much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first cradled
in a warrior’s brazen shield. While he lay there, two immense serpents
came gliding over the floor, and opened their hideous jaws to devour him;
and he, a baby of a few months old, had gripped one of the fierce snakes
in each of his little fists, and strangled them to death. When he was but
a stripling, he had killed a huge lion, almost as big as the one whose
vast and shaggy hide he now wore upon his shoulders. The next thing that
he had done was to fight a battle with an ugly sort of monster, called a
hydra, which had no less than nine heads, and exceedingly sharp teeth in
every one.
“But the dragon of the Hesperides, you know,” observed one of the
damsels, “has a hundred heads!”
“Nevertheless,” replied the stranger, “I would rather fight two such
dragons than a single hydra. For, as fast as I cut off a head, two others
grew in its place; and, besides, there was one of the heads that could
not possibly be killed, but kept biting as fiercely as ever, long after
it was cut off. So I was forced to bury it under a stone, where it is
doubtless alive to this very day. But the hydra’s body, and its eight
other heads, will never do any further mischief.”
The damsels, judging that the story was likely to last a good while, had
been preparing a repast of bread and grapes, that the stranger might
refresh himself in the intervals of his talk. They took pleasure in
helping him to this simple food; and, now and then, one of them would put
a sweet grape between her rosy lips, lest it should make him bashful to
eat alone.
The traveller proceeded to tell how he had chased a very swift stag,
for a twelvemonth together, without ever stopping to take breath, and
had at last caught it by the antlers, and carried it home alive. And he
had fought with a very odd race of people, half horses and half men,
and had put them all to death, from a sense of duty in order that their
ugly figures might never be seen any more. Besides all this, he took to
himself great credit for having cleaned out a stable.
“Do you call that a wonderful exploit?” asked one of the young maidens,
with a smile. “Any clown in the country has done as much!”
“Had it been an ordinary stable,” replied the stranger, “I should not
have mentioned it. But this was so gigantic a task that it would have
taken me all my life to perform it, if I had not luckily thought of
turning the channel of a river through the stable-door. That did the
business in a very short time!”
Seeing how earnestly his fair auditors listened, he next told them how
he had shot some monstrous birds, and had caught a wild bull alive and
let him go again, and had tamed a number of very wild horses, and had
conquered Hippolyta, the warlike Queen of the Amazons. He mentioned,
likewise, that he had taken off Hippolyta’s enchanted girdle, and had
given it to the daughter of his cousin, the king.
“Was it the girdle of Venus,” inquired the prettiest of the damsels,
“which makes women beautiful?”
“No,” answered the stranger. “It had formerly been the sword-belt of
Mars; and it can only make the wearer valiant and courageous.”
“An old sword-belt!” cried the damsel, tossing her head. “Then I should
not care about having it!”
“You are right,” said the stranger.
Going on with his wonderful narrative, he informed the maidens that as
strange an adventure as ever happened was when he fought with Geryon,
the six-legged man. This was a very odd and frightful sort of figure, as
you may well believe. Any person, looking at his tracks in the sand or
snow, would suppose that three sociable companions had been walking along
together. On hearing his footsteps at a little distance, it was no more
than reasonable to judge that several people must be coming. But it was
only the strange man Geryon clattering onward, with his six legs!
Six legs, and one gigantic body! Certainly, he must have been a very
queer monster to look at; and, my stars, what a waste of shoe leather!
When the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked
around at the attentive faces of the maidens.
“Perhaps you may have heard of me before,” said he, modestly. “My name is
Hercules!”
“We had already guessed it,” replied the maidens; “for your wonderful
deeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange, any
longer, that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the
Hesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!”
Then they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty
shoulders, so that the lion’s skin was almost entirely covered with
roses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it
about with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms, that not a
finger’s breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It looked all like
a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands, and danced around
him, chanting words which became poetry of their own accord, and grew
into a choral song, in honor of the illustrious Hercules.
And Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know
that these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it had
cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But, still, he was not
satisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy of
so much honor, while there remained any bold or difficult adventure to be
undertaken.
“Dear maidens,” said he, when they paused to take breath, “now that you
know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of the
Hesperides?”
“Ah! must you go so soon?” they exclaimed. “You—that have performed so
many wonders, and spent such a toilsome life—cannot you content yourself
to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful river?”
Hercules shook his head.
“I must depart now,” said he.
“We will then give you the best directions we can,” replied the damsels.
“You must go to the seashore, and find out the Old One, and compel him to
inform you where the golden apples are to be found.”
“The Old One!” repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. “And, pray,
who may the Old One be?”
“Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!” answered one of the damsels.
“He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very beautiful; but we
do not think it proper to be acquainted with them, because they have
sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must talk with this Old
Man of the Sea. He is a seafaring person, and knows all about the garden
of the Hesperides; for it is situated in an island which he is often in
the habit of visiting.”
Hercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met
with. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their
kindness—for the bread and grapes with which they had fed him, the
lovely flowers with which they had crowned him, and the songs and dances
wherewith they had done him honor—and he thanked them, most of all, for
telling him the right way—and immediately set forth upon his journey.
But before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after him.
“Keep fast hold of the Old One, when you catch him!” cried she, smiling
and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive. “Do not be
astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast, and he will
tell you what you wish to know.”
Hercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens
resumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked about
the hero, long after he was gone.
“We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,” said they, “when
he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying the dragon
with a hundred heads.”
Meanwhile, Hercules travelled constantly onward, over hill and dale,
and through the solitary woods. Sometimes he swung his club aloft, and
splintered a mighty oak with a downright blow. His mind was so full of
the giants and monsters with whom it was the business of his life to
fight, that perhaps he mistook the great tree for a giant or a monster.
And so eager was Hercules to achieve what he had undertaken, that he
almost regretted to have spent so much time with the damsels, wasting
idle breath upon the story of his adventures.
But thus it always is with persons who are destined to perform great
things. What they have already done seems less than nothing. What they
have taken in hand to do seems worth toil, danger, and life itself.
Persons who happened to be passing through the forest must have been
affrighted to see him smite the trees with his great club. With but a
single blow, the trunk was riven as by the stroke of lightning, and the
broad boughs came rustling and crashing down.
Hastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and
by heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound, he increased
his speed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves
tumbled themselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam.
At one end of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where
some green shrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look
soft and beautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with
sweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of the
cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there, but an old man,
fast asleep!
But was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it
looked very like one; but on closer inspection, it rather seemed to be
some kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For, on his legs and
arms there were scales, such as fishes have; he was web-footed and
web-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being of
a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of seaweed than of
an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber, that has been
long tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with barnacles,
and, at last drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up from the very
deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man would have put you in mind
of just such a wave-tost spar! But Hercules, the instant he set eyes on
this strange figure, was convinced that it could be no other than the
Old One, who was to direct him on his way.
Yes, it was the selfsame Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable maidens
had talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky accident of
finding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe towards him, and
caught him by the arm and leg.
“Tell me,” cried he, before the Old One was well awake, “which is the way
to the garden of the Hesperides.”
As you may easily imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright.
But his astonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of
Hercules, the next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed
to disappear out of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag
by the fore and hind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag
disappeared, and in its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and
screaming, while Hercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the
bird could not get away. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly
three-headed dog, which growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped
fiercely at the hands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let
him go. In another minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should
appear but Geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at Hercules with
five of his legs, in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But
Hercules held on. By and by, no Geryon was there, but a huge snake,
like one of those which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a
hundred times as big; and it twisted and twined about the hero’s neck
and body, and threw its tail high into the air, and opened its deadly
jaws as if to devour him outright; so that it was really a very terrible
spectacle! But Hercules was no whit disheartened, and squeezed the great
snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss with pain.
You must understand that the Old Man of the Sea, though he generally
looked so much like the wave-beaten figurehead of a vessel, had the power
of assuming any shape he pleased. When he found himself so roughly seized
by Hercules, he had been in hopes of putting him into such surprise and
terror, by these magical transformations, that the hero would be glad
to let him go. If Hercules had relaxed his grasp, the Old One would
certainly have plunged down to the very bottom of the sea, whence he
would not soon have given himself the trouble of coming up, in order to
answer any impertinent questions. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred, I
suppose, would have been frightened out of their wits by the very first
of his ugly shapes, and would have taken to their heels at once. For one
of the hardest things in this world is to see the difference between real
dangers and imaginary ones.
But, as Hercules held on so stubbornly, and only squeezed the Old One so
much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no small
torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own figure. So
there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of personage, with
something like a tuft of seaweed at his chin.
“Pray, what do you want with me?” cried the Old One as soon as he could
take breath; for it is quite a tiresome affair to go through so many
false shapes. “Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me go, this moment, or
I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil person!”
“My name is Hercules!” roared the mighty stranger. “And you will never
get out of my clutch, until you tell me the nearest way to the garden of
the Hesperides!”
When the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw, with
half an eye, that it would be necessary to tell him everything that
he wanted to know. The Old One was an inhabitant of the sea, you must
recollect, and roamed about everywhere, like other seafaring people. Of
course, he had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the wonderful
things that he was constantly performing, in various parts of the earth,
and how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he undertook.
He therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the hero how
to find the garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him of many
difficulties which must be overcome, before he could arrive thither.
“You must go on, thus and thus,” said the Old Man of the Sea, after
taking the points of the compass, “till you come in sight of a very
tall giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he
happens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of the
Hesperides lies.”
“And if the giant happens not to be in the humor,” remarked Hercules,
balancing his club on the tip of his finger, “perhaps I shall find means
to persuade him!”
Thanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having
squeezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey. He met with a
great many strange adventures, which would be well worth your hearing, if
I had leisure to narrate them as minutely as they deserve.
It was in this journey, if I mistake not, that he encountered a
prodigious giant, who was so wonderfully contrived by nature, that every
time he touched the earth, he became ten times as strong as ever he had
been before. His name was Antæus. You may see, plainly enough, that it
was a very difficult business to fight with such a fellow; for, as often
as he got a knock-down blow, up he started again, stronger, fiercer, and
abler to use his weapons than if his enemy had let him alone. Thus, the
harder Hercules pounded the giant with his club, the further he seemed
from winning the victory. I have sometimes argued with such people, but
never fought with one. The only way in which Hercules found it possible
to finish the battle was by lifting Antæus off his feet into the air, and
squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing him, until, finally, the strength
was quite squeezed out of his enormous body.
When this affair was finished, Hercules continued his travels, and went
to the land of Egypt, where he was taken prisoner, and would have been
put to death, if he had not slain the king of the country, and made
his escape. Passing through the deserts of Africa, and going as fast as
he could, he arrived at last on the shore of the great ocean. And here,
unless he could walk on the crests of the billows, it seemed as if his
journey must needs be at an end.
Nothing was before him, save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.
But, suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a
great way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed very
brightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk of the
sun, when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently drew
nearer; for, at every instant, this wonderful object became larger and
more lustrous. At length, it had come so nigh that Hercules discovered
it to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or burnished brass.
How it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can tell you. There it
was, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous billows, which tossed it up
and down, and heaved their foamy tops against its sides, but without ever
throwing their spray over the brim.
“I have seen many giants, in my time,” thought Hercules, “but never one
that would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!”
And, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large—as
large—but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it was.
To speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great mill-wheel;
and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving surges more
lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves tumbled it onward,
until it grazed against the shore, within a short distance of the spot
where Hercules was standing.
As soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not
gone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty well
how to conduct himself, whenever anything came to pass a little out of
the common rule. It was just as clear as daylight that this marvellous
cup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided hitherward, in
order to carry Hercules across the sea, on his way to the garden of the
Hesperides. Accordingly, without a moment’s delay, he clambered over
the brim, and slid down on the inside, where, spreading out his lion’s
skin, he proceeded to take a little repose. He had scarcely rested,
until now, since he bade farewell to the damsels on the margin of the
river. The waves dashed, with a pleasant and ringing sound, against the
circumference of the hollow cup; it rocked lightly to and fro, and the
motion was so soothing that it speedily rocked Hercules into an agreeable
slumber.
His nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to
graze against a rock, and, in consequence, immediately resounded and
reverberated through its golden or brazen substance, a hundred times as
loudly as ever you heard a church-bell. The noise awoke Hercules, who
instantly started up and gazed around him, wondering whereabouts he was.
He was not long in discovering that the cup had floated across a great
part of the sea, and was approaching the shore of what seemed to be an
island. And, on that island, what do you think he saw?
No; you will never guess it, not if you were to try fifty thousand times!
It positively appears to me that this was the most marvellous spectacle
that had ever been seen by Hercules, in the whole course of his wonderful
travels and adventures. It was a greater marvel than the hydra with nine
heads, which kept growing twice as fast as they were cut off; greater
than the six-legged man-monster; greater than Antæus; greater than
anything that was ever beheld by anybody, before or since the days of
Hercules, or than anything that remains to be beheld, by travellers in
all time to come. It was a giant!
But such an intolerably big giant. A giant as tall as a mountain; so vast
a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst, like a girdle, and hung
like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge eyes, so
that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in which he was
voyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up his great hands
and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as Hercules could discern
through the clouds, was resting upon his head! This does really seem
almost too much to believe.
Meanwhile, the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally touch
the strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from before the
giant’s visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its enormous features;
eyes each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a mile long, and a mouth
of the same width. It was a countenance terrible from its enormity of
size, but disconsolate and weary, even as you may see the faces of many
people, nowadays, who are compelled to sustain burdens above their
strength. What the sky was to the giant, such are the cares of earth
to those who let themselves be weighed down by them. And whenever men
undertake what is beyond the just measure of their abilities, they
encounter precisely such a doom as had befallen this poor giant.
Poor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient forest
had been growing and decaying around his feet; and oak-trees, of six or
seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced themselves
between his toes.
The giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and,
perceiving Hercules, roared out, in a voice that resembled thunder,
proceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face.
“Who are you, down at my feet there? And whence do you come, in that
little cup?”
“I am Hercules!” thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or
quite as loud as the giant’s own. “And I am seeking for the garden of the
Hesperides!”
“Ho! ho! ho!” roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. “That is a
wise adventure truly!”
“And why not?” cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant’s
mirth. “Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!”
Just at this time, while they were talking together, some black clouds
gathered about the giant’s middle, and burst into a tremendous storm
of thunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules found it
impossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant’s immeasurable legs
were to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and, now
and then, a momentary glimpse of his whole figure, mantled in a volume
of mist. He seemed to be speaking, most of the time; but his big, deep,
rough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the thunder-claps, and
rolled away over the hills, like them. Thus, by talking out of season,
the foolish giant expended an incalculable quantity of breath, to no
purpose; for the thunder spoke quite as intelligibly as he.
At last, the storm swept over, as suddenly as it had come. And there
again was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the
pleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it
against the background of the sullen thunderclouds. So far above the
shower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the
rain-drops!
When the giant could see Hercules still standing on the seashore, he
roared out to him anew.
“I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold the sky upon my
head!”
“So I see,” answered Hercules. “But, can you show me the way to the
garden of the Hesperides?”
“What do you want there?” asked the giant.
“I want three of the golden apples,” shouted Hercules, “for my cousin,
the king.”
“There is nobody but myself,” quoth the giant, “that can go to the garden
of the Hesperides, and gather the golden apples. If it were not for this
little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a dozen steps
across the sea, and get them for you.”
“You are very kind,” replied Hercules. “And cannot you rest the sky upon
a mountain?”
“None of them are quite high enough,” said Atlas, shaking his head. “But,
if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one, your
head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be a fellow
of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your shoulders,
while I do your errand for you?”