Eurytion, the boldest of the Centaurs, rose quickly to his feet, and
beckoned to his fellows. Without a word they seized upon the bride;
they carried her, not unwilling, from the hall; they seated her upon a
swift steed which stood ready at the door; then in hot haste they
mounted, aiming to ride with their prize back to their mountain homes.
But the Lapiths were aroused, and rushed from the hall ere our horsemen
were outside of the gates. Fearful was the struggle which followed.
Our men were armed with pine clubs only, which they had hidden beneath
their cloaks, for they dared not bring weapons to the wedding feast.
The Lapiths fought with spears; and with pitiless hate they slew one
after another of the Centaurs, until hardly a single man escaped to the
mountains. But the war ended not with that; for Peirithous, burning
with anger, drove the remnant of my people out of their mountain homes,
and forced them to flee far away to the lonely land of Pindus; and I,
alone of all my race, was left in my cavern-dwelling on the wooded
slopes of Pelion."
When Cheiron had ended his story, Odysseus saw that his eyes were filled
with tears, and that his hand trembled as he reached again for his lyre,
and played a short, sad melody, as mournful as a funeral song.
"Why did you not go with your kindred to the land of Pindus?" asked
Phemius.
"This is my home," answered Cheiron. "The fair valley which you see
yonder was once my father's pasture land. All the country that lies
before us, even to the meeting of the earth and the sky, is the country
of my forefathers. I have neither parents, nor brothers, nor wife, nor
children. Why should I wish to go away from all that is dear to me?
This is a pleasant place, and the young boys who have been my pupils
have made my life very happy."
"Please tell us about your pupils," said Odysseus, moving nearer to the
wise old man.
"So many boys have been under my care," said Cheiron, "that I could not
tell you about them all. Some have come and been taught, and gone back
to their homes; and the world has never heard of them, because their
lots have been cast in pleasant places, and their lives have been spent
in peace. There have been others who have made their names famous upon
the earth; for their paths were beset with difficulties, and before them
loomed great mountains which they must needs remove or be crushed by
them. Among these latter were Heracles, doomed to a life of labor,
because another had usurped the place which he should have had; young
Jason, hiding from the cruel hatred of his uncle Pelias; and gentle
Asclepius, bereft of a mother's love, and cast friendless upon the
world's cold mercies. And there were also Peleus my grandson, who is
now your host at Iolcos; and Actaeon, the famous hunter; and many of the
heroes who afterward sailed on the Argo, to the golden strand of
Colchis. Each of these lads had a mind of his own, and tastes which it
was for me to foster and to train. Heracles was headstrong, selfish,
impulsive,--terrible when he did not bridle his passions; and yet his
great heart was full of love for the poor, the weak, and the
down-trodden, and he studied to make plans for lightening their burdens.
Jason loved the water; and wrapped in his cloak, he would sit for hours
on Pelion's top, and gaze with longing eyes upon the purple sea.
Asclepius delighted to wander among the crags and in the ravines of
Pelion, gathering herbs and flowers, and studying the habits of birds
and beasts. And Actaeon had a passion for the woods and the fields, and
had ever a pack of swift hounds at his heels, ready for the chase of
wild boar or mountain deer.
"When these lads came to me, I saw that I must give to each the food
which was best fitted for his needs, and which his mind most craved.
Had I dealt with all alike, and taught all the same lessons, I doubt if
any would have grown to manhood's full estate. But, while I curbed the
headstrong will of Heracles, I did what I could to foster his love of
virtue and his inventive genius; I taught young Jason all that I knew
about this wonderful earth, and the seas and islands which lie around
it; I led Asclepius farther along the pathway which he had chosen, and
showed him the virtues that were hidden in plants and flowers; I went
with Actaeon upon the chase, and taught him that there is no sport in
cruelty, and that the life of the weakest creature should not be taken
without good cause. Thus I moulded the mind of each of the lads
according to its bent; and each one grew in stature and in strength and
in beauty, before my eyes. And then there were general lessons which I
gave to them all, leading them to the knowledge of those things which
are necessary to the well-equipped and perfect man of our day. I taught
them how to wield the weapons of warfare and of the chase; how to ride
and to swim; and how to bear fatigue without murmuring, and face danger
without fear. And I showed them how to take care of their own bodies,
so that they might be strong and graceful, and full of health and vigor;
and I taught them how to heal diseases, and how to treat wounds, and how
to nurse the sick. And, more than all else, I taught them to reverence
and love that great Power, so little understood by us, but whom mankind
will some day learn to know.
"It was not long till Heracles went out in his might to rid the world of
monsters, to defend the innocent and the helpless, and to set right that
which is wrong; and, for aught I know, he is toiling still along the
straight road of Virtue, towards the blue mountains of Fame. And Jason,
as you know, left me, and went down to Iolcos, to claim his birthright
of old Pelias; and being bidden to bring the Golden Fleece to Hellas, he
built the Argo, and sailed with the heroes to far-away Colchis. It was
a proud day for me, his old teacher, when he came back to Iolcos with
the glittering treasure; and I trusted that a life of happiness and
glory was before him. But, alas! he had forgotten my teaching, and had
joined himself to evil; and Medea the witch, whom he loved, brought
untold misery upon his head, and drove him ere long to an untimely
death.
"Then Asclepius went out upon his mission; and everywhere that he went,
he healed and purified and raised and blessed. He was the greatest
conqueror among all my pupils; but he won, not by strength like
Heracles, nor by guile like Jason, but through gentleness and sympathy
and brotherly love, and by knowledge and skill and patient
self-sacrifice; and to him men gave the highest honor, because he cured
while others killed. But the powers of darkness are ever hateful
towards the good; and Hades, when he saw that Asclepius snatched back to
life even those who were at death's door, complained that the great
healer was robbing his kingdom. And men say that Zeus hearkened to this
complaint, and that he smote Asclepius with his thunderbolts. Then the
face of the sun was veiled in sorrow, and men and beasts and all
creatures upon the earth wept for great grief, and the trees dropped
their leaves to the ground, and the flowers closed their petals and
withered upon their stalks, because the gentle physician, who had cured
all pains and sickness, was no longer in the land of the living. And
the wrath of silver-bowed Apollo was stirred within him, and he went
down to the great smithy of Hephaestus, and, with his swift arrows, slew
the Cyclopes who had forged the thunderbolts for Zeus, and spared not
one. Then Zeus in his turn was filled with anger; and he sent the
golden-haired Apollo to Pherae, in Thessaly, to serve for a whole year
as bondsman to King Admetus."[4]
[4] See Note 7 at the end of this volume.
At this moment, a tall and very handsome lad, whom Odysseus had not yet
seen, came into the room. He was not more than six years old; his long
amber hair fell in waves upon his shoulders; his eyes twinkled and
flashed like the sunlight on the blue sea waves; he held his head erect,
and he walked with a noble grace which betokened the proud soul within
his breast. The eyes of Odysseus were fixed upon him, and he wondered
who this noble human being could be. Cheiron saw his questioning look,
and called the young lad to him.
"Odysseus," said he, "this is my great-grandchild, young Achilles, the
son of King Peleus your host. Something tells me that your life and his
will in after-times be strangely mingled; whether as friends or as foes,
I cannot tell. You shall be friends to-day, at least, and after a while
you shall go out together, and try your skill at archery. But,
Achilles, you may go now and play with your fellows: I have something
more to say to young Odysseus."
The lad turned, and left the room as gracefully as he had entered. Then
Cheiron turned again to Odysseus and the bard.
"I was telling you about my pupils," he said; "and I will speak of but
one other, for there are reasons why you should know his history.
Peleus, the son of AEacus and my loved daughter Endeis, was brought to
me by his mother from AEgina. There was something in the boy's face
which showed that a strange, sad life was to be his; and, although he
was not a promising lad, yet when he left me to go with Jason to
Colchis, I felt great grief at losing him. But by and by, after the
heroes had returned, I heard that Peleus had done many wicked things in
AEgina, and that he had been driven into exile for his crimes. He went
first to Ceyx in Thessaly, a lonely wanderer, cast off and forsaken by
all his friends. And a story is told, that in his loneliness and his
sorrow, he one day prayed to Zeus that he would give him companions.
And Zeus heard his prayer, and great armies of ants were changed at once
into men; and they did homage to Peleus, and became his subjects, and
hence he is still called the King of the Myrmidons. Then he went to
Phthia where Eurytion reigned. And Eurytion purified him from his
crimes, and gave him his daughter Antigone in wedlock, and with her the
third of his kingdom. But in an evil day they hunted the wild boar
together in the woods of Calydon, and Peleus unwittingly slew his friend
with an ill-aimed arrow. Then he fled from the people of Phthia, and
came to Iolcos, where Acastus, the son of old Pelias, ruled. And
Acastus welcomed him kindly, and purified him from the stain of
Eurytion's death, and gave him of the best of all that he had, and
entertained him for a long time as his guest. But Astydamia, the wife
of King Acastus, falsely accused Peleus of another crime, and besought
her husband to slay him. Then the heart of Acastus was sad, for he
would not shed the blood of one who was his guest. But he persuaded
Peleus to join him in hunting wild beasts in the woods of Pelion; for he
hoped that then some way might open for him to rid himself of the
unfortunate man. All day long they toiled up and down the slopes; they
climbed the steep cliffs; they forced their way through brakes and
briery thickets; and at last Peleus was so overwearied that he sank down
on a bed of moss, and fell asleep. Then Acastus slyly took his weapons
from him, and left him there alone and unarmed, hoping that the wild
beasts would find and slay him. When Peleus awoke, he saw himself
surrounded by mountain robbers; he felt for his sword, but it was gone;
even his shield was nowhere to be found. He called aloud to Acastus,
but the king was dining at that moment in Iolcos. I heard his cry,
however; I knew his voice, and I hastened to his aid. The robbers fled
when they saw me coming; and I led my dear but erring grandson back to
my cavern, where the days of his boyhood and innocence had been spent.
"But I see that the sun is sinking in the west. I will say no more
until after we have partaken of food."
With these words Cheiron arose, and left the room. Odysseus, anxious to
become acquainted with the lads, arose also, and walked out into the
open air. Achilles was waiting for him just outside the door, and the
two boys were soon talking with each other as if they had long been
friends.
_*ADVENTURE VIII.*_
*THE GOLDEN APPLE.*
After the evening meal had been eaten and the cave-hall set in order,
the lads brought armloads of dry sticks and twigs, and threw them upon
the fire. And the flame leaped up, and shone upon all around with a
ruddy glow; and the great cavern was emptied of gloom, and was so filled
with light and warmth that it seemed a fit place for joy and pleasure.
Old Cheiron sat upon his high couch like a king upon his throne; and the
five comely lads, with Odysseus, sat before him, while Phemius the bard
stood leaning against the wall. After Cheiron had played a brief melody
upon his harp, and the boys had sung a pleasant song, the wise old
master thus began:--
"There is a cavern somewhere on Mount Pelion larger by far and a
thousand times more beautiful than this; but its doorway is hidden to
mortals, and but few men have ever stood beneath its vaulted roof. In
that cavern the ever-living ones who oversee the affairs of men, once
held high carnival; for they had met there at the marriage feast of King
Peleus, and the woods and rocks of mighty Pelion echoed with the sound
of their merry making. But wherefore should the marriage feast of a
mortal be held in such a place and with guests so noble and so great? I
will tell you.
"After Peleus had escaped from the plot which King Acastus had laid for
him, he dwelt long time with me; for he feared to go down upon the plain
lest the men of Iolcos should seize him by order of Acastus, or the folk
of Phthia should kill him in revenge for old Eurytion's death. But the
days seemed long to him, thus shut out from fellowship with men, and the
sun seemed to move slowly in the heavens; and often he would walk around
to the other side of the mountain, and sitting upon a great rock, he
would gaze for long hours upon the purple waters of the sea. One
morning as thus he sat, he saw the sea nymph Thetis come up out of the
waves and walk upon the shore beneath him. Fairer than a dream was
she,--more beautiful than any picture of nymph or goddess. She was clad
in a robe of sea-green silk, woven by the Naiads in their watery
grottos; and there was a chaplet of pearls upon her head, and sandals of
sparkling silver were upon her feet.
"As Peleus gazed upon this lovely creature, he heard a voice whispering
in his ear. It was the voice of Pallas Athene.
[Illustration: THE SILVER-FOOTED THETIS RISING FROM THE WAVES.]
"'Most luckless of mortal men,' she said, 'there is recompense in store
for those who repent of their wrong-doing, and who, leaving the paths of
error, turn again to the road of virtue. The immortals have seen thy
sorrow for the evil deeds of thy youth, and they have looked with pity
upon thee in thy misfortunes. And now thy days of exile and of sore
punishment are drawing to an end. Behold the silver-footed Thetis, most
beautiful of the nymphs of the sea, whom even the immortals have wooed
in vain! She has been sent to this shore, to be won and wedded by
thee.'
"Peleus looked up to see the speaker of these words, but he beheld only
a blue cloud resting above the mountain-top; he turned his eyes downward
again, and, to his grief, the silver-footed Thetis had vanished in the
waves. All day he sat and waited for her return, but she came not.
When darkness began to fall he sought me in my cave-hall, and told me
what he had seen and heard; and I taught him how to win the sea nymph
for his bride.
"So when the sun again gilded the crags of Pelion, brave Peleus hid
himself among the rocks close by the sea-washed shore, and waited for
the coming of the silver-footed lady of the sea. In a little time she
rose, beautiful as the star of morning, from the waves. She sat down
upon the beach, and dallied with her golden tresses, and sang sweet
songs of a happy land in the depths of the sounding sea. Peleus,
bearing in mind what I had taught him, arose from his hiding-place, and
caught the beauteous creature in his arms. In vain did she struggle to
leap into the waves. Seven times she changed her form as he held her:
by turns she changed into a fountain of water, into a cloud of mist,
into a burning flame, and into a senseless rock. But Peleus held her
fast; and she changed then into a tawny lion, and then into a tall tree,
and lastly she took her own matchless form again.
"And Peleus held the lovely Thetis by the hand, and they walked long
time together upon the beach, while the birds sang among the leafy trees
on Pelion's slopes, and the dolphins sported in the sparkling waters at
their feet; and Peleus wooed the silver-footed lady, and won her love,
and she promised to be his bride. Then the immortals were glad; and
they fitted up the great cavern on Mount Pelion for a banquet hall, and
made therein a wedding feast, such as was never seen before. The
vaulted roof of the cavern was decked with gems which shone like the
stars of heaven; a thousand torches, held by lovely mountain nymphs,
flamed from the niches in the high walls; and upon the floor of polished
marble, tables for ten thousand guests were ranged.
"When the wedding feast was ready, all those who live on high Olympus,
and all the immortals who dwell upon the earth, came to rejoice with
King Peleus and his matchless bride; and they brought rich presents for
the bridegroom, such as were never given to another man. They gave him
a suit of armor, rich and fair, a wonder to behold, which lame
Hephaestus with rare skill had wrought and fashioned. Poseidon bestowed
on him the deathless horses, Balios and Xanthos, and a deftly-wrought
chariot with trimmings of gold. And I, one of the least of the guests,
gave him an ashen spear which I had cut on Pelion's top, and fashioned
with my own hands.
"At the table sat Zeus, the father of gods and men; and his wife, the
white-armed Here; and smile-loving Aphrodite; and gray-eyed Pallas
Athene; and all the wisest and the fairest of the immortals. The
Nereides, nymphs of the sea, danced in honor of Thetis their sister; and
the Muses sang their sweetest songs; and silver-bowed Apollo played upon
the lyre. The Fates, too, were there: sad Clotho, twirling her spindle;
unloving Lachesis, with wrinkled lips ready to speak the fatal word; and
pitiless Atropos, holding in her hand the unsparing shears. And around
the table passed the youthful and joy-giving Hebe, pouring out rich
draughts of nectar for the guests.
"Yet there was one among all the immortals who had not been invited to
the wedding; it was Eris, the daughter of War and Hate. Her scowling
features, and her hot and hasty manners, were ill-suited to grace a
feast where all should be mirth and gladness; yet in her evil heart she
planned to be avenged for the slight which had been put upon her. While
the merry-making was at its height, and the company were listening to
the music from Apollo's lyre, she came unseen into the hall, and threw a
golden apple upon the table. No one knew whence the apple came; but on
it were written these words, 'FOR THE FAIREST.'
"'To whom does it belong?' asked Zeus, stroking his brows in sad
perplexity.
"The music ceased, and mirth and jollity fled at once from the banquet.
The torches, which lit up the scene, flickered and smoked; the lustre of
the gems in the vaulted roof was dimmed; dark clouds canopied the great
hall: for Discord had taken her place at the table, uninvited and
unwelcome though she was.
"'The apple belongs to me,' said Here, trying to snatch it; 'for I am
the queen, and gods and men honor me as having no peer on earth.'
"'Not so!' cried white-armed Aphrodite. 'With me dwell Love and Joy;
and not only do gods and men sing my praises, but all nature rejoices in
my presence. The apple is mine, and I will have it!'
"Then Athene joined in the quarrel. 'What is it to be a queen,' said
she, 'if at the same time one lacks that good temper which sweetens
life? What is it to have a handsome form and face, while the mind is
uncouth and ill-looking? Beauty of mind is better than beauty of face;
for the former is immortal, while the latter fades and dies. Hence no
one has a better right than I to be called the fairest.'
"Then the strife spread among the guests in the hall, each taking sides
with the goddess that he loved best; and, where peace and merriment had
reigned, now hot words and bitter wrangling were heard. And had not
Zeus bidden them keep silence, thus putting an end to the quarrel, all
Pelion would have been rent, and the earth shaken to its centre in the
melee that would have followed.
"'Let us waste no words over this matter,' he said. 'It is not for the
immortals to say who of their number is most beautiful. But on the
slopes of Mount Ida, far across the sea, the fairest of the sons of
men--Paris, the son of Trojan Priam--keeps his flocks; let him judge who
is fairest, and let the apple be hers to whom he gives it.'
"Then Hermes, the swift-footed messenger, arose, and led the three
goddesses over sea and land to distant Ida, where Paris, with no thought
of the wonderful life which lay before him, piped on his shepherd's
reeds, and tended his flock of sheep."
Here Cheiron paused in his story; and the five lads, who had heard it
oftentimes before, bade him a kind good-night, and withdrew into an
inner chamber to pass the hours in sleep. When more wood had been
thrown upon the fire, and the flames leaped up high and bright towards
the roof of the cave, Odysseus and Phemius sat down again before the
wise old master, and asked him to finish the tale which he had begun.
"But first tell us," said Odysseus, "about that Paris, who was to award
the golden apple to the one whom he should deem the fairest."
Then Cheiron smiled, and went on thus with his story:--
"On the other side of the sea there stands a city, rich and mighty, the
like of which there is none in Hellas. There an old man, named Priam,
rules over a happy and peace-loving people. He dwells in a great palace
of polished marble, on a hill overlooking the plain; and his granaries
are stored with corn, and his flocks and herds are pastured on the hills
and mountain slopes behind the city. Many sons has King Priam; and they
are brave and noble youths, well worthy of such a father. The eldest of
these sons is Hector, who, the Trojans hope, will live to bring great
honor to his native land. Just before the second son was born, a
strange thing troubled the family of old Priam. The queen had dreamed
that her babe had turned into a firebrand, which burned up the walls and
the high towers of Troy, and left but smouldering ashes where once the
proud city stood. She told the king her dream; and when the child was
born, they called a soothsayer, who could foresee the mysteries of the
future, and they asked him what the vision meant.
"'It means,' said he, 'that this babe, if he lives, shall be a firebrand
in Troy, and shall turn its walls and its high towers into heaps of
smouldering ashes."
"'But what shall be done with the child, that he may not do this
terrible thing?" asked Priam, greatly sorrowing, for the babe was very
beautiful.
"'Do not suffer that he shall live,' answered the soothsayer.
"But Priam, the gentlest and most kind-hearted of men, could not bear to
harm the babe. So he called Archelaus, his master shepherd, and bade
him take the helpless child into the thick woods, which grow high up on
the slopes of Ida, and there to leave him alone. The wild beasts that
roam among those woods, he thought, would doubtless find him, or, in any
case, he could not live long without care and nourishment; and thus the
dangerous brand would be quenched while yet it was scarcely a spark.
"The shepherd did as he was bidden, although it cost his heart many a
sharp pang thus to deal barbarously with the innocent. He laid the
smiling infant, wrapped in its broidered tunic, close by the foot of an
oak, and then hurried away that he might not hear its cries. But the
Dryads, who haunt the woods and groves, saw the babe, and pitied its
helplessness, and cared for it so that it did not die. Some brought it
yellow honey from the stores of the wild bees; some fed it with milk
from the white goats that pastured on the mountainside; and others stood
as sentinels around it, guarding it from the wolves and bears. Thus
five days passed, and Archelaus the shepherd, who could not forget the
babe, came cautiously to the spot to see if, mayhap, even its broidered
cloak had been spared by the beasts. Sorrowful and shuddering he
glanced toward the foot of the tree. To his surprise, the babe was
still there; it looked up and smiled, and stretched its fat hands toward
him. The shepherd's heart would not let him turn away the second time.
He took the child in his arms, and carried it to his own humble home in
the valley, where he cared for it and brought it up as his own son.