Hercules
Part I
Hercules was the son of Jupiter and Alcmene--a lovely princess, the
granddaughter of Perseus and Andromeda. Juno hated her as she did
all her mortal rivals, and sought to bring misery and suffering on
the unoffending maiden. When she learned that Hercules, the son of
Alcmene, was born, she sent two immense serpents with poisonous fangs
to attack the child while he slept. The baby happened to waken just as
the creatures were twining themselves about him; and grasping their
necks in each of his tiny hands, he strangled them, thus showing from
his birth the wonderful strength that was later to make him a famous
hero. The education of Hercules was intrusted to Chiron, the most
renowned of the centaurs, who had himself been instructed by Apollo
and Diana in hunting, medicine, music, and the art of prophecy. The
idea of a creature half man and half horse was not repulsive to the
ancients, who were too fond of a horse to consider man's union with
him degrading. When Hercules left the kindly tutelage of Chiron, he
set out on his own adventures, and before he had traveled far he met
two beautiful women, each of whom offered to guide him on his journey.
Kakia (Vice) told him that if he followed her, he would gain love,
riches, and ease; and Arete (Virtue) promised him honor, bought at the
price of hardship, poverty, and endless toil. For a while the youthful
hero deliberated over the two very different rewards offered him, and
at last he gave his choice to Arete, who henceforth led him through
many perils, and into labors such as no man had ever yet performed.[74]
[Illustration: The Infant Hercules]
Like most heroes, Hercules was a great wanderer; and on one of his
journeys he came to the city of Thebes, where Creon, the king,
entertained him and showed him so much favor that when Hercules asked
for the hand of Creon's daughter Megara in marriage, the king gladly
gave his consent. The hero then rested from his wanderings, and spent
many happy years in the society of his wife and children; but Juno had
not forgotten her old hatred of Alcmene's offspring, and she determined
to end this happiness. So she afflicted Hercules with a sudden madness;
and in his delirium he killed his wife, and threw his children into the
fire. When at last he recovered his senses, he suffered terribly over
the thought of the crimes that he had unwittingly committed, and would
have gone off to the mountains to spend his days in sorrow and remorse,
had not Juno demanded that he should expiate his deeds of bloodshed.
Accordingly she sent Mercury to lead him from his solitude among the
hills and to take him to his cousin Eurystheus, king of Argos, whom he
was compelled to serve for a whole year. During this time he performed
the twelve great labors that have made his name famous as the doer of
mighty deeds.
The first task that Eurystheus gave the hero was to procure the skin
of a monstrous lion that inhabited the Nemean forest. This creature's
frequent attacks had brought terror to all the countryside, for it was
not content with carrying off cattle and sheep, but had killed the
children at play, and mangled shepherds who were watching with their
flocks. When the people heard that Hercules was setting out to fight
the lion, they tried to persuade him to give up the adventure; but he,
who had strangled two huge serpents in his infancy, was not afraid of
a lion, however fierce and strong it might be. So he boldly entered
the forest, and having tracked the great brute to its den, he attacked
it fearlessly and killed it with his bare hands. Then, throwing the
body of the lion over his shoulder, he started back to the palace of
Eurystheus; but when the king saw Hercules approaching, he begged him
to leave his burden outside the city gates. So the hero skinned the
lion, and took the shaggy pelt to be henceforth his favorite covering.
Hercules's second labor was to kill the Hydra, a nine-headed monster
that infested the marshes of Lerna. With the blows of his great oak
club the hero was able to strike off eight of the heads, but the
central one was immortal and could not be destroyed. Further to
complicate the difficulty, Hercules found that as soon as he struck
off one head, two others sprang up in its place. To prevent this
discouraging miracle from continuing, the hero bade his friend Iolaus,
who had accompanied him, take a lighted brand and sear the wounds as
soon as they were made. Through this wise precaution the Hydra was
finally killed, and its one immortal head was buried under a huge
rock. While this difficult struggle was going on, Juno, always eager
to thwart the hero, sent a large crab to pinch Hercules's feet as he
wrestled with the Hydra. He succeeded in crushing it with his club; but
Juno did not leave its body on the trampled and blood-stained ground.
In recognition of its services to her, she placed it in the sky as the
constellation of Cancer (the Crab). Before Hercules left the dead Hydra
he dipped some arrows in its venomous blood, knowing that any wound
received from their poisoned tips would surely be fatal. These arrows
were later of great service to Hercules, and only once did he regret
their deadly quality.
The next task that Eurystheus set was the capture of the golden-horned
and brazen-hoofed stag of Cerynea, which ran so swiftly that it did not
seem to touch the ground. Hercules pursued the stag for many miles, but
was unable to overtake it until he drove it into the cold regions of
the north, where its fleetness was hindered by the great drifts and the
ice-covered ground. Finally the stag ran into a deep snow bank, and so
Hercules captured it and took it home in triumph.
The fourth labor to which Hercules lent his great strength was the
killing of a wild boar that haunted Mount Erymanthus in Arcadia. While
on this expedition, the hero was attacked by the centaurs, and when he
shot at them with his poisoned arrows, one of the deadly missiles flew
far and struck his loved tutor Chiron, who was galloping toward the
combatants, hoping to settle the quarrel peaceably. When Hercules saw
Chiron fall, he rushed to his side and tried to stanch the fatal wound;
but the dying centaur knew that his end had come, and sorrowfully bade
the hero farewell. To reward Chiron for his long service, the gods
transferred him to the heavens as the constellation Sagittarius.
Hercules was next sent to kill the flock of fierce birds whose
cruel beaks and sharp talons made havoc in the country around Lake
Stymphalus. The foul mist that rose from the stagnant water over which
the birds hovered was so deadly to breathe that Hercules could hardly
approach the lake; but with the help of his poisoned arrows he was able
to wound the birds at a distance. After hours spent in this pestilent
atmosphere he killed the entire flock and returned to the court of
Eurystheus to report his success.
The most unpleasant of all Hercules's labors was the cleaning of the
stables where Augeas, king of Elis, kept his herd of a thousand oxen.
These stables had not been cleaned for thirty years; and when Hercules
caught one glimpse of the filth within them, he felt that this was too
degrading a task for him to undertake. But the work had to be done; and
since he could not put his hand to anything so foul, he looked about
for some other means to accomplish the labor. Not far from the stables
flowed two rivers, the Peneus and Alpheus, and these Hercules turned
out of their courses and made them rush through the filthy building
until every part of the stables of Augeas was washed perfectly clean.
Then he restored the rivers to their former beds, and returned home to
report this task fulfilled.
The next labor that was assigned to the hero was the capture of a mad
bull given by Neptune to King Minos. In the early days of his power,
Minos had boasted that he could obtain anything that he wished from the
gods; and had accordingly begged of Neptune a bull for the sacrifices.
The kindly sea-god sent a splendid offering, but when Minos saw the
bull's size and beauty, he resolved to keep it. So he substituted
another animal for the sacrifices. This angered Neptune so much that
he made the bull go mad; and it rushed here and there over the island,
causing great terror among the people. The creature was finally caught
and overcome by Hercules, who rode it through the waves to Greece. The
offspring of this bull was the famous Minotaur which the hero Theseus
pursued through its labyrinth, and slew.
The eighth labor of Hercules was to bring from Thrace the horses of
Diomedes. These splendid creatures the king fed on human flesh; and in
order to get a sufficient supply of fresh meat, he decreed that all
strangers who came into his kingdom should be imprisoned, fattened up,
and then served as food to the horses. To punish Diomedes for his years
of cruelty, Hercules fed him to his own steeds, and then led them back
to Eurystheus, who was proud to be the possessor of such a prize.
At the court of Eurystheus was the king's beautiful daughter, Admete,
who loved purple and fine linen, and decked herself with all the
jewels that her father's wealth could command. One day Admete heard
a traveler telling wonderful tales of the girdle that was worn by
Hippolyte, queen of the Amazons; and at once the spoiled princess
demanded of her father that he send Hercules to procure for her the
coveted girdle. So the hero set out again, accompanied by his friend
Iolaus; and after a hard and perilous journey came to the country of
the Amazons. These were a fierce, warlike nation of women who kept in
their tribe only the girls who were born among them and disposed of the
boys by killing them, or by giving them to the neighboring peoples. The
girls were trained in severe military discipline, and became a race of
very redoubtable warriors whom no king cared to treat with contempt.
When Hercules came before the queen Hippolyte, she received him kindly,
listened to the explanation of his visit, and even promised to give
him the girdle that the selfish Admete coveted. Before the hero and
his friend set out on their journey homeward, the queen entertained
them royally with feasting and games that lasted several days. Meantime
Juno saw an opportunity for indulging her hatred of Hercules; and
taking the form of an Amazon, she mingled freely with the women. By
pretending to have received a heaven-sent message, she persuaded them
that the stranger had used the girdle as a mere pretext for his visit,
and that his real intention was to carry off the queen. The Amazons
believed this artfully-contrived report, and rushed in a body to
protect Hippolyte. They attacked Hercules fiercely, but he beat them
off and finally escaped with his friend, but not before he had killed
several of the Amazons, including the queen who had befriended him.[75]
With the dearly-bought girdle he returned homeward, and on the way he
heard the proclamation of Laomedon that whoever would save his daughter
Hesione from the sea-monster should receive a large reward. Hercules
killed the beast and freed the maiden, but was obliged to leave Troy
without the promised gold, because of Laomedon's perfidy and greed.[76]
When the ancients looked each evening at the glowing west, they
pictured it as a far-distant country, more wonderful than any ever seen
by mortal eyes. Here in this land of heart's desire lay the Garden of
the Hesperides, where a dragon guarded the golden apples that grew
on a wonderful tree which had sprung up miraculously to grace the
wedding of Jupiter and Juno. In this far-off sunset land were also
the Isles of the Blest,[77] where mortals who had led virtuous lives
were transported without ever tasting of death. Here the blessed of
the gods enjoyed an eternity of bliss; and wandered happily over the
Isles, which had a sun and moon and stars of their own, and never felt
the touch of wintry winds. In this mysterious region of the west was
the island of Erythea, called "the red" because it glowed in the light
of the setting sun. To this spot Hercules was sent to take possession
of the oxen of Geryon--a monster with three bodies. On his journey to
the island, Hercules's way was blocked by a huge mountain; and with one
blow of his strong oak club he cleft the opposing rock, and allowed the
waters of the sea to flow through. This is now the strait of Gibraltar,
and the cliffs on either side are called the Pillars of Hercules.
When the hero reached the island of Erythea, he found the oxen guarded
by the giant Eurytion and his three-headed dog; but even this did
not daunt the slayer of the Hydra. He boldly attacked the giant; and
after a fierce battle, in which his oak club stood him in good stead,
killed both Eurytion and the monstrous dog. Then he went in search of
the oxen, and, after herding them closely, drove them toward his own
country. On the journey homeward he passed Mount Aventine, where the
giant Cacus lived in a rocky cave. One night, as Hercules was asleep
near the mountain, the giant stole part of the cattle; and, to deceive
the hero, he dragged them backwards by their tails into his cave.
Hercules might have been tricked by this stratagem if the stolen oxen
had not lowed loudly as the rest of the herd passed the cave, and so
betrayed their hiding place. Hercules rushed into the giant's dark,
ill-smelling dwelling, slew him, and recovered all the stolen cattle.
[Illustration: Hercules and the Centaur]
Chapter XXIV
Hercules
Part II
One of the most difficult of Hercules's labors was to procure the
golden apples that the Hesperides, daughters of Hesperus, god of the
west, guarded very jealously. At the foot of the tree coiled a fierce
dragon whose nostrils poured out fire, and whose deadly breath would
have slain any venturesome robber, even if he had escaped the dragon's
claws. As Hercules did not know in what part of the great glowing west
the Garden of the Hesperides lay, he wandered many miles before he
met with any one who could direct him where to go. The first help he
received was from the nymphs of the Eridanus River, who were sporting
on the river bank and called to Hercules to come and join in their
games. Much as he would have liked to rest, the hero dared not tarry;
but he begged the friendly nymphs to tell him the way to the Garden of
the Hesperides. They could not help him, but they advised him to go to
old Proteus, "the Ancient of the Deep," who could tell him whatever
he wished to know better than any one else. So Hercules went down to
the seashore, and found the hoary god asleep in his cool green cave.
Knowing the old man's wiles, the hero grasped him firmly and held him
fast through all the bewildering changes by which he sought to frighten
away the stranger. At last, finding himself securely caught, the Wizard
assumed his own form, and asked Hercules what it was that he wished to
know. The hero stated his errand, and Proteus told him, "in words that
ne'er deceive," that he must find the giant Atlas who alone knew where
the Garden of the Hesperides lay.
Hercules then started again on his search, and in the course of his
journey came to the Caucasus Mountains, where he found Prometheus, the
stealer of the sacred fire, bound with adamantine chains to the rock,
while a vulture daily feasted on his liver.[78] Hercules killed the
foul bird, broke the chains, and set Prometheus free; and in return
for his deliverance the grateful Titan directed his rescuer where to
find the giant Atlas. Following Prometheus's advice, Hercules traveled
straightway to Africa; and on the way he passed through the land of
the Pygmies, a tiny race of warriors who waged continual warfare with
neighboring tribes, and especially with their deadly enemies, the
cranes. Hercules was not aware that he had reached the country of the
Pygmies;[79] but one day, when he had fallen asleep from weariness, he
was wakened by sharp prickings over his body; and looking around he saw
a host of diminutive men, attacking him with their tiny weapons. The
hero laughed at these brave efforts, caught up a few of the doughty
little warriors, and, wrapping them in his lion skin, carried them back
with him to the court of Eurystheus.
As he journeyed through Africa in search of Atlas, Hercules came to the
country of Anteus--a mighty giant and wrestler, and the son of Terra,
the Earth. All strangers who came into the land were obliged to wrestle
with him, and if they were defeated, they were immediately killed. As
no one had ever overcome Anteus, he had brought an untimely death on
many a brave hero; so Hercules was eager to defeat him and avenge the
unknown dead. As soon as they had grappled for the first struggle,
the slayer of the Hydra knew that he had met more than his equal in
strength. For a long time they wrestled, Anteus growing stronger
after each fall, and Hercules growing fainter from every additional
blow of the giant's hand. Again and again the undaunted hero threw
his adversary to the ground, but Anteus rose with redoubled vigor and
continued the unequal contest. Then, all at once, Hercules remembered
the tale he had once heard told of a giant who drew strength from his
mother Earth; and believing that this was the case with Anteus, he made
a mighty effort and lifted the giant from the ground. Anteus struggled
to get his feet again on the earth; but Hercules kept him in the air,
and held him there until he felt the powerful body beginning to weaken.
Little by little the miraculous strength oozed away, and soon Anteus
grew so weak that Hercules easily crushed the limp form with his hands.
The hero then traveled on in search of Atlas, whom he finally found
standing on the coast of Africa, with the great weight of the heavens
resting on his broad shoulders. As Hercules looked up at the enormous
figure, which reached so far into the clouds that nothing could be seen
above his waist, he noticed that the forests had grown up so thick and
tall all around that only a glimpse of the giant's huge legs could be
seen through the heavy foliage. As the hero stood watching this figure
that for centuries had stood here in obedience to the divine command
of Jupiter, he saw dark clouds beginning to gather about the giant's
head, and soon a storm broke over the sea and land. Amid the beating of
the rain and the crash of the thunder, Hercules thought he heard the
voice of Atlas speaking to him; but it might have been only a peal of
thunder. When the storm was over and the mists rolled away from the
earth, Hercules saw the head of Atlas through rifts in the scurrying
clouds. The snow-white hair gave the giant's face a benign look as it
fell thick and white over the stooping shoulders that bore so terrible
a weight. In a voice that he strove hard to make gentle, Atlas asked
the hero what he was seeking, and Hercules told him that he had come to
get some of the golden apples from the Garden of the Hesperides.[80]
Atlas laughed at these words, and his great shoulders shook so with
merriment that a few of the stars fell out of their places. Then he
told Hercules that such a feat was impossible even to so great a hero;
but that if some one would take the heavens from his shoulders for a
few hours, he himself would get the apples.[81]
Hercules was delighted with this offer of assistance, and agreed to
take the giant's burden while the latter went on his friendly errand.
Very carefully Atlas transferred the heavens to the shoulders of
Hercules, and then sped westward to the Garden of the Hesperides. The
hero was a bit troubled when he saw Atlas shake his huge shoulders and
stretch himself in delight at his freedom, for it would be strange,
indeed, if the giant were ready to resume his burden after having
tasted the joy of liberty. With some anxiety Hercules watched him
step into the sea that came only to his knees though he had waded out
a mile from the shore. As Atlas went deeper and deeper into the waves,
at first his huge bulk loomed like a cliff against the horizon; but
soon it dwindled into a mere speck, and was presently lost to view. How
long he stood holding the heavens Hercules never knew; but he found
himself growing very weary of his burden, and anxious over Atlas's long
absence. Suddenly he saw a dark spot on the horizon, and he knew that
it was the giant returning.
It had not been a difficult task for Atlas to reach the Garden, or to
pluck the golden apples from the carefully-guarded tree; and Hercules,
delighted with the giant's success, thanked him for his trouble and
asked him politely to take the sky again on his shoulders, for the
journey back to the court of Eurystheus was a long one. Now Atlas had
no desire to stand for another dozen centuries with his old burden;
and seeing a good opportunity of getting rid of it forever, he told
Hercules that he would carry the apples to Eurystheus himself; and
meanwhile the hero could keep the heavens supported until Atlas
returned. Pretending that he was quite satisfied with this arrangement,
Hercules bade the giant good-by; then hastily asked him to wait a
moment while he made a pad for his shoulders to ease the weight of
the unaccustomed burden. The unsuspicious giant good-naturedly agreed
to this, and took the heavens from Hercules; but instead of making a
cushion, the hero picked up the golden apples, which Atlas had dropped
on resuming his burden, and started back to his own country, leaving
the giant to stand on the seashore forever, or until the pitying gods
should release him.
The twelfth and last labor of Hercules was to bring from Hades the
three-headed dog, Cerberus. With the help of Mercury and Minerva, he
descended into the dread realm of Pluto, and begged that grim monarch
to let him take Cerberus into the upper world. Pluto was not willing
at first to lose the guardian of his gates even for a short time; but
at length he consented to let Hercules do as he desired on condition
that Cerberus should not be bound or any weapons used upon him. So the
fierce three-headed creature was carried, snarling and struggling, in
the hero's strong arms; and when the pair approached the throne of
Eurystheus, the horror-struck monarch implored Hercules to take the
monster back as quickly as possible, for the sight of its dripping
jaws, from which oozed the deadly nightshade, so terrified Eurystheus
that he sought refuge in a huge jar, and would not come out until his
courtiers assured him that Cerberus was safely out of the country.
When the twelve labors were ended, Hercules's term of service at the
court of Eurystheus was over, and he was free to wander where he
willed. He spent many years roaming through various lands and assisting
other heroes who, like himself, were in search of adventures. He took
part in the battle between the Centaurs and Lapithæ;[82] joined in
the Argonautic expedition; organized the first siege of Troy, and
braved the terrors of Hades to bring Alcestis back to her repentant
husband.[83] The expedition against Troy was one of revenge, for the
false Laomedon had never paid the gold that he had promised for the
release of his daughter Hesione from the sea-monster; and Hercules
now set out to punish the treacherous king.[84] So he sailed for Troy
with eighteen ships, and the city fell into his hands with but little
resistance. Laomedon was killed, his son Priam placed on the throne of
Troy, and Hesione given in marriage to Telamon, one of the Greeks who
accompanied Hercules.
[Illustration: Hercules serving Omphale]
The hero's splendid career received a check, however, for in a quarrel
he killed his friend Iphitus, and the gods, angry at this unnecessary
bloodshed, compelled him to go once more into bondage. So for three
years Hercules served Omphale, queen of Lydia; and during this time
he lived very effeminately, wearing sometimes the dress of a woman
and spinning wool with the handmaidens of Omphale, while the queen
wore his lion's skin and wielded his renowned club. When his years of
servitude were over, he set out again on his wanderings; and during
one of his journeys he met the beautiful Deïaneira, daughter of Œneus
of Calydon and sister of Meleager, famous in the Calydonian hunt.
Hercules immediately sought the maiden's hand in marriage; but she
had another suitor, the river god Achelous, who had already obtained
her father's consent. Deïaneira, however, much preferred her new
lover, and begged him to free her from the betrothal with Achelous. So
Hercules challenged the river-god to a wrestling match, the conditions
of the contest being that he who won should have the maiden in
marriage. Achelous readily agreed to this way of settling their rival
pretensions, for he had no doubt as to the result of the wrestling.
The opponents were well matched as to strength, but the river-god had
one great advantage, for he could assume any form he pleased, and thus
bewilder any one who tried to grapple with him. Among his many changes,
he took the form of a serpent; but when Hercules grasped it by the neck
and was about to strangle it, Achelous became a bull and rushed at the
hero with lowered horns. Skillfully eluding this unexpected attack,
Hercules seized the bull by one horn and held on so firmly that when
the creature tried to wrench himself free the horn broke. This decided
the victory in favor of Hercules, and Achelous departed sullenly to
his bed in the river. The broken horn was appropriated by Fortuna, the
goddess of plenty, who filled it with her treasures, and adopted it
thenceforth as her symbol, calling it Cornucopia.
[Illustration: Fortuna]
There was nothing now to hinder the marriage of Hercules with
Deïaneira, and the wedding took place with much mirth and feasting.
After several days of festivity Hercules departed with his wife; and in
the course of their journey homeward, they came to the river Evenus,
which had grown so swollen and turbid from the heavy rains that it
was impossible to ford it. As the travelers stood helpless on the
bank, the centaur Nessus came galloping up to them, and offered to
carry Deïaneira across the river in safety. Grateful for this timely
assistance, Hercules placed his wife on the back of the centaur, who
swam with her through the swift-flowing stream. When they reached the
opposite bank, Deïaneira expected the centaur to stop, that she might
dismount; but Nessus set off at a brisk trot, hoping to kidnap his fair
rider before her husband could overtake them. Hercules heard the cries
of his terrified bride, and as soon as he swam the river he sent a
swift arrow after the treacherous Nessus. The poisoned tip sank deep
into the centaur's side, and he knew at once that he had received
his death-wound. With a pretense at repentance, he asked Deïaneira
to forgive his rash deed; and then, as if granting her a favor, he
told her to take his robe which was stained with blood, and keep it
carefully, for it had wonderful properties. He assured her that if the
time ever came that Hercules's love grew cold, she had only to persuade
him to put on this magic robe, and his devotion to her would become
more ardent than ever before. Deïaneira took the robe, but said nothing
to her husband of the centaur's gift, hoping that she would never have
to make use of it.
For many years Hercules and his wife lived happily together; for,
although the hero went on other adventures, he was always eager
to return to Deïaneira, and she had no need to be reminded of the
centaur's gift. On one of his expeditions, however, he brought back
with him a fair maiden named Iole, of whom his wife soon grew to be
extremely jealous. Not long after the arrival of Iole, Hercules wished
to offer sacrifices to the gods in honor of his safe return; so he sent
to Deïaneira for a suitable robe. His wife, trembling for the success
of her venture, bade the messenger Lichas carry to Hercules the magic
robe of Nessus, which she had carefully guarded all these years. The
hero, not knowing the history of the fatal garment, threw it over his
shoulders, and as soon as it touched his flesh, the poisoned blood
began its deadly work. The body of Hercules burned suddenly as if on
fire, and agonizing pains convulsed his frame. He tried to unloose
the fatal robe, but it clung to his skin, and he tore off part of his
flesh in trying to set himself free. In his rage and pain he turned
upon Lichas, the unhappy bearer of the poisoned robe, and seizing him
in his still powerful arms flung him into the sea from the top of Mount
Œta, where they had assembled for the sacrifices. Then the hero tore
up huge oak trees by their roots and built a lofty funeral pyre on
which he stretched his pain-wracked limbs. Calmly he bade his servants
apply the torch, but no one was willing to do this, even to ease his
sufferings; so Hercules turned to his friend Philoctetes, and after
giving him the poisoned arrows, begged him in pity to light the funeral
pyre. The youth placed beside Hercules the hero's famous oak club, and
covered his body with the lion's skin. Then he applied a torch to the
wood, and the flames rose with a roar and cracking to the skies. But
only the mortal part of the hero perished, for Jupiter would not allow
the divinity that he had bestowed upon Hercules to suffer extinction.
Purged of his mortality, the hero took his place in high Olympus, and
even revengeful Juno was so reconciled to his presence, that she gave
him her daughter Hebe in marriage.
Chapter XXV
Perseus
When the wicked King Danaüs persuaded his daughters to kill their
husbands on their wedding night, there was one, Hypermnestra, who
refused to slay her lover, and by saving him brought upon the head of
cruel Danaüs the doom that he had striven to escape.[85] The grandson
of Hypermnestra and Lynceus was Acrisius, king of Argo, a kindly
ruler who dearly loved his only daughter Danaë, and kept her always
near him to delight his eyes with her great beauty. Unfortunately the
king chanced to learn from an oracle that he would one day be killed
by his grandson; and hoping to prevent this, he shut Danaë in a high
brazen tower which no one was allowed to enter on pain of death. He
placed around the tower a strong guard, so that no one could get even
a glimpse of the imprisoned princess; but though no mortal wooer
could approach her, Danaë's loveliness was not hidden from Jupiter's
eyes, and as he looked down from high Olympus he pitied the maiden's
loneliness and loved her for her great beauty. Fearing to frighten her
if he assumed any mortal disguise, and not daring to appear before her
in his divine splendor, he took the form of a golden shower, which fell
softly on the sill of the tower window and charmed the lonely captive
with its brightness. Each day this strange visitor came to glorify her
darkened room, and Danaë looked forward eagerly to its appearance. Thus
by means of the golden shower Jupiter won the maiden's confidence and
love, and spent many hours with her in the high tower room. Danaë was
not lonely any more, but people who passed beneath her window could
hear her singing to herself all day long.
One morning the astonished attendants rushed to King Acrisius and told
him that in the brazen tower was a mother and child--his daughter
Danaë had given birth to a son who was so beautiful that they called
him Perseus. The king was enraged at this news, and threatened to put
the boy to death; but as he was unwilling to stain his hands with the
blood of his grandson--even though this grandson might cause his own
death--he put Danaë and her infant in a cask, and set them adrift on
the sea. For days the strange boat tossed about on the ever-rocking
waves, and the poor frightened mother prayed to the gods to save her
and her hapless child. Jupiter heard her cries, and no storms came to
beat the frail boat upon the rocks, nor did any rough seas imperil the
voyager's safety. At last the cask was washed gently up on the shores
of the island of Seriphus, where a friendly fisherman rescued Danaë and
her child and took them to the king, Polydectes. This ruler received
them kindly, and allowed them to live at his court; and here the young
Perseus grew up into manhood, learning all the games and sports that
belonged to the training of a Grecian youth.
Meanwhile Polydectes had become so enamored of Danaë that he wished to
marry her, and grew very angry at her continued refusals. His wrath
was increased when Perseus forbade him to distress Danaë any longer
with his unwelcome attentions. As Polydectes did not dare to kill
Perseus or banish him from the kingdom--for he knew that his suit would
then be hopeless--he began to taunt the youth with his inexperience,
and asked him why he did not set out on some adventure to prove his
mettle like other heroes. Perseus did not consider himself a hero,
but he hoped some day to do great things; and the sneers of the king
worked on his proud heart, as that wily old monarch had expected. The
youth then demanded to have his courage and endurance put to the test,
and Polydectes promptly told him to go and slay the Gorgon Medusa,
and bring her head back as the proof of his valor. Perseus needed
no urging to set out at once, though he well knew the danger of the
undertaking. His mother implored him to remain with her, but the youth
was determined not to endure Polydectes's taunts any longer, and he was
eager to prove his bravery, even at the risk of his life.
There were three of the Gorgons, all of them hideous to behold; but
Medusa was by far the most terrible,[86] for besides her frightful
appearance she had the power to turn those who looked at her into
stone. She was once a beautiful maiden, who had had the misfortune to
offend Minerva, and that goddess, to punish her, changed her into a
dragonlike creature with long tusks, a scaly hide, brazen claws, and
instead of hair a writhing mass of snakes. To this monster Polydectes
sent the young Perseus, feeling sure that he would never return home
alive.
The young hero had not journeyed far before he noticed that some one
was walking beside him, and, turning to look more closely at the
stranger, he was at once surprised and frightened at recognizing
Mercury. But the messenger of the gods bade him have no fear, for
he himself had come to help in the perilous quest for the Gorgon's
head. Then Mercury lent Perseus his own winged sandals, and told the
youth that he would have to do some swift moving in the course of his
adventures. The god also lent him a magic helmet that rendered the
wearer invisible, and bade him offer thanks to Pluto as the sender of
this invaluable gift. Not to be outdone by the other gods in kindness,
the august Minerva lent Perseus her shield--the terrible Ægis of
Jupiter--which the warrior-goddess carried with her to battle. Thus
equipped for the combat Perseus had no fear of encountering the dread
Medusa of the snaky locks, and pressed forward eagerly on his journey.
He had already inquired of Mercury the way to the Gorgon's cave, but
the god could not direct him, and told him that he must find the Grææ
and learn the way from them.
The Grææ were three hideous old women who had been gray-haired from
birth,--and so received their name,--and they lived in a far-off land,
where eternal darkness reigned. They had only one tooth and one huge
eye among them, and passed these around to each other in turn. As they
alone could tell him where Medusa dwelt, Perseus started northward on
Mercury's winged sandals, and after flying for many days in search of
the Three Sisters, he came at last to their cheerless land. He found
the Gray Old Women seated under a drooping willow-tree that fell so far
over them that it almost hid their shrunken forms.
"There sat the crones that had the single eye,
Clad in blue sweeping cloak and snow-white gown;
While o'er their backs their straight white hair hung down
In long thin locks, dreadful their faces were,
Carved all about with wrinkles of despair;
And as they sat they crooned a dreary song,
Complaining that their lives should last so long,
In that sad place that no one came anear,
In that wan place desert of hope and fear;
And singing, still they rocked their bodies bent,
And ever each to each the eye they sent."
--WILLIAM MORRIS, _The Doom of King Acrisius_.
As Perseus approached the spot where the Gray Old Women sat crooning
to themselves, he took good care to keep on his magic helmet, and he
watched closely to see when the eye was being transferred from one old
head to the other. Just as the eldest sister was taking out the great
eye, and the one who was next in turn was holding out her shriveled
hand to receive it, Perseus stepped quickly between them and snatched
it away. The old woman began to grope for it in her pitiable blindness,
and then arose a fierce dispute among the sisters as to who really had
the eye. To end the quarreling Perseus spoke gently to them, telling
them that he had taken their treasured eye, and would return it to them
as soon as they had informed him where to find Medusa of the snaky
locks. For a while the Gray Old Women pretended that they had never
heard of Medusa, but finding that the unseen speaker was determined to
keep their precious eye until he had received the desired information,
they told him the way to the Gorgon's Cave. Perseus then returned to
them the huge eye, which seemed to stare at him with a very knowing
look, and sped off on his winged sandals to the country where Medusa
dwelt.
As he flew along the seacoast he saw in the distance a dark cavern
among the rocks, and in front of it, on the glaring white sand, lay
a monster which, even from his great height above the water, Perseus
could not glance at without shuddering. Remembering Minerva's caution
when she gave him her shield, he used its bright surface as a mirror
in which were reflected all the objects below; and never once was he
tempted to turn his eyes toward the dreadful figure on the beach. Its
scaly hide glistened in the sunlight, its brazen claws shone like
live coals, and the snakes that lay coiled around its head shot out
their tongues and hissed whenever the Gorgon stirred in its sleep.
As Perseus drew nearer he saw, reflected in his polished shield, the
forms of men and animals that had been turned to stone by one glance at
Medusa's face. These were very numerous around the mouth of the cave,
and Perseus silently prayed to the gods that his figure might not be
added to the number. Some distance away lay the other two Gorgons,
Medusa's sisters, but the young hero had no thought for them. His
whole attention was centered on the blow that he must deal the sleeping
Medusa before the snakes hissed so loudly that she would awaken. Even
in his shield the sight of that twisting, wriggling mass of reptiles
was so repulsive that Perseus shuddered and was tempted to turn away;
but just then he heard a whisper. "Be quick. Strike swift and sure;"
and as he recognized the voice of Mercury, all his courage returned.
Grasping his sword more firmly and holding his bright shield above the
sleeping monster, he swooped suddenly down upon it, and with one swift
stroke cut off the great head with all its coils of serpents. It was
only a moment's work to sheathe his sword and grasp the hideous trophy
in his hands; but even then the danger was not over, for the snakes on
Medusa's head began to hiss so loudly that their noise awoke the other
two sleeping Gorgons, and they looked around to find why their sister
had disturbed their rest. Seeing Medusa's headless body on the sand,
they set up such terrible cries that the noise re-echoed like thunder
through the cavern, and as far away as Perseus had already flown, he
could hear the awful sounds that made the seashore seem like some
vision in a dreadful nightmare.
[Illustration: Perseus]
As he hurried over the sea with Medusa's head held firmly in his hand,
some of the blood dripped down into the white-capped waves and was
cherished by Neptune, who had once loved Medusa when she was a
beautiful maiden. From these drops of blood the sea-king created the
wonderful winged horse, Pegasus, who was to share in the adventures of
another famous hero, Bellerophon. Some of the Gorgon's blood had also
dropped on the hot African sand, as Perseus was flying upward from the
Gorgon's cave, and from this sprang a brood of poisonous reptiles that
ever afterward infested that region and brought death to many an unwary
explorer.
The journey homeward was long and wearisome, and Perseus was often
obliged to seek the seashore to rest. Once as he was flying along
the coast of Africa, borne aloft on the winged sandals, he saw
old Atlas standing where he had stood for many centuries with the
weight of the heavens on his bent shoulders. The clouds wrapped his
head so completely that Perseus could see only his immense body.
Forests had grown up so high all around him that his huge legs were
scarcely visible among the heavy foliage, and his broad shoulders
looked like mighty bowlders rising up above the tree-tops. But though
his head _was_ so far in the clouds, Atlas knew that Perseus was
approaching,--for giants have certain senses unpossessed by mortal
men,--and he shook the clouds from about his face, and blew away the
mists with his breath. Then, when the air was clear, and Perseus
could see the white hair that was previously hidden above the clouds,
he pitied poor Atlas for his heavy punishment and stopped to speak
with him. The giant looked down from his great height and begged the
hero to uncover Medusa's head,--which Perseus had kept wrapped in
his cloak,--for he was anxious to gaze upon it and become himself an
image of stone. He told how weary he was of standing for all these
ages without ever being able to rest, and he could not endure the
thought of keeping up this torture for eternity. So Perseus lifted up
the Gorgon's head, being careful to keep his own averted, and Atlas
gazed long and eagerly at the dead face, with its wreath of lifeless
serpents. Then slowly the giant's great bulk began to harden, and the
stooping shoulders became firm, unfeeling stone. As Perseus stood there
watching the strange transformation, he seemed to see no longer the
floating white hair of Atlas, but a pile of snow on a mountain top; and
he looked no more on the huge limbs surrounded by forests, but he saw
rents and clefts on a mountain side that just showed themselves through
the thick trees. Thus was the burden of Atlas forever removed from his
aching shoulders, and the heavens now rested securely on a mountain.
When Perseus resumed his journey along the coast, he soon came to a
place where the cliffs rose abruptly from the sea; and as he looked
down at the rocks below him, he saw, outlined against their dark
surface, a figure that made him pause in his swift flight, and wonder
if a sudden madness had taken hold on his fancy; for chained to the
rock was a maiden so beautiful that even her constant weeping had
not marred the perfect loveliness of her face. Keeping the Gorgon's
head carefully concealed under his cloak, so that the captive maiden
could get no glimpse of the snaky locks, Perseus flew to the girl's
side, and, taking off his magic helmet, spoke to her gently. At any
other time she would have been startled at this sudden appearance of a
stranger; but the thought of her dreadful fate, so near at hand, drove
all other fears from her mind. The spray from the sea dashed over her,
and the cold winds blew on her shivering form; but of this she seemed
to be hardly aware. Her eyes were fixed in wild terror upon a cavern in
the rocks, where Perseus could see a huge dragon lying stretched out on
the cool, slimy seaweed.
When the young hero spoke to the maiden, she did not seem to hear him,
but, at his gentle persistence, she at last turned her eyes away from
the dreaded cavern and told him her story. She said that her name
was Andromeda, and that her mother, Cassiopeia,[87] had angered the
sea-nymphs by presuming to rival them in beauty. To punish the queen
for her vanity, the nymphs sent a fierce sea-monster to devastate the
homes along the coast; and when the terrified people consulted an
oracle to know how they might save themselves from further disaster,
they were told that the monster would not depart until the Princess
Andromeda was sacrificed to its fury. So the king, her father, and her
wretched, remorseful mother, and a procession of weeping attendants had
led her, that very day, to the rocks, and had chained her fast to await
the monster's pleasure.
Just as Andromeda was speaking, there was a rustling sound in the cave,
as if the dragon were stretching its huge wings. Then came a sudden
whir and rush, as the monster glided out of the dim interior of its
cave, and came speeding through the water toward its victim. The scaly
hide glittered in the sunlight, and the great coils of its snaky body
beat up the waves as it came with incredible swiftness toward the
captive maiden, whose terrified shrieks almost unnerved the young hero
who had come to rescue her. Quickly he donned his magic helmet and
grasped the keen-edged sword that had already stood him in good stead.
As the monster's head emerged from the waves, Perseus rushed upon it
unseen, and with a quick thrust pierced the creature in its one vital
spot. The dragon sank back into the blood-stained water, and then made
a few ineffective plunges toward its victim; but Perseus's blow had
been sure, and the creature's great body finally disappeared beneath
the waves. While Andromeda was thanking her deliverer with grateful
tears, he struck off the chains that bound her to the rock, and led
her to where her parents and an astonished group of watchers had been
looking on at the strange combat. The great joy of Andromeda's father
was equaled only by the mother's happiness over her rescued child; and
they both welcomed the young hero who had saved her from so terrible a
fate.[88]
When Perseus had been entertained royally for several days, the king
bade him demand any reward that he wished for his heroic services;
and the youth boldly asked Andromeda's hand in marriage. To this the
parents gladly consented, although she was already betrothed to her
uncle Phineus, and the preparations were begun at once for the wedding.
While the marriage celebrations were in progress, the jilted suitor,
who had been too timid to attempt any rescue of Andromeda, now came
forward to claim his wife. His pretensions were laughed at, however,
and he left the court angry and plotting revenge. The following day
he appeared with a band of followers and suddenly attacked Perseus,
who had barely time to defend himself. The friends of the young hero
rallied to his support, but they were outnumbered by the attacking
party, and a disastrous battle might have ensued, had not Perseus
bethought himself of a sure means of defense. Catching up the cloak
in which he had wrapped the Gorgon's head, he cried: "Whoever is my
friend, let him turn away his eyes." The courtiers of King Cepheus,
and the men fighting around Perseus obeyed him; but Phineus and his
followers believed this to be a mere trick to gain time, and looked
on while Perseus unveiled Medusa's snaky head. Some of the gazers had
their spears in uplifted hands; some were fitting arrows to their bows
as they turned their eyes a moment toward Perseus; but in whatever
position they stood, just so they were suddenly turned into stone. By
some chance Phineus had been watching his men instead of looking at the
Gorgon's head; and when he saw their dreadful transformation, he fell
on his knees before Perseus, and with outstretched hands implored the
hero to spare his life. But Perseus forced him to look upon the hideous
face of Medusa, and he became a stone image with averted head and
supplicating arms.
Having thus disposed effectively of his enemies, Perseus covered up his
death-dealing trophy, and the wedding ceremonies were resumed. Later
he departed with his bride to the country of Polydectes, where that
king had been keeping his mother a prisoner until she would consent to
marry him. He had long ago believed Perseus dead, and was therefore
much astonished to see him appear unharmed and victorious. Hearing of
the cruel treatment his mother had received from Polydectes, the young
hero determined on a swift revenge. In the presence of the king and his
court, he suddenly displayed the head of Medusa; and the whole company,
just as they stood, were turned into stone. Then Perseus set sail with
his wife and mother for his own country; but before he left he returned
to Pluto the magic helmet, to Mercury the winged sandals, and to
Minerva the wonderful Ægis. The august goddess of wisdom seemed to have
taken a strange fancy to the Gorgon's head, so Perseus gave her this
trophy of his victory, and she fixed it in the middle of her shield.
When Perseus, with Andromeda and Danaë, arrived in Argo, they found
that old Acrisius had been driven from his throne, and that a usurper
was enjoying the kingdom. It did not take long for the hero who
had slain Medusa to kill the unlawful claimant, and reinstate his
grandfather. The old man had been languishing for years in prison,
and was hardly able to endure the great joy of his release at the
hands of one whom he had long since believed to be dead. Things seemed
to be settled very happily in spite of the oracle; but the decrees
of the gods are sure to be fulfilled, and one day when Perseus was
playing quoits, he accidentally threw one wide of the mark. It struck
Acrisius, who was looking on at the game, and killed him instantly.
This unfortunate mishap so preyed upon Perseus's mind that he could
not remain in Argo, but exchanged his kingdom for that of Mycenæ,
over which he ruled for many years very wisely and well. When at
last Perseus died, the gods placed him among the stars with his wife
Andromeda, and with Cassiopeia, who had long since been cured of her
vanity.
Chapter XXVI
Bellerophon
At the court of Prœtus, king of Argos, there dwelt as guest of honor
a young prince named Bellerophon. He was a kinsman of Prœtus and a
grandson of Sisyphus, king of Corinth, so much honor was shown him.
As he was strong, brave, and fearless, he was a leader in all the
games; and his beauty won such favor at the court that Prœtus's wife,
Queen Anteia, sought his love. Since the youth could not in loyalty
return her affection, he found it difficult to remain in Argos; for
the queen was not content to receive only the courtesy due her, but
importuned Bellerophon for his love. He tried many times to find some
pretext for leaving his kinsman; so when Prœtus proposed that he
should make a journey to Lycia to deliver some important messages to
its ruler, the youth was eager to go. Meanwhile the queen, angered at
his indifference, had told her husband that Bellerophon delighted in
treating her with contempt in return for all her kindness, and that she
could not endure his presence in Argos any longer. She demanded further
that Prœtus should put the young man at once to death, but that he
should not let Bellerophon suspect that she had been the instigator
of the deed. The king readily believed his wife's artfully contrived
story, and declared that the insolent youth should be made to pay
dearly for his ingratitude. As Bellerophon was already a hero at the
court, Prœtus dared not condemn him openly to death; so when the prince
departed on his journey to Lycia, he carried with him some letters[89]
whose purport he was far from suspecting; for the sealed message that
he bore so light-heartedly was a request to King Iobates to put the
bearer at once to death.
King Iobates was the father-in-law of Prœtus; and the ruler of Lycia
had often relied on his powerful relative as an ally in time of war;
so the king of Argos was confident that his instructions would be
carried out. The expedition to Lycia might, therefore, have had a
different ending had not Bellerophon forgotten to deliver his letters
for several days. Meanwhile King Iobates, supposing him to be on a
friendly visit, received him very hospitably and made him a member
of the royal household. After much feasting and entertainment, the
young prince suddenly remembered the sealed message intrusted to his
care, and hastened to deliver it to Iobates with many apologies for
his forgetfulness. When the king read the letter, he was surprised
and horrified at its contents, for he could not, in cold blood, kill
the guest who had sat at his table; and yet he did not wish to refuse
any demand made by Prœtus. When the courtiers saw his white face and
troubled looks, they wondered what the message contained; but no one
suspected its real import.
At last a solution of the difficulty came to the king's mind, and he
began to praise Bellerophon for the bravery and courage that had made
the young prince famous throughout Greece. He lamented that no such
fearlessness dwelt among the men of Lycia, for otherwise the Chimæra
would not be living in security and laying waste the king's lands. When
Bellerophon heard what terror was inspired by the mere mention of the
Chimæra's name, he wondered whether he would be afraid to face this
fearful creature with its lion's head, goat's body, and dragon's tail.
When he expressed surprise that no hero had slain it, the wily Iobates
at once implored him to help the stricken country and to go himself
to fight the Chimæra. Bellerophon might have been eager for this
adventure, had he not learned to love the king's daughter Philonoë, who
had found the handsome stranger more to her liking than all the youths
of Lycia. He was, therefore, loath to leave the princess and depart on
so perilous a venture; but at the repeated urging of Iobates, he began
to make preparations for the journey.
Before setting out he first consulted the soothsayer Polyidus,[90] who
advised him to procure the winged horse Pegasus[91] if he hoped to
succeed in slaying the Chimæra. This advice was probably well-meant,
but it was very discouraging; for how could Bellerophon expect to
bridle the famous immortal steed that had never known the touch of any
man's hand? He knew too well that Pegasus was rarely seen by mortal
eyes, for he dwelt on the calm heights of Mount Helicon, a spot sacred
to the Muses, and seldom came to earth except to visit the fountain
of Pirene, near Corinth, whose clear waters sometimes tempted him to
leave his lofty home. Very few people had ever seen the snow-white
horse, with his wonderful silvery wings that carried him through the
air as buoyantly as an eagle in its flight. Whenever Pegasus deigned
to come to earth to taste the sweet waters of Pirene he sped over the
grassy meadows so swiftly that even the fleetest runner could not hope
to catch him. He had never been bridled in all his wild, free life,
and for beauty and strength and sheer joy of living there was nothing
like him in the whole wide world. "Sleeping at night as he did, on a
lofty mountain top, and passing the greater part of the day in the
air, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth. Whenever he
was seen, up very high above people's heads, with the sunshine on his
silvery wings, one would have thought that he belonged to the sky, and
that, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among our mists and
vapors, and was seeking his way back again.... In the summer time, and
in the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often alighted on the solid
earth, and, closing his silvery wings, would gallop over hill and dale
for pastime as fleetly as the wind."[92]
When Bellerophon was advised to catch this glorious winged steed, it
was no wonder that he felt discouraged, for nowhere could he find an
old man, a maiden, or a child who had ever had so much as a glimpse of
the snow-white Pegasus. Some one told him, however, that the immortal
steed had once been tamed by Minerva, and owed obedience to her; so
he went immediately to the temple of the warrior-goddess, and begged
her to help him. For many hours he prayed before Minerva's shrine,
but there came no answer to his petition; and, at last, worn out with
fatigue and discouragement, he fell asleep on the steps of the temple.
When the first rays from Apollo's golden sun-car fell on the white
marble pillars of the temple, Bellerophon awoke, and to his great
astonishment he found in his hand a golden bridle. Believing this to be
the answer to his prayers, he set out hopefully on his search for the
winged horse; and before journeying very far, he came to the fountain
of Pirene, where the beautiful, clear stream bubbled up beside a grassy
meadow so redolent of ripening clover that it might tempt a far more
fastidious horse than the immortal Pegasus. Bellerophon spent many days
beside the fountain, but he never caught a glimpse of the white-winged
steed, nor saw any mark of his hoofs upon the sod. Once an old man
stopped to ask him why he was lingering so long beside the fountain,
and then shook his white head incredulously when Bellerophon spoke of
Pegasus and his silvery wings.
At last the young hero grew so discouraged that he decided to return to
the court of Iobates; but on the very morning that he was intending to
leave Pirene, he chanced to wake just at dawn, and, leaning over the
fountain to bathe his flushed face he saw reflected in the water an
image that made his heart beat fast with hope and joy. It seemed like a
great white bird, flying high up among the clouds, where the sunlight
shone on its silvery wings. Nearer and nearer it came, sweeping the air
in great wide circles, and at last it alighted beside the fountain.
Bellerophon meantime had hidden himself in the bushes, and now he
watched the beautiful creature as it folded its gorgeous wings and
bent its arching neck to drink the clear water. Then Pegasus daintily
cropped a few clover blossoms, shook his long white mane, and began to
run up and down over the meadows, capering madly like a colt just set
free in the pasture. After rolling luxuriously in the thick grass, and
racing like the wind across the meadow, Pegasus grew tired of his play,
and folding his snow-white wings, trotted quietly up to the fountain to
take one more drink before flying back to his home on Mount Helicon.
Then Bellerophon crept noiselessly out of his hiding place, and while
the unsuspicious Pegasus was drinking the cool water and his eyes were
no longer watchful, the youth boldly sprang upon his back and took firm
hold of the thick mane, being careful meantime not to let Minerva's
golden bridle slip from his fingers. Bellerophon had ridden many a
horse, but never one as wild and spirited as this; for the glorious
Pegasus had not known, until now, the ignominy of bearing a mortal
rider on his back, and he did not intend to submit to the disgrace.
When he felt the touch of Bellerophon's knees on his broad flanks, he
made a tremendous bound into the air, and before the youthful rider
could realize what had happened, he found himself hundreds of feet
above the earth. The winged horse snorted, and shook with anger, and
tried to unseat his rider by every trick known to equine ingenuity. He
bounded forward with a sudden jerk, reared, turned over and over in the
air, until half the time Bellerophon was riding with his head downward;
but in spite of all his efforts, he could not throw off the strange
thing that clung to his back. All at once Bellerophon saw his chance to
slip the golden bridle between the maddened horse's teeth, and suddenly
Pegasus became as gentle and tractable as if he had always obeyed the
will of a master.
Happy to find the conflict over, the young hero turned the head of his
white-winged steed toward the mountain-region where the dread Chimæra
dwelt. It was a wild and rocky part of the country that Bellerophon
looked down upon, and he saw all around him the evidence of ruin
wrought by the fire-breathing monster. The dwellings of the peasants
were in smoking ashes; carcasses of half-eaten cattle were strewn about
the barren pastures; and human bodies were also to be seen, torn and
mangled by the Chimæra's ruthless claws. On the mountain side was a
deep hole in the rocks, and from it issued clouds of black smoke that
had a horrid stifling smell as it rose up from the cavern's mouth. As
Bellerophon descended nearer to the earth, the delicate nostrils of his
horse dilated at the first contact with the foul smoke, and he found
it hard to persuade Pegasus to fly closer to the Chimæra's den. When
they did approach through the thick clouds of smoke, Bellerophon saw
the monster's great body stretched out at full length in the cave,
while all the three heads lay on half-eaten carcasses that were strewn
about the floor. The lion and the goat part of the Chimæra were asleep,
but the snake was wide awake; and when it saw Bellerophon approaching
on his winged horse, it raised its head and began to hiss so loudly
that it roused up the other creatures until they too were intent and
watchful.
Then the smoke poured out of the cave more thickly than before; and
if Pegasus had not carried him quickly away from the poisonous fumes,
Bellerophon would have been suffocated long before he was able to get
near enough to deal the Chimæra a mortal blow. But the brave horse
bore him out of danger, and kept him far above the thick smoke until
the monster crawled out of its lair. Then like the swift rush of air,
Bellerophon swooped down upon the Chimæra and cut off its three horrid
heads with his sword; but even then the danger was not over, for the
headless creature sprang into the air, and clutched wildly for its
enemy with its long claws. So sure an instinct for destruction did the
Chimæra have that, mangled and dying as it was, it struck directly at
Bellerophon and would have torn him into pieces had not the faithful
Pegasus borne him swiftly out of reach of the deadly claws. After a few
vain attempts to grasp its destroyer, the Chimæra's great body gave
a convulsive shudder, and fell back stone-dead upon the blood-soaked
ground.
Then Bellerophon sped back to the court of Iobates and announced that
the Chimæra was dead. The king was glad to hear that the monster could
no longer devastate his land, but he was sorry to see Bellerophon
returning unhurt and victorious, and with such a wonderful prize as
the winged horse, Pegasus. Most people had never believed that this
immortal steed really existed, and had thought that the stories about
it were merely old wives' tales. Iobates did not dare to kill so
popular a hero as the young prince became after this adventure, but he
sent him off on other perilous journeys, hoping that on one of them he
might meet his death. Bellerophon, however, never came to any harm, for
he had always the sure help of Pegasus, and he returned safe from each
expedition with trophies to lay at the feet of his beloved princess,
Philonoë. At length the king was convinced that Bellerophon was under
the special protection of the gods, and, hoping to win their favor, he
gave the young hero his daughter in marriage, and appointed him his
successor to the throne.
For several years Bellerophon lived happily in Lycia; but his many
victories with Pegasus had made him presumptuous, and he felt that
his true place was with the immortals. So one day he mounted his
winged steed and flew far above the earth into the white clouds that
wrap the top of Mount Olympus. Angered at this insolence and daring,
Jupiter sent an enormous gadfly which stung Pegasus so cruelly that
he gave a sudden leap forward, and this unexpected movement threw his
too-confident rider from his back. The luckless Bellerophon felt the
reins slip through his fingers, and he plunged downward through mist
and clouds many, many miles to the earth. This terrible fall would have
killed any one but a mythological hero, but Bellerophon, though bruised
and shaken, only lost his eyesight. Ever afterwards he wandered through
the fair places of the earth, lame and blind and lonely, lamenting the
foolish pride that had led him to risk the anger of the gods. What his
end was no one ever knew, but he probably died in some distant land,
alone and forgotten, while Pegasus went back to the sunny slopes of
Mount Helicon and never visited the earth again, even to drink the
sweet waters of Pirene.
Chapter XXVII
The Story of Jason
Part I
In Thessaly there once ruled a wise and good king named Æson, who
dwelt happily with his wife Alcimede, and his little son Jason. The
king's reign did not last long, however, for his wicked brother Pelias
collected a band of armed warriors and made war upon Æson, who, after
a feeble resistance, surrendered his throne to the invader and escaped
secretly from the kingdom with his wife and child. The dethroned
monarch took refuge in a distant country, and lived in concealment
until Jason was old enough to be sent to some place of greater safety,
for they knew that the cruel Pelias would try to seek him out and kill
him. So they intrusted the boy to the care of the centaur Chiron, after
telling that wise teacher who the lad really was, and begging him to
bring Jason up with the desire some day to avenge their wrongs.
Chiron instructed the youth in all the arts of which he himself was
master, and when the young prince reached manhood, he was one of the
bravest and most skillful of the centaur's pupils. Jason had been
told many times of his uncle's tyranny, and he burned to avenge the
wrongs of his parents; but his wise teacher cautioned him to wait until
he had strength and power enough to face the wicked usurper. When
he deemed the youth sufficiently trained to leave his care, Chiron
sent Jason forth, bidding him satisfy now his desire for revenge. He
advised his pupil, however, to be careful and to do no harm to any one
except the man who had wronged him. Jason promised to obey his tutor's
instructions, and, girding on his sword, set out on the journey to his
native city.
It was springtime when Jason turned his steps toward his father's
kingdom, and the rains had swollen all the streams, making them
difficult to ford. One day as he stood on the bank of a river,
wondering where he had best attempt to swim across, he saw an old woman
looking despairingly at the rushing, foaming water. Jason spoke gently
to her, and offered to carry her across the river. This unexpected
assistance was gratefully accepted, and Jason bravely waded into the
shallowest part of the stream. The swift current and his unwieldy
burden made the crossing very difficult, so that when Jason at last
reached the opposite bank, he was glad to rest. He did not mind the
wetting, but he was sorry to find that he had lost one of his sandals
in the river. As it was useless to try to find it, he set off with
only the remaining one, but first he stopped to say good-by to the old
woman. To his surprise he no longer saw a bent and trembling figure
beside him, but he stood in the presence of a beautiful, imperious
woman, whose royal bearing would have proclaimed her a goddess even
if the startled youth had not seen beside her the peacock that ever
attends the stately Juno. Jason trembled at this transformation of his
aged passenger, but Juno smiled graciously upon him and bade him have
no fear, for she had come to promise him her aid and protection.
Before he could render suitable thanks, the goddess had disappeared,
and Jason continued his journey, full of courage and confident of
success. Soon he came to his native city, where he found a great
crowd of people assembled at the temple, for Pelias, the king, was
offering on that day special sacrifices, and a public festival had been
proclaimed throughout the city. Jason joined in the crowds that were
hurrying to the temple, and stood quite near his uncle, while the king,
unconscious of his presence, was performing the sacrifices. When the
ceremony was over, Pelias glanced around at the assembled company, and
started back pale with terror when he saw Jason; for although he did
not recognize his nephew, he had been warned by an oracle to beware of
a youth who would appear before him wearing only one sandal. Trembling,
but striving to hide his fear, Pelias spoke to the stranger and asked
him his name. Then Jason confronted his uncle boldly, declared his own
parentage, and demanded that the usurper should at once resign his
throne and restore old Æson to his rightful place in the kingdom.
Pelias did not dare openly to defy this fearless youth, but neither did
he intend to give up his power and wealth; so being a crafty man he
sought to beguile Jason with soft words, and promised to send at once
for the absent king and queen. He urged his nephew to remain meanwhile
at the court, and invited him to join the royal household that evening
in a splendid banquet. Jason needed no persuasion to eat, drink, and
be merry; and as the wily Pelias plied him with rich viands and the
choicest wine, his heart warmed toward his uncle, and he felt less
eager to carry out his long-cherished vengeance. During the feast the
bards sang of brave deeds done by heroes, and one old musician told of
the famous golden fleece that many had sought to take by stealth; but
of those who went on the quest, no one ever came back to tell why he
had failed.
Jason listened eagerly while the old singer told how the famous fleece
once belonged to a ram that the friendly Neptune sent to Phryxus
and Helle to enable them to escape from the persecutions of their
stepmother Ino. This was the same Ino who cared so tenderly for the
infant Bacchus; but to her stepchildren she was very cruel. Their
own mother Nephele had been sent away by King Athamas because he had
wearied of her, and wished to marry Ino; and when the banished mother
learned how neglected and ill-treated her children were, she begged
Neptune to help them. So the sea-god sent a golden-fleeced ram, which
Phryxus and Helle mounted and thus escaped from their cruel stepmother.
Only Phryxus reached the land of Colchis, however; for when the ram
flew over the sea, Helle grew frightened at the sight of the waves
tossing so far beneath her, and suddenly lost her hold on the golden
fleece. Her brother reached out to clutch her as she slid from the
ram's back, but it was too late, and the unfortunate maiden fell into
that part of the sea that is since known as the Hellespont. Phryxus
reached Colchis safely, and here he sacrificed the ram to Neptune, and
hung its golden fleece on a tree under which he placed a dragon to
guard it night and day.
As Jason listened to this story he felt as though here was a task worth
his mettle; and it needed no urging from Pelias to make him declare
himself ready to set forth on the adventure without further delay.
The wily king praised Jason's courage, and prophesied that he would be
called the greatest among heroes, while in his heart he felt assured
that the troublesome nephew would never return alive. He promised to
render Jason every assistance in his power, and offered to fit him out
with a well-manned ship; but the young adventurer had been thinking
over the matter more calmly, and had begun to distrust his uncle's
apparent kindness. So he went for counsel to the shrine of Jupiter at
Dodona, where there was an oracle called the Speaking Oak; and, on
consulting this, he learned, to his great satisfaction, that Juno was
still watching over his welfare, and would aid him in the quest of the
golden fleece. The Speaking Oak then bade him cut off one of its great
limbs, and carve from it a figurehead for his ship. It told him also
that the ship in which he was to sail should not be made of timber cut
from any ordinary trees, but should be built of the wood taken from
pine-trees that grew on Mount Pelion.
When Jason had carved his figurehead, he found that it had the gift of
speech and could counsel him wisely in all his affairs, so as soon as
the ship was ready, the figurehead was fastened to its prow, and Jason
set out on his memorable voyage. He called his ship the Argo,[93] and
himself and his fellow adventurers the Argonauts. Among his companions
were many men famous for their brave deeds: Hercules, Admetus, Castor
and Pollux, Meleager, Orpheus, and Theseus. All these were eager for
new adventures, and no one doubted that with so many heroes to aid
him, Jason would succeed in winning the golden fleece. Even Pelias, as
he watched the voyagers sail away, wished that he had sent the daring
youth on a still more perilous journey.
The voyage to Colchis was full of strange happenings, both on land
and sea. The first disaster that overtook the Argonauts occurred when
Hercules went ashore to get some fresh water, with a youth of the party
named Hylas. There had been several occasions on which it was necessary
for some of the heroes to land in order to get food or water, but the
delay had been brief and the voyage quickly resumed. This time they
were in need of new oars, so Hercules offered to procure them, and took
with him his favorite companion Hylas. While he himself was felling
trees, he sent Hylas in search of fresh water; and the youth, after
wandering about for some time, came at last to a fountain whose waters
were so pure and cool that he lingered long beside it. The nymphs
who lived in the fountain were charmed with the beauty of Hylas, and
determined to keep him with them; so when he bent over the water, they
drew him gently down into its clear depths. Hercules, after waiting
long for the lad's return, went in search of him; but no trace of
Hylas could be found anywhere in the lonely forest. Though he called
again and again, no voice answered him; for Hylas lay in the green bed
of the fountain, and his ears were deaf to the cries of his friend.
Hercules's grief was so great over the loss of Hylas that he refused to
accompany the expedition any further, and made his way home alone and
on foot.[94]
On another occasion Jason landed in Thrace; and here he learned that
the blind King Phineus was tormented by some Harpies--creatures half
women and half bird--that ate or befouled all the food placed before
the wretched king. The only meals Phineus could take were by stealth,
and the poor king's life was rendered miserable by the constant
presence of these foul monsters. When the two sons of Boreas, who were
happily gifted with wings, heard Jason relate the story of the Harpies
to his companions, they promptly offered to help the blind Phineus;
and, flying at the loathsome birds with drawn swords, the brothers
drove them out of Thrace into an island so far away that they never
came back to trouble the king.
Chapter XXVIII
The Story of Jason
Part II
Once, in the course of the voyage, Jason was attacked by a flock of
brazen-feathered birds that showered their sharp metal plumage down
on the Argonauts, and wounded some of them sorely. Jason soon found
that weapons were of no avail against these formidable enemies, so
he consulted the figurehead that had always counseled him wisely. In
obedience to its advice the heroes clashed their swords and spears
furiously against their shields until the birds, terrified by the
noise, flew away and never returned.
When the Argo approached the Symplegades,--or Clashing Islands,--Jason
remembered the words of Phineus, who had advised him to let free a
dove, whose speed was less than that of his swift vessel, before he
attempted a passage. If it flew easily between the rocks, then the
ship could safely follow it with no chance of being ground to pieces
as the islands clashed together. When the Argonauts reached this
dangerous spot, Jason sent a dove out before him. He watched its flight
anxiously, and when it glided between the rocks with only a tail
feather caught, he guided the ship so close behind it that, as he slid
through the opening made by the rebound of the islands, the deadly
rocks merely grazed his rudder. Since their destructive power depended
on allowing no vessel to pass them unharmed, the evil force that the
islands possessed was now broken, and they were henceforth chained fast
to the bottom of the sea.
At last the Argo reached the shores of Colchis, and Jason made known
to King Æetes his desire to possess the golden fleece. The owner of
that wonderful pelt was very naturally not ready to give it to even
the boldest stranger; but he treated the Argonauts kindly, and even
promised to bestow upon Jason the coveted fleece if he could catch and
harness to a plow two brazen-hoofed, fire-breathing bulls. Then, having
done this, he must plow up a certain piece of ground sacred to Mars,
and sow the field with dragon's teeth just as Cadmus had done.[95]
Last of all he must conquer the armed giants that would spring up in
the field after the sowing, and then slay the dragon that guarded the
golden fleece. This was certainly enough to daunt any hero, but Jason,
relying on the help of Juno, agreed to the king's terms and went down
to the seashore, where his ship lay, to consult the figurehead who had
never yet failed him. On the way he met Medea, the king's daughter, who
was much taken with the young stranger's beauty, and hoped to induce
him to marry her. Medea herself was very beautiful, and being also a
sorceress she was an invaluable ally in the adventure that had brought
Jason and his friends from a far-distant land. So before many days
had passed Medea plighted her troth to the young hero who needed help
sorely and the king's daughter promised to give him the aid of her
magic arts.
On the day appointed for the great task, Jason boldly approached
the fire-breathing bulls, for Medea had given him a charm by which
the fierce brutes were rendered harmless, and were easily yoked
and harnessed to the plow. Then, in the presence of the astonished
spectators, who expected to see him crushed beneath the brazen hoofs,
Jason plowed the field; and having sown it with dragon's teeth, stood
ready, sword in hand, to meet the attack of the giants who sprang
up out of the ground clad in full armor. When he saw the glittering
spears turned toward him, Jason's heart began to quail lest, after
all, Medea's help should prove ineffective; and even the sorceress
herself felt a momentary doubt of her own power to save her lover from
his foes. As the armed men were about to rush upon him, Jason threw a
stone in their midst, according to Medea's instructions, and the giants
turned against each other and began a furious battle that ended in the
destruction of the whole armed host.
Then the hero, accompanied by Medea, hastened to the tree where the
golden fleece hung, and here a charm was needed to lull to sleep the
dragon that guarded the treasure. As soon as the great eyes that had
never been known to close began to shut one by one, Jason stepped
softly up behind the monster and cut off its head. It was but a
moment's work to tear the fleece from the tree where it had hung for
so many years, and to bear it in triumph to the Argo, where Jason's
friends stood anxiously awaiting his coming. The men were already at
the oars, for he had told them to be ready to sail at a moment's notice
when he should appear bearing the golden fleece. In spite of Æetes's
promise the hero did not trust him, and so made his preparations for
departure very secretly. When he and Medea boarded the Argo with their
prize, the rowers bent with all their strength to the oars, and the
ship slid silently and swiftly out of the harbor.
Æetes soon learned that the Grecian vessel had left his shores,
carrying on board the golden fleece, his daughter, and--worst of
all--his only son and heir Absyrtus; so he hurriedly manned his royal
barge with rowers, and set out after the Argonauts. Although the
fugitive vessel made good speed, the king's ship began to gain on it;
and as Jason watched the distance between the vessels growing less and
less, he was filled with despair and begged the sorceress to aid them
with her magic. Medea did not care what fate befell the Argonauts, but
she had no desire to leave Jason and return to her father's court; so
she did not hesitate to resort to any means of preventing the king
from overtaking her. She therefore killed her brother Absyrtus, and,
cutting his body into pieces, dropped them one by one over the side of
the vessel. Æetes, seeing the remains of his only son floating on the
water, stopped to collect them so that the body might have suitable
burial; and by this delay the Argonauts were allowed to escape. The
wretched king then returned to Colchis, where he buried Absyrtus with
prayers to the gods to bring vengeance upon his inhuman daughter.
When the Argo with its triumphant crew reached Thessaly, they found
that their arrival caused great surprise as well as joy, for King
Pelias had never supposed they would return, and felt himself secure
against any further trouble from the youth with only one sandal. He
was therefore much dismayed at seeing Jason return, especially as he
came unharmed and bearing so rich a trophy as the golden fleece. The
usurper knew that his days of power were over, and when Jason again
demanded the kingdom in his father's name, Pelias was forced to resign
his throne to the lawful king. Old Æson was then summoned from his
place of banishment, and restored to his rightful place; but he was so
weak and decrepit that power had no charm for him, and he accepted his
throne very reluctantly.
So Jason begged his wife to use her magic in behalf of the old king;
and Medea, anxious to please her lover, willingly promised to restore
Æson to all the vigor of manhood. To prepare the magic potion that was
to bring youth and health, the sorceress went out into the meadows
on nine successive nights beginning with the new moon, and gathered
herbs whose magic properties she alone could tell. Then she set a
caldron in the deepest part of the woods, and built under it a slow
fire that burned always night and day. In the caldron she threw the
magic herbs, flowers with acrid juice, stones from the far east and
sand from the all-surrounding ocean, hoar frost gathered by moonlight,
a screech-owl's head and wings, and the entrails of a wolf. Then she
added some bits of tortoise shell and the liver of a stag--for these
animals are tenacious of life--and the head and beak of a crow that
outlives nine generations of men. All these she boiled together,[96]
stirring them with an olive branch; and when she lifted out the
branch, it was full of new leaves and heavy with young olives. These
preparations being finished, and the time being full moon, Medea went
forth alone into the forest with old Æson, just at midnight when all
creatures slept, and no breath of wind stirred the trees. She laid the
old man on a bed of herbs, and after putting him into a deep sleep, cut
his throat and let out the sluggish blood of age. Then she poured into
the wound the juices from her caldron; and when these began to flow
through the king's weak frame, he underwent a wonderful change, for
his hair and beard lost their whiteness and took on the glossy hue of
youth. His paleness changed to the ruddiness of manhood; and his feeble
limbs felt all the vigor of a hero in his prime.
[Illustration: Medea]
When the daughters of Pelias saw this miracle of old Æson transformed
into a stalwart man, they begged Medea to use her magic in restoring
their father to his former youthfulness; and the sorceress promised
to help Pelias just as she had the father of Jason. So she prepared
a caldron full of boiling water, and pretended to put into it the
necessary ingredients for the magic potion; but when the devoted,
though too-credulous daughters of Pelias killed their father, and put
his body into the caldron, as Medea had directed, they did not restore
him to youth, but merely ended very effectively the life that they so
ardently wished to prolong.
Though Medea's great beauty and her power as a sorceress kept Jason
faithful to her for many years, he at last grew weary of her and
prepared to wed a maiden named Creusa.[97] Pretending to approve of
his choice, and concealing her rage at Jason's heartlessness, Medea
sent the bride a beautiful, though poisoned, robe. The unsuspicious
Creusa was delighted with this rich gift; but as soon as it rested on
her shoulders the hapless maiden was seized with terrible convulsions,
from which she shortly died. Then Medea killed with her own hands
the children that she had borne to Jason--so that she might have no
reminder of his falseness--and fled in her dragon-car to Athens, where
she sought the protection of King Ægeus, the father of Theseus. Here
she lived many years, for the king, not knowing her history, and being
enamored of her beauty, married her and made her his queen.
Jason, filled with remorse and despair, now led a most unhappy life,
and spent most of his time on the seashore beside the great hulk of the
Argo, which was slowly rotting away on the beach. One day a sudden gale
detached a loose beam from the vessel, and it fell on Jason's head,
killing him instantly. Thus ended forever the voyages of the Argonauts.
Chapter XXIX
The Calydonian Hunt
One of the heroes of the Argonautic expedition was Meleager, son of
Œneus and Althæa, king and queen of Calydon. When Meleager was born,
his mother saw in a vision the three Fates spinning the thread of her
child's life; and she heard them foretell that he would live until the
brand then burning on the hearth should be consumed. Althæa, terrified
by the vision, awoke; and snatching the brand from the fire she plunged
it into an earthen jar full of water. When she saw that the last spark
was extinguished, she carefully hid the brand on whose existence
depended the life of her son. Meleager, thus saved from death, grew
up into splendid and vigorous manhood, and was welcomed by Jason as a
fitting companion for the famous voyage to Colchis.
While his son was absent on this expedition, Œneus offended Diana by
omitting to offer to her the customary yearly sacrifice; so the angry
goddess sent a fierce boar to devastate the country. This creature was
of such enormous size and strength that no hunters dared attack it,
and it laid waste the fields of Calydon by trampling on the young
corn, rooting up vines and olive trees, and devouring flocks and herds,
thus creating wild confusion among the panic-stricken people. When
Meleager returned from his voyage, and learned of the disaster that
had overtaken the land, he summoned a band of heroes and set out to
slaughter the wild boar. Jason, Nestor, Telamon the father of Ajax,
Theseus and his friend Pirithous, Peleus (afterwards the father of
Achilles), the twin brothers Castor and Pollux on their snow-white
horses--all these and many others came at Meleager's call to join in
the hunt.
With the youths came also Atalanta, daughter of Jasius, king of
Arcadia. This princess had been left when an infant on Mount
Parthenium, and exposed to the hunger of wild beasts, for her father
was angry at finding that the gods had sent him a daughter instead of
the longed-for son. Atalanta was not devoured, however, nor did she
perish from cold, for a kindly she-bear nursed the deserted infant,
and she grew up strong and fearless. Later on some shepherds found the
sturdy little maiden in the woods; and taking her to their rude home,
they cared for her, and taught her to follow the chase. Thus she had
grown up like a boy, fearless, bold, and skilled beyond most youths in
the use of the bow and spear.
When the company of heroes saw Atalanta ready to join them in the
chase for the wild boar, they were disposed to scoff at the idea of a
maiden taking part in an adventure whose dangers might make a brave man
fearful; but Meleager, won by Atalanta's beauty, welcomed her eagerly,
and begged her to share in the hunt. Then the company set forth into
the forest, and they did not have to wait long for their quarry, for,
as soon as the wild boar heard the barking of the dogs and the sound
of snorting steeds, he rushed out of his lair and savagely attacked
the hunters. One after another of the heroes was gored by the boar's
long tusks, or thrown down and trampled on by the cruel hoofs, or put
to flight. Jason threw his spear, but it only grazed the boar's side.
Telamon rushed forward, but stumbled over a projecting root and fell
to the ground. Nestor, thrown headlong by a furious attack from the
boar, sought safety in the branches of a tree. Theseus hurled his
lance, but it was caught by a bough and turned aside. Then an arrow
from Atalanta's bow pierced the brute's side, and blood flowed from the
wound. The infuriated boar turned savagely upon her, but Meleager, who
was ever near the maiden, hurled his spear with so true an aim that the
boar fell dead upon the bloody and trampled ground.
Then the heroes crowded around Meleager, congratulating him on his
victory; but he refused to accept the honor of having slain the boar,
and gave to Atalanta its head and rough hide as trophies belonging
to the victor. His companions were angered that such honor should be
given a mere girl, and they feared the scorn and ridicule that would be
heaped upon them when they returned to report the success of the hunt.
Meleager, however, did not heed their murmured threats, nor did he
listen to the reproaches of his two uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, who
had accompanied him. To see themselves thus rivaled by a boyish girl
was too humiliating for the pride of these two princes; and they began
to insult Atalanta by chiding her for joining in the sports of men,
and showing such unmaidenly boldness. Then they attempted to snatch
from her the trophies of the hunt; and at this Meleager, who had been
incensed at their taunts to Atalanta, turned upon them in a blaze of
fury, and killed them both with his sword.
Meanwhile Althæa had heard that the boar was slain, and was on her way
to the temple with a thank-offering when news was brought her that her
two brothers had been killed--and by the hand of her son. Then the
sister's desire for vengeance crowded out of her heart the mother's
love for her son; and she brought out of its place of concealment the
brand on whose existence depended Meleager's life. She lit a fire,
and then hesitated for a moment whether to commit this dreadful deed
or not; but the thought of her murdered brothers hardened her heart,
and she threw the brand into the fire. As the flames wrapped around it,
Althæa fancied that she heard it give a groan and, seized with remorse,
she was about to snatch it from the fire, but the memory of her dead
brothers stayed her hand, and she sat by the fire watching the flames
consume the brand. While this was going on, Meleager suddenly felt his
body seized with deadly pangs; and, though not knowing the cause, he
was certain that his death was at hand. Then, like a brave man and a
warrior, he lamented that he must die in this mysterious way and not
meet his death fighting like the heroes of old. He called upon his
mother and father, upon his sisters, and upon his loved Atalanta, but
no one could save him from his fate. When the last bit of the brand
fell into the ashes, Meleager died; and his mother, now filled with
horror and remorse at her deed, committed suicide.
Atalanta, having won fame and the spoils of a celebrated hunt, was
now welcomed at her father's court and returned there to live. But
though she spent much time at the palace, she could not be induced to
give up the chase, and roamed the forests as before, glorying in her
freedom. Her father could not persuade her to marry, although many
noble suitors sought her hand; for an oracle had once warned her that
marriage would be her ruin. To her father's continued insistence she
at last returned this answer--that she would wed the suitor who could
beat her in a foot-race; but the conditions of the race were to be
that the runner, if defeated, should lose his life. Rather than accept
these terms, many of the suitors withdrew; but some remained to run the
race, for the maiden's beauty was worth a great venture. None of them,
however, succeeded in beating the fleet-footed Atalanta; and each man
paid the price of defeat with his life. In vain the old king implored
his daughter to alter the hard conditions, but Atalanta was determined
never to wed.
At one of the races a youth named Hippomenes[98] was made the judge;
and when he learned the terms of the contest, he turned to the
competitors and asked them why they were so foolish as to risk their
lives for the sake of a maiden's beauty. As he was speaking, Atalanta
appeared dressed for the race, and when he looked at her, Hippomenes
said: "Pardon me, youths, I knew not the prize you were contending
for." When the race was over, and the defeated runners put to death,
Hippomenes, undaunted by this result, boldly asked that he might try
his fate. Atalanta looked at him pityingly, for he was a youth of
noble bearing, and she felt a strange reluctance to see him go so
blithely to his death. She would not admit to herself that she could
fall in love so quickly with a stranger; and yet she half hoped that in
this race she would not come first to the goal. As Hippomenes prepared
himself for the running, she thought: "What unkind god wishes to bring
disaster upon this youth, and commands him, at the risk of a life so
dear, to seek this marriage. In my own opinion I am not of such great
value. It is not his beauty that moves me, though he is good to look
upon, but I pity him because he is still a boy. He himself cannot
affect my sympathies, but his youth moves me."[99] Then she tried to
persuade Hippomenes to give up the race; but the more he looked at
Atalanta, the more determined he was to win her, and he demanded the
right to compete alone with the fleet-footed maiden.
Reluctantly Atalanta prepared for the race, and as Hippomenes waited
eagerly for the sound of the trumpet he breathed an ardent prayer to
Venus to help him win the peerless maiden. Venus, the patroness of
lovers, heard his prayer, and, unseen by any watchers, slipped into
his hand three golden apples gathered from a wonderful tree on her own
island of Cyprus. When the signal was given for the start, each runner
shot forward like an arrow from the bow; but Atalanta soon outdistanced
her lover, and his fate seemed assured; but just as she passed him he
threw in front of her a golden apple, and the maiden, surprised at this
unexpected interruption, stopped to pick it up. Hippomenes pressed
eagerly forward, but Atalanta soon overtook him and as she sped by
him he tossed another golden apple in her path. Caught by its glitter
the maiden stooped again, and while she paused to recover the apple,
Hippomenes shot ahead. This advantage was soon lost, however, for again
Atalanta outran him and was speeding past him toward the goal. Then the
lover, with another prayer to Venus, threw the third golden apple; but
by this time the maiden had begun to fear that she might be beaten by
the handsome stranger, and so hesitated to stop for the tempting golden
fruit. Venus impelled her, however, to pause long enough to snatch the
apple quickly from the ground, and in that moment's delay Hippomenes
passed her and reached the goal.[100]
[Illustration: Cybele]
Thus for the first time the race was won by another than Atalanta, and
Hippomenes claimed the maiden as his rightful reward. Triumphantly he
carried off his prize, and for a long time he and Atalanta were so
happy that the words of the oracle seemed unlikely to be fulfilled;
but unfortunately the lovers forgot to do honor to Venus, and the
goddess was so angered at their ingratitude that she caused them to
give offense to Cybele (Rhea) by desecrating her sacred grove. To
punish them for this impiety, Cybele changed them into a lion and
lioness, and yoked them to her car, which they were ever afterward
compelled to draw.
Chapter XXX
Theseus
Part I
Theseus was among the heroes who joined Jason in the famous Argonautic
expedition; and he also accompanied Meleager on the Calydonian hunt.
Thus it seems that he was well-known throughout Greece for a brave and
daring youth who was ready to follow his friends into any adventure, no
matter how dangerous. When Theseus was a mere child, his father Ægeus,
king of Athens, went on a journey to some distant country, taking with
him his wife Æthra and his little son. He returned alone to Athens,
leaving Theseus and his mother in the stranger's land; but before he
departed he hid his sword and sandals under a large rock, and bade
Æthra leave them there until she deemed her son strong enough to raise
the stone. If Theseus proved equal to the test, he was to take the
sword and sandals and go straightway to his father's court at Athens,
where he would be acknowledged as the king's son and heir.
Æthra carefully obeyed these instructions, and when the time came that
she considered Theseus strong enough to meet his father's test, she led
him to the rock and bade him raise it. With a mighty effort the youth
lifted the huge stone, and to his surprise he found beneath it a pair
of sandals and a fine sword--both so perfectly preserved that they
might have been placed there only the day before. Then Æthra explained
the presence of these gifts, and told her son how the king, his father,
had placed them there beneath the rock, so that he might know whether
Theseus was to be a future hero or a weakling. While his mother was
speaking, the youth eagerly girded on the bright sword and put the
sandals on his feet, and he needed no urging when Æthra bade him set
out at once for his father's kingdom. She warned him of the perils that
beset the road to Athens, for giants and robbers would bar his way, and
many other dangers lay in wait for the traveler; but Theseus was young
and fearless, and he would have faced greater dangers than these to
reach King Ægeus and the wonderful city of Athens.
He had gone but a few miles on his journey, when he was accosted by
the giant Periphetes, son of Vulcan, who stood in the road, with his
huge club in his hand and refused to let Theseus pass. When the young
hero pushed boldly forward, Periphetes raised his club to strike the
youth to the ground, as he had done many another wayfarer; but as he
lifted his arm for the blow, Theseus plunged his sword quickly into the
giant's side, and Periphetes fell dead upon the very roadway where he
had been for so long a terror to all travelers.
Elated with his victory, Theseus took the stout club of his fallen
enemy and continued his journey to the Isthmus of Corinth, where he
found that the road soon grew very narrow and led along the edge of
a rocky precipice. Here he encountered a famous robber named Sciron,
who compelled all those who passed his way to wash his feet. When
the terrified traveler, unable to refuse, was thus occupied, the
robber would suddenly raise his foot and kick the man over the side
of the cliff into the sea below, where a hungry tortoise lay waiting
with ever-open jaws. When Theseus was told the condition on which he
would be allowed to pass, he drew his sword and set upon his enemy
so fiercely that Sciron quickly withdrew his demand, and offered to
let the hero go on his way undisturbed. Then Theseus, as he held his
sword point at the robber's throat, commanded Sciron to perform the
same menial task that he had set so many others; and when the robber,
not daring to refuse, was kneeling before him, Theseus hurled him over
the precipice and gave one more meal to the hungry tortoise, who never
again was able to feast on the bodies of luckless travelers.
The next adventure that befell the hero was with a cruel giant called
Sinis, or the Pine-Bender, because he delighted in bending over some
tall pine-tree until its top reached the ground; and having done this,
he would call to some unsuspicious passer-by to help him hold it down.
The stranger usually complied with this request, and then the giant
would take his great hand from the tree, which would at once spring
back to its upright position, hurling the unfortunate helper into the
air, and often dashing him to pieces against the rocks. When Theseus
encountered the giant and was asked for his help, he remembered that
his mother had told him long ago of this brutal giant's jest, and he
determined that travelers should no more be killed or even terrorized
by this curse of the highway. So when Sinis bent down a particularly
large and strong pine-tree and begged Theseus to help him hold it,
the hero deftly fastened the giant himself to the tree which sprang
upward as soon as it was released and dashed the huge body against the
mountain side, crushing it to pieces.
After disposing of the giant, Theseus continued his journey and next
encountered Procrustes (called the Stretcher), a fearful giant who,
under the pretense of hospitality, lured travelers into his house.
Though an offer of food and entertainment was so unusual that it
might have aroused suspicion, most of those who passed Procrustes's
house accepted his invitation and entered. In the house was an iron
bedstead on which the giant forced all his guests to lie. If they
were too short, he stretched their limbs to suit the size of the bed;
and if they were too long, he cut off their legs to make them fit its
dimensions. Theseus entered Procrustes's home, and partook freely of
the food set before him. Then he suddenly fell upon the giant, who
was unprepared for such an attack, bound him to his own bedstead, and
by making his huge body fit into it, inflicted on Procrustes the same
cruel death that he had delighted to visit on others.
When Theseus finally reached Athens, he went straightway to the palace,
and on his way he learned that his father had married the sorceress
Medea. When he arrived at the royal apartments and came before Ægeus,
his cloak so completely hid his sword that the king could not possibly
recognize it as the one he had left for his son. Nevertheless he
welcomed the stranger, who seemed a brave and handsome youth, and bade
him take a place at the banquet-table. But though the king did not
know whom he was entertaining, Medea, the sorceress, was perfectly
well aware of the stranger's identity, and mixed a deadly poison in
the wine-cup that was intended for the guest. Handing this to Ægeus,
she bade him honor the youth with a cup of their choicest wine; and
the king, suspecting nothing, was about to offer the poisoned drink to
Theseus when he suddenly saw the sword beneath the stranger's cloak.
Looking down at the youth's sandals, he recognized them as the ones
that he had buried under a rock long ago, and he knew then that the
sword was also his own. With a cry of joy he started forward to embrace
his son, and as he did so the cup of wine that he held in his hand was
overturned and its contents poured on the table. Some of the drops of
poisoned wine fell on a dog that was lying at the king's feet, and
immediately it gave one convulsive shudder and died. Realizing that
the deadly draught had been meant for him, and knowing that only the
jealous Medea could have dared to commit such a crime, Theseus sprang
toward her with drawn sword, intending to put an end to her wickedness;
but the sorceress fled from the banquet-hall, mounted her dragon-car,
and escaped to a distant country, which was afterwards called by her
name Media.
King Ægeus was delighted to find that his son had grown to be such a
brave and handsome youth, and he listened with pride while Theseus
related all the adventures that had befallen him on the way to Athens.
Then the king made a great feast in honor of his son, and publicly
proclaimed him his heir. The time passed very happily to Theseus until
the day when he saw a sad procession of weeping people wending its way
through the streets, and observed in the midst of them seven youths
and seven maidens dressed in funeral garments. He inquired where this
solemn cortège was going, and was told that the casting of lots had
just been concluded and the victims had been chosen for the Minotaur.
Then the young prince learned for the first time that since Minos, king
of Crete, had conquered the Athenians in a recent war, he had exacted
of them a terrible tribute. Each year seven youths and seven maidens
were offered to the Minotaur,[101] an insatiable monster that dwelt in
an intricate labyrinth built for its special use by King Minos, and
designed by the celebrated architect Dædalus.
The labyrinth was so intricate that no one who entered it could ever
hope to find his way out; and the victims which Athens supplied each
year were probably killed by terror and suspense as they threaded their
way through the labyrinth's tortuous windings, long before the fearful
Minotaur came upon them. The architect who designed this wonderful
cave should have earned the lasting gratitude of Minos; but Dædalus
unfortunately lost the king's favor, and for some slight offense was
shut up in a tower with his son Icarus. The boy gave himself up for
lost, but the father began at once to contrive some means of escape,
and ingeniously fashioned two pairs of wings, which were to gain
freedom for himself and his son. When the last feather was adjusted,
Dædalus fastened one pair of wings securely on Icarus, and cautioned
him not to fly too high lest the heat of the sun should melt the wax
with which the feathers were held together. The youth, impatient to be
free, paid slight attention to these warnings; and as soon as his wings
were fastened, he sprang boldly from the tower window and flew straight
toward the clouds. Higher and higher he rose, exulting in this glorious
motion, and soon the heat of the sun's rays began to soften the wax on
his wings. When it was too late, Icarus realized his danger and came
nearer to the earth; but the wax was melting fast, and in a moment the
feathers separated and the adventurous boy was plunged headlong into
the sea. His body was never recovered, but that part of the sea was
afterwards called the Icarian Sea. Dædalus enjoyed a happier fate than
that of his son, for he reached Sicily in safety and built a temple
there to Apollo. In the temple he hung up his wings as an offering to
the god.[102]
Chapter XXXI
Theseus
Part II
When Theseus heard the story of the Minotaur and its wonderful
labyrinth, he determined that it should no longer exact its yearly
tribute of human lives, for he would offer himself as one of the
victims and end the terrible sacrifice by slaying the monster. When he
announced this intention to his father, the king sought to persuade him
to remain at home; but Theseus joined the youths and maidens who had
been chosen by lot to go to Crete, and they set sail for the country
of the Minotaur. According to the custom, the ship hoisted only black
sails, which Theseus promised to change for white ones when he returned
unharmed, having slain the monster.
Nothing befell the voyagers until they reached the coast of Crete, but
here the ship was stopped by the giant Talus, whose body was made of
brass and was always so red hot that if he held any one in his embrace,
the victim was burnt to cinders. This giant was a very effective
guardian of the island, and kept off all strangers who had no business
along that coast. As he knew that the black-sailed ship brought to his
master, King Minos, the yearly tribute from the Athenians, he let the
vessel pass; and the voyagers, having landed, were led before the king.
The cruel mouth of Minos relaxed into a smile when he saw the youths
and maidens, for they were all young and beautiful,--the very flower of
the Athenians,--and it gave him special satisfaction to consign such a
chosen company to death. Beside Minos stood his daughter Ariadne, who
looked compassionately at those who were destined for the sacrifice,
and when she saw Theseus, she pitied him above all the rest, and wished
she might save him from his loathsome fate.
When the young hero asked that he might go first into the labyrinth,
and alone, King Minos smiled at what he considered a child's boast--for
he had heard that Theseus hoped to slay the Minotaur; but when he
learned that the bold youth was his enemy's only son, he gladly allowed
him to do as he wished, although it was contrary to all custom. Theseus
was therefore placed alone in a cell of the prison, and here he did
not feel quite so bold or so eager to face the Minotaur as he had when
he talked over the adventure at his father's court. His sword had been
taken away, and he had no other weapon with which to fight the monster,
so his confidence was somewhat shaken; and as he watched the night
deepening the gloom of his prison, he felt disheartened and almost
unnerved for his coming battle. Just then the door of the prison opened
softly, and Ariadne, the king's daughter, entered. To Theseus's great
surprise she gave him a sharp sword and a ball of thread--two things
that she assured him were necessary for him to have if he hoped to come
alive out of the labyrinth. She bade him fasten one end of the thread
to the entrance of the cave, and keep the ball tight in his hand, so
that it might lead him back through the intricate windings after he had
slain the Minotaur.
Theseus was very grateful to Ariadne for her assistance, without which
he would never have been able to encounter the monster or to escape
from its wonderful labyrinth. He assured the maiden that his father
would send her a generous reward of gold and jewels; but she refused to
accept any return for her kindness until Theseus ventured to suggest
that if she would become his wife, he would be proud to take her back
with him to Athens. To this Ariadne gladly agreed, and they plighted
their troth in the murky darkness of the prison. When at dawn of the
following day the hero, now full of courage and sure of success,
was led to the labyrinth, he fastened one end of the thread to the
entrance. Then, with his hand on his sword, which was hidden under his
long cloak, he stepped boldly into the cave from which no human being
had ever come out alive. The passage was narrow and dark, and strewn
everywhere with whitening bones, so Theseus stepped very cautiously,
with his ball of thread held fast and his hand ever ready on his sword.
Suddenly the Minotaur rushed upon him at an unlooked-for turn in the
road, and though the hero had no warning of its presence he met it
boldly. A terrible battle ensued, in which Theseus struck fiercely at
the Minotaur, wounding it mortally, while the pain-maddened brute tore
gashes in his flesh and almost suffocated him with its deadly breath.
At last the hero gave a swift thrust with his sword that cut through
the monster's great head, and in a moment the Minotaur lay dead among
the bones of its former victims.
With the help of the thread, which he had never lost, even in the thick
of the fight, Theseus was able to retrace his steps and to reach the
entrance to the labyrinth, where he found Ariadne anxiously awaiting
him. At the sight of the blood-stained sword she knew that her lover
had slain the Minotaur, and together they hurried to the black-sailed
ship, to which Ariadne had already conveyed the youths and maidens who
had been Theseus's companions on the voyage. As quickly as possible
the ship sped out of the harbor; but before they could quite clear
the Cretan shores, the giant Talus came upon them, and, seeing that
some of his master's prisoners were escaping, he tried to catch hold
of the vessel by its rigging. As he leaned forward to do this, Theseus
dealt him such a mighty blow that he toppled over into the sea and was
drowned. At this spot there were later discovered some thermal springs,
which gave evidence of the terrible heat in the giant's brazen body.
Only once did the vessel stop on its swift voyage homeward, and this
was at the island of Naxos. Here the whole company landed to explore
the beauties of the island, and to find some spring from which to get
a supply of fresh water. Ariadne wandered apart from the gay company,
and being weary, threw herself down on the bank of a stream to rest.
Here she fell fast asleep, and when Theseus later found her there, he
at once conceived the treacherous idea of deserting her. So he summoned
all his companions, and went stealthily down to the ship, where he
embarked, leaving Ariadne alone on the island. For some days the
deserted maiden sat on the seashore watching in vain for the Athenian
ship to return; but she did not mourn her faithless lover long, for the
gods sent her a greater happiness than she could ever have had with the
fickle Theseus. The island of Naxos was the favorite spot of Bacchus,
god of wine, who landed one day with a merry company of followers,
and found the weeping Ariadne. In a short time he won her love and
confidence, and persuaded her to be his wife. The wedding celebrations
so occupied Ariadne's mind that the treacherous Theseus was soon
forgotten.[103]
The Athenians had been so eager to return to their native city that
they had no thought but to reach home as quickly as the vessel could
bear them; and Theseus forgot his promise to his father that, in case
of success, white sails should replace the black ones that were hoisted
on the outgoing voyage. Old Ægeus went each day to the seashore, and
stood on a high rock, watching the sea for some sign of the returning
ship. When, at last, he saw it loom up on the horizon, with its black
sails showing ominously against the sky, he at once concluded that his
son was dead; and in his grief over this great loss he threw himself
into the water, which has since been known as the Ægean Sea.
When Theseus entered Athens in triumph, the first news he heard was
the tidings of his father's death; and realizing that it had occurred
through his forgetfulness, he was filled with remorse. Though this
misfortune made him king of Athens, he allowed the city no rejoicings
on his accession to the throne; and the power and wealth at his command
gave him no happiness, for his conscience still accused him of causing
his father's death. He tried to divert his mind by absorbing himself
in state duties, but soon found that nothing would bring forgetfulness
as long as he stayed in Athens; so he set out again in search of
adventures, and led an expedition against the Amazons, who had been
harassing his land. After a long and fierce battle he defeated them and
took their queen, Antiope, prisoner. The Amazons then attacked Athens,
and penetrated into the heart of the city, but were finally driven
out. Shortly after this Theseus married the queen, Antiope,[104] and a
son was born to them whom the delighted father named Hippolytus. When,
later on, the Amazons again made an invasion into the country under the
pretext of rescuing their queen, Antiope was killed by an arrow sent at
random into the court of the palace.
The next adventure in which Theseus engaged was to lead the Athenian
army against Pirithous, king of the Lapithæ, who had been secretly
carrying off some of his herds. Full of anger at these continued
plunderings, Theseus came suddenly upon the marauders as they were
boldly making off with their booty; but as soon as he and Pirithous
were brought face to face, they were seized with such an admiration
for each other that they had no longer any feelings of enmity. They
threw down their weapons, clasped each other's hands, and swore eternal
friendship. To prove his devotion to his new friend, Theseus agreed
to accompany him to the court of Adrastus, king of Argos, and to be
present at the marriage of Pirithous to Hippodamia, the daughter of the
king. Many guests came to the wedding, and among them were Hercules
and a number of the centaurs. The beauty of the bride so won the
admiration of the centaurs that they determined to kidnap her, and a
terrible battle ensued between them and the Lapithæ, who were aided by
Theseus and Hercules. Finally the centaurs were driven away, but not
before many of them had been killed or wounded. The bride who had been
the cause of this strenuous fighting did not live long, however, and
Pirithous soon found himself like Theseus, a disconsolate widower.
[Illustration: Theseus]
Having been so unfortunate in their wives, the two heroes determined
not to seek again any king's daughters in marriage, but to choose some
one of divine parentage. So Theseus decided upon Helen, the child of
Jupiter and Leda[105] whom the ruler of the gods wooed in the form of
a snow-white swan. Pirithous's choice fell upon Proserpina, the wife
of Pluto. Theseus succeeded in carrying off Helen; but as she was
at that time a mere child, he left her in the care of his mother Æthra
until she should be old enough for marriage. Meanwhile Helen's twin
brothers, Castor and Pollux, having discovered who her abductor was,
waited until he was absent on the venture with his friend Pirithous,
and then went to the rescue of their sister, whom they took forcibly
from Æthra, and carried triumphantly home to Sparta.
Of these twin brothers, Castor was mortal, and some time later was
slain in battle. Pollux, who was immortal, then begged Jupiter to let
him die also, that he might not be separated from his brother. The
ruler of Olympus, touched by this evidence of devotion, allowed Castor
to return to life on condition that Pollux would spend half of his time
in Hades. Later on both brothers were translated to the heavens, where
they form a bright constellation, one of the signs of the Zodiac.[106]
Although Theseus's attempt to win an immortal bride was unsuccessful,
the two friends were not discouraged; and the hero accompanied
Pirithous to Hades when he made the bold attempt to carry off
Proserpina. Pluto, having discovered their intention, was so enraged
at the insult that he fastened Theseus to an enchanted rock, and bound
Pirithous to the ever-revolving wheel of his father Ixion. When
Hercules went down to Hades to ask Pluto's permission to carry the
three-headed dog Cerberus to the court of Eurystheus,[107] he freed
Theseus from the enchanted rock and thus enabled him to return to
Athens.
Though somewhat advanced in years Theseus decided to marry again, and
chose as his bride the beautiful Phædra,[108] a younger sister of
Ariadne. An embassy was accordingly sent to ask for the maiden's hand
in marriage, and later she was brought to Athens; but she was not at
all pleased with her elderly husband, and much preferred his handsome
young son Hippolytus, whose years were better suited to her own. She
tried to persuade Hippolytus to elope with her, and when he indignantly
refused to be so disloyal to his father, Phædra's affection for him
turned to hate, and she determined to make him pay dearly for thus
scorning her love. So she went to the king and told him that Hippolytus
was trying to persuade her to desert the husband she adored; and the
infatuated Theseus, believing her story, vowed to punish the youth
for his treachery. Learning that his son was then driving his chariot
along the seashore, the king implored Neptune to avenge his wrongs;
and the obliging sea-god sent a huge wave over the chariot, which
dashed it against the rocks and threw the lifeless body of Hippolytus
on the beach. When Phædra saw what had happened as the result of her
false accusations, she was filled with remorse and despair; and after
confessing her wickedness to the king, she hung herself. One story
relates that Diana, pitying the innocent Hippolytus, restored him to
life with the aid of Æsculapius; and, to remove him from the power of
his irresponsible father, placed him in the care of the nymph Egeria.
Theseus, having grown bitter from his many misfortunes, now became so
stern and tyrannical that his people began to hate him and to wish for
another ruler. At last, driven to desperation by his harsh measures,
they banished him to the island of Scyros, where the king Lycomedes
treated him at first with great kindness; but he soon grew tired of
the old man's presence and decided to get rid of him. So one day when
Theseus was walking along the cliff's edge, a servant stole up behind
him and threw him into the sea. When the Athenians heard of the fate
that had befallen their king, they repented of having sent him into
banishment; and now, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, they made him
a national hero. Later on he was deified as a sort of demigod; his
bones were brought piously back to Athens; and a magnificent temple was
erected in his honor on the Acropolis.
Chapter XXXII
Œdipus
Laius and Jocasta, king and queen of Thebes, were very happy when the
gods gave them a little son, and they sent to the oracle at Delphi
to learn what auspicious omens attended the child's birth. To their
horror they were informed that the boy would kill his father, marry his
mother, and bring great misfortune upon his native city.
Hoping to avert this dreadful calamity, Laius commanded a servant to
take the child away and kill him; but the man, not wishing to commit
so heartless a crime, hung the infant by his ankles to a tree, and
left him there to perish of hunger or from the teeth of wild beasts.
The king, believing that his command had been carried out and that the
boy no longer lived, was happy in the conviction that the oracle would
never be fulfilled. Meanwhile the helpless child was left hanging to
the tree until a shepherd, chancing to pass by, heard his pitiful cries
and went to his rescue. The kindly peasant then carried the infant to
his master Polybus, king of Corinth, who befriended the little stranger
and later adopted him as his son and heir, for he had no children of
his own. He called the boy Œdipus, which means swollen-foot.
The young prince grew up in entire ignorance of his real parentage, and
never suspected that he was not king Polybus's son until one day, at
the royal banquet, a guest, drunk with wine, was heartless enough to
tell him that he was only an adopted child. At first Œdipus believed
this statement to be just a malicious invention; but as he saw the
glances that the other guests exchanged, he was filled with dread lest
the words might be really true. So he went in haste to the woman he had
always called his mother, and demanded the truth about his birth. The
queen, fearing that Œdipus might kill himself if he knew that he had
been deceived about his parentage, assured him that he was indeed her
son. The youth believed her repeated assertions, and yet he was not
wholly satisfied; so he went to consult the oracle at Delphi. From this
he could learn nothing but the terrible prophecy that he would kill his
father, marry his mother, and bring misfortune upon his native city.
Determined not to be forced into committing any of these crimes, Œdipus
fled from Corinth and became a wanderer. Once, while he was walking on
the high-road, bewailing the cruel fat that drove him away from the
people he loved, he was met by a chariot in which sat an old man and
his servant. This was Laius, king of Thebes, who was journeying thus
far from his native city to consult the oracle of Delphi. The servant
who drove the king's chariot commanded Œdipus to move out of the road,
and flourished his whip to enforce his demand. The young prince was
not accustomed to be thus ordered about, and refused to move so that
the king's chariot might pass. The driver then struck Œdipus with his
whip, at which the youth grew so enraged that he avenged the insult
by killing the servant with his sword. The king hurled his spear at
Œdipus and called loudly to his other servants, who were some distance
behind; but before they could come to their master's rescue, Laius was
stretched dead in the road. Thus the first part of the prophecy was
fulfilled.
When the attendants came hurrying to the king's assistance, they were
horrified at finding both him and his charioteer dead; but although
they searched everywhere, no trace of the murderer could be found.
Œdipus meanwhile had escaped and was on his way to Thebes, whither
the servants were now preparing to carry their dead master. Though
strangers were usually noticed as they came through the city gates,
Œdipus was scarcely observed during the many days that Thebes was in
mourning for the dead king. When the funeral ceremonies were over, the
young stranger heard one day a herald proclaiming in the streets that
the throne of Thebes should belong to him who could kill the Sphinx and
thus free the country from its baneful presence. The hand of the queen
Jocasta was also promised as a further reward.
When Œdipus asked one of the natives what this creature called the
Sphinx might be, the old man to whom he spoke turned on him a look of
surprise, and remarked that he must indeed be a stranger to Thebes
if he did not know that the city was suffering from the presence of
the Sphinx. This monster, he said, was half woman and half lion, with
the claws and wings of a huge bird; and it had stationed itself just
outside the city gates, where it crouched upon a rock so close to the
high-road that no traveler could pass it unseen, especially as it kept
watch both night and day. To each passer-by the Sphinx propounded a
riddle, and those who solved it could pass undisturbed, but those who
failed were at once torn to pieces by the monster's claws. Thus far no
one had been able to solve the riddle, and many travelers had already
been destroyed.
When Œdipus heard this story, he determined to seek the Sphinx and try
his fate. Even if he himself were slain, he would not regret having
given his life to the nation that had befriended him, especially since
the oracle had prophesied for him such a series of crimes that he had
no love for life. So, sword in hand, he went out of the city gates, and
walked boldly along the road to the rock where the crouching Sphinx lay
in wait for its prey. As soon as it saw Œdipus, it stopped him, and
demanded that he should answer the riddle or else lose his life.
"Tell me your riddle then," cried the hero, boldly; and the Sphinx
replied:--
"What is it that in the morning goes on four feet, at noon on two feet,
and in the evening upon three?"
For some minutes Œdipus did not answer, but he crept nearer to the
Sphinx, with his sword gripped firmly in his hand. The monster began to
lick its cruel lips, and stretch out one long claw toward its victim,
when Œdipus answered:--
"It is man, who in childhood creeps on hands and knees, in manhood
walks erect, and in old age moves with the help of a staff." The
Sphinx, with a cry of rage and disappointment, spread its wings,
preparing to fly away to some other place where it could find new
victims; but Œdipus suddenly rushed upon it with his drawn sword, and
drove it over the edge of a precipice which was so steep that the
monster was instantly killed by its fall.
When Œdipus returned to the city and announced that he had slain the
Sphinx, the people greeted him as their deliverer. They placed him
in the royal chariot, proclaimed him their king, and carried him in
triumph to the palace, where the queen Jocasta welcomed him. Shortly
after this she married Œdipus, thus fulfilling the second part of the
prophecy.
In spite of the crimes that he had unknowingly committed, Œdipus
reigned many years in Thebes, and proved himself so wise and just a
ruler that the people never regretted having chosen him for their king.
Two sons were born to him and Jocasta, and two beautiful daughters.
The former were named Eteocles and Polynices, and the latter Ismene
and Antigone. Œdipus himself was so content that he almost disbelieved
the fatal prophecy at Delphi; but his happiness was destined to be
short lived, for the city was suddenly afflicted with a pestilence and
famine which caused such distress throughout the land that the stricken
people came flocking to Œdipus, praying him to deliver them from the
scourge. The king sent at once to consult the oracle at Delphi, and his
messengers returned with this answer from Apollo:--
"The plague, he said, should cease,
When those who murdered Laius were discovered,
And paid the forfeit of their crime by death
Or banishment."[109]
Every effort was then made to discover who had slain the former king
Laius, and it was not long before the crime of Œdipus was revealed. At
the same time the old servant who had been commanded to kill the infant
son of Laius and Jocasta was found, and made to confess his part in the
tragedy. Œdipus was now convinced of his real parentage, and discovered
to his horror that he had already been guilty of the three crimes that
the oracle had foretold. In vain he had fled from Corinth to escape
being near his supposed parents; and in vain, too, had he sought refuge
in another city, believing that the one he had left was his birthplace.
When the queen Jocasta realized the full horror of her relationship to
Œdipus, she committed suicide; and the king, rushing into her apartment
at the sound of her cries, saw her lifeless body on the ground. In
despair at this sight Œdipus, the unwilling cause of the tragedy, was
seized with a sudden madness and put out both his own eyes, declaring
that the sunlight would be forever hateful to him.
[Illustration: Œdipus and Antigone]
Blind, penniless, and on foot, he left the palace and the city on which
he had brought such disaster, and wandered over the land accompanied
by his devoted daughter Antigone, who clung to the fallen king the
more lovingly because of his misery and disgrace. After many days of
wandering in the rain and cold, begging their scanty food and resting
in any wayside spot that offered them shelter, Œdipus and his daughter
came to Colonus, a village near Athens. Here was a deep and almost
impenetrable forest, which the Greeks believed to be sacred to the
Furies. In this grewsome spot Œdipus declared that he would stay the
rest of his days; and bidding his daughter farewell, he entered the
dark forest alone. Antigone, weeping and clinging to her father's arm,
besought him to let her stay beside him, for what could he--old and
blind and helpless--do in that fearful spot but perish? Œdipus gently
released her clinging hands, and refused to allow her to go any farther
with him, assuring her that to him who lived ever in the eternal night
of blindness, there were no terrors in the darkness of the forest.
So Antigone sadly returned to Athens, and the blind king groped his way
among the thick underbrush and fallen trees. At nightfall a terrible
storm came up, and its forerunner, the wind, shook the forest as if it
were some child's toy; but still the old king felt his way among the
trees, and the lightning, as it flashed into the dark places of the
forest, illumined a figure bent and shaking, but grim, determined, and
unafraid. The next day when the storm was over, a party of men sent
by Theseus, king of Athens, went in search of Œdipus, but no trace of
him was ever found; and the ancients believed that the Furies dragged
him down into Hades, where he received a fitting punishment for his
crimes.[110]
The plague having been removed from Thebes by the death of
Œdipus--according to the words of Apollo--the city returned to its
former prosperity; and then began a fierce dispute between the king's
two sons as to which of them should succeed to the throne. A compromise
was finally agreed upon whereby the eldest son, Eteocles, was to reign
for one year, and at the end of the year the second son, Polynices,
was to accede to the throne and rule for the same length of time. The
dispute being settled amicably, Polynices set out for adventures in
foreign lands during his brother's reign; and at the end of the year
he returned to claim his right to wield the scepter of power. Eteocles
refused, however, to relinquish the throne; and with the help of the
soldiers, drove Polynices out of the city.
[Illustration: Antigone and Ismene]
Furious at this treachery, but unable to retaliate single-handed,
Polynices fled to the court of Adrastus, king of Argos, where he was
hospitably received. On relating the story of his wrongs, he so won
the sympathy of the king that the kindly monarch promised to help him
regain his kingdom. Later on the banished prince married Adrastus's
daughter, and the king equipped a large army to go with Polynices to
Thebes. At the head of the troops he placed seven valiant chiefs who
were determined to win the city from the usurper, or perish in the
attempt. These leaders gave this celebrated expedition the name of
"The Seven against Thebes."
If courage and boldness were enough to overthrow a city, the besiegers
would have won an easy victory; but their bravery was of no avail
against a place so well fortified and defended as Thebes. After a
seven years' siege the leaders of the attacking forces grew weary of
espousing a hopeless cause, and decided that the quarrel between the
two brothers must be settled by a duel. Accordingly Polynices and
Eteocles met face to face, and fought so fiercely that both of them
were killed. The only one left in the city who could rightfully assume
the reins of authority was Creon, the father of Jocasta, who was now
proclaimed king of Thebes.[111] By Creon's order the body of Eteocles
was given all the honors of a royal burial; but the corpse of Polynices
was left on the battle-field a prey to dogs and vultures. Then the
king issued a proclamation that if any one dared to touch the body of
the dead prince, he would be buried alive. The friends of Polynices
did not venture to defy this edict; but his sister Antigone, horrified
at the thought of leaving her brother's body to suffer such disgrace,
determined to ignore the king's barbarous decree. As she was unable to
procure any assistance, she dug a grave with her own hands and buried
Polynices, performing such funeral rites for the repose of the dead as
she could accomplish alone.
While she was engaged in this act of devotion she was seen by the
soldiers of Creon, who dragged her at once into the presence of the
king. Although Antigone was one of his own family, and was also the
promised wife of his son Hæmon, the relentless monarch condemned her
to death. Hæmon pleaded with his father to spare the life of his
betrothed, since her deed, though in defiance of the king's order,
had been one of praiseworthy devotion; but Creon would not revoke his
decision, and condemned Antigone to the most horrible of deaths--that
of being buried alive. While this inhuman sentence was being carried
out, Hæmon leaped into the grave where Antigone was kneeling, and
declared that he would die by her side. As the terrible process of
walling-in the lovers was slowly completed, Antigone died in Hæmon's
arms; and when he felt her lifeless body lying limp in his embrace, he
ended his own life with his dagger.
Chapter XXXIII
The Apple of Discord
Jupiter, father of the gods, once fell in love with the beautiful
sea-nymph "Thetis of the silver feet," the daughter of Nereus and
Doris. Before he arranged for the marriage, the ruler of Olympus first
consulted the Fates to see whether any misfortune was likely to attend
his nuptials; and the three sisters who spin the thread of life night
and day declared that Thetis was destined to be the mother of a son who
would be far greater than his father.
Although Jupiter could not imagine how any god could supplant him in
Olympus, he was nevertheless unwilling to act in defiance of what
the Fates decreed; so he gave Thetis in marriage to Peleus, king of
Phthia, who had long loved her and had sought her hand in vain. The
sea-nymph was not very well pleased at having to accept a mere mortal
as a husband, even though he was a king, after having been wooed by the
greatest of the gods. To induce her to consent to the marriage, Jupiter
promised that he and the other gods would come down from high Olympus
to attend the wedding; and the prospect of this great honor soothed the
pride of Thetis so that she consented to marry Peleus.
The preparations for the wedding were begun in the coral caves of
her father Nereus, and all the ocean-deities and sea-nymphs helped
to beautify the palace under the sea. When the wedding day arrived,
Jupiter, with all the attending gods, came to grace the marriage feast.
The guests took their seats at the well-filled table, and pledged
the bride in brimming cups of wine. There was nothing to mar the joy
of the occasion until suddenly an uninvited guest appeared in the
banquet-hall, and the laughter died away into an ominous silence. This
unexpected visitor was Eris (or Discordia), the goddess of discord, who
had not been asked to the wedding because her hideous face, snaky hair,
and vicious temper made Thetis fear that her presence would anger the
other guests. The strife-breeding goddess regarded this omission as an
insult, so she went unbidden to the marriage feast, determined to vent
her wrath and spite on those who had received the coveted honor. For a
moment she stood looking at the assembled company with glances full of
hatred, and she laughed mockingly when she saw them shrink away as she
breathed over them her poisonous breath. Then she threw on the table a
golden apple, and immediately vanished.
The guests were eager to see the beautiful fruit, and as they passed
it about among themselves they were surprised to find engraved on its
smooth surface the words "For the Fairest." Immediately there arose a
lively discussion as to whom the apple should rightfully belong; and
each of the goddesses present was inclined to believe that the fruit
was intended for her. At last all the contestants for the golden apple
withdrew their claims except Juno, Minerva, and Venus,--each of whom
disputed hotly for its possession. Juno contended that her power and
majesty gave her the best right to the prize; Minerva claimed that the
beauty of wisdom surpassed all other charms; while laughter-loving
Venus asked who could rightfully be called "the fairest" if not the
goddess of beauty.
As the dispute grew more and more bitter, the goddesses called upon the
other guests to decide their respective claims; but no one was willing
to assume this responsibility. Since the apple could be given to but
one of the three, the other two would be sure to vent their anger and
disappointment on those who made the decision, each believing that
the judges willfully refused to admit her superior charms. So, at the
suggestion of one of the company, the entire wedding party adjourned to
Mount Ida, where the beautiful shepherd Paris was tending his flocks.
Jupiter appointed him to be the judge of the contest. The bewildered
shepherd took some moments to recover from the surprise of having this
brilliant company break in upon his solitude; and he stood watching
them in awe and reverence, not daring to speak in the presence of the
immortals.
Paris was not, however, an uncouth peasant lad, for although occupying
the lowly position of shepherd, he was really the son of Priam and
Hecuba, king and queen of Troy. When he was a mere infant, he was left
on the mountain to perish, because an oracle had foretold that he would
cause the death of his family and the destruction of his native city.
But though so inhumanly exposed to cold and the hunger of wild beasts,
the child did not die, for he was found by a shepherd, who adopted him
and brought him up to follow his own calling.
When Paris grew to manhood he was so handsome that the wood-nymphs, who
were his companions, all sighed for love of him. Among them was the
fair and gentle Œnone, whom Paris secretly married, and with whom he
lived happily on Mount Ida. Though his foster-father had told him the
story of his birth, Paris had no longing for the glitter and grandeur
of palaces, for he felt sure that king Priam would wish to kill him if
he learned that the son he feared and hated was alive.
[Illustration: Paris]
Paris had grown so accustomed to the solitude of the mountain that
when the wedding party suddenly came upon him, he stood fearful
and silent while Jupiter, showing him the golden apple with its
inscription, bade him judge which of the three goddesses should receive
it. Before he could make any answer, Juno told him if he gave the
apple to her he would thereby win great wealth and honor. Minerva
promised him the gift of wisdom far exceeding that of mortal men; but
laughter-loving Venus whispered in his ear that if he awarded her
the apple, he should have the most beautiful woman in the world for
his wife. Whether it was the alluring beauty of Venus that blinded
his judgment, or the reward which she offered that tempted him, it
is impossible to tell. Perhaps it was for both of these reasons that
Paris turned quickly and placed the coveted apple in Venus's hand. This
decision brought upon him the wrath of both the discredited goddesses,
who began from that moment to cherish a hatred for the house of Troy,
and to plot its destruction.
Venus told Paris that in order for her to fulfill her promise, he
must now go down to the city of Troy and make himself known to his
parents. She assured him that he need have no fear of his father, for
she herself would so order his affairs that the king would welcome
him and acknowledge him as his son. Later on she would arrange that
he should be furnished with ships in which to sail to Greece, for to
this country he must inevitably go, since Helen, wife of Menelaus,
king of Sparta, was the most beautiful woman in the world. Obeying
carefully all the instructions of the goddess, who had now become his
protectress, Paris left his shepherding and went down to the court of
his father, King Priam. He was so blinded by the vision of his glorious
future that he did not think how heartless he was to desert the loving
and faithful Œnone, who mourned for him until the hills echoed with the
sound of her cries.
To tell the story of Paris's return to his native city, of his voyage
to Sparta, and of his abduction of Helen, would be to tell the story
of the Trojan war and of how dearly Paris and his household paid for
the most beautiful woman in the world. When the sons of Priam were
falling, one by one, beneath the fierce blows of the Greeks, Paris was
wounded by a poisoned arrow shot by Philoctetes, who had received these
famous weapons from Hercules when he lit that hero's funeral pyre.[112]
As the poison entered Paris's veins, and he knew that he had received
a mortal wound, he sent at once for Œnone, who had always loved him
so dearly that he believed she must have forgiven his treachery and
desertion. He knew how skilled the nymph was in the use of healing
herbs, and she had once told him, in the happy days of their love on
Mount Ida, that if he ever were wounded, he should send for her and she
would heal him. Paris therefore dispatched a messenger in all haste
to bring his wife from her home among the hills; but Œnone refused to
accompany the messenger, for she knew that it was not for love of her
that her husband desired her presence. So Paris died of his poisoned
wound, and when Œnone heard of his death, she went down to the city and
saw the funeral pyre with its flames leaping toward the sky. Filled
with remorse at her refusal to come to his aid, Œnone could not look on
at the sight of Paris's burning body and live; so she sprang upon the
blazing pyre and perished beside her lover.
APPENDIX
I
The only powers that dared oppose the will of Jupiter were the Fates
and Destiny, who issued their irrevocable decrees without regard to the
wishes of the ruler of Olympus. Jupiter's sovereignty is thus described
by Homer:--
"He whose all-conscious eyes the world behold,
The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold,
High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes,
And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.
* * * * *
He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate and sanction of the god;
High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to the center shook."
--POPE'S TRANSLATION.
The principal temples of Jupiter were the Capitol at Rome, and the
Temple of Jupiter Ammon in Libya. At Dodona was the oracle of Jupiter,
called the "Speaking Oak," where the responses were given by the trees
whose rustling branches made sounds that were interpreted by the
priests. The oracle was said to have been established at Dodona in
the following manner: two black doves took their flight from Thebes in
Egypt. One flew to Dodona in Epirus; and alighting in a grove of oaks,
it proclaimed, in human language, to the people of that region, that
they must establish there an oracle of Jupiter. The other dove flew to
the temple of Jupiter Ammon, and delivered a similar command there.
Another account says that two priestesses were carried off from Thebes
in Egypt by the Phœnicians, and set up oracles at Dodona and the Libyan
Oasis.
A magnificent temple at Olympia was dedicated to Jupiter, and here,
every fifth year, the Greeks assembled to celebrate games. These
festivals lasted five days, and were known as the Olympic Games.
Vast numbers of spectators flocked to them from every part of Greece
and from Asia, Africa, and Sicily. The Greeks usually reckoned time
by Olympiads or five-year periods,--the space of time between the
celebrations. The first Olympiad was about 776 B.C.
Inside the temple at Olympia stood a wonderful statue of Jupiter made
of ivory and gold. The parts representing flesh were of ivory laid on
a framework of wood, while the drapery and ornaments were of gold. It
was the work of Phidias, and was considered the highest achievement
of Grecian sculpture. The height of the figure was forty feet, and
the pedestal was twelve feet. The god was represented as seated on his
throne, with his brows crowned with a wreath of olive and in his hand
a scepter. The statue was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the
world, but our knowledge of it is confined to literary descriptions and
to copies on coins.
II
Poems:--
Prometheus Bound ÆSCHYLUS
Prometheus Unbound PERCY B. SHELLEY
Prometheus HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
Prometheus JAMES R LOWELL
The following are Byron's lines:--
"Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;
What was thy pity's recompense?
A silent suffering, and intense;
The rock, the vulture, and the chain;
All that the proud can feel of pain;
The agony they do not show;
The suffocating sense of woe."
III
There is a full account of the story of Pandora in Hawthorne's "Wonder
Book."
Poems:--
Pandora DANTE G. ROSSETTI
Masque of Pandora HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
IV
Other mythologists than Ovid, in treating the story of the flood, state
that Deucalion and Pyrrha took refuge in an ark, which, after sailing
about for many days, was stranded on the top of Mount Parnassus. This
version was far less popular with the Greeks, though it shows more
plainly the common source from which all these myths are derived.
"Who does not see in drowned Deucalion's name,
When Earth her men, and Sea had lost her shore,
Old Noah!"
--FLETCHER.
V
The city of Delphi, containing the famous oracle of Apollo, was built
on the slopes of Mount Parnassus in Phocis. It had been observed at
a very early period that the goats feeding on Parnassus were thrown
into convulsions when they approached a certain deep cleft in the side
of the mountain. When a goatherd ventured near the spot, he found a
peculiar vapor arising from the cavern, and as he inhaled it, he was
affected in the same way as the animals had been. The inhabitants of
the country, unable to explain the goatherd's convulsive ravings,
imputed his utterings to divine inspiration. A temple was therefore
erected on the spot, and the prophetic influence was attributed to
various gods, but was finally assigned only to Apollo. A priestess was
appointed who was named the Pythia, and her office was to sit upon a
tripod placed over the chasm from which the divine afflatus proceeded.
The priestess and the tripod were both adorned with laurel; and as
she inhaled the hallowed air, her words--believed to be inspired by
Apollo--were interpreted by the priests.
The Pythian Games were celebrated at Delphi every three years, and were
instituted by Apollo in commemoration of his conquest of the Python. At
these games were chariot racing, running, leaping, wrestling, throwing
quoits, hurling javelins, and boxing. Besides the exercises in bodily
strength, there were contests in music, poetry, and oratory. These
occasions gave the poets and musicians an opportunity to show their
productions to the public.
VI
There was in Troy a celebrated statue of Minerva called the Palladium.
It was said to have fallen from heaven, and the Trojans believed that
the city could not be taken so long as this statue remained within
it. Ulysses and Diomede entered the city in disguise, and succeeded in
obtaining the Palladium, which they carried off to the Grecian camp.
The finest and most celebrated of the statues of Minerva was the one by
Phidias in the Parthenon at Athens. This was forty feet in height, and
was covered with ivory and gold. It represented the goddess as standing
with a spear in one hand, and in the other a statue of victory. Her
helmet, highly decorated, was surmounted by a sphinx. The Parthenon
itself was constructed under the supervision of the famous sculptor;
and many of the reliefs which enriched the exterior were by the hand of
Phidias himself. The statue of Minerva is not in existence, but parts
of the frieze of the Parthenon are in the British Museum and are known
as the Elgin Marbles.
The hero Theseus instituted at Athens the festival of Panathenæa in
honor of Minerva. The chief feature of the festival was a solemn
procession in which the Peplus, or sacred robe of Minerva, was carried
to the Parthenon, and left on or before the statue of the goddess. The
Peplus was covered with embroidery worked by virgins of the noblest
families in Athens. The festival was peculiar to the Athenians,
but among them persons of all ages and both sexes took part in the
celebrations. In the procession the old men carried olive branches
and the young men bore arms. The women carried baskets on their heads
containing the sacred utensils and cakes necessary for the sacrifices.
VII
The most famous representations of Juno are the torso in Vienna from
Ephesus, the Barberini in the Vatican at Rome, the bronze statuette in
the Cabinet of Coins and Antiquities in Vienna, and the Farnese bust in
the National Museum at Naples.
Juno's festivals, the Matronalia, in Rome, were always celebrated with
great pomp. Less important feasts were held in each city where a temple
was dedicated to her. On one of these occasions, an old priestess was
very anxious to go to Juno's temple at Argos, in which she had served
the goddess many years in her maiden days, and which she had left only
to be married. The way was long and difficult, and the old priestess
could not attempt to walk such a distance; so she bade her sons Cleobis
and Biton harness her white heifers to her car. The youths were anxious
to do her bidding; but they could not find the heifers, however
diligently they searched. As they did not wish to disappoint their
mother who had set her heart on attending the services, they harnessed
themselves to the car, and thus conveyed her to the temple. The mother,
touched by their filial devotion, then prayed to Juno to bestow on her
sons the greatest gift in her power; and when the old priestess went in
search of the youths, after the services were over, she found them dead
in the portico of the temple where they had lain down to rest. Juno
had taken them, while they slept, to the Elysian Fields to enjoy an
eternity of bliss as a reward for their devotion.
VIII
There is another version of the story of how Hercules brought Alcestis
back from Hades. This is in the Alcestis of Euripides, and Browning has
related it in his "Balaustion's Adventure." In this account the wife
of Admetus is not surrendered willingly by Pluto, but the great hero
Hercules wrestles with Death for the body and life of Alcestis, and by
winning the victory over this dread adversary, restores Admetus's wife
to his arms.
Other poems:--
The Love of Alcestis WILLIAM MORRIS
Alcestis FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE
Shepherd of King Admetus JAMES R. LOWELL
IX
The combat between a hero and a dragon is a favorite theme in mythology
and folklore. Besides the myth of Apollo's slaying of the Python are
the well-known stories of Siegfried's killing of Fafnir, St. George
and the Dragon, Perseus and the Sea Serpent, Cadmus and the Serpent,
and Hercules and the Hydra.
The principal temples dedicated to the worship of Apollo were at Delos,
his birthplace, and at Delphi.
One of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, the famous Colossus of
Rhodes, was a statue of Apollo. His head was encircled with a halo of
bright sunbeams, and his legs were set wide apart to allow vessels to
pass in and out of the harbor with all their sails spread.
Among the many remains of ancient sculpture, none is better
known--unless it be the Venus of Milo--than the statue of Apollo called
the Belvedere, from the name of the apartment of the pope's palace at
Rome in which it is placed. The artist is unknown, but the work is
supposed to be of the first century of our era, and is modeled on the
type of Greek sculpture of the Hellenistic period. It is restored to
represent the god at the moment when he has shot the arrow that slays
the Python.
Poems:--
Apollo in "The Epic of Hades" LEWIS MORRIS
Hymn to Apollo JOHN KEATS
Hymn to Apollo PERCY B. SHELLEY
X
The story of Clytie is frequently alluded to in poetry, and the
sunflower is often used as an emblem of constancy. Moore's lines are
well known:--
"The heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look that she turned when he rose."
XI
The sisters of Phaëton, the Heliades, spent their days by the Eridanus
River shedding tears, wringing their white hands, and wailing over the
loss of their brother, until the gods, in pity for their grief, turned
them into poplar trees. Their tears, which continued to flow, became
amber as they dropped into the stream.
XII
The Diana of the Ephesians, referred to by St. Paul in Acts xix: 28,
was not the chaste moon-goddess of the Greeks, though a world-renowned
sanctuary was dedicated to Diana at Ephesus.
Poems:--
Praise of Artemis EDMUND GOSSE
Hymn to Diana BEN JONSON
Artemis in "Epic of Hades" LEWIS MORRIS
Niobe WALTER S. LANDOR
The most beautiful statue of Diana is the Diana of Versailles, in the
Louvre, Paris (also called the Diana of the Hind).
XIII
Before Orion was slain by an arrow from Diana's bow he loved Merope,
daughter of Œnopion, king of Chios, who consented to the union on
condition that the lover should win his bride by some heroic deed. But
instead of meeting this requirement, Orion attempted to elope with
Merope. The plan was frustrated, however, by the king; and the bold
youth was punished by the loss of his bride and also of his eyesight.
Then Orion wandered about, blind and helpless, and finally reached the
Cyclops' cave, where one of them took pity on him and led him to the
sun, from whose radiance his sight was restored.
XIV
The story of Endymion is a favorite theme in poetry. The best-known
poem on this subject is the Endymion of Keats. Other poems are by James
R. Lowell, Henry W. Longfellow, Arthur H. Clough, Elizabeth L. Landon,
and Lewis Morris.
XV
In the story of Hyacinthus, as told by the poet Ovid in the
"Metamorphoses" (Book 10, line 16, etc.) the account says: "Behold the
blood that had flowed on the ground and stained the herbage ceased to
be blood; but a flower of hue more beautiful than the Tyrian sprang
up resembling the lily, except that this is purple and that silvery
white." It is evident that the flower here described is not our modern
hyacinth, but some species of iris or larkspur.
XVI
Another unfortunate ending to one of the friendships of Apollo was the
death of Cyparissus, a clever young hunter, whose companionship the
sun-god often sought. Cyparissus accidentally killed Apollo's pet stag,
and he grieved so sorely over this mischance that he pined away and
died. Apollo then changed his body into a Cyprus tree, which the god
declared should henceforth be used to shade the graves of those who,
when living, were greatly beloved.
XVII
There were many oracles of Æsculapius, but the most celebrated one
was at Epidaurus. Here the sick consulted the oracle and sought the
recovery of their health by sleeping in the temple. The treatment of
the sick was probably nothing like that of modern therapeutics, but
resembled what is now called animal magnetism or mesmerism.
Serpents were sacred to Æsculapius, probably because of the
superstition that those animals have a faculty of renewing their youth
by a change of skin. The worship of Æsculapius was introduced into Rome
in a time of great sickness, and an embassy was sent to the temple at
Epidaurus to implore the help of the god. Æsculapius was so favorably
inclined to the petitioners that he accompanied the returning ship in
the form of a serpent. When they reached the river Tiber, the serpent
glided from the vessel, and took possession of an island in the river.
Here a temple was later erected in honor of Æsculapius.
XVIII
According to the more ancient Greek conception, Venus was the daughter
of Jupiter and Dione, goddess of moisture; but Hesiod says that she
came from the foam of the sea, and was therefore called by the Greeks
Aphrodite--the foam-born. She was generally represented as a beautiful
nude figure, or wearing her wonderful girdle, the Cestus--in which
lay "love and desire and loving converse that steals the wits even of
the wise." The most famous statue of Venus is the one that was found
on the island of Melos (Milo), and is now in the Louvre, in Paris. It
is probably the work of some sculptor of about the third century B.C.
He followed an original of the age of Praxiteles, probably in bronze,
which represented the goddess, partly draped, gazing at her reflection
in an uplifted shield. A masterpiece of Praxiteles was the Venus of
Cnidos, based upon which are the Venus of the Capitoline in Rome, the
Venus de Medici in Florence, and the Venus of the Vatican, which is
much superior to the other two.
Poems:--
Chorus to Aphrodite in "Atalanta
in Calydon" ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE