The chase of the stag with the golden horns had taken so long that
Eurystheus was beginning to give Hercules up for lost: and he was not
sorry, for he was becoming more and more afraid of the man who only
lived to do his bidding. He could not but think that his cousin must
be playing some deep and underhand game. So when Hercules came back,
with the stag following tamely at heel, he hid himself again, and by
way of welcome bade Hercules capture and bring him, alive, a very
different sort of wild beast--not a harmless stag, but the great and
fierce wild boar which had its den in the mountains of Erymanthus, and
ravaged the country round.
Hercules was getting weary of these labors, to which he saw no end.
Not for a moment did he think of disobeying, but he set out with a
heavy heart, and with some rising bitterness against his taskmaster.
His way to the mountains of Erymanthus lay through the country of the
Centaurs, and of his old teacher, Chiron.
Here he halted at the dwelling of one of the Centaurs, Pholus, who
received him kindly. But Hercules was feeling fairly worn out in
spirit, and Pholus failed to cheer him.
"What is the use of it all?" he complained. "No doubt the gods are
just, and ought to be obeyed; but they are not kind. Why did they send
me into the world, and give me strength, only to go about after wild
beasts at the bidding of a coward? Why did they give me passions, only
to have the trouble of keeping them down? If I had been like other
men--as weak and as cold-blooded as they are--I should have been
happy, and perhaps done some real good, and at any rate lived my own
life in my own way. It isn't as if I cared for glory, but I do want a
little peace and pleasure. Come, Pholus, let me have some wine: I want
it, and let it be in plenty!"
"I am very sorry," said Pholus. "I have no wine."
"Why, what is that, then?" asked Hercules, pointing to a big barrel in
the corner.
"That is wine," said Pholus; "but I can't give you any of it, because
it is not my own. It belongs to all the Centaurs; and, as it is public
property, nobody may take any of it without the leave of the whole
tribe."
"Nonsense!" said Hercules. "Wine I want, and wine I'll have."
So saying, he stove in the head of the cask with a single blow of his
fist, and, dipping and filling a goblet, began to drink eagerly.
The wine soon began to warm his blood and raise his heart. After the
first cup or two, the cloud which had been falling over him rolled
away, and life again seemed worth living for its own sake, and not
only for duty's. But he did not stop at two cups, nor at three; nor
even when it began to mount into his brain, and to bring back those
wild instincts which he thought he had left behind him in the Temple
of Apollo.
Meanwhile the news had spread among the Centaurs that Hercules was
among them, and making free with the public wine. The odor of the
broken cask brought a crowd of them at full gallop, and disturbed
Hercules in the midst of his carouse.
"Do you call this hospitality, you savages?" he shouted, stumbling out
of the house, and laying about him with his club freely among the
crowd, while Pholus vainly tried to prevent mischief. Down went
Centaur after Centaur, till those who were uninjured galloped away
panic-stricken, Pholus himself being among the slain.
"To Chiron!" cried the Centaurs; "he will know how to deal with this
madman."
They rode as hard as they could to Chiron's dwelling, Hercules,
furious with wine and anger, still pursuing. As they were outstripping
him, he let fly his arrows among them; and, as evil luck would have
it, at that very moment Chiron rode out from his gate to see what was
happening, and to quiet the disorder, and one of the arrows struck him
in the knee, and he fell.
Hercules became sober enough when he came up and found his old friend
and teacher writhing in terrible agony; for the arrow was one which he
had dipped in the deadly poison of the Hydra. He could only look on
with remorse. Chiron knew him, and, when the agony passed away into
death, gave him a look of forgiveness. What the wise Centaur's last
word to his favorite pupil was, I know not; but I think it must have
been something like: "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest
he fall."
* * * * *
I will not try to think of what Hercules felt when he watched the
burial of the friends whom he had slain in a fit of drunken passion,
for no cause. However, his duty lay still before him, and it had
become more clear. Never again would he complain of his fate, or
question the justice of the gods, or think of the life which had been
lent to him as if it were his own.
In due time, after a long and dangerous journey among the mountains,
he came upon the den of the great wild boar which he was to capture
alive. There was nothing to be done but to follow it as he had
followed the stag, watching for a chance of trapping it unawares: and
in the pursuit another whole year passed away. Then, in the middle of
winter, there fell such a snow that the boar was unable to leave its
den. Hercules forced his way through the snowed-up entrance, and tried
to seize the brute as he had seized the Nemean lion. The boar,
however, rushed past him, and would have escaped again had not the
snow hindered his running, and at last exhausted him. Hercules, though
nearly exhausted himself, chose the right moment for closing with him,
and, after a long struggle, bound him with a halter in such a manner
that, in spite of its efforts, he could drag it by main strength down
the mountain.
* * * * *
Once more Eurystheus had given Hercules up for lost: and the snow
prevented him from hearing any news beforehand. So when, while he was
standing at the city gate, there suddenly appeared before him, not
only Hercules--all grim and rough from his year's hunting--but the
largest and most savage wild boar in the world, looking ready to
devour him, he was so terrified that he whisked like a frightened
mouse into his pot, and did not dare come out again for seven days.
As for Chiron the Centaur, he became a constellation in heaven, where
he is still to be seen. He was the teacher of nearly all the heroes
and demi-gods: and after his death there seems to have been an end of
them. There have been plenty of brave men since; but not like Castor
and Pollux, Perseus, Theseus, and Hercules. Nor, since that fatal day,
does one hear of the Centaurs any more. Thus did one passing fit of
causeless anger, instantly repented of, destroy these wisest and most
valiant creatures, and deprive the whole world of more than it has
ever regained during thousands of years.
Hercules solemnly sacrificed the boar, and then took a little rest,
meditating on all that had befallen. But his rest was not to be for
long. For there was Eurystheus in his pot, trying to think of
something that should keep him occupied forever.
And--"I have it!" he exclaimed at last, summoning Hercules by a stroke
on his pot's brazen side.