In another contest, a mortal dared to come in competition with

Minerva. That mortal was Arachne, a maiden who had attained such

skill in the arts of weaving and embroidery that the nymphs

themselves would leave their groves and fountains to come and

gaze upon her work. It was not only beautiful when it was done,

but beautiful also in the doing. To watch her, as she took the

wool in its rude state and formed it into rolls, or separated it

with her fingers and carded it till it looked as light and soft

as a cloud, or twirled the spindle with skilful touch, or wove

the web, or, when woven, adorned it with her needle, one would

have said that Minerva herself had taught her. But this she

denied, and could not bear to be thought a pupil even of a

goddess. "Let Minerva try her skill with mine," said she; "if

beaten, I will pay the penalty." Minerva heard this and was

displeased. Assuming the form of an old woman, she went and gave

Arachne some friendly advice. "I have had much experience,: said

she, "and I hope you will not despise my counsel. Challenge your

fellow-mortals as you will, but do not compete with a goddess.

On the contrary, I advise you to ask her forgiveness for what you

have said, and, as she is merciful, perhaps she will pardon you."

Arachne stopped her spinning, and looked at the old dame with

anger in her countenance. "Keep your counsel," said she, "for

your daughters or handmaids; for my part, I know what I say, and

I stand to it. I am not afraid of the goddess; let her try her

skill, if she dare venture." "She comes," said Minerva; and

dropping her disguise, stood confessed. The nymphs bent low in

homage, and all the bystanders paid reverence. Arachne alone was

unterrified. She blushed, indeed; a sudden color dyed her cheek,

and then she grew pale. But she stood to her resolve, and with a

foolish conceit of her own skill rushed on her fate. Minerva

forbore no longer, nor interposed any further advice. They

proceed to the contest. Each takes her station and attaches the

web to the beam. Then the slender shuttle is passed in and out

among the threads. The reed with its fine teeth strikes up the

woof into its place and compacts the web. Both work with speed;

their skilful hands move rapidly, and the excitement of the

contest makes the labor light. Wool of Tyrian dye is contrasted

with that of other colors, shaded off into one another so

adroitly that the joining deceives the eye. Like the bow, whose

long arch tinges the heavens, formed by sunbeams reflected from

the shower (this description of the rainbow is literally

translated rom Ovid), in which, where the colors meet they seem

as one, but at a little distance from the point of contact are

wholly different.

Minerva wrought on her web the scene of her contest with Neptune.

Twelve of the heavenly powers are represented, Jupiter, with

August gravity, sitting in the midst. Neptune, the ruler of the

sea, holds his trident, and appears to have just smitten the

earth, from which a horse has leaped forth. Minerva depicted

herself with helmed head, her AEgis covering her breast. Such

was the central circle; and in the four corners were represented

incidents illustrating the displeasure of the gods at such

presumptuous mortals as had dared to contend with them. These

were meant as warnings to her rival to give up the contest before

it was too late.

Arachne filled her web with subjects designedly chosen to exhibit

the failings and errors of the gods. One scene represented Leda

caressing the swan, under which form Jupiter had disguised

himself; and another, Danae, in the brazen tower in which her

father had imprisoned her, but where the god effected his

entrance in the form of a shower of gold. Still another depicted

Europa deceived by Jupiter under the disguise of a bull.

Encouraged by the tameness of the animal, Europa ventured to

mount his back, whereupon Jupiter advanced into the sea, and swam

with her to Crete. You would have thought it was a real bull so

naturally was it wrought, and so natural was the water in which

it swam. She seemed to look with longing eyes back upon the

shore she was leaving, and to call to her companions for help.

She appeared to shudder with terror at the sight of the heaving

waves, and to draw back her feet from the water.

Arachne filled her canvas with these and like subjects,

wonderfully well done, but strongly marking her presumption and

impiety. Minerva could not forbear to admire, yet felt indignant

at the insult. She struck the web with her shuttle, and rent it

in pieces; she then touched the forehead of Arachne, and made her

feel her guilt and shame. She could not endure it, and went and

hanged herself. Minerva pitied her as she saw her hanging by a

rope. "Live, guilty woman," said she; " and that you may

preserve the memory of this lesson, continue to hang, you and

your descendants, to all future times." She sprinkled her with

the juices of aconite, and immediately her hair came off, and her

nose and ears likewise. Her form shrank up, and her head grew

smaller yet; her fingers grew to her side, and served for legs.

All the rest of her is body, out of which she spins her thread,

often hanging suspended by it, in the same attitude as when

Minerva touched her and transformed her into a spider.

Spenser tells the story of Arachne in his Muiopotmos, adhering

very closely to his master Ovid, but improving upon him in the

conclusion of the story. The two stanzas which follow tell what

was done after the goddess had depicted her creation of the olive

tree:

"Amongst these leaves she made a Butterfly,

With excellent device and wondrous slight,

Fluttering among the olives wantonly,

That seemed to live, so like it was in sight;

The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,

The silken down with which his back is dight,

His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,

His glorious colors, and his glistening eyes."

"Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid

And mastered with workmanship so rare.

She stood astonished long, ne aught gainsaid;

And with fast-fixed eyes on her did stare,

And by her silence, sign of one dismayed,

The victory did yield her as her share;

Yet did she inly fret and felly burn,

And all her blood to poisonous rancor turn."

And so the metamorphosis is caused by Arachne's own mortification

and vexation, and not by any direct act of the goddess.

The following specimen of old-fashioned gallantry is by Garrick:

UPON A LADY'S EMBROIDERY

"Arachne once, as poets tell,

A goddess at her art defied,

And soon the daring mortal fell

The hapless victim of her pride.

"Oh, then, beware Arachne's fate;

Be prudent, Chloe, and submit,

For you'll most surely meet her hate,

Who rival both her art and wit."

Tennyson, in his Palace of Art, describing the works of art with

which the palace was adorned, thus alludes to Europa:

"---- sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped

From off her shoulder, backward borne,

From one hand drooped a crocus, one hand grasped

The mild bull's golden horn."

In his Princess there is this allusion to Danae:

"Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars,

And all thy heart lies open unto me."

NIOBE

The fate of Arachne was noised abroad through all the country,

and served as a warning to all presumptuous mortals not to

compare themselves with the divinities. But one, and she a

matron too, failed to learn the lesson of humility. It was

Niobe, the queen of Thebes. She had indeed much to be proud of;

but it was not her husband's fame, nor her own beauty, nor their

great descent, nor the power of their kingdom that elated her.

It was her children; and truly the happiest of mothers would

Niobe have been, if only she had not claimed to be so. It was on

occasion of the annual celebration in honor of Latona and her

offspring, Apollo and Diana, when the people of Thebes were

assembled, their brows crowned with laurel, bearing frankincense

to the altars and paying their vows, that Niobe appeared among

the crowd. Her attire was splendid with gold and gems, and her

face as beautiful as the face of an angry woman can be. She

stood and surveyed the people with haughty looks. "What folly,"

said she, "is this! to prefer beings whom you never saw to

those who stand before your eyes! Why should Latona be honored

with worship rather than I? My father was Tantalus, who was

received as a guest at the table of the gods; my mother was a

goddess. My husband built and rules this city, Thebes; and

Phrygia is my paternal inheritance. Wherever I turn my eyes I

survey the elements of my power; nor is my form and presence

unworthy of a goddess. To all this let me add, I have seven sons

and seven daughters, and look for sons-in-law and daughters-in-

law of pretensions worthy of my alliance. Have I not cause for

pride? Will you prefer to me this Latona, the Titan's daughter,

with her two children? I have seven times as many. Fortunate

indeed am I, and fortunate I shall remain! Will any one deny

this? My abundance is my security. I feel myself too strong for

Fortune to subdue. She may take from me much; I shall still have

much left. Were I to lose some of my children, I should hardly

be left as poor as Latona with her two only. Away with you from

these solemnities, put off the laurel from your brows, have

done with this worship!" The people obeyed, and left the sacred

services uncompleted.

The goddess was indignant. On top of Mount Cynthus where she

dwelt, she thus addressed her son and daughter: "My children, I

who have been so proud of you both, and have been used to hold

myself second to none of the goddesses except Juno alone, begin

now to doubt whether I am indeed a goddess. I shall be deprived

of my worship altogether unless you protect me." She was

proceeding in this strain, but Apollo interrupted her. "Say no

more," said he; "speech only delays punishment." So said Diana

also. Darting through the air, veiled in clouds, they alighted

on the towers of the city. Spread out before the gates was a

broad plain, where the youth of the city pursued their warlike

sports. The sons of Niobe were there among the rest, some

mounted on spirited horses richly caparisoned, some driving gay

chariots. Ismenos, the first-born, as he guided his foaming

steeds, struck with an arrow from above, cried out, "Ah, me!"

dropped the reins and fell lifeless. Another, hearing the sound

of the bow, like a boatman who sees the storm gathering and

makes all sail for the port, gave the rein to his horses and

attempted to escape. The inevitable arrow overtook him as he

fled. Two others, younger boys, just from their tasks, had gone

to the playground to have a game of wrestling. As they stood

breast to breast, one arrow pierced them both. They uttered a

cry together, together cast a parting look around them, and

together breathed their last. Alphenor, an elder brother, seeing

them fall, hastened to the spot to render them assistance, and

fell stricken in the act of brotherly duty. One only was left,

Ilioneus. He raised his arms to heaven to try whether prayer

might not avail. "Spare me, ye gods!" he cried, addressing all,

in his ignorance that all needed not his intercession; and Apollo

would have spared him, but the arrow had already left the string,

and it was too late.

The terror of the people and grief of the attendants soon made

Niobe acquainted with what had taken place. She could hardly

think it possible; she was indignant that the gods had dared and

amazed that they had been able to do it. Her husband, Amphion,

overwhelmed with the blow, destroyed himself. Alas! How

different was this Niobe from her who had so lately driven away

the people from the sacred rites, and held her stately course

through the city, the envy of her friends, now the pity even of

her foes! She knelt over the lifeless bodies, and kissed, now

one, now another of her dead sons. Raising her pallid arms to

heaven, "Cruel Latona," said she, "feed full your rage with my

anguish! Satiate your hard heart, while I follow to the grave my

seven sons. Yet where is your triumph? Bereaved as I am, I am

still richer than you, my conqueror. Scarce had she spoken when

the bow sounded and struck terror into all hearts except Niobe's

alone. She was brave from excess of grief. The sisters stood in

garments of mourning over the biers of their dead brothers. One

fell, struck by an arrow, and died on the corpse she was

bewailing. Another, attempting to console her mother, suddenly

ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to the earth. A third tried

to escape by flight, a fourth by concealment, another stood

trembling, uncertain what course to take. Six were now dead, and

only one remained, whom the mother held clasped in her arms, and

covered as it were with her whole body.

"Spare me one, and that the youngest! Oh, spare me one of so

many?!" she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.

Desolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and

seemed torpid with grief. The breeze moved not her hair, nor

color was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable,

there was no sign of life about her. Her very tongue clave to

the roof of her mouth, and her veins ceased to convey the tide of

life. Her neck bent not, her arms made no gesture, her foot no

step. She was changed to stone, within and without. Yet tears

continued to flow; and, borne on a whirlwind to her native

mountain, she still remains, a mass of rock, from which a

trickling stream flows, the tribute of her never-ending grief.

The story of Niobe has furnished Byron with a fine illustration

of the fallen condition of modern Rome:

"The Niobe of nations! There she stands,

Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;

An empty urn within her withered hands,

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago;

The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;

The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow,

Old Tiber! Through a marble wilderness?

Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress."

Childe Harold, IV.79

The slaughter of the children of Niobe by Apollo, alludes to the

Greek belief that pestilence and illness were sent by Apollo, and

one dying by sickness was said to be struck by Apollo's arrow.

It is to this that Morris alludes in the Earthly Paradise:

"While from the freshness of his blue abode,

Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget,

The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet."

Our illustration of this story is a copy of a celebrated statue

in the imperial gallery of Florence. It is the principal figure

of a group supposed to have been originally arranged in the

pediment of a temple. The figure of the mother clasped by the

arm of her terrified child, is one of the most admired of the

ancient statues. It ranks with the Laocoon and the Apollo among

the masterpieces of art. The following is a translation of a

Greek epigram supposed to relate to this statue:

"To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain;

The sculptor's art has made her breathe again."

Tragic as is the story of Niobe we cannot forbear to smile at the

use Moore has made of it in Rhymes on the Road:

"'Twas in his carriage the sublime

Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme,

And, if the wits don't do him wrong,

'Twixt death and epics passed his time,

Scribbling and killing all day long;

Like Phoebus in his car at ease,

Now warbling forth a lofty song,

Now murdering the young Niobes."

Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, and at the same time a

very prolific and very tasteless poet, whose works are now

forgotten, unless when recalled to mind by some wit like Moore

for the sake of a joke.

THE GRAEAE AND GORGONS

The Graeae were three sisters who were gray-haired from their

birth, whence their name. The Gorgons were monstrous females

with huge teeth like those of swine, brazen claws, and snaky

hair. They also were three in number, two of them immortal, but

the other, Medusa, mortal. None of these beings make much figure

in mythology except Medusa, the Gorgon, whose story we shall next

advert to. We mention them chiefly to introduce an ingenious

theory of some modern writers, namely, that the Gorgons and

Graeae were only personifications of the terrors of the sea, the

former denoting the STRONG billows of the wide open main, and the

latter the WHITE-crested waves that dash against the rocks of the

coast. Their names in Greek signify the above epithets.

PERSEUS AND MEDUSA

Acrisius was the king who ruled in Argos. To him had an oracle

declared that he should be slain by the child of his daughter

Danae. Therefore the cruel king, thinking it better that Danae

should have no children than that he should be slain, ordered a

tower of brass to be made, and in this tower he confined his

daughter away from all men.

But who can withstand Jupiter? He saw Danae, loved her, and

changing his form to a shower of gold, he shone into the

apartment of the captive girl.

Perseus was the child of Jupiter and Danae. Acrisius, finding

that his precautions had come to nought, and yet hardly daring to

kill his own daughter and her young child, placed them both in a

chest and sent the chest floating on the sea. It floated away

and was finally entangled in the net of Dicte, a fisherman in the

island of Seriphus. He brought them to his house and treated

them kindly, and in the house of Dicte, Perseus grew up. When

Perseus was grown up, Polydectes, king of that country, wishing

to send Perseus to his death, bade him go in quest of the head of

Medusa. Medusa had once been a beautiful maiden, whose hair was

her chief glory, but as she dared to vie in beauty with Minerva,

the goddess deprived her of her charms and changed her beautiful

ringlets into hissing serpents. She became a cruel monster of so

frightful an aspect that no living thing could behold her without

being turned into stone. All around the cavern where she dwelt

might be seen the stony figures of men and beasts which had

chanced to catch a glimpse of her and had been petrified with the

sight. Minerva and Mercury aided Perseus. From Minerva, Perseus

borrowed her shield, and from Mercury the winged shoes and the

harpe or crooked sword. After having flown all over the earth

Perseus espied in the bright shield the image of Medusa and her

two immortal sisters. Flying down carefully he cut at her with

his harpe and severed her head. Putting the trophy in his pouch

he flew away just as the two immortal sisters were awakened by

the hissings of their snaky locks.

PERSEUS AND ATLAS

After the slaughter of Medusa, Perseus, bearing with him the head

of the Gorgon, flew far and wide, over land and sea. As night

came on, he reached the western limit of the earth, where the sun

goes down. Here he would gladly have rested till morning. It

was the realm of King Atlas, whose bulk surpassed that of all

other men. He was rich in flocks and herds and had no neighbor

or rival to dispute his state. But his chief pride was in his

gardens, whose fruit was of gold, hanging from golden branches,

half hid with golden leaves. Perseus said to him, "I come as a

guest. If you honor illustrious descent, I claim Jupiter for my

father; if mighty deeds, I plead the conquest of the Gorgon. I

seek rest and food." But Atlas remembered that an ancient

prophecy had warned him that a son of Jove should one day rob him

of his golden apples. So he answered, "Begone! Or neither your

false claims of glory nor of parentage shall protect you;" and he

attempted to thrust him out. Perseus, finding the giant too

strong for him, said, "Since you value my friendship so little,

deign to accept a present;" and turning his face away, he held up

the Gorgon's head. Atlas, with all his bulk, was changed into

stone. His beard and hair became forests, his arms and shoulders

cliffs, his head a summit, and his bones rocks. Each part

increased in bulk till he became a mountain, and (such was the

pleasure of the gods) heaven with all its stars rests upon his

shoulders.

And all in vain was Atlas turned to a mountain, for the oracle

did not mean Perseus, but the hero Hercules, who should come long

afterwards to get the golden apples for his cousin Eurystheus.

Perseus, continuing his flight, arrived at the country of the

AEthiopians, of which Cepheus was king. Cassiopeia, his queen,

proud of her beauty, had dared to compare herself to the Sea-

Nymphs, which roused their indignation to such a degree that they

sent a prodigious sea-monster to ravage the coast. To appease

the deities, Cepheus was directed hy the oracle to expose his

daughter Andromeda to be devoured by the monster. As Perseus

looked down from his aerial height he beheld the virgin chained

to a rock, and waiting the approach of the serpent. She was so

pale and motionless that if it had not been for her flowing tears

and her hair that moved in the breeze, he would have taken her

for a marble statue. He was so startled at the sight that he

almost forgot to wave his wings. As he hovered over her he said,

"O virgin, undeserving of those chains, but rather of such as

bind fond lovers together, tell me, I beseech you, your name and

the name of your country, and why you are thus bound." At first

she was silent from modesty, and, if she could, would have hid

her face with her hands; but when he repeated his questions, for

fear she might be thought guilty of some fault which she dared

not tell, she disclosed her name and that of her country, and her

mother's pride of beauty. Before she had done speaking, a sound

was heard off upon the water, and the sea-monster appeared, with

his head raised above the surface, cleaving the waves with his

broad breast. The virgin shrieked, the father and mother who had

now arrived at the scene, wretched both, but the mother more

justly so, stood by, not able to afford protection, but only to

pour forth lamentations and to embrace the victim. Then spoke

Perseus: "There will be time enough for tears; this hour is all

we have for rescue. My rank as the son of Jove and my renown as

the slayer of the Gorgon might make me acceptable as a suitor;

but I will try to win her by services rendered, if the gods will

only be propitious. If she be rescued by my valor, I demand that

she be my reward." The parents consent (how could they

hesitate?) And promise a royal dowry with her.

And now the monster was within the range of a stone thrown by a

skilful slinger, when with a sudden bound the youth soared into

the air. As an eagle, when from his lofty flight he sees a

serpent basking in the sun, pounces upon him and seizes him by

the neck to prevent him from turning his head round and using his

fangs, so the youth darted down upon the back of the monster and

plunged his sword into its shoulder. Irritated by the wound the

monster raised himself into the air, then plunged into the depth;

then, like a wild boar surrounded by a pack of barking dogs,

turned swiftly from side to side, while the youth eluded its

attacks by means of his wings. Wherever he can find a passage

for his sword between the scales he makes a wound, piercing now

the side, now the flank, as it slopes towards the tail. The

brute spouts from his nostrils water mixed with blood. The wings

of the hero are wet with it, and he dares no longer trust to

them. Alighting on a rock which rose above the waves, and

holding on by a projecting fragment, as the monster floated near

he gave him a death-stroke. The people who had gathered on the

shore shouted so that the hills re-echoed to the sound. The

parents, transported with joy, embraced their future son-in-law,

calling him their deliverer and the savior of their house, and

the virgin, both cause and reward of the contest, descended from

the rock.

Cassiopeia was an Aethiopian, and consequently, in spite of her

boasted beauty, black; at least so Milton seems to have thought,

who alludes to this story in his Penseroso, where he addresses

Melancholy as the

"---- goddess, sage and holy,

Whose saintly visage is too bright

To hit the sense of human sight,

And, therefore, to our weaker view

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue.

Black, but such as in esteem

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,

Or that starred Aethiop queen that strove

To set her beauty's praise above

The Sea-nymphs, and their powers offended."

Cassiopeia is called "the starred Aethiop queen," because after

her death she was placed among the stars, forming the

constellation of that name. Though she attained this honor, yet

the Sea-Nymphs, her old enemies, prevailed so far as to cause her

to be placed in that part of the heaven near the pole, where

every night she is half the time held with her head downward, to

give her a lesson of humility.

"Prince Memnon" was the son of Aurora and Tithonus, of whom we

shall hear later.

THE WEDDING FEAST

The joyful parents, with Perseus and Andromeda, repaired to the

palace, where a banquet was spread for them, and all was joy and

festivity. But suddenly a noise was heard of war-like clamor,

and Phineus, the betrothed of the virgin, with a party of his

adherents, burst in, demanding the maiden as his own. It was in

vain that Cepheus remonstrated, "You should have claimed her

when she lay bound to the rock, the monster's victim. The

sentence of the gods dooming her to such a fate dissolved all

engagements, as death itself would have done.:" Phineus made no

reply, but hurled his javelin at Perseus, but it missed its mark

and fell harmless. Perseus would have thrown his in turn, but

the cowardly assailant ran and took shelter behind the altar.

But his act was a signal for an onset by his band upon the guests

of Cepheus. They defended themselves and a general conflict

ensued, the old king retreating from the scene after fruitless

expostulations, calling the gods to witness that he was guiltless

of this outrage on the rights of hospitality.

Perseus and his friends maintained for some time the unequal

contest; but the numbers of the assailants were too great for

them, and destruction seemed inevitable, when a sudden thought

struck Perseus: "I will make my enemy defend me." Then, with a

loud voice he exclaimed, :If I have any friend here let him turn

away his eyes!" and held aloft the Gorgon's head. "Seek not to

frighten us with your jugglery," said Thescelus, and raised his

javelin in act to throw, and became stone in the very attitude.

Ampyx was about to plunge his sword into the body of a prostrate

foe, but his arm stiffened and he could neither thrust forward

nor withdraw it. Another, in the midst of a vociferous

challenge, stopped, his mouth open, but no sound issuing. One of

Perseus's friends, Aconteus, caught sight of the Gorgon and

stiffened like the rest. Astyages struck him with his sword, but

instead of wounding, it recoiled with a ringing noise.

Phineus beheld this dreadful result of his unjust aggression, and

felt confounded. He called aloud to his friends, but got no

answer; he touched them and found them stone. Falling on his

knees and stretching out his hands to Perseus, but turning his

head away, he begged for mercy. "Take all," said he, "give me

but my life." "Base coward," said Perseus, "thus much I will

grant you; no weapon shall touch you; moreover you shall be

preserved in my house as a memorial of these events." So saying,

he held the Gorgon's head to the side where Phineus was looking,

and in the very form in which he knelt, with his hands

outstretched and face averted, he became fixed immovably, a mass

of stone!

The following allusion to Perseus is from Milman's Samor:

"As 'mid the fabled Libyan bridal stood

Perseus in stern tranquillity of wrath,

Half stood, half floated on his ankle-plumes

Out-swelling, while the bright face on his shield

Looked into stone the raging fray; so rose,

But with no magic arms, wearing alone

Th' appalling and control of his firm look,

The Briton Samor; at his rising awe

Went abroad, and the riotous hall was mute."

Then Perseus returned to Seriphus to King Polydectes and to his

mother Danae and the fisherman Dicte. He marched up the tyrant's

hall, where Polydectes and his guests were feasting. "Have you

the head of Medusa?" exclaimed Polydectes. "Here it is,"

answered Perseus, and showed it to the king and to his guests.

The ancient prophecy which Acrisius had so much feared at last

came to pass. For, as Perseus was passing through the country of

Larissa, he entered into competition with the youths of the

country at the game of hurling the discus. King Acrisius was

among the spectators. The youths of Larissa threw first, and

then Perseus. His discus went far beyond the others, and, seized

by a breeze from the sea, fell upon the foot of Acrisius. The

old king swooned with pain, and was carried away from the place

only to die. Perseus, who had heard the story of his birth and

parentage from Danae, when he learned who Acrisius was, filled

with remorse and sorrow, went to the oracle at Delphi, and there

was purified from the guilt of homicide.

Perseus gave the head of Medusa to Minerva, who had aided him so

well to obtain it. Minerva took the head of her once beautiful

rival and placed it in the middle of her Aegis.

Milton, in his Comus, thus alludes to the Aegis:

"What was that snaky-headed Gorgon-shield

That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,

Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone,

But rigid looks of chaste austerity,

And noble grace that dashed brute violence

With sudden adoration and blank awe!"

Armstrong, the poet of the Art of Preserving Health, thus

describes the effect of frost upon the waters:

"Now blows the surly North and chills throughout

the stiffening regions, while by stronger charms

Than Circe e'er or fell Medea brewed,

Each brook that wont to prattle to its banks

Lies all bestilled and wedged betwixt its banks,

Nor moves the withered reeds. . . .

The surges baited by the fierce Northeast,

Tossing with fretful spleen their angry heads,

E'en in the foam of all their madness struck

To monumental ice.

* * * * *

Such execution,

So stern, so sudden, wrought the grisly aspect

Of terrible Medusa,

When wandering through the woods she turned to stone

Their savage tenants; just as the foaming lion

Sprang furious on his prey, her speedier power

Outran his haste,

And fixed in that fierce attitude he stands

Like Rage in marble!"

Imitations of Shakespeare

Of Atlas there is another story, which I like better than the one

told. He was one of the Titans who warred against Jupiter like

Typhoeus, Briareus, and others. After their defeat by the king

of gods and men, Atlas was condemned to stand in the far western

part of the earth, by the Pillars of Hercules, and to hold on his

shoulders the weight of heaven and the stars.

The story runs that Perseus, flying by, asked and obtained rest

and food. The next morning he asked what he could do to reward

Atlas for his kindness. The best that giant could think of was

that Perseus should show him the snaky head of Medusa, that he

might be turned to stone and be at rest from his heavy load.

Chapter X

Monsters. Giants. Sphinx. Pegasus and the Chimaera.

Centaurs. Griffin. Pygmies

Monsters, in the language of mythology, were beings of unnatural

proportions or parts, usually regarded with terror, as possessing

immense strength and ferocity, which they employed for the injury

and annoyance of men. Some of them were supposed to combine the

members of different animals; such were the Sphinx and the

Chimaera; and to these all the terrible qualities of wild beasts

were attributed, together with human sagacity and faculties.

Others, as the giants, differed from men chiefly in their size;

and in this particular we must recognize a wide distinction among

them. The human giants, if so they may be called, such as the

Cyclopes, Antaeus, Orion, and others, must be supposed not to be

altogether disproportioned to human beings, for they mingled in

love and strife with them. But the superhuman giants, who warred

with the gods, were of vastly larger dimensions. Tityus, we are

told, when stretched on the plain, covered nine acres, and

Enceladus required the whole of Mount AEtna to be laid upon him

to keep him down.

We have already spoken of the war which the giants waged against

the gods, and of its result. While this war lasted the giants

proved a formidable enemy. Some of them, like Briareus, had a

hundred arms; others, like Typhon, breathed out fire. At one

time they put the gods to such fear that they fled into Egypt,

and hid themselves under various forms. Jupiter took the form of

a ram, whence he was afterwards worshipped in Egypt as the god

Ammon, with curved horns. Apollo became a crow, Bacchus a goat,

Diana a cat, Juno a cow, Venus a fish, Mercury a bird. At

another time the giants attempted to climb up into heaven, and

for that purpose took up the mountain Ossa and piled it on

Pelion. They were at last subdued by thunderbolts, which Minerva

invented, and taught Vulcan and his Cyclopes to make for Jupiter.

THE SPHINX

Laius, king of Thebes, was warned by an oracle that there was

danger to his throne and life if his new-born son should be

suffered to grow up. He therefore committed the child to the

care of a herdsman, with orders to destroy him; but the herdsman,

moved to pity, yet not daring entirely to disobey, tied up the

child by the feet, and left him hanging to the branch of a tree.

Here the infant was found by a herdsman of Polybus, king of

Corinth, who was pasturing his flock upon Mount Cithaeron.

Polybus and Merope, his wife, adopted the child, whom they called

OEdipus, or Swollen-foot, for they had no children themselves,

and in Corinth OEdipus grew up. But as OEdipus was at Delphi,

the oracle prophesied to him that he should kill his father and

marry his own mother. Fighting against Fate, OEdipus resolved to

leave Corinth and his parents, for he thought that Polybus and

Merope were meant by the oracle.

Soon afterwards, Laius being on his way to Delphi, accompanied

only by one attendant, met in a narrow road a young man also

driving in a chariot. On his refusal to leave the way at their

command, the attendant killed one of his horses, and the

stranger, filled with rage, slew both Laius and his attendant.

The young man was OEdipus, who thus unknowingly became the slayer

of his own father.

Shortly after this event the city of Thebes was afflicted with a

monster which infested the high-road. It was called the Sphinx.

It had the body of a lion, and the upper part of a woman. It lay

crouched on the top of a rock, and stopped all travellers who

came that way, proposing to them a riddle, with the condition

that those who could solve it should pass safe, but those who

failed should be killed. Not one had yet succeeded in solving

it, and all had been slain. OEdipus was not daunted by these

alarming accounts, but boldly advanced to the trial. The Sphinx

asked him, "What animal is that which in the morning goes on four

feet, at noon on two, and in the evening upon three?" OEdipus

replied, "Man, who in childhood creeps on hands and knees, in

manhood walks erect, and in old age with the aid of a staff."

The Sphinx was so mortified at the solving of her riddle that she

cast herself down from the rock and perished.

The gratitude of the people for their deliverance was so great

that they made OEdipus their king, giving him in marriage their

queen Jocasta. OEdipus, ignorant of his parentage, had already

become the slayer of his father; in marrying the queen he became

the husband of his mother. These horrors remained undiscovered,

till at length Thebes was afflicted with famine and pestilence,

and the oracle being consulted, the double crime of OEdipus came

to light. Jocasta put an end to her own life, and OEdipus,

seized with madness, tore out his eyes, and wandered away from

Thebes, dreaded and abandoned hy all except his daughters, who

faithfully adhered to him; till after a tedious period of

miserable wandering, he found the termination of his wretched

life.

PEGASUS AND THE CHIMAERA

When Perseus cut off Medusa's head, the blood sinking into the

earth produced the winged horse Pegasus. Minerva caught and

tamed him, and presented him to the Muses. The fountain

Hippocrene, on the Muses' mountain Helicon, was opened by a kick

from his hoof.

The Chimaera was a fearful monster, breathing fire. The fore

part of its body was a compound of the lion and the goat, and the

hind part a dragon's. It made great havoc in Lycia, so that the

king Iobates sought for some hero to destroy it. At that time

there arrived at his court a gallant young warrior, whose name

was Bellerophon. He brought letters from Proetus, the son-in-law

of Iobates, recommending Bellerophon in the warmest terms as an

unconquerable hero, but added at the close a request to his

father-in-law to put him to death. The reason was that Proetus

was jealous of him, suspecting that his wife Antea looked with

too much admiration on the young warrior. From this instance of

Bellerophon being unconsciously the bearer of his own death-

warrant, the expression "Bellerophontic letters" arose, to

describe any species of communication which a person is made the

bearer of, containing matter prejudicial to himself.

Iobates, on perusing the letters, was puzzled what to do, not

willing to violate the claims of hospitality, yet wishing to

oblige his son-in-law. A lucky thought occurred to him, to send

Bellerophon to combat with the Chimaera. Bellerophon accepted

the proposal, but before proceeding to the combat consulted the

soothsayer Polyidus, who advised him to procure if possible the

horse Pegasus for the conflict. For this purpose he directed him

to pass the night in the temple of Minerva. He did so, and as he

slept Minerva came to him and gave him a golden bridle. When he

awoke the bridle remained in his hand. Minerva also showed him

Pegasus drinking at the well of Pirene, and at sight of the

bridle, the winged steed came willingly and suffered himself to

be taken. Bellerophon mounting, rose with him into the air, and

soon found the Chimaera, and gained an easy victory over the

monster.

After the conquest of the Chimaera, Bellerophon was exposed to

further trials and labors by his unfriendly host, but by the aid

of Pegasus he triumphed in them all; till at length Iobates,

seeing that the hero was a special favorite of the gods, gave him

his daughter in marriage and made him his successor on the

throne. At last Bellerophon by his pride and presumption drew

upon himself the anger of the gods; it is said he even attempted

to fly up into heaven on his winged steed; but Jupiter sent a

gadfly which stung Pegasus and made him throw his rider, who

became lame and blind in consequence. After this Bellerophon

wandered lonely through the Aleian field, avoiding the paths of

men, and died miserably.

Milton alludes to Bellerophon in the beginning o the seventh book

of Paradise Lost:

"Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name

If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine

Following above the Olympian hill I soar,

Above the flight of Pegasean wing,

Up-led by thee,

Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,

An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,

(Thy tempering;) with like safety guided down

Return me to my native element;

Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once

Bellerophon, though from a lower sphere,)

Dismounted on the Aleian field I fall,

Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn."

Young in his Night Thoughts, speaking of the skeptic, says,

"He whose blind thought futurity denies,

Unconscious bears, Bellerophon, like thee

His own indictment; he condemns himself,

Who reads his bosom reads immortal life,

Or nature there, imposing on her sons,

Has written fables; man was made a lie."

Vol. II.1,12.

Pegasus, being the horse of the Muses, has always been at the

service of the poets. Schiller tells a pretty story of his

having been sold by a needy poet, and put to the cart and the

plough. He was not fit for such service, and his clownish master

could make nothing of him. But a youth stepped forth and asked

leave to try him. As soon as he was seated on his back, the

horse, which had appeared at first vicious, and afterwards

spirit-broken, rose kingly, a spirit, a god; unfolded the

splendor of his wings and soared towards heaven. Our own poet

Longfellow also records an adventure of this famous steed in his

Pegasus in Pound.

Shakespeare alludes to Pegasus in Henry IV, where Vernon

describes Prince Henry:

"I saw young Harry, with his beaver on,

His cuishes on his thighs, gallantly armed,

Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,

And vaulted with such ease into his seat,

As if an angel dropped down from the clouds,

To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,

And witch the world with noble horsemanship."

THE CENTAURS

The Greeks loved to people their woods and hills with strange

wild people, half man, half beast. Such were the Satyrs men

with goats' legs. But nobler and better were the Centaurs, men

to the waist, while the rest was the form of a horse. The

ancients were too fond of a horse to consider the union of his

nature with man's as forming any very degraded compound, and

accordingly the Centaur is the only one of the fancied monsters

of antiquity to which any good traits are assigned. The Centaurs

were admitted to the companionship of man, and at the marriage of

Pirithous with Hippodamia, they were among the guests. At the

feast, Eurytion, one of the Centaurs, becoming intoxicated with

the wine, attempted to offer violence to the bride; the other

Centaurs followed his example, and a dreadful conflict arose in

which several of them were slain. This is the celebrated battle

of the Lapithae and Centaurs, a favorite subject with the

sculptors and poets of antiquity.

But all the Centaurs were not like the rude guests of Pirithous.

Chiron was instructed by Apollo and Diana, and was renowned for

his skill in hunting, medicine, music, and the art of prophecy.

The most distinguished heroes of Grecian story were his pupils.

Among the rest the infant Aesculapius was intrusted to his

charge, by Apollo, his father. When the sage returned to his

home bearing the infant, his daughter Ocyroe came forth to meet

him, and at sight of the child burst forth into a prophetic

strain (for she was a prophetess), foretelling the glory that he

was to achieve. Aesculapius, when grown up, became a renowned

physician, and even in one instance succeeded in restoring the

dead to life. Pluto resented this, and Jupiter, at his request,

struck the bold physician with lightning and killed him, but

after his death received him into the number of the gods.

Chiron was the wisest and justest of all the Centaurs, and at his

death Jupiter placed him among the stars as the constellation

Sagittarius.

THE PYGMIES

The Pygmies were a nation of dwarfs, so called from a Greek word

which means the cubit (a cubit was a measure of about thirteen

inches), which was said to be the height of these people. They

lived near the sources of the Nile, or according to others, in

India. Homer tells us that the cranes used to migrate every

winter to the Pygmies' country, and their appearance was the

signal of bloody warfare to the puny inhabitants, who had to take

up arms to defend their cornfields against the rapacious

strangers. The Pygmies and their enemies the cranes form the

subject of several works of art.

Later writers tell of an army of Pygmies which finding Hercules

asleep made preparations to attack him, as if they were about to

attack a city. But the hero awaking laughed at the little

warriors, wrapped some of them up in his lion's-skin, and carried

them to Eurystheus.

Milton used the Pygmies for a simile, Paradise Lost, Book I:

"----like that Pygmaean race

Beyond the Indian mount, or fairy elves

Whose midnight revels by a forest side,

Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,

(Or dreams he sees), while overhead the moon

Sits artibress, and nearer to the earth

Wheels her pale course; they on their mirth and dance

Intent, with jocund music charm his ear.

At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds."

THE GRIFFIN, OR GRYPHON

The Griffin is a monster with the body of a lion, the head and

wings of an eagle, and back covered with feathers. Like birds it

builds its nest, and instead of an egg lays an agate therein. It

has long claws and talons of such a size that the people of that

country make them into drinking-cups. India was assigned as the

native country of the Griffins. They found gold in the mountains

and built their nests of it, for which reason their nests were

very tempting to the hunters, and they were forced to keep

vigilant guard over them. Their instinct led them to know where

buried treasures lay, and they did their best to keep plunderers

at a distance. The Arimaspians, among whom the Griffins

flourished, were a one-eyed people of Scythia.

Milton borrows a simile from the Griffins, Paradise Lost, Book

II.:

"As when a Gryphon through the wilderness,

With winged course, o'er hill and moory dale,

Pursues the Arimaspian who by stealth

Hath from his wakeful custody purloined

His guarded gold."

Chapter XI

The Golden Fleece. Medea. The Calydonian Hunt

In very ancient times there lived in Thessaly a king and queen

named Athamas and Nephele. They had two children, a boy and a

girl. After a time Athamas grew indifferent to his wife, put her

away, and took another. Nephele suspected danger to her children

from the influence of the step-mother, and took measures to send

them out of her reach. Mercury assisted her, and gave her a ram,

with a GOLDEN FLEECE, on which she set the two children, trusting

that the ram would convey them to a place of safety. The ram

sprung into the air with the children on his back, taking his

course to the east, till when crossing the strait that divides

Europe and Asia, the girl, whose name was Helle, fell from his

back into the sea, which from her was called the Hellespont,

now the Dardanelles. The ram continued his career till he

reached the kingdom of Colchis, on the eastern shore of the Black

Sea, where he safely landed the boy Phyrxus, who was hospitably

received by AEetes, the king of the country. Phryxus sacrificed

the ram to Jupiter, and gave the golden fleece to AEetes, who

placed it in a consecrated grove, under the care of a sleepless

dragon.

There was another kingdom in Thessaly near to that of Athamas,

and ruled over by a relative of his. The king AEson, being tired

of the cares of government, surrendered his crown to his brother

Pelias, on condition that he should hold it only during the

minority of Jason, the son of AEson. When Jason was grown up and

came to demand the crown from his uncle, Pelias pretended to be

willing to yield it, but at the same time suggested to the young

man the glorious adventure of going in quest of the golden

fleece, which it was well known was in the kingdom of Colchis,

and was, as Pelias pretended, the rightful property of their

family. Jason was pleased with the thought, and forthwith made

preparations for the expedition. At that time the only species

of navigation known to the Greeks consisted of small boats or

canoes hollowed out from trunks of trees, so that when Jason

employed Argus to build him a vessel capable of containing fifty

men, it was considered a gigantic undertaking. It was

accomplished, however, and the vessel was named the Argo, from

the name of the builder. Jason sent his invitation to all the

adventurous young men of Greece, and soon found himself at the

head of a band of bold youths, many of whom afterwards were

renowned among the heroes and demigods of Greece. Hercules,

Theseus, Orpheus, and Nestor were among them. They are called

the Argonauts, from the name of their vessel.

The Argo with her crew of heroes left the shores of Thessaly and

having touched at the Island of Lemnos, thence crossed to Mysia

and thence to Thrace. Here they found the sage Phineus, and from

him received instruction as to their future course. It seems the

entrance of the Euxine Sea was impeded by two small rocky

islands, which floated on the surface, and in their tossings and

heavings occasionally came together, crushing and grinding to

atoms any object that might be caught between them. They were

called the Symplegades, or Clashing Islands. Phineus instructed

the Argonauts how to pass this dangerous strait. When they

reached the islands they let go a dove, which took her way

between the rocks, and passed in safety, only losing some

feathers of her tail. Jason and his men seized the favorable

moment of the rebound, plied their oars with vigor, and passed

safe through, though the islands closed behind them, and actually

grazed their stern. They now rowed along the shore till they

arrived at the eastern end of the sea, and landed at the kingdom

of Colchis.

Jason made known his message to the Colchian king, AEetes, who

consented to give up the golden fleece if Jason would yoke to the

plough two fire-breathing bulls with brazen feet, and sow the

teeth of the dragon, which Cadmus had slain, and from which it

was well known that a crop of armed men would spring up, who

would turn their weapons against their producer. Jason accepted

the conditions, and a time was set for making the experiment.

Previously, however, he found means to plead his cause to Medea,

daughter of the king. He promised her marriage, and as they

stood before the altar of Hecate, called the goddess to witness

his oath. Medea yielded and by her aid, for she was a potent

sorceress, he was furnished with a charm, by which he could

encounter safely the breath of the fire-breathing bulls and the

weapons of the armed men.

At the time appointed, the people assembled at the grove of Mars,

and the king assumed his royal seat, while the multitude covered

the hill-sides. The brazen-footed bulls rushed in, breathing

fire from their nostrils, that burned up the herbage as they

passed. The sound was like the roar of a furnace, and the smoke

like that of water upon quick-lime. Jason advanced boldly to

meet them. His friends, the chosen heroes of Greece, trembled to

behold him. Regardless of the burning breath, he soothed their

rage with his voice, patted their necks with fearless hands, and

adroitly slipped over them the yoke, and compelled them to drag

the plough. The Colchians were amazed; the Greeks shouted for

joy. Jason next proceeded to sow the dragon's teeth and plough

them in. And soon the crop of armed men sprang up, and wonderful

to relate! no sooner had they reached the surface than they began

to brandish their weapons and rush upon Jason. The Greeks

trembled for their hero, and even she who had provided him a way

of safety and taught him how to use it, Medea herself, grew pale

with fear. Jason for a time kept his assailants at bay with his

sword and shield, till finding their numbers overwhelming, he

resorted to the charm which Medea had taught him, seized a stone

and threw it in the midst of his foes. They immediately turned

their arms against one another, and soon there was not one of the

dragon's brood left alive. The Greeks embraced their hero, and

Medea, if she dared, would have embraced him too.

Then AEetes promised the next day to give them the fleece, and

the Greeks went joyfully down to the Argo with the hero Jason in

their midst. But that night Medea came down to Jason, and bade

him make haste and follow her, for that her father proposed the

next morning to attack the Argonauts and to destroy their ship.

They went together to the grove of Mars, where the golden fleece

hung guarded by the dreadful dragon, who glared at the hero and

his conductor with his great round eyes that never slept. But

Medea was prepared, and began her magic songs and spells, and

sprinkled over him a sleeping potion which she had prepared by

her art. At the smell he relaxed his rage, stood for a moment

motionless, then shut those great round eyes, that had never been

known to shut before, and turned over on his side, fast asleep.

Jason seized the fleece, and with his friends and Medea

accompanying, hastened to their vessel, before AEETES, the king,

could arrest their departure, and made the best of their way back

to Thessaly, where they arrived safe, and Jason delivered the

fleece to Pelias, and dedicated the Argo to Neptune. What became

of the fleece afterwards we do not know, but perhaps it was

found, after all, like many other golden prizes, not worth the

trouble it had cost to procure it.

This is one of those mythological tales, says a modern writer, in

which there is reason to believe that a substratum of truth

exists, though overlaid by a mass of fiction. It probably was

the first important maritime expedition, and like the first

attempts of the kind of all nations, as we know from history, was

probably of a half-piratical character. If rich spoils were the

result, it was enough to give rise to the idea of the golden

fleece.

Another suggestion of a learned mythologist, Bryant, is that it

is a corrupt tradition of the story of Noah and the ark. The

name Argo seems to countenance this, and the incident of the dove

is another confirmation.

Pope, in his Ode on St. Cecelia's Day, thus celebrates the

launching of the ship Argo, and the power of the music of

Orpheus, whom he calls the Thracian:

"So when the first bold vessel dared the seas,

High on the stern the Thracian raised his strain,

While Argo saw her kindred trees

Descend from Pelion to the main.

Transported demigods stood round,

And men grew heroes at the sound."

In Dyer's poem of The Fleece there is an account of the ship Argo

and her crew, which gives a good picture of this primitive

maritime adventure:

"From every region of Aegea's shore

The brave assembled; those illustrious twins,

Castor and Pollux; Orpheus, tuneful bard;

Zetes and Calais, as the wind in speed;

Strong Hercules and many a chief renowned.

On deep Iolcos' sandy shore they thronged,

Gleaming in armor, ardent of exploits;

And soon, the laurel cord and the huge stone

Uplifting to the deck, unmoored the bark;

Whose keel of wondrous length the skilful hand

Of Argus fashioned for the proud attempt;

And in the extended keel a lofty mast

Upraised, and sails full swelling; to the chiefs

Unwonted objects. Now first, now they learned

Their bolder steerage over ocean wave,

Led by the golden stars, as Chiron's art

Had marked the sphere celestial."

Hercules left the expedition at Mysia, for Hylas, a youth beloved

by him, having gone for water, was laid hold of and kept by the

nymphs of the spring, who were fascinated by his beauty.

Hercules went in quest of the lad, and while he was absent the

Argo put to sea and left him. Moore, in one of his songs, makes

a beautiful allusion to this incident:

"When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount,

Through fields full of light and with heart full of play,

Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount,

And neglected his task for the flowers in the way.

"Thus many like me, who in youth should have tasted

The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine,

Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted,

And left their light urns all as empty as mine."

But Hercules, as some say, went onward to Colchis by land, and

there performed many mighty deeds, and wiped away the stain of

cowardice which might have clung to him.

MEDEA AND AESON

Amid the rejoicings for the recovery of the golden Fleece, Jason

felt that one thing was wanting, the presence of AESON, his

father, who was prevented by his age and infirmities from taking

part in them. Jason said to Medea, "My wife, I would that your

arts, whose power I have seen so mighty for my aid, could do me

one further service, and take some years from my life to add them

to my father's." Medea replied, "Not at such a cost shall it be

done, but if my art avails me, his life shall be lengthened

without abridging yours." The next full moon she issued forth

alone, while all creatures slept; not a breath stirred the

foliage, and all was still. To the stars she addressed her

incantations, and to the moon; to Hecate (Hecate was a mysterious

divinity sometimes identified with Diana and sometimes with

Proserpine. As Diana represents the moonlight splendor of night,

so Hecate represents its darkness and terrors. She was the

goddess of sorcery and witchcraft, and was believed to wander by

night along the earth, seen only by the dogs whose barking told

her approach.), the goddess of the underworld, and to Tellus, the

goddess of the earth, by whose power plants potent for

enchantments are produced. She invoked the gods of the woods and

caverns, of mountains and valleys, of lakes and rivers, of winds

and vapors. While she spoke the stars shone brighter, and

presently a chariot descended through the air, drawn by flying

serpents. She ascended it, and, borne aloft, made her way to

distant regions, where potent plants grew which she knew how to

select for her purpose. Nine nights she employed in her search,

and during that time came not within the doors of her palace nor

under any roof, and shunned all intercourse with mortals.

She next erected two altars, the one to Hecate, the other to

Hebe, the goddess of youth, and sacrificed a black sheep, pouring

libations of milk and wine. She implored Pluto and his stolen

bride that they would not hasten to take the old man's life.

Then she directed that AESON should be led forth, and having

thrown him into a deep sleep by a charm, had him laid on a bed of

herbs, like one dead. Jason and all others were kept away from

the place, that no profane eyes might look upon her mysteries.

Then, with streaming hair, she thrice moved round the altars,

dipped flaming twigs in the blood, and laid them thereon to burn.

Meanwhile the caldron with its contents was got ready. In it she

put magic herbs, with seeds and flowers of acrid juice, stones

from the distant East, and sand from the shore of all-surrounding

ocean; hoar frost, gathered by moonlight, a screech-owl's head

and wings, and the entrails of a wolf. She added fragments of

the shells of tortoises, and the liver of stags, animals

tenacious of life, and the head and beak of a crow, that

outlives nine generations of men. These, with many other things

without a name, she boiled together for her purposed work,

stirring them up with a dry olive branch; and behold, the branch

when taken out instantly became green, and before long was

covered with leaves and a plentiful growth of young olives; and

as the liquor boiled and bubbled, and sometimes ran over, the

grass, wherever the sprinklings fell, shot forth with a verdure

like that of spring.

Seeing that all was ready, Medea cut the throat of the old man

and let out all his blood, and poured into his mouth and into his

wound the juices of her caldron. As soon as he had completely

imbibed them, his hair and beard laid by their whiteness and

assumed the blackness of youth; his paleness and emaciation were

gone; his veins were full of blood, his limbs of vigor and

robustness. AESON is amazed at himself, and remembers that such

as he now is he was in his youthful days, forty years before.

Medea used her arts here for a good purpose, but not so in

another instance, where she made them the instruments of revenge.

Pelias, our readers will recollect, was the usurping uncle of

Jason, and had kept him out of his kingdom. Yet he must have had

some good qualities, for his daughters loved him, and when they

saw what Medea had done for AESON, they wished her to do the same

for their father. Medea pretended to consent, and prepared her

caldron as before. At her request an old sheep was brought and

plunged into the caldron. Very soon a bleating was heard in the

kettle, and, when the cover was removed, a lamb jumped forth and

ran frisking away into the meadow. The daughters of Pelias saw

the experiment with delight, and appointed a time for their

father to undergo the same operation. But Medea prepared her

caldron for him in a very different way. She put in only water

and a few simple herbs. In the night she with the sisters

entered the bed-chamber of the old king, while he and his guards

slept soundly under the influence of a spell cast upon them by

Medea. The daughters stood by the bedside with their weapons

drawn, but hesitated to strike, till Medea chid their

irresolution. Then, turning away their faces and giving random

blows, they smote him with their weapons. He, starting from his

sleep, cried out, "My daughters, what are you doing? Will you

kill your father?:" Their hearts failed them, and the weapons

fell from their hands, but Medea struck him a fatal blow, and

prevented his saying more.

Then they placed him in the caldron, and Medea hastened to depart

in her serpent-drawn chariot before they discovered her

treachery, for their vengeance would have been terrible. She

escaped, however, but had little enjoyment of the fruits of her

crime. Jason, for whom she had done so much, wishing to marry

Creusa, princess of Corinth, put away Medea. She, enraged at his

ingratitude, called on the gods for vengeance, sent a poisoned

robe as a gift to the bride, and then killing her own children,

and setting fire to the palace, mounted her serpent-drawn chariot

and fled to Athens, where she married King AEgeus, the father of

Theseus; and we shall meet her again when we come to the

adventures of that hero.

The incantations of Medea will remind the reader of those of the

witches in Macbeth. The following lines are those which seem

most strikingly to recall the ancient model:

"Round about the caldron go;

In the poisoned entrails throw.

* * * * * *

Fillet of a fenny snake

In the caldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog.

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing:

* * * * * *

Maw of ravening salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digged in the dark."

Macbeth, Act IV., Scene 1

And again:

Macbeth. What is't you do?

Witches. A deed without a name.

There is another story of Medea almost too revolting for record

even of a sorceress, a class of persons to whom both ancient and

modern poets have been accustomed to attribute every degree of

atrocity. In her flight from Colchis she had taken her young

brother Absyrtus with her. Finding the pursuing vessels of

AEETES gaining upon the Argonauts, she caused the lad to be

killed and his limbs to be strewn over the sea. AEETES on

reaching the place found these sorrowful traces of his murdered

son; but while he tarried to collect the scattered fragments and

bestow upon them an honorable interment, the Argonauts escaped.

In the poems of Campbell will be found a translation of one of

the choruses of the tragedy of Medea, where the poet Euripides

has taken advantage of the occasion to pay a glowing tribute to

Athens, his native city. It begins thus:

"Oh, haggard queen! To Athens dost thou guide

Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore;

Or seek to hide thy damned parricide

Where Peace and Justice dwell for evermore?"

THE CALYDONIAN HUNT. MELEAGER AND ATALANTA

The search for the Golden Fleece was undertaken by Jason, aided

by heroes from all Greece, or Hellas as it was then called. It

was the first of their common undertakings which made the Greeks

feel that they were in truth one nation, though split up into

many small kingdoms. Another of their great gatherings was for

the Calydonian Hunt, and another, the greatest and most famous of

all, for the Trojan War.

The hero of the quest for the golden Fleece was Jason. With the

other heroes of the Greeks, he was present at the Calydonian

Hunt. But the chief hero was Meleager, the son of OEneus, king

of Calydon, and Althea, his queen.

Althea, when her son was born, beheld the three Destinies, who,

as they spun their fatal thread, foretold that the life of the

child should last no longer than a brand then burning upon the

hearth. Althea seized and quenched the brand, and carefully

preserved it for years, while Meleager grew to boyhood, youth,

and manhood. It chanced, then, that OEneus, as he offered

sacrifices to the gods, omitted to pay due honors to Diana, and

she, indignant at the neglect, sent a wild boar of enormous size

to lay waste the files of Calydon. Its eyes shone with blood and

fire, its bristles stood like threatening spears, its tusks were

like those of Indian elephants. The growing corn was trampled,

the vines and olive trees laid waste, the flocks and herds were

driven in wild confusion by the slaughtering foe. All common aid

seemed vain; but Meleager called on the heroes of Greece to join

in a bold hunt for the ravenous monster. Theseus and his friend

Pirithous, Jason, Peleus afterwards the father of Achilles,

Telamon the father of Ajax, Nestor, then a youth, but who in his

age bore arms with Achilles and Ajax in the Trojan war, these

and many more joined in the enterprise. With them came Atalanta,

the daughter of Iasius, king of Arcadia. A buckle of polished

gold confined her vest, an ivory quiver hung on her left

shoulder, and her left hand bore the bow. Her face blent

feminine beauty with the best graces of martial youth. Meleager

saw and loved.

But now already they were near the monster's lair. They

stretched strong nets from tree to tree; they uncoupled their

dogs, they tried to find the footprints of their quarry in the

grass. From the wood was a descent to marshy ground. Here the

boar, as he lay among the reeds, heard the shouts of his

pursuers, and rushed forth against them. One and another is

thrown down and slain. Jason throws his spear with a prayer to

Diana for success; and the favoring goddess allows the weapon to

touch, but not to wound, removing the steel point of the spear

even in its flight. Nestor, assailed, seeks and finds safety in

the branches of a tree. Telamon rushes on, but stumbling at a

projecting root, falls prone. But an arrow from Atalanta at

length for the first time tastes the monster's blood. It is a

slight wound, but Meleager sees and joyfully proclaims it.

Anceus, excited to envy by the praise given to a female, loudly

proclaims his own valor, and defies alike the boar and the

goddess who had sent it; but as he rushes on, the infuriated

beast lays him low with a mortal wound. Theseus throws his

lance, but it is turned aside by a projecting bough. The dart of

Jason misses its object, and kills instead one of their own dogs.

But Meleager, after one unsuccessful stroke, drives his spear

into the monsters side, then rushes on and despatches him with

repeated blows.

Then rose a shout from those around; they congratulated the

conqueror, crowding to touch his hand. He, placing his foot upon

the slain boar, turned to Atalanta and bestowed on her the head

and the rough hide which were the trophies of his success. But

at this, envy excited the rest to strife. Phlexippus and Toxeus,

the uncles of Meleager and Althea's brothers, beyond the rest

opposed the gift, and snatched from the maiden the trophy she had

received. Meleager, kindling with rage at the wrong done to

himself, and still more at the insult offered to her whom he

loved, forgot the claims of kindred, and plunged his sword into

the offenders' hearts.

As Althea bore gifts of thankfulness to the temples for the

victory of her son, the bodies of her murdered brothers met her

sight. She shrieks, and beats her breast, and hastens to change

the garments of rejoicing for those of mourning. But when the

author of the deed is known, grief gives way to the stern desire

of vengeance on her son. The fatal brand, which once she rescued

from the flames, the brand which the Destinies had linked with

Meleager's life, she brings forth, and commands a fire to be

prepared. Then four times she essays to place the brand upon the

pile; four times draws back, shuddering at the thought of

bringing destruction on her son. The feelings of the mother and

the sister contend within her. Now she is pale at the thought of

the purposed deed, now flushed again with anger at the act of her

son. As a vessel, driven in one direction by the wind, and in

the opposite by the tide, the mind of Althea hangs suspended in

uncertainty. But now the sister prevails above the mother, and

she begins as she holds the fatal wood: "Turn, ye Furies,

goddesses of punishment! Turn to behold the sacrifice I bring!

Crime must atone for crime. Shall OEneus rejoice in his victor

son, while the house of Thestius (Thestius was father of Toxeus,

Phlexippus and Althea) is desolate? But, alas! To what deed am I

borne along? Brothers, forgive a mother's weakness! My hand

fails me. He deserves death, but not that I should destroy him.

But shall he then live, and triumph, and reign over Calydon,

while you, my brothers, wander unavenged among the shades? No!

Thou has lived by my gift; die, now, for thine own crime. Return

the life which twice I gave thee, first at thy birth, again when

I snatched this brand from the flames. O that thou hadst then

died! Alas! Evil is the conquest; but, brothers, ye have

conquered." And, turning away her face, she threw the fatal wood

upon the burning pile.

It gave, or seemed to give, a deadly groan. Meleager, absent and

unknowing of the cause, felt a sudden pang. He burns and only by

courageous pride conquers the pain which destroys him. He mourns

only that he perishes by a bloodless and unhonored death. With

his last breath he calls upon his aged father, his brother, and

his fond sisters, upon his beloved Atalanta, and upon his mother,

the unknown cause of his fate. The flames increase, and with

them the pain of the hero. Now both subside; now both are

quenched. The brand is ashes and the life of Meleager is

breathed forth to the wandering winds.

Althea, when the deed was done, laid violent hands upon herself.

The sisters of Meleager mourned their brother with uncontrollable

grief; till Diana, pitying the sorrows of the house that once had

aroused her anger, turned them into birds.

ATALANTA

The innocent cause of so much sorrow was a maiden whose face you

might truly say was boyish for a girl, yet too girlish for a boy.

Her fortune had been told, and it was to this effect: "Atalanta,

do not marry; marriage will be your ruin." Terrified by this

oracle, she fled the society of men, and devoted herself to the

sports of the chase. To all suitors (for she had many) she

imposed a condition which was generally effectual in relieving

her of their persecutions: "I will be the prize of him who

shall conquer me in the race; but death must be the penalty of

all who try and fail." In spite of this hard condition some

would try. Hippomenes was to be judge of the race. "Can it be

possible that any will be so rash as to risk so much for a wife?"

said he. But when he saw her lay aside her robe for the race, he

changed his mind, and said, "Pardon me, youths, I knew not the

prize you were competing for." As he surveyed them he wished them

all to be beaten, and swelled with envy of any one that seemed at

all likely to win. While such were his thoughts, the virgin

darted forward. As she ran, she looked more beautiful than ever.

The breezes seemed to give wings to her feet; her hair flew over

her shoulders, and the gay fringe of her garment fluttered behind

her. A ruddy hue tinged the whiteness of her skin, such as a

crimson curtain casts on a marble wall. All her competitors were

distanced, and were put to death without mercy. Hippomenes, not

daunted by this result, fixing his eyes on the virgin, said, "Why

boast of beating those laggards? I offer myself for the

contest." Atalanta looked at him with a pitying countenance, and

hardly knew whether she would rather conquer him or not. "What

god can tempt one so young and handsome to throw himself away? I

pity him, not for his beauty (yet he is beautiful), but for his

youth. I wish he would give up the race, or if he will be so

mad, I hope he may outrun me." While she hesitates, revolving

these thoughts, the spectators grow impatient for the race, and

her father prompts her to prepare. Then Hippomenes addressed a

prayer to Venus; "Help me, Venus, for you have led me on" Venus

heard, and was propitious.

In the garden of her temple, in her own island of Cyprus, is a

tree with yellow leaves and yellow branches, and golden fruit.

Hence Venus gathered three golden apples, and, unseen by all

else, gave them to Hippomenes, and told him how to use them. The

signal is given; each starts from the goal, and skims over the

sand. So light their tread, you would almost have thought they

might run over the river surface or over the waving grain without

sinking. The cries of the spectators cheered on Hippomenes:

"Now, now do your best! Haste, haste! You gain on her! Relax

not! One more effort!" It was doubtful whether the youth or the

maiden heard these cries with the greater pleasure. But his

breath began to fail him, his throat was dry, the goal yet far

off. At that moment he threw down one of the golden apples. The

virgin was all amazement. She stopped to pick it up. Hippomenes

shot ahead. Shouts burst forth from all sides. She redoubled

her efforts, and soon overtook him. Again he threw an apple.

She stopped again, but again came up with him. The goal was

near; one chance only remained. "Now, goddess," said he,

"prosper your gift!" and threw the last apple off at one side.

She looked at it, and hesitated; Venus impelled her to turn aside

for it. She did so, and was vanquished. The youth carried off

his prize.

But the lovers were so full of their own happiness that they

forgot to pay due honor to Venus; and the goddess was provoked at

their ingratitude. She caused them to give offence to Cybele.

That powerful goddess was not to be insulted with impunity. She

took from them their human form and turned them into animals of

characters resembling their own: of the huntress-heroine,

triumphing in the blood of her lovers, she made a lioness, and of

her lord and master a lion, and yoked them to her ear, there they

are still to be seen in all representations, in statuary or

painting, of the goddess Cybele.

Cybele is the Latin name of the goddess called by the Greeks Rhea

and Ops. She was the wife of Cronos and mother of Zeus. In

works of art, she exhibits the matronly air which distinguishes

Juno and Ceres. Sometimes she is veiled, and seated on a throne

with lions at her side, at other times riding in a chariot drawn

by lions. She sometimes wears a mural crown, that is, a crown

whose rim is carved in the form of towers and battlements. Her

priests were called Corybantes.

Byron in describing the city of Venice, which is built on a low

island in the Adriatic Sea, borrows an illustration from Cybele:

"She looks a sea-Cybele fresh from ocean,

Rising with her tiara of proud towers

At airy distance, with majestic motion,

A ruler of the waters and their powers."

Childe Harold, IV

In Moore's Rhymes on the Road, the poet, speaking of Alpine

scenery, alludes to the story of Atalanta and Hippomenes, thus:

"Even here, in this region of wonders, I find

That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind,

Or at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray

By the golden illusions he flings in her way."

Chapter XII

Hercules. Hebe and Ganymede

Hercules (in Greek, Heracles) was the son of Jupiter and Alemena.

As Juno was always hostile to the offspring of her husband by

mortal mothers, she declared war against Hercules from his birth.

She sent two serpents to destroy him as he lay in his cradle, but

the precocious infant strangled them with his own hands. (On

this account the infant Hercules was made the type of infant

America, by Dr. Franklin, and the French artists whom he employed

in the American Revolution. Horatio Greenough has placed a bas-

relief of the Infant Hercules on the pedestal of his statue of

Washington, which stands in front of the Capitol.) He was

however by the arts of Juno rendered subject to his cousin

Eurystheus and compelled to perform all his commands. Eurystheus

enjoined upon him a succession of desperate adventures, which are

called the twelve "Labors of Hercules." The first was the fight

with the Nemean lion. The valley of Nemea was infested by a

terrible lion. Eurystheus ordered Hercules to bring him the skin

of this monster. After using in vain his club and arrows against

the lion, Hercules strangled the animal with his hands. He

returned carrying the dead lion on his shoulders; but Eurystheus

was so frightened at the sight of it and at this proof of the

prodigious strength of the hero, that he ordered him to deliver

the account of his exploits in future outside the town.

His next labor was to slaughter the Hydra. This monster ravaged

the country of Argos, and dwelt in a swamp near the well of

Amymone, of which the story is that when the country was

suffering from drought, Neptune, who loved her, had permitted her

to touch the rock with his trident, and a spring of three outlets

burst forth. Here the Hydra took up his position, and Hercules

was sent to destroy him. The Hydra had nine heads, of which the

middle one was immortal. Hercules struck off its head with his

club, but in the place of the head knocked off, two new ones grew

forth each time. At length with the assistance of his faithful

servant Iolaus, he burned away the heads of the Hydra, and buried

the ninth or immortal one under a huge rock.

Another labor was the cleaning of the Augean stables. Augeas,

king of Elis, had a herd of three thousand oxen, whose stalls had

not been cleansed for thirty years. Hercules brought the rivers

Alpheus and Peneus through them, and cleansed them thoroughly in

one day.

His next labor was of a more delicate kind. Admeta, the daughter

of Eurystheus, longed to obtain the girdle of the queen of the

Amazons, and Eurystheus ordered Hercules to go and get it. The

Amazons were a nation of women. They were very warlike and held

several flourishing cities. It was their custom to bring up only

the female children; the boys were either sent away to the

neighboring nations or put to death. Hercules was accompanied by

a number of volunteers, and after various adventures at last

reached the country of the Amazons. Hippolyta, the queen,

received him kindly, and consented to yield him her girdle; but

Juno, taking the form of an Amazon, went among the other Amazons

and persuaded them that the strangers were carrying off their

queen. The Amazons instantly armed and came in great numbers

down to the ship. Hercules, thinking that Hippolyta had acted

treacherously, slew her, and taking her girdle, made sail

homewards.

Another task enjoined him was to bring to Eurystheus the oxen of

Geryon, a monster with three bodies who dwelt in the island

Erytheia (the red), so called because it lay at the west, under

the rays of the setting sun. This description is thought to

apply to Spain, of which Geryon was said to be king. After

traversing various countries, Hercules reached at length the

frontiers of Libya and Europe, where he raised the two mountains

of Calpe and Abyla, as monuments of his progress, or according to

another account rent one mountain into two and left half on each

side, forming the Straits of Gibraltar, the two mountains being

called the Pillars of Hercules. The oxen were guarded by the

giant Eurytion and his two-headed dog, but Hercules killed the

giant and his dog and brought away the oxen in safety to

Eurystheus.

The most difficult labor of all was bringing the golden apples of

the Hesperides, for Hercules did not know where to find them.

These were the apples which Juno had received at her wedding from

the goddess of the Earth, and which she had intrusted to the

keeping of the daughters of Hesperis, assisted by a watchful

dragon. After various adventures Hercules arrived at Mount Atlas

in Africa. Atlas was one of the Titans who had warred against

the gods, and after they were subdued, Atlas was condemned to

bear on his shoulders the weight of the heavens. He was the

father of the Hesperides, and Hercules thought, might, if any one

could, find the apples and bring them to him. But how to send

Atlas away from his post, or bear up the heavens while he was

gone? Hercules took the burden on his own shoulders, and sent

Atlas to seek the apples. He returned with them, and though

somewhat reluctantly, took his burden upon his shoulders again,

and let Hercules return with the apples to Eurystheus. (Hercules

was a descendant of Perseus. Perseus changed Atlas to stone.

How could Hercules take his place? This is only one of the many

anachronisms found in ancient mythology.)

Milton in his Comus makes the Hesperides the daughters of

Hesperus, and nieces of Atlas:

"---- amidst the gardens fair

Of Hesperus and his daughters three,

That sing about the golden tree."

The poets, led by the analogy of the lovely appearance of the

western sky at sunset, viewed the west as a region of brightness

and glory. Hence they placed in it the Isles of the blest, the

ruddy isle Erytheia, on which the bright oxen of Geryon were

pastured, and the isle of the Hesperides. The apples are

supposed by some to be the oranges of Spain, of which the Greeks

had heard some obscure accounts.

A celebrated exploit of Hercules was his victory over Antaeus.

Antaeus, the son of Terra (the Earth) was a mighty giant and

wrestler, whose strength was invincible so long as he remained in

contact with his mother Earth. He compelled all strangers who

came to his country to wrestle with him, on condition that if

conquered (as they all were), they should be put to death.

Hercules encountered him, and finding that it was of no avail to

throw him, for he always rose with renewed strength from every

fall, he lifted him up from the earth and strangled him in the

air.

Cacus was a huge giant, who inhabited a cave on Mount Aventine

(one of the seven hills of Rome), and plundered the surrounding

country. When Hercules was driving home the oxen of Geryon,

Cacus stole part of the cattle, while the hero slept. That their

foot-prints might not serve to show where they had been driven,

he dragged them backward by their tails to his cave; so their

tracks all seemed to show that they had gone in the opposite

direction. Hercules was deceived by this stratagem, and would

have failed to find his oxen, if it had not happened that in

driving the remainder of the herd past the cave where the stolen

ones were concealed, those within began to low, and were thus

discovered. Cacus was slain by Hercules.

The last exploit we shall record was bringing Cerberus from the

lower world. Hercules descended into Hades, accompanied by

Mercury and Minerva. He obtained permission from Pluto to carry

Cerberus to the upper air, provided he could do it without the

use of weapons; and in spite of the monster's struggling he

seized him, held him fast, and carried him to Eurystheus, and

afterwards brought him back again. When he was in Hades he

obtained the liberty of Theseus, his admirer and imitator, who

had been detained a prisoner there for an unsuccessful attempt to

carry off Proserpine.

Hercules in a fit of madness killed his friend Iphitus and was

condemned for this offence to become the slave of Queen Omphale

for three years. While in this service the hero's nature seemed

changed. He lived effeminately, wearing at times the dress of a

woman, and spinning wool with the handmaidens of Omphale, while

the queen wore his lion's skin. When this service was ended he

married Dejanira and lived in peace with her three years. On one

occasion as he was travelling with his wife, they came to a

river, across which the Centaur Nessus carried travellers for a

stated fee. Hercules himself forded the river, but gave Dejanira

to Nessus to be carried across. Nessus attempted to run away

with her, but Hercules heard her cries, and shot an arrow into

the heart of Nessus. The dying Centaur told Dejanira to take a

portion of his blood and keep it, as it might be used as a charm

to preserve the love of her husband.

Dejanira did so, and before long fancied she had occasion to use

it. Hercules in one of his conquests had taken prisoner a fair

maiden, named Iole, of whom he seemed more fond than Dejanira

approved. When Hercules was about to offer sacrifices to the

gods in honor of his victory, he sent to his wife for a white

robe to use on the occasion. Dejanira, thinking it a good

opportunity to try her love-spell, steeped the garment in the

blood of Nessus. We are to suppose she took care to wash out all

traces of it, but the magic power remained, and as soon as the

garment became warm on the body of Hercules, the poison

penetrated into all his limbs and caused him the most intense

agony. In his frenzy he seized Lichas, who had brought him the

fatal robe, and hurled him into the sea. He wrenched off the

garment, but it stuck to his flesh, and with it he tore away

whole pieces of his body. In this state he embarked on board a

ship and was conveyed home. Dejanira on seeing what she had

unwittingly done, hung herself. Hercules, prepared to die,

ascended Mount OEta, where he built a funeral pile of trees, gave

his bow and arrows to Philoctetes, and laid himself down on the

pile, his head resting on his club, and his lion's skin spread

over him. With a countenance as serene as if he were taking his

place at a festal board, he commanded Philoctetes to apply the

torch. The flames spread apace and soon invested the whole mass.

Milton thus alludes to the frenzy of Hercules:

"As when Alcides (Alcides, a name of Hercules; the word means

"descendant of Alcaeus"), from OEchalia crowned

With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore,

Through pain, up by the roots Thessalian pines

And Lichas from the top of OEta threw

Into the Euboic Sea."

The gods themselves felt troubled at seeing the champion of the

earth so brought to his end; but Jupiter with cheerful

countenance thus addressed them; "I am pleased to see your

concern, my princes, and am gratified to perceive that I am the

ruler of a loyal people, and that my son enjoys your favor. For

although your interest in him arises from his noble deeds, yet it

is not the less gratifying to me. But now I say to you, Fear

not. He who conquered all else is not to be conquered by those

flames which you see blazing on Mount OEta. Only his mother's

share in him can perish; what he derived from me is immortal. I

shall take him, dead to earth, to the heavenly shores, and I

require of you all to receive him kindly. If any of you feel

grieved at his attaining this honor, yet no one can deny that he

has deserved it." The gods all gave their assent; Juno only

heard the closing words with some displeasure that she should be

so particularly pointed at, yet not enough to make her regret the

determination of her husband. So when the flames had consumed

the mother's share of Hercules, the diviner part, instead of

being injured thereby, seemed to start forth with new vigor, to

assume a more lofty port and a more awful dignity. Jupiter

enveloped him in a cloud, and took him up in a four-horse chariot

to dwell among the stars. As he took his place in heaven, Atlas

felt the added weight.

Juno, now reconciled to him, gave him her daughter Hebe in

marriage.

The poet Schiller, in one of his pieces called the Ideal and

Life, illustrates the contrast between the practical and the

imaginative in some beautiful stanzas, of which the last two may

be thus translated:

"Deep degraded to a coward's slave,

Endless contests bore Alcides brave,

Through the thorny path of suffering led;

Slew the Hydra, crushed the lion's might,

Threw himself, to bring his friend to light,

Living, in the skiff that bears the dead.

All the torments, every toil of earth

Juno's hatred on him could impose,

Well he bore them, from his fated birth

To life's grandly mournful close.

Till the god, the earthly part forsaken,

From the man in flames asunder taken,

Drank the heavenly ether's purer breath.

Joyous in the new unwonted lightness,

Soared he upwards to celestial brightness,

Earth's dark heavy burden lost in death.

High Olympus gives harmonious greeting

To the hall where reigns his sire adored;

Youth's bright goddess, with a blush at meeting,

Gives the nectar to her lord."

S. G. Bulfinch

HEBE AND GANYMEDE

Hebe, the daughter of Juno, and goddess of youth, was cupbearer

to the gods. The usual story is, that she resigned her office on

becoming the wife of Hercules. But there is another statement

which our countryman Crawford, the sculptor, has adopted in his

group of Hebe and Ganymede, now in the gallery of the Boston

Athenaeum. According to this, Hebe was dismissed from her office

in consequence of a fall which she met with one day when in

attendance on the gods. Her successor was Ganymede, a Trojan boy

whom Jupiter, in the disguise of an eagle, seized and carried off

from the midst of his playfellows on Mount Ida, bore up to

heaven, and installed in the vacant place.

Tennyson, in his Palace of Art, describes among the decorations

on the walls, a picture representing this legend:

"There, too, flushed Ganymede his rosy thigh

Half buried in the eagle's down,

Sole as a flying star shot through the sky

Above the pillared town."

And in Shelley's Prometheus, Jupiter calls to his cup-bearer

thus:

"Pour forth heaven's wine, Idaean Ganymede,

And let it fill the Daedal cups like fire."

The beautiful legend of the Choice of Hercules may be found in

the Tatler, No. 97. The same story is told in the Memorabilia of

Xenophon.

Chapter XIII

Theseus. Daedalus. Castor and Pollux

Theseus was the son of AEgeus, king of Athens, and of Aethra,

daughter of the king of Troezene. He was brought up at Troezene,

and, when arrived at manhood, was to proceed to Athens and

present himself to his father. AEgeus, on parting from Aethra,

before the birth of his son, placed his sword and shoes under a

large stone, and directed her to send his son to him when he

became strong enough to roll away the stone and take them from

under it. When she thought the time had come, his mother led

Theseus to the stone, and he removed it with ease, and took the

sword and shoes. As the roads were infested with robbers, his

grandfather pressed him earnestly to take the shorter and safer

way to his father's country, by sea; but the youth, feeling in

himself the spirit and the soul of a hero, and eager to signalize

himself like Hercules, with whose fame all Greece then rang, by

destroying the evil-doers and monsters that oppressed the

country, determined on the more perilous and adventurous journey

by land.

His first day's journey brought him to Epidaurus, where dwelt a

man named Periphetes, a son of Vulcan. This ferocious savage

always went armed with a club of iron, and all travellers stood

in terror of his violence. When he saw Theseus approach, he

assailed him, but speedily fell beneath the blows of the young

hero, who took possession of his club, and bore it ever

afterwards as a memorial of his first victory.

Several similar contests with the petty tyrants and marauders of

the country followed, in all of which Theseus was victorious.

One of these evil-doers was called Procrustes, or the Stretcher.

He had an iron bedstead, on which he used to tie all travellers

who fell into his hands. If they were shorter than the bed, he

stretched their limbs to make them fit it; if they were longer

than the bed, he lopped off a portion. Theseus served him as he

had served others.

Having overcome all the perils of the road, Theseus at length

reached Athens, where new dangers awaited him. Medea, the

sorceress, who had fled from Corinth after her separation from

Jason, had become the wife of AEgeus, the father of Theseus.

Knowing by her arts who he was, and fearing the loss of her

influence with her husband, if Theseus should be acknowledged as

his son, she filled the mind of AEgeus with suspicions of the

young stranger, and induced him to present him a cup of poison;

but at the moment when Theseus stepped forward to take it, the

sight of the sword which he wore discovered to his father who he

was, and prevented the fatal draught. Medea, detected in her

arts, fled once more from deserved punishment, and arrived in

Asia, where the country afterwards called Media received its name

from her. Theseus was acknowledged by his father, and declared

his successor.

The Athenians were at that time in deep affliction, on account of

the tribute which they were forced to pay to Minos, king of

Crete. This tribute consisted of seven youths and seven maidens,

who were sent every year to be devoured by the Minotaur, a

monster with a bull's body and a human head. It was exceedingly

strong and fierce, and was kept in a labyrinth constructed by

Daedalus, so artfully contrived that whoever was enclosed in it

could by no means find his way out unassisted. Here the Minotaur

roamed, and was fed with human victims.

Theseus resolved to deliver his countrymen from this calamity, or

to die in the attempt. Accordingly, when the time of sending off

the tribute came, and the youths and maidens were, according to

custom, drawn by lot to be sent, he offered himself as one of the

victims, in spite of the entreaties of his father. The ship

departed under black sails, as usual, which Theseus promised his

father to change for white, in case of his returning victorious.

When they arrived in Crete, the youths and maidens were exhibited

before Minos; and Ariadne, the daughter of the king, being

present, became deeply enamored of Theseus, by whom her love was

readily returned. She furnished him with a sword, with which to

encounter the Minotaur, and with a clew of thread by which he

might find his way out of the labyrinth. He was successful, slew

the Minotaur, escaped from the labyrinth, and taking Ariadne as

the companion of his way, with his rescued companions sailed for

Athens. On their way they stopped at the island of Naxos, where

Theseus abandoned Ariadne, leaving her asleep. For Minerva had

appeared to Theseus in a dream, and warned him that Ariadne was

destined to be the wife of Bacchus, the wine-god. (One of the

finest pieces of sculpture in Italy, the recumbent Ariadne of the

Vatican, represents this incident. A copy is in the Athenaeum

gallery, Boston. The celebrated statue of Ariadne, by Danneker,

represents her as riding on the tiger of Bacchus, at a somewhat

later period of her story.)

On approaching the coast of Attica, Theseus, intent on Ariadne,

forgot the signal appointed by his father, and neglected to raise

the white sails, and the old king, thinking his son had perished,

put an end to his own life. Theseus thus became king of Athens.

One of the most celebrated of the adventures of Theseus is his

expedition against the Amazons. He assailed them before they had

recovered from the attack of Hercules, and carried off their

queen, Antiope. The Amazons in their turn invaded the country of

Athens and penetrated into the city itself; and the final battle

in which Theseus overcame them was fought in the very midst of

the city. This battle was one of the favorite subjects of the

ancient sculptors, and is commemorated in several works of art

that are still extant.

The friendship between Theseus and Pirithous was of a most

intimate nature, yet it originated in the midst of arms.

Pirithous had made an irruption into the plain of Marathon, and

carried off the herds of the king of Athens. Theseus went to

repel the plunderers. The moment Pirithous beheld him, he was

seized with admiration; he stretched out his hand as a token of

peace, and cried, "Be judge thyself, what satisfaction dost

thou require?" "Thy friendship," replied the Athenian, and they

swore inviolable fidelity. Their deeds corresponded to their

professions, and they ever continued true brothers in arms. Each

of them aspired to espouse a daughter of Jupiter. Theseus fixed

his choice on Helen, then but a child, afterwards so celebrated

as the cause of the Trojan war, and with the aid of his friend he

carried her off. Pirithous aspired to the wife of the monarch of

Erebus; and Theseus, though aware of the danger, accompanied the

ambitious lover in his descent to the underworld. But Pluto

seized and set them on an enchanted rock at his palace gate,

where they remained till Hercules arrived and liberated Theseus,

leaving Pirithous to his fate.

After the death of Antiope, Theseus married Phaedra, daughter of

Minos, king of Crete. Phaedra saw in Hippolytus, the son of

Theseus, a youth endowed with all the graces and virtues of his

father, and of an age corresponding to her own. She loved him,

but he repulsed her advances, and her love was changed to hate.

She used her influence over her infatuated husband to cause him

to be jealous of his son, and he imprecated the vengeance of

Neptune upon him. As Hippolytus was one day driving his chariot

along the shore, a sea-monster raised himself above the waters,

and frightened the horses so that they ran away and dashed the

chariot to pieces. Hippolytus was killed, but by Diana's

assistance Aesculapius restored him to life. Diana removed

Hippolytus from the power of his deluded father and false

stepmother, and placed him in Italy under the protection of the

nymph Egeria.

Theseus at length lost the favor of his people, and retired to

the court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, who at first received him

kindly, but afterwards treacherously slew him. In a later age

the Athenian general Cimon discovered the place where his remains

were laid, and caused them to be removed to Athens, where they

were deposited in a temple called the Theseum, erected in honor

of the hero.

The queen of the Amazons whom Theseus espoused is by some called

Hippolyta. That is the name she bears in Shakespeare's Midsummer

Night's Dream, the subject of which is the festivities

attending the nuptials of Theseus and Hippolyta.

Mrs. Hemans has a poem on the ancient Greek tradition that the

"Shade of Theseus" appeared strengthening his countrymen at the

battle of Marathon.

Mr. Lewis Morris has a beautiful poem on Helen, in the Epic of

Hades. In these lines Helen describes how she was seized by

Theseus and his friend:

----"There came a night

When I lay longing for my love, and knew

Sudden the clang of hoofs, the broken doors,

The clash of swords, the shouts, the groans, the stain

Of red upon the marble, the fixed gaze

Of dead and dying eyes, that was the time

When first I looked on death, and when I woke

From my deep swoon, I felt the night air cool

Upon my brow, and the cold stars look down,

As swift we galloped o'er the darkling plain

And saw the chill sea-glimpses slowly wake,

With arms unknown around me. When the dawn

Broke swift, we panted on the pathless steeps,

And so by plain and mountain till we came

to Athens, ----."

Theseus is a semi-historical personage. It is recorded of him

that he united the several tribes by whom the territory of Attica

was then possessed into one state, of which Athens was the

capital. In commemoration of this important event, he instituted

the festival of Panathenaea, in honor of Minerva, the patron

deity of Athens. This festival differed from the other Grecian

games chiefly in two particulars. It was peculiar to the

Athenians, and its chief feature was a solemn procession in which

the Peplus or sacred robe of Minerva was carried to the

Parthenon, and suspended before the statue of the goddess. The

Peplus was covered with embroidery, worked by select virgins of

the noblest families in Athens. The procession consisted of

persons of all ages and both sexes. The old men carried olive-

branches in their hands, and the young men bore arms. The young

women carried baskets on their heads, containing the sacred

utensils, cakes, and all things necessary for the sacrifices.

The procession formed the subject of the bas-reliefs by Phidias

which embellished the outside of the temple of the Parthenon. A

considerable portion of these sculptures is now in the British

museum among those known as the "Elgin marbles."

OLYMPIC AND OTHER GAMES

We may mention here the other celebrated national games of the

Greeks. The first and most distinguished were the Olympic,

founded, it was said , by Jupiter himself. They were celebrated

at Olympia in Elis. Vast numbers of spectators flocked to them

from every part of Greece, and from Asia, Africa, and Sicily.

They were repeated every fifth year in midsummer, and continued

five days. They gave rise to the custom of reckoning time and

dating events by Olympiads. The first Olympiad is generally

considered as corresponding with the year 776 B.C. The Pythian

games were celebrated in the vicinity of Delphi, the Isthmian on

the Corinthian isthmus, the Nemean at Nemea, a city of Argolis.

The exercises in these games were of five sorts: running,

leaping, wrestling, throwing the quoit, and hurling the javelin,

or boxing. Besides these exercises of bodily strength and

agility, there were contests in music, poetry, and eloquence.

Thus these games furnished poets, musicians, and authors the best

opportunities to present their productions to the public, and the

fame of the victors was diffused far and wide.

DAEDALUS

The labyrinth from which Theseus escaped by means of the clew of

Ariadne, was built by Daedalus, a most skilful artificer. It was

an edifice with numberless winding passages and turnings opening

into one another, and seeming to have neither beginning nor end,

like the river Maender, which returns on itself, and flows now

onward, now backward, in its course to the sea. Daedalus built

the labyrinth for King Minos, but afterwards lost the favor of

the king, and was shut up in a tower. He contrived to make his

escape from his prison, but could not leave the island by sea, as

the king kept strict watch on all the vessels, and permitted none

to sail without being carefully searched. "Minos may control the

land and sea,:" said Daedalus, "but not the regions of the air.

I will try that way." So he set to work to fabricate wings for

himself and his young son Icarus. He wrought feathers together

beginning with the smallest and adding larger, so as to form an

increasing surface. The larger ones he secured with thread and

the smaller with wax, and gave the whole a gentle curvature like

the wings of a bird. Icarus, the boy, stood and looked on,

sometimes running to gather up the feathers which the wind had

blown away, and then handling the wax and working it over with

his fingers, by his play impeding his father in his labors. When

at last the work was done, the artist, waving his wings, found

himself buoyed upward and hung suspended, poising himself on the

beaten air. He next equipped his son in the same manner, and

taught him how to fly, as a bird tempts her young ones from the

lofty nest into the air. When all was prepared for flight, he

said, "Icarus, my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate height,

for if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, and if too

high the heat will melt them. Keep near me and you will be

safe." While he gave him these instructions and fitted the wings

to his shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and

his hands trembled. He kissed the boy, not knowing that it was

for the last time. Then rising on his wings he flew off,

encouraging him to follow, and looked back from his own flight to

see how his son managed his wings. As they flew the ploughman

stopped his work to gaze, and the shepherd learned on his staff

and watched them, astonished at the sight, and thinking they were

gods who could thus cleave the air.

They passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the

right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the

guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven.

The nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the

feathers together, and they came off. He fluttered with his

arms, but no feathers remained to hold the air. While his mouth

uttered cries to his father, it was submerged in the blue waters

of the sea, which thenceforth was called by his name. His father

cried, "Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" At last he saw the

feathers floating on the water, and bitterly lamenting his own

arts, he buried the body and called the land Icaria in memory of

his child. Daedalus arrived safe in Sicily, where he built a

temple to Apollo, and hung up his wings, an offering to the god.

Daedalus was so proud of his achievements that he could not bear

the idea of a rival. His sister had placed her son Perdix under

his charge to be taught the mechanical arts. He was an apt

scholar and gave striking evidences of ingenuity. Walking

on the seashore he picked up the spine of a fish. Imitating it,

he took a piece of iron and notched it on the edge, and thus

invented the SAW. He put two pieces of iron together, connecting

them at one end with a rivet, and sharpening the other ends, and

made a PAIR OF COMPASSES. Daedalus was so envious of his

nephew's performances that he took an opportunity, when they were

together one day on the top of a high tower, to push him off.

But Minerva, who favors ingenuity, saw him falling, and arrested

his fate by changing him into a bird called after his name, the

Partridge. This bird does not build his next in the trees, nor

take lofty flights, but nestles in the hedges, and mindful of his

fall, avoids high places.

The death of Icarus is told in the following lines by Darwin:

"---- with melting wax and loosened strings

Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;

Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,

With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;

His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,

And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;

O'er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,

And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;

Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,

And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell."

CASTOR AND POLLUX

Castor and Pollux were the offspring of Leda and the Swan, under

which disguise Jupiter had concealed himself. Leda gave birth to

an egg, from which sprang the twins. Helen, so famous afterwards

as the cause of the Trojan war, was their sister.

When Theseus and his friend Pirithous had carried off Helen from

Sparta, the youthful heroes Castor and Pollux, with their

followers, hasted to her rescue. Theseus was absent from Attica,

and the brothers were successful in recovering their sister.

Castor was famous for taming and managing horses, and Pollux for

skill in boxing. They were united by the warmest affection, and

inseparable in all their enterprises. They accompanied the

Argonautic expedition. During the voyage a storm arose, and

Orpheus prayed to the Samothracian gods, and played on his harp,

whereupon the storm ceased and stars appeared on the heads of the

brothers. From this incident, Castor and Pollux came afterwards

to be considered the patron deities of seamen and voyagers (One

of the ships in which St. Paul sailed was named the Castor and

Pollux. See Acts xxviii.II.), and the lambent flames, which in

certain sates of the atmosphere play round the sails and masts of

vessels, were called by their names.

After the Argonautic expedition, we find Castor and Pollux

engaged in a war with Idas and Lynceus. Castor was slain, and

Pollux, inconsolable for the loss of his brother, besought

Jupiter to be permitted to give his own life as a ransom for him.

Jupiter so far consented as to allow the two brothers to enjoy

the boon of life alternately, passing one day under the earth and

the next in the heavenly abodes. According to another form of

the story, Jupiter rewarded the attachment of the brothers by

placing them among the stars as Gemini, the Twins.

They received divine honors under the name of Dioscuri (sons of

Jove). They were believed to have appeared occasionally in later

times, taking part with one side or the other, in hard-fought

fields, and were said on such occasions to be mounted on

magnificent white steeds. Thus, in the early history of Rome,

they are said to have assisted the Romans at the battle of Lake

Regillus, and after the victory a temple was erected in their

honor on the spot where they appeared.

Macaulay, in his Lays of Ancient Rome, thus alludes to the

legend:

"So like they were, no mortal

Might one from other know;

White as snow their armor was,

Their steeds were white as snow.

Never on earthly anvil

Did such rare armor gleam,

And never did such gallant steeds

Drink of an earthly stream.

. . . . . . . . .

"Back comes the chief in triumph

Who in the hour of fight

Hath seen the great Twin Brethren

In harness on his right.

Safe comes the ship to haven

Through billows and through gales,

If once the great Twin Brethren

Sit shining on the sails."

In the poem of Atalanta in Calydon Mr. Swinburne thus describes

the little Helen and Clytemnestra, the sisters of Castor and

Pollux:

MELEAGER

"Even such I saw their sisters, one swan white,

The little Helen, and less fair than she,

Fair Clytemnestra, grave as pasturing fawns,

Who feed and fear the arrow; but at whiles,

As one smitten with love or wrung with joy,

She laughs and lightens with her eyes, and then

Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed, weeps too,

And the other chides her, and she being chid speaks naught,

But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses her,

Laughing; so fare they, as in their blameless bud,

And full of unblown life, the blood of gods."

ALTHEA

"Sweet days before them, and good loves and lords,

And tender and temperate honors of the hearth;

Peace, and a perfect life and blameless bed"

Chapter XIV

Bacchus. Ariadne

Bacchus was the son of Jupiter and Semele. Juno, to gratify her

resentment against Semele, contrived a plan for her destruction.

Assuming the form of Beroe, her aged nurse, she insinuated doubts

whether it was indeed Jove himself who came as a lover. Heaving

a sigh, she said, "I hope it will turn out so, but I can't help

being afraid. People are not always what they pretend to be. If

he is indeed Jove, make him give some proof of it. Ask him to

come arrayed in all his splendors, such as he wears in heaven.

That will put the matter beyond a doubt." Semele was persuaded

to try the experiment. She asks a favor, without naming what it

is. Jove gives his promise and confirms it with the irrevocable

oath, attesting the river Styx, terrible to the gods themselves.

Then she made know her request. The god would have stopped her

as she spake, but she was too quick for him. The words escaped,

and he could neither unsay his promise nor her request. In deep

distress he left her and returned to the upper regions. There he

clothed himself in his splendors, not putting on all his terrors,

as when he overthrew the giants, but what is known among the gods

as his lesser panoply. Arrayed in this he entered the chamber of

Semele. Her mortal frame could not endure the splendors of the

immortal radiance. She was consumed to ashes.

Jove took the infant Bacchus and gave him in charge to the

Nysaean nymphs, who nourished his infancy and childhood, and for

their care were rewarded by Jupiter by being placed, as the

Hyades, among the stars. When Bacchus grew up he discovered the

culture of the vine and the mode of extracting its precious

juice; but Juno struck him with madness, and drove him forth a

wanderer through various parts of the earth. In Phrygia the

goddess Rhea cured him and taught him her religious rites, and he

set out on a progress through Asia teaching the people the

cultivation of the vine. The most famous part of his wanderings

is his expedition to India, which is said to have lasted several

years. Returning in triumph he undertook to introduce his

worship into Greece, but was opposed by some princes who dreaded

its introduction on account of the disorders and madness it

brought with it.

As he approached his native city Thebes, Pentheus the king, who

had no respect for the new worship, forbade its rites to be

performed. But when it was known that Bacchus was advancing, men

and women, but chiefly the latter, young and old poured forth to

meet him and to join his triumphal march.

Mr. Longfellow in his Drinking Song thus describes the march of

Bacchus:

"Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;

Ivy crowns that brow, supernal

As the forehead of Apollo,

And possessing youth eternal.

"Round about him fair Bacchantes,

Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,

Wild from Naxian groves or Zante's

Vineyards, sing delirious verses."

It was in vain Pentheus remonstrated, commanded, and threatened.

"Go," said he to his attendants, "seize this vagabond leader of

the rout and bring him to me. I will soon make him confess his

false claim of heavenly parentage and renounce his counterfeit

worship." It was in vain his nearest friends and wisest

counselors remonstrated and begged him not to oppose the god.

Their remonstrances only made him more violent.

But now the attendants returned whom he had despatched to seize

Bacchus. They had been driven away by the Bacchanals, but had

succeeded in taking one of them prisoner, whom, with his hands

tied behind him, they brought before the king. Pentheus

beholding him, with wrathful countenance said, "Fellow! You

shall speedily be put to death, that your fate may be a warning

to others; but though I grudge the delay of your punishment,

speak, tell us who you are, and what are these new rites you

presume to celebrate."

The prisoner unterrified responded, "My name is Acetes; my

country is Maeonia; my parents were poor people, who had no

fields or flocks to leave me, but they left me their fishing rods

and nets and their fisherman's trade. This I followed for some

time, till growing weary of remaining in one place, I learned the

pilot's art and how to guide my course by the stars. It happened

as I was sailing for Delos, we touched at the island of Dia and

went ashore. Next morning I sent the men for fresh water and

myself mounted the hill to observe the wind; when my men returned

bringing with them a prize, as they thought, a boy of delicate

appearance, whom they had found asleep. They judged he was a

noble youth, perhaps a king's son, and they might get a liberal

ransom for him. I observed his dress, his walk, his face. There

was something in them which I felt sure was more than mortal. I

said to my men, 'What god there is concealed in that form I know

not, but some one there certainly is. Pardon us, gentle deity,

for the violence we have done you, and give success to our

undertakings.' Dictys, one of my best hands for climbing the

mast and coming down by the ropes, and Melanthus, my steersman,

and Epopeus the leader of the sailors' cry, one and all

exclaimed, 'Spare your prayers for us.' So blind is the lust of

gain! When they proceeded to put him on board I resisted them.

'This ship shall not be profaned by such impiety,' said I. 'I

have a greater share in her than any of you.' But Lycabas, a

turbulent fellow, seized me by the throat and attempted to throw

me overboard, and I scarcely saved myself by clinging to the

ropes. The rest approved the deed.

"Then Bacchus, for it was indeed he, as if shaking off his

drowsiness, exclaimed, 'What are you doing with me? What is this

fighting about? Who brought me here? Where are you going to

carry me?' One of them replied, 'fear nothing; tell us where you

wish to go and we will take you there.' "Naxos is my home,' said

Bacchus; 'take me there and you shall be well rewarded.' They

promised so to do, and told me to pilot the ship to Naxos. Naxos

lay to the right, and I was trimming the sails to carry us there,

when some by signs and others by whispers signified to me their

will that I should sail in the opposite direction, and take the

boy to Egypt to sell him for a slave. I was confounded and said,

'Let some one else pilot the ship;' withdrawing myself from any

further agency in their wickedness. They cursed me, and one of

them exclaiming, 'Don't flatter yourself that we depend on you

for our safety,' took my place as pilot, and bore away from

Naxos.

"Then the god, pretending that he had just become aware of their

treachery, looked out over the sea and said in a voice of

weeping, 'Sailors, these are not the shores you promised to take

me to; yonder island is not my home. What have I done that you

should treat me so? It is small glory you will gain by cheating

a poor boy.' I wept to hear him, but the crew laughed at both of

us, and sped the vessel fast over the sea. All at once strange

as it may seem, it is true the vessel stopped, in the mid sea,

as fast as if it was fixed on the ground. The men, astonished,

pulled at their oars, and spread more sail, trying to make

progress by the aid of both, but all in vain. Ivy twined round

the oars and hindered their motion, and clung with its heavy

clusters of berries to the sails. A vine, laden with grapes, ran

up the mast, and along the sides of the vessel. The sound of

flutes was heard and the odor of fragrant wine spread all around.

The god himself had a chaplet of vine leaves, and bore in his

hand a spear wreathed with ivy. Tigers crouched at his feet, and

lynxes and spotted panthers played around him. The sailors were

seized with terror or madness; some leaped overboard; others,

preparing to do the same, beheld their companions in the water

undergoing a change, their bodies becoming flattened and ending

in a crooked tail. One exclaimed, 'What miracle is this!' and as

he spoke his mouth widened, his nostrils expanded, and scales

covered all his body. Another endeavoring to pull the oar felt

his hands shrink up, and presently to be no longer hands but

fins; another trying to raise his arms to a rope found he had no

arms, and curving his mutilated body, jumped into the sea. What

had been his legs became the two ends of a crescent-shaped tail.

The whole crew became dolphins and swam about the ship, now upon

the surface, now under it, scattering the spray, and spouting the

water from their broad nostrils. Of twenty men I alone was left.

The god cheered me, as I trembled with fear. 'Fear not,' said

he; 'steer toward Naxos.' I obeyed, and when we arrived there, I

kindled the altars and celebrated the sacred rites of Bacchus."