at first sight, in any of the valleys and dells that lay among the
precipitous heights of the mountains. Nothing at all; unless, indeed,
it were three spires of black smoke, which issued from what seemed to
be the mouth of a cavern, and clambered sullenly into the atmosphere.
Before reaching the mountain-top, these three black smoke-wreaths mingled
themselves into one. The cavern was almost directly beneath the winged
horse and his rider, at the distance of about a thousand feet. The smoke,
as it crept heavily upward, had an ugly, sulphurous, stifling scent,
which caused Pegasus to snort and Bellerophon to sneeze. So disagreeable
was it to the marvellous steed (who was accustomed to breathe only the
purest air), that he waved his wings, and shot half a mile out of the
range of this offensive vapor.
But, on looking behind him, Bellerophon saw something that induced him
first to draw the bridle, and then to turn Pegasus about. He made a sign,
which the winged horse understood, and sunk slowly through the air, until
his hoofs were scarcely more than a man’s height above the rocky bottom
of the valley. In front, as far off as you could throw a stone, was the
cavern’s mouth, with the three smoke-wreaths oozing out of it. And what
else did Bellerophon behold there?
There seemed to be a heap of strange and terrible creatures curled up
within the cavern. Their bodies lay so close together, that Bellerophon
could not distinguish them apart; but, judging by their heads, one of
these creatures was a huge snake, the second a fierce lion, and the third
an ugly goat. The lion and the goat were asleep; the snake was broad
awake, and kept staring around him with a great pair of fiery eyes.
But—and this was the most wonderful part of the matter—the three spires
of smoke evidently issued from the nostrils of these three heads! So
strange was the spectacle, that, though Bellerophon had been all along
expecting it, the truth did not immediately occur to him, that here was
the terrible three-headed Chimæra. He had found out the Chimæra’s cavern.
The snake, the lion, and the goat, as he supposed them to be, were not
three separate creatures, but one monster!
The wicked, hateful thing! Slumbering as two-thirds of it were, it still
held, in its abominable claws, the remnant of an unfortunate lamb—or
possibly (but I hate to think so) it was a dear little boy—which its
three mouths had been gnawing, before two of them fell asleep!
All at once, Bellerophon started as from a dream, and knew it to be the
Chimæra. Pegasus seemed to know it, at the same instant, and sent forth a
neigh, that sounded like the call of a trumpet to battle. At this sound
the three heads reared themselves erect, and belched out great flashes
of flame. Before Bellerophon had time to consider what to do next, the
monster flung itself out of the cavern and sprang straight toward him,
with its immense claws extended, and its snaky tail twisting itself
venomously behind. If Pegasus had not been as nimble as a bird, both he
and his rider would have been overthrown by the Chimæra’s headlong rush,
and thus the battle have been ended before it was well begun. But the
winged horse was not to be caught so. In the twinkling of an eye he was
up and aloft, half-way to the clouds, snorting with anger. He shuddered,
too, not with affright, but with utter disgust at the loathsomeness of
this poisonous thing with three heads.
The Chimæra, on the other hand, raised itself up so as to stand
absolutely on the tip-end of its tail, with its talons pawing fiercely in
the air, and its three heads spluttering fire at Pegasus and his rider.
My stars, how it roared, and hissed and bellowed! Bellerophon, meanwhile,
was fitting his shield on his arm, and drawing his sword.
“Now, my beloved Pegasus,” he whispered in the winged horse’s ear, “thou
must help me to slay this insufferable monster; or else thou shalt fly
back to thy solitary mountain-peak without thy friend Bellerophon. For
either the Chimæra dies, or its three mouths shall gnaw this head of
mine, which has slumbered upon thy neck!”
Pegasus whinnied, and, turning back his head, rubbed his nose tenderly
against his rider’s cheek. It was his way of telling him that, though
he had wings and was an immortal horse, yet he would perish, if it were
possible for immortality to perish, rather than leave Bellerophon behind.
“I thank you, Pegasus,” answered Bellerophon. “Now, then, let us make a
dash at the monster!”
Uttering these words, he shook the bridle; and Pegasus darted down
aslant, as swift as the flight of an arrow, right toward the Chimæra’s
threefold head, which, all this time, was poking itself as high as it
could into the air. As he came within arm’s-length, Bellerophon made a
cut at the monster, but was carried onward by his steed, before he could
see whether the blow had been successful. Pegasus continued his course,
but soon wheeled round, at about the same distance from the Chimæra as
before. Bellerophon then perceived that he had cut the goat’s head of the
monster almost off, so that it dangled downward by the skin, and seemed
quite dead.
But, to make amends, the snake’s head and the lion’s head had taken all
the fierceness of the dead one into themselves, and spit flame, and
hissed, and roared, with a vast deal more fury than before.
“Never mind, my brave Pegasus!” cried Bellerophon. “With another stroke
like that, we will stop either its hissing or its roaring.”
And again he shook the bridle. Dashing aslantwise, as before, the winged
horse made another arrow-flight toward the Chimæra, and Bellerophon aimed
another downright stroke at one of the two remaining heads, as he shot
by. But this time, neither he nor Pegasus escaped so well as at first.
With one of its claws, the Chimæra had given the young man a deep scratch
in his shoulder, and had slightly damaged the left wing of the flying
steed with the other. On his part, Bellerophon had mortally wounded the
lion’s head of the monster, insomuch that it now hung downward, with its
fire almost extinguished, and sending out gasps of thick black smoke.
The snake’s head, however (which was the only one now left), was twice
as fierce and venomous as ever before. It belched forth shoots of fire
five hundred yards long, and emitted hisses so loud, so harsh, and so
ear-piercing, that King Iobates heard them, fifty miles off, and trembled
till the throne shook under him.
“Well-a-day!” thought the poor king; “the Chimæra is certainly coming to
devour me!”
Meanwhile Pegasus had again paused in the air, and neighed angrily, while
sparkles of a pure crystal flame darted out of his eyes. How unlike the
lurid fire of the Chimæra! The aërial steed’s spirit was all aroused, and
so was that of Bellerophon.
“Dost thou bleed, my immortal horse?” cried the young man, caring less
for his own hurt than for the anguish of this glorious creature, that
ought never to have tasted pain. “The execrable Chimæra shall pay for
this mischief with his last head!”
Then he shook the bridle, shouted loudly, and guided Pegasus, not
aslantwise as before, but straight at the monster’s hideous front. So
rapid was the onset, that it seemed but a dazzle and a flash before
Bellerophon was at close gripes with his enemy.
The Chimæra, by this time, after losing its second head, had got into a
red-hot passion of pain and rampant rage. It so flounced about, half on
earth and partly in the air, that it was impossible to say which element
it rested upon. It opened its snake-jaws to such an abominable width,
that Pegasus might almost, I was going to say, have flown right down its
throat, wings outspread, rider and all! At their approach it shot out a
tremendous blast of its fiery breath, and enveloped Bellerophon and his
steed in a perfect atmosphere of flame, singeing the wings of Pegasus,
scorching off one whole side of the young man’s golden ringlets, and
making them both far hotter than was comfortable, from head to foot.
But this was nothing to what followed.
When the airy rush of the winged horse had brought him within the
distance of one hundred yards, the Chimæra gave a spring, and flung its
huge, awkward, venomous, and utterly detestable carcass right upon poor
Pegasus, clung around him with might and main, and tied up its snaky tail
into a knot! Up flew the aërial steed, higher, higher, higher, above the
mountain-peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of the solid
earth. But still the earth-born monster kept its hold, and was borne
upward, along with the creature of light and air. Bellerophon, meanwhile,
turning about, found himself face to face with the ugly grimness of the
Chimæra’s visage, and could only avoid being scorched to death, or bitten
right in twain, by holding up his shield. Over the upper edge of the
shield, he looked sternly into the savage eyes of the monster.
But the Chimæra was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard
itself so well as might else have been the case. Perhaps, after all, the
best way to fight a Chimæra is by getting as close to it as you can. In
its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy, the creature
left its own breast quite exposed; and perceiving this, Bellerophon
thrust his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart. Immediately the
snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold of Pegasus, and
fell from that vast height downward; while the fire within its bosom,
instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever, and quickly began
to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out of the sky, all aflame,
and (it being nightfall before it reached the earth) was mistaken for
a shooting star or a comet. But, at early sunrise, some cottagers were
going to their day’s labor, and saw, to their astonishment, that several
acres of ground were strewn with black ashes. In the middle of a field,
there was a heap of whitened bones, a great deal higher than a haystack.
Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful Chimæra!
And when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed
Pegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.
“Back now, my beloved steed!” said he. “Back to the Fountain of Pirene!”
Pegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and
reached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old man
leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and the
pretty maiden filling her pitcher.
“I remember now,” quoth the old man, “I saw this winged horse once
before, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those
days.”
“I own a cart-horse, worth three of him!” said the country fellow. “If
this pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his
wings!”
But the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be
afraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble
down, and broke it.
“Where is the gentle child,” asked Bellerophon, “who used to keep me
company, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into the
fountain?”
“Here am I, dear Bellerophon!” said the child, softly.
For the little boy had spent day after day, on the margin of Pirene,
waiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon
descending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had shrunk
back into the shrubbery. He was a delicate and tender child, and dreaded
lest the old man and the country fellow should see the tears gushing from
his eyes.
“Thou hast won the victory,” said he, joyfully, running to the knee of
Bellerophon, who still sat on the back of Pegasus. “I knew thou wouldst.”
“Yes, dear child!” replied Bellerophon, alighting from the winged
horse. “But if thy faith had not helped me, I should never have waited
for Pegasus, and never have gone up above the clouds, and never have
conquered the terrible Chimæra. Thou, my beloved little friend, hast done
it all. And now let us give Pegasus his liberty.”
So he slipped off the enchanted bridle from the head of the marvellous
steed.
“Be free, for evermore, my Pegasus!” cried he, with a shade of sadness in
his tone. “Be as free as thou art fleet!”
But Pegasus rested his head on Bellerophon’s shoulder, and would not be
persuaded to take flight.
“Well then,” said Bellerophon, caressing the airy horse, “thou shalt be
with me, as long as thou wilt; and we will go together, forthwith, and
tell King Iobates that the Chimæra is destroyed.”
Then Bellerophon embraced the gentle child, and promised to come to him
again, and departed. But, in after years, that child took higher flights
upon the aërial steed than ever did Bellerophon, and achieved more
honorable deeds than his friend’s victory over the Chimæra. For, gentle
and tender as he was, he grew to be a mighty poet!
THE HEROES SAIL AWAY IN SEARCH OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE
By Charles Kingsley
This is a tale of heroes who sailed away into a distant land to win
themselves renown forever, in the adventure of the Golden Fleece. Whither
they sailed, my children, I cannot clearly tell. It all happened long
ago; so long that it has all grown dim, like a dream which you dreamed
last year. And why they went I cannot tell: some say that it was to win
gold. It may be so; but the noblest deeds which have been done on earth
have not been done for gold.
The Spartans looked for no reward in money when they fought and died at
Thermopylæ; and Socrates the wise asked no pay from his countrymen, but
lived poor and barefoot all his days, only caring to make men good. And
there are heroes in our days also, who do noble deeds, but not for gold.
Our discoverers did not go to make themselves rich when they sailed out
one after another into the dreary frozen seas.
Therefore we will believe—why should we not?—of these same Argonauts of
old, that they too were noble men, who planned and did a noble deed; and
that therefore their fame has lived, and been told in story and in song,
mixed up, no doubt, with dreams and fables, and yet true and right at
heart. So we will honor these old Argonauts, and listen to their story as
it stands; and we will try to be like them, each of us in our place; for
each of us has a Golden Fleece to seek, and a wild sea to sail over ere
we reach it, and dragons to fight ere it be ours.
And what was that first Golden Fleece? I do not know, nor care. The old
Greeks said that it hung in Colchis, which we call the Circassian coast,
nailed to a beech-tree in the War-god’s wood; and that it was the fleece
of the wondrous ram who bore Phrixus and Helle across the Black Sea. For
Phrixus and Helle were the children of the cloud-nymph, and of Athamas
the Minuan king. And when a famine came upon the land, their cruel
stepmother Ino wished to kill them, that her own children might reign,
and said that they must be sacrificed on an altar, to turn away the anger
of the gods. So the poor children were brought to the altar, and the
priest stood ready with his knife, when out of the clouds came the Golden
Ram, and took them on his back, and vanished. Then madness came upon that
foolish king, Athamas, and ruin upon Ino and her children. For Athamas
killed one of them in his fury; and Ino fled from him with the other in
her arms, and leaped from a cliff into the sea, and was changed into a
dolphin, such as you have seen, which wanders over the waves forever
sighing, with its little one clasped to its breast.
But the people drove out King Athamas, because he had killed his child;
and he roamed about in his misery, till he came to the Oracle in Delphi.
And the Oracle told him that he must wander for his sin, till the wild
beasts should feast him as their guest. So he went on in hunger and
sorrow for many a weary day, till he saw a pack of wolves. The wolves
were tearing a sheep; but when they saw Athamas they fled, and left the
sheep for him, and he ate of it; and then he knew that the oracle was
fulfilled at last. So he wandered no more; but settled, and built a town,
and became a king again.
But the ram carried the two children far away over land and sea, till he
came to the Thracian Chersonese, and there Helle fell into the sea. So
those narrow straits are called “Hellespont,” after her; and they bear
that name until this day.
Then the ram flew on with Phrixus to the north-east across the sea which
we call the Black Sea now; but the Greeks call it Euxine. And at last,
they say, he stopped at Colchis, on the steep Circassian coast; and there
Phrixus married Chaleiope, the daughter of Aietes the king; and offered
the ram in sacrifice; and Aietes nailed the ram’s fleece to a beech, in
the grove of Mars the War-god.
After a while Phrixus died, and was buried, but his spirit had no rest;
for he was buried far from his native land, and the pleasant hills of
Greece. So he came in dreams to the heroes of the Minuai, and called
sadly by their beds, “Come and set my spirit free, that I may go home to
my fathers and to my kinsfolk, and the pleasant Minuan land.”
And they asked, “How shall we set your spirit free?”
“You must sail over the sea to Colchis, and bring home the Golden Fleece;
and then my spirit will come back with it, and I shall sleep with my
fathers and have rest.”
[Illustration: ON THE BANK OF ANAUROS SAT A WOMAN, ALL WRINKLED, GRAY AND
OLD—page 90
_From the painting by T. H. Robinson_]
Often he came thus, and called to them, but when they awoke they looked
at each other, and said, “Who dare sail to Colchis, or bring home the
Golden Fleece?” And in all the country none was brave enough to try it;
for the man and the time were not come.
Phrixus had a cousin called Æson, who was king in Iolcos by the sea.
There he ruled over the rich Minuan heroes, as Athamas his uncle ruled
in Bœotia; and, like Athamas, he was an unhappy man. For he had a
stepbrother named Pelias, of whom some said that he was a nymph’s son,
and there were dark and sad tales about his birth. When he was a babe
he was cast out on the mountains, and a wild mare came by and kicked
him. But a shepherd passing found the baby, with its face all blackened
by the blow; and took him home, and called him Pelias, because his face
was bruised and black. And he grew up fierce and lawless, and did many a
fearful deed; and at last he drove out Æson his stepbrother, and then his
own brother Neleus, and took the kingdom to himself, and ruled over the
rich Minuan heroes, in Iolcos by the sea.
And Æson, when he was driven out, went sadly away out of the town,
leading his little son by the hand; and he said to himself, “I must hide
the child in the mountains; or Pelias will surely kill him, because he is
the heir.”
So he went up from the sea across the valley, through the vineyards and
the olive groves, and across the torrent of Anauros, toward Pelion, the
ancient mountain, whose brows are white with snow.
He went up and up into the mountain, over marsh, and crag, and down, till
the boy was tired and footsore, and Æson had to bear him in his arms,
till he came to the mouth of a lonely cave, at the foot of a mighty cliff.
Above the cliff the snow-wreaths hung, dripping and cracking in the sun;
but at its foot around the cave’s mouth grew all fair flowers and herbs,
as if in a garden, ranged in order, each sort by itself. There they grew
gaily in the sunshine, and the spray of the torrent from above; while
from the cave came the sound of music, and a man’s voice singing to the
harp.
Then Æson put down the lad, and whispered: “Fear not, but go in, and
whomsoever you shall find, lay your hands upon his knees and say, ‘In the
name of Jupiter, the father of gods and men, I am your guest from this
day forth.’”
Then the lad went in without trembling, for he too was a hero’s son; but
when he was within, he stopped in wonder to listen to that magic song.
And there he saw the singer lying upon bear-skins and fragrant boughs:
Chiron, the ancient Centaur, the wisest of all things beneath the sky.
Down to the waist he was a man, but below he was a noble horse; his white
hair rolled down over his broad shoulders, and his white beard over his
broad brown chest; and his eyes were wise and mild, and his forehead like
a mountain wall.
And in his hands he held a harp of gold, and struck it with a golden key;
and as he struck, he sang till his eyes glittered, and filled all the
cave with light.
And he sang of the birth of Time, and of the heavens and the dancing
stars; of the ocean, and the ether, and the fire, and the shaping of the
wondrous earth. And he sang of the treasures of the hills, and the hidden
jewels of the mine, and the veins of fire and metal, and the virtues of
all healing herbs, and of the speech of birds, and of prophecy, and of
hidden things to come.
Then he sang of health, and strength, and manhood, and a valiant heart;
and of music, and hunting, and wrestling, and all the games which heroes
love; and of travel, and wars, and sieges, and a noble death in fight;
and then he sang of peace and plenty, and of equal justice in the land;
and as he sang the boy listened wide-eyed, and forgot his errand in the
song.
And at the last old Chiron was silent, and called the lad with a soft
voice. And the lad ran trembling to him, and would have laid his hands
upon his knees; but Chiron smiled, and said, “Call hither your father
Æson, for I know you, and all that has befallen, and saw you both afar in
the valley, even before you left the town.”
Then Æson came in sadly, and Chiron asked him, “Why camest you not
yourself to me, Æson the Æolid?”
And Æson said: “I thought, Chiron will pity the lad if he sees him come
alone; and I wished to try whether he was fearless, and dare venture like
a hero’s son. But now I entreat you by Father Jupiter, let the boy be
your guest till better times, and train him among the sons of the heroes,
that he may avenge his father’s house.”
Then Chiron smiled, and drew the lad to him, and laid his hand upon his
golden locks, and said, “Are you afraid of my horse’s hoofs, fair boy, or
will you be my pupil from this day?”
“I would gladly have horse’s hoofs like you, if I could sing such songs
as yours.”
And Chiron laughed, and said, “Sit here by me till sundown, when your
playfellows will come home, and you shall learn like them to be a king,
worthy to rule over gallant men.”
Then he turned to Æson, and said, “Go back in peace, and bend before the
storm like a prudent man. This boy shall not cross the Anauros again,
till he has become a glory to you and to the house of Æolus.”
And Æson wept over his son and went away; but the boy did not weep, so
full was his fancy of that strange cave, and the Centaur, and his song,
and the playfellows whom he was to see.
Then Chiron put the lyre into his hands, and taught him how to play it,
till the sun sank low behind the cliff, and a shout was heard outside.
And then in came the sons of the heroes, Æneas, and Hercules, and Peleus,
and many another mighty name. And great Chiron leaped up joyfully, and
his hoofs made the cave resound, as they shouted, “Come out, Father
Chiron; come out and see our game.” And one cried, “I have killed two
deer”; and another, “I took a wildcat among the crags”; and Hercules
dragged a wild goat after him by its horns, for he was as huge as a
mountain crag; and Cœneus carried a bear-cub under each arm, and laughed
when they scratched and bit, for neither tooth nor steel could wound
him. And Chiron praised them all, each according to his deserts.
Only one walked apart and silent, Æsculapius, the too-wise child,
carrying herbs and flowers, and round his wrist a spotted snake; he came
with downcast eyes to Chiron, and whispered how he had watched the snake
cast its old skin, and grow young again before his eyes, and how he had
gone down into a village in the vale, and cured a dying man with a herb
which he had seen a sick goat eat.
And Chiron smiled, and said, “To each Minerva and Apollo gave some gift,
and each is worthy in his place; but to this child they have given an
honor beyond all honors, to cure while others kill.”
Then the lads brought in wood and split it, and lighted a blazing fire;
and others skinned the deer and quartered them, and set them to roast
before the fire; and while the venison was cooking they bathed in the
snow torrent, and washed away the dust and sweat.
And then all ate till they could eat no more (for they had tasted nothing
since the dawn), and drank of the clear spring water. And when the
remnants were put away, they all lay down upon the skins and leaves about
the fire, and each took the lyre in turn, and sang and played with all
his heart.
After a while they all went out to a plot of grass at the cave’s mouth,
and there they boxed, and ran, and wrestled, and laughed till the stones
fell from the cliffs.
Then Chiron took his lyre, and all the lads joined hands; and as he
played, they danced to his measure, in and out, and round and round.
There they danced hand in hand, till the night fell over land and sea,
while the black glen shone with their broad white limbs and the gleam of
their golden hair.