be the chosen one.
"But hearken to one word more!" cried Odysseus. "The most beautiful
woman in the world is a prize of priceless value; and he who wins that
prize will hardly keep it through the might of his unaided arm. Let us
bind ourselves by an oath that he whom Helen chooses shall be her wedded
husband, and that the rest will depart at once from Lacedaemon; and that
if any man, from near or far, shall carry peerless Helen from her
husband or her husband's home, then we will join our forces, and never
falter in the fight until we have restored her to him."
"And further still," added Ajax Telamon, "let us swear that should any
one of us forget the agreement made this day, then the remaining nine
and twenty will cause swift punishment, and terrible, to fall upon him."
Much more did shrewd Odysseus and the assembled princes say; and in the
end they made a solemn sacrifice to Father Zeus, and lifting up their
hands they swore that they would hold to all that had been spoken. Then,
at an hour which had been set, they went out to make trial of their
skill in all kinds of manly games, so that each might show wherein he
excelled all other men, and thus stand higher in the regards of
matchless Helen. And the heralds made announcement, and a great company
followed them to the broad market-place between the palace and the city
walls. King Tyndareus, happy that his perplexities were soon to end,
sat upon a high throne overlooking the place; and at his side stood the
glorious twins, Castor and Polydeuces, clad in their snow-white armor.
But Helen, dowered with beauty by the gods, stood with her maidens at
the window of her high-built chamber, and watched the contest from afar.
Then all the suitors, arrayed in princely garments, as became the
mightiest men of Hellas, stood up in the lists, each for himself to take
his part in the games. And each fondly believed that he, among them all,
was the favored suitor of fair Helen. But shrewd Odysseus kept his own
counsels, and wisely planned to reach the ends which he so much desired.
Then the games began. And they made trial, first, in throwing the heavy
spear; and gray-bearded Idomeneus led all the rest. Then in shooting
with the bow; and Odysseus was far the best, for no one else could
string or handle the matchless bow of Eurytus. Then in throwing heavy
weights; and Ajax, son of Telamon, sent a huge stone hurtling from his
strong arms far beyond all other marks. Then in wrestling; and there
was not one that could withstand the stout-limbed son of Oileus. Then
in boxing; and Philoctetes, the armor-bearer of Heracles, carried off
the palm. Then in fencing with the broad-sword; and Diomede held the
championship, and found no peer. Then in leaping; and Thoas of AEtolia,
one of the later comers, excelled all others. Then in the foot-race;
and here again the lesser Ajax left all the rest behind.
And now the car of Helios was sloping towards the western sea, and King
Tyndareus by a signal ordered that the games should cease.
"Come, my friends," said he, "the day is spent, and nothing can be
gained by further trials of strength and skill. Let us go forthwith to
my banquet hall, where the tables groan already with the weight of the
good cheer which has been provided for you. And when you have rested
yourselves, and put away from you the thought of hunger, fair Helen will
descend from her high chamber, and choose from among you him who shall
be her husband."
And all obeyed, and went straightway to the great banquet hall of the
king. Now the court, and the hall, and even the passage-ways of the
palace, were thronged with people old and young, noble and base-born;
for all had heard of what was to follow. And the steward of the king
had slain a score of long-wooled sheep, and many swine, and two
slow-footed oxen; and these he had flayed and dressed for the goodly
banquet. Then all sat down at the tables, and stretching forth their
hands, they partook of the pleasant food so bounteously spread before
them. And though some of the princely suitors had been beaten in the
games, yet all were merry and hopeful, and many a pleasant jest was
bandied back and forth among them.
"The son of Oileus should remember," said Nireus, "that the race is not
always to the swift."
"And Nireus should remember," said Thoas, "that beauty does not consort
with comeliness. Aphrodite did not choose Apollo for her husband, but
rather the limping smith, Hephaestus."
Then some one asked Nireus what was the price of hair-oils in Syma; and
this led to much merriment and many jokes about his smooth curls, his
well-shaven face, and his tight-fitting doublet.
"If his father were living," said one, "he would be setting a
bride-price upon him."
In the midst of the merriment, a herald passed through the hall, crying
out, "Remember your oaths, O princes of the Hellenes! Remember your
promises to the immortal gods!"
A silence fell upon that multitude, like the stillness which takes hold
upon all nature when waiting for the thunder-cloud to vent its fury upon
the plains. And the minstrel, who sat upon a raised seat at the farther
side of the hall, touched his harp with his deft fingers, and brought
forth sounds so sweet and low and musical that the ears of all the
hearers were entranced. Then the door of the inner chamber opened, and
the glorious Helen, leaning on the arm of old Tyndareus, came forth to
make her choice. The hearts of all the suitors stood still; they could
not bear to look toward her, although her heavenly beauty was modestly
hidden beneath her thick veil. She came into the hall: she passed
Idomeneus, who sat nearest the inner chamber; she passed the mighty
Ajax, him of the noble form and the eagle eye; she passed the doughty
Diomede, wielder of the sword; she passed Philoctetes, and Odysseus, and
the stout-limbed son of Oileus. The hearts of the younger suitors on
the hither side of the hall began to beat with high hopes.
"She surely has her eyes on me!" said the coxcomb Nireus, speaking to
himself.
She came to the table where Menelaus, the brother of Agamemnon, sat.
She paused a moment, and then she held out her lily-white hand, in token
that he was the husband of her choice. The great silence was at once
broken, and a mighty shout went up to the high roof of the palace.
Every one of the slighted suitors felt for an instant the keen pang of
disappointment; then, remembering their oaths, all joined in wishing joy
to Menelaus and his bride. Some, however, chagrined and crestfallen,
soon withdrew from the palace; and calling their servitors about them,
they secretly and in haste departed from Lacedaemon. When the morning
dawned, only ten of the young princes still staid in the halls of old
Tyndareus.
It was easy to understand why these remained. Sweet-faced Penelope had
won other hearts beside that of young Odysseus. "Since the glorious
Helen is to be the bride of Menelaus," said each of those who tarried,
"why shall not her fair cousin--who is worthier if not so beautiful--be
mine to wed?"
And straightway they beset Icarius with offers of rich gifts, begging
him to set a bride-price on his daughter, and bestow her upon him who
should agree most willingly to pay it. The old man was sorely troubled,
for he loved his daughter dearly; and he could not bear the thought that
a strange prince should lead her into distant lands where, perchance,
his eyes should never more behold her.
While he pondered sadly, sitting alone and bewildered in his chamber, he
heard a minstrel singing in the hall. He listened. It was a song about
Atalanta the fair huntress of Arcadia, beginning with the time when
Meleager of the golden hair awarded her the prize in the far-off wood of
Calydon.
Then the minstrel sang of the maiden's return to Arcadia: How she had
stopped at Delphi on her way, and had asked the Pythia in Apollo's
temple to reveal the secrets of her future life. How the oracle could
tell her nothing of the things that would befall her, but only gave her
this advice: "Keep thyself from wedlock's chains!" How, when she came
again to her father's palace, she found him beset by suitors asking for
the hand of his fleet-footed daughter. Then the maiden, calling to mind
the Pythia's warning, besought her father to send the suitors home, and
let her, like Artemis, live unwedded; for she would be as free as the
winds which play in the lovely vales of Mantinea, or beat the bleak tops
of Mount Enispe. But old Iasus was a crafty man--an unfeeling father,
loving gold more than his daughter. "Behold," said he, "the bride-price
that is offered. Shall I refuse so great gain, simply to please thy
silly whims?" Then Atalanta was sorely troubled, and she prayed
Artemis, the huntress-queen, to send her help in the time of her great
need. And Artemis hearkened, and spoke words of comfort to her heart;
and kind Pallas Athene gave her wisdom.
"My father," said she to old Iasus, "take thou the bride-price that any
suitor may offer for me--but on these conditions: that he shall make
trial with me in the foot-race, and if he outrun me, then I will go with
him as his bride; but if I outstrip him in the race, then he is to lose
the bride-price offered, and his life is to be at your mercy."
Crafty Iasus was highly pleased, and he rubbed his palms together with
delight; and he caused the heralds to proclaim the terms on which the
matchless Atalanta might be won. Some of the suitors departed in
despair, for they knew that no mortal man was so fleet of foot as the
lovely huntress of Arcadia. But many others, less wise, put themselves
in training for the trial. Then one by one, like silly moths plunging
into the candle's flame, they went down to the race-course of old Iasus,
and tried their speed with that of the wing-footed damsel; but all
failed miserably, and none of them ever returned to their homes or their
loving friends. And Iasus grew rich upon the spoils--the jewels, and
the bride-gifts, and the arms--which he thus gained from the luckless
lovers.
One day Milanion, a youth from distant Scandia, came to try his fortune.
"Knowest thou the terms?" asked Iasus.
"I know them," was the answer, "and though they were thrice as hard, yet
would I win Atalanta."
And Atalanta, when she saw his manly, handsome face, and heard his
pleasant voice, was sad to think that one so noble and so brave should
meet so hard a fate. But Milanion went down to the race-course with a
firm step and a heart full of hope. For he had prayed to Aphrodite that
she would kindly aid his suit, and lend him wings to reach the goal in
advance of Atalanta; and Aphrodite had listened to his plea, and had
given him three golden apples, and had whispered a secret in his ear.
The signal was given, and youth and maiden bounded from the lists like
arrows shot from a bow. But the maiden was much the fleeter of the two,
and was soon far in advance.
"Another fool will soon come to grief!" said Iasus, laughing loudly.
By this time Atalanta was near the turning-post, while Milanion,
straining every nerve, was many yards behind. Then he remembered the
secret which Aphrodite had whispered, and he threw one of the golden
apples far beyond the post. It fell upon the green lawn, a
stone's-throw outside of the course. The quick eyes of Atalanta marked
its beauty, and she ran to pick it up. And while she was seeking it
among the grass, Milanion passed the turning-post, and was speeding
swiftly back towards the goal. It was only a moment, however, until
Atalanta swift as the wind overtook him, and was again far in the lead.
Then the young man threw a second apple, this time some distance to the
right of the course. The maiden followed, catching it almost before it
fell; but Milanion had gained a hundred paces on her. Ere she could
again overtake him, he threw his third apple over his shoulder and to
the left of the course. Atalanta, forgetting in her eagerness that the
goal was so near, stopped to secure this prize also; and lo! as she
lifted her eyes, Milanion had reached the end of the course. Old Iasus
stormed with rage, and threatened many fearful things. But Milanion,
smiling, came boldly forward and claimed his bride; and she, blushing
and happy, covered her face with her veil, and followed him willingly to
the home of his fathers, in distant Cythera.
Such was the song which the minstrel sang, and to which Icarius listened
while sitting in his chamber. Suddenly a new thought seemed to strike
him, and he bade a herald call before him all the suitors of sweet
Penelope.
"My young friends," he said, "you have asked me for my daughter's hand,
and promised me a liberal bride-price. I need none of your gold, nor do
I wish to give my daughter to a stranger with whom she would be loath to
go. Hence I shall do after this manner: He who shall win in a foot-race
to-day, on the long course beyond the market-place, shall be husband of
Penelope, but on this condition: that, if she choose to go with him,
then he is to have her without the payment of a price; but if she choose
to stay with me, then he shall pay me a rich dower, and straightway
depart forever from the gates of Lacedaemon."
The suitors heard the words of old Icarius, and all assented. Then soon
the people were gathered again in the broad market-place; the long
race-course was cleared and put in order, and every thing was made ready
for the trial. The trumpet sounded, and the young princes came forward
lightly clad for the race. Palamedes, the cousin of Menelaus, fair and
tall; and Ajax Oileus, who had won the race on the preceding day; and
Megas, brave as Mars, from far Dulichium; and Thoas, the AEtolian
prince; and Phidippus, the grandson of great Heracles; and Protesilaus,
from distant Thessaly; and Eumelus, son of Admetus and the divine
Alcestis; and Polypoetes, descended from the Lapith king Peirithous and
Hippodameia the daughter of the Centaurs; and Elphenor, the son of
large-souled Chalcodon, ruler of Euboea and the valorous Abantes; and
lastly, Odysseus, who had shrewdly planned all matters to this end.
Rarely have ten men so noble stood up together to contend for honors or
the winner's prize.
The word was given, and they darted forth, at once and swiftly, raising
a cloud of dust along the course. From the very start, they strained at
utmost speed; they reached the turning-post, and hurried onward to the
goal. But now stout Ajax no longer took the lead; for Odysseus ran
before the rest, and passed the goal, and came to the crowd by the
lists, while yet the others with laboring breath were speeding down the
course.
Old Icarius was pleased with the issue of the race. For he hoped that
Penelope would not consent to wed Odysseus and follow him to distant
Ithaca; and, if so, he would be happily rid of all the troublesome
suitors.
"Come here, my sweet daughter," he said. "This young man, a stranger
from a far-off land, has won thee in the games; yet the choice is thine.
Wilt thou leave thy old father, lonely and alone in Lacedaemon,
preferring to share the fortunes of this stranger? Or wilt thou stay
with me, and bid him seek a wife among the daughters of his own people?"
And sweet Penelope covered her face with her veil to hide her blushes,
and said, "He is my husband; I will go with him."
Icarius said no more. But on that spot he after wards raised a marble
statue--a statue of Penelope veiling her blushes--and he dedicated it to
Modesty.
Soon afterward Odysseus returned with his young wife to his own home and
friends in sea-girt Ithaca. And, next to Penelope, the richest treasure
that he carried thither was the bow of Eurytus.
_*ADVENTURE XIV.*_
*HOW A GREAT HERO MET HIS MASTER.*
Now, after two years and more had passed in peace, there came one day to
Ithaca an aged wanderer who had many things of great import to tell.
For he had been in every land and in every clime, and had trod the
streets of every city, even from Pylos to Iolcos by the sea; and he knew
what deeds had been done by all the heroes, and what fortunes or
misfortunes had befallen mankind in every part of Hellas. And Odysseus
and the elders of Ithaca loved to sit around him in the banquet chamber
of Laertes, and listen to his stories, of which there was no end. For
in that wonderful Golden Age, these strollers--blind bards and
story-tellers--were the people's newspapers, and oftentimes the only
means by which those of one country could learn aught of what was
passing in another.
"Alas! the world is no longer as it was in the days of my youth," said
the old newsmonger, one morning, with a sigh. "The heroes are all
passing away. Indeed, of the older race, I can now remember only three
who are still living,--Peleus, the king of the Myrmidons; Nestor, of
lordly Pylos; and Laertes, in whose halls we are sitting."
"You forget Cheiron, the wise master," said Odysseus.
"By no means," was the answer. "It is now seven years since Zeus took
him from earth, and set him among the stars. Some say that Heracles,
while fighting with unfriendly Centaurs, unwittingly struck the great
master with one of his poisoned arrows. Others say that the master,
while looking at an arrow, carelessly dropped it upon his own foot, thus
wounding himself unto death. But who is right, I cannot tell. I only
know that Cheiron lives no longer in his cave-hall on rugged Pelion, and
that the old heroes are all fast following him to the land of the
unknown."
"But what of Neleus, the old father of Nestor? And what of my dear
friend Iphitus of OEchalia? And what of great Heracles? Surely the
race of heroes still lives in them."
"Can it be that you have not heard the sad story?" asked the old man.
"Can it be that no one has yet brought to you the strange news, over
which all Hellas has been weeping? Two harvests now have passed since
the noble spirit of Iphitus fled down the dark ways,--it may be to the
gloomy halls of Hades, it may be to the dwelling-place of fair-haired
Rhadamanthus in the Islands of the Blest. And old Neleus followed
swiftly in his footsteps, his feeble life snuffed out by the mad hand of
Heracles. Nor did great Heracles himself long survive the evil deed and
the wrath of the eternal powers. But now he sits enthroned on high
Olympus, and walks the earth no more."
"Pray tell us how it all came about," said King Laertes anxiously.
Then the old news-monger, prefacing his story with a sad, wild song,
told how the greatest hero of the Golden Age met at last his master,
even Death, the master of all earth's creatures. And this was the story
that he told:--
"When Heracles fled from Calydon, as you already know, he went to
Trachis in Thessaly, close by the springs of OEta; and there he abode a
long time. Yet his mind was ill at rest, and dire forebodings filled
his soul; for cruel Here was threatening him with madness, such as had
once before darkened his life and driven him to deeds too terrible to
think upon. And so, at length, he kissed his dear wife and his lovely
babes, and went forth to wander once more in loneliness from land to
land. He knew that he would not return; and, unknown to Deianeira, he
left in his dwelling a letter, such as men write when they feel that the
end is drawing nigh. In it he told how the doves in the old oaks of
Dodona had shown him that within the space of a year and three months he
should depart from this earth; and then he gave directions how his goods
should be given to his children and his friends, and what they should do
to hold his memory in honor.
"After this he took ship, and came by sea to his old home at Tiryns,
where erstwhile he had served his brother and task-master, Eurystheus.
There he sojourned many days; and there he met Iphitus of OEchalia, his
friend in early youth, seeking twelve horses of great worth and beauty,
which had been stolen from him.
"'Go you to Pherae in Messene,' said Heracles, his mind even then
verging towards madness. 'It may be that the beasts have been taken by
the lawless men of that country, for they live by robbery. But if you
fail to find your horses there, come again to Tiryns, and report to me;
and then I will aid you, even though we should have to seek them in the
pasture lands of old Autolycus beneath the shadow of Parnassus.'
"So Iphitus, with a score of his bravest followers, went down into
Messene and Laconia, and even to the gates of Lacedaemon, looking for
his horses. But he found no traces of the beasts; and in time he came
again to Tiryns, as the great hero had directed him.
"Sad, however, was the day of his return, for the mind of Heracles was
shrouded in deep darkness. While Iphitus sat as a guest at his table,
the mighty son of Zeus arose in his madness, and slew him; and Heracles
cared not for the vengeance of the gods, nor for the honor of his own
board. Moreover, the goodly horses of Iphitus were even then feeding in
his stables at Tiryns, for Heracles himself had found them.
"But after this the light began to struggle feebly in his mind, and the
thought of his crime bore heavily upon him. Then he remembered old
Neleus, the most ancient of men, and knew that he sat in the
market-place at Pylos dealing out justice to all who came to him. And
straightway he went by the nearest road to Pylos, and besought Neleus
the venerable to purify him for the evil deed that he had done. But
Iphitus and his father, old Eurytus, had been very dear to
Neleus,--comrades and friends, indeed, in the stirring days of their
youth.
"'The blood of good Iphitus be upon you,' said the old man to Heracles;
and he would not purify him, neither would he comfort him with words of
kindness.
"Then madness again overpowered the great hero, and in his wrath he
marched through Pylos breathing slaughter. And he slew old Neleus in
the market-place, and put his sons and the elders of Pylos to the sword,
sparing only the knightly Nestor, most discreet of men. But the fury of
the great hero was not to run unchecked. The ever-living powers can
never look with favor upon that man who slays his guest in his halls or
who deals harshly with old age. And so they caused Heracles to be sold
to Omphale, queen of Lydia, to serve her as a bond-slave for a year and
a day. And in that far-distant land he toiled at many a thankless task
until the days of his bondage were ended. Yet the great cloud was only a
little way lifted from his mind, and he thought to himself that all the
misery that had ever been his had come upon him through the house of
Eurytus. So he swore with a great oath, that, when he had gotten his
freedom, he would utterly destroy OEchalia, and would sell all its
people into bondage. For, in a dazed, unreasoning way, he remembered
fair Iole, and the slight which Eurytus had put upon him when he made
trial of his skill in archery.
"Now, when he was set free, he remembered all too well the vow which he
had made; and when he had overthrown OEchalia, and had taken captive all
the fair women and children, he bethought him that he would go again to
Trachis where his wife and children still dwelt. But on his way thither
he stopped for a time in Euboea to offer sacrifice to Zeus; and he sent
his herald Lichas on before him, with certain of the captives. When
Lichas came to Trachis, and made himself known to Deianeira, she asked
him what word he had brought from Heracles his master.
"'He is alive and well,' said the herald, 'and he tarries for a while in
Euboea to build an altar to Zeus.
"'Why does he do that?' asked Deianeira.
"'He does it to fulfil a vow,' answered the herald,--'a vow which he
made ere yet he had overthrown OEchalia and had led captive these fair
women whom thou seest.'