CHILDREN OF THE DAWN
OLD TALES OF GREECE
[Illustration: Each night Hero lighted her torch; each night Leander
swam across the narrow sea. _Page 117._]
CHILDREN OF THE DAWN OLD TALES OF GREECE
WRITTEN BY
ELSIE FINNIMORE BUCKLEY
INTRODUCTION BY ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ARTHUR SIDGWICK FRANK C PAPÉ
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
INTRODUCTION:
The aim of this volume is to present, in a form suitable for young
readers, a small selection from the almost inexhaustible
treasure-house of the ancient Greek tales, which abound (it is
needless to say) in all Greek poetry, and are constantly referred to
by the prose-writers. These stories are found, whether narrated at
length, or sometimes only mentioned in a cursory and tantalising
reference, from the earliest poets, Homer and Hesiod, through the
lyric age, and the Attic renaissance of the fifth century, when they
form the material of the tragic drama, down to the second century
B.C., when Apollodorus, the Athenian grammarian, made a prose
collection of them, which is invaluable. They reappear at Rome in the
Augustan age (and later), in the poems of Vergil, Ovid, and
Statius--particularly in Ovid's "Metamorphoses." Many more are
supplied by Greek or Roman travellers, scholars, geographers, or
historians, of the first three centuries of our era, such as
Strabo, Pausanias, Athenæus, Apuleius and Ælian. The tales are
various--stories of love, adventure, heroism, skill, endurance,
achievement or defeat. The gods take active part, often in conflict
with each other. The heroes or victims are men and women; and behind
all, inscrutable and inexorable, sits the dark figure of Fate. The
Greeks had a rare genius for storytelling of all sorts. Whether the
tales were of native growth, or imported from the East or
elsewhere--and both sources are doubtless represented--once they had
passed through the Greek hands, the Greek spirit, "finely touched to
fine issues," marked them for its own with the beauty, vivacity,
dramatic interest, and imaginative outline and detail, which were
never absent from the best Greek work, least of all during the
centuries that lie between Homer and Plato.
The eleven tales here presented from this vast store are (as will be
seen) very various both in date, character, and detail; and they seem
well chosen for their purpose. The writer of these English versions of
ancient stories has clearly aimed at a terse simplicity of style,
while giving full details, with occasional descriptive passages where
required to make the scene more vivid; and, for the same end, she has
rightly made free use of dialogue or soliloquy wherever the story
could thus be more pointedly or dramatically told.
The first story, called "The Riddle of the Sphinx," gives us in brief
the whole Theban tale, from King Laius and the magical building of the
city, to the incomparable scene from Sophocles' last play, describing
the "Passing of OEdipus." It even includes the heroic action of
Antigone, in burying with due rites her dead brother, in spite of the
tyrant's threats, and at the cost of her own life. No tale was more
often treated in ancient poetry than this tragedy of Thebes. Homer and
Hesiod both refer to it, Æschylus wrote a whole trilogy, and
Sophocles three separate dramas, on this theme. Euripides dealt with
it in his "Phoenissæ," which survives, and in his "OEdipus and
Antigone," of which a few fragments remain. And several other poets
whose works are lost are known by the titles of their plays to have
dealt with the same subject.
One other tale in this selection rests in large measure on the Attic
drama--namely, the story of Alcestis, the fourth in this series. As
far as we know, Euripides alone of the ancients treated this theme, in
his beautiful and interesting play "Alcestis," which is here closely
followed by our author. The past history of Admetus, the king, which
Euripides briefly summarises in the prologue, is here dramatized, and
adds much interest to the story, including as it does the Argonauts'
visit to Pelias, and the romantic imaginary scene of the king's first
meeting with Alcestis.
The two charming love-stories which come second and third in this
series, though unquestionably Greek in origin, reach us from Roman
sources, and bear clear evidence in their form and spirit of belonging
to a later age. The character of the love romance in "Hero and
Leander" and the transparent allegory of "Eros and Psyche" (Love and
the Soul), leave little doubt on this point. The former tale is
ascribed to a late Greek epic poet, Musæus, of whom nothing else is
known; and the latter we owe to Apuleius, a Roman philosopher and man
of letters in the second century A.D.
The fifth and tenth stories (in both of which Atalanta appears) rest
in their present shape on the authority of Apollodorus; but the
incidents of the Calydonian boar-hunt, and the race for the hand of
the princess, won by the suitor's clever trick of the golden apples,
are found as local traditions connected with two different parts of
Greece, Arcadia and Boeotia, and may be in their earliest form of
great antiquity.
The two fanciful stories of Echo and Narcissus, and Alpheus and
Arethusa, which form the sixth and ninth in this series, are among the
prettiest of Nature myths, and are characteristic Greek inventions.
The chase of Arethusa under the sea by the river-god Alpheus was to a
Greek the most natural of fancies, for to him all water was protected
by, or identified with, some god, nymph, or spirit; and the fancy was
especially easy to a dweller in the limestone district of Arcadia,
where streams may run underground for long distances, and reappear as
full-grown rivers from a cavern at the foot of the hills. The tale of
Echo in its present form comes only from Latin poetry (Ovid); but the
fancy that Echo was a spirit or nymph, which is the heart of the
story, may well be of unknown antiquity, especially among the most
imaginative of races, living in a land of rocky hills, the native home
of echoes.
Of the remaining stories (Pygmalion, Orpheus, and OEnone), the
briefest comment will suffice. The beautiful and pathetic tale of
Orpheus and Eurydice, which is best known to us from the incomparable
version of it at the close of Vergil's fourth "Georgic," we know on
good evidence to have been extant at least as early as Æschylus (fifth
century B.C.), and possibly much earlier. The touching story of
OEnone is post-Homeric, and is known to us only from Ovid and
Apollodorus. It is familiar to all Englishmen from the two beautiful
poems of Tennyson, which are respectively among the earliest and
latest of his works. The strange yet striking tale of Pygmalion also
comes to us from Apollodorus; and though it may be much older, it is
perhaps not likely to belong to an earlier time than the fourth
century B.C., a date which seems to be suggested both by the character
of the story, and the development of the art of sculpture implied in
it.
It only remains to commend these beautiful old stories, in their
English dress, to the favour of those for whom they are intended.
A. SIDGWICK.
OXFORD,
_September 9, 1908_.
CONTENTS
THE RIDDLE OF THE SPHINX
EROS AND PSYCHE
HERO AND LEANDER
THE SACRIFICE OF ALCESTIS
HUNTING THE CALYDONIAN BOAR
THE CURSE OF ECHO
THE SCULPTOR AND THE IMAGE
THE DIVINE MUSICIAN
THE FLIGHT OF ARETHUSA
THE WINNING OF ATALANTA
PARIS AND OENONE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FRONTISPIECE--Each night Hero lighted her torch; each night
Leander swam across the narrow sea
TITLE-PAGE
Heading to Introduction
Heading to Contents
Heading to List of Illustrations
She put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from side to
side like an angry lion waiting for his prey
With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more, and
Theseus followed after
On the bed, wrapped in slumber, lay the youngest and fairest of
the Immortals
Faster and faster he went, and up and down, and round and round
She unloosed the rope, and pushed out into the stream
"Help, help! I drown in this foul stream!"
She lowered her eyes in confusion, and her limbs trembled
beneath her, so that she leant back against the pillar for
support
From the shadow of the trees came the strange herdsman, playing
on his lyre
Admetus heeded neither shepherd nor shrine.... Without a thought
he passed the altar by
And the children crept silently to her
She answered him never a word, but held out both her hands and
raised him from his knees
As he spoke, he took her by the hand, and set her in a place of
honour between his father and himself
As the brute bore down, Meleager buried the spear deep in his
shoulder
For the last time he leaned forward
On the breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she
kissed the statue on the lips
From the shadow of the cave crept a wood-nymph, and lay upon the
grass
"Orpheus," she cried in her despair, "thy hand!"
On and on she fled, with the swiftness and strength of despair
"Oh, my father!" she cried
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the gleam of her tunic
Out of the stream beside him there rose a wondrous form of a
maiden clad all in misty white
Menelaus was bearing him in triumph towards the Achæan host
Cast herself upon the body of Paris, and put her arms about his
neck
Initials, Tail-pieces, etc.
Children of the Dawn
The Riddle of the Sphinx
Far away towards the east and the regions of the rising sun lies the
fair land of Hellas, a land famous from of old for mighty deeds of
mighty men, and famous to this day among the nations of the earth; for
though the mighty men, her heroes, have long since passed away, their
names live on for ever in the pages of her grand old poets, who sing
of their deeds in strains which still kindle the hearts of men, and
stir them up to be heroes too, and fight life's battle bravely.
Long ago, in the city of Thebes, there ruled a king named Laius and
his queen Iocasta. They were children of the gods, and Thebes itself,
men said, had been built by hands more than mortal; for Apollo had led
Cadmus the Phoenician, the son of Zeus, to the sacred spot where he
was to raise the citadel of Thebes, and Pallas Athene had helped him
to slay the monstrous dragon that guarded the sacred spring of Ares.
The teeth of the dragon, Cadmus took and planted in the plain of
Thebes, and from this seed there sprang up a great host of armed men,
who would have slain him; but he took a stone and cast it in their
midst, whereupon the serpent-men turned their arms one against
another, fighting up and down the plain till only five were left. With
the help of these five, Cadmus built the citadel of Thebes, and round
it made a wall so wide that a dozen men and more might walk upon it,
and so huge were the stones and so strong was the masonry that parts
of it are standing to this day. As for the city itself, the tale goes
that Amphion, the mightiest of all musicians, came with his lyre, and
so sweetly did he play that the hearts of the very stones were stirred
within them, so that of their own free-will they fell into their
places, and the town of Thebes rose up beneath the shadow of the
citadel.
For many a long day did Laius and Iocasta rule over the people of
Thebes, and all that time they had no children; for a dreadful curse
lay on the head of Laius that, if ever he had a son, by that son's
hand he should die. At last a boy was born to them, and Laius,
remembering the curse, swore that the child should never grow to
manhood, and he bade Iocasta slay him forthwith. But she, being his
mother, was filled with a great love and pity for the helpless child.
When it nestled in her arms and clung to her breast she could not find
it in her heart to slay it, and she wept over it many a bitter salt
tear, and pressed it closer to her bosom. As the tiny fingers closed
round hers, and the soft head pressed against her, she murmured,
"Surely, so little a thing can do no harm? Sweet babe, they say that I
must kill thee, but they know not a mother's love. Rather than that, I
will put thee away out of my sight, and never see thee more, though
the gods know I had sooner die than lose thee, my little one, my own
sweet babe."
So she called a trusty house-slave, who knew the king's decree, and
placing the child in his arms, she said,
"Go, take it away, and hide it in the hills. Perchance the gods will
have pity on it, and put it in the heart of some shepherd, who feeds
his flocks on distant pastures, to take the child home to his cot and
rear it. Farewell, my pretty babe. The green grass must be thy cradle,
and the mountain breezes must lull thee to sleep. May the gods in
their mercy bless thy childhood's hours, and make thy name famous
among men; for thou art a king's son, and a child of the Immortals,
and the Immortals forget not those that are born of their blood."
So the man took the child from Iocasta; but, because he feared the
king's decree, he pierced its ankles and bound them together, for he
thought,
"Surely, even if some shepherd wandering on the mountain-side should
light upon the child, he will never rear one so maimed; and if the
king should ask, I will say that he is dead."
But because the child wept for the pain in its ankles, he took it home
first to his wife to be fed and comforted, and when she gave it back
into his arms, it smiled up into his face. Then all the hardness died
out of his heart, for the gods had shed about it a grace to kindle
love in the coldest breast.
Now Cithæron lies midway between Thebes and Corinth, and in
winter-time the snow lies deep upon the summit, and the wild winds
shriek through the rocks and clefts, and the pine trees pitch and bend
beneath the fury of the blast, so that men called it the home of the
Furies, the Awful Goddesses, who track out sin and murder. And there,
too, in the streams and caverns, dwell the naiads and the nymphs, wild
spirits of the rocks and waters; and if any mortal trespass on their
haunts, they drive him to madness in their echoing grottoes and gloomy
caves. Yet, for all that, though men called it dark Cithæron, the
grass about its feet grew fine and green, so that the shepherds came
from all the neighbouring towns to pasture their flocks on its
well-watered slopes. Here it was that Laius's herdsman fell in with a
herdsman of Polybus, king of Corinth, and, seeing that he was a kindly
man, and likely to have compassion on the child, he gave it him to
rear.
Now, it had not pleased the gods to grant any children to Polybus,
king of Corinth, and Merope, his wife, though they wreathed their
altars with garlands and burnt sweet savour of incense; and at last
all hope died out of their hearts, and they said,
"The gods are angry, and will destroy our race, and the kingdom shall
pass into the hands of a stranger."
But one day it chanced that the queen saw in the arms of one of her
women a child she had not seen before, and she questioned her, and
asked if it were hers. And the woman confessed that her husband, the
king's herdsman, had found it on dim Cithæron, and had taken pity on
it, and brought it home. Then the queen looked at the child, and
seeing that it was passing fair, she said,
"Surely this is no common babe, but a child of the Immortals. His hair
is golden as the summer corn, and his eyes like the stars in heaven.
What if the gods have sent him to comfort our old age, and rule the
kingdom when we are dead? I will rear him in the palace as my own son,
and he shall be a prince in the land of Corinth."
So the child lived in the palace, and became a son to Polybus and
Merope, and heir to the kingdom. For want of a name they called him
OEdipus, because his ankles, when they found him, were all swollen
by the pin that the herdsman had put through them. As he grew up, he
found favour in all men's eyes, for he was tall and comely and cunning
withal.
"The gods are gracious," men said, "to grant the king such a son, and
the people of Corinth so mighty a prince, to rule over them in days to
come."
For as yet they knew not that he was a foundling, and no true heir to
the throne.
Now, while the child was still young, he played about the courts of
the palace, and in running and leaping and in feats of strength and
hardihood of heart there was none to beat him among his playmates, or
even to stand up against him, save one. But so well matched were these
two, that the other children would gather round them in a ring to
watch them box and wrestle, and the victor they would carry on their
shoulders round the echoing galleries with shouting and clapping of
hands; and sometimes it was OEdipus, and sometimes the other lad.
But at length there came a time when again and again OEdipus was
proved the stronger, and again and again the other slunk home beaten,
like a cur that has been whipped: and he brooded over his defeat, and
nourished hatred in his heart against OEdipus, and vowed that one
day he would have his revenge by fair means or by foul.
But when Merope the queen saw OEdipus growing tall and fair, and
surpassing all his comrades in strength, she took him up one day on to
the citadel, and showed him all the lovely land of Hellas lying at his
feet. Below them spread the shining city, with its colonnades and
fountains and stately temples of the gods, like some jewel in the
golden sands, and far away to the westward stretched the blue
Corinthian Gulf, till the mountains of Ætolia seemed to join hands
with their sisters in Peloponnese. And she showed him the hills of
Arcadia, the land of song and shepherds, where Pan plays his pipe
beneath the oak-trees, and nymphs and satyrs dance all the day long.
Away to the bleak north-west stood out the snowy peaks of Mount
Parnassus and Helicon, the home of the Muses, who fill men's minds
with wisdom and their hearts with the love of all things beautiful.
Here the first narcissus blooms, and the olive and the myrtle and rosy
almond-blossom gently kiss the laughing rivulets and the shining,
dancing cascades. For Helicon was a fair and gentle youth whom his
cruel brother Cithæron slew in his mad jealousy. Whereupon the gods
changed them both into mountains, and Helicon is mild and fair to this
day, and the home of all good things; but Cithæron is bleak and
barren, because his hard heart had no pity, and the Furies haunt it
unceasingly. Then Merope turned him to the eastward and the land of
the Dawning Day, and showed him the purple peaks of Ægina and the
gleaming Attic shore. And she said to him,
"OEdipus, my son, seest thou how Corinth lies midway 'twixt north
and south and east and west, a link to join the lands together and a
barrier to separate the seas?"
And OEdipus answered,
"Of a truth, mother, he who rules in Corinth hath need of a lion's
heart, for he must stand ever sword in hand and guard the passage from
north to south."
"Courage is a mighty thing, my son, but wisdom is mightier. The sword
layeth low, but wisdom buildeth up. Seest thou the harbours on either
side, facing east and west, and the masts of the ships, like a forest
in winter, and the traffic of sailors and merchants on the shore? From
all lands they come and bring their wares and merchandise, and men of
every nation meet together. Think not, my son, that a lion's heart and
a fool's head therewith can ever be a match for the wisdom of Egypt or
the cunning of Phoenicia."
Then OEdipus understood, and said,
"Till now I have wrestled and boxed and run races with my fellows on
the sands the livelong day, and none can beat me. Henceforth I will
sit in the market-place and discourse with foreigners and learned men,
so that, when I come to rule in my father's place, I may be the wisest
in all the land."
And Merope was pleased at his answer, but in her heart she was sad
that his simple childish days were past; and she prayed that if the
gods granted him wisdom they would keep his heart pure and free from
all uncleanness.
So OEdipus sat in the market-place and talked with merchants and
travellers, and he went down to the ships in the harbour and learned
many strange things of strange lands--the wisdom of the Egyptians,
who were the wisest of all men in the south, and the cunning of the
Phoenicians, who were the greatest merchants and sailors in all the
world. But in the evening, when the sun was low in the west, and the
hills all turned to amethyst and sapphire, and the snow-mountains
blushed ruby red beneath his parting kiss, then along the smooth, gold
sands of the Isthmus, by the side of the sounding sea, he would box
and wrestle and run, till all the ways were darkened and the stars
stood out in the sky. For he was a true son of Hellas, and knew that
nine times out of every ten a slack body and a slack mind go together.
So he grew up in his beauty, a very god for wisdom and might, and
there was no question he could not answer nor riddle he could not
solve, so that all the land looked up to him, and the king and queen
loved him as their own son.
Now one day there was a great banquet in the palace, to which all the
noblest of the land were bidden, and the minstrels played and the
tumblers danced and the wine flowed freely round the board, so that
men's hearts were opened, and they talked of great deeds and heroes,
and boasted what they themselves could do. And OEdipus boasted as
loud as any, and challenged one and all to meet him in fair fight. But
the youth who had grown up with him in rivalry, and nourished jealousy
and hatred in his heart, taunted him to his face, and said,
"Base born that thou art, and son of slave, thinkest thou that free
men will fight with thee? Lions fight not with curs, and though thou
clothe thyself with purple and gold, all men know that thou art no
true son to him thou callest thy sire."
And this he said being flushed with wine, and because myriad-mouthed
Rumour had spread abroad the tale that OEdipus was a foundling,
though he himself knew nought thereof.
Then OEdipus flushed red with rage, and swift as a gale that sweeps
down from the mountains he fell upon the other, and seizing him by the
throat, he shook him till he had not breath to beg for mercy.
"What sayest thou now, thou whelp? Begone with thy lying taunt, now
that thou hast licked the dust for thy falsehood."
And he flung him out from the hall. But Merope leant pale and sad
against a pillar, and veiled her face in her mantle to hide her tears.
And when they were alone, OEdipus took her hand and stroked it, and
said,
"Grieve not for my fiery spirit, mother, but call me thine own son,
and say that I was right to silence the liar who would cast dishonour
upon my father's name and upon thee."
But she looked at him sadly and longingly through her tears, and spoke
in riddling words,
"The gods, my child, sent thee to thy father and to me in answer to
our prayers. A gift of God thou art, and a gift of God thou shalt be,
living and dead, to them that love thee. The flesh groweth old and
withereth away as a leaf, but the spirit liveth on for ever, and those
are the truest of kin who are kin in the spirit of goodness and of
love."
But OEdipus was troubled, for she would say no more, but only held
his hand, and when he drew it away it was wet with her tears. Then he
thought in his heart,
"Verily, my mother would not weep for nought. What if, after all,
there be something in the tale? I will go to the central shrine of
Hellas and ask the god of Truth, golden-haired Apollo. If he say it is
a lie, verily I will thrust it back down that coward's throat, and the
whole land shall ring with his infamy. And if it be true--the gods
will guide me how to act."
So he set forth alone upon his pilgrimage. And he took the road that
runs by the side of the sea and up past Mount Gerania, with its
pine-clad slopes, where Megarus, the son of Zeus, took refuge, when
the floods covered all the land and only the mountain-tops stood out
like islands in the sea. For he followed the cry of the cranes as they
sought refuge from the waters, and was saved, and founded the city of
Megara, which is called by his name to this day. Right past
Ægosthena--the home of the black-footed goats--went OEdipus to
Creusis, along the narrow rocky path between the mountains and the
sea, where a man must needs be sure of foot and steady of head, if he
is to stand against the storms that sweep down from bleak Cithæron.
For the winds rush shrieking down the hills like Furies in their
wrath, and they sweep all that stands in their way over the beetling
cliffs into the yawning, seething gulf below, and those that fall into
her ravening jaws she devours like some wild beast, and they are seen
no more. Then he went through fertile Thisbe past the little port of
Tipha, the home of Tiphys, helmsman of the famous Argonauts, who
sailed to nameless lands and unknown seas in their search for the
Golden Fleece. And many a roaring torrent did he cross, as it rushed
foaming down from the steep white cliffs of Helicon, and over
pathless mountains, past rocky Anticyra and the hills of hellebore,
and through the barren plain of Cirrha, till he came to rock-built
Crisa and the fair Crisean plain, the land of cornfields and vineyards
and the grey-green olive-groves, where in spring-time the pomegranate
and oleander flowers shine out red as beacon-fires by night.
There he had well-nigh reached his journey's end, and his heart beat
fast as he mingled with the band of pilgrims, each bound on his
different quest to the god of Light and Truth, golden-haired Apollo,
the mightiest of the sons of Zeus and the slayer of Pytho, the famous
dragon. At Delphi is his shrine and dwelling-place, and there within
his temple stands the sacred stone which fell from heaven and marks
the centre of the earth. A great gulf yawns beneath, a mighty fissure
going deep down into the bowels of the earth to the regions of the
dead and the land of endless night; and deadly fumes rise up and
noxious mists and vapours, so that the Pythian priestess, who sits
above on her brazen tripod, is driven to frenzy by their power. Then
it is that she hears the voice of Apollo, and her eyes are opened to
see what no mortal can see, and her ears to hear the secrets of the
gods and Fate. Those things which Apollo bids her she chants to the
pilgrims in mystic verse, which only the wise can interpret aright. So
from north and south and east and west men flocked to hear her
prophecies, and the fame of Apollo's shrine went out through every
land--from Ocean's stream and the Pillars of Heracles to the far
Ionian shore and Euphrates, the mighty river of the East.
OEdipus drew near to the sacred place and made due sacrifice, and
washed in the great stone basin, and put away all uncleanness from his
heart, and went through the portals of rock to the awful shrine
within, where the undying fire burns night and day and the sacred
laurel stands. And he put his question to the god and waited for an
answer. Through the dim darkness of the shrine he saw the priestess on
her tripod, veiled in a mist of incense and vapour, and as the power
of the god came upon her she beheld the things of the future and the
hidden secrets of Fate. And she raised her hand towards OEdipus, and
with pale lips spoke the words of doom,
"OEdipus, ill-fated, thine own sire shalt thou slay."
As she spoke the words his head swam round like a whirlpool, and his
heart seemed turned to stone; then, with a loud and bitter cry, he
rushed from the temple, through the thronging crowd of pilgrims down
into the Sacred Way, and the people moved out of his path like
shadows. Blindly he sped along the stony road, down through the pass
to a place where three roads meet, and he shuddered as he crossed
them; for Fear laid her cold hand upon his heart and filled it with a
wild, unreasoning dread, and branded the image of that awful spot upon
his brain so that he could never forget it. On every side the
mountains frowned down upon him, and seemed to echo to and fro the
doom which the priestess had spoken. Straight forward he went like
some hunted thing, turning neither to right nor left, till he came to
a narrow path, where he met an old man in a chariot drawn by mules,
with his trusty servants round him.
"Ho! there, thou madman!" they shouted; "stand by and let the chariot
pass."
"Madmen yourselves," he cried, for his sore heart could not brook the
taunt. "I am a king's son, and will stand aside for no man."
So he tried to push past them by force, though he was one against
many. And the old man stretched out his hand as though to stop him,
but as well might a child hope to stand up against a wild bull. For he
thrust him aside and felled him from his seat, and turned upon his
followers, and, striking out to right and left, he stunned one and
slew another, and forced his way through in blind fury. But the old
man lay stiff and still upon the road. The fall from the chariot had
quenched the feeble spark of life within him, and his spirit fled away
to the house of Hades and the kingdom of the Dead. One trusty servant
lay slain by his side, and the other senseless and stunned, and when
he awoke, to find his master and his comrades slain, OEdipus was far
upon his way.
On and on he went, over hill and dale and mountain-stream, till at
length his strength gave way, and he sank down exhausted. And black
despair laid hold of his heart, and he said within himself,
"Better to die here on the bare hill-side and be food for the kites
and crows than return to my father's house to bring death to him and
sorrow to my mother's heart."
But sweet sleep fell upon him, and when he awoke hope and the love of
life put other thoughts in his breast. And he remembered the words
which Merope the queen had spoken to him one day when he was boasting
of his strength and skill.
"Strength and skill, my son, are the gifts of the gods, as the rain
which falleth from heaven and giveth life and increase to the fruits
of the earth. But man's pride is an angry flood that bringeth
destruction on field and city. Remember that great gifts may work
great good or great evil, and he who has them must answer to the gods
below if he use them well or ill."
And he thought within himself,
"'Twere ill to die if, even in the uttermost parts of the earth, men
need a strong man's arm and a wise man's cunning. Never more will I
return to far-famed Corinth and my home by the sounding sea, but to
far-distant lands will I go and bring blessing to those who are not of
my kin, since to mine own folk I must be a curse if ever I return."
So he went along the road from Delphi till he came to seven-gated
Thebes. There he found all the people in deep distress and mourning,
for their king Laius was dead, slain by robbers on the high road, and
they had buried him far from his native land at a place where three
roads meet. And, worse still, their city was beset by a terrible
monster, the Sphinx, part eagle and part lion, with the face of a
woman, who every day devoured a man because they could not answer the
riddle she set them. All this OEdipus heard as he stood in the
market-place and talked with the people.
"What is this famous riddle that none can solve?" he asked.
"Alas! young man, that none can say. For he that would solve the
riddle must go up alone to the rock where she sits. Then and there she
chants the riddle, and if he answer it not forthwith she tears him
limb from limb. And if none go up to try the riddle, then she swoops
down upon the city and carries off her victims, and spares not woman
or child. Our wisest and bravest have gone up and our eyes have seen
them no more. Now there is no man left who dare face the terrible
beast."
Then OEdipus said,
"I will go up and face this monster. It must be a hard riddle indeed
if I cannot answer it."
"Oh, overbold and rash," they cried, "thinkest thou to succeed where
so many have failed?"
"Better to try, and fail, than never to try at all."
"Yet, where failure is death, surely a man should think twice?"
"A man can die but once, and how better than in trying to save his
fellows?"
As they looked at his strong young limbs and his fair young face they
pitied him.
"Stranger," they said, "who art thou to throw away thy life thus
heedlessly? Are there none at home to mourn thee and no kingdom thou
shouldst rule? For, of a truth, thou art a king's son and no common
man."
"Nay, were I to return, my home would be plunged in mourning and woe,
and the people would drive me from my father's house."
They marvelled at his answer, but dared question him no further; and,
seeing that nothing would turn him from his purpose, they showed him
the path to the Sphinx's rock, and all the people went out with him to
the gate with prayers and blessings. At the gate they left him, for he
who goes up to face the Sphinx must go alone, and none can stand by
and help him. So he went through the Crenean gate and across the
stream of Dirce into the wide plain, and the mountain of the Sphinx
stood out dark and clear on the other side. Then he prayed to Pallas
Athene, the grey-eyed goddess of Wisdom, and she took all fear from
his heart. So he went up boldly to the rock, where the monster sat
waiting to spring upon her prey; yet for all his courage his heart
beat fast as he looked on her. For at first she appeared like a mighty
bird, with great wings of bronze and gold, and the glancing sunbeams
played about them, casting a halo of light around, and in the midst of
the halo her face shone out pale and beautiful as a star at dawn. But
when she saw him coming near, a greedy fire lit up her eyes, and she
put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from side to side like an
angry lion waiting for his prey. Nevertheless, OEdipus spoke to her
fair and softly,
"Oh, lady, I am come to hear thy famous riddle and answer it or die."
"Foolhardy manling, a dainty morsel the gods have sent this day, with
thy fair young face and fresh young limbs."
And she licked her cruel lips.
Then OEdipus felt his blood boil within him, and he wished to slay
her then and there; for she who had been the fairest of women was now
the foulest of beasts, and he saw that by her cruelty and lust she had
killed the woman's soul within her, and the soul of a beast had taken
its place.
"Come, tell me thy famous riddle, foul Fury that thou art, that I may
answer it and rid the land of this curse."
"At dawn it creeps on four legs; at noon it strides on two; at sunset
and evening it totters on three. What is this thing, never the same,
yet not many, but one?"
[Illustration: "She put out her cruel claws and lashed her tail from
side to side like an angry lion waiting for his prey."]
So she chanted slowly, and her eyes gleamed cruel and cold.
Then thought OEdipus within himself,
"Now or never must my learning and wit stand me in good stead, or in
vain have I talked with the wisest of men and learnt the secrets of
Phoenicia and Egypt."
And the gods who had given him understanding sent light into his
heart, and boldly he answered,
"What can this creature be but man, O Sphinx? For, a helpless babe at
the dawn of life, he crawls on his hands and feet; at noontide he
walks erect in the strength of his manhood; and at evening he supports
his tottering limbs with a staff, the prop and stay of old age. Have I
not answered aright and guessed thy famous riddle?"
Then with a loud cry of despair, and answering him never a word, the
great beast sprang up from her seat on the rock and hurled herself
over the precipice into the yawning gulf beneath. Far away across the
plain the people heard her cry, and they saw the flash of the sun on
her brazen wings like a gleam of lightning in the summer sky.
Thereupon they sent up a great shout of joy to heaven, and poured out
from every gate into the open plain, and some raised OEdipus upon
their shoulders, and with shouts and songs of triumph bore him to the
city. Then and there they made him king with one accord, for the old
king had left no son behind him, and who more fitted to rule over them
than the slayer of the Sphinx and the saviour of their city?
So OEdipus became king of Thebes, and wisely and well did he rule,
and for many a long year the land prospered both in peace and war. But
the day came when a terrible pestilence broke out, and the people died
by hundreds, so that at last OEdipus sent messengers to Delphi to
ask why the gods were angry and had sent a plague upon the land. And
this was the answer they brought back,
"There is an unclean thing in Thebes. Never has the murderer of Laius
been found, and he dwells a pollution in the land. Though the
vengeance of the gods is slow, yet it cometh without fail, and the
shedding of blood shall not pass unpunished."
Then OEdipus made proclamation through the land that if any man knew
who the murderer was, they should give him up to his doom and appease
the anger of Heaven. And he laid a terrible curse on any who dared to
give so much as a crust of bread or a draught of water to him who had
brought such suffering on the land. So throughout the country far and
wide a search was made to track out the stain of blood and cleanse the
city from pollution, but day after day the quest was fruitless, and
the pestilence raged unceasingly, and darkness fell upon the soul of
the people, as their prayers remained unanswered and their
burnt-offerings smoked in vain upon the altars of the gods. Then at
last OEdipus sent for the blind seer Teiresias, who had lived
through six generations of mortal men, and was the wisest of all
prophets on earth. He knew the language of the birds, and, though his
eyes were closed in darkness, his ears were opened to hear the secrets
of the universe, and he knew the hidden things of the past and of the
future. But at first when he came before the king he would tell him
nothing, but begged him to question no further.
"For the things of the future will come of themselves," he cried,
"though I shroud them in silence, and evil will it be for thee, O
king, and evil for thine house if I speak out the knowledge that is
hidden in my heart."
At last OEdipus grew angry at his silence, and taunted him,
"Verily, me thinks thou thyself didst aid in the plotting of this
deed, seeing that thou carest nought for the people bowed down beneath
the pestilence and the dark days that are fallen on the land, so be it
thou canst shield the murderer and escape thyself from the curse of
the gods."
Then Teiresias was stung past bearing, and would hold his tongue no
longer. "By thine own doom shalt thou be judged, O king," he said.
"Thou thyself art the murderer, thyself the pollution that staineth
the land with the blood of innocent men."
Then OEdipus laughed aloud,
"Verily, old man, thou pratest. What rival hath urged thee to this
lie, hoping to drive me from the throne of Thebes? Of a truth, not
thine eyes only, but thy heart, is shrouded in a mist of darkness."
"Woe to thee, OEdipus, woe to thee! Thou hast sight, yet seest not
who thou art, nor knowest the deed of thine hand. Soon shalt thou
wander sightless and blind, a stranger in a strange land, feeling the
ground with a staff, and men shall shrink back from thee in horror
when they hear thy name and the deed that thou hast done."
And the people were hushed by the words of the old man, and knew not
what to think. But the wife of OEdipus, who stood by his side, said,
"Hearken not to him, my lord. For verily no mortal can search the
secrets of Fate, as I can prove full well by the words of this same
man that he spoke in prophecy. For he it was who said that Laius, the
king who is dead, should be slain by the hand of his own son. However,
that poor innocent never grew to manhood, but was exposed on the
trackless mountain-side to die of cold and hunger; and Laius, men say,
was slain by robber bands at a place where three roads meet. So
hearken not to seer-craft, ye people, nor trust in the words of one
who is proved a false prophet."
But her words brought no comfort to OEdipus, and a dreadful fear
came into his heart, like a cold, creeping snake, as he listened. For
he thought of his journey from Delphi, and of how in his frenzy he had
struck down an old man and his followers at a place where three roads
meet. When he questioned her further, the time and the place and the
company all tallied, save only that rumour had it that Laius had been
slain by robber bands, whilst he had been single-handed against many.
"Was there none left," he asked, "who saw the deed and lived to tell
the tale?"
"Yea, one faithful follower returned to bear the news, but so soon as
the Sphinx was slain and the people had made thee king he went into
distant pastures with his flocks, for he could not brook to see a
stranger in his master's place, albeit he had saved the land from
woe."
"Go, summon him," said OEdipus. "If the murderers were many, as
rumour saith, with his aid we may track them out; but if he was one
man single-handed--yea, though that man were myself--of a truth he
shall be an outcast from the land, that the plague may be stayed from
the people. Verily, my queen, my heart misgives me when I remember my
wrath and the deed that I wrought at the cross-roads."
In vain she tried to comfort him, for a nameless fear had laid hold of
his heart.
Now, while they were waiting for the herdsman to come, a messenger
arrived in haste from Corinth to say that Polybus was dead, and that
OEdipus was chosen king of the land, for his fame had gone out far
and wide as the slayer of the Sphinx and the wisest of the kings of
Hellas. When OEdipus heard the news, he bowed his head in sorrow to
hear of the death of the father he had loved, and turning to the
messenger, he said,
"For many a long year my heart hath yearned toward him who is dead,
and verily my soul is grieved that I shall see him no more in the
pleasant light of the sun. But for the oracle's sake I stayed in
exile, that my hand might not be red with a father's blood. And now I
thank the gods that he has passed away in a green old age, in the
fulness of years and of honour."
But the messenger wondered at his words.
"Knewest thou not, then, that Polybus was no father to thee in the
flesh, but that for thy beauty and thy strength he chose thee out of
all the land to be a son to him and heir to the kingdom of Corinth?"
"What sayest thou, bearer of ill news that thou art?" cried OEdipus.
"To prove that same tale of thine a slanderous lie I went to Delphi,
and there the priestess prophesied that I should slay mine own sire.
Wherefore I went not back to my native land, but have lived in exile
all my days."
"Then in darkness of soul hast thou lived, O king. For with mine own
hands I received thee as a babe from a shepherd on dim Cithæron, from
one of the herdsmen of Laius, who was king before thee in this land."
"Woe is me, then! The curse of the gods is over me yet. I know not my
sire, and unwittingly I may slay him and rue the evil day. And a cloud
of darkness hangeth over me for the slaying of King Laius. But lo!
they bring the herdsman who saw the deed done, and pray Heaven he may
clear me from all guilt. Bring him forward that I may question him."
Then they brought the man forward before the king, though he shrank
back and tried to hide himself. When the messenger from Corinth saw
him he started back in surprise, for it was the very man from whose
hands he had taken OEdipus on the mountain-side. And he said to the
king,
"Behold the man who will tell thee the secret of thy birth. From his
hands did I take thee as a babe on dim Cithæron."
Then OEdipus questioned the man, and at first he denied it from
fear, but at last he was fain to confess.
"And who gave me to thee to slay on the barren mountain-side?"
"I pray thee, my king, ask no more. Some things there are that are
better unsaid."
"Nay, tell me, and fear not. I care not if I am a child of shame and
slavery stains my birth. A son of Fortune the gods have made me, and
have given me good days with the evil. Speak out, I pray thee. Though
I be the son of a slave, I can bear it."
"No son of a slave art thou, but seed of a royal house. Ask me no
more, my king."
"Speak, speak, man. Thou drivest me to anger, and I will make thee
tell, though it be by force."
"Ah! lay not cruel hands upon me. For thine own sake I would hide it.
From the queen thy mother I had thee, and thy father was--Laius the
king. At the cross-roads from Delphi didst thou meet him in his
chariot, and slew him unwittingly in thy wrath. Ah, woe is me! For the
gods have chosen me out to be an unwilling witness to the truth of
their oracles."
Then a great hush fell upon all the people like the lull before a
storm. For the words of the herdsman were so strange and terrible that
at first they could scarce take in their meaning. But when they
understood that OEdipus was Laius's own son, and that he had
fulfilled the dreadful prophecy and slain his sire, a great tumult
arose, some saying one thing and some another; but the voice of
OEdipus was heard above the uproar,
"Ah, woe is me, woe is me! The curse of the gods is upon me, and none
can escape their wrath. Blindly have I done this evil, and when I was
striving to escape Fate caught me in her hidden meshes. Oh, foolish
hearts of men, to think that ye can flee from the doom of the gods;
for lo! ye strive in the dark, and your very struggles bind you but
closer in the snare of your fate. Cast me from the land, ye people; do
with me what ye will. For the gods have made me a curse and a
pollution, and by my death alone will the land have rest from the
pestilence."
And the people would have taken him at his word; for fickle is the
heart of the multitude, and swayed this way and that by every breath
of calamity. They were sore stricken, too, by the pestilence, and in
their wrath against the cause of it they forgot the slaying of the
Sphinx and the long days of peace and prosperity. But the blind seer
Teiresias rose up in their midst, and at his voice the people were
silent.
"Citizens of Cadmus, foolish and blind of heart! Will ye slay the
saviour of your city? Have ye forgotten the man-devouring Sphinx and
the days of darkness? Verily prosperity blunteth the edge of
gratitude. And thou, OEdipus, curse not the gods for thine evil
fate. He that putteth his finger in the fire is burnt, whether he do
it knowingly or not. As to thy sire, him indeed didst thou slay in
ignorance; but the shedding of man's blood be upon thine own head, for
that was the fruit of thy wrathful spirit, which, through lack of
curbing, broke forth like an angry beast. Hadst thou never slain a
man, never wouldst thou have slain thy sire. But now thou art a
pollution to the land of thy birth, and by long exile and wandering
must thou expiate thy sin and die a stranger in a strange land. Yet
methinks that in the dark mirror of prophecy I see thy form, as it
were, a guardian to the land of thy last resting-place, and in a grove
of sacred trees thy spirit's lasting habitation, when thy feet have
accomplished the ways of expiation and the days of thy wandering are
done."
So the people were silenced. But OEdipus would not be comforted,
and in his shame and misery he put out his own eyes because they had
looked on unspeakable things. Then he clothed himself in rags and took
a pilgrim's staff, to go forth alone upon his wanderings. And the
people were glad at his going, because the plague had hardened their
hearts, and they cared nothing for his grey hairs and sightless eyes,
nor remembered all he had done for them, but thought only how the
plague might be stayed. Even Eteocles and Polyneices, his own sons,
showed no pity, but would have let him go forth alone, that they might
live on the fatness of the land. For their hardness of heart they were
punished long after, when they quarrelled as to which should be king,
and brought down the flood of war upon Thebes, and fell each by the
other's hand in deadly strife. Of all his children, Antigone alone
refused to let him go forth a solitary wanderer, and would listen to
none of his entreaties when he spoke of the hardness of the way that
would lie before them.
"Nay, father," she cried; "thinkest thou that I could suffer thee to
wander sightless and blind in thine old age with none to stay thy
feeble steps or lend thee the light of their eyes?"
"The road before us is hard and long, my child, and no man can say
when my soul shall find rest. The ways of the world are cruel, and men
love not the cursed of the gods. As for thee, Heaven bless thee for
thy love; but thou art too frail and tender a thing to eat of the
bread and drink of the waters of sorrow."
"Ah, father, thinkest thou that aught could be more bitter than to sit
in the seat of kings whilst thou wanderest a beggar on the face of
the earth? Nay, suffer me to go with thee, and stay thy steps in the
days of thy trial."