maidens plied their tasks around her. He knelt upon the
marble floor, and gently clasped his mother's knees.
"Mother," he said, "I come to ask a long-promised boon of you."
"What is it, my son?" asked the queen, laying aside her distaff. "If
there be any thing in Ithaca that I can give you, you shall surely have
it."
"I want nothing in Ithaca," answered the boy; "I want to see more of
this great world than I ever yet have known. And now that I am twelve
years old, you surely will not forget the promise, long since made, that
I should spend the summer with my grandfather at Parnassus. Let me go
very soon, I pray; for I tire of this narrow Ithaca."
[Illustration: ODYSSEUS AND HIS MOTHER.]
The queen's eyes filled with tears as she answered, "You shall have your
wish, my son. The promise given both to you and to my father must be
fulfilled. For, when you were but a little babe, Autolycus came to
Ithaca. And one evening, as he feasted at your father's table, your
nurse, Dame Eurycleia, brought you into the hall, and put you into his
arms. 'Give this dear babe, O king, a name,' said she. 'He is thy
daughter's son, the heir to Ithaca's rich realm; and we hope that he
will live to make his name and thine remembered.'
"Then Autolycus smiled, and gently dandled you upon his knees. 'My
daughter, and my daughter's lord,' said he, 'let this child's name be
Odysseus; for he shall visit many lands and climes, and wander long upon
the tossing sea. Yet wheresoever the Fates may drive him, his heart
will ever turn to Ithaca his home. Call him by the name which I have
given; and when his twelfth birthday shall have passed, send him to my
strong halls in the shadow of Parnassus, where his mother in her
girlhood dwelt. Then I will share my riches with him, and send him back
to Ithaca rejoicing!' So spake my father, great Autolycus; and before
we arose from that feast, we pledged our word that it should be with you
even as he wished. And your name, Odysseus, has every day recalled to
mind that feast and our binding words."
"Oh that I could go at once, dear mother!" said Odysseus, kissing her
tears away. "I would come home again very soon. I would stay long
enough to have the blessing of my kingly grandfather; I would climb
Parnassus, and listen to the sweet music of the Muses; I would drink one
draught from the Castalian spring of which you have so often told me; I
would ramble one day among the groves and glens, that perchance I might
catch a glimpse of Apollo or of his huntress sister Artemis; and then I
would hasten back to Ithaca, and would never leave you again."
"My son," then said Laertes, who had come unheard into the hall, and had
listened to the boy's earnest words,--"my son, you shall have your wish,
for I know that the Fates have ordered it so. We have long looked
forward to this day, and for weeks past we have been planning for your
journey. My stanchest ship is ready to carry you over the sea, and
needs only to be launched into the bay. Twelve strong oarsmen are
sitting now upon the beach, waiting for orders to embark. To-morrow,
with the bard Phemius as your friend and guide, you may set forth on
your voyage to Parnassus. Let us go down to the shore at once, and offer
prayers to Poseidon, ruler of the sea, that he may grant you favoring
winds and a happy voyage."
Odysseus kissed his mother again, and, turning, followed his father from
the hall.
Then Anticleia rose, and bade the maidens hasten to make ready the
evening meal; but she herself went weeping to her own chamber, there to
choose the garments which her son should take with him upon his journey.
Warm robes of wool, and a broidered tunic which she with her own hands
had spun and woven, she folded and laid with care in a little wooden
chest; and with them she placed many a little comfort, fruit and
sweetmeats, such as she rightly deemed would please the lad. Then when
she had closed the lid, she threw a strong cord around the chest, and
tied it firmly down. This done, she raised her eyes towards heaven, and
lifting up her hands, she prayed to Pallas Athene:--
"O queen of the air and sky, hearken to my prayer, and help me lay aside
the doubting fears which creep into my mind, and cause these tears to
flow. For now my boy, unused to hardships, and knowing nothing of the
world, is to be sent forth on a long and dangerous voyage. I tremble
lest evil overtake him; but more I fear, that, with the lawless men of
my father's household, he shall forget his mother's teachings, and stray
from the path of duty. Do thou, O queen, go with him as his guide and
guard, keep him from harm, and bring him safe again to Ithaca and his
loving mother's arms."
Meanwhile Laertes and the men of Ithaca stood upon the beach, and
offered up two choice oxen to Poseidon, ruler of the sea; and they
prayed him that he would vouchsafe favoring winds and quiet waters and a
safe journey to the bold voyagers who to-morrow would launch their ship
upon the deep. And when the sun began to sink low down in the west,
some sought their homes, and others went up to the king's white palace
to tarry until after the evening meal.
Cheerful was the feast; and as the merry jest went round, no one seemed
more free from care than King Laertes. And when all had eaten of the
food, and had tasted of the red wine made from the king's own vintage,
the bard Phemius arose, and tuned his harp, and sang many sweet and
wonderful songs. He sang of the beginning of things; of the
broad-breasted Earth, the mother of created beings; of the sky, and the
sea, and the mountains; of the mighty race of Titans,--giants who once
ruled the earth; of great Atlas, who holds the sky-dome upon his
shoulders; of Cronos and old Oceanus; of the war which for ten years
raged on Mount Olympus, until Zeus hurled his unfeeling father Cronos
from the throne, and seized the sceptre for himself.
When Phemius ended his singing, the guests withdrew from the hall, and
each went silently to his own home; and Odysseus, having kissed his dear
father and mother, went thoughtfully to his sleeping-room high up above
the great hall. With him went his nurse, Dame Eurycleia, carrying the
torches. She had been a princess once; but hard fate and cruel war had
overthrown her father's kingdom, and had sent her forth a captive and a
slave. Laertes had bought her of her captors for a hundred oxen, and
had given her a place of honor in his household next to Anticleia. She
loved Odysseus as she would love her own dear child; for, since his
birth, she had nursed and cared for him. She now, as was her wont,
lighted him to his chamber; she laid back the soft coverings of his bed;
she smoothed the fleeces, and hung his tunic within easy reach. Then
with kind words of farewell for the night, she quietly withdrew, and
closed the door, and pulled the thong outside which turned the fastening
latch. Odysseus wrapped himself among the fleeces of his bed, and soon
was lost in slumber.[1]
[1] See Note 1 at the end of this volume.
_*ADVENTURE II.*_
*A VOYAGE ON THE SEA.*
Early the next morning, while yet the dawn was waiting for the sun,
Odysseus arose and hastened to make ready for his journey. The little
galley which was to carry him across the sea had been already launched,
and was floating close to the shore; and the oarsmen stood upon the
beach impatient to begin the voyage. The sea-stores, and the little
chest in which the lad's wardrobe lay, were brought on board and placed
beneath the rowers' benches. The old men of Ithaca, and the boys and
the maidens, hurried down to the shore, that they might bid the voyagers
God-speed. Odysseus, when all was ready, spoke a few last kind words to
his mother and sage Laertes, and then with a swelling heart went up the
vessel's side, and sat down in the stern. And Phemius the bard, holding
his sweet-toned harp, followed him, and took his place in the prow.
Then the sailors loosed the moorings, and went on board, and, sitting on
the rowers' benches, wielded the long oars; and the little vessel,
driven by their well-timed strokes, turned slowly about, and then glided
smoothly across the bay; and the eyes of all on shore were wet with
tears as they prayed the rulers of the air and the sea that the voyagers
might reach their wished-for port in safety, and in due time come back
unharmed to Ithaca.
No sooner had the vessel reached the open sea, than Pallas Athene sent
after it a gentle west wind to urge it on its way. As the soft breeze,
laden with the perfumes of blossoming orchards, stirred the water into
rippling waves, Phemius bade the rowers lay aside their oars, and hoist
the sail. They heeded his behest, and lifting high the slender mast,
they bound it in its place; then they stretched aloft the broad white
sail, and the west wind caught and filled it, and drove the little bark
cheerily over the waves. And the grateful crew sat down upon the
benches, and with Odysseus and Phemius the bard, they joined in offering
heartfelt thanks to Pallas Athene, who had so kindly prospered them. And
by and by Phemius played soft melodies on his harp, such as the
sea-nymphs liked to hear. And all that summer day the breezes whispered
in the rigging, and the white waves danced in the vessel's wake, and the
voyagers sped happily on their way.
In the afternoon, when they had begun somewhat to tire of the voyage,
Phemius asked Odysseus what they should do to lighten the passing hours.
"Tell us some story of the olden time," said Odysseus. And the bard, who
was never better pleased than when recounting some wonderful tale, sat
down in the midships, where the oarsmen could readily hear him, and told
the strange story of Phaethon, the rash son of Helios Hyperion.
"Among the immortals who give good gifts to men, there is no one more
kind than Helios, the bestower of light and heat. Every morning when
the Dawn with her rosy fingers illumes the eastern sky, good Helios
rises from his golden couch, and from their pasture calls his milk-white
steeds. By name he calls them,--
"'Eos, AEthon, Bronte, Astrape!'
"Each hears his master's voice, and comes obedient. Then about their
bright manes and his own yellow locks he twines wreaths of
sweet-smelling flowers,--amaranths and daffodils and asphodels from the
heavenly gardens. And the Hours come and harness the steeds to the
burning sun-car, and put the reins into Helios Hyperion's hands. He
mounts to his place, he speaks,--and the winged team soars upward into
the morning air; and all earth's children awake, and give thanks to the
ruler of the Sun for the new day which smiles down upon them.
"Hour after hour, with steady hand, Helios guides his steeds; and the
flaming car is borne along the sun-road through the sky. And when the
day's work is done, and sable night comes creeping over the earth, the
steeds, the car, and the driver sink softly down to the western Ocean's
stream, where a golden vessel waits to bear them back again, swiftly and
unseen, to the dwelling of the Sun in the east. There, under the
home-roof, Helios greets his mother and his wife and his dear children;
and there he rests until the Dawn again leaves old Ocean's bed, and
blushing comes to bid him journey forth anew.
"One son had Helios, Phaethon the Gleaming, and among the children of
men there was no one more fair. And the great heart of Helios beat with
love for his earth-child, and he gave him rich gifts, and kept nothing
from him.
"And Phaethon, as he grew up, became as proud as he was fair, and
wherever he went he boasted of his kinship to the Sun; and men when they
looked upon his matchless form and his radiant features believed his
words, and honored him as the heir of Helios Hyperion. But one Epaphos,
a son of Zeus, sneered.
"'Thou a child of Helios!' he said; 'what folly! Thou canst show nothing
wherewith to prove thy kinship, save thy fair face and thy yellow hair;
and there are many maidens in Hellas who have those, and are as
beautiful as thou. Manly grace and handsome features are indeed the
gifts of the gods; but it is by godlike deeds alone that one can prove
his kinship to the immortals. While Helios Hyperion--thy father, as
thou wouldst have it--guides his chariot above the clouds, and showers
blessings upon the earth, what dost thou do? What, indeed, but dally
with thy yellow locks, and gaze upon thy costly clothing, while all the
time thy feet are in the dust, and the mire of the earth holds them
fast? If thou hast kinship with the gods, prove it by doing the deeds
of the gods! If thou art Helios Hyperion's son, guide for one day his
chariot through the skies.'
"Thus spoke Epaphos. And the mind of Phaethon was filled with lofty
dreams; and, turning away from the taunting tempter, he hastened to his
father's house.
"Never-tiring Helios, with his steeds and car, had just finished the
course of another day; and with words of warmest love he greeted his
earth-born son.
"'Dear Phaethon,' he said, 'what errand brings thee hither at this hour,
when the sons of men find rest in slumber? Is there any good gift that
thou wouldst have? Say what it is, and it shall be thine.'
"And Phaethon wept. And he said, 'Father, there are those who say that
I am not thy son. Give me, I pray thee, a token whereby I can prove my
kinship to thee.'
"And Helios answered, 'Mine it is to labor every day, and short is the
rest I have, that so earth's children may have light and life. Yet tell
me what token thou cravest, and I swear that I will give it thee.'
"'Father Helios,' said the youth, 'this is the token that I ask: Let me
sit in thy place to-morrow, and drive thy steeds along the pathway of
the skies.'
"Then was the heart of Helios full sad, and he said to Phaethon, 'My
child, thou knowest not what thou askest. Thou art not like the gods;
and there lives no man who can drive my steeds, or guide the sun-car
through the skies. I pray thee ask some other boon.'
"But Phaethon would not.
"'I will have this boon or none. I will drive thy steeds to-morrow, and
thereby make proof of my birthright.'
"Then Helios pleaded long with his son that he would not aspire to deeds
too great for weak man to undertake. But wayward Phaethon would not
hear. And when the Dawn peeped forth, and the Hours harnessed the steeds
to the car, his father sadly gave the reins into his hands.
"'My love for thee cries out, "Refrain, refrain!" Yet for my oath's
sake, I grant thy wish.'
"And he hid his face, and wept.
"And Phaethon leaped into the car, and lashed the steeds with his whip.
Up they sprang, and swift as a storm cloud they sped high into the blue
vault of heaven. For well did they know that an unskilled hand held the
reins, and proudly they scorned his control.
"The haughty heart of Phaethon sank within him, and all his courage
failed; and the long reins dropped from his nerveless grasp.
"'Glorious father,' he cried in agony, 'thy words were true. Would that
I had hearkened to thy warning, and obeyed!'
"And the sun-steeds, mad with their new-gained freedom, wildly careered
in mid-heaven, and then plunged downward towards the earth. Close to
the peopled plains they dashed and soared, dragging the car behind them.
The parched earth smoked; the rivers turned to vaporous clouds; the
trees shook off their scorched leaves and died; and men and beasts hid
in the caves and rocky clefts, and there perished with thirst and the
unbearable heat.
"'O Father Zeus!' prayed Mother Earth, 'send help to thy children, or
they perish through this man's presumptuous folly!'
"Then the Thunderer from his high seat hurled his dread bolts, and
unhappy Phaethon fell headlong from the car; and the fire-breathing
steeds, affrighted but obedient, hastened back to the pastures of Helios
on the shores of old Ocean's stream.
"Phaethon fell into the river which men call Eridanos, and his
broken-hearted sisters wept for him; and as they stood upon the banks
and bewailed his unhappy fate, Father Zeus in pity changed them into
tall green poplars; and their tears, falling into the river, were
hardened into precious yellow amber. But the daughters of Hesperus,
through whose country this river flows, built for the fair hero a marble
tomb, close by the sounding sea. And they sang a song about Phaethon,
and said that although he had been hurled to the earth by the
thunderbolts of angry Zeus, yet he died not without honor, for he had
his heart set on the doing of great deeds."
As Phemius ended his story, Odysseus, who had been too intent upon
listening to look around him, raised his eyes and uttered a cry of joy;
for he saw that they had left the open sea behind them, and were
entering the long and narrow gulf between Achaia and the AEtolian land.
The oarsmen, who, too, had been earnest listeners, sprang quickly to
their places, and hastened to ply their long oars; for now the breeze
had begun to slacken, and the sail hung limp and useless upon the ship's
mast. Keeping close to the northern shore they rounded capes and
headlands, and skirted the mouths of deep inlets, where Phemius said
strange monsters often lurked in wait for unwary or belated seafarers.
But they passed all these places safely, and saw no living creature,
save some flocks of sea-birds flying among the cliffs, and one lone,
frightened fisherman, who left his net upon the sands, and ran to hide
himself in the thickets of underbrush which skirted the beach.
Late in the day they came to the mouth of a little harbor which, like
one in Ithaca, was a favored haunt of old Phorcys the elder of the sea.
Here the captain of the oarsmen said they must tarry for the night, for
the sun was already sinking in the west, and after nightfall no ship
could be guided with safety along these shores. A narrow strait between
high cliffs led into the little haven, which was so sheltered from the
winds that vessels could ride there without their hawsers, even though
fierce storms might rage upon the sea outside. Through this strait the
ship was guided, urged by the strong arms of the rowers; and so swiftly
did it glide across the harbor that it was driven upon the shelving
beach at the farther side, and stopped not until it lay full half its
length high upon the warm, dry sand.
Then the crew lifted out their store of food, and their vessels for
cooking; and while some took their bows and went in search of game,
others kindled a fire, and hastened to make ready the evening meal.
Odysseus and his tutor, when they had climbed out of the ship, sauntered
along the beach, intent to know what kind of place it was to which
fortune had thus brought them. They found that it was in all things a
pattern and counterpart of the little bay of Phorcys in their own
Ithaca.[1]
[1] See the description of this bay, in the Odyssey, Book xiii. l. 102.
Near the head of the harbor grew an olive tree, beneath whose spreading
branches there was a cave, in which, men said, the Naiads sometimes
dwelt. In this cave were great bowls and jars and two-eared pitchers,
all of stone; and in the clefts of the rock the wild bees had built
their comb, and filled it with yellow honey. In this cave, too, were
long looms on which, from their spindles wrought of stone, the Naiads
were thought to weave their purple robes. Close by the looms, a torrent
of sweet water gushed from the rock, and flowed in crystal streams down
into the bay. Two doorways opened into the cave: one from the north,
through which mortal man might enter, and one from the south, kept as
the pathway of Phorcys and the Naiads. But Odysseus and his tutor saw
no signs of any of these beings: it seemed as if the place had not been
visited for many a month.
After the voyagers had partaken of their meal, they sat for a long time
around the blazing fire upon the beach, and each told some marvellous
story of the sea. For their thoughts were all upon the wonders of the
deep.
"We should not speak of Poseidon, the king of waters," said the captain,
"save with fear upon our lips, and reverence in our hearts. For he it
is who rules the sea, as his brother Zeus controls the land; and no one
dares to dispute his right. Once, when sailing on the AEgaean Sea, I
looked down into the depths, and saw his lordly palace,--a glittering,
golden mansion, built on the rocks at the bottom of the mere. Quickly
did we spread our sails aloft, and the friendly breezes and our own
strong arms hurried us safely away from that wonderful but dangerous
station. In that palace of the deep, Poseidon eats and drinks and makes
merry with his friends, the dwellers in the sea; and there he feeds and
trains his swift horses,--horses with hoofs of bronze and flowing golden
manes. And when he harnesses these steeds to his chariot, and wields
above them his well-wrought lash of gold, you should see, as I have
seen, how he rides in terrible majesty above the waves. And the
creatures of the sea pilot him on his way, and gambol on either side of
the car, and follow dancing in his wake. But when he smites the waters
with the trident which he always carries in his hand, the waves roll
mountain high, the lightnings flash, and the thunders peal, and the
earth is shaken to its very core. Then it is that man bewails his own
weakness, and prays to the powers above for help and succor."
"I have never seen the palace of Poseidon," said the helmsman, speaking
slowly; "but once, when sailing to far-off Crete, our ship was overtaken
by a storm, and for ten days we were buffeted by winds and waves, and
driven into unknown seas. After this, we vainly tried to find again our
reckonings, but we knew not which way to turn our vessel's prow. Then,
when the storm had ended, we saw upon a sandy islet great troops of
seals and sea-calves couched upon the beach, and basking in the warm
rays of the sun.
"'Let us cast anchor, and wait here,' said our captain; 'for surely
Proteus, the old man of the sea who keeps Poseidon's herds, will come
erewhile to look after these sea-beasts.'
"And he was right; for at noonday the herdsman of the sea came up out of
the brine, and went among his sea-calves, and counted them, and called
each one by name. When he was sure that not even one was missing, he
lay down among them upon the sand. Then we landed quickly from our
vessel, and rushed silently upon him, and seized him with our hands.
The old master of magic tried hard to escape from our clutches, and did
not forget his cunning. First he took the form of a long-maned lion,
fierce and terrible; but when this did not affright us, he turned into a
scaly serpent; then into a leopard, spotted and beautiful; then into a
wild boar, with gnashing tusks and foaming mouth. Seeing that by none
of these forms he could make us loosen our grasp upon him, he took the
shape of running water, as if to glide through our fingers; then he
became a tall tree full of leaves and blossoms; and, lastly, he became
himself again. And he pleaded with us for his freedom, and promised to
tell us any thing that we desired, if we would only let him go.
"'Tell us which way we shall sail, and how far we shall go, that we may
surely reach the fair harbor of Crete,' said our captain.
"'Sail with the wind two days,' said the elder of the sea, 'and on the
third morning ye shall behold the hills of Crete, and the pleasant port
which you seek.'
"Then we loosened our hold upon him, and old Proteus plunged into the
briny deep; and we betook ourselves to our ship, and sailed away before
the wind. And on the third day, as he had told us, we sighted the fair
harbor of Crete."
As the helmsman ended his story, his listeners smiled; for he had told
them nothing but an old tale, which every seaman had learned in his
youth,--the story of Proteus, symbol of the ever-changing forms of
matter. Just then Odysseus heard a low, plaintive murmur, seeming as if
uttered by some lost wanderer away out upon the sea.
"What is that?" he asked, turning towards Phemius.
"It is Glaucus, the soothsayer of the sea, lamenting that he is mortal,"
answered the bard. "Long time ago, Glaucus was a poor fisherman who
cast his nets into these very waters, and built his hut upon the
AEtolian shore, not very far from the place where we now sit. Before
his hut there was a green, grassy spot, where he often sat to dress the
fish which he caught. One day he carried a basketful of half-dead fish
to that spot, and turned them out upon the ground. Wonderful to behold!
Each fish took a blade of grass in its mouth, and forthwith jumped into
the sea. The next day he found a hare in the woods, and gave chase to
it. The frightened creature ran straight to the grassy plat before his
hut, seized a green spear of grass between its lips, and dashed into the
sea.
"'Strange what kind of grass that is!' cried Glaucus. Then he pulled up
a blade, and tasted it. Quick as thought, he also jumped into the sea;
and there he wanders evermore among the seaweeds and the sand and the
pebbles and the sunken rocks; and, although he has the gift of
soothsaying, and can tell what things are in store for mortal men, he
mourns and laments because he cannot die."
Then Phemius, seeing that Odysseus grew tired of his story, took up his
harp, and touched its strings, and sang a song about old Phorcys,--the
son of the Sea and Mother Earth,--and about his strange daughters who
dwell in regions far remote from the homes of men.
He touched his harp lightly, and sang a sweet lullaby,--a song about the
Sirens, the fairest of all the daughters of old Phorcys. These have
their home in an enchanted island in the midst of the western sea; and
they sit in a green meadow by the shore, and they sing evermore of empty
pleasures and of phantoms of delight and of vain expectations. And woe
is the wayfaring man who hearkens to them! for by their bewitching tones
they lure him to his death, and never again shall he see his dear wife
or his babes, who wait long and vainly for his home-coming. Stop thine
ears, O voyager on the sea, and listen not to the songs of the Sirens,
sing they ever so sweetly; for the white flowers which dot the meadow
around them are not daisies, but the bleached bones of their victims.
Then Phemius smote the chords of his harp, and played a melody so weird
and wild that Odysseus sprang to his feet, and glanced quickly around
him, as if he thought to see some grim and horrid shape threatening him
from among the gathering shadows. And this time the bard sang a
strange, tumultuous song, concerning other daughters of old
Phorcys,--the three Gray Sisters, with shape of swan, who have but one
tooth for all, and one common eye, and who sit forever on a barren rock
near the farthest shore of Ocean's stream. Upon them the sun doth never
cast a beam, and the moon doth never look; but, horrible and alone, they
sit clothed in their yellow robes, and chatter threats and meaningless
complaints to the waves which dash against their rock.
Not far away from these monsters once sat the three Gorgons, daughters
also of old Phorcys. These were clothed with bat-like wings, and horror
sat upon their faces. They had ringlets of snakes for hair, and their
teeth were like the tusks of swine, and their hands were talons of
brass; and no mortal could ever gaze upon them and breathe again. But
there came, one time, a young hero to those regions,--Perseus the
godlike; and he snatched the eye of the three Gray Sisters, and flung it
far into the depths of Lake Tritonis; and he slew Medusa, the most
fearful of the Gorgons, and carried the head of the terror back to
Hellas with him as a trophy.
The bard chose next a gentler theme: and, as he touched his harp, the
listeners fancied that they heard the soft sighing of the south wind,
stirring lazily the leaves and blossoms; they heard the plashing of
fountains, and the rippling of water-brooks, and the songs of little
birds; and their minds were carried away in memory to pleasant gardens
in a summer land. And Phemius sang of the Hesperides, or the maidens of
the West, who also, men say, are the daughters of Phorcys the ancient.
The Hesperian land in which they dwell is a country of delight, where
the trees are laden with golden fruit, and every day is a sweet dream of
joy and peace. And the clear-voiced Hesperides sing and dance in the
sunlight always; and their only task is to guard the golden apples which
grow there, and which Mother Earth gave to Here the queen upon her
wedding day.
Here Phemius paused. Odysseus, lulled by the soft music, and overcome
by weariness, had lain down upon the sand and fallen asleep. At a sign
from the bard, the seamen lifted him gently into the ship, and, covering
him with warm skins, they left him to slumber through the night.
_*ADVENTURE III.*_
*THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH.*
The next morning, before the sun had risen, the voyagers launched their
ship again, and sailed out of the little harbor into the long bay of
Crissa. And Pallas Athene sent the west wind early, to help them
forward on their way; and they spread their sail, and instead of longer
hugging the shore, they ventured boldly out into the middle of the bay.
All day long the ship held on its course, skimming swiftly through the
waves like a great white-winged bird; and those on board beguiled the
hours with song and story as on the day before. But when the evening
came, they were far from land; and the captain said that as the water
was deep, and he knew the sea quite well, they would not put into port,
but would sail straight on all night. And so, when the sun had gone
down, and the moon had risen, flooding earth and sea with her pure, soft
light, Odysseus wrapped his warm cloak about him, and lay down again to
rest upon his bed of skins between the rowers' benches. But the
helmsman stood at his place, and guided the vessel over the shadowy
waves; and through the watches of the night the west wind filled the
sails, and the dark keel of the little bark ploughed the waters, and
Pallas Athene blessed the voyage.
When, at length, the third morning came, and Helios arose at summons of
the Dawn, Odysseus awoke. To his great surprise, he heard no longer the
rippling of the waves upon the vessel's sides, nor the flapping of the
sail in the wind, nor yet the rhythmic dipping of the oars into the sea.
He listened, and the sound of merry laughter came to his ears, and he
heard the twittering of many birds, and the far-away bleating of little
lambs. He rubbed his eyes, and sat up, and looked about him. The ship
was no longer floating on the water, but had been drawn high up on a
sandy beach; and the crew were sitting beneath an olive tree, at no
great distance from the shore, listening to the melodies with which a
strangely-garbed shepherd welcomed on his flute the coming of another
day.
Odysseus arose quickly and leaped out upon the beach. Then it was that
a scene of beauty and quiet grandeur met his gaze,--a scene, the like of
which had never entered his thoughts nor visited his dreams. He saw, a
few miles to the northward, a group of high mountains whose summits
towered above the clouds; and highest among them all were twin peaks
whose snow-crowned tops seemed but little lower than the skies
themselves. And as the light of the newly risen sun gilded the gray
crags, and painted the rocky slopes, and shone bright among the wooded
uplands, the whole scene appeared like a living picture, glorious with
purple and gold and azure, and brilliant with sparkling gems.
"Is it not truly a fitting place for the home of beauty and music, the
dwelling of Apollo, and the favored haunt of the Muses?" asked Phemius,
drawing near, and observing the boy's wondering delight.
"Indeed it is," said Odysseus, afraid to turn his eyes away, lest the
enchanting vision should vanish like a dream. "But is that mountain
really Parnassus, and is our journey so nearly at an end?"
"Yes," answered the bard, "that peak which towers highest toward the sky
is great Parnassus, the centre of the earth; and in the rocky cleft
which you can barely see between the twin mountains, stands sacred
Delphi and the favored temple of Apollo. Lower down, and on the other
side of the mountain, is the white-halled dwelling of old Autolycus,
your mother's father. Although the mountain seems so near, it is yet a
long and toilsome journey thither,--a journey which we must make on
foot, and by pathways none the safest. Come, let us join the sailors
under the olive tree; and when we have breakfasted, we will begin our
journey to Parnassus."
The strange shepherd had killed the fattest sheep of his flock, and had
roasted the choicest parts upon a bed of burning coals; and when
Odysseus and his tutor came to the olive tree, they found a breakfast
fit indeed for kings, set out ready before them.
"Welcome, noble strangers," said the shepherd; "welcome to the land most
loved of the Muses. I give you of the best of all that I have, and I am
ready to serve you and do your bidding."
Phemius thanked the shepherd for his kindness; and while they sat upon
the grass, and ate of the pleasant food which had been provided, he
asked the simple swain many questions about Parnassus.
"I have heard that Parnassus is the hub around which the great
earth-wheel is built. Is it really true?"