and, sheltering himself from the combat beside a column that still
stood, he cried out to one of the warriors,
"Have you seen Apollo, driving the chariot of the sun, pass this way
lately?"
"No," the man replied. "Apollo avoids the battle field. We cannot direct
you to the god of light."
So Orion wandered on in his darkness until he came at last to the island
of Lemnos and as he stumbled along a rocky road the sharp ringing of
hammers beating on metal came to his ears.
"There must be a smithy close by," Orion thought, "a place as black and
ugly as the world my blindness makes for me. I have heard tales of the
Cyclopes, with only one eye apiece, who spend all their lives under the
mountains shaping thunderbolts at their forges. Their master is the
ill-shaped Vulcan, the despised of the gods. There is little use in my
following the sound of a hammer."
But, against his will, Orion kept on. There was a call in the ringing of
the hammer that drew him on faster than the merrymaking of Pan had, or
the sound of battle. Before long the heat of the forge fire touching his
face told Orion that he had reached the doorway of Vulcan's smithy at
the foot of the mountain, and he asked again,
"Can you tell me the way to Apollo, who drives the chariot of the sun?"
How surprised he was to hear Vulcan reply,
"Apollo is here. We are sending some forgings of gold to his palace and
he will take you with him to the sun, blind Orion."
That was a thrilling ride for Orion, away from the darkness he had
walked in so long on the earth, and up along the road of stars that led
to the sun. Apollo drove the chariot himself, and when they came to the
stately gold columns that guarded the entrance to his palace, he told
Orion to look straight at the blazing light of the sun. As he looked,
Orion's blindness passed. He opened his eyes and could see again.
The myths say that Orion never left the sky after that. The gods changed
him into a giant, with a wide hunting belt, a sword, a lion's-skin
mantle and a club made all of stars. And they even brought Sirius, his
faithful hunting dog, to follow his master forever through the heavens.
THE WONDERS VENUS WROUGHT
Of all the many strange things that happened in the days of the old gods
and goddesses, the most wonderful of all came to pass one spring morning
near the island of Cyprus.
One expects all kinds of surprises in spring, new leaves and flowers on
bare branches, the nesting and singing of the wild birds and brighter
sunshine than in months before, but this wonder of Greece was quite
unexplainable. To this day no one seems to have been able to account for
it or understand it. There was hardly a breeze to stir the blue sea and
the waters lay like a turquoise mirror, smooth and still. Suddenly the
fishermen who were casting their nets on the shore saw a bright, rose
colored cloud that trembled and then began to drop lower toward the sea
until it floated lightly on the surface of the water. It was so soft and
ethereal that it seemed as if a breath would blow it away, but it rose
and fell like mist and seemed to almost breathe.
No one spoke, watching the wonder, and suddenly the cloud began to take
form and shape. It really breathed, and it blossomed into the most
beautiful woman who had ever been seen on earth or on Mount Olympus
either. Her hair was as bright as sunlight and her face glowed with warm
color like that of the rosy cloud from which she had come. Her flowing
garments were as soft and lovely as the tinted sky at sunrise, and she
stretched out her slender white arms toward the shore.
At once the four Zephyrs of the west who had not been anywhere about
before came and surrounded this beauteous being, and with their help she
glided toward the island of Cyprus. The four Seasons descended from
Mount Olympus to meet her there, as the people of Cyprus watched and
wondered at the marvel.
"Can it be possible that this heavenly being has come to remain with
us?" they asked each other.
And even as they wondered the second strange thing happened.
Vulcan, the smith of Mount Olympus, had a shop on Cyprus. Here his anvil
could be heard ringing every day from sunrise until sunset, for Vulcan
was shaping and fitting together the parts of a gold throne for
Jupiter. He was making other things with his skilful hands, weapons and
armor for the gods and the heroes, and thunderbolts for Jupiter. He was
a lonely smith, very much handicapped by his lameness, and seldom went
about much unless it was to take his finished work home to Mount
Olympus.
But this is what happened that long ago morning in spring. With amazing
grace this lovely person who had been born in the foam of the sea made
her way to the abode of Vulcan. She was the goddess of love, Venus, who
is sometimes called Aphrodite. She had come to be the wife of Vulcan who
was, in spite of his lameness, the god of fire.
Things were very different on the earth after the coming of Venus. The
whole world had been looking for her and hoping for her coming although
they had not really known this desire of their hearts. And one of the
first matters that the goddess of love attended to was that of the
wilful Atalanta who had caused so much sorrow among the heroes of
Greece.
Atalanta was a princess, too boyish for a girl and too girlish for a
boy. Many of the heroes had claimed her hand in marriage but she liked
her own free, wild ways too much to give them up for spinning and the
household arts. To any prince or hero who asked for her hand Atalanta
made the same reply,
"I will be the prize of him who shall conquer me in a race; but death
shall be the penalty of all who try and fail!"
It was a cruel decree. How Atalanta could run! There had never been a
boy even who was able to beat her in a race. The breezes seemed to give
her wings, her bright hair blew over her shoulders, and the gay fringe
of her dress fluttered behind her. But as Atalanta raced, the ruddy hue
of her skin seemed to fade and she became as white as marble, for her
heart grew cold. All her suitors were outdistanced and they were put to
death without mercy.
Then Hippomenes came and decided to risk his life in a race with
Atalanta. He was a brave, bold youth and although he had been obliged to
act as judge and condemn many of his friends whom Atalanta had defeated
to death, he wanted to run. And he asked Venus to help him in the race.
In Venus' garden in her own island of Cyprus there was a tree with
yellow leaves and yellow branches and golden fruit. Aphrodite gathered
three golden apples from the tree and gave them, unseen, to Hippomenes,
telling him how to use them.
The signal was given and Atalanta darted forward along the sand of the
shore near Venus' temple with Hippomenes at her side. Hippomenes was a
swift runner, with a tread so light that it seemed as if he might skim
the water or a field of waving grain without leaving a foot print. At
first he gained. Then he felt the beat of Atalanta's breath on his
shoulder, and the goal was not yet in sight. At that moment Hippomenes
threw down one of the golden apples.
Atalanta was so surprised that she stopped a second. She stooped and
picked up the apple and as she did so Hippomenes shot on ahead. But
Atalanta redoubled her speed and soon overtook him. Again he threw down
a golden apple. Atalanta could not bear to leave it, and she again
stopped and picked it up. Then she ran on again. Hippomenes was almost
to the goal but Atalanta reached and passed him. In a minute she would
have won, but Hippomenes dropped the third golden apple. It glittered
and shone so that Atalanta could not resist it. A third time she
hesitated and as she did so Hippomenes won the race.
The two were very happy, Hippomenes in his success and Atalanta in her
precious fruit. She at once wanted a house in which to keep it, and when
Hippomenes built her one Atalanta began to spin and weave and take great
pride in making her home beautiful and comfortable. Venus had been quite
sure that this would happen. She had known that it would be better for
Atalanta to forget her cruel races, so she gave her these golden apples
to show her the prizes love brings.
The goddess of love had other work to do on earth. She was particularly
fond of her garden in Cyprus and she busied herself for a long time
tending and coaxing a new bush to live and blossom. It was different
from any shoot that had been seen there before, tough, and dry, and
covered with sharp thorns that pricked whoever touched them and drew
blood like spear points. But Venus handled and trimmed the stalks
without fear until the bush spread and sent out branches that stretched
up and covered the wall of her temple like a vine. It was noticed that
the new shoots and leaves pushed their way up from underneath some of
the thorns, which dried up at once and dropped off. Then flower buds
appeared where there had been sharp thorns which opened, when summer
decked Cyprus, into the loveliest blossoms the earth had ever seen.
Their fragrance filled the island and their color was like that of the
cloud from which Aphrodite had come.
It was the rose, Venus' own flower, and destined to be always the most
loved flower of earth.
Venus watched over everything that was beautiful on earth. That is why
she was sorry that Pygmalion, the King of Greece, was so hardhearted.
Pygmalion was a sculptor as well as a king, and so skilled with clay and
marble that he was able to mould likenesses of the beings of Mount
Olympus, even. But he closed his heart to men and he felt that there was
no woman living who was worthy to share his kingdom.
One spring Pygmalion decided to make a statue of ivory, and when it was
finished it was so exquisite that there had never before been seen such
beauty save that of Venus. Pygmalion was proud of his work and as he
admired it Venus put a better feeling into his heart. Pygmalion laid his
hand upon his statue to see if it were living or not. He began to wish
that it was not ivory, and he named it Galatea.
Pygmalion gave Galatea the presents that a young girl of Greece loved,
bright shells and polished stones, birds in golden cages, flowers of
many colors, beads, and amber. He dressed her in silk and put jewels on
her fingers and a necklace about her neck. She wore ear rings and many
strings of pearls. When he had done all this Venus rewarded him.
Pygmalion, returning to his home one day, touched his statue and the
ivory felt soft and yielded to his fingers as if it had been wax. Its
pallor changed to the color of life, and Galatea opened her eyes and
smiled at Pygmalion.
After that all Cyprus was changed for this king who had been selfish and
hardhearted. He was able to hear the silvery song of his fountain that
he had never noticed before. He began to love the forests, and flowers,
and people, for Venus had given him Galatea to share his kingdom.
Venus and Vulcan began to spend about as much time with the gods as they
did on the earth, for Mount Olympus was their real home. Venus carried
her roses there to deck her hand-maidens, the Graces, who presided over
the banquets, the dances, and the arts of the gods. She was watchful of
mortals, though, for she knew that they would always have need of her.
WHERE THE LABYRINTH LED
Daedalous stood in the shadows at the entrance of the Labyrinth and
watched one of the heroes enter the dark passageway. It was a strange,
secret edifice that Daedalous, an artist of the gods, had built with his
mighty skill. Numberless winding passageways and turnings opened one
into the other in a confusing maze that seemed to have no beginning or
end. There was a river in Greece, the Maeander, that had never been
traced to its source, for it flowed forward and backward, always
returning and Daedalous had planned the Labyrinth like the course of the
river Maeander.
There was hardly anything that Daedalous was not able to do with his
hands, for he had been given great gifts by the gods. But he liked
trickery more than honesty and had spent years and used his clever brain
in inventing this maze.
As he peered into the dark alleys of the Labyrinth he saw the hero
disappear. He would never return, Daedalous knew, for no one yet had
ever been able to retrace his steps through its turnings. Like many
secret things, the Labyrinth caught and destroyed even the brave.
It was a pity that anything so dreadful should have happened on such a
day as that. The olive trees of Crete were in full leaf, and Daedalous
could hear a nightingale singing in the forest nearby. He was deaf to
the music of birds, though, for he was listening for another sound. It
was May of the year, and the day when Athens sent a tribute of seven of
the strongest lads and seven of the fairest daughters of Greece to be
driven into the the Labyrinth, a tribute to King Minos of Crete. The
Minotaur, a raging beast half man and half bull, waited in its secret
passageways to devour them. Daedalous had built the Labyrinth and
confined the Minotaur in it to commend himself to King Minos. The sound
he listened for was the crying of these youths and maidens on their way
to the sacrifice.
The road was strangely quiet, although Daedalous could see the white
garments of the children as they made their way toward him through the
aisles of flowering trees. Their eyes were bright with courage, and a
youth who was taller and older than the others led them. Daedalous
trembled and hid behind a bank of moss as he saw him.
All Greece was beginning to talk of this youth, Theseus, the son of the
King of Athens. He had but lately come to Athens, having lived with his
grandfather at Troezen, and had astounded the populace with his prowess.
The boys in the streets had ridiculed him a bit at first because of the
long Ionian garment that he wore and his long hair. They called him a
girl and told him that he should not be out alone in public. Hearing
this ridicule, Theseus had unyoked a loaded wagon that stood near by and
had thrown it lightly up into the air to the marvel of all who saw him.
Next, Theseus had overpowered some fifty giants who hoped to overthrow
the government of Athens and set up their own rule of pillage and terror
in the city. Then Theseus had, by his extraordinary strength, captured a
furious bull that was destroying the fields of grain outside the city,
and had brought it captive into Athens.
Daedalous did not know, however, of this last adventure which Theseus
had taken upon himself.
The Athenians were in deep affliction when he had come to the court of
Athens, for it was the time of the year when its sons and daughters must
be sent for the annual offering to King Minos. Theseus resolved to try
and save his countrymen from this too great sacrifice and had offered
himself as one of the victims to leave for Crete. His father, King
Aegeus, was loath to have him go. He was growing old, and Theseus was
his hope for the throne of Athens. But the day of the tribute came,
seven girls and six boys were drawn by lot, and they set sail with
Theseus in a ship that departed under black sails.
When they arrived at Crete, the victims were exhibited before King
Minos, and Theseus saw Ariadne, his daughter, seated at the foot of his
throne. Ariadne was so beautiful that we may still see her crown of gems
in the sky, a starry circle above the constellation of Hercules who
kneels at her feet. She was also as good as she was beautiful, and a
great pity filled her heart when she saw Theseus and these young people
of Athens so soon to perish in the Labyrinth. She wanted to save them
all to be the glory of Athens when they grew up, so she gave Theseus a
sword for his encounter with the Minotaur and a coil of slender white
thread.
Daedalous, from his hiding place, saw these and wondered as Theseus
approached the Labyrinth and fearlessly entered.
As he followed the crooked, twisting passages, Theseus unwound his white
skein and left the thread behind him. He went on boldly until he reached
the devouring beast in the center of the Labyrinth and slew it easily
with Ariadne's keen blade. Then Theseus retraced his steps, following
the thread, as he found his way out of the Labyrinth and into the light
again. Daedalous was seized with an overpowering fear, for the artifice
of his work had been discovered. There would be no more sacrifices of
the heroes and the children of Greece to the Minotaur. The crooked ways
of the Labyrinth had been made plain by Theseus' white thread of truth.
King Minos was most angry of all with Daedalous at this failure of the
maze. He imprisoned Daedalous and his son, Icarus, whom Daedalous loved
more than anything else in the world, in a high tower in Crete. When
they escaped, he set guards along the entire shores of the island and
had all ships searched so that the two might not leave by sea. Icarus
had great faith in his father and entreated him to find some way by
which they might elude the guards and begin their life anew on some
other island. So Daedalous forgot his lesson of the Labyrinth and set
about making wings for himself and Icarus.
The wings were as false as the maze had been crooked. Daedalous set the
boy to gathering all the feathers he could find that the sea birds and
the birds of the forest had dropped. Icarus brought his hands full of
these; he was very proud of his father and had always longed to be old
enough to help him in his work. He sat beside his father in the shelter
of a cedar grove, sorting the larger from the smaller feathers, and
bringing wax that the bees had left in the hollow trees. Daedalous
wrought the feathers together with his skilful fingers, beginning with
the smallest ones and adding the longer to imitate the sweep of a
bird's wings. He sewed the large feathers with thread and fastened the
others with wax until he had completed two pairs of wings. He fastened
them to his own shoulders and to those of Icarus, and they ran to the
shore, buoyed upwards and feeling the power of birds as they made ready
for their flight.
Icarus was as joyous as the nightingale that spreads his wings to carry
his song as far as the sky. But Daedalous was again terrified at the
work of his hands. He warned the boy:
"Fly along the middle track, my Icarus," he said, "not high or low. If
you fly low, the ocean spray will weight your wings, and the sun may
hurt you with his fiery dart if you fly too far. Keep near me."
Then Daedalous kissed his boy, rose on his wings and flew off beckoning
for Icarus to follow. As they soared away from Crete, the ploughmen
stopped their work and the shepherds forgot their flocks as they watched
the strange sight. Daedalous and his son seemed like two gods chasing
the air above the blue sea.
Together they flew by Samos and Delos, on the way to Sicily, a long
distance. Then Icarus, exulting in his wings, began to rise and leave
the lower course along which his father had been guiding him. He had
wanted, all his life, to see the city of the gods on Mount Olympus and
now his chance had come to reach it. Icarus was sure that his wings were
strong enough to carry him as far as he had a desire to fly, because his
father whom he had trusted had made them for him.
Up, up toward the heavens Icarus mounted, but the coolness of the waters
changed to blazing heat, for Icarus was near the sun. The heat softened
the wax that held the feathers together and Icarus' wings came off. He
stretched his arms wide, but there was nothing to hold him in mid air.
"Icarus, my Icarus, where are you?" Daedalous cried, but all he could
see was a ripple in the ocean where his son had fallen and the bright,
scattered plumage floating on the surface.
That was the real end of the Labyrinth, where the daughters of the sea,
the Nereids, took Icarus in their arms and carried him tenderly down
among their gardens of pearly sea flowers. For Daedalous had to fly on
alone to Sicily, and although he built a temple to Apollo there and hung
his wings in it as an offering to the god he never saw his son again.
HOW PERSEUS CONQUERED THE SEA
A heavy storm raged at sea. The billows, as tall and stronger than
ships, rolled from the cave on the coast of Greece where Medusa, the
Gorgon, ruled and directed them. She drove them out in an endless line
of destruction to crush any frail craft that braved the waters, send the
sailors to the bottom and leave only broken oars and spars to be washed
up on the rocks outside her stony dwelling place.
As the sea arose and the winds shrieked, a ship far out from the land
could be seen, riding on the crest of the waves and coming closer to the
shore. Then its form changed and the fishermen who had dared the weather
saw that it was a chest made of carved cedar wood and having hinges of
chased gold. It would be almost submerged one minute and then it would
appear again, floating bravely on the surf. At last it was tossed upon
the rocks, and the fishermen ran to salvage the treasure that some
ruthless destroyer had cast out for Medusa to capture if she could.
When they reached the chest the fishermen saw a young mother inside it
clasping her baby son closely in her arms. It had held a human treasure
abandoned to the Gorgon's cruel powers of the sea. They conducted her to
their King, Polydectes, of Seriphus, and she told him her story.
"I am Danae, the princess of Argos," she said, "but my father, King
Acrisius, is afraid of the powers that this little son of mine may
develop in manhood. He caused us to be shut up in a frail chest and set
adrift among the waves. I pray your protection, O King, for my son, who
is strong and of noble birth, until he is able to dare great deeds and
reward you for your kindness."
No one could have resisted the pleading of Danae, so lovely and holding
her baby in her arms. She remained in Seriphus and her son, Perseus,
grew to a boy and then to a fearless, daring young hero.
All this time Medusa was working sorrow on land and sea. She had once
been a beautiful maiden of the coast of Greece, but she had quarreled
with Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, and for this act the gods had
changed her into a Gorgon. Her long, curling hair was now a mass of
clustering, venomous serpents that twined about her white shoulders and
crawled down to her feet where they twisted themselves around her
ankles. No one could describe the terrible features of Medusa, but
whoever looked in her face was turned from a living thing to a creature
of stone. All around the cave where she lived could be seen the stony
figures of animals and men who had chanced to catch a glimpse of her and
had been petrified in an instant. Above all, Medusa held the
ruthlessness of the sea in her power. Those captains who had cruel
hearts abandoned their enemies to the waters and she crushed them with
her billows.
So it seemed to Perseus that his first adventure on coming to manhood
must be the conquest of Medusa, the snaky haired Gorgon, and the gods
approved of his decision and met in counsel on Mount Olympus to decide
how they should help the young hero.
"I will lend Perseus my shield for his adventure," Minerva, the wisest
goddess of them all, said.
"And I will lend Perseus my winged shoes," Mercury, the god of speed,
decided, "to help him hasten on his brave errand."
Even Pluto, the king of the dark regions beneath the earth, heard of
Perseus' determination and sent him his magic helmet by means of which
any one was able to become invisible.
Perseus was well equipped when he started out. He wore Pluto's helmet
and Mercury's shoes, and travelled to the lonely cave of the Gorgon
without being seen and as fast as a dart of fire sent by Jupiter.
Medusa paced the halls of her cave endlessly, moaning and crying in her
despair, for she was never able to escape those crawling, slimy snakes
which covered her head and body. Perseus waited until she was so weary
that she sank down on the stones of the cave and slept. Then, taking
care not to look at her hideous face but only following her image that
was reflected in his shield, Perseus cut off Medusa's head and carried
it away in triumph.
Then the people who travelled the sea in ships were saved from her
cruelty, and her power for evil was changed in Perseus' hands to a
power for good. Carrying the head of Medusa high, the hero flew in the
winged shoes far and wide over land and sea until he came at last to the
western limit of the earth where the sun goes down.