and he was dazed and dazzled by the rays of the sun. He shouted out
against the sun, and in his anger he wanted to strive against the sun.
Then he drew his bow and shot arrows upward. Far, far out of sight the
arrows of Heracles went. And the sun god, Helios, was filled with
admiration for Heracles, the man who would attempt the impossible by
shooting arrows at him; then did Helios fling down to Heracles his great
golden cup.
Down, and into the Stream of Ocean fell the great golden cup of Helios.
It floated there wide enough to hold all the men who might be in a ship.
Heracles put the bull of Minos into the cup of Helios, and the cup bore
them away, toward the west, and across the Stream of Ocean.
Thus Heracles came to the Island of Erytheia. All over the island
straggled the red cattle of Geryoneus, grazing upon the rich pastures.
Heracles, leaving the bull of Minos in the cup, went upon the island; he
made a club for himself out of a tree and he went toward the cattle.
The hound Orthus bayed and ran toward him; the two-headed hound that was
the brother of Cerberus sprang at Heracles with poisonous foam upon his
jaws. Heracles swung his club and struck the two heads off the hound. And
where the foam of the hound’s jaws dropped down a poisonous plant sprang
up. Heracles took up the body of the hound, and swung it around and flung
it far out into the Ocean.
[Illustration]
Then the monster Geryoneus came upon him. Three bodies he had instead of
one; he attacked Heracles by hurling great stones at him. Heracles was
hurt by the stones. And then the monster beheld the cup of Helios, and he
began to hurl stones at the golden thing, and it seemed that he might sink
it in the sea, and leave Heracles without a way of getting from the
island. Heracles took up his bow and he shot arrow after arrow at the
monster, and he left him dead in the deep grass of the pastures.
Then he rounded up the red cattle, the bulls and the cows, and he drove
them down to the shore and into the golden cup of Helios where the bull of
Minos stayed. Then back across the Stream of Ocean the cup floated, and
the bull of Crete and the cattle of Geryoneus were brought past Sicily and
through the straits called the Hellespont. To Thrace, that savage land,
they came. Then Heracles took the cattle out, and the cup of Helios sank
in the sea. Through the wild lands of Thrace he drove the herd of
Geryoneus and the bull of Minos, and he came into Mycenæ once more.
But he did not stay to speak with Eurystheus. He started off to find the
Garden of the Hesperides, the Daughters of the Evening Land. Long did he
search, but he found no one who could tell him where the garden was. And
at last he went to Chiron on the Mountain Pelion, and Chiron told Heracles
what journey he would have to make to come to the Hesperides, the
Daughters of the Evening Land.
Far did Heracles journey; weary he was when he came to where Atlas
stood, bearing the sky upon his weary shoulders. As he came near he felt
an undreamt-of perfume being wafted toward him. So weary was he with his
journey and all his toils that he would fain sink down and dream away in
that evening land. But he roused himself, and he journeyed on toward where
the perfume came from. Over that place a star seemed always about to rise.
He came to where a silver lattice fenced a garden that was full of the
quiet of evening. Golden bees hummed through the air, and there was the
sound of quiet waters. How wild and laborious was the world he had come
from, Heracles thought! He felt that it would be hard for him to return to
that world.
He saw three maidens. They stood with wreaths upon their heads and
blossoming branches in their hands. When the maidens saw him they came
toward him crying out: “O man who has come into the Garden of the
Hesperides, go not near the tree that the sleepless dragon guards!” Then
they went and stood by a tree as if to keep guard over it. All around were
trees that bore flowers and fruit, but this tree had golden apples amongst
its bright green leaves.
Then he saw the guardian of the tree. Beside its trunk a dragon lay, and
as Heracles came near the dragon showed its glittering scales and its
deadly claws.
The apples were within reach, but the dragon, with its glittering scales
and claws, stood in the way. Heracles shot an arrow; then a tremor went
through Ladon, the sleepless dragon; it screamed and then lay stark. The
maidens cried in their grief; Heracles went to the tree, and he plucked
the golden apples and he put them into the pouch he carried. Down on the
ground sank the Hesperides, the Daughters of the Evening Land, and he
heard their laments as he went from the enchanted garden they had guarded.
Back from the ends of the earth came Heracles, back from the place where
Atlas stood holding the sky upon his weary shoulders. He went back through
Asia and Libya and Egypt, and he came again to Mycenæ and to the palace of
Eurystheus.
He brought to the king the herd of Geryoneus; he brought to the king the
bull of Minos; he brought to the king the girdle of Hippolyte; he brought
to the king the golden apples of the Hesperides. And King Eurystheus, with
his thin white face, sat upon his royal throne and he looked over all the
wonderful things that the hero had brought him. Not pleased was
Eurystheus; rather was he angry that one he hated could win such wonderful
things.
He took into his hands the golden apples of the Hesperides. But this
fruit was not for such as he. An eagle snatched the branch from his hand,
and the eagle flew and flew until it came to where the Daughters of the
Evening Land wept in their garden. There the eagle let fall the branch
with the golden apples, and the maidens set it back upon the tree, and
behold! it grew as it had been growing before Heracles plucked it.
The next day the heralds of Eurystheus came to Heracles and they told
him of the last labor that he would have to set out to accomplish—this
time he would have to go down into the Underworld, and bring up from King
Aidoneus’s realm Cerberus, the three-headed hound.
Heracles put upon him the impenetrable lion’s skin and set forth once
more. This might indeed be the last of his life’s labors: Cerberus was not
an earthly monster, and he who would struggle with Cerberus in the
Underworld would have the gods of the dead against him.
But Heracles went on. He journeyed to the cave Tainaron, which was an
entrance to the Underworld. Far into that dismal cave he went, and then
down, down, until he came to Acheron, that dim river that has beyond it
only the people of the dead. Cerberus bayed at him from the place where
the dead cross the river. Knowing that he was no shade, the hound sprang
at Heracles, but he could neither bite nor tear through that impenetrable
lion’s skin. Heracles held him by the neck of his middle head so that
Cerberus was neither able to bite nor tear nor bellow.
Then to the brink of Acheron came Persephone, queen of the Underworld.
She declared to Heracles that the gods of the dead would not strive
against him if he promised to bring Cerberus back to the Underworld,
carrying the hound downward again as he carried him upward.
[Illustration]
This Heracles promised. He turned around and he carried Cerberus, his
hands around the monster’s neck while foam dripped from his jaws. He
carried him on and upward toward the world of men. Out through a cave that
was in the land of Trœzen Heracles came, still carrying Cerberus by the
neck of his middle head.
From Trœzen to Mycenæ the hero went and men fled before him at the sight
of the monster that he carried. On he went toward the king’s palace.
Eurystheus was seated outside his palace that day, looking at the great
jar that he had often hidden in, and thinking to himself that Heracles
would never appear to affright him again. Then Heracles appeared. He
called to Eurystheus, and when the king looked up he held the hound toward
him. The three heads grinned at Eurystheus; he gave a cry and scrambled
into the jar. But before his feet touched the bottom of it Eurystheus was
dead of fear. The jar rolled over, and Heracles looked upon the body that
was all twisted with fright. Then he turned around and made his way back
to the Underworld. On the brink of Acheron he loosed Cerberus, and the
bellow of the three-headed hound was heard again.
II
It was then that Heracles was given arms by the gods—the sword of
Hermes, the bow of Apollo, the shield made by Hephæstus; it was then that
Heracles joined the Argonauts and journeyed with them to the edge of the
Caucasus, where, slaying the vulture that preyed upon Prometheus’s liver,
he, at the will of Zeus, liberated the Titan. Thereafter Zeus and
Prometheus were reconciled, and Zeus, that neither might forget how much
the enmity between them had cost gods and men, had a ring made for
Prometheus to wear; that ring was made out of the fetter that had been
upon him, and in it was set a fragment of the rock that the Titan had been
bound to.
The Argonauts had now won back to Greece. But before he saw any of them
he had been in Oichalia, and had seen the maiden Iole.
The king of Oichalia had offered his daughter Iole in marriage to the
hero who could excel himself and his sons in shooting with arrows.
Heracles saw Iole, the blue-eyed and childlike maiden, and he longed to
take her with him to some place near the Garden of the Hesperides. And
Iole looked on him, and he knew that she wondered to see him so tall and
so strongly knit even as he wondered to see her so childlike and delicate.
Then the contest began. The king and his sons shot wonderfully well, and
none of the heroes who stood before Heracles had a chance of winning. Then
Heracles shot his arrows. No matter how far away they moved the mark,
Heracles struck it and struck the very center of it. The people wondered
who this great archer might be. And then a name was guessed at and went
around—Heracles!
When the king heard the name of Heracles he would not let him strive in
the contest any more. For the maiden Iole would not be given as a prize to
one who had been mad and whose madness might afflict him again. So the
king said, speaking in judgment in the market place.
Rage came on Heracles when he heard this judgment given. He would not
let his rage master him lest the madness that was spoken of should come
with his rage. So he left the city of Oichalia declaring to the king and
the people that he would return.
It was then that, wandering down to Crete, he heard of the Argonauts
being near. And afterward he heard of them being in Calydon, hunting the
boar that ravaged Œneus’s country. To Calydon Heracles went. The heroes
had departed when he came into the country, and all the city was in grief
for the deaths of Prince Meleagrus and his two uncles.
On the steps of the temple where Meleagrus and his uncles had been
brought Heracles saw Deianira, Meleagrus’s sister. She was pale with her
grief, this tall woman of the mountains; she looked like a priestess, but
also like a woman who could cheer camps of men with her counsel, her
bravery, and her good companionship; her hair was very dark and she had
dark eyes.
Straightway she became friends with Heracles; and when they saw each
other for a while they loved each other. And Heracles forgot Iole, the
childlike maiden whom he had seen in Oichalia.
He made himself a suitor for Deianira, and those who protected her were
glad of Heracles’s suit, and they told him they would give him the maiden
to marry as soon as the mourning for Prince Meleagrus and his uncles was
over. Heracles stayed in Calydon, happy with Deianira, who had so much
beauty, wisdom, and bravery.
But then a dreadful thing happened in Calydon; by an accident, while
using his strength unthinkingly, Heracles killed a lad who was related to
Deianira. He might not marry her now until he had taken punishment for
slaying one who was close to her in blood.
As a punishment for the slaying it was judged that Heracles should be
sold into slavery for three years. At the end of his three years’ slavery
he could come back to Calydon and wed Deianira.
And so Heracles and Deianira were parted. He was sold as a slave in
Lydia; the one who bought him was a woman, a widow named Omphale. To her
house Heracles went, carrying his armor and wearing his lion’s skin. And
Omphale laughed to see this tall man dressed in a lion’s skin coming to
her house to do a servant’s tasks for her.
She and all in her house kept up fun with Heracles. They would set him
to do housework, to carry water, and set vessels on the tables, and clear
the vessels away. Omphale set him to spin with a spindle as the women did.
And often she would put on Heracles’s lion skin and go about dragging his
club, while he, dressed in woman’s garb, washed dishes and emptied pots.
But he would lose patience with these servant’s tasks, and then Omphale
would let him go away and perform some great exploit. Often he went on
long journeys and stayed away for long times. It was while he was in
slavery to Omphale that he liberated Theseus from the dungeon in which he
was held with Peirithous, and it was while he still was in slavery that he
made his journey to Troy.
At Troy he helped to repair for King Laomedon the great walls that years
before Apollo and Poseidon had built around the city. As a reward for this
labor he was offered the Princess Hesione in marriage; she was the
daughter of King Laomedon, and the sister of Priam, who was then called,
not Priam but Podarces. He helped to repair the wall, and two of the
Argonauts were there to aid him: one was Peleus and the other was Telamon.
Peleus did not stay for long: Telamon stayed, and to reward Telamon
Heracles withdrew his own claim for the hand of the Princess Hesione. It
was not hard on Heracles to do this, for his thoughts were ever upon
Deianira.
But Telamon rejoiced, for he loved Hesione greatly. On the day they
married Heracles showed the two an eagle in the sky. He said it was sent
as an omen to them—an omen for their marriage. And in memory of that omen
Telamon named his son “Aias”; that is, “Eagle.”
Then the walls of Troy were repaired and Heracles turned toward Lydia,
Omphale’s home. Not long would he have to serve Omphale now, for his three
years’ slavery was nearly over. Soon he would go back to Calydon and wed
Deianira.
As he went along the road to Lydia he thought of all the pleasantries
that had been made in Omphale’s house and he laughed at the memory of
them. Lydia was a friendly country, and even though he had been in slavery
Heracles had had his good times there.
He was tired with the journey and made sleepy with the heat of the sun,
and when he came within sight of Omphale’s house he lay down by the side
of the road, first taking off his armor, and laying aside his bow, his
quiver, and his shield. He wakened up to see two men looking down upon
him; he knew that these were the Cercopes, robbers who waylaid travelers
upon this road. They were laughing as they looked down on him, and
Heracles saw that they held his arms and his armor in their hands.
They thought that this man, for all his tallness, would yield to them
when he saw that they had his arms and his armor. But Heracles sprang up,
and he caught one by the waist and the other by the neck, and he turned
them upside down and tied them together by the heels. Now he held them
securely and he would take them to the town and give them over to those
whom they had waylaid and robbed. He hung them by their heels across his
shoulders and marched on.
But the robbers, as they were being bumped along, began to relate
pleasantries and mirthful tales to each other, and Heracles, listening,
had to laugh. And one said to the other, “O my brother, we are in the
position of the frogs when the mice fell upon them with such fury.” And
the other said, “Indeed nothing can save us if Zeus does not send an ally
to us as he sent an ally to the frogs.” And the first robber said, “Who
began that conflict, the frogs or the mice?” And thereupon the second
robber, his head reaching down to Heracles’s waist, began:
The Battle of the Frogs and Mice
A warlike mouse came down to the brink of a pond for no other reason
than to take a drink of water. Up to him hopped a frog. Speaking in the
voice of one who had rule and authority, the frog said:
“Stranger to our shore, you may not know it, but I am Puff Jaw, king of
the frogs. I do not speak to common mice, but you, as I judge, belong to
the noble and kingly sort. Tell me your race. If I know it to be a noble
one I shall show you my kingly friendship.”
The mouse, speaking haughtily, said: “I am Crumb Snatcher, and my race
is a famous one. My father is the heroic Bread Nibbler, and he married
Quern Licker, the lovely daughter of a king. Like all my race I am a
warrior who has never been wont to flinch in battle. Moreover, I have been
brought up as a mouse of high degree, and figs and nuts, cheese and
honey-cakes is the provender that I have been fed on.”
Now this reply of Crumb Snatcher pleased the kingly frog greatly. “Come
with me to my abode, illustrious Crumb Snatcher,” said he, “and I shall
show you such entertainment as may be found in the house of a king.”
But the mouse looked sharply at him. “How may I get to your house?” he
asked. “We live in different elements, you and I. We mice want to be in
the driest of dry places, while you frogs have your abodes in the water.”
“Ah,” answered Puff Jaw, “you do not know how favored the frogs are
above all other creatures. To us alone the gods have given the power to
live both in the water and on the land. I shall take you to my land palace
that is the other side of the pond.”
“How may I go there with you?” asked Crumb Snatcher the mouse,
doubtfully.
“Upon my back,” said the frog. “Up now, noble Crumb Snatcher. And as we
go I will show you the wonders of the deep.”
He offered his back and Crumb Snatcher bravely mounted. The mouse put
his forepaws around the frog’s neck. Then Puff Jaw swam out. Crumb
Snatcher at first was pleased to feel himself moving through the water.
But as the dark waves began to rise his mighty heart began to quail. He
longed to be back upon the land. He groaned aloud.
“How quickly we get on,” cried Puff Jaw; “soon we shall be at my land
palace.”
Heartened by this speech, Crumb Snatcher put his tail into the water and
worked it as a steering oar. On and on they went, and Crumb Snatcher
gained heart for the adventure. What a wonderful tale he would have to
tell to the clans of the mice!
But suddenly, out of the depths of the pond, a water snake raised his
horrid head. Fearsome did that head seem to both mouse and frog. And
forgetful of the guest that he carried upon his back, Puff Jaw dived down
into the water. He reached the bottom of the pond and lay on the mud in
safety.
But far from safety was Crumb Snatcher the mouse. He sank and rose, and
sank again. His wet fur weighed him down. But before he sank for the last
time he lifted up his voice and cried out and his cry was heard at the
brink of the pond:
“Ah, Puff Jaw, treacherous frog! An evil thing you have done, leaving me
to drown in the middle of the pond. Had you faced me on the land I should
have shown you which of us two was the better warrior. Now I must lose my
life in the water. But I tell you my death shall not go unavenged—the
cowardly frogs will be punished for the ill they have done to me who am
the son of the king of the mice.”
Then Crumb Snatcher sank for the last time. But Lick Platter, who was at
the brink of the pond, had heard his words. Straightway this mouse rushed
to the hole of Bread Nibbler and told him of the death of his princely
son.
Bread Nibbler called out the clans of the mice. The warrior mice armed
themselves, and this was the grand way of their arming:
First, the mice put on greaves that covered their forelegs. These they
made out of bean shells broken in two. For shield, each had a lamp’s
centerpiece. For spears they had the long bronze needles that they had
carried out of the houses of men. So armed and so accoutered they were
ready to war upon the frogs. And Bread Nibbler, their king, shouted to
them: “Fall upon the cowardly frogs, and leave not one alive upon the bank
of the pond. Henceforth that bank is ours, and ours only. Forward!”
And, on the other side, Puff Jaw was urging the frogs to battle. “Let us
take our places on the edge of the pond,” he said, “and when the mice come
amongst us, let each catch hold of one and throw him into the pond. Thus
we will get rid of these dry bobs, the mice.”
The frogs applauded the speech of their king, and straightway they went
to their armor and their weapons. Their legs they covered with the leaves
of mallow. For breastplates they had the leaves of beets. Cabbage leaves,
well cut, made their strong shields. They took their spears from the pond
side—deadly pointed rushes they were, and they placed upon their heads
helmets that were empty snail shells. So armed and so accoutered they were
ready to meet the grand attack of the mice.
When the robber came to this part of the story Heracles halted his
march, for he was shaking with laughter. The robber stopped in his story.
Heracles slapped him on the leg and said: “What more of the heroic
exploits of the mice?” The second robber said, “I know no more, but
perhaps my brother at the other side of you can tell you of the mighty
combat between them and the frogs.” Then Heracles shifted the first robber
from his back to his front, and the first robber said: “I will tell you
what I know about the heroical combat between the frogs and the mice.” And
thereupon he began:
The gnats blew their trumpets. This was the dread signal for war.
Bread Nibbler struck the first blow. He fell upon Loud Crier the frog,
and overthrew him. At this Loud Crier’s friend, Reedy, threw down spear
and shield and dived into the water. This seemed to presage victory for
the mice. But then Water Larker, the most warlike of the frogs, took up a
great pebble and flung it at Ham Nibbler who was then pursuing Reedy. Down
fell Ham Nibbler, and there was dismay in the ranks of the mice.
Then Cabbage Climber, a great-hearted frog, took up a clod of mud and
flung it full at a mouse that was coming furiously upon him. That mouse’s
helmet was knocked off and his forehead was plastered with the clod of
mud, so that he was well-nigh blinded.
It was then that victory inclined to the frogs. Bread Nibbler again came
into the fray. He rushed furiously upon Puff Jaw the king.
Leeky, the trusted friend of Puff Jaw, opposed Bread Nibbler’s
onslaught. Mightily he drove his spear at the king of the mice. But the
point of the spear broke upon Bread Nibbler’s shield, and then Leeky was
overthrown.
Bread Nibbler came upon Puff Jaw, and the two great kings faced each
other. The frogs and the mice drew aside, and there was a pause in the
combat. Bread Nibbler the mouse struck Puff Jaw the frog terribly upon the
toes.
Puff Jaw drew out of the battle. Now all would have been lost for the
frogs had not Zeus, the father of the gods, looked down upon the battle.
“Dear, dear,” said Zeus, “what can be done to save the frogs? They will
surely be annihilated if the charge of yonder mouse is not halted.”
For the father of the gods, looking down, saw a warrior mouse coming on
in the most dreadful onslaught of the whole battle. Slice Snatcher was the
name of this warrior. He had come late into the field. He waited to split
a chestnut in two and to put the halves upon his paws. Then, furiously
dashing amongst the frogs, he cried out that he would not leave the ground
until he had destroyed the race, leaving the bank of the pond a playground
for the mice and for the mice alone.
To stop the charge of Slice Snatcher there was nothing for Zeus to do
but to hurl the thunderbolt that is the terror of gods and men.
Frogs and mice were awed by the thunder and the flame. But still the
mice, urged on by Slice Snatcher, did not hold back from their onslaught
upon the frogs.
Now would the frogs have been utterly destroyed; but, as they dashed on,
the mice encountered a new and a dreadful army. The warriors in these
ranks had mailed backs and curving claws. They had bandy legs and
long-stretching arms. They had eyes that looked behind them. They came on
sideways. These were the crabs, creatures until now unknown to the mice.
And the crabs had been sent by Zeus to save the race of the frogs from
utter destruction.
Coming upon the mice they nipped their paws. The mice turned around and
they nipped their tails. In vain the boldest of the mice struck at the
crabs with their sharpened spears. Not upon the hard shells on the backs
of the crabs did the spears of the mice make any dint. On and on, on their
queer feet and with their terrible nippers, the crabs went. Bread Nibbler
could not rally them any more, and Slice Snatcher ceased to speak of the
monument of victory that the mice would erect upon the bank of the pond.
With their heads out of the water they had retreated to, the frogs
watched the finish of the battle. The mice threw down their spears and
shields and fled from the battleground. On went the crabs as if they cared
nothing for their victory, and the frogs came out of the water and sat
upon the bank and watched them in awe.
Heracles had laughed at the diverting tale that the robbers had told
him; he could not bring them then to a place where they would meet with
captivity or death. He let them loose upon the highway, and the robbers
thanked him with high-flowing speeches, and they declared that if they
should ever find him sleeping by the roadway again they would let him lie.
Saying this they went away, and Heracles, laughing as he thought upon the
great exploits of the frogs and mice, went on to Omphale’s house.
Omphale, the widow, received him mirthfully, and then set him to do
tasks in the kitchen while she sat and talked to him about Troy and the
affairs of King Laomedon. And afterward she put on his lion’s skin, and
went about in the courtyard dragging the heavy club after her. Mirthfully
and pleasantly she made the rest of his time in Lydia pass for Heracles,
and the last day of his slavery soon came, and he bade good-by to Omphale,
that pleasant widow, and to Lydia, and he started off for Calydon to claim
his bride Deianira.
Beautiful indeed Deianira looked now that she had ceased to mourn for
her brother, for the laughter that had been under her grief always now
flashed out even while she looked priestesslike and of good counsel; her
dark eyes shone like stars, and her being had the spirit of one who
wanders from camp to camp, always greeting friends and leaving friends
behind her. Heracles and Deianira wed, and they set out for Tiryns, where
a king had left a kingdom to Heracles.
They came to the River Evenus. Heracles could have crossed the river by
himself, but he could not cross it at the part he came to, carrying
Deianira. He and she went along the river, seeking a ferry that might take
them across. They wandered along the side of the river, happy with each
other, and they came to a place where they had sight of a centaur.
Heracles knew this centaur. He was Nessus, one of the centaurs whom he
had chased up the mountain the time when he went to hunt the Erymanthean
boar. The centaurs knew him, and Nessus spoke to Heracles as if he had
friendship for him. He would, he said, carry Heracles’s bride across the
river.
Then Heracles crossed the river, and he waited on the other side for
Nessus and Deianira. Nessus went to another part of the river to make his
crossing. Then Heracles, upon the other bank, heard screams—the screams of
his wife, Deianira. He saw that the centaur was savagely attacking her.
Then Heracles leveled his bow and he shot at Nessus. Arrow after arrow
he shot into the centaur’s body. Nessus loosed his hold on Deianira, and
he lay down on the bank of the river, his lifeblood streaming from him.
Then Nessus, dying, but with his rage against Heracles unabated, thought
of a way by which the hero might be made to suffer for the death he had
brought upon him. He called to Deianira, and she, seeing he could do her
no more hurt, came close to him. He told her that in repentance for his
attack upon her he would bestow a great gift upon her. She was to gather
up some of the blood that flowed from him; his blood, the centaur said,
would be a love philter, and if ever her husband’s love for her waned it
would grow fresh again if she gave to him something from her hands that
would have this blood upon it.
Deianira, who had heard from Heracles of the wisdom of the centaurs,
believed what Nessus told her. She took a phial and let the blood pour
into it. Then Nessus plunged into the river and died there as Heracles
came up to where Deianira stood.
She did not speak to him about the centaur’s words to her, nor did she
tell him that she had hidden away the phial that had Nessus’s blood in it.
They crossed the river at another point and they came after a time to
Tiryns and to the kingdom that had been left to Heracles.
There Heracles and Deianira lived, and a son who was named Hyllos was
born to them. And after a time Heracles was led into a war with
Eurytus—Eurytus who was king of Oichalia.
Word came to Deianira that Oichalia was taken by Heracles, and that the
king and his daughter Iole were held captive. Deianira knew that Heracles
had once tried to win this maiden for his wife, and she feared that the
sight of Iole would bring his old longing back to him.
[Illustration]
She thought upon the words that Nessus had said to her, and even as she
thought upon them messengers came from Heracles to ask her to send him a
robe—a beautifully woven robe that she had—that he might wear it while
making a sacrifice. Deianira took down the robe; through this robe, she
thought, the blood of the centaur could touch Heracles and his love for
her would revive. Thinking this she poured Nessus’s blood over the robe.
Heracles was in Oichalia when the messengers returned to him. He took
the robe that Deianira sent, and he went to a mountain that overlooked the
sea that he might make the sacrifice there. Iole went with him. Then he
put on the robe that Deianira had sent. When it touched his flesh the robe
burst into flame. Heracles tried to tear it off, but deeper and deeper
into his flesh the flames went. They burned and burned and none could
quench them.
Then Heracles knew that his end was near. He would die by fire, and
knowing that he piled up a great heap of wood and he climbed upon it.
There he stayed with the flaming robe burning into him, and he begged of
those who passed to fire the pile that his end might come more quickly.
None would fire the pile. But at last there came that way a young
warrior named Philoctetes, and Heracles begged of him to fire the pile.
Philoctetes, knowing that it was the will of the gods that Heracles should
die that way, lighted the pile. For that Heracles bestowed upon him his
great bow and his unerring arrows. And it was this bow and these arrows,
brought from Philoctetes, that afterward helped to take Priam’s city.
The pile that Heracles stood upon was fired. High up, above the sea, the
pile burned. All who were near that burning fled—all except Iole, that
childlike maiden. She stayed and watched the flames mount up and up. They
wrapped the sky, and the voice of Heracles was heard calling upon Zeus.
Then a great chariot came and Heracles was borne away to Olympus. Thus,
after many labors, Heracles passed away, a mortal passing into an immortal
being in a great burning high above the sea.
V. Admetus
I
[Decorative first letter]
_I_T happened once that Zeus would punish Apollo, his son. Then he
banished him from Olympus, and he made him put off his divinity and appear
as a mortal man. And as a mortal Apollo sought to earn his bread amongst
men. He came to the house of King Admetus and took service with him as his
herdsman.
For a year Apollo served the young king, minding his herds of black
cattle. Admetus did not know that it was one of the immortal gods who was
in his house and in his fields. But he treated him in friendly wise, and
Apollo was happy whilst serving Admetus.
Afterward people wondered at Admetus’s ever-smiling face and
ever-radiant being. It was the god’s kindly thought of him that gave him
such happiness. And when Apollo was leaving his house and his fields he
revealed himself to Admetus, and he made a promise to him that when the
god of the Underworld sent Death for him he would have one more chance of
baffling Death than any mortal man.
That was before Admetus sailed on the _Argo_ with Jason and the
companions of the quest. The companionship of Admetus brought happiness to
many on the voyage, but the hero to whom it gave the most happiness was
Heracles. And often Heracles would have Admetus beside him to tell him
about the radiant god Apollo, whose bow and arrows Heracles had been
given.
After that voyage and after the hunt in Calydon Admetus went back to his
own land. There he wed that fair and loving woman, Alcestis. He might not
wed her until he had yoked lions and leopards to the chariot that drew
her. This was a feat that no hero had been able to accomplish. With
Apollo’s aid he accomplished it. Thereafter Admetus, having the love of
Alcestis, was even more happy than he had been before.
One day as he walked by fold and through pasture field he saw a figure
standing beside his herd of black cattle. A radiant figure it was, and
Admetus knew that this was Apollo come to him again. He went toward the
god and he made reverence and began to speak to him. But Apollo turned to
Admetus a face that was without joy.
“What years of happiness have been mine, O Apollo, through your
friendship for me,” said Admetus. “Ah, as I walked my pasture land to-day
it came into my mind how much I loved this green earth and the blue sky!
And all that I know of love and happiness has come to me through you.”
But still Apollo stood before him with a face that was without joy. He
spoke and his voice was not that clear and vibrant voice that he had once
in speaking to Admetus. “Admetus, Admetus,” he said, “it is for me to tell
you that you may no more look on the blue sky nor walk upon the green
earth. It is for me to tell you that the god of the Underworld will have
you come to him. Admetus, Admetus, know that even now the god of the
Underworld is sending Death for you.”
Then the light of the world went out for Admetus, and he heard himself
speaking to Apollo in a shaking voice: “O Apollo, Apollo, thou art a god,
and surely thou canst save me! Save me now from this Death that the god of
the Underworld is sending for me!”
But Apollo said, “Long ago, Admetus, I made a bargain with the god of
the Underworld on thy behalf. Thou hast been given a chance more than any
mortal man. If one will go willingly in thy place with Death, thou canst
still live on. Go, Admetus. Thou art well loved, and it may be that thou
wilt find one to take thy place.”
Then Apollo went up unto the mountaintop and Admetus stayed for a while
beside the cattle. It seemed to him that a little of the darkness had
lifted from the world. He would go to his palace. There were aged men and
women there, servants and slaves, and one of them would surely be willing
to take the king’s place and go with Death down to the Underworld.
So Admetus thought as he went toward the palace. And then he came upon
an ancient woman who sat upon stones in the courtyard, grinding corn
between two stones. Long had she been doing that wearisome labor. Admetus
had known her from the first time he had come into that courtyard as a
little child, and he had never seen aught in her face but a heavy misery.
There she was sitting as he had first known her, with her eyes bleared and
her knees shaking, and with the dust of the courtyard and the husks of the
corn in her matted hair. He went to her and spoke to her, and he asked her
to take the place of the king and go with Death.
But when she heard the name of Death horror came into the face of the
ancient woman, and she cried out that she would not let Death come near
her. Then Admetus left her, and he came upon another, upon a sightless man
who held out a shriveled hand for the food that the servants of the palace
might bestow upon him. Admetus took the man’s shriveled hand, and he asked
him if he would not take the king’s place and go with Death that was
coming for him. The sightless man, with howls and shrieks, said he would
not go.
Then Admetus went into the palace and into the chamber where his bed
was, and he lay down upon the bed and he lamented that he would have to go
with Death that was coming for him from the god of the Underworld, and he
lamented that none of the wretched ones around the palace would take his
place.
A hand was laid upon him. He looked up and he saw his tall and
grave-eyed wife, Alcestis, beside him. Alcestis spoke to him slowly and
gravely. “I have heard what you have said, O my husband,” said she. “One
should go in your place, for you are the king and have many great affairs
to attend to. And if none other will go, I, Alcestis, will go in your
place, Admetus.”
It had seemed to Admetus that ever since he had heard the words of
Apollo that heavy footsteps were coming toward him. Now the footsteps
seemed to stop. It was not so terrible for him as before. He sprang up,
and he took the hands of Alcestis and he said, “You, then, will take my
place?”
“I will go with Death in your place, Admetus,” Alcestis said.
Then, even as Admetus looked into her face, he saw a pallor come upon
her; her body weakened and she sank down upon the bed. Then, watching over
her, he knew that not he but Alcestis would go with Death. And the words
he had spoken he would have taken back—the words that had brought her
consent to go with Death in his place.
[Illustration]
Paler and weaker Alcestis grew. Death would soon be here for her. No,
not here, for he would not have Death come into the palace. He lifted
Alcestis from the bed and he carried her from the palace. He carried her
to the temple of the gods. He laid her there upon the bier and waited
there beside her. No more speech came from her. He went back to the palace
where all was silent—the servants moved about with heads bowed, lamenting
silently for their mistress.
II
As Admetus was coming back from the temple he heard a great shout; he
looked up and saw one standing at the palace doorway. He knew him by his
lion’s skin and his great height. This was Heracles—Heracles come to visit
him, but come at a sad hour. He could not now rejoice in the company of
Heracles. And yet Heracles might be on his way from the accomplishment of
some great labor, and it would not be right to say a word that might turn
him away from his doorway; he might have much need of rest and
refreshment.
Thinking this Admetus went up to Heracles and took his hand and welcomed
him into his house. “How is it with you, friend Admetus?” Heracles asked.
Admetus would only say that nothing was happening in his house and that
Heracles, his hero-companion, was welcome there. His mind was upon a great
sacrifice, he said, and so he would not be able to feast with him.
The servants brought Heracles to the bath, and then showed him where a
feast was laid for him. And as for Admetus, he went within the chamber,
and knelt beside the bed on which Alcestis had lain, and thought of his
terrible loss.
Heracles, after the bath, put on the brightly colored tunic that the
servants of Admetus brought him. He put a wreath upon his head and sat
down to the feast. It was a pity, he thought, that Admetus was not
feasting with him. But this was only the first of many feasts. And
thinking of what companionship he would have with Admetus, Heracles left
the feasting hall and came to where the servants were standing about in
silence.
“Why is the house of Admetus so hushed to-day?” Heracles asked.
“It is because of what is befalling,” said one of the servants.
“Ah, the sacrifice that the king is making,” said Heracles. “To what god
is that sacrifice due?”
“To the god of the Underworld,” said the servant. “Death is coming to
Alcestis the queen where she lies on a bier in the temple of the gods.”
Then the servant told Heracles the story of how Alcestis had taken her
husband’s place, going in his stead with Death. Heracles thought upon the
sorrow of his friend, and of the great sacrifice that his wife was making
for him. How noble it was of Admetus to bring him into his house and give
entertainment to him while such sorrow was upon him. And then Heracles
felt that another labor was before him.
[Illustration]
“I have dragged up from the Underworld,” he thought, “the hound that
guards those whom Death brings down into the realm of the god of the
Underworld. Why should I not strive with Death? And what a noble thing it
would be to bring back this faithful woman to her house and to her
husband! This is a labor that has not been laid upon me, and it is a labor
I will undertake.” So Heracles said to himself.
He left the palace of Admetus and he went to the temple of the gods. He
stood inside the temple and he saw the bier on which Alcestis was laid. He
looked upon the queen. Death had not touched her yet, although she lay so
still and so silent. Heracles would watch beside her and strive with Death
for her.
Heracles watched and Death came. When Death entered the temple Heracles
laid hands upon him. Death had never been gripped by mortal hands and he
strode on as if that grip meant nothing to him. But then he had to grip
Heracles. In Death’s grip there was a strength beyond strength. And upon
Heracles a dreadful sense of loss came as Death laid hands upon him—a
sense of the loss of light and the loss of breath and the loss of
movement. But Heracles struggled with Death although his breath went and
his strength seemed to go from him. He held that stony body to him, and
the cold of that body went through him, and its stoniness seemed to turn
his bones to stone, but still Heracles strove with him, and at last he
overthrew him and he held Death down upon the ground.
“Now you are held by me, Death,” cried Heracles. “You are held by me,
and the god of the Underworld will be made angry because you cannot go
about his business—either this business or any other business. You are
held by me, Death, and you will not be let go unless you promise to go
forth from this temple without bringing one with you.” And Death, knowing
that Heracles could hold him there, and that the business of the god of
the Underworld would be left undone if he were held, promised that he
would leave the temple without bringing one with him. Then Heracles took
his grip off Death, and that stony shape went from the temple.
Soon a flush came into the face of Alcestis as Heracles watched over
her. Soon she arose from the bier on which she had been laid. She called
out to Admetus, and Heracles went to her and spoke to her, telling her
that he would bring her back to her husband’s house.
III
Admetus left the chamber where his wife had lain and stood before the
door of his palace. Dawn was coming, and as he looked toward the temple he
saw Heracles coming to the palace. A woman came with him. She was veiled,
and Admetus could not see her features.
“Admetus,” Heracles said, when he came before him, “Admetus, there is
something I would have you do for me. Here is a woman whom I am bringing
back to her husband. I won her from an enemy. Will you not take her into
your house while I am away on a journey?”
“You cannot ask me to do this, Heracles,” said Admetus. “No woman may
come into the house where Alcestis, only yesterday, had her life.”
“For my sake take her into your house,” said Heracles. “Come now,
Admetus, take this woman by the hand.”
A pang came to Admetus as he looked at the woman who stood beside
Heracles and saw that she was the same stature as his lost wife. He
thought that he could not bear to take her hand. But Heracles pleaded with
him, and he took her by the hand.
“Now take her across your threshold, Admetus,” said Heracles.
Hardly could Admetus bear to do this—hardly could he bear to think of a
strange woman being in his house and his own wife gone with Death. But
Heracles pleaded with him, and by the hand he held he drew the woman
across his threshold.
“Now raise her veil, Admetus,” said Heracles.
“This I cannot do,” said Admetus. “I have had pangs enough. How can I
look upon a woman’s face and remind myself that I cannot look upon
Alcestis’s face ever again?”
“Raise her veil, Admetus,” said Heracles.
Then Admetus raised the veil of the woman he had taken across the
threshold of his house. He saw the face of Alcestis. He looked again upon
his wife brought back from the grip of Death by Heracles, the son of Zeus.
And then a deeper joy than he had ever known came to Admetus. Once more
his wife was with him, and Admetus the friend of Apollo and the friend of
Heracles had all that he cared to have.
VI. How Orpheus the Minstrel Went Down to the World of the Dead
[Decorative first letter]
_M_ANY were the minstrels who, in the early days, went through the world,
telling to men the stories of the gods, telling of their wars and their
births. Of all these minstrels none was so famous as Orpheus who had gone
with the Argonauts; none could tell truer things about the gods, for he
himself was half divine.
But a great grief came to Orpheus, a grief that stopped his singing and
his playing upon the lyre. His young wife Eurydice was taken from him. One
day, walking in the garden, she was bitten on the heel by a serpent, and
straightway she went down to the world of the dead.
Then everything in this world was dark and bitter for the minstrel
Orpheus; sleep would not come to him, and for him food had no taste. Then
Orpheus said: “I will do that which no mortal has ever done before; I will
do that which even the immortals might shrink from doing: I will go down
into the world of the dead, and I will bring back to the living and to the
light my bride Eurydice.”
[Illustration]
Then Orpheus went on his way to the valley of Acherusia which goes down,
down into the world of the dead. He would never have found his way to that
valley if the trees had not shown him the way. For as he went along
Orpheus played upon his lyre and sang, and the trees heard his song and
they were moved by his grief, and with their arms and their heads they
showed him the way to the deep, deep valley of Acherusia.
Down, down by winding paths through that deepest and most shadowy of all
valleys Orpheus went. He came at last to the great gate that opens upon
the world of the dead. And the silent guards who keep watch there for the
rulers of the dead were affrighted when they saw a living being, and they
would not let Orpheus approach the gate.
But the minstrel, knowing the reason for their fear, said: “I am not
Heracles come again to drag up from the world of the dead your
three-headed dog Cerberus. I am Orpheus, and all that my hands can do is
to make music upon my lyre.”
And then he took the lyre in his hands and played upon it. As he played,
the silent watchers gathered around him, leaving the gate unguarded. And
as he played the rulers of the dead came forth, Aidoneus and Persephone,
and listened to the words of the living man.
“The cause of my coming through the dark and fearful ways,” sang
Orpheus, “is to strive to gain a fairer fate for Eurydice, my bride. All
that is above must come down to you at last, O rulers of the most lasting
world. But before her time has Eurydice been brought here. I have desired
strength to endure her loss, but I cannot endure it. And I come before
you, Aidoneus and Persephone, brought here by Love.”
When Orpheus said the name of Love, Persephone, the queen of the dead,
bowed her young head, and bearded Aidoneus, the king, bowed his head also.
Persephone remembered how Demeter, her mother, had sought her all through
the world, and she remembered the touch of her mother’s tears upon her
face. And Aidoneus remembered how his love for Persephone had led him to
carry her away from the valley in the upper world where she had been
gathering flowers. He and Persephone bowed their heads and stood aside,
and Orpheus went through the gate and came amongst the dead.
Still upon his lyre he played. Tantalus—who, for his crimes, had been
condemned to stand up to his neck in water and yet never be able to
assuage his thirst—Tantalus heard, and for a while did not strive to put
his lips toward the water that ever flowed away from him; Sisyphus—who had
been condemned to roll up a hill a stone that ever rolled back—Sisyphus
heard the music that Orpheus played, and for a while he sat still upon his
stone. And even those dread ones who bring to the dead the memories of all
their crimes and all their faults, even the Eumenides had their cheeks wet
with tears.
In the throng of the newly come dead Orpheus saw Eurydice. She looked
upon her husband, but she had not the power to come near him. But slowly
she came when Aidoneus called her. Then with joy Orpheus took her hands.
It would be granted them—no mortal ever gained such privilege before—to
leave, both together, the world of the dead, and to abide for another
space in the world of the living. One condition there would be—that on
their way up through the valley of Acherusia neither Orpheus nor Eurydice
should look back.
They went through the gate and came amongst the watchers that are around
the portals. These showed them the path that went up through the valley of
Acherusia. That way they went, Orpheus and Eurydice, he going before her.
Up and up through the darkened ways they went, Orpheus knowing that
Eurydice was behind him, but never looking back upon her. But as he went,
his heart was filled with things to tell—how the trees were blossoming in
the garden she had left; how the water was sparkling in the fountain; how
the doors of the house stood open, and how they, sitting together, would
watch the sunlight on the laurel bushes. All these things were in his
heart to tell her, to tell her who came behind him, silent and unseen.
And now they were nearing the place where the valley of Acherusia opened
on the world of the living. Orpheus looked on the blue of the sky. A
white-winged bird flew by. Orpheus turned around and cried, “O Eurydice,
look upon the world that I have won you back to!”
He turned to say this to her. He saw her with her long dark hair and
pale face. He held out his arms to clasp her. But in that instant she
slipped back into the depths of the valley. And all he heard spoken was a
single word, “Farewell!” Long, long had it taken Eurydice to climb so far,
but in the moment of his turning around she had fallen back to her place
amongst the dead.
Down through the valley of Acherusia Orpheus went again. Again he came
before the watchers of the gate. But now he was not looked at nor listened
to, and, hopeless, he had to return to the world of the living.
The birds were his friends now, and the trees and the stones. The birds
flew around him and mourned with him; the trees and stones often followed
him, moved by the music of his lyre. But a savage band slew Orpheus and
threw his severed head and his lyre into the River Hebrus. It is said by
the poets that while they floated in midstream the lyre gave out some
mournful notes and the head of Orpheus answered the notes with song.
And now that he was no longer to be counted with the living, Orpheus
went down to the world of the dead, not going now by that steep descent
through the valley of Acherusia, but going down straightway. The silent
watchers let him pass, and he went amongst the dead and saw his Eurydice
in the throng. Again they were together, Orpheus and Eurydice, and as they
went through the place that King Aidoneus ruled over, they had no fear of
looking back, one upon the other.
VII. Jason and Medea
[Decorative first letter]
_J_ASON and Medea, unable to win to Iolcus, stayed at Corinth, at the
court of King Creon. Creon was proud to have Jason in his city, but of
Medea the king was fearful, for he had heard how she had brought about the
death of Apsyrtus, her brother.
Medea wearied of this long waiting in the palace of King Creon. A
longing came upon her to exercise her powers of enchantment. She did not
forget what Queen Arete had said to her—that if she wished to appease the
wrath of the gods she should have no more to do with enchantments. She did
not forget this, but still there grew in her a longing to use all her
powers of enchantment.
And Jason, at the court of King Creon, had his longings, too. He longed
to enter Iolcus and to show the people the Golden Fleece that he had won;
he longed to destroy Pelias, the murderer of his mother and father; above
all he longed to be a king, and to rule in the kingdom that Cretheus had
founded.
Once Jason spoke to Medea of his longing. “O Jason,” Medea said, “I have
done many things for thee and this thing also I will do. I will go into
Iolcus, and by my enchantments I will make clear the way for the return of
the _Argo_ and for thy return with thy comrades—yea, and for thy coming to
the kingship, O Jason.”
He should have remembered then the words of Queen Arete to Medea, but
the longing that he had for his triumph and his revenge was in the way of
his remembering. He said, “O Medea, help me in this with all thine
enchantments and thou wilt be more dear to me than ever before thou wert.”
Medea then went forth from the palace of King Creon and she made more
terrible spells than ever she had made in Colchis. All night she stayed in
a tangled place weaving her spells. Dawn came, and she knew that the
spells she had woven had not been in vain, for beside her there stood a
car that was drawn by dragons.
Medea the Enchantress had never looked on these dragon shapes before.
When she looked upon them now she was fearful of them. But then she said
to herself, “I am Medea, and I would be a greater enchantress and a more
cunning woman than I have been, and what I have thought of, that will I
carry out.” She mounted the car drawn by the dragons, and in the first
light of the day she went from Corinth.
[Illustration]
To the places where grew the herbs of magic Medea journeyed in her
dragon-drawn car—to the Mountains Ossa, Pelion, Œthrys, Pindus, and
Olympus; then to the rivers Apidanus, Enipeus, and Peneus. She gathered
herbs on the mountains and grasses on the rivers’ banks; some she plucked
up by the roots and some she cut with the curved blade of a knife. When
she had gathered these herbs and grasses she went back to Corinth on her
dragon-drawn car.
Then Jason saw her; pale and drawn was her face, and her eyes were
strange and gleaming. He saw her standing by the car drawn by the dragons,
and a terror of Medea came into his mind. He went toward her, but in a
harsh voice she bade him not come near to disturb the brewing that she was
going to begin. Jason turned away. As he went toward the palace he saw
Glauce, King Creon’s daughter; the maiden was coming from the well and she
carried a pitcher of water. He thought how fair Glauce looked in the light
of the morning, how the wind played with her hair and her garments, and
how far away she was from witcheries and enchantments.
As for Medea, she placed in a heap beside her the magic herbs and
grasses she had gathered. Then she put them in a bronze pot and boiled
them in water from the stream. Soon froth came on the boiling, and Medea
stirred the pot with a withered branch of an apple tree. The branch was
withered—it was indeed no more than a dry stick, but as she stirred the
herbs and grasses with it, first leaves, then flowers, and lastly, bright
gleaming apples came on it. And when the pot boiled over and drops from it
fell upon the ground, there grew up out of the dry earth soft grasses and
flowers. Such was the power of renewal that was in the magical brew that
Medea had made.
She filled a phial with the liquid she had brewed, and she scattered the
rest in the wild places of the garden. Then, taking the phial and the
apples that had grown on the withered branch, she mounted the car drawn by
the dragons, and she went once more from Corinth.
On she journeyed in her dragon-drawn car until she came to a place that
was near to Iolcus. There the dragons descended. They had come to a dark
pool. Medea, making herself naked, stood in that dark pool. For a while
she looked down upon herself, seeing in the dark water her white body and
her lovely hair. Then she bathed herself in the water. Soon a dread change
came over her: she saw her hair become scant and gray, and she saw her
body become bent and withered. She stepped out of the pool a withered and
witchlike woman; when she dressed herself the rich clothes that she had
worn before hung loosely upon her, and she looked the more forbidding
because of them. She bade the dragons go, and they flew through the air
with the empty car. Then she hid in her dress the phial with the liquid
she had brewed and the apples that had grown upon the withered branch. She
picked up a stick to lean upon, and with the gait of an ancient woman she
went hobbling upon the road to Iolcus.
On the streets of the city the fierce fighting men that Pelias had
brought down from the mountains showed themselves; few of the men or women
of the city showed themselves even in the daytime. Medea went through the
city and to the palace of King Pelias. But no one might enter there, and
the guards laid hands upon her and held her.
Medea did not struggle with them. She drew from the folds of her dress
one of the gleaming apples that she carried and she gave it to one of the
guards. “It is for King Pelias,” she said. “Give the apple to him and then
do with me as the king would have you do.”
The guards brought the gleaming apple to the king. When he had taken it
into his hand and had smelled its fragrance, old trembling Pelias asked
where the apple had come from. The guards told him it had been brought by
an ancient woman who was now outside seated on a stone in the courtyard.
He looked on the shining apple and he felt its fragrance and he could
not help thinking, old trembling Pelias, that this apple might be the
means of bringing him back to the fullness of health and courage that he
had had before. He sent for the ancient woman who had brought it that she
might tell him where it had come from and who it was that had sent it to
him. Then the guards brought Medea before him.
She saw an old man, white-faced and trembling, with shaking hands and
eyes that looked on her fearfully. “Who are you,” he asked, “and from
whence came the apple that you had them bring me?”
Medea, standing before him, looked a withered and shrunken beldame, a
woman bent with years, but yet with eyes that were bright and living. She
came near him and she said: “The apple, O King, came from the garden that
is watched over by the Daughters of the Evening Land. He who eats it has a
little of the weight of old age taken from him. But things more wonderful
even than the shining apples grow in that far garden. There are plants
there the juices of which make youthful again all aged and failing things.
The apple would bring you a little way toward the vigor of your prime. But
the juices I have can bring you to a time more wonderful—back even to the
strength and the glory of your youth.”
When the king heard her say this a light came into his heavy eyes, and
his hands caught Medea and drew her to him. “Who are you?” he cried, “who
speak of the garden watched over by the Daughters of the Evening Land? Who
are you who speak of juices that can bring back one to the strength and
glory of his youth?”
Medea answered: “I am a woman who has known many and great griefs, O
king. My griefs have brought me through the world. Many have searched for
the garden watched over by the Daughters of the Evening Land, but I came
to it unthinkingly, and without wanting them I gathered the gleaming
apples and took from the plants there the juices that can bring youth
back.”
Pelias said: “If you have been able to come by those juices, how is it
that you remain in woeful age and decrepitude?”
She said: “Because of my many griefs, king, I would not renew my life. I
would be ever nearer death and the end of all things. But you are a king
and have all things you desire at your hand—beauty and state and power.
Surely if any one would desire it, you would desire to have youth back to
you.”
Pelias, when he heard her say this, knew that besides youth there was
nothing that he desired. After crimes that had gone through the whole of
his manhood he had secured for himself the kingdom that Cretheus had
founded. But old age had come on him, and the weakness of old age, and the
power he had won was falling from his hands. He would be overthrown in his
weakness, or else he would soon come to die, and there would be an end
then to his name and to his kingship.
How fortunate above all kings he would be, he thought, if it could be
that some one should come to him with juices that would renew his youth!
He looked longingly into the eyes of the ancient-seeming woman before him,
and he said: “How is it that you show no gains from the juices that you
speak of? You are old and in woeful decrepitude. Even if you would not win
back to youth you could have got riches and state for that which you say
you possess.”
Then Medea said: “I have lost so much and have suffered so much that I
would not have youth back at the price of facing the years. I would sink
down to the quiet of the grave. But I hope for some ease before I die—for
the ease that is in king’s houses, with good food to eat, and rest, and
servants to wait upon one’s aged body. These are the things I desire, O
Pelias, even as you desire youth. You can give me such things, and I have
come to you who desire youth eagerly rather than to kings who have a less
eager desire for it. To you I will give the juices that bring one back to
the strength and the glory of youth.”
Pelias said: “I have only your word for it that you possess these
juices. Many there are who come and say deceiving things to a king.”
Said Medea: “Let there be no more words between us, O king. To-morrow I
will show you the virtue of the juices I have brought with me. Have a
great vat prepared—a vat that a man could lay himself in with the water
covering him. Have this vat filled with water, and bring to it the oldest
creature you can get—a ram or a goat that is the oldest of their flock. Do
this, O king, and you will be shown a thing to wonder at and to be hopeful
over.”
So Medea said, and then she turned around and left the king’s presence.
Pelias called to his guards and he bade them take the woman into their
charge and treat her considerately. The guards took Medea away. Then all
day the king mused on what had been told him and a wild hope kept beating
about his heart. He had the servants prepare a great vat in the lower
chambers, and he had his shepherd bring him a ram that was the oldest in
the flock.
Only Medea was permitted to come into that chamber with the king; the
ways to it were guarded, and all that took place in it was secret. Medea
was brought to the closed door by her guard. She opened it and she saw the
king there and the vat already prepared; she saw a ram tethered near the
vat.
Medea looked upon the king. In the light of the torches his face was
white and fierce and his mouth moved gaspingly. She spoke to him quietly,
and said: “There is no need for you to hear me speak. You will watch a
great miracle, for behold! the ram which is the oldest and feeblest in the
flock will become young and invigorated when it comes forth from this
vat.”
She untethered the ram, and with the help of Pelias drew it to the vat.
This was not hard to do, for the beast was very feeble; its feet could
hardly bear it upright, its wool was yellow and stayed only in patches on
its shrunken body. Easily the beast was forced into the vat. Then Medea
drew the phial out of her bosom and poured into the water some of the brew
she had made in Creon’s garden in Corinth. The water in the vat took on a
strange bubbling, and the ram sank down.
Then Medea, standing beside the vat, sang an incantation.
“O Earth,” she sang, “O Earth who dost provide wise men with potent
herbs, O Earth help me now. I am she who can drive the clouds; I am she
who can dispel the winds; I am she who can break the jaws of serpents with
my incantations; I am she who can uproot living trees and rocks; who can
make the mountains shake; who can bring the ghosts from their tombs. O
Earth, help me now.” At this strange incantation the mixture in the vat
boiled and bubbled more and more. Then the boiling and bubbling ceased. Up
to the surface came the ram. Medea helped it to struggle out of the vat,
and then it turned and smote the vat with its head.
Pelias took down a torch and stood before the beast. Vigorous indeed was
the ram, and its wool was white and grew evenly upon it. They could not
tether it again, and when the servants were brought into the chamber it
took two of them to drag away the ram.
The king was most eager to enter the vat and have Medea put in the brew
and speak the incantation over it. But Medea bade him wait until the
morrow. All night the king lay awake, thinking of how he might regain his
youth and his strength and be secure and triumphant thereafter.
At the first light he sent for Medea and he told her that he would have
the vat made ready and that he would go into it that night. Medea looked
upon him, and the helplessness that he showed made her want to work a
greater evil upon him, or, if not upon him, upon his house. How soon it
would have reached its end, all her plot for the destruction of this king!
But she would leave in the king’s house a misery that would not have an
end so soon.
So she said to the king: “I would say the incantation over a beast of
the field, but over a king I could not say it. Let those of your own blood
be with you when you enter the vat that will bring such change to you.
Have your daughters there. I will give them the juice to mix in the vat,
and I will teach them the incantation that has to be said.”
So she said, and she made Pelias consent to having his daughters and not
Medea in the chamber of the vat. They were sent for and they came before
Medea, the daughters of King Pelias.
They were women who had been borne down by the tyranny of their father;
they stood before him now, two dim-eyed creatures, very feeble and
fearful. To them Medea gave the phial that had in it the liquid to mix in
the vat; also she taught them the words of the incantation, but she taught
them to use these words wrongly.
The vat was prepared in the lower chambers; Pelias and his daughters
went there, and the chamber was guarded, and what happened there was in
secret. Pelias went into the vat; the brew was thrown into it, and the vat
boiled and bubbled as before. Pelias sank down in it. Over him then his
daughters said the magic words as Medea had taught them.
Pelias sank down, but he did not rise again. The hours went past and the
morning came, and the daughters of King Pelias raised frightened laments.
Over the sides of the vat the mixture boiled and bubbled, and Pelias was
to be seen at the bottom with his limbs stiffened in death.
Then the guards came, and they took King Pelias out of the vat and left
him in his royal chamber. The word went through the palace that the king
was dead. There was a hush in the palace then, but not the hush of grief.
One by one servants and servitors stole away from the palace that was
hated by all. Then there was clatter in the streets as the fierce fighting
men from the mountains galloped away with what plunder they could seize.
And through all this the daughters of King Pelias sat crouching in fear
above the body of their father.
And Medea, still an ancient woman seemingly, went through the crowds
that now came on the streets of the city. She told those she went amongst
that the son of Æson was alive and would soon be in their midst. Hearing
this the men of the city formed a council of elders to rule the people
until Jason’s coming. In such way Medea brought about the end of King
Pelias’s reign.
In triumph she went through the city. But as she was passing the temple
her dress was caught and held, and turning around she faced the ancient
priestess of Artemis, Iphias. “Thou art Æetes’s daughter,” Iphias said,
“who in deceit didst come into Iolcus. Woe to thee and woe to Jason for
what thou hast done this day! Not for the slaying of Pelias art thou
blameworthy, but for the misery that thou hast brought upon his daughters
by bringing them into the guilt of the slaying. Go from the city, daughter
of King Æetes; never, never wilt thou come back into it.”
But little heed did Medea pay to the ancient priestess, Iphias. Still in
the guise of an old woman she went through the streets of the city, and
out through the gate and along the highway that led from Iolcus. To that
dark pool she came where she had bathed herself before. But now she did
not step into the pool nor pour its water over her shrinking flesh;
instead she built up two altars of green sods—an altar to Youth and an
altar to Hecate, queen of the witches; she wreathed them with green boughs
from the forest, and she prayed before each. Then she made herself naked,
and she anointed herself with the brew she had made from the magical herbs
and grasses. All marks of age and decrepitude left her, and when she stood
over the dark pool and looked down on herself she saw that her body was
white and shapely as before, and that her hair was soft and lovely.
[Illustration]
She stayed all night between the tangled wood and the dark pool, and
with the first light the car drawn by the scaly dragons came to her. She
mounted the car, and she journeyed back to Corinth.
Into Jason’s mind a fear of Medea had come since the hour when he had
seen her mount the car drawn by the scaly dragons. He could not think of
her any more as the one who had been his companion on the _Argo_. He
thought of her as one who could help him and do wonderful things for him,
but not as one whom he could talk softly and lovingly to. Ah, but if Jason
had thought less of his kingdom and less of his triumphing with the Fleece
of Gold, Medea would not have had the dragons come to her.
And now that his love for Medea had altered, Jason noted the loveliness
of another—of Glauce, the daughter of Creon, the King of Corinth. And
Glauce, who had red lips and the eyes of a child, saw in Jason who had
brought the Golden Fleece out of Colchis the image of every hero she had
heard about in stories. Creon, the king, often brought Jason and Glauce
together, for his hope was that the hero would wed his daughter and stay
in Corinth and strengthen his kingdom. He thought that Medea, that strange
woman, could not keep a companionship with Jason.
Two were walking in the king’s garden, and they were Jason and Glauce. A
shadow fell between them, and when Jason looked up he saw Medea’s dragon
car. Down flew the dragons, and Medea came from the car and stood between
Jason and the princess. Angrily she spoke to him. “I have made the kingdom
ready for your return,” she said, “but if you would go there you must
first let me deal in my own way with this pretty maiden.” And so fiercely
did Medea look upon her that Glauce shrank back and clung to Jason for
protection. “O, Jason,” she cried, “thou didst say that I am such a one as
thou didst dream of when in the forest with Chiron, before the adventure
of the Golden Fleece drew thee away from the Grecian lands. Oh, save me
now from the power of her who comes in the dragon car.” And Jason said: “I
said all that thou hast said, and I will protect thee, O Glauce.”
And then Medea thought of the king’s house she had left for Jason, and
of the brother whom she had let be slain, and of the plot she had carried
out to bring Jason back to Iolcus, and a great fury came over her. In her
hand she took foam from the jaws of the dragons, and she cast the foam
upon Glauce, and the princess fell back into the arms of Jason with the
dragon foam burning into her.
Then, seeing in his eyes that he had forgotten all that he owed to
her—the winning of the Golden Fleece, and the safety of _Argo_, and the
destruction of the power of King Pelias—seeing in his eyes that Jason had
forgotten all this, Medea went into her dragon-borne car and spoke the
words that made the scaly dragons bear her aloft. She flew from Corinth,
leaving Jason in King Creon’s garden with Glauce dying in his arms. He
lifted her up and laid her upon a bed, but even as her friends came around
her the daughter of King Creon died.
[Decorative first letter]
_A_ND Jason? For long he stayed in Corinth, a famous man indeed, but one
sorrowful and alone. But again there grew in him the desire to rule and to
have possessions. He called around him again the men whose home was in
Iolcus—those who had followed him as bright-eyed youths when he first
proclaimed his purpose of winning the Fleece of Gold. He called them
around him, and he led them on board the _Argo_. Once more they lifted
sails, and once more they took the _Argo_ into the open sea.
Toward Iolcus they sailed; their passage was fortunate, and in a short
time they brought the _Argo_ safely into the harbor of Pagasæ. Oh, happy
were the crowds that came thronging to see the ship that had the famous
Fleece of Gold upon her masthead, and green and sweet smelling were the
garlands that the people brought to wreathe the heads of Jason and his
companions! Jason looked upon the throngs, and he thought that much had
gone from him, but he thought that whatever else had gone something
remained to him—to be a king and a great ruler over a people.
And so Jason came back to Iolcus. The _Argo_ he made a blazing pile of
in sacrifice to Poseidon, the god of the sea. The Golden Fleece he hung in
the temple of the gods. Then he took up the rule of the kingdom that
Cretheus had founded, and he became the greatest of the kings of Greece.
And to Iolcus there came, year after year, young men who would look upon
the gleaming thing that was hung there in the temple of the gods. And as
they looked upon it, young man after young man, the thought would come to
each that he would make himself strong enough and heroic enough to win for
his country something as precious as Jason’s GOLDEN FLEECE. And for all
their lives they kept in mind the words that Jason had inscribed upon a
pillar that was placed beside the Fleece of Gold—the words that Triton
spoke to the Argonauts when they were fain to win their way out of the
inland sea:—
THAT IS THE OUTLET TO THE SEA, WHERE THE DEEP WATER LIES UNMOVED
AND DARK; ON EACH SIDE ROLL WHITE BREAKERS WITH SHINING CRESTS;
AND THE WAY BETWEEN FOR YOUR PASSAGE OUT IS NARROW. BUT GO IN JOY,
AND AS FOR LABOR LET THERE BE NO GRIEVING THAT LIMBS IN YOUTHFUL
VIGOR SHOULD STILL TOIL.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
The book received a Newbery Honor Award (1922).
Illustrations in the original appear on separate, unnumbered pages. In
this transcription, wherever an illustration would break a paragraph, it
was moved after the paragraph.
Obvious typographical errors were silently corrected.