upon their wanderings, the old man bowed down beneath the weight of
sorrow, and the young girl in the freshness of youth and beauty, with
a great love in her heart--a bright, burning love which was the light
by which she lived, and a light which never led her astray. For love
guided her into desolate places and through many a pathless
wilderness, and at length brought her in the flower of her maidenhood
to the very gates of death; yet when the cloud of earthly sorrow hung
darkest over her head, love it was that lifted the veil of doubt, and
cast about her name a halo of glory that will never fade. And all the
story of her love and how she buried her brother Polyneices, though
she knew it was death to cast so much as a handful of dust upon his
body, you may read in one of the noblest plays that has ever been
written.
So she and OEdipus set out upon their wanderings. At first OEdipus
was filled with shame and bitterness, and cursed the day of his birth
and his evil fate; but as time went on he remembered the words of
Teiresias--how at his death he should be a blessing to the land of his
last resting-place; and the hope sprang up in his heart that the gods
had not forsaken him, but would wipe out the stain of his sin, and
make his name once more glorious among men. Daily this hope grew
stronger and brighter, and he felt that the days of wandering and
expiation were drawing to a close, and a mysterious power guided his
steps he knew not whither, except that it was towards the goal of his
release. So they wandered on across the Theban plain and over dim
Cithæron, till they came to the torch-lit strand of Eleusis and
Demeter's sacred shrine, and the broad plain of Rarus, where
Triptolemus first taught men to drive a furrow and sow the golden
grain. And they went along the Sacred Way which leads to Athens, with
the circling mountains on their left, and to the right the blue
Saronic Gulf and the peaks of sea-girt Salamis. And many a hero's
grave did they pass and many a sacred shrine, for all along that road
men of old raised monuments to the undying glory of the dead and the
heritage of honour which they left to unborn generations. And always
Antigone tended the old man's feeble steps, and lent him the light of
her young eyes, till at length they came to white Colonus and the
grove of the Eumenides. There she set him on a rock to rest his weary
limbs. And the soft spring breezes played about them, and the clear
waters of Cephisus flowed sparkling at their feet to the fertile plain
below. In the dark coverts and green glades the nightingale trilled
her sweet song, and the grass was bright with many a golden crocus and
white narcissus bloom. As he sat there a great calm filled the old
man's heart, for he felt that the days of his wandering were done. But
while they were resting a man from the village happened to pass, and
when he saw them he shouted out,
"Ho! there, impious wanderers, know ye not that ye sit on sacred land
and trespass on hallowed ground?"
Then OEdipus knew more surely than ever that the day of his release
had come.
"Oh, stranger!" he cried, "welcome is that which thou sayest. For
here shall the words of the prophet be fulfilled, when he said that in
a grove of sacred trees my spirit should find rest."
But the man was not satisfied, and he called to a band of his
countrymen who were in the fields close by. And they came up and spoke
roughly to OEdipus, and asked his name and business. When he told
them they were filled with horror, for all men had heard of the
slaying of Laius, and they would have turned him out by force. But
OEdipus raised himself from the rock on which he was seated, and in
spite of his beggar's rags and sightless eyes, there was a majesty
about his face and form that marked him as no common man.
"Men of Colonus," he said, "ye judge by the evil I have done, and not
by the good. Have ye forgotten the days when the name of OEdipus was
honoured throughout the land? Of a truth the days of darkness came,
and the stain of my sin found me out. But now is my wrathful spirit
curbed, and the gods will make me once more a blessing to men. Go,
tell your king Theseus, who rules in Athena's sacred citadel, that
OEdipus is here, and bid him come with all speed if he would win a
guardian for this land, an everlasting safeguard for his city in days
of storm and stress."
So they sent off a messenger in hot haste, for there was a mysterious
power about the aged wanderer that none could withstand. And soon
Theseus arrived, himself a mighty hero, who had made Athens a great
city and rid the country of many a foul pestilence. And he greeted
OEdipus courteously and kindly, as befitted a great prince, and
offered him hospitality. But OEdipus said,
"The hospitality I crave, O king, is for no brief sojourn in this
land. Nay, 'tis an everlasting home I ask. For the hand of Heaven is
upon me, and full well I know that this day my soul shall leave this
frail and broken body. And to thee alone is it given to know where my
bones shall rest--to thee and thy seed after thee. As long as my bones
shall remain in the land, so long shall my spirit watch over it, and
men shall call upon my name to turn the tide of battle and stay the
flood of pestilence and war. Wilt thou come with me, O king, whither
the gods shall lead, and learn the secret of my grave?"
Then Theseus bowed his head, and answered,
"Show thou the way, and I will come."
So OEdipus turned and led the way into the grove, and Theseus and
Antigone followed after. For a mysterious power seemed to guide him,
and he walked as one who could see, and his steps were strong and firm
as those of a man in his prime. Straight into the grove did he go till
they came to the heart of the wood, where there was a sacred well
beneath a hollow pear-tree. Close by was a great chasm going deep down
into the bowels of the earth, and men called it the Gate of Hades, the
Kingdom of the Dead. Here, too, the Awful Goddesses were worshipped
under a new and gentler name. For after they had driven the murderer
Orestes up and down the land for his sin, he came at length to Athens
to stand his trial before gods and men. And mercy tempered justice and
released him from blood-guiltiness, and the Furies laid aside their
wrath and haunted him no more. So the people of Athens built them
shrines and sanctuaries, and worshipped them as Eumenides, the Kindly
Maidens. And now once more a wanderer was to find rest there from his
sin.
When they reached the well, OEdipus sat down upon a rock and called
his daughter to his side, and said,
"Antigone, my child, thy hand hath ministered to me in exile, and
smoothed the path for the wanderer's feet. Go now, fetch water, and
pour libation and drink-offering to the gods below. It is the last
thing thou canst do for me on earth."
So Antigone fetched water from the well, and dressed and tended him,
and poured libation to the gods. And when she had finished, OEdipus
drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, and said,
"Grieve not for me, my child. Well I know that thy heart will ache,
for love hath made light the burden of toil. But for me life's day is
done, and I go to my rest. Do thou seek thy brethren, and be to them
as thou hast been to me. My child, my child, hard is the way that lies
before thee, and my soul yearneth over thee for the evil day that
shall come. But look thou to thine own pure heart, on which the gods
have set the seal of truth that changeth not with passing years, and
heed not the counsels of men."
And he held her closely to him, and she clung weeping about his neck.
As they sat a hush fell upon the grove, and the nightingales ceased
their song, and from the depths of the grove a voice was heard like
the voice of distant thunder.
"OEdipus, OEdipus, why dost thou tarry?"
When they heard it they were afraid. But OEdipus rose up and gently
put his daughter from him, saying,
[Illustration: "With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more,
and Theseus followed after."]
"Lo! the voice of Zeus, who calleth me. Fare thee well, my child; thou
canst go no further with me. For Theseus only is it meet to see the
manner of my death, and he and I must go forward alone into the wood."
With firm, unfaltering steps he led the way once more, and Theseus
followed after. And what happened there none can tell, for Theseus
kept the secret to his dying day. But men say that when he came out of
the wood his face was as the face of one who had seen things passing
mortal speech. As for OEdipus, the great twin Brethren Sleep and
Death carried his bones to Athens, where the people built him a
shrine, and for many a long year they honoured him as a hero in the
land of Attica. For though the sin that he sinned in his wrath and
ignorance was great and terrible, yet his life had brought joy to many
men and prosperity to more lands than one. For with wisdom and love he
guided his days, and with sorrow and tears he wiped out the stain of
his sin, so that, in spite of all he suffered, men love to tell of the
glory and wisdom of OEdipus, and of how he solved the riddle of the
Sphinx.
Eros and Psyche
I
In the blue waters of the Ægean Sea, midway between Greece and Egypt,
lies the fertile land of Crete. Here, long, long ago, when the gods
still walked on earth in human form and the sons of men were as
children playing in a fair garden, there ruled a king who was the
father of three lovely daughters. They lived in a palace in the rich
Omphalian plain, beneath the shade of snow-capped Ida, surrounded by
smiling gardens and fruitful vineyards, with a glimpse, away to the
southward, of the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. So great was the beauty
of these three maidens that their fame went abroad throughout all the
land, and wealthy wooers flocked from far and wide to win their hands
in marriage. The two elder sisters soon became the brides of two great
princes, and were well content to pass their days in the sunshine of
their husbands' love and admiration, and to deck themselves with gold
and jewels, and listen to the praise of their beauty upon the lips of
men. For the gods had given them grace of form and feature, but their
souls within were vain and foolish, so that in after-years, when they
found their sister more blessed than they, their vanity and envy
brought them to an evil end.
The youngest sister, whose name was Psyche, continued to live on at
home long after the other two were married. In face and form she was
as fair as they, whilst her soul within was so pure and beautiful that
it shed a heavenly radiance about her, so that when men looked into
her face all thoughts of love and wooing died out of their hearts, and
they worshipped her as one of the Immortals. Wherever she passed
voices were hushed and heads were bowed in prayer, till at length it
was rumoured that Aphrodite herself, the Queen of Love, had come to
live with men. The temples stood deserted and the altars bare of
sacrifice, and from far and wide men flocked to Psyche with gifts and
garlands and songs of praise.
Then foam-born Aphrodite, Queen of Love, was filled with jealousy and
wrath that a mortal should usurp her place and name, and she cast
about in her mind for some means of revenge.
"Verily, I must make this Cretan maiden rue the day when first men
laid my offerings at her feet. I will smite her with so dire a malady
that her very beauty shall be turned to scorn, and the heights to
which her impious pride hath raised her shall be as nought to the
depths of her shame and misery."
Thereupon she sent for her son, the great god Eros, who lords it over
gods and men. The poison of his fiery darts none can withstand, and
with him it rests to burn men's hearts with the fever of unsatisfied
desire, or so to temper the venom of his shafts that it runs like
heavenly nectar through the veins. Yet the joy that he gives withal is
akin to madness, and the torture of his wrath a frenzy unquenchable.
"Best-beloved son," she said, "if thou carest aught for thy mother's
name and fame, thou wilt hasten now to do my bidding. In midmost Crete
there dwells a maid--Psyche by name--whose impious pride hath cast
dishonour on my godhead. The offerings that are mine by right are cast
before her feet. My temples stand devoid of worshippers, who flock to
pay her court; and all this not in Crete alone, but from the farthest
shores of Hellas men cross the sea in white-winged ships to gaze upon
her face. Go now, I pray thee, and smite her with a poisoned arrow
from thy bow. Make her to love some loathly monster, deformed in soul
and body, and with a passion so shameless and all-consuming that men
shall spurn her, even as now they haste to pay their vows. As thou
lovest me, go with all speed and do my bidding."
So Eros sped away to fulfil Aphrodite's command, and plant in the
heart of Psyche the image of a dark and dreadful monster, and make her
love it. As she slept he came and stood beside her, armed with his bow
and poisoned arrows. But when he looked upon her his arm fell lifeless
by his side, and the arrows slipped out of his hand, for never had he
looked on one so fair; and her beauty smote his heart as surely as
ever one of his own shafts had pierced a mortal's breast. From that
moment he loved her with all his soul, and swore that no harm should
ever come to her through him, but that he himself and no other,
whether man or monster, should be her bridegroom. And he picked up the
arrow and put it back into the sheath.
"If she can trust me," he said, "she shall never feel a wound from one
of these. I will carry her away, and she shall be mine; but till the
gods are reconciled that I should wed a mortal, and my mother's anger
is appeased, I must visit her only in the night-time, and she must not
know who I am nor see my face. When the gods have proved her and found
her worthy of me, then will I reveal myself to her, and through my
love she shall be immortal, and dwell with me for ever in the shining
courts of heaven."
And he bent over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She smiled in her
sleep and held out her arms towards him, and he knew that his kiss had
kindled in her heart the light of love.
Aphrodite, meanwhile, with her mind at rest, took her way along the
shell-strewn curve of a sandy bay, and laughing ripples made music at
her feet. The Sun was slowly sinking to his bed in Ocean's stream, and
Night rode in her crescent car across the calm green vault of heaven.
From Aphrodite's feet a broad gold path of light led straight to the
sunset realms of Helios, the sun-god, and as she waited on the shore,
a band of dolphins ploughed the sea towards her. In their wake came
Tritons blowing on soft-voiced conches, and some drew a pearly shell
behind and pushed it to the shore and bade her enter.
"Great Helios bids thee to his midnight revelry, O Queen of Love,"
they cried, "and we are come to guide thee along the golden pathway
to the glowing palaces of Sunset Land."
As the goddess stepped into the shell, they blew a loud salute upon
their conches, and spread a silken sail above her head, and with music
and laughter they crossed the shining sea to the golden halls of
Helios.
II
Psyche, meanwhile, all unconscious of the wrath she had kindled in the
breast of Aphrodite, was pining away at home in loneliness of heart.
Little did she care for the worship that men paid her or for the
offerings that they laid at her feet. It was for the love of a husband
that she longed, and her soul was starving in the midst of rich gifts
and the rapt, adoring gaze of worshippers. Her melancholy fastened on
the king her father, and on all the palace, and soothsayers and augurs
crowded round the doors with omens, charms, and riddling words, and
prophesied all manner of evil.
At last the king could bear it no longer, and he set forth on
pilgrimage to Apollo's shrine at Delphi, and made question of the
oracle.
"Have the gods ordained that Psyche, my daughter, should die unwed,
though the fairest maid on earth, or doth some bridegroom await her
who tarrieth long? O god of Light, reveal his name, and save my child
from death."
Then the tripod shook, and from the midst of the incense and vapour
the priestess made reply,
"Think not of marriage-songs, O king, or bridal torches. On a lonely
rock on snow-clad Ida must thou leave thy child, the bride of no
mortal man. But a savage monster shall come, the terror of gods and
men, and shall bear her away to his own land, and thine eyes shall see
her no more. Wherefore make ready the funeral feast. Bring forth your
sable robes of mourning, and bid the minstrels raise a dirge for the
dead. For so the gods have willed it."
So the king went sadly home, and his heart was heavy within him. And
all the people mourned with him; for they loved the fair princess,
with her beautiful sad face and her kind and noble heart. All manner
of tales went abroad of the monster she must wed, some saying one
thing and some another. But most men thought it must be Talus, the
great giant who guarded Crete. Three times every day did he walk round
the island, and woe to any stranger who fell in his path or tried to
land when he was by. For from top to toe he was made of burning
metal--gold and silver and bronze and iron--while through his body ran
one single vein that was filled with fire and fastened in his head
with a nail. If any man tried to thwart him, he would gather him up in
his great bronze arms and hold him to his breast, red-hot with the
fire in his vein, and when he was well cooked through he would devour
him. Many a long year after, when Jason sailed by with the heroes of
the Golden Fleece, Talus rushed down, and would have stopped them from
watering their ship, and have turned them adrift on the salt seas to
be tortured to death with thirst. But Medea, Jason's dark witch-wife,
beguiled him with fair promises, and made him cool his burning body in
the sea before she would come near. Then when she had him under her
spells she softly drew the nail from his head, and the fire flowed
forth from his vein, and all his strength departed, and he died with a
curse on his lips for Medea and her wiles. But she only laughed aloud,
and bade Jason water the ship and thank the immortal gods that he had
a witch-woman to wife. That, however, was long after, and Talus was
now in the prime of life, and the terror of all the country-side.
Meanwhile, the land was plunged in mourning, and in the palace all was
bustle and confusion in preparation for the funeral rites. All day
long the old king sat in his chamber, and looked out towards the
lonely heights of Ida, where his daughter was to be left.
"Better that she should die in her maidenhood," he cried, "than wed
this terrible monster."
Psyche alone in all the palace was calm, and tried to comfort her
father.
"Sire," she said, as she put her arms about his neck, "to look on thy
tears is to me more bitter than my fate. Weep not for me, for
something within me bids me take comfort, and I hear a sweet voice
say, 'Rejoice, beloved, and come with me.' Dark was that day, my
father, when first men laid their offerings at my feet, and my heart
dwelt apart in its loneliness. And now, if but for one day I may look
upon the face of my bridegroom, I would gladly die. For, methinks, it
is no monster I must wed."
But the king thought only of the words of the oracle, and would not be
comforted.
At length the bridal day dawned, and the sad procession wound slowly
from the palace towards Ida. Choruses of singers led the way with
solemn dirges for the dead, and the king, uncrowned, followed with his
nobles clad in armour and holding blazing torches in their hands. Next
came Psyche, all in white, with a bridal veil and garlands, and
surrounded by white-robed maidens; and last of all the people of the
city followed with loud wailing and lamentation. Up the steep mountain
road they went, and the path grew rougher and narrower step by step.
On either side the dark rocks frowned down upon them, and echoed to
and fro the wailings of the people as they passed, and above them the
snow-capped peak of Ida stood out against the summer sky, like a
lonely sentinel keeping watch over the plain below. Slowly the shadows
of the rocks lengthened across the barren slopes, and the funeral
torches shone pale in the glowing sunset light. At last they reached
the appointed place beneath the unmelting snow, and on the barren rock
they set the maiden, and bade her a sorrowful good-bye. Ever and anon
they turned back to look on her as they wound down the mountain-track,
and always she waved to them a fond farewell. At length the shadows
fell on all the mountain-side, and only the snow-clad peak flashed
like a ruby in the last rays of the sun, and as they looked backward
for the last time they saw Psyche transformed in the golden light. Her
white dress shone like a rainbow, and her golden hair fell about her
shoulders like a stream of fire, and as she raised her arm to wave to
them she looked like no mortal maid, but a goddess in all her beauty,
so that the people hushed their voices and bowed their heads before
her. Soon the light faded, and they could see her no more. Sadly they
went their way, and all down the mountain-track and across the plain
below the torches shone out like pale twinkling stars in the darkness.
Psyche, meanwhile, left alone, pondered sadly on her fate, and
wondered what the night would bring. And as she sat and pondered, a
soft breeze played about her, filling her veil and robe, and gently
she felt herself lifted from the rock and borne through the air, till
she was laid down upon a grassy bank sweet with the scent of thyme and
violets. Here a deep sleep fell upon her, and she knew no more.
III
Day was dawning when Psyche awoke, and high up in the bright air the
larks were singing their morning hymn to the sun, and calling on bird
and beast and flower to awake and rejoice in the glad daylight. At
first she could remember nothing of what had happened, and wondered
where she was; then slowly all the sad ceremony of the day before came
back to her--the funeral procession up Mount Ida, the lonely rock on
which she had been left, and the soft west wind that had borne her
away. So she rose up from the green bank on which she had slept all
night, and looked round about her to see what manner of land she was
in.
She found herself standing on a hillock in the midst of a fertile
plain. Steep cliffs rose up on every side as though to guard the
peaceful valley, and keep out any evil thing that would enter in. To
the eastward only was there a break in the mountain-chain, and the
dale widened out towards the sea. As Psyche gazed, the golden disc of
the sun rose slowly from the water, and his bright rays lit up the
grey morning sky and scattered the silvery mist that hung about the
tree-tops. On either side of her was a wood, with a green glade
between sloping up towards a marble temple, which flashed like a jewel
in the rays of the rising sun. And Psyche was filled with wonder at
the sight, for it seemed too fair to be the work of human hands.
"Surely," she thought, "it must be the handiwork of the lame fire-god
Hephæstos, for he buildeth for the immortal gods, who sit on high
Olympus, and none can vie with him in craft and skill."
Then she looked about her to see if anyone were near. But all around
was quiet and still, with no signs of human habitation. Wondering the
more, she drew near to the temple, and went up the marble stairs that
led to the entrance. When she reached the top her shadow fell upon the
golden gate, and, as she stood doubting what to do, they slowly turned
on their hinges, and opened to her of their own accord, and she walked
through them into the temple. She found herself in a marble court
surrounded by pillars and porticoes which re-echoed the soft music of
a fountain in the midst. Through the open doors of the further
colonnade she caught a glimpse of cool dark rooms, with carvings of
cedar-wood and silver and silken hangings. And now the air was filled
with music and sweet voices calling her by name.
"Psyche, lady Psyche, all is thine. Enter in."
So she took courage and entered. All day long she wandered about the
enchanted palace discovering fresh wonders at every step. Even before
she knew it the mysterious voices seemed to guess every wish of her
heart. When she would rest they led her to a soft couch. When she was
hungry they placed a table before her spread with every dainty. They
led her to the bath, and clothed her in the softest silks, and all the
while the air was filled with songs and music.
All this time she had not said a word, for she feared she might drive
away the kindly voices that ministered to her. But at last she could
keep silence no longer.
"Am I a goddess," she asked, "or is this to be dead? Do those who pass
the gates of Death feel no change, nor suffer for what they have done,
but have only to wish for a thing to gain their heart's desire?"