climb the steep pathway, which, they were told, led up and around to the
rock-built halls of Autolycus. At the top of the first slope they came
upon a broad table-land from the centre of which rose the peak of
Parnassus towering to the skies. Around the base of this peak, huge
rocks were piled, one above the other, just as they had been thrown in
the days of old from the mighty hands of the Titans. On every side were
clefts and chasms and deep gorges, through which flowed roaring torrents
fed from the melting snows above. And in the sides of the cliffs were
dark caves and narrow grottos, hollowed from the solid rock, wherein
strange creatures were said to dwell.
Now and then Odysseus fancied that he saw a mountain nymph flitting
among the trees, or a satyr with shaggy beard hastily hiding himself
among the clefts and crags above them. They passed by the great
Corycian cavern, whose huge vaulted chambers would shelter a thousand
men; but they looked in vain for the nymph Corycia, who, they were told,
sometimes sat within, and smiled upon passing travellers. A little
farther beyond, they heard the mellow notes of a lyre, and the sound of
laughter and merry-making, in a grove of evergreens, lower down the
mountain-side; and Odysseus wondered if Apollo and the Muses were not
there.
The path which the little company followed did not lead to the summit of
the peak, but wound around its base, and then, by many a zigzag, led
downward to a wooded glen through the middle of which a mountain torrent
rushed. By and by the glen widened into a pleasant valley, broad and
green, bounded on three sides by steep mountain walls. Here were rich
pasture-lands, and a meadow, in which Odysseus saw thousands of cattle
grazing. The guide told them that those were the pastures and the
cattle of great Autolycus. Close to the bank of the mountain
torrent,--just where it leaped from a precipice, and, forgetting its
wild hurry, was changed to a quiet meadow brook,--stood the dwelling of
the chief. It was large and low, and had been hewn out of the solid
rock; it looked more like the entrance to a mountain cave than like the
palace of a king.
Odysseus and his tutor walked boldly into the great hall; for the low
doorway was open and unguarded, and the following words were roughly
carved in the rock above: "Here lives Autolycus. If your heart is
brave, enter." They passed through the entrance-hall, and came to a
smaller inner chamber. There they saw Autolycus seated in a chair of
ivory and gold, thick-cushioned with furs; and near him sat fair
Amphithea his wife, busy with her spindle and distaff. The chief was
very old; his white hair fell in waves upon his great shoulders, and his
broad brow was wrinkled with age: yet his frame was that of a giant, and
his eyes glowed and sparkled with the fire of youth.
"Strangers," said he kindly, "you are welcome to my halls. It is not
often that men visit me in my mountain home, and old age has bound me
here in my chair so that I can no longer walk abroad among my fellows.
Besides this, there are those who of late speak many unkind words of me;
and good men care not to be the guests of him who is called the King of
Cattle Thieves." Then seeing that his visitors still lingered at the
door, he added, "I pray you, whoever you may be, fear not, but enter,
and be assured of a kind welcome."
Then Odysseus went fearlessly forward, and stood before the chief, and
made himself known, and showed them the presents which his mother
Anticleia had sent. Glad indeed was the heart of old Autolycus as he
grasped the hand of his grandson; and Amphithea took the lad in her
arms, and kissed his brow and both his eyes, and wept for very fulness
of joy. Then, at a call from the old chief, an inner door was opened,
and his six sons came in. Stalwart men were they, with limbs strong as
iron, and eyes like those of the mountain eagle; and they warmly
welcomed the young prince, and asked him a thousand questions about his
home in Ithaca, and his queen-mother, their sister Anticleia.
"Waste not the hours in talk!" cried old Autolycus at last. "There is
yet another day for words. Make ready at once a fitting feast for this
my grandson and his friend the bard; and let our halls ring loud with
joyful merriment."
The sons at once obeyed. From the herd which was pasturing in the
meadows, they chose the fattest calf; this they slew and quickly
dressed; and then, cutting off the choicest parts, they roasted them on
spits before the blazing fire. And when the meal was ready, great
Autolycus, his wife, and his sons sat down with their guests at the
heavy-laden table; and they feasted merrily until the sun went down, and
darkness covered the earth. Then the young men brought arm-loads of dry
branches, and logs of pine, and threw them upon the fire, and the blaze
leaped up and lighted the hall with a rich ruddy glow; and Odysseus sat
upon a couch of bearskins, at his grandfather's feet, and listened to
many a wonderful story of times long past, but ever present in the old
man's memory.
"Truly there are two things against which it is useless for any man to
fight," said Autolycus, "and these are old age and death. The first has
already made me his slave, and the second will soon have me in his
clutches. When I was young, there was not a man who could outstrip me
in the foot race. I even thought myself a match for the fleet-footed
maiden Atalanta. There were very few men, even among the great heroes,
who could hurl a spear with more force than I; and there was hardly one
who could bend my great bow. But now both spear and bow are useless.
You see them standing in the corner there, where my eyes can rest upon
them. To-morrow you shall help me polish them."
Then after a moment's pause he added, "But, oh the wrestling and the
leaping! There was never but one mortal who could excel me in either."
"I have heard," said Odysseus, "that even great Heracles was your
pupil."
"And such indeed he was," answered the old man. "The first time I saw
the matchless hero, he was but a child, tall and beautiful, with the
eyes of a wild deer, and with flaxen hair falling over his shoulders.
But he was stronger even then than any common mortal. His stepfather
Amphitryon called me to Thebes to be the boy's teacher, for he saw in
him rich promises of future greatness. With me he called many of the
noblest men of Hellas. First there was Eurytus, the master of archers,
who taught the hero how to bend the bow and send the swift arrow
straight to the mark. But in an evil day Eurytus met his fate, and all
through his own folly. For, being proud of his skill, which no mortal
could excel, he challenged great Apollo to a shooting match; and the
angry archer-god pierced him through and through with his arrows.
"Second among the teachers of Heracles was Castor, the brother of
Polydeuces and of Helen, the most beautiful of women. He taught the
hero how to wield the spear and the sword. Then, there was Linus, the
brother of Orpheus, sweetest of musicians, who came to teach him how to
touch the lyre and bring forth bewitching melody; but the boy, whose
mind was set on great deeds, cared naught for music, and the lessons
which Linus gave him were profitless. 'Thou art but a dull and witless
youth!' cried the minstrel one day, striking his pupil upon the cheek.
Then Heracles in wrath smote Linus with his own lyre, and killed him.
'Even a dull pupil has his rights,' said he, 'and one of these is the
right not to be called a blockhead.' The Theban rulers brought the
young hero to trial for his crime; but he stood up before them, and
reminded them of a half-forgotten law which Rhadamanthus, the ruler of
the Elysian land, had given them: '_Whoso defends himself against an
unjust attack is guiltless, and shall go free_.' And the judges,
pleased with his wisdom, gave him his liberty."
"Did Heracles have any other teachers?" asked Odysseus, anxious to hear
more.
"Yes; Amphytrion himself taught the lad how to drive a chariot
skilfully, and how to manage horses. And, as I have said, he called me
to teach him the manly arts of leaping and running and wrestling. He
was an apt pupil, and soon excelled his master; and Amphitryon, fearing
that in a thoughtless moment he might serve me as he had served unlucky
Linus, sent him away to Mount Cithaeron to watch his herds which were
pasturing there."
"Surely," said Odysseus, looking at the giant arms of his grandfather,
ridged with iron muscles,--"surely there was no danger of the young hero
harming you."
"A son of Hermes, such as I," said the old chief, "might dare to stand
against Heracles in craft and cunning, but never in feats of strength.
While the lad fed Amphytrion's flocks in the mountain meadows, he grew
to be a giant, four cubits in height, and terrible to look upon. His
voice was like the roar of a desert lion; his step was like the march of
an earthquake; and fire flashed from his eyes like the glare of
thunderbolts when they are hurled from the storm clouds down to the
fruitful plains below. He could tear up trees by their roots, and hurl
mountain crags from their places. It was then that he slew the Cithaeron
lion with his bare hands, and took its skin for a helmet and a mantle
which, I am told, he wears to this very day. Only a little while after
this, he led the Thebans into a battle with their enemies, the Minyans,
and gained for them a glorious victory. Then Pallas Athene, well
pleased with the hero, gave him a purple robe; Hephaestus made for him a
breastplate of solid gold; and Hermes gave him a sword, Apollo a bow,
and Poseidon a team of the most wonderful horses ever known. Then, that
he might be fully armed, he went into the Nemaean wood, and cut for
himself that stout club which he always carries, and which is more
terrible in his hands than spear, or sword, or bow and arrows."
"I have heard," said Odysseus, "that Cheiron, the centaur, was one of
the teachers of Heracles."
"He was not only his teacher," said Autolycus, "but he was his friend.
He taught what was just and true; he showed him that there is one thing
greater than strength, and that is gentleness; and he led him to change
his rude, savage nature into one full of kindness and love: so that in
all the world there is no one so full of pity for the poor and weak, so
full of sympathy for the down-trodden, as is Heracles the strong. Had it
not been for wise Cheiron, I fear that Heracles would not have made the
happy decision which he once did, when the choice of two roads was
offered him."
"What was that?" asked Odysseus. "I have never heard about it."
"When Heracles was a fair-faced youth, and life was all before him, he
went out one morning to do an errand for his stepfather Amphitryon. But
as he walked, his heart was full of bitter thoughts; and he murmured
because others no better than himself were living in ease and pleasure,
while for him there was naught but a life of labor and pain. And as he
thought upon these things, he came to a place where two roads met; and
he stopped, not certain which one to take. The road on his right was
hilly and rough; there was no beauty in it or about it: but he saw that
it led straight towards the blue mountains in the far distance. The
road on his left was broad and smooth, with shade trees on either side,
where sang an innumerable choir of birds; and it went winding among
green meadows, where bloomed countless flowers: but it ended in fog and
mist long before it ever reached the wonderful blue mountains in the
distance.
"While the lad stood in doubt as to these roads, he saw two fair women
coming towards him, each on a different road. The one who came by the
flowery way reached him first, and Heracles saw that she was beautiful
as a summer day. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled; she spoke
warm, persuasive words. 'O noble youth,' she said, 'be no longer bowed
down with labor and sore trials, but come and follow me. I will lead
you into pleasant paths, where there are no storms to disturb and no
troubles to annoy. You shall live in ease, with one unending round of
music and mirth; and you shall not want for any thing that makes life
joyous,--sparkling wine, or soft couches, or rich robes, or the loving
eyes of beautiful maidens. Come with me, and life shall be to you a
day-dream of gladness.'
"By this time the other fair woman had drawn near, and she now spoke to
the lad. 'I have nothing to promise you,' said she, 'save that which
you shall win with your own strength. The road upon which I would lead
you is uneven and hard, and climbs many a hill, and descends into many a
valley and quagmire. The views which you will sometimes get from the
hilltops are grand and glorious, but the deep valleys are dark, and the
ascent from them is toilsome; but the road leads to the blue mountains
of endless fame, which you see far away on the horizon. They cannot be
reached without labor; in fact, there is nothing worth having that must
not be won by toil. If you would have fruits and flowers, you must
plant them and care for them; if you would gain the love of your
fellow-men, you must love them and suffer for them; if you would enjoy
the favor of Heaven, you must make yourself worthy of that favor; if you
would have eternal fame, you must not scorn the hard road that leads to
it.'
"Then Heracles saw that this lady, although she was as beautiful as the
other, had a countenance pure and gentle, like the sky on a balmy
morning in May.
"'What is your name?' he asked.
"'Some call me Labor,' she answered, 'but others know me as Virtue.'
"Then he turned to the first lady. 'And what is your name?' he asked.
"'Some call me Pleasure,' she said, with a bewitching smile, 'but I
choose to be known as the Joyous and Happy One.'
"'Virtue,' said Heracles, 'I will take thee as my guide! The road of
labor and honest effort shall be mine, and my heart shall no longer
cherish bitterness or discontent.'
"And he put his hand into that of Virtue, and entered with her upon the
straight and forbidding road which leads to the fair blue mountains on
the pale and distant horizon.[1]
[1] See Note 5 at the end of this volume.
"My dear grandson, make thou the same wise choice.
"But now the fire has burned low, and it is time that both old and young
should seek repose. Go now to your chamber and your couch; and pleasant
dreams be yours until the new day dawns, bringing its labors and its
victories."
_*ADVENTURE VI.*_
*TWO FAMOUS BOAR HUNTS.*
Hardly had the morning tinged the eastern sky with her yellow light,
when Odysseus arose from his couch, and quickly clothed himself; for he
had been awakened by the sound of hurrying feet, and many voices, and
the barking of dogs, beneath his chamber window. When he went down into
the great hall, he was greeted by his six stalwart uncles, all of whom
were dressed for the chase, and armed with spears and knives.
"To-day we hunt the wild boar on the wooded slopes of Parnassus," said
Echion, the eldest. "How glad we should be if you were old enough and
strong enough to join us in the sport!"
The heart of Odysseus was stirred at once, like that of a warrior when
he hears the battle-call. "I am certainly strong enough!" he cried. "I
will ask my grandfather if I may go."
Autolycus smiled when the boy made known his wish. Indeed, he was
expecting such a request, and would have been disappointed and
displeased if it had not been made.
"Yes, go, my child," he said; "and while I sit here, bound with the
fetters of old age, my blessing shall go with you."
Odysseus thanked his grandfather, and lost no time in making himself
ready for the hunt. A hasty meal was eaten; and then the huntsmen, with
a great number of dogs and serving-men, sallied forth, and began to
climb the mountain slopes. The master of the hunt was an old,
gray-bearded man, one of the last of the ancient race of heroes, whose
whole life had been spent in the household of Autolycus. Old as he was,
he outstrode all the other huntsmen; but Odysseus, young and supple,
kept close behind him,--a dwarf following in the wake of a giant.
Upward and still upward they toiled, while their comrades, with the
hounds, followed slowly far below them. They passed through the belt of
pine trees, and left the wooded slopes behind. There was now nothing
but bare rocks before and above them. The cold winds whistled about
their heads; the mountain eagles soared and screamed in the sharp
morning air.
"Surely, my father," said Odysseus, "the lair of the wild boar cannot be
on these bleak heights. Would it not be better to seek him among the
woods of the lower slopes?"
"You are right," said the old man, stopping at last upon one of the
highest crags. "I have brought you to this spot, not in search of game,
but to show you what is a truly great and beautiful sight. Your tutor
has told me that you once had a glimpse of the world from Mount Neritus;
now look around you, and see the world itself!"
Then the lad looked; and far away on the blue horizon he saw the silvery
heights of Olympus, the throne of mighty Zeus, glittering in the
sunlight, and canopied with clouds. On his right he beheld Mount
Helicon and the fruitful plains of Boeotia, and the blue sea of AEgaea
stretching away and away towards the sunrise halls of Helios. Southward
lay the Bay of Crissa, and beyond it the land of mighty Pelops, and busy
Corinth, and the rich pasture-lands of Arcadia. Then turning to the
west, he saw, like a mere speck on the horizon, his own loved Ithaca;
while nearer were the woods of Calydon and the green headlands of
Achaia. At that moment the clouds which had been hanging about the
mountain-top suddenly melted away, and the sun shone out bright and
clear, bathing the woods and crags in purple and gold; while at the same
time the music of ten thousand voices of birds and beasts and nymphs and
waterfalls was borne up from below to their delighted ears.
"Is not this a beautiful world?" asked the aged hero, baring his gray
head to the cold winds. "What would you not give to have it all for
your own?"
The lad answered not a word; but his eyes filled with tears as he
thought of his home and of those whom he loved, far away by the green
slopes of little Neritus.
"My son," then said the hero, "remember the choice of Heracles.
Happiness is to be gotten from within us. It is not to be bought with
silver and gold, nor yet is it to be seized upon with violence. Better
have a clean conscience than to own all Hellas; better-- But hark! I
hear the dogs in the dells far below us! Let us hasten down, for they
have started the game."
Within a thorny thicket where grew the vines and leaves so closely that
the sun's rays never struggled through them, the huge wild boar had made
his lair. Hither the hounds had tracked him; and their deep baying, and
the trampling of many feet among the dead leaves upon the ground, had
roused the beast, and stirred him into fury. Suddenly he sprang from
his lair, and gnashing his huge tusks, and foaming with fury, he charged
upon his foes. The dogs fell back, afraid to come too close to an enemy
so fierce and strong; and with their many-toned bays they made the
echoes of Parnassus ring.
Just at this moment, the boy Odysseus rushed down into the glen, his
long spear poised and ready to strike. But the great beast waited not
for the stroke: he dashed furiously at the boy, who quickly leaped
aside, although too late. The boar's sharp tusk struck Odysseus just
above the knee, cutting a fearful gash, tearing the flesh, and even
grazing the bone. But the lad, undaunted, struck manfully with his
weapon. The bright spear was driven straight to the heart of the beast;
with one great cry he fell, and gnashing his huge jaws helplessly he
died among the withered leaves. The boy, faint with pain and the joy of
victory, staggered into the arms of his stalwart uncles, who had
hastened to succor him. Gently they bound up the ghastly wound, and
with charms and witchery stanched the flowing blood. Then, upon a litter
woven of vines and pliant twigs, they bore him down the deep glen to the
broad halls of old Autolycus; and the men and boys, having flayed the
grisly beast, brought afterward its head and bristly hide, and set them
up as trophies in the gateway.
For many weary days, Odysseus lay helpless on a couch of pain. But his
kind kinsmen, and Phemius his tutor, waited on him tenderly, and his
fair grandmother Amphithea nursed him. And when the pain left him, and
he began to grow strong again, he loved to lie on the bearskins at his
grandfather's feet, and listen to tales of the earlier days, when the
older race of heroes walked the earth.
"When I was younger than I am to-day," said the old chief, as they sat
one evening in the light of the blazing brands,--"when I was much
younger than now, it was my fortune to take part in the most famous boar
hunt the world has ever known.
"There lived at that time, in Calydon, a mighty chief named
Oineus,--and, indeed, I know not but that he still lives. Oineus was
rich in vineyards and in orchards, and no other man in all AEtolia was
happier or more blessed than he. He had married, early in life, the
princess Althea, fairest of the Acarnanian maidens, and to them a son
had been born, golden-haired and beautiful, whom they called Meleager.
"When Meleager was yet but one day old, his father held him in his arms,
and prayed to Zeus and the ever-living powers above: 'Grant, Father
Zeus, and all ye deathless ones, that this my son may be the foremost
among the men of Hellas. And let it come to pass, that when they see
his valiant deeds, his countrymen shall say, "Behold, this youth is
greater than his father," and all of one accord shall hail him as their
guardian king.'
"Then his mother Althea, weeping tears of joy, prayed to Pallas Athene,
that the boy might grow up to be pure-minded and gentle, the hope and
pride of his parents, and the delight and staff of their declining
years. Scarcely had the words of prayer died from her lips, when there
came into her chamber the three unerring Fates who spin the destinies of
men. White-robed and garlanded, they stood beside the babe, and with
unwearied fingers drew out the lines of his untried life. Sad Clotho
held the golden distaff in her hand, and twirled and twisted the
delicate thread. Lachesis, now sad, now hopeful, with her long white
fingers held the hourglass, and framed her lips to say, 'It is enough.'
And Atropos, blind and unpitying as the future always is, stood ready,
with cruel shears, to clip the twist in twain. Busily and silently sad
Clotho spun; and the golden thread, thin as a spider's web, yet
beautiful as a sunbeam, grew longer and more golden between her skilful
fingers. Then Lachesis cried out, 'It is finished!' But Atropos hid
her shears beneath her mantle, and said, 'Not so. Behold, there is a
brand burning upon the hearth. Wait until it is all burned into ashes
and smoke, and then I will cut the thread of the child's life. Spin on,
sweet Clotho!'
"Quick as thought, Althea sprang forward, snatched the blazing brand
from the hearth, and quenched its flame in a jar of water; and when she
knew that not a single spark was left glowing upon it, she locked it
safely in a chest where none but she could find it. As she did this,
the pitiless sisters vanished from her sight, saying as they flitted
through the air, 'We bide our time.'[1]
[1] See Note 6 at the end of this volume.
"Meleager grew up to be a tall and fair and gentle youth; and when at
last he became a man, he sailed on the ship Argo, with Jason, and
Laertes your father, and the great heroes of that day, to far-off
Colchis, in search of the Golden Fleece. Many brave deeds were his in
foreign lands; and when he came home again to Calydon, he brought with
him a fair young wife, gentle Cleopatra, daughter of Idas the boaster.
"Oineus had gathered in his harvest; and he was glad and thankful in his
heart, because his fields had yielded plenteously; his vines had been
loaded with purple grapes, and his orchards filled with abundance of
pleasant fruit. Grateful, as men should always be, to the givers of
peace and plenty, he held within his halls a harvest festival, to which
the brave and beautiful of all AEtolia came. Happy was this feast, and
the hours were bright with smiles and sunshine; and men forgot sorrow
and labor, and thought only of the gladness of life.