passage that was to be their great trial. For they landed first in a
country that was full of woods, where they were welcomed by a king who had
heard of the voyagers and of their quest. There they stayed and hunted for
many days in the woods. And there a great loss befell the Argonauts, for
Tiphys, as he went through the woods, was bitten by a snake and died. He
who had braved so many seas and so many storms lost his life away from the
ship. The Argonauts made a tomb for him on the shore of that land—a great
pile of stones, in which they fixed upright his steering oar. Then they
set sail again, and Nauplius was made the steersman of the ship.
The course was not so clear to Nauplius as it had been to Tiphys. The
steersman did not find his bearings, and for many days and nights the
_Argo_ was driven on a backward course. They came to an island that they
knew to be that Island of Lemnos that they had passed on the first days of
the voyage, and they resolved to rest there for a while, and then to press
on for the passage into the Sea of Pontus.
They brought the _Argo_ near the shore. They blew trumpets and set the
loudest voiced of the heroes to call out to those upon the island. But no
answer came to them, and all day the _Argo_ lay close to the island.
There were hidden people watching them, people with bows in their hands
and arrows laid along the bowstrings. And the people who thus threatened
the unknowing Argonauts were women and young girls.
There were no men upon the Island of Lemnos. Years before a curse had
fallen upon the people of that island, putting strife between the men and
the women. And the women had mastered the men and had driven them away
from Lemnos. Since then some of the women had grown old, and the girls who
were children when their fathers and brothers had been banished were now
of an age with Atalanta, the maiden who went with the Argonauts.
They chased the wild beasts of the island, and they tilled the fields,
and they kept in good repair the houses that were built before the
banishing of the men. The older women served those who were younger, and
they had a queen, a girl whose name was Hypsipyle.
The women who watched with bows in their hands would have shot their
arrows at the Argonauts if Hypsipyle’s nurse, Polyxo, had not stayed them.
She forbade them to shoot at the strangers until she had brought to them
the queen’s commands.
She hastened to the palace and she found the young queen weaving at a
loom. She told her about the ship and the strangers on board the ship, and
she asked the queen what word she should bring to the guardian maidens.
“Before you give a command, Hypsipyle,” said Polyxo, the nurse,
“consider these words of mine. We, the elder women, are becoming ancient
now; in a few years we will not be able to serve you, the younger women,
and in a few years more we will have gone into the grave and our places
will know us no more. And you, the younger women, will be becoming
strengthless, and no more will be you able to hunt in the woods nor to
till the fields, and a hard old age will be before you.
“The ship that is beside our shore may have come at a good time. Those
on board are goodly heroes. Let them land in Lemnos, and stay if they
will. Let them wed with the younger women so that there may be husbands
and wives, helpers and helpmeets, again in Lemnos.”
Hypsipyle, the queen, let the shuttle fall from her hands and stayed for
a while looking full into Polyxo’s face. Had her nurse heard her say
something like this out of her dreams, she wondered? She bade the nurse
tell the guardian maidens to let the heroes land in safety, and that she
herself would put the crown of King Thoas, her father, upon her head, and
go down to the shore to welcome them.
And now the Argonauts saw people along the shore and they caught sight
of women’s dresses. The loudest voiced amongst them shouted again, and
they heard an answer given in a woman’s voice. They drew up the _Argo_
upon the shore, and they set foot upon the land of Lemnos.
Jason stepped forth at the head of his comrades, and he was met by
Hypsipyle, her father’s crown upon her head, at the head of her maidens.
They greeted each other, and Hypsipyle bade the heroes come with them to
their town that was called Myrine and to the palace that was there.
Wonderingly the Argonauts went, looking on women’s forms and faces and
seeing no men. They came to the palace and went within. Hypsipyle mounted
the stone throne that was King Thoas’s and the four maidens who were her
guards stood each side of her. She spoke to the heroes in greeting and
bade them stay in peace for as long as they would. She told them of the
curse that had fallen upon the people of Lemnos, and of how the menfolk
had been banished. Jason, then, told the queen what voyage he and his
companions were upon and what quest they were making. Then in friendship
the Argonauts and the women of Lemnos stayed together—all the Argonauts
except Heracles, and he, grieving still for Hylas, stayed aboard the
_Argo_.
IX. The Lemnian Maidens
[Decorative first letter]
_A_ND now the Argonauts were no longer on a ship that was being dashed on
by the sea and beaten upon by the winds. They had houses to live in; they
had honey-tasting things to eat, and when they went through the island
each man might have with him one of the maidens of Lemnos. It was a change
that was welcome to the wearied voyagers.
They helped the women in the work of the fields; they hunted the beasts
with them, and over and over again they were surprised at how skillfully
the women had ordered all affairs. Everything in Lemnos was strange to the
Argonauts, and they stayed day after day, thinking each day a fresh
adventure.
Sometimes they would leave the fields and the chase, and this hero or
that hero, with her who was his friend amongst the Lemnian maidens, would
go far into that strange land and look upon lakes that were all covered
with golden and silver water lilies, or would gather the blue flowers from
creepers that grew around dark trees, or would hide themselves so that
they might listen to the quick-moving birds that sang in the thickets.
Perhaps on their way homeward they would see the _Argo_ in the harbor, and
they would think of Heracles who was aboard, and they would call to him.
But the ship and the voyage they had been on now seemed far away to them,
and the Quest of the Golden Fleece seemed to them a story they had heard
and that they had thought of, but that they could never think on again
with all that fervor.
When Jason looked on Hypsipyle he saw one who seemed to him to be only
childlike in size. Greatly was he amazed at the words that poured forth
from her as she stood at the stone throne of King Thoas—he was amazed as
one is amazed at the rush of rich notes that comes from the throat of a
little bird; all that she said was made lightninglike by her eyes—her eyes
that were not clear and quiet like the eyes of the maidens he had seen in
Iolcus, but that were dark and burning. Her mouth was heavy and this heavy
mouth gave a shadow to her face that but for it was all bright and lovely.
Hypsipyle spoke two languages—one, the language of the mothers of the
women of Lemnos, which was rough and harsh, a speech to be flung out to
slaves, and the other the language of Greece, which their fathers had
spoken, and which Hypsipyle spoke in a way that made it sound like strange
music. She spoke and walked and did all things in a queenlike way, and
Jason could see that, for all her youth and childlike size, Hypsipyle was
one who was a ruler.
From the moment she took his hand it seemed that she could not bear to
be away from him. Where he walked, she walked too; where he sat she sat
before him, looking at him with her great eyes while she laughed or sang.
Like the perfume of strange flowers, like the savor of strange fruit was
Hypsipyle to Jason. Hours and hours he would spend sitting beside her or
watching her while she arrayed herself in white or in brightly colored
garments. Not to the chase and not into the fields did Jason go, nor did
he ever go with the others into the Lemnian land; all day he sat in the
palace with her, watching her, or listening to her singing, or to the
long, fierce speeches that she used to make to her nurse or to the four
maidens who attended her.
In the evening they would gather in the hall of the palace, the
Argonauts and the Lemnian maidens who were their comrades. There were
dances, and always Jason and Hypsipyle danced together. All the Lemnian
maidens sang beautifully, but none of them had any stories to tell.
And when the Argonauts would have stories told the Lemnian maidens would
forbid any tale that was about a god or a hero; only stories that were
about the goddesses or about some maiden would they let be told.
Orpheus, who knew the histories of the gods, would have told them many
stories, but the only story of his that they would come from the dance to
listen to was a story of the goddesses, of Demeter and her daughter
Persephone.
[Illustration]
Demeter and Persephone
I
Once when Demeter was going through the world, giving men grain to be
sown in their fields, she heard a cry that came to her from across high
mountains and that mounted up to her from the sea. Demeter’s heart shook
when she heard that cry, for she knew that it came to her from her
daughter, from her only child, young Persephone.
She stayed not to bless the fields in which the grain was being sown,
but she hurried, hurried away, to Sicily and to the fields of Enna, where
she had left Persephone. All Enna she searched, and all Sicily, but she
found no trace of Persephone, nor of the maidens whom Persephone had been
playing with. From all whom she met she begged for tidings, but although
some had seen maidens gathering flowers and playing together, no one could
tell Demeter why her child had cried out nor where she had since gone to.
There were some who could have told her. One was Cyane, a water nymph.
But Cyane, before Demeter came to her, had been changed into a spring of
water. And now, not being able to speak and tell Demeter where her child
had gone to and who had carried her away, she showed in the water the
girdle of Persephone that she had caught in her hands. And Demeter,
finding the girdle of her child in the spring, knew that she had been
carried off by violence. She lighted a torch at Ætna’s burning mountain,
and for nine days and nine nights she went searching for her through the
darkened places of the earth.
Then, upon a high and a dark hill, the Goddess Demeter came face to face
with Hecate, the Moon. Hecate, too, had heard the cry of Persephone; she
had sorrow for Demeter’s sorrow: she spoke to her as the two stood upon
that dark, high hill, and told her that she should go to Helios for
tidings—to bright Helios, the watcher for the gods, and beg Helios to tell
her who it was who had carried off by violence her child Persephone.
Demeter came to Helios. He was standing before his shining steeds,
before the impatient steeds that draw the sun through the course of the
heavens. Demeter stood in the way of those impatient steeds; she begged of
Helios who sees all things upon the earth to tell her who it was had
carried off by violence Persephone, her child.
And Helios, who may make no concealment, said: “Queenly Demeter, know
that the king of the Underworld, dark Aidoneus, has carried off Persephone
to make her his queen in the realm that I never shine upon.” He spoke, and
as he did, his horses shook their manes and breathed out fire, impatient
to be gone. Helios sprang into his chariot and went flashing away.
Demeter, knowing that one of the gods had carried off Persephone against
her will, and knowing that what was done had been done by the will of
Zeus, would go no more into the assemblies of the gods. She quenched the
torch that she had held in her hands for nine days and nine nights; she
put off her robe of goddess, and she went wandering over the earth,
uncomforted for the loss of her child. And no longer did she appear as a
gracious goddess to men; no longer did she give them grain; no longer did
she bless their fields. None of the things that it had pleased her once to
do would Demeter do any longer.
II
Persephone had been playing with the nymphs who are the daughters of
Ocean—Phæno, Ianthe, Melita, Ianeira, Acaste—in the lovely fields of Enna.
They went to gather flowers—irises and crocuses, lilies, narcissus,
hyacinths and rose-blooms—that grow in those fields. As they went,
gathering flowers in their baskets, they had sight of Pergus, the pool
that the white swans come to sing in.
Beside a deep chasm that had been made in the earth a wonder flower was
growing—in color it was like the crocus, but it sent forth a perfume that
was like the perfume of a hundred flowers. And Persephone thought as she
went toward it that having gathered that flower she would have something
much more wonderful than her companions had.
She did not know that Aidoneus, the lord of the Underworld, had caused
that flower to grow there so that she might be drawn by it to the chasm
that he had made.
As Persephone stooped to pluck the wonder flower, Aidoneus, in his
chariot of iron, dashed up through the chasm, and grasping the maiden by
the waist, set her beside him. Only Cyane, the nymph, tried to save
Persephone, and it was then that she caught the girdle in her hands.
The maiden cried out, first because her flowers had been spilled, and
then because she was being reft away. She cried out to her mother, and her
cry went over high mountains and sounded up from the sea. The daughters of
Ocean, affrighted, fled and sank down into the depths of the sea.
In his great chariot of iron that was drawn by black steeds Aidoneus
rushed down through the chasm he had made. Into the Underworld he went,
and he dashed across the River Styx, and he brought his chariot up beside
his throne. And on his dark throne he seated Persephone, the fainting
daughter of Demeter.
III
No more did the Goddess Demeter give grain to men; no more did she bless
their fields: weeds grew where grain had been growing, and men feared that
in a while they would famish for lack of bread.
She wandered through the world, her thought all upon her child,
Persephone, who had been taken from her. Once she sat by a well by a
wayside, thinking upon the child that she might not come to and who might
not come to her.
She saw four maidens come near; their grace and their youth reminded her
of her child. They stepped lightly along, carrying bronze pitchers in
their hands, for they were coming to the Well of the Maiden beside which
Demeter sat.
[Illustration]
Persephone and Aidoneus
The maidens thought when they looked upon her that the goddess was some
ancient woman who had a sorrow in her heart. Seeing that she was so noble
and so sorrowful looking, the maidens, as they drew the clear water into
their pitchers, spoke kindly to her.
“Why do you stay away from the town, old mother?” one of the maidens
said. “Why do you not come to the houses? We think that you look as if you
were shelterless and alone, and we should like to tell you that there are
many houses in the town where you would be welcomed.”
Demeter’s heart went out to the maidens, because they looked so young
and fair and simple and spoke out of such kind hearts. She said to them:
“Where can I go, dear children? My people are far away, and there are none
in all the world who would care to be near me.”
Said one of the maidens: “There are princes in the land who would
welcome you in their houses if you would consent to nurse one of their
young children. But why do I speak of other princes beside Celeus, our
father? In his house you would indeed have a welcome. But lately a baby
has been born to our mother, Metaneira, and she would greatly rejoice to
have one as wise as you mind little Demophoön.”
All the time that she watched them and listened to their voices Demeter
felt that the grace and youth of the maidens made them like Persephone.
She thought that it would ease her heart to be in the house where these
maidens were, and she was not loath to have them go and ask of their
mother to have her come to nurse the infant child.
Swiftly they ran back to their home, their hair streaming behind them
like crocus flowers; kind and lovely girls whose names are well
remembered—Callidice and Cleisidice, Demo and Callithoë. They went to
their mother and they told her of the stranger-woman whose name was Doso.
She would make a wise and a kind nurse for little Demophoön, they said.
Their mother, Metaneira, rose up from the couch she was sitting on to
welcome the stranger. But when she saw her at the doorway, awe came over
her, so majestic she seemed.
Metaneira would have her seat herself on the couch but the goddess took
the lowliest stool, saying in greeting: “May the gods give you all good,
lady.”
“Sorrow has set you wandering from your good home,” said Metaneira to
the goddess, “but now that you have come to this place you shall have all
that this house can bestow if you will rear up to youth the infant
Demophoön, child of many hopes and prayers.”
The child was put into the arms of Demeter; she clasped him to her
breast, and little Demophoön looked up into her face and smiled. Then
Demeter’s heart went out to the child and to all who were in the
household.
He grew in strength and beauty in her charge. And little Demophoön was
not nourished as other children are nourished, but even as the gods in
their childhood were nourished. Demeter fed him on ambrosia, breathing on
him with her divine breath the while. And at night she laid him on the
hearth, amongst the embers, with the fire all around him. This she did
that she might make him immortal, and like to the gods.
[Illustration]
But one night Metaneira looked out from the chamber where she lay, and
she saw the nurse take little Demophoön and lay him in a place on the
hearth with the burning brands all around him. Then Metaneira started up,
and she sprang to the hearth, and she snatched the child from beside the
burning brands. “Demophoõn, my son,” she cried, “what would this
stranger-woman do to you, bringing bitter grief to me that ever I let her
take you in her arms?”
Then said Demeter: “Foolish indeed are you mortals, and not able to
foresee what is to come to you of good or of evil! Foolish indeed are you,
Metaneira, for in your heedlessness you have cut off this child from an
immortality like to the immortality of the gods themselves. For he had
lain in my bosom and had become dear to me and I would have bestowed upon
him the greatest gift that the Divine Ones can bestow, for I would have
made him deathless and unaging. All this, now, has gone by. Honor he shall
have indeed, but Demophoõn will know age and death.”
The seeming old age that was upon her had fallen from Demeter; beauty
and stature were hers, and from her robe there came a heavenly fragrance.
There came such light from her body that the chamber shone. Metaneira
remained trembling and speechless, unmindful even to take up the child
that had been laid upon the ground.
It was then that his sisters heard Demophoön wail; one ran from her
chamber and took the child in her arms; another kindled again the fire
upon the hearth, and the others made ready to bathe and care for the
infant. All night they cared for him, holding him in their arms and at
their breasts, but the child would not be comforted, because the nurses
who handled him now were less skillful than was the goddess-nurse.
And as for Demeter, she left the house of Celeus and went upon her way,
lonely in her heart, and unappeased. And in the world that she wandered
through, the plow went in vain through the ground; the furrow was sown
without any avail, and the race of men saw themselves near perishing for
lack of bread.
But again Demeter came near the Well of the Maiden. She thought of the
daughters of Celeus as they came toward the well that day, the bronze
pitchers in their hands, and with kind looks for the stranger—she thought
of them as she sat by the well again. And then she thought of little
Demophoön, the child she had held at her breast. No stir of living was in
the land near their home, and only weeds grew in their fields. As she sat
there and looked around her there came into Demeter’s heart a pity for the
people in whose house she had dwelt.
She rose up and she went to the house of Celeus. She found him beside
his house measuring out a little grain. The goddess went to him and she
told him that because of the love she bore his household she would bless
his fields so that the seed he had sown in them would come to growth.
Celeus rejoiced, and he called all the people together, and they raised a
temple to Demeter. She went through the fields and blessed them, and the
seed that they had sown began to grow. And the goddess for a while dwelt
amongst that people, in her temple at Eleusis.
[Illustration]
IV
But still she kept away from the assemblies of the gods. Zeus sent a
messenger to her, Iris with the golden wings, bidding her to Olympus.
Demeter would not join the Olympians. Then, one after the other, the gods
and goddesses of Olympus came to her; none were able to make her cease
from grieving for Persephone, or to go again into the company of the
immortal gods.
And so it came about that Zeus was compelled to send a messenger down to
the Underworld to bring Persephone back to the mother who grieved so much
for the loss of her. Hermes was the messenger whom Zeus sent. Through the
darkened places of the earth Hermes went, and he came to that dark throne
where the lord Aidoneus sat, with Persephone beside him. Then Hermes spoke
to the lord of the Underworld, saying that Zeus commanded that Persephone
should come forth from the Underworld that her mother might look upon her.
Then Persephone, hearing the words of Zeus that might not be gainsaid,
uttered the only cry that had left her lips since she had sent out that
cry that had reached her mother’s heart. And Aidoneus, hearing the command
of Zeus that might not be denied, bowed his dark, majestic head.
She might go to the Upperworld and rest herself in the arms of her
mother, he said. And then he cried out: “Ah, Persephone, strive to feel
kindliness in your heart toward me who carried you off by violence and
against your will. I can give to you one of the great kingdoms that the
Olympians rule over. And I, who am brother to Zeus, am no unfitting
husband for you, Demeter’s child.”
So Aidoneus, the dark lord of the Underworld said, and he made ready the
iron chariot with its deathless horses that Persephone might go up from
his kingdom.
Beside the single tree in his domain Aidoneus stayed the chariot. A
single fruit grew on that tree, a bright pomegranate fruit. Persephone
stood up in the chariot and plucked the fruit from the tree. Then did
Aidoneus prevail upon her to divide the fruit, and, having divided it,
Persephone ate seven of the pomegranate seeds.
It was Hermes who took the whip and the reins of the chariot. He drove
on, and neither the sea nor the water-courses, nor the glens nor the
mountain peaks stayed the deathless horses of Aidoneus, and soon the
chariot was brought near to where Demeter awaited the coming of her
daughter.
[Illustration]
And when, from a hilltop, Demeter saw the chariot approaching, she flew
like a wild bird to clasp her child. Persephone, when she saw her mother’s
dear eyes, sprang out of the chariot and fell upon her neck and embraced
her. Long and long Demeter held her dear child in her arms, gazing, gazing
upon her. Suddenly her mind misgave her. With a great fear at her heart
she cried out: “Dearest, has any food passed your lips in all the time you
have been in the Underworld?”
She had not tasted food in all the time she was there, Persephone said.
And then, suddenly, she remembered the pomegranate that Aidoneus had asked
her to divide. When she told that she had eaten seven seeds from it
Demeter wept, and her tears fell upon Persephone’s face.
“Ah, my dearest,” she cried, “if you had not eaten the pomegranate seeds
you could have stayed with me, and always we should have been together.
But now that you have eaten food in it, the Underworld has a claim upon
you. You may not stay always with me here. Again you will have to go back
and dwell in the dark places under the earth and sit upon Aidoneus’s
throne. But not always you will be there. When the flowers bloom upon the
earth you shall come up from the realm of darkness, and in great joy we
shall go through the world together, Demeter and Persephone.”
And so it has been since Persephone came back to her mother after having
eaten of the pomegranate seeds. For two seasons of the year she stays with
Demeter, and for one season she stays in the Underworld with her dark
lord. While she is with her mother there is springtime upon the earth.
Demeter blesses the furrows, her heart being glad because her daughter is
with her once more. The furrows become heavy with grain, and soon the
whole wide earth has grain and fruit, leaves and flowers. When the furrows
are reaped, when the grain has been gathered, when the dark season comes,
Persephone goes from her mother, and going down into the dark places, she
sits beside her mighty lord Aidoneus and upon his throne. Not sorrowful is
she there; she sits with head unbowed, for she knows herself to be a
mighty queen. She has joy, too, knowing of the seasons when she may walk
with Demeter, her mother, on the wide places of the earth, through fields
of flowers and fruit and ripening grain.
Such was the story that Orpheus told—Orpheus who knew the histories of
the gods.
A day came when the heroes, on their way back from a journey they had
made with the Lemnian maidens, called out to Heracles upon the _Argo_.
Then Heracles, standing on the prow of the ship, shouted angrily to them.
Terrible did he seem to the Lemnian maidens, and they ran off, drawing the
heroes with them. Heracles shouted to his comrades again, saying that if
they did not come aboard the _Argo_ and make ready for the voyage to
Colchis, he would go ashore and carry them to the ship, and force them
again to take the oars in their hands. Not all of what Heracles said did
the Argonauts hear.
That evening the men were silent in Hypsipyle’s hall, and it was
Atalanta, the maiden, who told the evening’s story.
Atalanta’s Race
There are two Atalantas, she said; she herself, the Huntress, and
another who is noted for her speed of foot and her delight in the race—the
daughter of Schœneus, King of Bœotia, Atalanta of the Swift Foot.
So proud was she of her swiftness that she made a vow to the gods that
none would be her husband except the youth who won past her in the race.
Youth after youth came and raced against her, but Atalanta, who grew
fleeter and fleeter of foot, left each one of them far behind her. The
youths who came to the race were so many and the clamor they made after
defeat was so great, that her father made a law that, as he thought, would
lessen their number. The law that he made was that the youth who came to
race against Atalanta and who lost the race should lose his life into the
bargain. After that the youths who had care for their lives stayed away
from Bœotia.
Once there came a youth from a far part of Greece into the country that
Atalanta’s father ruled over. Hippomenes was his name. He did not know of
the race, but having come into the city and seeing the crowd of people, he
went with them to the course. He looked upon the youths who were girded
for the race, and he heard the folk say amongst themselves, “Poor youths,
as mighty and as high-spirited as they look, by sunset the life will be
out of each of them, for Atalanta will run past them as she ran past the
others.” Then Hippomenes spoke to the folk in wonder, and they told him of
Atalanta’s race and of what would befall the youths who were defeated in
it. “Unlucky youths,” cried Hippomenes, “how foolish they are to try to
win a bride at the price of their lives.”
Then, with pity in his heart, he watched the youths prepare for the
race. Atalanta had not yet taken her place, and he was fearful of looking
upon her. “She is a witch,” he said to himself, “she must be a witch to
draw so many youths to their deaths, and she, no doubt, will show in her
face and figure the witch’s spirit.”
But even as he said this, Hippomenes saw Atalanta. She stood with the
youths before they crouched for the first dart in the race. He saw that
she was a girl of a light and a lovely form. Then they crouched for the
race; then the trumpets rang out, and the youths and the maiden darted
like swallows over the sand of the course.
On came Atalanta, far, far ahead of the youths who had started with her.
Over her bare shoulders her hair streamed, blown backward by the wind that
met her flight. Her fair neck shone, and her little feet were like flying
doves. It seemed to Hippomenes as he watched her that there was fire in
her lovely body. On and on she went as swift as the arrow that the
Scythian shoots from his bow. And as he watched the race he was not sorry
that the youths were being left behind. Rather would he have been enraged
if one came near overtaking her, for now his heart was set upon winning
her for his bride, and he cursed himself for not having entered the race.
She passed the last goal mark and she was given the victor’s wreath of
flowers. Hippomenes stood and watched her and he did not see the youths
who had started with her—they had thrown themselves on the ground in their
despair.
Then wild, as though he were one of the doomed youths, Hippomenes made
his way through the throng and came before the black-bearded King of
Bœtia. The king’s brows were knit, for even then he was pronouncing doom
upon the youths who had been left behind in the race. He looked upon
Hippomenes, another youth who would make the trial, and the frown became
heavier upon his face.
But Hippomenes saw only Atalanta. She came beside her father; the wreath
was upon her head of gold, and her eyes were wide and tender. She turned
her face to him, and then she knew by the wildness that was in his look
that he had come to enter the race with her. Then the flush that was on
her face died away, and she shook her head as if she were imploring him to
go from that place.
The dark-bearded king bent his brows upon him and said, “Speak, O youth,
speak and tell us what brings you here.”
Then cried Hippomenes as if his whole life were bursting out with his
words: “Why does this maiden, your daughter, seek an easy renown by
conquering weakly youths in the race? She has not striven yet. Here stand
I, one of the blood of Poseidon, the god of the sea. Should I be defeated
by her in the race, then, indeed, might Atalanta have something to boast
of.”
Atalanta stepped forward and said: “Do not speak of it, youth. Indeed I
think that it is some god, envious of your beauty and your strength, who
sent you here to strive with me and to meet your doom. Ah, think of the
youths who have striven with me even now! Think of the hard doom that is
about to fall upon them! You venture your life in the race, but indeed I
am not worthy of the price. Go hence, O stranger youth, go hence and live
happily, for indeed I think that there is some maiden who loves you well.”
“Nay, maiden,” said Hippomenes, “I will enter the race and I will
venture my life on the chance of winning you for my bride. What good will
my life and my spirit be to me if they cannot win this race for me?”
She drew away from him then and looked upon him no more, but bent down
to fasten the sandals upon her feet. And the black-bearded king looked
upon Hippomenes and said, “Face, then, this race to-morrow. You will be
the only one who will enter it. But bethink thee of the doom that awaits
thee at the end of it.” The king said no more, and Hippomenes went from
him and from Atalanta, and he came again to the place where the race had
been run.
He looked across the sandy course with its goal marks, and in his mind
he saw again Atalanta’s swift race. He would not meet doom at the hands of
the king’s soldiers, he knew, for his spirit would leave him with the
greatness of the effort he would make to reach the goal before her. And he
thought it would be well to die in that effort and on that sandy place
that was so far from his own land.
Even as he looked across the sandy course now deserted by the throng, he
saw one move across it, coming toward him with feet that did not seem to
touch the ground. She was a woman of wonderful presence. As Hippomenes
looked upon her he knew that she was Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and
of love.
“Hippomenes,” said the immortal goddess, “the gods are mindful of you
who are sprung from one of the gods, and I am mindful of you because of
your own worth. I have come to help you in your race with Atalanta, for I
would not have you slain, nor would I have that maiden go unwed. Give your
greatest strength and your greatest swiftness to the race, and behold!
here are wonders that will prevent the fleet-footed Atalanta from putting
all her spirit into the race.”
And then the immortal goddess held out to Hippomenes a branch that had
upon it three apples of shining gold.
“In Cyprus,” said the goddess, “where I have come from, there is a tree
on which these golden apples grow. Only I may pluck them. I have brought
them to you, Hippomenes. Keep them in your girdle, and in the race you
will find out what to do with them, I think.”
So Aphrodite said, and then she vanished, leaving a fragrance in the air
and the three shining apples in the hands of Hippomenes. Long he looked
upon their brightness. They were beside him that night, and when he arose
in the dawn he put them in his girdle. Then, before the throng, he went to
the place of the race.
When he showed himself beside Atalanta all around the course were
silent, for they all admired Hippomenes for his beauty and for the spirit
that was in his face; they were silent out of compassion, for they knew
the doom that befell the youths who raced with Atalanta.
And now Schœneus, the black-bearded king, stood up, and he spoke to the
throng, saying, “Hear me all, both young and old: this youth, Hippomenes,
seeks to win the race from my daughter, winning her for his bride. Now, if
he be victorious and escape death I will give him my dear child, Atalanta,
and many fleet horses besides as gifts from me, and in honor he shall go
back to his native land. But if he fail in the race, then he will have to
share the doom that has been meted out to the other youths who raced with
Atalanta hoping to win her for a bride.”
Then Hippomenes and Atalanta crouched for the start. The trumpets were
sounded and they darted off.
Side by side with Atalanta Hippomenes went. Her flying hair touched his
breast, and it seemed to him that they were skimming the sandy course as
if they were swallows. But then Atalanta began to draw away from him. He
saw her ahead of him, and then he began to hear the words of cheer that
came from the throng—“Bend to the race, Hippomenes! Go on, go on! Use your
strength to the utmost.” He bent himself to the race, but further and
further from him Atalanta drew.
Then it seemed to him that she checked her swiftness a little to look
back at him. He gained on her a little. And then his hand touched the
apples that were in his girdle. As it touched them it came into his mind
what to do with the apples.
He was not far from her now, but already her swiftness was drawing her
further and further away. He took one of the apples into his hand and
tossed it into the air so that it fell on the track before her.
Atalanta saw the shining apple. She checked her speed and stooped in the
race to pick it up. And as she stooped Hippomenes darted past her, and
went flying toward the goal that now was within his sight.
But soon she was beside him again. He looked, and he saw that the goal
marks were far, far ahead of him. Atalanta with the flying hair passed
him, and drew away and away from him. He had not speed to gain upon her
now, he thought, so he put his strength into his hand and he flung the
second of the shining apples. The apple rolled before her and rolled off
the course. Atalanta turned off the course, stooped and picked up the
apple.
Then did Hippomenes draw all his spirit into his breast as he raced on.
He was now nearer to the goal than she was. But he knew that she was
behind him, going lightly where he went heavily. And then she was beside
him, and then she went past him. She paused in her speed for a moment and
she looked back on him.
As he raced on, his chest seemed weighted down and his throat was
crackling dry. The goal marks were far away still, but Atalanta was
nearing them. He took the last of the golden apples into his hand. Perhaps
she was now so far that the strength of his throw would not be great
enough to bring the apple before her.
But with all the strength he could put into his hand he flung the apple.
It struck the course before her feet and then went bounding wide. Atalanta
swerved in her race and followed where the apple went. Hippomenes marveled
that he had been able to fling it so far. He saw Atalanta stoop to pick up
the apple, and he bounded on. And then, although his strength was failing,
he saw the goal marks near him. He set his feet between them and then fell
down on the ground.
The attendants raised him up and put the victor’s wreath upon his head.
The concourse of people shouted with joy to see him victor. But he looked
around for Atalanta and he saw her standing there with the golden apples
in her hands. “He has won,” he heard her say, “and I have not to hate
myself for bringing a doom upon him. Gladly, gladly do I give up the race,
and glad am I that it is this youth who has won the victory from me.”
[Illustration]
Atalanta’s Last Race
She took his hand and brought him before the king. Then Schœneus, in the
sight of all the rejoicing people, gave Atalanta to Hippomenes for his
bride, and he bestowed upon him also a great gift of horses. With his dear
and hard-won bride, Hippomenes went to his own country, and the apples
that she brought with her, the golden apples of Aphrodite, were reverenced
by the people.
X. The Departure from Lemnos
[Decorative first letter]
_A_ DAY came when Heracles left the _Argo_ and went on the Lemnian land.
He gathered the heroes about him, and they, seeing Heracles come amongst
them, clamored to go to hunt the wild bulls that were inland from the sea.
So, for once, the heroes left the Lemnian maidens who were their
friends. Jason, too, left Hypsipyle in the palace and went with Heracles.
And as they went, Heracles spoke to each of the heroes, saying that they
were forgetting the Fleece of Gold that they had sailed to gain. Jason
blushed to think that he had almost let go out of his mind the quest that
had brought him from Iolcus. And then he thought upon Hypsipyle and of how
her little hand would stay in his, and his own hand became loose upon the
spear so that it nearly fell from him. How could he, he thought, leave
Hypsipyle and this land of Lemnos behind?
He heard the clear voice of Atalanta as she, too, spoke to the
Argonauts. What Heracles said was brave and wise, said Atalanta.
Forgetfulness would cover their names if they stayed longer in
Lemnos—forgetfulness and shame, and they would come to despise themselves.
Leave Lemnos, she cried, and draw _Argo_ into the sea, and depart for
Colchis.
All day the Argonauts stayed by themselves, hunting the bulls. On their
way back from the chase they were met by Lemnian maidens who carried
wreaths of flowers for them. Very silent were the heroes as the maidens
greeted them. Heracles went with Jason to the palace, and Hypsipyle,
seeing the mighty stranger coming, seated herself, not on the couch where
she was wont to sit looking into the face of Jason, but on the stone
throne of King Thoas, her father. And seated on that throne she spoke to
Jason and to Heracles as a queen might speak.
In the hall that night the heroes and the Lemnian maidens who were with
them were quiet. A story was told; Castor began it and Polydeuces ended
it. And the story that Helen’s brothers told was:
The Golden Maid
Epimetheus the Titan had a brother who was the wisest of all
beings—Prometheus called the Foreseer. But Epimetheus himself was
slow-witted and scatter-brained. His wise brother once sent him a message
bidding him beware of the gifts that Zeus might send him. Epimetheus
heard, but he did not heed the warning, and thereby he brought upon the
race of men troubles and cares.
Prometheus, the wise Titan, had saved men from a great trouble that Zeus
would have brought upon them. Also he had given them the gift of fire.
Zeus was the more wroth with men now because fire, stolen from him, had
been given them; he was wroth with the race of Titans, too, and he
pondered in his heart how he might injure men, and how he might use
Epimetheus, the mindless Titan, to further his plan.
While he pondered there was a hush on high Olympus, the mountain of the
gods. Then Zeus called upon the artisan of the gods, lame Hephæstus, and
he commanded him to make a being out of clay that would have the likeness
of a lovely maiden. With joy and pride Hephæstus worked at the task that
had been given him, and he fashioned a being that had the likeness of a
lovely maiden, and he brought the thing of his making before the gods and
the goddesses.
All strove to add a grace or a beauty to the work of Hephæstus. Zeus
granted that the maiden should see and feel. Athene dressed her in
garments that were as lovely as flowers. Aphrodite, the goddess of love,
put a charm on her lips and in her eyes. The Graces put necklaces around
her neck and set a golden crown upon her head. The Hours brought her a
girdle of spring flowers. Then the herald of the gods gave her speech that
was sweet and flowing. All the gods and goddesses had given gifts to her,
and for that reason the maiden of Hephæstus’s making was called Pandora,
the All-endowed.
She was lovely, the gods knew; not beautiful as they themselves are, who
have a beauty that awakens reverence rather than love, but lovely, as
flowers and bright waters and earthly maidens are lovely. Zeus smiled to
himself when he looked upon her, and he called to Hermes who knew all the
ways of the earth, and he put her into the charge of Hermes. Also he gave
Hermes a great jar to take along; this jar was Pandora’s dower.
Epimetheus lived in a deep-down valley. Now one day, as he was sitting
on a fallen pillar in the ruined place that was now forsaken by the rest
of the Titans, he saw a pair coming toward him. One had wings, and he knew
him to be Hermes, the messenger of the gods. The other was a maiden.
Epimetheus marveled at the crown upon her head and at her lovely garments.
There was a glint of gold all around her. He rose from where he sat upon
the broken pillar and he stood to watch the pair. Hermes, he saw, was
carrying by its handle a great jar.
In wonder and delight he looked upon the maiden. Epimetheus had seen no
lovely thing for ages. Wonderful indeed was this Golden Maid, and as she
came nearer the charm that was on her lips and in her eyes came to the
Earth-born One, and he smiled with more and more delight.
[Illustration]
Hermes came and stood before him. He also smiled, but his smile had
something baleful in it. He put the hands of the Golden Maid into the
great soft hand of the Titan, and he said, “O Epimetheus, Father Zeus
would be reconciled with thee, and as a sign of his good will he sends
thee this lovely goddess to be thy companion.”
Oh, very foolish was Epimetheus the Earth-born One! As he looked upon
the Golden Maid who was sent by Zeus he lost memory of the wars that Zeus
had made upon the Titans and the Elder Gods; he lost memory of his brother
chained by Zeus to the rock; he lost memory of the warning that his
brother, the wisest of all beings, had sent him. He took the hands of
Pandora, and he thought of nothing at all in all the world but her. Very
far away seemed the voice of Hermes saying, “This jar, too, is from
Olympus; it has in it Pandora’s dower.”
The jar stood forgotten for long, and green plants grew over it while
Epimetheus walked in the garden with the Golden Maid, or watched her while
she gazed on herself in the stream, or searched in the untended places for
the fruits that the Elder Gods would eat, when they feasted with the
Titans in the old days, before Zeus had come to his power. And lost to
Epimetheus was the memory of his brother now suffering upon the rock
because of the gift he had given to men.
And Pandora, knowing nothing except the brightness of the sunshine and
the lovely shapes and colors of things and the sweet taste of the fruits
that Epimetheus brought to her, could have stayed forever in that garden.
But every day Epimetheus would think that the men and women of the world
should be able to talk to him about this maiden with the wonderful
radiance of gold, and with the lovely garments, and the marvelous crown.
And one day he took Pandora by the hand, and he brought her out of that
deep-lying valley, and toward the homes of men. He did not forget the jar
that Hermes had left with her. All things that belonged to the Golden Maid
were precious, and Epimetheus took the jar along.
The race of men at the time were simple and content. Their days were
passed in toil, but now, since Prometheus had given them fire, they had
good fruits of their toil. They had well-shaped tools to dig the earth and
to build houses. Their homes were warmed with fire, and fire burned upon
the altars that were upon their ways.
Greatly they reverenced Prometheus; who had given them fire, and greatly
they reverenced the race of the Titans. So when Epimetheus came amongst
them, tall as a man walking with stilts, they welcomed him and brought him
and the Golden Maid to their hearths. And Epimetheus showed Pandora the
wonderful element that his brother had given to men, and she rejoiced to
see the fire, clapping her hands with delight. The jar that Epimetheus
brought he left in an open place.
In carrying it up the rough ways out of the valley Epimetheus may have
knocked the jar about, for the lid that had been tight upon it now fitted
very loosely. But no one gave heed to the jar as it stood in the open
space where Epimetheus had left it.
At first the men and women looked upon the beauty of Pandora, upon her
lovely dresses, and her golden crown and her girdle of flowers, with
wonder and delight. Epimetheus would have every one admire and praise her.
The men would leave off working in the fields, or hammering on iron, or
building houses, and the women would leave off spinning or weaving, and
come at his call, and stand about and admire the Golden Maid. But as time
went by a change came upon the women: one woman would weep, and another
would look angry, and a third would go back sullenly to her work when
Pandora was admired or praised.
Once the women were gathered together, and one who was the wisest
amongst them said: “Once we did not think about ourselves, and we were
content. But now we think about ourselves, and we say to ourselves that we
are harsh and ill-favored indeed compared to the Golden Maid that the
Titan is so enchanted with. And we hate to see our own men praise and
admire her, and often, in our hearts, we would destroy her if we could.”
“That is true,” the women said. And then a young woman cried out in a
most yearnful voice, “O tell us, you who are wise, how can we make
ourselves as beautiful as Pandora!”
Then said that woman who was thought to be wise, “This Golden Maid is
lovely to look upon because she has lovely apparel and all the means of
keeping herself lovely. The gods have given her the ways, and so her skin
remains fair, and her hair keeps its gold, and her lips are ever red and
her eyes shining. And I think that the means that she has of keeping
lovely are all in that jar that Epimetheus brought with her.”
When the woman who was thought to be wise said this, those around her
were silent for a while. But then one arose and another arose, and they
stood and whispered together, one saying to the other that they should go
to the place where the jar had been left by Epimetheus, and that they
should take out of it the salves and the charms and the washes that would
leave them as beautiful as Pandora.
So the women went to that place. On their way they stopped at a pool and
they bent over to see themselves mirrored in it, and they saw themselves
with dusty and unkempt hair, with large and knotted hands, with troubled
eyes, and with anxious mouths. They frowned as they looked upon their
images, and they said in harsh voices that in a while they would have ways
of making themselves as lovely as the Golden Maid.
[Illustration]
And as they went on they saw Pandora. She was playing in a flowering
field, while Epimetheus, high as a man upon stilts, went gathering the
blossoms of the bushes for her. They went on, and they came at last to the
place where Epimetheus had left the jar that held Pandora’s dower.
A great stone jar it was; there was no bird, nor flower, nor branch
painted upon it. It stood high as a woman’s shoulder. And as the women
looked on it they thought that there were things enough in it to keep them
beautiful for all the days of their lives. But each one thought that she
should not be the last to get her hands into it.
Once the lid had been fixed tightly down on the jar. But the lid was
shifted a little now. As the hands of the women grasped it to take off the
lid the jar was cast down, and the things that were inside spilled
themselves forth.
They were black and gray and red; they were crawling and flying things.
And, as the women looked, the things spread themselves abroad or fastened
themselves upon them.
The jar, like Pandora herself, had been made and filled out of the ill
will of Zeus. And it had been filled, not with salves and charms and
washes, as the women had thought, but with Cares and Troubles. Before the
women came to it one Trouble had already come forth from the
jar—Self-thought that was upon the top of the heap. It was Self-thought
that had afflicted the women, making them troubled about their own looks,
and envious of the graces of the Golden Maid.
And now the others spread themselves out—Sickness and War and Strife
between friends. They spread themselves abroad and entered the houses,
while Epimetheus, the mindless Titan, gathered flowers for Pandora, the
Golden Maid.
Lest she should weary of her play he called to her. He would take her
into the houses of men. As they drew near to the houses they saw a woman
seated on the ground, weeping; her husband had suddenly become hard to her
and had shut the door on her face. They came upon a child crying because
of a pain that he could not understand. And then they found two men
struggling, their strife being on account of a possession that they had
both held peaceably before.
In every house they went to Epimetheus would say, “I am the brother of
Prometheus, who gave you the gift of fire.” But instead of giving them a
welcome the men would say, “We know nothing about your relation to
Prometheus. We see you as a foolish man upon stilts.”
Epimetheus was troubled by the hard looks and the cold words of the men
who once had reverenced him. He turned from the houses and went away. In a
quiet place he sat down, and for a while he lost sight of Pandora. And
then it seemed to him that he heard the voice of his wise and suffering
brother saying, “Do not accept any gift that Zeus may send you.”
He rose up and he hurried away from that place, leaving Pandora playing
by herself. There came into his scattered mind Regret and Fear. As he went
on he stumbled. He fell from the edge of a cliff, and the sea washed away
the body of the mindless brother of Prometheus.
Not everything had been spilled out of the jar that had been brought
with Pandora into the world of men. A beautiful, living thing was in that
jar also. This was Hope. And this beautiful, living thing had got caught
under the rim of the jar and had not come forth with the others. One day a
weeping woman found Hope under the rim of Pandora’s jar and brought this
living thing into the house of men. And now because of Hope they could see
an end to their troubles. And the men and women roused themselves in the
midst of their afflictions and they looked toward gladness. Hope, that had
been caught under the rim of the jar, stayed behind the thresholds of
their houses.
As for Pandora, the Golden Maid, she played on, knowing only the
brightness of the sunshine and the lovely shapes of things. Beautiful
would she have seemed to any being who saw her, but now she had strayed
away from the houses of men and Epimetheus was not there to look upon her.
Then Hephæstus, the lame artisan of the gods, left down his tools and went
to seek her. He found Pandora, and he took her back to Olympus. And in his
brazen house she stays, though sometimes at the will of Zeus she goes down
into the world of men.
When Polydeuces had ended the story that Castor had begun, Heracles
cried out: “For the Argonauts, too, there has been a Golden Maid—nay, not
one, but a Golden Maid for each. Out of the jar that has been with her ye
have taken forgetfulness of your honor. As for me, I go back to the _Argo_
lest one of these Golden Maids should hold me back from the labors that
make great a man.”
So Heracles said, and he went from Hypsipyle’s hall. The heroes looked
at each other, and they stood up, and shame that they had stayed so long
away from the quest came over each of them. The maidens took their hands;
the heroes unloosed those soft hands and turned away from them.
Hypsipyle left the throne of King Thoas and stood before Jason. There
was a storm in all her body; her mouth was shaken, and a whole life’s
trouble was in her great eyes. Before she spoke Jason cried out: “What
Heracles said is true, O Argonauts! On the Quest of the Golden Fleece our
lives and our honors depend. To Colchis—to Colchis must we go!”
He stood upright in the hall, and his comrades gathered around him. The
Lemnian maidens would have held out their arms and would have made their
partings long delayed, but that a strange cry came to them through the
night. Well did the Argonauts know that cry—it was the cry of the ship, of
_Argo_ herself. They knew that they must go to her now or stay from the
voyage for ever. And the maidens knew that there was something in the cry
of the ship that might not be gainsaid, and they put their hands before
their faces, and they said no other word.
[Illustration]
Then said Hypsipyle, the queen, “I, too, am a ruler, Jason, and I know
that there are great commands that we have to obey. Go, then, to the
_Argo_. Ah, neither I nor the women of Lemnos will stay your going now.
But to-morrow speak to us from the deck of the ship and bid us farewell.
Do not go from us in the night, Jason.”
Jason and the Argonauts went from Hypsipyle’s hall. The maidens who were
left behind wept together. All but Hypsipyle. She sat on the throne of
King Thoas and she had Polyxo, her nurse, tell her of the ways of Jason’s
voyage as he had told of them, and of all that he would have to pass
through. When the other Lemnian women slept she put her head upon her
nurse’s knees and wept; bitterly Hypsipyle wept, but softly, for she would
not have the others hear her weeping.
By the coming of the morning’s light the Argonauts had made all ready
for their sailing. They were standing on the deck when the light came, and
they saw the Lemnian women come to the shore. Each looked at her friend
aboard the _Argo_, and spoke, and went away. And last, Hypsipyle, the
queen, came. “Farewell, Hypsipyle,” Jason said to her, and she, in her
strange way of speaking, said:
“What you told us I have remembered—how you will come to the dangerous
passage that leads into the Sea of Pontus, and how by the flight of a
pigeon you will know whether or not you may go that way. O Jason, let the
dove you fly when you come to that dangerous place be Hypsipyle’s.”
She showed a pigeon held in her hands. She loosed it, and the pigeon
alighted on the ship, and stayed there on pink feet, a white-feathered
pigeon. Jason took up the pigeon and held it in his hands, and the _Argo_
drew swiftly away from the Lemnian land.
XI. The Passage of the Symplegades
[Decorative first letter]
_T_HEY came near Salmydessus, where Phineus, the wise king, ruled, and
they sailed past it; they sighted the pile of stones, with the oar upright
upon it that they had raised on the seashore over the body of Tiphys, the
skillful steersman whom they had lost; they sailed on until they heard a
sound that grew more and more thunderous, and then the heroes said to each
other, “Now we come to the Symplegades and the dread passage into the Sea
of Pontus.”
It was then that Jason cried out: “Ah, when Pelias spoke of this quest
to me, why did I not turn my head away and refuse to be drawn into it?
Since we came near the dread passage that is before us I have passed every
night in groans. As for you who have come with me, you may take your ease,
for you need care only for your own lives. But I have to care for you all,
and to strive to win for you all a safe return to Greece. Ah, greatly am I
afflicted now, knowing to what a great peril I have brought you!”
So Jason said, thinking to make trial of the heroes. They, on their
part, were not dismayed, but shouted back cheerful words to him. Then he
said: “O friends of mine, by your spirit my spirit is quickened. Now if I
knew that I was being borne down into the black gulfs of Hades, I should
fear nothing, knowing that you are constant and faithful of heart.”
As he said this they came into water that seethed all around the ship.
Then into the hands of Euphemus, a youth of Iolcus, who was the
keenest-eyed amongst the Argonauts, Jason put the pigeon that Hypsipyle
had given him. He bade him stand by the prow of the _Argo_, ready to loose
the pigeon as the ship came nigh that dreadful gate of rock.
They saw the spray being dashed around in showers; they saw the sea
spread itself out in foam; they saw the high, black rocks rush together,
sounding thunderously as they met. The caves in the high rocks rumbled as
the sea surged into them, and the foam of the dashing waves spurted high
up the rocks.
Jason shouted to each man to grip hard on the oars. The _Argo_ dashed on
as the rocks rushed toward each other again. Then there was such noise
that no man’s voice could be heard above it.
As the rocks met, Euphemus loosed the pigeon. With his keen eyes he
watched her fly through the spray. Would she, not finding an opening to
fly through, turn back? He watched, and meanwhile the Argonauts gripped
hard on the oars to save the ship from being dashed on the rocks. The
pigeon fluttered as though she would sink down and let the spray drown
her. And then Euphemus saw her raise herself and fly forward. Toward the
place where she had flown he pointed. The rowers gave a loud cry, and
Jason called upon them to pull with might and main.
The rocks were parting asunder, and to the right and left broad Pontus
was seen by the heroes. Then suddenly a huge wave rose before them, and at
the sight of it they all uttered a cry and bent their heads. It seemed to
them that it would dash down on the whole ship’s length and overwhelm them
all. But Nauplius was quick to ease the ship, and the wave rolled away
beneath the keel, and at the stern it raised the _Argo_ and dashed her
away from the rocks.
They felt the sun as it streamed upon them through the sundered rocks.
They strained at the oars until the oars bent like bows in their hands.
The ship sprang forward. Surely they were now in the wide Sea of Pontus!
The Argonauts shouted. They saw the rocks behind them with the sea fowl
screaming upon them. Surely they were in the Sea of Pontus—the sea that
had never been entered before through the Rocks Wandering. The rocks no
longer dashed together; each remained fixed in its place, for it was the
will of the gods that these rocks should no more clash together after a
mortal’s ship had passed between them.
They were now in the Sea of Pontus, the sea into which flowed the river
that Colchis was upon—the River Phasis. And now above Jason’s head the
bird of peaceful days, the Halcyon, fluttered, and the Argonauts knew that
this was a sign from the gods that the voyage would not any more be
troublous.
XII. The Mountain Caucasus
[Decorative first letter]
_T_HEY rested in the harbor of Thynias, the desert island, and sailing
from there they came to the land of the Mariandyni, a people who were
constantly at war with the Bebrycians; there the hero Polydeuces was
welcomed as a god. Twelve days afterward they passed the mouth of the
River Callichorus; then they came to the mouth of that river that flows
through the land of the Amazons, the River Thermodon. Fourteen days from
that place brought them to the island that is filled with the birds of
Ares, the god of war. These birds dropped upon the heroes heavy, pointed
feathers that would have pierced them as arrows if they had not covered
themselves with their shields; then by shouting, and by striking their
shields with their spears, they raised such a clamor as drove the birds
away.
They sailed on, borne by a gentle breeze, until a gulf of the sea opened
before them, and lo! a mountain that they knew bore some mighty name.
Orpheus, looking on its peak and its crags, said, “Lo, now! We, the
Argonauts, are looking upon the mountain that is named Caucasus!”
When he declared the name the heroes all stood up and looked on the
mountain with awe. And in awe they cried out a name, and that name was
“Prometheus!”
For upon that mountain the Titan god was held, his limbs bound upon the
hard rocks by fetters of bronze. Even as the Argonauts looked toward the
mountain a great shadow fell upon their ship, and looking up they saw a
monstrous bird flying. The beat of the bird’s wings filled out the sail
and drove the _Argo_ swiftly onward. “It is the bird sent by Zeus,”
Orpheus said. “It is the vulture that every day devours the liver of the
Titan god.” They cowered down on the ship as they heard that word—all the
Argonauts save Heracles; he stood upright and looked out toward where the
bird was flying. Then, as the bird came near to the mountain, the
Argonauts heard a great cry of anguish go up from the rocks.
“It is Prometheus crying out as the bird of Zeus flies down upon him,”
they said to one another. Again they cowered down on the ship, all save
Heracles, who stayed looking toward where the great vulture had flown.
The night came and the Argonauts sailed on in silence, thinking in awe
of the Titan god and of the doom that Zeus had inflicted upon him. Then,
as they sailed on under the stars, Orpheus told them of Prometheus, of his
gift to men, and of the fearful punishment that had been meted out to him
by Zeus.
Prometheus
The gods more than once made a race of men: the first was a Golden Race.
Very close to the gods who dwell on Olympus was this Golden Race; they
lived justly although there were no laws to compel them. In the time of
the Golden Race the earth knew only one season, and that season was
everlasting Spring. The men and women of the Golden Race lived through a
span of life that was far beyond that of the men and women of our day, and
when they died it was as though sleep had become everlasting with them.
They had all good things, and that without labor, for the earth without
any forcing bestowed fruits and crops upon them. They had peace all
through their lives, this Golden Race, and after they had passed away
their spirits remained above the earth, inspiring the men of the race that
came after them to do great and gracious things and to act justly and
kindly to one another.
After the Golden Race had passed away, the gods made for the earth a
second race—a Silver Race. Less noble in spirit and in body was this
Silver Race, and the seasons that visited them were less gracious. In the
time of the Silver Race the gods made the seasons—Summer and Spring, and
Autumn and Winter. They knew parching heat, and the bitter winds of
winter, and snow and rain and hail. It was the men of the Silver Race who
first built houses for shelter. They lived through a span of life that was
longer than our span, but it was not long enough to give wisdom to them.
Children were brought up at their mothers’ sides for a hundred years,
playing at childish things. And when they came to years beyond a hundred
they quarreled with one another, and wronged one another, and did not know
enough to give reverence to the immortal gods. Then, by the will of Zeus,
the Silver Race passed away as the Golden Race had passed away. Their
spirits stay in the Underworld, and they are called by men the blessed
spirits of the Underworld.
And then there was made the third race—the Race of Bronze. They were a
race great of stature, terrible and strong. Their armor was of bronze,
their swords were of bronze, their implements were of bronze, and of
bronze, too, they made their houses. No great span of life was theirs, for
with the weapons that they took in their terrible hands they slew one
another. Thus they passed away, and went down under the earth to Hades,
leaving no name that men might know them by.
Then the gods created a fourth race—our own: a Race of Iron. We have not
the justice that was amongst the men of the Golden Race, nor the
simpleness that was amongst the men of the Silver Race, nor the stature
nor the great strength that the men of the Bronze Race possessed. We are
of iron that we may endure. It is our doom that we must never cease from
labor and that we must very quickly grow old.
But miserable as we are to-day, there was a time when the lot of men was
more miserable. With poor implements they had to labor on a hard ground.
There was less justice and kindliness amongst men in those days than there
is now.
Once it came into the mind of Zeus that he would destroy the fourth race
and leave the earth to the nymphs and the satyrs. He would destroy it by a
great flood. But Prometheus, the Titan god who had given aid to Zeus
against the other Titans—Prometheus, who was called the Foreseer—could not
consent to the race of men being destroyed utterly, and he considered a
way of saving some of them. To a man and a woman, Deucalion and Pyrrha,
just and gentle people, he brought word of the plan of Zeus, and he showed
them how to make a ship that would bear them through what was about to be
sent upon the earth.
Then Zeus shut up in their cave all the winds but the wind that brings
rain and clouds. He bade this wind, the South Wind, sweep over the earth,
flooding it with rain. He called upon Poseidon and bade him to let the sea
pour in upon the land. And Poseidon commanded the rivers to put forth all
their strength, and sweep dykes away, and overflow their banks.
The clouds and the sea and the rivers poured upon the earth. The flood
rose higher and higher, and in the places where the pretty lambs had
played the ugly sea calves now gambolled; men in their boats drew fishes
out of the tops of elm trees, and the water nymphs were amazed to come on
men’s cities under the waves.
Soon even the men and women who had boats were overwhelmed by the rise
of water—all perished then except Deucalion and Pyrrha, his wife; them the
waves had not overwhelmed, for they were in a ship that Prometheus had
shown them how to build. The flood went down at last, and Deucalion and
Pyrrha climbed up to a high and a dry ground. Zeus saw that two of the
race of men had been left alive. But he saw that these two were just and
kindly, and had a right reverence for the gods. He spared them, and he saw
their children again peopling the earth.
Prometheus, who had saved them, looked on the men and women of the earth
with compassion. Their labor was hard, and they wrought much to gain
little. They were chilled at night in their houses, and the winds that
blew in the daytime made the old men and women bend double like a wheel.
Prometheus thought to himself that if men and women had the element that
only the gods knew of—the element of fire—they could make for themselves
implements for labor; they could build houses that would keep out the
chilling winds, and they could warm themselves at the blaze.
But the gods had not willed that men should have fire, and to go against
the will of the gods would be impious. Prometheus went against the will of
the gods. He stole fire from the altar of Zeus, and he hid it in a hollow
fennel stalk, and he brought it to men.
[Illustration]
Prometheus
Then men were able to hammer iron into tools, and cut down forests with
axes, and sow grain where the forests had been. Then were they able to
make houses that the storms could not overthrow, and they were able to
warm themselves at hearth fires. They had rest from their labor at times.
They built cities; they became beings who no longer had heads and backs
bent but were able to raise their faces even to the gods.
And Zeus spared the race of men who had now the sacred element of fire.
But he knew that Prometheus had stolen this fire even from his own altar
and had given it to men. And he thought on how he might punish the great
Titan god for his impiety.
He brought back from the Underworld the giants that he had put there to
guard the Titans that had been hurled down to Tartarus. He brought back
Gyes, Cottus, and Briareus, and he commanded them to lay hands upon
Prometheus and to fasten him with fetters to the highest, blackest crag
upon Caucasus. And Briareus, Cottus, and Gyes seized upon the Titan god,
and carried him to Caucasus, and fettered him with fetters of bronze to
the highest, blackest crag—with fetters of bronze that may not be broken.
There they have left the Titan stretched, under the sky, with the cold
winds blowing upon him, and with the sun streaming down on him. And that
his punishment might exceed all other punishments Zeus had sent a vulture
to prey upon him—a vulture that tears at his liver each day.
And yet Prometheus does not cry out that he has repented of his gift to
man; although the winds blow upon him, and the sun streams upon him, and
the vulture tears at his liver, Prometheus will not cry out his repentance
to heaven. And Zeus may not utterly destroy him. For Prometheus the
Foreseer knows a secret that Zeus would fain have him disclose. He knows
that even as Zeus overthrew his father and made himself the ruler in his
stead, so, too, another will overthrow Zeus. And one day Zeus will have to
have the fetters broken from around the limbs of Prometheus, and will have
to bring from the rock and the vulture, and into the Council of the
Olympians, the unyielding Titan god.
When the light of the morning came the _Argo_ was very near to the
Mountain Caucasus. The voyagers looked in awe upon its black crags. They
saw the great vulture circling over a high rock, and from beneath where
the vulture circled they heard a weary cry. Then Heracles, who all night
had stood by the mast, cried out to the Argonauts to bring the ship near
to a landing place.
But Jason would not have them go near; fear of the wrath of Zeus was
strong upon him; rather, he bade the Argonauts put all their strength into
their rowing, and draw far off from that forbidden mountain. Heracles, not
heeding what Jason ordered, declared that it was his purpose to make his
way up to the black crag, and, with his shield and his sword in his hands,
slay the vulture that preyed upon the liver of Prometheus.
[Illustration]
Then Orpheus in a clear voice spoke to the Argonauts. “Surely some
spirit possesses Heracles,” he said. “Despite all we do or say he will
make his way to where Prometheus is fettered to the rock. Do not gainsay
him in this! Remember what Nereus, the ancient one of the sea, declared!
Did Nereus not say that a great labor awaited Heracles, and that in the
doing of it he should work out the will of Zeus? Stay him not! How just it
would be if he who is the son of Zeus freed from his torments the
much-enduring Titan god!”
So Orpheus said in his clear, commanding voice. They drew near to the
Mountain Caucasus. Then Heracles, gripping the sword and shield that were
the gifts of the gods, sprang out on the landing place. The Argonauts
shouted farewell to him. But he, filled as he was with an overmastering
spirit, did not heed their words.
A strong breeze drove them onward; darkness came down, and the _Argo_
went on through the night. With the morning light those who were sleeping
were awakened by the cry of Nauplius—“Lo! The Phasis, and the utmost
bourne of the sea!” They sprang up, and looked with many strange feelings
upon the broad river they had come to.
Here was the Phasis emptying itself into the Sea of Pontus! Up that
river was Colchis and the city of King Æetes, the end of their voyage, the
place where was kept the Golden Fleece! Quickly they let down the sail;
they lowered the mast and they laid it along the deck; strongly they
grasped the oars; they swung the _Argo_ around, and they entered the broad
stream of the Phasis.
Up the river they went with the Mountain Caucasus on their left hand,
and on their right the groves and gardens of Aea, King Æetes’s city. As
they went up the stream, Jason poured from a golden cup an offering to the
gods. And to the dead heroes of that country the Argonauts prayed for good
fortune to their enterprise.
It was Jason’s counsel that they should not at once appear before King
Æetes, but visit him after they had seen the strength of his city. They
drew their ship into a shaded backwater, and there they stayed while day
grew and faded around them.
Night came, and the heroes slept upon the deck of _Argo_. Many things
came back to them in their dreams or through their half-sleep: they
thought of the Lemnian maidens they had parted from; of the Clashing Rocks
they had passed between; of the look in the eyes of Heracles as he raised
his face to the high, black peak of Caucasus. They slept, and they thought
they saw before them THE GOLDEN FLEECE; darkness surrounded it; it seemed
to the dreaming Argonauts that the darkness was the magic power that King
Æetes possessed.