night; but he could not go back from his promise; so he gave them the
serpents’ teeth. Then he called for his chariot and his horses, and sent
heralds through all the town; and all the people went out with him to the
dreadful War-god’s field.
And there Aietes sat upon his throne, with his warriors on each hand,
thousands and tens of thousands, clothed from head to foot in steel
chain-mail. And the people and the women crowded to every window and
bank and wall; while the Minuai stood together, a mere handful in the
midst of that great host. Chalciope was there and Argus, trembling, and
Medea, wrapped closely in her veil; but Aietes did not know that she was
muttering cunning spells between her lips.
Then Jason cried, “Fulfil your promise, and let your fiery bulls come
forth.”
Then Aietes bade open the gates, and the magic bulls leaped out. Their
brazen hoofs rang upon the ground, and their nostrils sent out sheets
of flame, as they rushed with lowered heads upon Jason; but he never
flinched a step. The flame of their breath swept round him, but it singed
not a hair of his head; and the bulls stopped short and trembled when
Medea began her spell.
Then Jason sprang upon the nearest and seized him by the horn; and up and
down they wrestled, till the bull fell grovelling on his knees; for the
heart of the brute died within him; and his mighty limbs were loosed,
beneath the steadfast eye of that dark witch-maiden and the magic whisper
of her lips.
So both the bulls were tamed and yoked; and Jason bound them to the plow,
and goaded them onward with his lance till he had plowed the sacred field.
And all the Minuai shouted; but Aietes bit his lips with rage for the
half of Jason’s work was over, and the sun was yet high in heaven.
Then he took the serpents’ teeth and sowed them, and waited what would
befall. But Medea looked at him and at his helmet, lest he should forget
the lesson she had taught.
Every furrow heaved and bubbled, and out of every clod arose a man. Out
of the earth they rose by thousands, each clad from head to foot in
steel, and drew their swords and rushed on Jason, where he stood in the
midst alone. Then the Minuai grew pale with fear for him; but Aietes
laughed a bitter laugh. “See! if I had not warriors enough already round
me, I could call them out of the bosom of the earth.”
But Jason snatched off his helmet, and hurled it into the thickest of the
throng. And blind madness came upon them, suspicion, hate, and fear; and
one cried to his fellow, “Thou didst strike me!” and another, “Thou art
Jason; thou shalt die!” So fury seized those earth-born phantoms, and
each turned his hand against the rest; and they fought and were never
weary, till they all lay dead upon the ground. Then the magic furrows
opened, and the kind earth took them home into her breast; and the grass
grew up all green again above them, and Jason’s work was done.
Then the Minuai rose and shouted, till Prometheus heard them from his
crag. And Jason cried, “Lead me to the fleece this moment, before the sun
goes down.”
But Aietes thought, “He has conquered the bulls, and sown and reaped the
deadly crop. Who is this who is proof against all magic? He may kill the
serpent yet.” So he delayed, and sat taking counsel with his princes till
the sun went down and all was dark. Then he bade a herald cry, “Every
man to his home for to-night. To-morrow we will meet these heroes, and
speak about the Golden Fleece.” Then he turned and looked at Medea. “This
is your doing, false witch-maid! You have helped these yellow-haired
strangers, and brought shame upon your father and yourself!”
Medea shrank and trembled, and her face grew pale with fear; and Aietes
knew that she was guilty, and whispered, “If they win the fleece, you
die!”
But the Minuai marched toward their ship, growling like lions cheated of
their prey; for they saw that Aietes meant to mock them, and to cheat
them out of all their toil. And Oileus said, “Let us go to the grove
together, and take the fleece by force.”
And Idas the rash cried, “Let us draw lots who shall go in first; for,
while the dragon is devouring one, the rest can slay him and carry off
the fleece in peace.” But Jason held them back, though he praised them;
for he hoped for Medea’s help. And after a while Medea came trembling,
and wept a long while before she spoke. And at last: “My end is come, and
I must die; for my father has found out that I have helped you. You he
would kill if he dared; but he will not harm you, because you have been
his guests. Go, then, go, and remember poor Medea when you are far away
across the sea.” But all the heroes cried:
“If you die, we die with you; for without you we cannot win the fleece,
and home we will not go without it, but fall here fighting to the last
man.”
“You need not die,” said Jason. “Flee home with us across the sea. Show
us first how to win the fleece; for you can do it. Why else are you the
priestess of the grove? Show us but how to win the fleece, and come with
us, and you shall be my queen, and rule over the rich princes of the
Minuai, in Iolcos by the sea.” And all the heroes pressed round, and
vowed to her that she should be their queen.
Medea wept, and shuddered, and hid her face in her hands; for her heart
yearned after her sisters and her playfellows, and the home where she
was brought up as a child. But at last she looked up at Jason, and
spoke between her sobs: “Must I leave my home and my people, to wander
with strangers across the sea? The lot is cast, and I must endure it. I
will show you how to win the Golden Fleece. Bring up your ship to the
wood-side, and moor her there against the bank; and let Jason come up at
midnight, and one brave comrade with him, and meet me beneath the wall.”
Then all the heroes cried together, “I will go!” “and I!” “and I!” And
Idas the rash grew mad with envy; for he longed to be foremost in all
things. But Medea calmed them, and said, “Orpheus shall go with Jason,
and bring his magic harp; for I hear of him that he is the king of all
minstrels, and can charm all things on earth.”
And Orpheus laughed for joy, and clapped his hands, because the choice
had fallen on him; for in those days poets and singers were as bold
warriors as the best.
So at midnight they went up the bank, and found Medea; and besides came
Absyrtus her young brother, leading a yearling lamb.
Then Medea brought them to a thicket beside the War-god’s gate; and there
she bade Jason dig a ditch, and kill the lamb, and leave it there, and
strew on it magic herbs and honey from the honeycomb.
Then sprang up through the earth, with the red fire flashing before
her, Brimo the wild witch-huntress, while her mad hounds howled around.
She had one head like a horse’s, and another like a ravening hound’s,
and another like a hissing snake’s and a sword in either hand. And she
leaped into the ditch with her hounds, and they ate and drank their fill,
while Jason and Orpheus trembled, and Medea hid her eyes. And at last
the witch-queen vanished, and fled with her hounds into the woods; and
the bars of the gates fell down, and the brazen doors flew wide, and
Medea and the heroes ran forward and hurried through the poison wood,
among the dark stems of the mighty beeches, guided by the gleam of the
Golden Fleece, until they saw it hanging on one vast tree in the midst.
And Jason would have sprung to seize it; but Medea held him back, and
pointed, shuddering, to the tree-foot, where the mighty serpent lay,
coiled in and out among the roots, with a body like a mountain pine. His
coils stretched many a fathom, spangled with bronze and gold; and half of
him they could see, but no more, for the rest lay in the darkness beyond.
And when he saw them coming he lifted up his head, and watched them with
his small bright eyes, and flashed his forked tongue, and roared like the
fire among the woodlands, till the forest tossed and groaned. For his
cries shook the trees from leaf to root, and swept over the long reaches
of the river, and over Aietes’ hall, and woke the sleepers in the city,
till mothers clasped their children in their fear.
But Medea called gently to him, and he stretched out his long spotted
neck, and licked her hand, and looked up in her face, as if to ask for
food. Then she made a sign to Orpheus, and he began his magic song.
And as he sung, the forest grew calm again, and the leaves on every tree
hung still; and the serpent’s head sank down, and his brazen coils grew
limp, and his glittering eyes closed lazily, till he breathed as gently
as a child, while Orpheus called to pleasant Slumber, who gives peace to
men, and beasts, and waves.
Then Jason leaped forward warily, and stepped across that mighty snake,
and tore the fleece from off the tree-trunk; and the four rushed down the
garden, to the bank where the _Argo_ lay.
There was a silence for a moment, while Jason held the Golden Fleece on
high. Then he cried, “Go now, good _Argo_, swift and steady, if ever you
would see Pelion more.” And she went, as the heroes drove her, grim and
silent all, with muffled oars, till the pinewood bent like willow in
their hands, and stout _Argo_ groaned beneath their strokes.
On and on, beneath the dewy darkness, they fled swiftly down the swirling
stream; underneath black walls, and temples, and the castles of the
princes of the East; past sluice-mouths, and fragrant gardens, and groves
of all strange fruits; past marshes where fat kine lay sleeping, and long
beds of whispering reeds; till they heard the merry music of the surge
upon the bar, as it tumbled in the moonlight all alone.
Into the surge they rushed, and _Argo_ leaped the breakers like a horse;
for she knew the time was come to show her mettle, and win honor for the
heroes and herself. Into the surge they rushed, and _Argo_ leaped the
breakers like a horse, till the heroes stopped all panting, each man upon
his oar, as she slid into the still broad sea.
Then Orpheus took his harp and sang a pæan, till the heroes’ hearts rose
high again; and they rowed on stoutly and steadfastly, away into the
darkness of the West.
HUNTING THE CALYDONIAN BOAR
By Elsie Finnimore Buckley
In the city of Calydon long ago there were great rejoicings because the
queen Althæa had given birth to a son, her first-born, who, if he grew to
years of manhood, would in time sit upon the throne of his father Œneus,
and rule the land. Some seven days after the child was born it chanced
that the queen was lying in her chamber, with the babe upon her breast.
As she lay she watched the shadows playing up and down upon the walls,
and to her eyes they took strange forms of men and beasts. Now it was a
great fight she saw, with horses and chariots rushing over a plain, and
mighty warriors meeting face to face in battle; now it was a hunt, with
winding of horns and dogs straining at the leash, and a white-tusked boar
breaking through a thicket. But whether it was a hunt or whether it was a
battle, everywhere there was one figure of a man she watched—a man tall
and fair and brave, who stood out conspicuous among his fellows—such a
hero as her son might grow to be if he lived till years of manhood. And
she prayed that her vision might come true, and her son grow up to be a
hero—a man mighty in sport and mighty in battle. In time the flames died
down, and the fire burned clear and still upon the hearth. The queen’s
eyes grew heavy, and she was about to turn on her side to sleep when a
strange thing happened, which took from her all desire for rest. The wall
of the room in front of her, which had glowed bright and cheery in the
firelight, grew gray and misty and seemed to vanish before her eyes, and
through the opening there came towards her the forms of three strange
women, taller and more terrible than any women of earth. The first one
carried in her hand a skein of thread, the second a spindle, and the
third a pair of great sharp shears. The queen lay still and motionless
with terror as they came forward slowly arm in arm and stood beside the
couch, looking down upon the child at her breast. At length the first one
spoke.
“I give to thy child, Althæa, a thread of life exceeding bright and fair.”
“And I,” said the second, “will weave that thread into dark places, where
it will shine the brighter for the darkness round about, and bring him
honor and great renown.”
The third one said never a word, but walked slowly round the couch till
she stood before the fire on the hearth. A great brand had fallen from
the grate, and lay smouldering on the stones. Bending down, she took it
in her hand, and thrust it deep into the red-hot heart of the fire, and
stood watching it till it was well alight, and the tongues of flame shot
crackling upwards. Then she turned towards the queen.
“As soon as that brand upon the fire is consumed,” she said, “I will cut
the shining thread with my shears, and his life shall be as ashes cast
forth upon the wind.”
With a cry of terror the queen sprang up from her couch, rushed across
the room, and, drawing forth the blazing brand from the fire, she
smothered it in her gown, and crushed it beneath her bare feet, till not
a live spark remained about it. Then she hid it in a secret place where
she alone could find it, and cast herself upon her couch and knew no more.
For many a long day she lay between life and death, but at last the gods
had mercy, and her strength came slowly back to her. But when anyone
asked her the cause of her burning, she would shudder and mutter some
strange tale of a brand which fell from the fire, and would have burnt
out the life of her child. What she meant no one ever knew, but they
thought that the gods had stricken her with a sudden fever, and that,
not knowing what she did, she had burnt herself in the fire. But of the
half-burnt brand and of the word of the Fates they knew nothing, for
Althæa had said in her heart:
[Illustration: CHIRON, THE CENTAUR—page 105
_From the painting by Maxfield Parrish_]
“The Fates have spoken, and their word shall surely come to pass. A fine
and fair thread of life has Lachesis given to my son, and Clotho will
weave it into dark places, where it shall shine exceeding bright. The
gifts they have given are good. The hand of Atropos alone is against
him, and she has measured his life by the life of a frail piece of wood.
But so long as the gods shall give me strength no careless hand shall
place that brand upon the flames, and no man shall know the secret of
his life, for grief or madness may turn even the heart of a friend. On
me, and on me alone, shall my son’s life rest; for well do I know that
neither prayer nor sacrifice can avail to turn the heart of Atropos, the
Unswerving One.” So she kept the brand securely hidden where she alone
could find it. Many other fair children did she bear to Œneus the king,
but best of them all she loved Meleager, her first-born; for the word
that the Fates had spoken came true. He grew to be a great warrior and a
mighty man, and was feared by his foes and loved by his friends through
the length and breadth of the land. In all the country-side there was
no man who could hurl the javelin with such force and skill as he, and
whenever he went forth to battle the victory lay with the men of Calydon,
and he was called the savior and protector of his city.
When he was in the flower of his manhood, the call of Jason came from far
Iolcos for all the heroes of Greece to join him in his search for the
Golden Fleece. Amongst them sailed Meleager in the good ship _Argo_, and
came to the land of the dusky Colchians on the shores of the Black Sea.
He played his part like a man, and came back to Calydon with a fair name
for courage and endurance. Then was he hoisted on the shoulders of his
countrymen and carried through the streets of the city, and feasted right
royally in his father’s house.
Soon after his return it chanced that the harvest was more plentiful
than it had ever been within the memory of man. Wherefore Œneus the king
ordered a great thanksgiving to be held throughout the land in honor of
Bacchus and Ceres and Minerva, who had given such good gifts to men. At
every shrine and temple the altars smoked with sacrifice, and glad bands
of youths and maidens with garlands on their heads danced hand in hand
around, singing the song of the harvest.
When Diana, the huntress, saw that everywhere the altars smoked in honor
of Ceres and Bacchus and Minerva, but that never a single stone was
raised to her, she was filled with jealousy and wrath. One night, when
all the land lay sleeping, she left the mountains, where she loved to
hunt, and came down to Calydon. The arrows in her quiver rattled as she
strode along in her wrath, and the flash of her eyes was as the flash of
summer lightning across the sky. With great swinging strides she came and
stood over Œneus as he slept.
“O king,” she said, “too long have I been patient and waited for my dues;
but I will suffer thine ingratitude no more. When the young corn stands
green upon the plain, and the vine-leaves are shooting, and the trees
cast once more their shade upon the bare hill-side, then shalt thou have
cause to know my power. Broad and dark are the forests, and many a wild
beast lurks therein that is tame at my word alone. One of these will I
let loose upon thy land. Many a fair field shall be trodden underfoot,
and many a vineyard and olive-grove laid waste—yea, and red blood shall
flow, ere my wrath be assuaged, and I take away the pests from your
midst. I have spoken, and no sacrifice shall turn me from my word.”
Thus did she speak, saying the words in his ear, and turned and left the
room by the way she had come. With a start he awoke from his sleep and
looked around him, but no one could he see. Only a sudden storm of wind
lashed the branches of the trees against each other, and a dark cloud hid
the face of the moon.
“The sad winter-time is coming,” he thought, “with its storms and its
darkened days. Yet, lest there be aught in my dream, I will remember
Diana to-morrow, and her altars, too, shall smoke with sacrifice.”
So on the morrow a great festival was held in honor of Diana, the maiden
huntress, and Œneus laid aside all thought of his dream. But when the
spring-time came and the early summer, he had cause to remember it with
sorrow, for out of the forests there came a great boar which laid waste
all the country, right and left. In size he was more huge than an ox of
Epirus, whose oxen are the largest in the world, and the bristles on his
neck stood up like spikes. His breath was as a flame of fire that burned
up all that stood in his way, and his cruel little eyes gleamed red
with blood. Over the cornfields he raged, and trampled the green blades
beneath his hoofs, and with his strong, white tusks he tore down the
vine-branches and broke the overhanging boughs of the olive, so that the
young berries and fruit lay spoilt upon the ground. Not only did he lay
waste the fields, but the flocks and herds on the pasture-land were not
safe from his attack, and neither shepherds nor dogs could protect them
from his fury. Through all the country-side the people fled in terror for
their lives, and hid within the city walls, only now and again a band of
the bravest would go forth and lay nets and snares for him; but so great
was the strength of the beast that he broke through every trap they could
devise, and, killing any man who stood in his path, he would return, with
greater fury than before, to his attack upon the fields and cattle.
At length things came to such a pass that, unless the monster could
be checked, famine would ere long stare the people in the face. When
Meleager saw that neither prayer nor sacrifice would turn the heart of
Diana, nor any ordinary hunting put an end to the boar, he determined to
gather around him a band of heroes who, for the sake of glory, would come
together for the hunt, and either kill the beast or perish themselves
in the attempt. So he sent a proclamation far and wide through all the
kingdoms of Greece.
“O men of Greece,” he said, “the fair plains of Calydon lie trodden
underfoot by a grievous monster, and her people are fallen upon evil
days. Come hither and help us, all ye who love adventure, and fear not
risk nor peril, ye seasoned warriors whose spirit is not dead within you,
and ye young men who have yet your name to win. Come hither to us, and we
will give you fair sport and good cheer withal.”
In answer to his call there flocked from far and wide to Calydon a great
host of brave men, and mighty was the muster which gathered beneath the
roof of Œneus for the hunting of the boar. Jason himself came, the leader
of the Argonauts, and Castor and Pollux, the great twin brethren, whose
stars are in the sky. There was Theseus, too, who slew the Minotaur, and
Peirithous his friend, who went down with him to Hades, and tried to
carry off Proserpine from the King of the Dead. And swift-footed Idas
came, and Lynceus, his brother, whose eyes were so sharp that they could
see into the center of the earth. Others were there besides, whose names
are too many to tell, and Toxeus and Plexippus, the brothers of Althæa
the queen, whom she loved as she loved her own son Meleager. In the great
hall a sumptuous feast was spread, and loud was the laughter and bright
were the faces, as one friend met another he had not seen for many a long
day. The feast was well under way when one of the attendants whispered in
the ear of the king that yet another guest had come for the hunting of
the boar.
“Who is he?” asked the king.
“My lord, I know not,” the man replied.
“Well, keep him not standing without, at all events,” said Œneus, “but
show him in here, and we will make him welcome with the rest.”
In a few moments the man returned, and held back the curtain of the great
doorway for the newcomer to enter. All eyes were turned eagerly that way
to see who it might be, and a murmur of surprise ran round the hall; for
they saw upon the threshold no stalwart warrior, as they had expected,
but a maiden young and beautiful. She was clad in a hunter’s tunic, which
fell to her knee, and her legs were strapped about with leathern thongs.
Crosswise about her body she wore a girdle, from which hung a quiver full
of arrows, and with her right hand she leant on a great ashen bow like
a staff. Her shining hair fell back in waves from her forehead, and was
gathered up in a coil behind, and she held her head up proudly and gazed
round on the company unabashed. The glow of her cheek and the spring of
her step told of life in the open, and of health-giving sport over hill
and dale, so that she might have been Diana herself come down from her
hunting on the mountains.
She looked round the hall till her eyes fell on Œneus, the host, in the
place of honor, and in no wise troubled by the silence which her coming
had caused, she said: “Sire, for my late-coming I crave thy pardon.
Doubtless some of thy guests have come from more distant lands than I,
but, as ill-luck would have it, I chose to come by way of the sea instead
of by the isthmus. For a whole day I ate out my heart with waiting till
the wind fell, and I could cross over in safety.”
Concealing his surprise as best he could, Œneus answered: “Maiden, we
thank thee for thy coming, and make thee right welcome in our halls. Yet
we would know thy name who, a woman all alone, hast crossed barren tracts
of land and stormy seas unflinching, and come to take part in a hunt
which is no mere child’s sport, but a perilous venture, in which strong
men might hesitate to risk their lives and limbs.”
As she listened to his words she smiled. “O king,” she said, “thou hidest
thy surprise but ill. Yet am I not offended, nor will I make a mystery of
who I am. My name is Atalanta, and I come from the mountains of Arcadia,
where all day long I hunt with the nymphs over hill and over dale, and
through the dark forests, following in the footsteps of her we serve,
great Diana the huntress. At her command I stand before thee now, for
she said to me, ‘Atalanta, the land of Calydon lies groaning beneath
the curse, wherewith I cursed them because they forgot me, and gave me
not my dues. But do thou go and help them, and for thy sake I will lay
aside my wrath, and let them slay the monster that I sent against them.
Yet without thee shall they not accomplish it, but the glory of the hunt
shall be thine.’ Thus did she speak, and in obedience to her word am I
come.”