the world, a great sorrow will come upon thee, and drive thee to death
in the flower of thy youth. Such was the oracle of the gods concerning
thee. Thy mother--poor young thing!--scarce lived to hold thee to her
breast, and when she died she put thee in my arms. 'Take her away,
nurse, far from the haunts of men, and never let her out into the
cruel world. Go, live with her in some lonely tower by the sea, and
make her a priestess to pitiless, foam-born Aphrodite. Night and day,
as soon as she can lisp a baby prayer, let her burn incense before the
altar of the goddess, and perchance she will have mercy on her, and
save her from her fate. Full well I know that 'tis with her it rests
to strike down my child or to save her, even as it was she, the
goddess of Love, who laid her cruel hand on me, so that now I lie
a-dying. Ah! save my child from the fate that has been mine.' I did as
she bade me, and surely we have not been unhappy, thou and I,
together, all these years?"
And she stroked the girl's cheek tenderly, and sighed as she thought
how, for many months past, it had grown paler week by week.
"Ah, think me not ungrateful!" cried Hero. "Thou knowest that I love
thee, and would never leave thee. But my heart is restless, and I long
to set foot beyond this tower and see a great town and streets and the
faces of my fellow-men."
Then she rose from her knees, and led the old nurse to the window.
"There!" she cried, pointing towards Sestos; "dost thou see where the
white highway runs down into the city--how a crowd of pilgrims throng
towards the gate? See, too, the steep pathway that winds upwards from
the harbour--how the folk move ever one way, up, up, to the temple of
Aphrodite on the hill! How often have I watched them year by year as
they gather together for the great feast of Adonis! Yet I, who all my
life long have been Aphrodite's priestess--I have never been inside
her temple or joined with those who throng from far and wide to pay
her worship at this glad season. Verily, the goddess hath good cause
to be angered with me if I neglect her dues. Good nurse, let me go
to-morrow and join in the procession of the maidens, and let me lay my
tribute of flowers before her altar, that she may bless me and save me
from my evil fate."
But the old nurse was very troubled at her words.
"My child, thou hast thine own shrine within the house where thou
canst burn incense and offer up flowers to Aphrodite. She will answer
thy prayers as well from here as from the crowded temple in the town."
"Then why do men build her great pillared temples, and throng from far
and near to keep her feast, if the fireside shrine and the simple
prayer would please her as well? Nay, she loveth rich gifts and music
and singing and the heads of many bowing as one man before her image.
Ah, nurse, let me go--let me go."
"My child, why wouldst thou go when thou knowest that the world can
only bring thee sorrow? Stay here with me in peace."
"Nay, there is no peace here for me. Aphrodite is angry, and she will
slay me by a slow and cruel death if I do not keep her feast this
year. Should I, her priestess, stay away, when even the meanest of the
folk gather together in her honour? All these years I have not gone,
and now she will stay her hand no more. As for the world and its
cruelty, fear not for that. Thou thyself shalt go with me, and stay by
my side till I join the procession of priestesses and maidens. Then I
will go up with them to the temple, and in their midst I shall be as
far from the world as in this tower. I long to stand within the great
white temple and hear the chanting of the priests. I long to see the
gleaming image of the goddess, and the statue of the risen Adonis, and
the altars sweet with incense and flowers. Ah, nurse, let me go, and
all the rest of the year, till the glad season comes round once more,
I will stay with thee in this tower and pine no more."
So piteously did she beg that the old nurse had not the heart to
refuse, though she feared what might come of it. But she tried to
comfort herself with the thought that perchance, after all, the maiden
was right, and that Aphrodite was killing her by a slow and cruel
death, because she had never kept her solemn feast-day.
The next day broke bright and fair, and Hero, as she looked out from
the window, was filled with joy. In the grey dawn she had risen, and
sat looking anxiously across the narrow sea towards Abydos and the low
line of hills on the further shore.
"O Helios," she prayed, "bright and beautiful, shine down upon the
earth this day, and fill the hearts of all with gladness; for it is
Aphrodite's solemn feast, and the greatest day of all my life."
And her prayer was not unanswered. Slowly the grey dawn turned to
saffron, and the golden disc of the sun rose over the silent hills and
scattered the rosy clouds north and south before him. With a cry of
joy Hero turned away from the window and ran to rouse the old dame in
the other room.
"Nurse, nurse!" she cried, "the sun is shining, and the world has
awaked from sleep. It is time to pick the roses and the lilies fresh
with dew and weave them into garlands for the goddess. Come up, up,
and out with me to the garden."
Without waiting for an answer, she tripped down the turret-stair and
out into the garden, and the old nurse sighed and followed slowly
behind. In the golden morning they gathered the roses and lilies, and
wove them into garlands and posies, and heaped up the loose flowers in
baskets. When all was ready they set out for the town. Though it was
yet early, the streets were thronged with pilgrims and folk hurrying
this way and that to the houses of their friends and kinsmen. Yet,
despite the bustle and confusion, there were few who had not leisure
to turn and watch the maiden and the old woman hastening along.
"It is Hebe come down from the courts of heaven," they said--"she who
giveth to the deathless gods eternal youth and joy. None can look on
her face and be sad."
And, indeed, all the sunshine of the morning seemed reflected in
Hero's face, so glad at heart was she. It was small wonder that men
turned and looked at her; for she walked as one of the Immortals, full
of dignity and grace. No evil thing had ever touched her or left its
mark upon her soul. But in a fair garden she had grown to womanhood,
where the breeze made music in the plane-trees and the waves beat time
upon the shore, and on the hill behind, the tall dark cypress-trees
kept silent watch above her. No angry word had ever reached her ears,
but as long as she had lived the love of one faithful heart had
shielded her. And now, though she knew it not, the call of life had
come to her, as it comes to every living thing, and with eager, open
arms she was answering it. In the midst of that bustling city crowd,
she was like a fair flower that brings into some restless sick-room
the scent of sunlit meadows and the murmur of dancing streams. As she
went she laughed and talked merrily to the old nurse beside her, and
ever and anon a flower would fall to the ground from the laden basket
she was carrying; and one of the crowd would quickly pick it up and
place it in his bosom, and carry away in his heart something of the
music of her laughter and the sunshine of her eyes. The old nurse when
she saw it was filled with fear, and hastened faster along; but Hero
saw none of these things, nor knew that she was different from other
folk.
At length they reached the temple on the hill and went into the
chamber where Aphrodite's priestesses and maidens were to meet; and
they clad her in long white robes, and put a garland on her head. When
all were ready, they went and stood before the priest of the temple,
and he told them in what order they should walk. First came little
children, who scattered rose-leaves in the path, and behind them
followed maidens, playing upon pipes, and singing the hymn to Adonis
and Aphrodite. Next came the priest himself, and on either side of him
two maidens walked, and held above his head great fans of peacock's
plumes. After him followed the long procession of priestesses and
maidens, incense-bearers, and the keepers of the sacred doves. Last of
all came Hero, bearing in her hands a garland of roses and lilies to
lay at the feet of the great white statue of the goddess. Each year
the fairest of the maidens was chosen for this task, and in all that
throng of youth and beauty there was none more fair than she. With her
eyes upon the gleaming statue that shone from the dark recess above
the heads of the worshipping people, she walked as one in a dream.
About her the smoke of the incense rose, and to her ears the voices of
the singers sounded low and far away as they sang,
"All hail to thee, Aphrodite, foam-born Queen of Love! Adonis, all
hail to thee! Thou art risen--thou art risen on this joyful day. No
more doth Death detain thee in his dark domain, nor Persephone
enshroud thee in the mists of the sad Underworld. But thou art come
back to the daylight and the flowers; and Aphrodite has dried her
tears. For once more by thy side, O fairest of mortal men, she wanders
through green glades and echoing caverns and by the shore of the
silver sea. The joy of her love has kindled the light of summer suns,
and like the west wind in the roses, her breath stirs gently in the
hearts of men, and the eyes of every living thing reflect the
brightness of her smile. All hail to thee. Aphrodite! Adonis and
Aphrodite, all hail!"
As they sang, the choir of maidens parted this way and that, and Hero
walked up between them bearing the garland in her hands. When she had
laid it at the feet of the statue, the procession formed once more,
and, with music and singing, they marched round the colonnade to the
shrine of Adonis, and all the people followed after. Still Hero walked
as one in a dream, and when the procession halted, she turned into a
small recess and leant against a pillar to rest; for her part was
done, and the people pressed so close about her in the aisle that she
was glad to stand aside till the procession moved again. With her eyes
closed, she drank in the sweet scent of the incense and flowers, and
listened to the chanting of the choir, as they sang of the love of
Adonis and Aphrodite. How Adonis, the beautiful shepherd, the fairest
of mortal men, was loved by the Queen of Beauty, and all the long
summer days they shepherded his flocks together on the shady slopes of
Ida. But there came a time when the people of the country held a great
hunt, and chased the wild boar through grove and dale till he was
brought to bay in the greenwood; and foremost of those who rushed in
to the death was Adonis. But the boar in his agony turned round upon
him and pierced him in the thigh with his tusk, and wounded unto
death, his followers bore him away and laid him in the shade of an
oak. With a wild cry of sorrow Aphrodite came and knelt beside him,
and tried to call him back to life, but his head fell limp upon her
breast. The red drops of his blood were mingled with her tears, and
both turned to flowers as they fell upon the ground--his blood to the
crimson rose, and her tears to the pale, drooping windflower. All
through the woods and the echoing hills a cry of mourning was heard,
"Adonis, Adonis! O weep for Adonis! Adonis is dead." But though his
spirit had crossed the gloomy river and fled to the dark halls of
Hades, yet Death was not strong enough to hold him. The voice of his
love and of Aphrodite's pleaded together, and heaven and earth, and
the world of the dead, were moved by their prayer. Even the heart of
Pluto, the black-browed god of Death, was touched, and he said that
for only four months in the year must Adonis dwell beneath the earth,
but for the other eight he might live his old life with Aphrodite in
the sunlight. So he chose the season of the flowery spring-time to
come back to his love each year, and only the cold dark months of
winter did he spend in the land below. So did a great love prevail and
conquer even the black lord of Death.
As Hero listened to the well-known tale, her heart was moved, and she
felt that if ever she loved, her love would be as the love of Adonis
and Aphrodite--stronger than death; and she sighed as she remembered
how she must live lonely all her days in the tower by the sea.
As though in answer to her sigh, she felt a light touch upon her arm,
and, raising her head, she found herself face to face with a young
man. She was about to turn away in anger and return to her place in
the procession, but the look of his eyes held her spellbound, so full
of fire and yet so sad were they. For a moment she stood gazing at
him, and the fire of his eyes seemed to light another in her heart and
set her whole frame aglow. The hot blood rushed to her face, and she
lowered her eyes in confusion, and her limbs trembled beneath her, so
that she leant back against the pillar for support.
"I ask your pardon, gentle lady," said the man; "forgive my rudeness.
Though thou knowest me not, I have known thee for many a long year,
and day and night have I prayed the gods that I might meet thee face
to face. This day Aphrodite has heard my prayer. If I have seemed
presumptuous, forgive me. 'Twas the goddess nerved my arm to touch
thee."
And he stood with bowed head before her, awaiting her reply.
[Illustration: She lowered her eyes in confusion, and her limbs
trembled beneath her so that she leant back against the pillar for
support.]
"Who art thou, stranger?" asked Hero. "Thou mistakest me, surely, for
some other maid. Never till this day have I set foot beyond my tower,
and to that lonely spot cometh no man, nor have I ever spoken with
such as thee before."
"My name is Leander," said the stranger, "and I dwell in white Abydos
across the water. Full well do I know thy lonely tower; for as I ply
to and fro between Sestos and Abydos on my father's business, I pass
close beneath its walls, and day by day have I seen thee sitting at
thy window looking out across the sea. Ah, lady, be not angry with me!
The first day I saw thee thy beauty set my heart aflame, and since
then I have lived for thee alone."
"Thy words stir me strangely, sir," answered Hero. "I know not what to
say to thee."
"Thou art not angry, then?" he cried. "Thou wilt let me speak my love?
Ah, maiden, all these years have I loved thee with a true heart's
devotion! If my love could find but ever so faint an answer in thy
heart, I would be content."
And he raised his eyes full of hope and joy to her face. But she
turned aside her head to hide the answering fire of her eyes.
"Alas, sir!" she said, "mine is a heart that must never beat for any
living man. I am doomed to dwell in yonder tower lonely all my days,
for if I go forth and mix with the world, I shall die by the curse of
Heaven before my time."
"I have heard thy tale, lady; for even the most secret things are
noised abroad by rumour. Far be it from me to bring the curse upon
thy head. If thou couldst give me thy love, there would be no need for
thee to come forth into the world. I have thought of that. Each day we
would live our lives as we have done till now. But at night, when none
would miss me, I would come to thee. No living soul should know my
secret--no, nor yet the lifeless boards of my boat; for even dumb wood
can tell a tale if need be. Nay, these two arms shall bear me. Look
not fearful, lady. Full often have they borne me to and fro across
this narrow sea from mere love of sport. With thee as the prize they
would bear me twice as far."
As he spoke he held them out towards her, and, indeed, they were
goodly arms to look upon, and his face and form did them no shame
either.
Then Hero raised her eyes and looked him full in the face.
"Leander," she said, "I know not what charm or magic thou hast used,
but I am as clay in thy hands. 'Tis not thy words have conquered me;
in thy reasoning I could find many a flaw. Though one short hour ago I
had never seen thee, yet now I feel that I have known thee always, and
that life apart from thee were worse than death."
"Ah, Hero!" he cried, and took her hand in his; "the gods have heard
my prayer. Though thine eyes had never seen me, the voice of my heart
reached thee long ago, and thy soul came out to mine. 'Twas in answer
to my call that thou didst come to-day to the feast; for I prayed to
Aphrodite to move thy heart, or I knew not how I should ever speak to
thee. This very night, beloved, I will come to thee, and the light
which thou burnest in thy chamber shall be my guiding star."
"Ah, how carefully will I trim that torch to-night!" she said, "that
it may burn brightly for thee. Every evening I put it there as a
beacon-light for the ships that pass in the night; but to-night it
shall burn for thee--for thee alone."
Now the service was ended before the shrine, and the train of people
began to move once more. With one last look and a pressing of hands
they parted, and Hero returned to her place in the procession.
When all was ended, the old nurse hastened to the robing-room. In the
crowd inside the temple she had lost sight of Hero, and her heart was
full of fears for the maiden. As she helped her to lay aside her
festal robes and garland, she gazed anxiously at her.
"Art thou content to come home with me, my child," she asked, "or has
the glamour of the world ensnared thee?"
"Ah, nurse!" she cried joyously, "never, never have I loved my tower
so well. Let us hasten home, and in the quiet of the evening I will
tell thee that of which my heart is full."
The old dame was glad when she found her so ready to go home, and they
hastened silently through the crowded streets. As the sun was setting
behind the hills, and the shadows fell cool and long across the garden
slopes, Hero sat at her nurse's feet, and told her of the story of
Leander's love, and how that night would make them man and wife. When
she had ended her tale, the old dame took her face between her hands
and looked her in the eyes.
"Hero," she said, "this thing can never be. I have failed in my
trust. I have listened to thy pleading, and let thee out into the
world, and now through this man the curse of the gods will be
fulfilled. Think no more of him. Let this day be to thee as though it
had never been, and thou mayst yet escape thy doom."
But Hero sprang to her feet.
"What!" she cried; "thou wouldst take away the only joy of my life
now, when I have just found it? Never! Curse or no curse, Leander
shall be my wedded husband. Ah, nurse!" she added, falling on her
knees once more, "methinks that over all the joys of life the gods
hang a curse, and that it lies not with us poor mortals to choose
between them. We must take both and live, or neither and be dead all
our days on earth. Thou canst not hold me now; I have chosen my lot."
Nothing that the old dame could say availed to change her purpose, but
with her heart full of joy she put on her brightest robes and sat by
the lighted torch in her chamber, looking out across the sea, and
waiting for the night. True to his word, Leander came as soon as
darkness fell, and the old dame let him in by the turret door.
Carefully she shaded her lamp with her hand so that the light fell
full upon his face, that she might see what manner of man he was. He
had dried himself as best he might with leaves and grass from the
garden, but his hair hung in damp clusters about his head, and his
tunic clung wet about him. Yet, in spite of all, he was full fair to
look upon--a very god for strength and beauty. The old dame was
pleased when she saw him, for he had braved danger and discomfort to
win his bride, and he was a proper man withal, and worthy of so fair a
maid as Hero. So she led him upstairs and gave him change of raiment,
and when he was ready she took him to Hero's chamber. There before the
shrine of Aphrodite they plighted their troth, with but one faithful
soul to witness their vows, and the music of the wind and the waves
for their marriage hymn. To the two lovers the night fled by on wings
of lightning, and all too soon they had to say farewell; for ere day
dawned Leander must have reached the further shore. But parting was
sweet sorrow for those who so soon would meet again.
So for many a day their lives ran smoothly on. Each night Hero lighted
her torch; each night Leander was guided by its light, and, true to
his word, swam across the narrow sea that divided him from his wife.
The colour came back to Hero's cheeks and the brightness to her eyes,
and she pined no more to leave the tower and go out into the world.
When the old dame saw how happy she was, she was glad that things had
fallen out so, and prayed that for many a long year the gods would be
pleased to bless their wedded love.
Meantime Leander thought that no one knew of the nightly voyage save
Hero and the old dame her nurse, yet, for all his secrecy, there was
one who each night watched for him with a longing as great as Hero's
own. In the depths of the blue Ægean the daughters of Nereus
dwell--the fair nymphs of the ocean. All the day long they play
beneath the waters, and dance hand in hand along the yellow sands and
the shell-strewn hollows of the sea. But at night, when the eyes of
men are darkened, they come up above the water and, cradled in the
bosom of the waves, swing gently to and fro in the soft summer air;
and the white gleam of their arms is the glint of ripples in the
moonlight. But when the wild storm-wind shrieks over the sea and the
skies are dark and lowering, they forget their fears, and are filled
with madness. Then they chase each other across the black waters with
wild locks flying in the wind, and woe to those who are out upon the
high seas when the Nereids dance in the storm, for their dance is the
dance of Death. The fire of the lightning runs hot in their veins as
they fly on the wings of the whirlwind, and wherever they go the waves
hiss white and angry behind them. On the crests of the billows they
rise and fall, and with the voice of the storm-wind they shriek aloud,
and call upon all things to join in their dance; and they leap on the
decks of the travailing ships, and man, woman, and child they clasp in
their cruel white arms, crying, "Come, dance with us over the sea."
With a force that none can withstand they bear them away, and whirl
them round in the dance of Death, till they hang limp and lifeless in
their arms. Then they toss them aside, nothing caring, to be washed
ashore in the wan morning light, or to sink to a nameless grave in the
depths of the ocean. Wherever they have passed wreck and ruin lie
behind; but they rush on, till the storm dies away, and they sink down
exhausted to their home in the sea. Sometimes in the calm green waters
below they find the bodies of those they have drowned in their frenzy,
but they know them not; for all that they did when the spirit of the
storm was upon them they forget, and it passes from their minds as a
dream dies at break of day. So when they see the bodies lying still
and lifeless, they call to them to come and play with them in the
water, and when they get no answer, they creep closer, and find that
their eyes are closed. Then they know that, however long they call,
they will never get an answer, for they have learnt that those whose
eyes are closed have neither life nor voice, but are as the rocks and
stones. But the Nereids know not sleep nor death, and when they look
upon one lying dead they think he has always been so; and they do not
grieve nor weep for him, for the gods did not make them for grief, but
to be the bringers of beauty wherever they go, and to turn all foul
things fair. So they gather the shells and the bright seaweeds, and
cover the body where it lies, and it sleeps in beauty and peace in the
hollows of the sea.
One of these same Nereids it was who saw Leander as he swam across the
Hellespont each night, and she loved him for his beauty, and longed to
have him as her playfellow. So she swam near to him on the crest of
the dancing waves, and called to him softly,
"O child of the green earth, come, come with me, and play with me and
my sisters in the depths of the blue Ægean."
But he saw her not, nor listened to her pleading, for his eyes were
darkened. To him the gleam of her arms was the moonshine on the water,
and the sound of her voice like the west wind on the waves.
So she followed him in vain across the channel, and when he went up
into the tower she sat below upon a rock, and watched for him to
appear at the window; and she saw Hero sitting by the torch waiting
for her lover, and heard her cry of joy as she ran to greet him when
he came. Then again she called to them softly,
"O children of the green earth, come and play with me. I will crown
your heads with white sea-pearls, and you shall sit on coral thrones
beneath the waves, and be king and queen over all the nymphs of the
sea."
But as they stood hand in hand at the window, they saw her not, and
heard only the murmur of the ripples on the beach. So she sat calling
in vain all the night long. Before the grey morning dawned Leander
came down, and when he reached the shore he turned and called,
"Farewell, Hero!"
And Hero, leaning from her window, answered,
"Leander, farewell!"
So the sea-nymph learnt to know their names, and every night she would
sit sadly calling them, and they heard her not.