and his orchards, and offered them in thankful offerings to the givers
of good. But he forgot to deck the shrine of Artemis with gifts, little
thinking that the arrow-darting queen cared for any thing which mortal
men might offer her. Ah, woful mistake was that! For, in her anger at
the slight, Artemis sent a savage boar, with ivory tusks and foaming
mouth, to overrun the lands of Calydon. Many a field did the monster
ravage, many a tree uproot; and all the growing vines, which late had
borne so rich a vintage, were trampled to the ground. Sadly troubled
was Oineus, and the chieftains of AEtolia knew not what to do. For the
fierce beast could not be slain, but with his terrible tusks he had sent
many a rash hunter to an untimely death. Then the young man Meleager
said, 'I will call together the heroes of Hellas, and we will hunt the
boar in the woods of Calydon.'
"And so at the call of Meleager, the warriors flocked from every land,
to join in the hunt of the fierce wild boar. Among them came Castor and
Polydeuces, the twin brothers from Lacedaemon; and Idas the boaster, the
father-in-law of Meleager, from Messene; and mighty Jason, captain of
the Argo; and Atalanta, the swift-footed daughter of Iasus of Arcadia;
and many Acarnanian huntsmen led by the sons of Thestios, Althea's
brothers. Thither also did I, Autolycus, hasten, although men
spitefully said that I was far more skilful in taking tame beasts than
in slaying wild ones.
"Nine days we feasted in the halls of Oineus; and every day we tried our
skill with bows and arrows, and tested the strength of our well-seasoned
spears. On the tenth, the bugles sounded, and hounds and huntsmen
gathered in the courtyard of the chief, chafing for the hunt. But a
proud fellow named Cepheus, of Arcadia, when he saw fair Atalanta
equipped for the chase, drew back disdainfully, and said,--
"'In my country, it is not the custom for heroes to go to battle or to
hunt side by side with women. Woman's place is at home: her weapons are
the distaff and the needle; her duty is to practise well the household
virtues. If you allow this young girl to join in this hunt, then I will
turn my face homeward, and seek in the Arcadian land adventures worthy
of men.'
"Then Meleager angrily answered, 'In the Arcadian land, if report speaks
truly, the deeds deemed worthiest of men are the watching of flocks and
the tuning of the shepherd's pipe. It is fear, not bravery, that makes
you seek an excuse to leave the chase of the wild boar before it is
begun. You are afraid of the beast; and you are still more afraid of
the maiden Atalanta, lest she should prove to be more skilled than you.
Have you heard how, when an infant, she was left to perish on the
Parthenian hill, and would have died, had not a she-bear cared for her
until some hunters rescued her? Have you heard how, as she grew up, her
beauty was greater than that of any other maiden, and how no one but
Artemis, the archer-queen, could shoot the swift arrow so fair and
straight? Have you heard what she did on the ship Argo, when, with
Jason as our captain, we sailed to the utmost bounds of the earth, and
brought home with us the fleece of gold? Have you heard how, with her
own arrows, she slew the beastly centaurs, Rhoecus and Hylaeus, because
they dared to make love to one so pure and beautiful? Doubtless you have
heard all these things, and you are afraid to go to the field of danger
with one so much nobler than yourself. Go back, then, to your
sheep-tending Arcadia! No one will miss you in the chase.'
"Then Cepheus blushed, but more from shame than anger. 'I will ride
with you into the wood," said he, 'and never again shall any man accuse
me of having a timid heart.'
"Soon we sallied forth from the town, a hundred huntsmen, with dogs
innumerable. Through the fields and orchards, laid waste by the savage
beast, we passed; and Atalanta, keen of sight and swift of foot, her
long hair floating in the wind behind her, led all the rest. It was not
long until, in a narrow dell once green with vines and trees, but now
strewn thick with withered branches, we roused the fierce creature from
his lair. At first he fled, followed closely by the baying hounds.
Then suddenly he faced his foes; with gnashing teeth and bloodshot eyes,
he charged furiously upon them. A score of hounds were slain outright;
and Cepheus, rushing blindly onward, was caught by the beast, and torn
in pieces by his sharp tusks. Brave Peleus of Phthia with unsteady aim
let fly an arrow from his bow, which, falling short of the mark, smote
his friend Eurytion full in the breast, and stretched him lifeless upon
the ground. Then swift-footed Atalanta, bounding forward, struck the
beast a deadly blow with her spear. He stopped short his furious
onslaught; and Amphiaraus, the hero and prophet of Argos, launching a
swift arrow, put out one of his eyes. Terrible were the cries of the
wounded creature, as, blinded and bleeding, he made a last charge upon
the huntsmen. But Meleager with a skilful sword-thrust pierced his
heart, and the beast fell weltering in his gore. Great joy filled the
hearts of the Calydonians, when they saw the scourge of their land laid
low and helpless. They quickly flayed the beast, and the heroes who had
shared in the hunt divided the flesh among them; but the head and the
bristly hide they gave to Meleager.
"'Not to me does the prize belong,' he cried, 'but to Atalanta, the
swift-footed huntress. For the first wound--the true death stroke,
indeed--was given by her; and to her, woman though she be, all honor and
the prize must be awarded.'
"With these words, he bore the grinning head and the bristly hide to the
fair young huntress, and laid them at her feet. Then his uncles, the
sons of Acarnanian Thestios, rushed angrily forward, saying that no
woman should ever bear a prize away from them; and they seized the hide,
and would have taken it away, had not Meleager forbidden them. Yet they
would not loose their hold upon the prize, but drew their swords, and
wrathfully threatened Meleager's life. The hero's heart grew hot within
him, and he shrunk not from the affray. Long and fearful was the
struggle,--uncles against nephew; but in the end the sons of Thestios
lay bleeding upon the ground, while the victor brought again the boar's
hide, and laid it the second time at Atalanta's feet. The fair huntress
took the prize, and carried it away with her to deck her father's hall
in the pleasant Arcadian land. And the heroes, when they had feasted
nine other days with King Oineus, betook themselves to their own homes.
"But the hearts of the Acarnanians were bitter towards Meleager, because
of the death of the sons of Thestios, and because no part of the wild
boar was awarded to them. They called their chiefs around them, and all
their brave men, and made war upon King Oineus and Meleager. Many
battles did they fight round Calydon, and among the AEtolian hills; yet
while Meleager led his warriors to the fray, the Acarnanians fared but
ill.
"Then Queen Althea, filled with grief for her brothers' untimely death,
forgot her love for her son, and prayed that her Acarnanian kinsmen
might prevail against him. Upon the hard earth she knelt: she beat the
ground with her hands, and heaped the dust about her; and, weeping
bitter tears, she called upon Hades and heartless Persephone to avenge
her of Meleager. And even as she prayed, the pitiless Furies, wandering
amid the darkness, heard her cries, and came, obedient to her wishes.
"When Meleager heard that his mother had turned against him, he withdrew
in sorrow to his own house, and sought comfort and peace with his wife,
fair Cleopatra; and he would not lead his warriors any more to battle
against the Acarnanians. Then the enemy besieged the city: a fearful
tumult rose about the gates; the high towers were assaulted, and
everywhere the Calydonians were driven back dismayed and beaten. With
uplifted hands and tearful eyes, King Oineus and the elders of the city
came to Meleager, and besought him to take the field again. Rich gifts
they offered him. They bade him choose for his own the most fertile
farm in Calydon,--at the least fifty acres, half for tillage and half
for vines; but he would not listen to them. The din of battle thickened
outside the gates; the towers shook with the thundering blows of the
besiegers. Old Oineus with trembling limbs climbed up the stairway to
his son's secluded chamber, and, weeping, prayed him to come down and
save the city from fire and pillage. Still he kept silent, and went
not. His sisters came, and his most trusted friends. 'Come, Meleager,'
they prayed, 'forget thy grief, and think only of our great need. Aid
thy people, or we shall all perish!'
[Illustration: MELEAGER REFUSES TO HELP IN THE DEFENCE OF THE CITY.]
"None of these prayers moved him. The gates were beaten down; the enemy
was within the walls; the tide of battle shook the very tower where
Meleager sat; the doom of Calydon seemed to be sealed. Then came the
fair Cleopatra, and knelt before her husband, and besought him to
withhold no longer the aid which he alone could give. 'O Meleager,' she
sobbed, 'none but thou can save us. Wilt thou sit still, and see the
city laid in ashes, thy dearest friends slaughtered, and thy wife and
sweet babes dragged from their homes and sold into cruel slavery?'
"Then Meleager rose and girded on his armor. To the streets he
hastened, shouting his well-known battle-cry. Eagerly and hopefully did
the Calydonian warriors rally around him. Fiercely did they meet the
foe. Terrible was the bloodshed. Back from the battered gates and the
crumbling wall, the Acarnanian hosts were driven. A panic seized upon
them. They turned and fled, and not many of them escaped the swords of
Meleager's men.
"Again there was peace in Calydon, and the orchards of King Oineus
blossomed and bore fruit as of old; but the gifts and large rewards
which the elders had promised to Meleager were forgotten. He had saved
his country, but his countrymen were ungrateful.
"Then Meleager again laid aside his war-gear, and sought the quiet of
his own home, and the cheering presence of fair Cleopatra. For the
remembrance of his mother's curse and his country's ingratitude weighed
heavily on his mind, and he cared no longer to mingle with his
fellow-men.
"Then it was that Althea's hatred of her son waxed stronger, and she
thought of the half-burnt brand which she had hidden, and of the words
which the fatal sisters had spoken so many years before.
"'He is no longer my son,' said she, 'and why should I withhold the
burning of the brand? He can never again bring comfort to my heart; for
the blood of my brothers, whom I loved, is upon his head.'
"And she took the charred billet from the place where she had hidden it,
and cast it again into the flames. And as it slowly burned away, so did
the life of Meleager wane. Lovingly he bade his wife farewell; softly
he whispered a prayer to the unseen powers above; and as the flickering
flames of the fatal brand died into darkness, he gently breathed his
last.
"Then sharp-toothed remorse seized upon Althea, and the mother-love
which had slept in her bosom was reawakened. Too late, also, the folk
of Calydon remembered who it was that had saved them from slavery and
death. Down into the comfortless halls of Hades, Althea hastened to
seek her son's forgiveness. The loving heart of Cleopatra, surcharged
with grief, was broken; and her gentle spirit fled to the world of
shades to meet that of her hero-husband. And Meleager's sisters would
not be consoled, so great was the sorrow which had come upon them; and
they wept and lamented day and night, until kind Artemis in pity for
their youth changed them into the birds which we call Meleagrides."
Lying on the bearskins at his grandfather's feet, and listening to
stories like this, Odysseus did not feel that time was burdensome. The
wound upon his knee healed slowly; and when at last he could walk again,
a white scar, as long and as broad as a finger, told the story of his
combat with the fierce wild boar. By this time the summer was far
spent, and the bard Phemius was impatient to return to Ithaca.
"The grapes in your father's vineyard are growing purple, and his
orchards are laden with ripening fruit," said he to Odysseus; "and the
days are near at hand when your anxious mother will gaze with longing
over the sea, expecting your return."
But there was no vessel at the port on the bay to carry them home by the
nearest way; and days' and months might pass ere any ship, sent thither
by Laertes, would arrive. How, then, were they to return to Ithaca?
"Here is your uncle, bold Echion, who goes to-morrow to Iolcos by the
sea, carrying gifts and a message from Autolycus to old King Peleus. We
will go with him."
"But Iolcos is farther still from Ithaca," said Odysseus.
"True," answered Phemius. "But from Iolcos, at this season of the year,
there are many vessels sailing to Corinth and the islands of the sea.
Once at Corinth, and we shall find no lack of ships to carry us across
the bay of Crissa to our own loved Ithaca."
And thus the journey home was planned. It was a long and devious route
by way of Iolcos and the Euboean Sea; and no one could say how many
dangers they might meet, or how many delays they should encounter. Yet
nothing better could be done, if they would return before the summer
ended.
The great Autolycus blessed Odysseus on departing, and gave him rich
gifts of gold and priceless gems, and many words of sage advice. "I
shall see thee no more," he said; "but thy name shall be spoken
countless ages hence, and men shall say, 'How shrewd and far-seeing,
brave in war, and wise in counsel, was Odysseus!'"
_*ADVENTURE VII.*_
*AT OLD CHEIRON'S SCHOOL.*
After a long, hard journey by land and sea, Odysseus and his tutor, with
bold Echion, came to Iolcos. Aged Peleus, king of Phthia and the
fertile plains of Iolcos, greeted them with show of heartiest welcome;
for he remembered that Laertes had been his friend and comrade long
years before, when together on the Argo they sailed the briny deep, and
he was glad to see the son of that old comrade; and he took Odysseus by
the hand, and led him into his palace, and gave him of the best of all
that he had.
"Tarry with me for a month," he said. "My ships are now at sea, but
they will return; and when the moon rises again full and round, as it
did last night, I will send you safe to Corinth on the shores of the Bay
of Crissa."
And so Odysseus and the bard staid a whole month at Iolcos, in the house
of Peleus the king. There were feasting and merriment in the halls
every day; and yet the time hung heavily, for the boy longed to
re-behold his own loved Ithaca, and could hardly wait to see the moon
grow full and round again.
"What mountain is that which looms up so grandly on our left, and whose
sides seem covered with dark forests?" asked Odysseus one day, as he
walked with his tutor beside the sea.
"It is famous Mount Pelion," said the bard; "and that other mountain
with the steeper sides, which stands out faintly against the far
horizon, is the scarcely less famed Ossa."
"I have heard my father speak of piling Pelion upon Ossa," said
Odysseus, "but I cannot understand how that can be done."
"There were once two brothers, the tallest that the grain-giving earth
has ever reared," said Phemius. "Their names were Otus and Ephialtes;
and they threatened to make war even against the deathless ones who
dwell on Mount Olympus. They boasted that they would pile Ossa on
Olympus, and Pelion, with all its woods, upon the top of Ossa, that so
they might make a pathway to the sky. And, had they lived to manhood's
years, no one can say what deeds they would have done. But silver-bowed
Apollo, with his swift arrows, slew the twain ere yet the down had
bloomed upon their cheeks or darkened their chins with the promise of
manhood. And so Pelion still stands beside the sea, and Ossa, in its
own place, guards the lovely vale of Tempe."[1]
[1] See Odyssey, Book xi. l. 306,
"Oh, now I remember something else about Mount Pelion," cried Odysseus.
"It was from the trees which grew upon its sides, that the ship Argo was
built. And I have heard my father tell how Cheiron the Centaur once
lived in a cave on Pelion, and taught the young heroes who came to learn
of him; and how young Jason came down the mountain one day, and boldly
stood before King Pelias, who had robbed old AEson, his father, of the
kingdom which was rightfully his. Would that I had been one of
Cheiron's pupils, and had shared the instruction which he gave to those
youthful heroes!"
"The old Centaur still lives in his cave on Mount Pelion," said Phemius.
"To-morrow, if King Peleus is willing, we will go and see him."
And so, the next day, the two went out of Iolcos, through vineyards and
fields and olive orchards, towards Pelion, the snow-crowned warder of
the shore. They followed a winding pathway, and came ere long to the
foot of the mighty mountain. Above them were frowning rocks, and dark
forests of pine, which seemed ready to fall upon and crush them. But
among the trees, and in the crannies of the rocks, there grew thousands
of sweetest flowers, and every kind of health giving herb, and tender
grass for the mountain-climbing deer. Up and up they climbed, until the
dark forests gave place to stunted shrubs, and the shrubs to barren
rocks. Then the pathway led downward again to the head of a narrow
glen, where roared a foaming waterfall. There they came to the mouth of
a cave opening out upon a sunny ledge, and almost hidden behind a broad
curtain of blossoming vines. From within the cave there came the sound
of music,--the sweet tones of a harp, mingled with the voices of
singers. Of what did they sing?
They sang of things pure and good and beautiful,--of the mighty sea, and
the grain-bearing earth, and the blue vault of heaven; of faith, strong
and holy; of hope, bright and trustful; of love, pure and mighty. Then
the singing ceased, and the harp was laid aside.
Odysseus and the bard went quickly forward, and stood waiting beside the
wide-open door. They could see, by looking in, that the low walls of
the cave were adorned with shields of leather or bronze, with the
antlers of deer, and with many other relics of battle or of the chase.
Upon the smooth white floor were soft couches of bearskins; and upon the
hearthstone in the centre blazed a bright fire of twigs, casting a
ruddy, flickering light into the farthest nook and cranny of that
strange room.
They had not long to wait at the door. An old man with white hair, and
beard reaching to his waist, with eyes as clear and bright as those of a
falcon, and with a step as firm as that of youth, came quickly forward
to greet them. Odysseus thought that he had never seen a man with so
noble and yet so sad a mien.
"Hail, strangers!" said the aged hero, taking their hands. "Hail, son
of Laertes--for I know thee!--welcome to the home of Cheiron, the last
of his race! Come in, and you shall be kindly entertained; and after you
have rested your weary limbs, you shall tell me why you have come to
Pelion, and what favor you have to ask of me."
Therewith he turned again into the broad cave-hall, and Odysseus and his
tutor followed him. And he led his guests, and seated them on pleasant
couches not far from the glowing fire upon the hearth. Then a comely
youth brought water in a stone pitcher, and poured it in a basin, that
they might wash their hands. And another lad brought wheaten bread, and
set it by them on a polished table; and another brought golden honey in
the honeycomb, and many other dainties, and laid them on the board. And
when they were ready, a fourth lad lifted and placed before them a
platter of venison, and cups full of ice-cold water from the mountain
cataract. While they sat, partaking of these bounties, not a word was
spoken in the cave; for old Cheiron never forgot the courtesy due to
guests and strangers. When they had finished, he bade them stay a while
upon the couches where they sat; and he took a golden lyre in his hands,
and deftly touched the chords, bringing forth the most restful music
that Odysseus had ever heard. He played a soft, low melody which seemed
to carry their minds far away into a summer land of peace, where they
wandered at will by the side of still waters, and through sunlit fields
and groves, and reposed under the shelter of calm blue skies, shielded
by the boundless love of the unknown Creator. When he had finished,
Odysseus thought no more of the toilsome journey from Iolcos, or of the
wearisome climbing of the mountain: he thought only of the wise and
wonderful old man who sat before him.
"Now tell me," said Cheiron, laying his lyre aside,--"tell me what
errand brings you hither, and what I can do to aid you."
"We have no errand," answered Phemius, "save to see one of the
immortals, and to listen to the words of wisdom and beauty which fall
from his lips. We know that you have been the friend and teacher of
heroes such as have not had their peers on earth; and this lad Odysseus,
who is himself the son of a hero, would fain learn something from you."
Cheiron smiled, and looked full into the young lad's face.
"I have trained many such youths as you for the battle of life," he
said. "And your father, as were all the Argonauts, was well known to
me. You are welcome to Mount Pelion, and to old Cheiron's school. But
why do you look at my feet?"
Odysseus blushed, but could make no answer.
"I understand it," said Cheiron, speaking in a tone of sadness. "You
expected to find me half man, half horse, and you were looking for the
hoofs; for thus have many men thought concerning me and my race. Long
time ago my people dwelt in the valleys and upon the plains of Thessaly;
and they were the first who tamed the wild horses of the desert flats,
and taught them to obey the hand of their riders. For untold years my
fathers held this land, and they were as free as the winds that play
upon the top of Pelion. Their warriors, galloping on their swift horses
with their long lances ready in their hands, knew no fear, nor met any
foe that could stand against them; and hence men called them
Centaurs,[2] the piercers of the air. But by and by there came a strong
people from beyond the sea, who built houses of stone, and lived in
towns; and these made cruel war upon the swift-riding Centaurs. They
were the Lapiths,[3] the stone-persuaders, and they had never seen or
heard of horses; and for a long time they fancied that our warriors were
monsters, half-steed, half-man, living wild among the mountains and upon
the plain. And so the story has gone abroad throughout the world, that
all the Centaurs, and even I, the last of the race, are hardly human,
but have hoofs and manes, and live as horses live.
[2] From [Greek: kentein ten auran].
[3] From [Greek: laas peithein].
"Long and sad was the war between the Centaurs and the Lapiths; but the
stone-persuaders were stronger than the piercers of the air. In time,
my people were driven into the mountains, where they lived as wild men
in the caves, and in the sunless gorges and ravines; and our enemies,
the Lapiths, abode in the rich valleys, and held the broad pasture-lands
which had once been ours. Then it chanced that Peirithous, king of the
Lapiths, saw Hippodameia, fairest of our mountain maidens, and wished to
wed her. Whether her father consented to the marriage, or whether the
Lapiths carried her away by force, I cannot tell; but Peirithous made a
great wedding feast, and to it he invited the chiefs of the Centaurs,
and great Theseus of Athens, and Nestor of sandy Pylos, and many others
of the noblest heroes of Hellas. Many wild and dark stories have been
told of what happened at that wedding feast; but you must remember that
all these stories have come from the mouths of our enemies, the
stone-persuading Lapiths, and that their truth may well be doubted. Let
me tell you about it, as I understand the facts to be:--