PART I

Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email

ccx074@pglaf.org

THE HEROES,

OR

GREEK FAIRY TALES

FOR MY CHILDREN

* * * * *

BY

CHARLES KINGSLEY

* * * * *

_ILLUSTRATED_

* * * * *

LONDON:

MACMILLAN AND CO.

AND NEW YORK

1889

_The right of translation if reserved_

* * * * *

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.

* * * * *

TO

MY CHILDREN

ROSE, MAURICE, AND MARY

A LITTLE PRESENT

OF OLD GREEK FAIRY TALES

PREFACE

MY DEAR CHILDREN,

Some of you have heard already of the old Greeks; and all of you, as you

grow up, will hear more and more of them. Those of you who are boys

will, perhaps, spend a great deal of time in reading Greek books; and the

girls, though they may not learn Greek, will be sure to come across a

great many stories taken from Greek history, and to see, I may say every

day, things which we should not have had if it had not been for these old

Greeks. You can hardly find a well-written book which has not in it

Greek names, and words, and proverbs; you cannot walk through a great

town without passing Greek buildings; you cannot go into a well-furnished

room without seeing Greek statues and ornaments, even Greek patterns of

furniture and paper; so strangely have these old Greeks left their mark

behind them upon this modern world in which we now live. And as you grow

up, and read more and more, you will find that we owe to these old Greeks

the beginners of all our mathematics and geometry—that is, the science

and knowledge of numbers, and of the shapes of things, and of the forces

which make things move and stand at rest; and the beginnings of our

geography and astronomy; and of our laws, and freedom, and politics—that

is, the science of how to rule a country, and make it peaceful and

strong. And we owe to them, too, the beginning of our logic—that is, the

study of words and of reasoning; and of our metaphysics—that is, the

study of our own thoughts and souls. And last of all, they made their

language so beautiful that foreigners used to take to it instead of their

own; and at last Greek became the common language of educated people all

over the old world, from Persia and Egypt even to Spain and Britain. And

therefore it was that the New Testament was written in Greek, that it

might be read and understood by all the nations of the Roman empire; so

that, next to the Jews, and the Bible which the Jews handed down to us,

we owe more to these old Greeks than to any people upon earth.

Now you must remember one thing—that ‘Greeks’ was not their real name.

They called themselves always ‘Hellens,’ but the Romans miscalled them

Greeks; and we have taken that wrong name from the Romans—it would take a

long time to tell you why. They were made up of many tribes and many

small separate states; and when you hear in this book of Minuai, and

Athenians, and other such names, you must remember that they were all

different tribes and peoples of the one great Hellen race, who lived in

what we now call Greece, in the islands of the Archipelago, and along the

coast of Asia Minor (Ionia, as they call it), from the Hellespont to

Rhodes, and had afterwards colonies and cities in Sicily, and South Italy

(which was called Great Greece), and along the shores of the Black Sea at

Sinope, and Kertch, and at Sevastopol. And after that, again, they

spread under Alexander the Great, and conquered Egypt, and Syria, and

Persia, and the whole East. But that was many hundred years after my

stories; for then there were no Greeks on the Black Sea shores, nor in

Sicily, or Italy, or anywhere but in Greece and in Ionia. And if you are

puzzled by the names of places in this book, you must take the maps and

find them out. It will be a pleasanter way of learning geography than

out of a dull lesson-book.

Now, I love these old Hellens heartily; and I should be very ungrateful

to them if I did not, considering all that they have taught me; and they

seem to me like brothers, though they have all been dead and gone many

hundred years ago. So as you must learn about them, whether you choose

or not, I wish to be the first to introduce you to them, and to say,

‘Come hither, children, at this blessed Christmas time, when all God’s

creatures should rejoice together, and bless Him who redeemed them all.

Come and see old friends of mine, whom I knew long ere you were born.

They are come to visit us at Christmas, out of the world where all live

to God; and to tell you some of their old fairy tales, which they loved

when they were young like you.’

For nations begin at first by being children like you, though they are

made up of grown men. They are children at first like you—men and women

with children’s hearts; frank, and affectionate, and full of trust, and

teachable, and loving to see and learn all the wonders round them; and

greedy also, too often, and passionate and silly, as children are.

Thus these old Greeks were teachable, and learnt from all the nations

round. From the Phoenicians they learnt shipbuilding, and some say

letters beside; and from the Assyrians they learnt painting, and carving,

and building in wood and stone; and from the Egyptians they learnt

astronomy, and many things which you would not understand. In this they

were like our own forefathers the Northmen, of whom you love to hear,

who, though they were wild and rough themselves, were humble, and glad to

learn from every one. Therefore God rewarded these Greeks, as He

rewarded our forefathers, and made them wiser than the people who taught

them in everything they learnt; for He loves to see men and children

open-hearted, and willing to be taught; and to him who uses what he has

got, He gives more and more day by day. So these Greeks grew wise and

powerful, and wrote poems which will live till the world’s end, which you

must read for yourselves some day, in English at least, if not in Greek.

And they learnt to carve statues, and build temples, which are still

among the wonders of the world; and many another wondrous thing God

taught them, for which we are the wiser this day.

For you must not fancy, children, that because these old Greeks were

heathens, therefore God did not care for them, and taught them nothing.

The Bible tells us that it was not so, but that God’s mercy is over all

His works, and that He understands the hearts of all people, and fashions

all their works. And St. Paul told these old Greeks in after times, when

they had grown wicked and fallen low, that they ought to have known

better, because they were God’s offspring, as their own poets had said;

and that the good God had put them where they were, to seek the Lord, and

feel after Him, and find Him, though He was not far from any one of them.

And Clement of Alexandria, a great Father of the Church, who was as wise

as he was good, said that God had sent down Philosophy to the Greeks from

heaven, as He sent down the Gospel to the Jews.

For Jesus Christ, remember, is the Light who lights every man who comes

into the world. And no one can think a right thought, or feel a right

feeling, or understand the real truth of anything in earth and heaven,

unless the good Lord Jesus teaches him by His Spirit, which gives man

understanding.

But these Greeks, as St. Paul told them, forgot what God had taught them,

and, though they were God’s offspring, worshipped idols of wood and

stone, and fell at last into sin and shame, and then, of course, into

cowardice and slavery, till they perished out of that beautiful land

which God had given them for so many years.

For, like all nations who have left anything behind them, beside mere

mounds of earth, they believed at first in the One True God who made all

heaven and earth. But after a while, like all other nations, they began

to worship other gods, or rather angels and spirits, who (so they

fancied) lived about their land. Zeus, the Father of gods and men (who

was some dim remembrance of the blessed true God), and Hera his wife, and

Phoebus Apollo the Sun-god, and Pallas Athené who taught men wisdom and

useful arts, and Aphrodite the Queen of Beauty, and Poseidon the Ruler of

the Sea, and Hephaistos the King of the Fire, who taught men to work in

metals. And they honoured the Gods of the Rivers, and the Nymph-maids,

who they fancied lived in the caves, and the fountains, and the glens of

the forest, and all beautiful wild places. And they honoured the

Erinnues, the dreadful sisters, who, they thought, haunted guilty men

until their sins were purged away. And many other dreams they had, which

parted the One God into many; and they said, too, that these gods did

things which would be a shame and sin for any man to do. And when their

philosophers arose, and told them that God was One, they would not

listen, but loved their idols, and their wicked idol feasts, till they

all came to ruin. But we will talk of such sad things no more.

But, at the time of which this little book speaks, they had not fallen as

low as that. They worshipped no idols, as far as I can find; and they

still believed in the last six of the ten commandments, and knew well

what was right and what was wrong. And they believed (and that was what

gave them courage) that the gods loved men, and taught them, and that

without the gods men were sure to come to ruin. And in that they were

right enough, as we know—more right even than they thought; for without

God we can do nothing, and all wisdom comes from Him.

Now, you must not think of them in this book as learned men, living in

great cities, such as they were afterwards, when they wrought all their

beautiful works, but as country people, living in farms and walled

villages, in a simple, hard-working way; so that the greatest kings and

heroes cooked their own meals, and thought it no shame, and made their

own ships and weapons, and fed and harnessed their own horses; and the

queens worked with their maid-servants, and did all the business of the

house, and spun, and wove, and embroidered, and made their husbands’

clothes and their own. So that a man was honoured among them, not

because he happened to be rich, but according to his skill, and his

strength, and courage, and the number of things which he could do. For

they were but grown-up children, though they were right noble children

too; and it was with them as it is now at school—the strongest and

cleverest boy, though he be poor, leads all the rest.

Now, while they were young and simple they loved fairy tales, as you do

now. All nations do so when they are young: our old forefathers did, and

called their stories ‘Sagas.’ I will read you some of them some day—some

of the Eddas, and the Voluspà, and Beowulf, and the noble old Romances.

The old Arabs, again, had their tales, which we now call the ‘Arabian

Nights.’ The old Romans had theirs, and they called them ‘Fabulæ,’ from

which our word ‘fable’ comes; but the old Hellens called theirs ‘Muthoi,’

from which our new word ‘myth’ is taken. But next to those old Romances,

which were written in the Christian middle age, there are no fairy tales

like these old Greek ones, for beauty, and wisdom, and truth, and for

making children love noble deeds, and trust in God to help them through.

Now, why have I called this book ‘The Heroes’? Because that was the name

which the Hellens gave to men who were brave and skilful, and dare do

more than other men. At first, I think, that was all it meant: but after

a time it came to mean something more; it came to mean men who helped

their country; men in those old times, when the country was half-wild,

who killed fierce beasts and evil men, and drained swamps, and founded

towns, and therefore after they were dead, were honoured, because they

had left their country better than they found it. And we call such a man

a hero in English to this day, and call it a ‘heroic’ thing to suffer

pain and grief, that we may do good to our fellow-men. We may all do

that, my children, boys and girls alike; and we ought to do it, for it is

easier now than ever, and safer, and the path more clear. But you shall

hear how the Hellens said their heroes worked, three thousand years ago.

The stories are not all true, of course, nor half of them; you are not

simple enough to fancy that; but the meaning of them is true, and true

for ever, and that is—Do right, and God will help you.’

FARLEY COURT,

_Advent_, 1855.

CONTENTS

STORY I.—PERSEUS

PAGE

PART I. HOW PERSEUS AND HIS MOTHER CAME TO SERIPHOS 1

II. HOW PERSEUS VOWED A RASH VOW 8

III. HOW PERSEUS SLEW THE GORGON 23

IV. HOW PERSEUS CAME TO THE ÆTHIOPS 36

V. HOW PERSEUS CAME HOME AGAIN 53

STORY II.—THE ARGONAUTS

PART I. HOW THE CENTAUR TRAINED THE HEROES ON PELION 60

II. HOW JASON LOST HIS SANDAL IN ANAUROS 73

III. HOW THEY BUILT THE SHIP ‘ARGO’ IN IOLCOS 87

III. HOW THE ARGONAUTS SAILED TO COLCHIS 93

IV. HOW THE ARGONAUTS WERE DRIVEN INTO THE 127

UNKNOWN SEA

V. WHAT WAS THE END OF THE HEROES 161

STORY III.—THESEUS

PART I. HOW THESEUS LIFTED THE STONE 165

II. HOW THESEUS SLEW THE DEVOURERS OF MEN 172

III. HOW THESEUS SLEW THE MINOTAUR 206

IV. HOW THESEUS FELL BY HIS PRIDE 214

* * * * *

[I owe an apology to the few scholars who may happen to read this hasty

_jeu d’esprit_, for the inconsistent method in which I have spelt Greek

names. The rule which I have tried to follow has been this: when the

word has been hopelessly Latinised, as ‘Phœbus’ has been, I have left it

as it usually stands; but in other cases I have tried to keep the plain

Greek spelling, except when it would have seemed pedantic, or when, as in

the word ‘Tiphus,’ I should have given an altogether wrong notion of the

sound of the word. It has been a choice of difficulties, which has been

forced on me by our strange habit of introducing boys to the Greek myths,

not in their original shape, but in a Roman disguise.]

STORY I.—PERSEUS

PART I

HOW PERSEUS AND HIS MOTHER CAME TO SERIPHOS

Once upon a time there were two princes who were twins. Their names were

Acrisius and Prœtus, and they lived in the pleasant vale of Argos, far

away in Hellas. They had fruitful meadows and vineyards, sheep and oxen,

great herds of horses feeding down in Lerna Fen, and all that men could

need to make them blest: and yet they were wretched, because they were

jealous of each other. From the moment they were born they began to

quarrel; and when they grew up each tried to take away the other’s share

of the kingdom, and keep all for himself. So first Acrisius drove out

Prœtus; and he went across the seas, and brought home a foreign princess

for his wife, and foreign warriors to help him, who were called Cyclopes;

and drove out Acrisius in his turn; and then they fought a long while up

and down the land, till the quarrel was settled, and Acrisius took Argos

and one half the land, and Prœtus took Tiryns and the other half. And

Prœtus and his Cyclopes built around Tiryns great walls of unhewn stone,

which are standing to this day.

But there came a prophet to that hard-hearted Acrisius and prophesied

against him, and said, ‘Because you have risen up against your own blood,

your own blood shall rise up against you; because you have sinned against

your kindred, by your kindred you shall be punished. Your daughter Danae

shall bear a son, and by that son’s hands you shall die. So the Gods

have ordained, and it will surely come to pass.’

And at that Acrisius was very much afraid; but he did not mend his ways.

He had been cruel to his own family, and, instead of repenting and being

kind to them, he went on to be more cruel than ever: for he shut up his

fair daughter Danae in a cavern underground, lined with brass, that no

one might come near her. So he fancied himself more cunning than the

Gods: but you will see presently whether he was able to escape them.

Now it came to pass that in time Danae bore a son; so beautiful a babe

that any but King Acrisius would have had pity on it. But he had no

pity; for he took Danae and her babe down to the seashore, and put them

into a great chest and thrust them out to sea, for the winds and the

waves to carry them whithersoever they would.

The north-west wind blew freshly out of the blue mountains, and down the

pleasant vale of Argos, and away and out to sea. And away and out to sea

before it floated the mother and her babe, while all who watched them

wept, save that cruel father, King Acrisius.

So they floated on and on, and the chest danced up and down upon the

billows, and the baby slept upon its mother’s breast: but the poor mother

could not sleep, but watched and wept, and she sang to her baby as they

floated; and the song which she sang you shall learn yourselves some day.

And now they are past the last blue headland, and in the open sea; and

there is nothing round them but the waves, and the sky, and the wind.

But the waves are gentle, and the sky is clear, and the breeze is tender

and low; for these are the days when Halcyone and Ceyx build their nests,

and no storms ever ruffle the pleasant summer sea.

[Picture: Danae and her babe]

And who were Halcyone and Ceyx? You shall hear while the chest floats

on. Halcyone was a fairy maiden, the daughter of the beach and of the

wind. And she loved a sailor-boy, and married him; and none on earth

were so happy as they. But at last Ceyx was wrecked; and before he could

swim to the shore the billows swallowed him up. And Halcyone saw him

drowning, and leapt into the sea to him; but in vain. Then the Immortals

took pity on them both, and changed them into two fair sea-birds; and now

they build a floating nest every year, and sail up and down happily for

ever upon the pleasant seas of Greece.

So a night passed, and a day, and a long day it was for Danae; and

another night and day beside, till Danae was faint with hunger and

weeping, and yet no land appeared. And all the while the babe slept

quietly; and at last poor Danae drooped her head and fell asleep likewise

with her cheek against the babe’s.

After a while she was awakened suddenly; for the chest was jarring and

grinding, and the air was full of sound. She looked up, and over her

head were mighty cliffs, all red in the setting sun, and around her rocks

and breakers, and flying flakes of foam. She clasped her hands together,

and shrieked aloud for help. And when she cried, help met her: for now

there came over the rocks a tall and stately man, and looked down

wondering upon poor Danae tossing about in the chest among the waves.

He wore a rough cloak of frieze, and on his head a broad hat to shade his

face; in his hand he carried a trident for spearing fish, and over his

shoulder was a casting-net; but Danae could see that he was no common man

by his stature, and his walk, and his flowing golden hair and beard; and

by the two servants who came behind him, carrying baskets for his fish.

But she had hardly time to look at him, before he had laid aside his

trident and leapt down the rocks, and thrown his casting-net so surely

over Danae and the chest, that he drew it, and her, and the baby, safe

upon a ledge of rock.

Then the fisherman took Danae by the hand, and lifted her out of the

chest, and said—

‘O beautiful damsel, what strange chance has brought you to this island

in so flail a ship? Who are you, and whence? Surely you are some king’s

daughter; and this boy has somewhat more than mortal.’

And as he spoke he pointed to the babe; for its face shone like the

morning star.

But Danae only held down her head, and sobbed out—

‘Tell me to what land I have come, unhappy that I am; and among what men

I have fallen!’

And he said, ‘This isle is called Seriphos, and I am a Hellen, and dwell

in it. I am the brother of Polydectes the king; and men call me Dictys

the netter, because I catch the fish of the shore.’

Then Danae fell down at his feet, and embraced his knees, and cried—

‘Oh, sir, have pity upon a stranger, whom a cruel doom has driven to your

land; and let me live in your house as a servant; but treat me

honourably, for I was once a king’s daughter, and this my boy (as you

have truly said) is of no common race. I will not be a charge to you, or

eat the bread of idleness; for I am more skilful in weaving and

embroidery than all the maidens of my land.’

And she was going on; but Dictys stopped her, and raised her up, and

said—

‘My daughter, I am old, and my hairs are growing gray; while I have no

children to make my home cheerful. Come with me then, and you shall be a

daughter to me and to my wife, and this babe shall be our grandchild.

For I fear the Gods, and show hospitality to all strangers; knowing that

good deeds, like evil ones, always return to those who do them.’

So Danae was comforted, and went home with Dictys the good fisherman, and

was a daughter to him and to his wife, till fifteen years were past.

PART II

HOW PERSEUS VOWED A RASH VOW

Fifteen years were past and gone, and the babe was now grown to be a tall

lad and a sailor, and went many voyages after merchandise to the islands

round. His mother called him Perseus; but all the people in Seriphos

said that he was not the son of mortal man, and called him the son of

Zeus, the king of the Immortals. For though he was but fifteen, he was

taller by a head than any man in the island; and he was the most skilful

of all in running and wrestling and boxing, and in throwing the quoit and

the javelin, and in rowing with the oar, and in playing on the harp, and

in all which befits a man. And he was brave and truthful, gentle and

courteous, for good old Dictys had trained him well; and well it was for

Perseus that he had done so. For now Danae and her son fell into great

danger, and Perseus had need of all his wit to defend his mother and

himself.

I said that Dictys’ brother was Polydectes, king of the island. He was

not a righteous man, like Dictys; but greedy, and cunning, and cruel.

And when he saw fair Danae, he wanted to marry her. But she would not;

for she did not love him, and cared for no one but her boy, and her boy’s

father, whom she never hoped to see again. At last Polydectes became

furious; and while Perseus was away at sea he took poor Danae away from

Dictys, saying, ‘If you will not be my wife, you shall be my slave.’ So

Danae was made a slave, and had to fetch water from the well, and grind

in the mill, and perhaps was beaten, and wore a heavy chain, because she

would not marry that cruel king. But Perseus was far away over the seas

in the isle of Samos, little thinking how his mother was languishing in

grief.

Now one day at Samos, while the ship was lading, Perseus wandered into a

pleasant wood to get out of the sun, and sat down on the turf and fell

asleep. And as he slept a strange dream came to him—the strangest dream

which he had ever had in his life.

There came a lady to him through the wood, taller than he, or any mortal

man; but beautiful exceedingly, with great gray eyes, clear and piercing,

but strangely soft and mild. On her head was a helmet, and in her hand a

spear. And over her shoulder, above her long blue robes, hung a

goat-skin, which bore up a mighty shield of brass, polished like a

mirror. She stood and looked at him with her clear gray eyes; and

Perseus saw that her eye-lids never moved, nor her eyeballs, but looked

straight through and through him, and into his very heart, as if she

could see all the secrets of his soul, and knew all that he had ever

thought or longed for since the day that he was born. And Perseus

dropped his eyes, trembling and blushing, as the wonderful lady spoke.

‘Perseus, you must do an errand for me.’

‘Who are you, lady? And how do you know my name?’

‘I am Pallas Athené; and I know the thoughts of all men’s hearts, and

discern their manhood or their baseness. And from the souls of clay I

turn away, and they are blest, but not by me. They fatten at ease, like

sheep in the pasture, and eat what they did not sow, like oxen in the

stall. They grow and spread, like the gourd along the ground; but, like

the gourd, they give no shade to the traveller, and when they are ripe

death gathers them, and they go down unloved into hell, and their name

vanishes out of the land.

‘But to the souls of fire I give more fire, and to those who are manful I

give a might more than man’s. These are the heroes, the sons of the

Immortals, who are blest, but not like the souls of clay. For I drive

them forth by strange paths, Perseus, that they may fight the Titans and

the monsters, the enemies of Gods and men. Through doubt and need,

danger and battle, I drive them; and some of them are slain in the flower

of youth, no man knows when or where; and some of them win noble names,

and a fair and green old age; but what will be their latter end I know

not, and none, save Zeus, the father of Gods and men. Tell me now,

Perseus, which of these two sorts of men seem to you more blest?’

Then Perseus answered boldly: ‘Better to die in the flower of youth, on

the chance of winning a noble name, than to live at ease like the sheep,

and die unloved and unrenowned.’

Then that strange lady laughed, and held up her brazen shield, and cried:

‘See here, Perseus; dare you face such a monster as this, and slay it,

that I may place its head upon this shield?’

And in the mirror of the shield there appeared a face, and as Perseus

looked on it his blood ran cold. It was the face of a beautiful woman;

but her cheeks were pale as death, and her brows were knit with

everlasting pain, and her lips were thin and bitter like a snake’s; and

instead of hair, vipers wreathed about her temples, and shot out their

forked tongues; while round her head were folded wings like an eagle’s,

and upon her bosom claws of brass.

And Perseus looked awhile, and then said: ‘If there is anything so fierce

and foul on earth, it were a noble deed to kill it. Where can I find the

monster?’

Then the strange lady smiled again, and said: ‘Not yet; you are too

young, and too unskilled; for this is Medusa the Gorgon, the mother of a

monstrous brood. Return to your home, and do the work which waits there

for you. You must play the man in that before I can think you worthy to

go in search of the Gorgon.’

Then Perseus would have spoken, but the strange lady vanished, and he

awoke; and behold, it was a dream. But day and night Perseus saw before

him the face of that dreadful woman, with the vipers writhing round her

head.

So he returned home; and when he came to Seriphos, the first thing which

he heard was that his mother was a slave in the house of Polydectes.

Grinding his teeth with rage, he went out, and away to the king’s palace,

and through the men’s rooms, and the women’s rooms, and so through all

the house (for no one dared stop him, so terrible and fair was he), till

he found his mother sitting on the floor, turning the stone hand-mill,

and weeping as she turned it. And he lifted her up, and kissed her, and

bade her follow him forth. But before they could pass out of the room

Polydectes came in, raging. And when Perseus saw him, he flew upon him

as the mastiff flies on the boar. ‘Villain and tyrant!’ he cried; ‘is

this your respect for the Gods, and thy mercy to strangers and widows?

You shall die!’ And because he had no sword he caught up the stone

hand-mill, and lifted it to dash out Polydectes’ brains.

But his mother clung to him, shrieking, ‘Oh, my son, we are strangers and

helpless in the land; and if you kill the king, all the people will fall

on us, and we shall both die.’

Good Dictys, too, who had come in, entreated him. ‘Remember that he is

my brother. Remember how I have brought you up, and trained you as my

own son, and spare him for my sake.’

Then Perseus lowered his hand; and Polydectes, who had been trembling all

this while like a coward, because he knew that he was in the wrong, let

Perseus and his mother pass.

Perseus took his mother to the temple of Athené, and there the priestess

made her one of the temple-sweepers; for there they knew she would be

safe, and not even Polydectes would dare to drag her away from the altar.

And there Perseus, and the good Dictys, and his wife, came to visit her

every day; while Polydectes, not being able to get what he wanted by

force, cast about in his wicked heart how he might get it by cunning.

Now he was sure that he could never get back Danae as long as Perseus was

in the island; so he made a plot to rid himself of him. And first he

pretended to have forgiven Perseus, and to have forgotten Danae; so that,

for a while, all went as smoothly as ever.

Next he proclaimed a great feast, and invited to it all the chiefs, and

landowners, and the young men of the island, and among them Perseus, that

they might all do him homage as their king, and eat of his banquet in his

hall.

On the appointed day they all came; and as the custom was then, each

guest brought his present with him to the king: one a horse, another a

shawl, or a ring, or a sword; and those who had nothing better brought a

basket of grapes, or of game; but Perseus brought nothing, for he had

nothing to bring, being but a poor sailor-lad.

He was ashamed, however, to go into the king’s presence without his gift;

and he was too proud to ask Dictys to lend him one. So he stood at the

door sorrowfully, watching the rich men go in; and his face grew very red

as they pointed at him, and smiled, and whispered, ‘What has that

foundling to give?’

Now this was what Polydectes wanted; and as soon as he heard that Perseus

stood without, he bade them bring him in, and asked him scornfully before

them all, ‘Am I not your king, Perseus, and have I not invited you to my

feast? Where is your present, then?’

Perseus blushed and stammered, while all the proud men round laughed, and

some of them began jeering him openly. ‘This fellow was thrown ashore

here like a piece of weed or drift-wood, and yet he is too proud to bring

a gift to the king.’

‘And though he does not know who his father is, he is vain enough to let

the old women call him the son of Zeus.’

And so forth, till poor Perseus grew mad with shame, and hardly knowing

what he said, cried out,—‘A present! who are you who talk of presents?

See if I do not bring a nobler one than all of yours together!’

So he said boasting; and yet he felt in his heart that he was braver than

all those scoffers, and more able to do some glorious deed.

‘Hear him! Hear the boaster! What is it to be?’ cried they all,

laughing louder than ever.

Then his dream at Samos came into his mind, and he cried aloud, ‘The head

of the Gorgon.’

He was half afraid after he had said the words for all laughed louder

than ever, and Polydectes loudest of all.

‘You have promised to bring me the Gorgon’s head? Then never appear

again in this island without it. Go!’

Perseus ground his teeth with rage, for he saw that he had fallen into a

trap; but his promise lay upon him, and he went out without a word.

Down to the cliffs he went, and looked across the broad blue sea; and he

wondered if his dream were true, and prayed in the bitterness of his

soul.

‘Pallas Athené, was my dream true? and shall I slay the Gorgon? If thou

didst really show me her face, let me not come to shame as a liar and

boastful. Rashly and angrily I promised; but cunningly and patiently

will I perform.’

But there was no answer, nor sign; neither thunder nor any appearance;

not even a cloud in the sky.

And three times Perseus called weeping, ‘Rashly and angrily I promised;

but cunningly and patiently will I perform.’

Then he saw afar off above the sea a small white cloud, as bright as

silver. And it came on, nearer and nearer, till its brightness dazzled

his eyes.

Perseus wondered at that strange cloud, for there was no other cloud all

round the sky; and he trembled as it touched the cliff below. And as it

touched, it broke, and parted, and within it appeared Pallas Athené, as

he had seen her at Samos in his dream, and beside her a young man more

light-limbed than the stag, whose eyes were like sparks of fire. By his

side was a scimitar of diamond, all of one clear precious stone, and on

his feet were golden sandals, from the heels of which grew living wings.

They looked upon Perseus keenly, and yet they never moved their eyes; and

they came up the cliffs towards him more swiftly than the sea-gull, and

yet they never moved their feet, nor did the breeze stir the robes about

their limbs; only the wings of the youth’s sandals quivered, like a

hawk’s when he hangs above the cliff. And Perseus fell down and

worshipped, for he knew that they were more than man.

But Athené stood before him and spoke gently, and bid him have no fear.

Then—

‘Perseus,’ she said, ‘he who overcomes in one trial merits thereby a

sharper trial still. You have braved Polydectes, and done manfully.

Dare you brave Medusa the Gorgon?’

And Perseus said, ‘Try me; for since you spoke to me in Samos a new soul

has come into my breast, and I should be ashamed not to dare anything

which I can do. Show me, then, how I can do this!’

‘Perseus,’ said Athené, ‘think well before you attempt; for this deed

requires a seven years’ journey, in which you cannot repent or turn back

nor escape; but if your heart fails you, you must die in the Unshapen

Land, where no man will ever find your bones.’

‘Better so than live here, useless and despised,’ said Perseus. ‘Tell

me, then, oh tell me, fair and wise Goddess, of your great kindness and

condescension, how I can do but this one thing, and then, if need be,

die!’

Then Athené smiled and said—

‘Be patient, and listen; for if you forget my words, you will indeed die.

You must go northward to the country of the Hyperboreans, who live beyond

the pole, at the sources of the cold north wind, till you find the three

Gray Sisters, who have but one eye and one tooth between them. You must

ask them the way to the Nymphs, the daughters of the Evening Star, who

dance about the golden tree, in the Atlantic island of the west. They

will tell you the way to the Gorgon, that you may slay her, my enemy, the

mother of monstrous beasts. Once she was a maiden as beautiful as morn,

till in her pride she sinned a sin at which the sun hid his face; and

from that day her hair was turned to vipers, and her hands to eagle’s

claws; and her heart was filled with shame and rage, and her lips with

bitter venom; and her eyes became so terrible that whosoever looks on

them is turned to stone; and her children are the winged horse and the

giant of the golden sword; and her grandchildren are Echidna the

witch-adder, and Geryon the three-headed tyrant, who feeds his herds

beside the herds of hell. So she became the sister of the Gorgons,

Stheino and Euryte the abhorred, the daughters of the Queen of the Sea.

Touch them not, for they are immortal; but bring me only Medusa’s head.’

‘And I will bring it!’ said Perseus; ‘but how am I to escape her eyes?

Will she not freeze me too into stone?’

‘You shall take this polished shield,’ said Athené, ‘and when you come

near her look not at her herself, but at her image in the brass; so you

may strike her safely. And when you have struck off her head, wrap it,

with your face turned away, in the folds of the goat-skin on which the

shield hangs, the hide of Amaltheié, the nurse of the Ægis-holder. So

you will bring it safely back to me, and win to yourself renown, and a

place among the heroes who feast with the Immortals upon the peak where

no winds blow.’

Then Perseus said, ‘I will go, though I die in going. But how shall I

cross the seas without a ship? And who will show me my way? And when I

find her, how shall I slay her, if her scales be iron and brass?’

Then the young man spoke: ‘These sandals of mine will bear you across the

seas, and over hill and dale like a bird, as they bear me all day long;

for I am Hermes, the far-famed Argus-slayer, the messenger of the

Immortals who dwell on Olympus.’

Then Perseus fell down and worshipped, while the young man spoke again:

‘The sandals themselves will guide you on the road, for they are divine

and cannot stray; and this sword itself, the Argus-slayer, will kill her,

for it is divine, and needs no second stroke. Arise, and gird them on,

and go forth.’

So Perseus arose, and girded on the sandals and the sword.

And Athené cried, ‘Now leap from the cliff and be gone.’

But Perseus lingered.

‘May I not bid farewell to my mother and to Dictys? And may I not offer

burnt-offerings to you, and to Hermes the far-famed Argus-slayer, and to

Father Zeus above?’

‘You shall not bid farewell to your mother, lest your heart relent at her

weeping. I will comfort her and Dictys until you return in peace. Nor

shall you offer burnt-offerings to the Olympians; for your offering shall

be Medusa’s head. Leap, and trust in the armour of the Immortals.’

Then Perseus looked down the cliff and shuddered; but he was ashamed to

show his dread. Then he thought of Medusa and the renown before him, and

he leaped into the empty air.

And behold, instead of falling he floated, and stood, and ran along the

sky. He looked back, but Athené had vanished, and Hermes; and the

sandals led him on northward ever, like a crane who follows the spring

toward the Ister fens.

PART III

HOW PERSEUS SLEW THE GORGON

So Perseus started on his journey, going dry-shod over land and sea; and

his heart was high and joyful, for the winged sandals bore him each day a

seven days’ journey.

And he went by Cythnus, and by Ceos, and the pleasant Cyclades to Attica;

and past Athens and Thebes, and the Copaic lake, and up the vale of

Cephissus, and past the peaks of Œta and Pindus, and over the rich

Thessalian plains, till the sunny hills of Greece were behind him, and

before him were the wilds of the north. Then he passed the Thracian

mountains, and many a barbarous tribe, Pæons and Dardans and Triballi,

till he came to the Ister stream, and the dreary Scythian plains. And he

walked across the Ister dry-shod, and away through the moors and fens,

day and night toward the bleak north-west, turning neither to the right

hand nor the left, till he came to the Unshapen Land, and the place which

has no name.

And seven days he walked through it, on a path which few can tell; for

those who have trodden it like least to speak of it, and those who go

there again in dreams are glad enough when they awake; till he came to

the edge of the everlasting night, where the air was full of feathers,

and the soil was hard with ice; and there at last he found the three Gray

Sisters, by the shore of the freezing sea, nodding upon a white log of

drift-wood, beneath the cold white winter moon; and they chaunted a low

song together, ‘Why the old times were better than the new.’

There was no living thing around them, not a fly, not a moss upon the

rocks. Neither seal nor sea-gull dare come near, lest the ice should

clutch them in its claws. The surge broke up in foam, but it fell again

in flakes of snow; and it frosted the hair of the three Gray Sisters, and

the bones in the ice-cliff above their heads. They passed the eye from

one to the other, but for all that they could not see; and they passed

the tooth from one to the other, but for all that they could not eat; and

they sat in the full glare of the moon, but they were none the warmer for

her beams. And Perseus pitied the three Gray Sisters; but they did not

pity themselves.

So he said, ‘Oh, venerable mothers, wisdom is the daughter of old age.

You therefore should know many things. Tell me, if you can, the path to

the Gorgon.’

Then one cried, ‘Who is this who reproaches us with old age?’ And

another, ‘This is the voice of one of the children of men.’

And he, ‘I do not reproach, but honour your old age, and I am one of the

sons of men and of the heroes. The rulers of Olympus have sent me to you

to ask the way to the Gorgon.’

Then one, ‘There are new rulers in Olympus, and all new things are bad.’

And another, ‘We hate your rulers, and the heroes, and all the children

of men. We are the kindred of the Titans, and the Giants, and the

Gorgons, and the ancient monsters of the deep.’ And another, ‘Who is

this rash and insolent man who pushes unbidden into our world?’ And the

first, ‘There never was such a world as ours, nor will be; if we let him

see it, he will spoil it all.’

Then one cried, ‘Give me the eye, that I may see him;’ and another, ‘Give

me the tooth, that I may bite him.’ But Perseus, when he saw that they

were foolish and proud, and did not love the children of men, left off

pitying them, and said to himself, ‘Hungry men must needs be hasty; if I

stay making many words here, I shall be starved.’ Then he stepped close

to them, and watched till they passed the eye from hand to hand. And as

they groped about between themselves, he held out his own hand gently,

till one of them put the eye into it, fancying that it was the hand of

her sister. Then he sprang back, and laughed, and cried—

‘Cruel and proud old women, I have your eye; and I will throw it into the

sea, unless you tell me the path to the Gorgon, and swear to me that you

tell me right.’

Then they wept, and chattered, and scolded; but in vain. They were

forced to tell the truth, though, when they told it, Perseus could hardly

make out the road.

‘You must go,’ they said, ‘foolish boy, to the southward, into the ugly

glare of the sun, till you come to Atlas the Giant, who holds the heaven

and the earth apart. And you must ask his daughters, the Hesperides, who

are young and foolish like yourself. And now give us back our eye, for

we have forgotten all the rest.’

So Perseus gave them back their eye; but instead of using it, they nodded

and fell fast asleep, and were turned into blocks of ice, till the tide

came up and washed them all away. And now they float up and down like

icebergs for ever, weeping whenever they meet the sunshine, and the

fruitful summer and the warm south wind, which fill young hearts with

joy.

But Perseus leaped away to the southward, leaving the snow and the ice

behind: past the isle of the Hyperboreans, and the tin isles, and the

long Iberian shore, while the sun rose higher day by day upon a bright

blue summer sea. And the terns and the sea-gulls swept laughing round

his head, and called to him to stop and play, and the dolphins gambolled

up as he passed, and offered to carry him on their backs. And all night

long the sea-nymphs sang sweetly, and the Tritons blew upon their conchs,

as they played round Galatæa their queen, in her car of pearled shells.

Day by day the sun rose higher, and leaped more swiftly into the sea at

night, and more swiftly out of the sea at dawn; while Perseus skimmed

over the billows like a sea-gull, and his feet were never wetted; and

leapt on from wave to wave, and his limbs were never weary, till he saw

far away a mighty mountain, all rose-red in the setting sun. Its feet

were wrapped in forests, and its head in wreaths of cloud; and Perseus

knew that it was Atlas, who holds the heavens and the earth apart.

He came to the mountain, and leapt on shore, and wandered upward, among

pleasant valleys and waterfalls, and tall trees and strange ferns and

flowers; but there was no smoke rising from any glen, nor house, nor sign

of man.

At last he heard sweet voices singing; and he guessed that he was come to

the garden of the Nymphs, the daughters of the Evening Star.

They sang like nightingales among the thickets, and Perseus stopped to

hear their song; but the words which they spoke he could not understand;

no, nor no man after him for many a hundred years. So he stepped forward

and saw them dancing, hand in hand around the charmed tree, which bent

under its golden fruit; and round the tree-foot was coiled the dragon,

old Ladon the sleepless snake, who lies there for ever, listening to the

song of the maidens, blinking and watching with dry bright eyes.

Then Perseus stopped, not because he feared the dragon, but because he

was bashful before those fair maids; but when they saw him, they too

stopped, and called to him with trembling voices—

‘Who are you? Are you Heracles the mighty, who will come to rob our

garden, and carry off our golden fruit?’ And he answered—

‘I am not Heracles the mighty, and I want none of your golden fruit.

Tell me, fair Nymphs, the way which leads to the Gorgon, that I may go on

my way and slay her.’

‘Not yet, not yet, fair boy; come dance with us around the tree in the

garden which knows no winter, the home of the south wind and the sun.

Come hither and play with us awhile; we have danced alone here for a

thousand years, and our hearts are weary with longing for a playfellow.

So come, come, come!’

‘I cannot dance with you, fair maidens; for I must do the errand of the

Immortals. So tell me the way to the Gorgon, lest I wander and perish in

the waves.’

Then they sighed and wept; and answered—‘The Gorgon! she will freeze you

into stone.’

‘It is better to die like a hero than to live like an ox in a stall. The

Immortals have lent me weapons, and they will give me wit to use them.’

Then they sighed again and answered, ‘Fair boy, if you are bent on your

own ruin, be it so. We know not the way to the Gorgon; but we will ask

the giant Atlas, above upon the mountain peak, the brother of our father,

the silver Evening Star. He sits aloft and sees across the ocean, and

far away into the Unshapen Land.’

So they went up the mountain to Atlas their uncle, and Perseus went up

with them. And they found the giant kneeling, as he held the heavens and

the earth apart.

They asked him, and he answered mildly, pointing to the sea-board with

his mighty hand, ‘I can see the Gorgons lying on an island far away, but

this youth can never come near them, unless he has the hat of darkness,

which whosoever wears cannot be seen.’

Then cried Perseus, ‘Where is that hat, that I may find it?’

But the giant smiled. ‘No living mortal can find that hat, for it lies

in the depths of Hades, in the regions of the dead. But my nieces are

immortal, and they shall fetch it for you, if you will promise me one

thing and keep your faith.’

Then Perseus promised; and the giant said, ‘When you come back with the

head of Medusa, you shall show me the beautiful horror, that I may lose

my feeling and my breathing, and become a stone for ever; for it is weary

labour for me to hold the heavens and the earth apart.’

Then Perseus promised, and the eldest of the Nymphs went down, and into a

dark cavern among the cliffs, out of which came smoke and thunder, for it

was one of the mouths of Hell.

And Perseus and the Nymphs sat down seven days, and waited trembling,

till the Nymph came up again; and her face was pale, and her eyes dazzled

with the light, for she had been long in the dreary darkness; but in her

hand was the magic hat.

Then all the Nymphs kissed Perseus, and wept over him a long while; but

he was only impatient to be gone. And at last they put the hat upon his

head, and he vanished out of their sight.

But Perseus went on boldly, past many an ugly sight, far away into the

heart of the Unshapen Land, beyond the streams of Ocean, to the isles

where no ship cruises, where is neither night nor day, where nothing is

in its right place, and nothing has a name; till he heard the rustle of

the Gorgons’ wings and saw the glitter of their brazen talons; and then

he knew that it was time to halt, lest Medusa should freeze him into

stone.

He thought awhile with himself, and remembered Athené’s words. He rose

aloft into the air, and held the mirror of the shield above his head, and

looked up into it that he might see all that was below him.

And he saw the three Gorgons sleeping as huge as elephants. He knew that

they could not see him, because the hat of darkness hid him; and yet he

trembled as he sank down near them, so terrible were those brazen claws.

Two of the Gorgons were foul as swine, and lay sleeping heavily, as swine

sleep, with their mighty wings outspread; but Medusa tossed to and fro

restlessly, and as she tossed Perseus pitied her, she looked so fair and

sad. Her plumage was like the rainbow, and her face was like the face of

a nymph, only her eyebrows were knit, and her lips clenched, with

everlasting care and pain; and her long neck gleamed so white in the

mirror that Perseus had not the heart to strike, and said, ‘Ah, that it

had been either of her sisters!’

But as he looked, from among her tresses the vipers’ heads awoke, and

peeped up with their bright dry eyes, and showed their fangs, and hissed;

and Medusa, as she tossed, threw back her wings and showed her brazen

claws; and Perseus saw that, for all her beauty, she was as foul and

venomous as the rest.

Then he came down and stepped to her boldly, and looked steadfastly on

his mirror, and struck with Herpé stoutly once; and he did not need to

strike again.

Then he wrapped the head in the goat-skin, turning away his eyes, and

sprang into the air aloft, faster than he ever sprang before.

For Medusa’s wings and talons rattled as she sank dead upon the rocks;

and her two foul sisters woke, and saw her lying dead.

Into the air they sprang yelling and looked for him who had done the

deed. Thrice they swung round and round, like hawks who beat for a

partridge; and thrice they snuffed round and round, like hounds who draw

upon a deer. At last they struck upon the scent of the blood, and they

checked for a moment to make sure; and then on they rushed with a fearful

howl, while the wind rattled hoarse in their wings.

On they rushed, sweeping and flapping, like eagles after a hare; and

Perseus’ blood ran cold, for all his courage, as he saw them come howling

on his track; and he cried, ‘Bear me well now, brave sandals, for the

hounds of Death are at my heels!’

And well the brave sandals bore him, aloft through cloud and sunshine,

across the shoreless sea; and fast followed the hounds of Death, as the

roar of their wings came down the wind. But the roar came down fainter

and fainter, and the howl of their voices died away; for the sandals were

too swift, even for Gorgons, and by nightfall they were far behind, two

black specks in the southern sky, till the sun sank and he saw them no

more.

Then he came again to Atlas, and the garden of the Nymphs; and when the

giant heard him coming he groaned, and said, ‘Fulfil thy promise to me.’

Then Perseus held up to him the Gorgon’s head, and he had rest from all

his toil; for he became a crag of stone, which sleeps for ever far above

the clouds.

Then he thanked the Nymphs, and asked them, ‘By what road shall I go

homeward again, for I wandered far round in coming hither?’

And they wept and cried, ‘Go home no more, but stay and play with us, the

lonely maidens, who dwell for ever far away from Gods and men.’

But he refused, and they told him his road, and said, ‘Take with you this

magic fruit, which, if you eat once, you will not hunger for seven days.

For you must go eastward and eastward ever, over the doleful Lybian

shore, which Poseidon gave to Father Zeus, when he burst open the

Bosphorus and the Hellespont, and drowned the fair Lectonian land. And

Zeus took that land in exchange, a fair bargain, much bad ground for a

little good, and to this day it lies waste and desert with shingle, and

rock, and sand.’

Then they kissed Perseus, and wept over him, and he leapt down the

mountain, and went on, lessening and lessening like a sea-gull, away and

out to sea.

PART IV

HOW PERSEUS CAME TO THE ÆTHIOPS

So Perseus flitted onward to the north-east, over many a league of sea,

till he came to the rolling sand-hills and the dreary Lybian shore.

And he flitted on across the desert: over rock-ledges, and banks of

shingle, and level wastes of sand, and shell-drifts bleaching in the

sunshine, and the skeletons of great sea-monsters, and dead bones of

ancient giants, strewn up and down upon the old sea-floor. And as he

went the blood-drops fell to the earth from the Gorgon’s head, and became

poisonous asps and adders, which breed in the desert to this day.

Over the sands he went,—he never knew how far or how long, feeding on the

fruit which the Nymphs had given him, till he saw the hills of the

Psylli, and the Dwarfs who fought with cranes. Their spears were of

reeds and rushes, and their houses of the egg-shells of the cranes; and

Perseus laughed, and went his way to the north-east, hoping all day long

to see the blue Mediterranean sparkling, that he might fly across it to

his home.

But now came down a mighty wind, and swept him back southward toward the

desert. All day long he strove against it; but even the winged sandals

could not prevail. So he was forced to float down the wind all night;

and when the morning dawned there was nothing to be seen, save the same

old hateful waste of sand.

And out of the north the sandstorms rushed upon him, blood-red pillars

and wreaths, blotting out the noonday sun; and Perseus fled before them,

lest he should be choked by the burning dust. At last the gale fell

calm, and he tried to go northward again; but again came down the

sandstorms, and swept him back into the waste, and then all was calm and

cloudless as before. Seven days he strove against the storms, and seven

days he was driven back, till he was spent with thirst and hunger, and

his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. Here and there he fancied

that he saw a fair lake, and the sunbeams shining on the water; but when

he came to it it vanished at his feet, and there was nought but burning

sand. And if he had not been of the race of the Immortals, he would have

perished in the waste; but his life was strong within him, because it was

more than man’s.

Then he cried to Athené, and said—

‘Oh, fair and pure, if thou hearest me, wilt thou leave me here to die of

drought? I have brought thee the Gorgon’s head at thy bidding, and

hitherto thou hast prospered my journey; dost thou desert me at the last?

Else why will not these immortal sandals prevail, even against the desert

storms? Shall I never see my mother more, and the blue ripple round

Seriphos, and the sunny hills of Hellas?’

So he prayed; and after he had prayed there was a great silence.

The heaven was still above his head, and the sand was still beneath his

feet; and Perseus looked up, but there was nothing but the blinding sun

in the blinding blue; and round him, but there was nothing but the

blinding sand.

And Perseus stood still a while, and waited, and said, ‘Surely I am not

here without the will of the Immortals, for Athené will not lie. Were

not these sandals to lead me in the right road? Then the road in which I

have tried to go must be a wrong road.’

Then suddenly his ears were opened, and he heard the sound of running

water.

And at that his heart was lifted up, though he scarcely dare believe his

ears; and weary as he was, he hurried forward, though he could scarcely

stand upright; and within a bowshot of him was a glen in the sand, and

marble rocks, and date-trees, and a lawn of gay green grass. And through

the lawn a streamlet sparkled and wandered out beyond the trees, and

vanished in the sand.

The water trickled among the rocks, and a pleasant breeze rustled in the

dry date-branches and Perseus laughed for joy, and leapt down the cliff,

and drank of the cool water, and ate of the dates, and slept upon the

turf, and leapt up and went forward again: but not toward the north this

time; for he said, ‘Surely Athené hath sent me hither, and will not have

me go homeward yet. What if there be another noble deed to be done,

before I see the sunny hills of Hellas?’

So he went east, and east for ever, by fresh oases and fountains,

date-palms, and lawns of grass, till he saw before him a mighty

mountain-wall, all rose-red in the setting sun.

Then he towered in the air like an eagle, for his limbs were strong

again; and he flew all night across the mountain till the day began to

dawn, and rosy-fingered Eos came blushing up the sky. And then, behold,

beneath him was the long green garden of Egypt and the shining stream of

Nile.

And he saw cities walled up to heaven, and temples, and obelisks, and

pyramids, and giant Gods of stone. And he came down amid fields of

barley, and flax, and millet, and clambering gourds; and saw the people

coming out of the gates of a great city, and setting to work, each in his

place, among the water-courses, parting the streams among the plants

cunningly with their feet, according to the wisdom of the Egyptians. But

when they saw him they all stopped their work, and gathered round him,

and cried—

‘Who art thou, fair youth? and what bearest thou beneath thy goat-skin

there? Surely thou art one of the Immortals; for thy skin is white like

ivory, and ours is red like clay. Thy hair is like threads of gold, and

ours is black and curled. Surely thou art one of the Immortals;’ and

they would have worshipped him then and there; but Perseus said—

‘I am not one of the Immortals; but I am a hero of the Hellens. And I

have slain the Gorgon in the wilderness, and bear her head with me. Give

me food, therefore, that I may go forward and finish my work.’

Then they gave him food, and fruit, and wine; but they would not let him

go. And when the news came into the city that the Gorgon was slain, the

priests came out to meet him, and the maidens, with songs and dances, and

timbrels and harps; and they would have brought him to their temple and

to their king; but Perseus put on the hat of darkness, and vanished away

out of their sight.

Therefore the Egyptians looked long for his return, but in vain, and

worshipped him as a hero, and made a statue of him in Chemmis, which

stood for many a hundred years; and they said that he appeared to them at

times, with sandals a cubit long; and that whenever he appeared the

season was fruitful, and the Nile rose high that year.

Then Perseus went to the eastward, along the Red Sea shore; and then,

because he was afraid to go into the Arabian deserts, he turned northward

once more, and this time no storm hindered him.

He went past the Isthmus, and Mount Casius, and the vast Serbonian bog,

and up the shore of Palestine, where the dark-faced Æthiops dwelt.

He flew on past pleasant hills and valleys, like Argos itself, or

Lacedæmon, or the fair Vale of Tempe. But the lowlands were all drowned

by floods, and the highlands blasted by fire, and the hills heaved like a

babbling cauldron, before the wrath of King Poseidon, the shaker of the

earth.

And Perseus feared to go inland, but flew along the shore above the sea;

and he went on all the day, and the sky was black with smoke; and he went

on all the night, and the sky was red with flame.

And at the dawn of day he looked toward the cliffs; and at the water’s

edge, under a black rock, he saw a white image stand.

‘This,’ thought he, ‘must surely be the statue of some sea-God; I will go

near and see what kind of Gods these barbarians worship.’

So he came near; but when he came, it was no statue, but a maiden of

flesh and blood; for he could see her tresses streaming in the breeze;

and as he came closer still, he could see how she shrank and shivered

when the waves sprinkled her with cold salt spray. Her arms were spread

above her head, and fastened to the rock with chains of brass; and her

head drooped on her bosom, either with sleep, or weariness, or grief.

But now and then she looked up and wailed, and called her mother; yet she

did not see Perseus, for the cap of darkness was on his head.

[Picture: Perseus and the maid]

Full of pity and indignation, Perseus drew near and looked upon the maid.

Her cheeks were darker than his were, and her hair was blue-black like a

hyacinth; but Perseus thought, ‘I have never seen so beautiful a maiden;

no, not in all our isles. Surely she is a king’s daughter. Do

barbarians treat their kings’ daughters thus? She is too fair, at least,

to have done any wrong I will speak to her.’

And, lifting the hat from his head, he flashed into her sight. She

shrieked with terror, and tried to hide her face with her hair, for she

could not with her hands; but Perseus cried—

‘Do not fear me, fair one; I am a Hellen, and no barbarian. What cruel

men have bound you? But first I will set you free.’

And he tore at the fetters, but they were too strong for him; while the

maiden cried—

‘Touch me not; I am accursed, devoted as a victim to the sea-Gods. They

will slay you, if you dare to set me free.’

‘Let them try,’ said Perseus; and drawing, Herpé from his thigh, he cut

through the brass as if it had been flax.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you belong to me, and not to these sea-Gods, whosoever

they may be!’ But she only called the more on her mother.

‘Why call on your mother? She can be no mother to have left you here.

If a bird is dropped out of the nest, it belongs to the man who picks it

up. If a jewel is cast by the wayside, it is his who dare win it and

wear it, as I will win you and will wear you. I know now why Pallas

Athené sent me hither. She sent me to gain a prize worth all my toil and

more.’

And he clasped her in his arms, and cried, ‘Where are these sea-Gods,

cruel and unjust, who doom fair maids to death? I carry the weapons of

Immortals. Let them measure their strength against mine! But tell me,

maiden, who you are, and what dark fate brought you here.’

And she answered, weeping—

‘I am the daughter of Cepheus, King of Iopa, and my mother is Cassiopoeia

of the beautiful tresses, and they called me Andromeda, as long as life

was mine. And I stand bound here, hapless that I am, for the

sea-monster’s food, to atone for my mother’s sin. For she boasted of me

once that I was fairer than Atergatis, Queen of the Fishes; so she in her

wrath sent the sea-floods, and her brother the Fire King sent the

earthquakes, and wasted all the land, and after the floods a monster bred

of the slime, who devours all living things. And now he must devour me,

guiltless though I am—me who never harmed a living thing, nor saw a fish

upon the shore but I gave it life, and threw it back into the sea; for in

our land we eat no fish, for fear of Atergatis their queen. Yet the

priests say that nothing but my blood can atone for a sin which I never

committed.’

But Perseus laughed, and said, ‘A sea-monster? I have fought with worse

than him: I would have faced Immortals for your sake; how much more a

beast of the sea?’

Then Andromeda looked up at him, and new hope was kindled in her breast,

so proud and fair did he stand, with one hand round her, and in the other

the glittering sword. But she only sighed, and wept the more, and cried—

‘Why will you die, young as you are? Is there not death and sorrow

enough in the world already? It is noble for me to die, that I may save

the lives of a whole people; but you, better than them all, why should I

slay you too? Go you your way; I must go mine.’

But Perseus cried, ‘Not so; for the Lords of Olympus, whom I serve, are

the friends of the heroes, and help them on to noble deeds. Led by them,

I slew the Gorgon, the beautiful horror; and not without them do I come

hither, to slay this monster with that same Gorgon’s head. Yet hide your

eyes when I leave you, lest the sight of it freeze you too to stone.’

But the maiden answered nothing, for she could not believe his words.

And then, suddenly looking up, she pointed to the sea, and shrieked—

‘There he comes, with the sunrise, as they promised. I must die now.

How shall I endure it? Oh, go! Is it not dreadful enough to be torn

piecemeal, without having you to look on?’ And she tried to thrust him

away.

But he said, ‘I go; yet promise me one thing ere I go: that if I slay

this beast you will be my wife, and come back with me to my kingdom in

fruitful Argos, for I am a king’s heir. Promise me, and seal it with a

kiss.’

Then she lifted up her face, and kissed him; and Perseus laughed for joy,

and flew upward, while Andromeda crouched trembling on the rock, waiting

for what might befall.

On came the great sea-monster, coasting along like a huge black galley,

lazily breasting the ripple, and stopping at times by creek or headland

to watch for the laughter of girls at their bleaching, or cattle pawing

on the sand-hills, or boys bathing on the beach. His great sides were

fringed with clustering shells and sea-weeds, and the water gurgled in

and out of his wide jaws, as he rolled along, dripping and glistening in

the beams of the morning sun.

At last he saw Andromeda, and shot forward to take his prey, while the

waves foamed white behind him, and before him the fish fled leaping.

Then down from the height of the air fell Perseus like a shooting star;

down to the crests of the waves, while Andromeda hid her face as he

shouted; and then there was silence for a while.

At last she looked up trembling, and saw Perseus springing toward her;

and instead of the monster a long black rock, with the sea rippling

quietly round it.

Who then so proud as Perseus, as he leapt back to the rock, and lifted

his fair Andromeda in his arms, and flew with her to the cliff-top, as a

falcon carries a dove?

Who so proud as Perseus, and who so joyful as all the Æthiop people? For

they had stood watching the monster from the cliffs, wailing for the

maiden’s fate. And already a messenger had gone to Cepheus and

Cassiopoeia, where they sat in sackcloth and ashes on the ground, in the

innermost palace chambers, awaiting their daughter’s end. And they came,

and all the city with them, to see the wonder, with songs and with

dances, with cymbals and harps, and received their daughter back again,

as one alive from the dead.

Then Cepheus said, ‘Hero of the Hellens, stay here with me and be my

son-in-law, and I will give you the half of my kingdom.’

‘I will be your son-in-law,’ said Perseus, ‘but of your kingdom I will

have none, for I long after the pleasant land of Greece, and my mother

who waits for me at home.’

Then Cepheus said, ‘You must not take my daughter away at once, for she

is to us like one alive from the dead. Stay with us here a year, and

after that you shall return with honour.’ And Perseus consented; but

before he went to the palace he bade the people bring stones and wood,

and built three altars, one to Athené, and one to Hermes, and one to

Father Zeus, and offered bullocks and rams.

And some said, ‘This is a pious man;’ yet the priests said, ‘The Sea

Queen will be yet more fierce against us, because her monster is slain.’

But they were afraid to speak aloud, for they feared the Gorgon’s head.

So they went up to the palace; and when they came in, there stood in the

hall Phineus, the brother of Cepheus, chafing like a bear robbed of her

whelps, and with him his sons, and his servants, and many an armed man;

and he cried to Cepheus—

‘You shall not marry your daughter to this stranger, of whom no one knows

even the name. Was not Andromeda betrothed to my son? And now she is

safe again, has he not a right to claim her?’

But Perseus laughed, and answered, ‘If your son is in want of a bride,

let him save a maiden for himself. As yet he seems but a helpless

bride-groom. He left this one to die, and dead she is to him. I saved

her alive, and alive she is to me, but to no one else. Ungrateful man!

have I not saved your land, and the lives of your sons and daughters, and

will you requite me thus? Go, or it will be worse for you.’ But all the

men-at-arms drew their swords, and rushed on him like wild beasts.

Then he unveiled the Gorgon’s head, and said, ‘This has delivered my

bride from one wild beast: it shall deliver her from many.’ And as he

spoke Phineus and all his men-at-arms stopped short, and stiffened each

man as he stood; and before Perseus had drawn the goat-skin over the face

again, they were all turned into stone.

Then Perseuss bade the people bring levers and roll them out; and what was

done with them after that I cannot tell.

So they made a great wedding-feast, which lasted seven whole days, and

who so happy as Perseus and Andromeda?

But on the eighth night Perseus dreamed a dream; and he saw standing

beside him Pallas Athené, as he had seen her in Seriphos, seven long

years before; and she stood and called him by name, and said—

‘Perseus, you have played the man, and see, you have your reward. Know

now that the Gods are just, and help him who helps himself. Now give me

here Herpé the sword, and the sandals, and the hat of darkness, that I

may give them back to their owners; but the Gorgon’s head you shall keep

a while, for you will need it in your land of Greece. Then you shall lay

it up in my temple at Seriphos, that I may wear it on my shield for ever,

a terror to the Titans and the monsters, and the foes of Gods and men.

And as for this land, I have appeased the sea and the fire, and there

shall be no more floods nor earthquakes. But let the people build altars

to Father Zeus, and to me, and worship the Immortals, the Lords of heaven

and earth.’

And Perseus rose to give her the sword, and the cap, and the sandals; but

he woke, and his dream vanished away. And yet it was not altogether a

dream; for the goat-skin with the head was in its place; but the sword,

and the cap, and the sandals were gone, and Perseus never saw them more.

Then a great awe fell on Perseus; and he went out in the morning to the

people, and told his dream, and bade them build altars to Zeus, the

Father of Gods and men, and to Athené, who gives wisdom to heroes; and

fear no more the earthquakes and the floods, but sow and build in peace.

And they did so for a while, and prospered; but after Perseus was gone

they forgot Zeus and Athené, and worshipped again Atergatis the queen,

and the undying fish of the sacred lake, where Deucalion’s deluge was

swallowed up, and they burnt their children before the Fire King, till

Zeus was angry with that foolish people, and brought a strange nation

against them out of Egypt, who fought against them and wasted them

utterly, and dwelt in their cities for many a hundred years.

PART V

HOW PERSEUS CAME HOME AGAIN

And when a year was ended Perseus hired Phoenicians from Tyre, and cut

down cedars, and built himself a noble galley; and painted its cheeks

with vermilion, and pitched its sides with pitch; and in it he put

Andromeda, and all her dowry of jewels, and rich shawls, and spices from

the East; and great was the weeping when they rowed away. But the

remembrance of his brave deed was left behind; and Andromeda’s rock was

shown at Iopa in Palestine till more than a thousand years were past.

So Perseus and the Phoenicians rowed to the westward, across the sea of

Crete, till they came to the blue Ægean and the pleasant Isles of Hellas,

and Seriphos, his ancient home.

Then he left his galley on the beach, and went up as of old; and he

embraced his mother, and Dictys his good foster-father, and they wept

over each other a long while, for it was seven years and more since they

had met.

Then Perseus went out, and up to the hall of Polydectes; and underneath

the goat-skin he bore the Gorgon’s head.

And when he came into the hall, Polydectes sat at the table-head, and all

his nobles and landowners on either side, each according to his rank,

feasting on the fish and the goat’s flesh, and drinking the blood-red

wine. The harpers harped, and the revellers shouted, and the wine-cups

rang merrily as they passed from hand to hand, and great was the noise in

the hall of Polydectes.

Then Perseus stood upon the threshold, and called to the king by name.

But none of the guests knew Perseus, for he was changed by his long

journey. He had gone out a boy, and he was come home a hero; his eye

shone like an eagle’s, and his beard was like a lion’s beard, and he

stood up like a wild bull in his pride.

But Polydectes the wicked knew him, and hardened his heart still more;

and scornfully he called—

‘Ah, foundling! have you found it more easy to promise than to fulfil?’

‘Those whom the Gods help fulfil their promises; and those who despise

them, reap as they have sown. Behold the Gorgon’s head!’

Then Perseus drew back the goat-skin, and held aloft the Gorgon’s head.

Pale grew Polydectes and his guests as they looked upon that dreadful

face. They tried to rise up from their seats: but from their seats they

never rose, but stiffened, each man where he sat, into a ring of cold

gray stones.

Then Perseus turned and left them, and went down to his galley in the

bay; and he gave the kingdom to good Dictys, and sailed away with his

mother and his bride.

And Polydectes and his guests sat still, with the wine-cups before them

on the board, till the rafters crumbled down above their heads, and the

walls behind their backs, and the table crumbled down between them, and

the grass sprung up about their feet: but Polydectes and his guests sit

on the hillside, a ring of gray stones until this day.

But Perseus rowed westward toward Argos, and landed, and went up to the

town. And when he came, he found that Acrisius his grandfather had fled.

For Proetus his wicked brother had made war against him afresh; and had

come across the river from Tiryns, and conquered Argos, and Acrisius had

fled to Larissa, in the country of the wild Pelasgi.

Then Perseus called the Argives together, and told them who he was, and

all the noble deeds which he had done. And all the nobles and the yeomen

made him king, for they saw that he had a royal heart; and they fought

with him against Argos, and took it, and killed Proetus, and made the

Cyclopes serve them, and build them walls round Argos, like the walls

which they had built at Tiryns; and there were great rejoicings in the

vale of Argos, because they had got a king from Father Zeus.

But Perseus’ heart yearned after his grandfather, and he said, ‘Surely he

is my flesh and blood, and he will love me now that I am come home with

honour: I will go and find him, and bring him home, and we will reign

together in peace.’

So Perseus sailed away with his Phoenicians, round Hydrea and Sunium,

past Marathon and the Attic shore, and through Euripus, and up the long

Euboean sea, till he came to the town of Larissa, where the wild Pelasgi

dwelt.

And when he came there, all the people were in the fields, and there was

feasting, and all kinds of games; for Teutamenes their king wished to

honour Acrisius, because he was the king of a mighty land.

So Perseus did not tell his name, but went up to the games unknown; for

he said, ‘If I carry away the prize in the games, my grandfather’s heart

will be softened toward me.’

So he threw off his helmet, and his cuirass, and all his clothes, and

stood among the youths of Larissa, while all wondered at him, and said,

‘Who is this young stranger, who stands like a wild bull in his pride?

Surely he is one of the heroes, the sons of the Immortals, from Olympus.’

And when the games began, they wondered yet more; for Perseus was the

best man of all at running, and leaping, and wrestling and throwing the

javelin; and he won four crowns, and took them, and then he said to

himself, ‘There is a fifth crown yet to be won: I will win that, and lay

them all upon the knees of my grandfather.’

And as he spoke, he saw where Acrisius sat, by the side of Teutamenes the

king, with his white beard flowing down upon his knees, and his royal

staff in his hand; and Perseus wept when he looked at him, for his heart

yearned after his kin; and he said, ‘Surely he is a kingly old man, yet

he need not be ashamed of his grandson.’

Then he took the quoits, and hurled them, five fathoms beyond all the

rest; and the people shouted, ‘Further yet, brave stranger! There has

never been such a hurler in this land.’

Then Perseus put out all his strength, and hurled. But a gust of wind

came from the sea, and carried the quoit aside, and far beyond all the

rest; and it fell on the foot of Acrisius, and he swooned away with the

pain.

Perseus shrieked, and ran up to him; but when they lifted the old man up

he was dead, for his life was slow and feeble.

Then Perseus rent his clothes, and cast dust upon his head, and wept a

long while for his grandfather. At last he rose, and called to all the

people aloud, and said—

‘The Gods are true, and what they have ordained must be. I am Perseus,

the grandson of this dead man, the far-famed slayer of the Gorgon.’

Then he told them how the prophecy had declared that he should kill his

grandfather, and all the story of his life.

So they made a great mourning for Acrisius, and burnt him on a right rich

pile; and Perseus went to the temple, and was purified from the guilt of

the death, because he had done it unknowingly.

Then he went home to Argos, and reigned there well with fair Andromeda;

and they had four sons and three daughters, and died in a good old age.

And when they died, the ancients say, Athené took them up into the sky,

with Cepheus and Cassiopoeia. And there on starlight nights you may see

them shining still; Cepheus with his kingly crown, and Cassiopoeia in her

ivory chair, plaiting her star-spangled tresses, and Perseus with the

Gorgon’s head, and fair Andromeda beside him, spreading her long white

arms across the heaven, as she stood when chained to the stone for the

monster.

All night long, they shine, for a beacon to wandering sailors; but all

day they feast with the Gods, on the still blue peaks of Olympus.

STORY II.—THE ARGONAUTS

PART I

HOW THE CENTAUR TRAINED THE HEROES ON PELION

I have told you of a hero who fought with wild beasts and with wild men;

but now I have a tale of heroes who sailed away into a distant land, to

win themselves renown for ever, in the adventure of the Golden Fleece.

Whither they sailed, my children, I cannot clearly tell. It all happened

long ago; so long that it has all grown dim, like a dream which you

dreamt last year. And why they went I cannot tell: some say that it was

to win gold. It may be so; but the noblest deeds which have been done on

earth have not been done for gold. It was not for the sake of gold that

the Lord came down and died, and the Apostles went out to preach the good

news in all lands. The Spartans looked for no reward in money when they

fought and died at Thermopylæ; and Socrates the wise asked no pay from

his countrymen, but lived poor and barefoot all his days, only caring to

make men good. And there are heroes in our days also, who do noble

deeds, but not for gold. Our discoverers did not go to make themselves

rich when they sailed out one after another into the dreary frozen seas;

nor did the ladies who went out last year to drudge in the hospitals of

the East, making themselves poor, that they might be rich in noble works.

And young men, too, whom you know, children, and some of them of your own

kin, did they say to themselves, ‘How much money shall I earn?’ when they

went out to the war, leaving wealth, and comfort, and a pleasant home,

and all that money can give, to face hunger and thirst, and wounds and

death, that they might fight for their country and their Queen? No,

children, there is a better thing on earth than wealth, a better thing

than life itself; and that is, to have done something before you die, for

which good men may honour you, and God your Father smile upon your work.

Therefore we will believe—why should we not?—of these same Argonauts of

old, that they too were noble men, who planned and did a noble deed; and

that therefore their fame has lived, and been told in story and in song,

mixed up, no doubt, with dreams and fables, and yet true and right at

heart. So we will honour these old Argonauts, and listen to their story

as it stands; and we will try to be like them, each of us in our place;

for each of us has a Golden Fleece to seek, and a wild sea to sail over

ere we reach it, and dragons to fight ere it be ours.

* * * * *

And what was that first Golden Fleece? I do not know, nor care. The old

Hellens said that it hung in Colchis, which we call the Circassian coast,

nailed to a beech-tree in the war-God’s wood; and that it was the fleece

of the wondrous ram who bore Phrixus and Helle across the Euxine sea.

For Phrixus and Helle were the children of the cloud-nymph, and of

Athamas the Minuan king. And when a famine came upon the land, their

cruel step-mother Ino wished to kill them, that her own children might

reign, and said that they must be sacrificed on an altar, to turn away

the anger of the Gods. So the poor children were brought to the altar,

and the priest stood ready with his knife, when out of the clouds came

the Golden Ram, and took them on his back, and vanished. Then madness

came upon that foolish king, Athamas, and ruin upon Ino and her children.

For Athamas killed one of them in his fury, and Ino fled from him with

the other in her arms, and leaped from a cliff into the sea, and was

changed into a dolphin, such as you have seen, which wanders over the

waves for ever sighing, with its little one clasped to its breast.

But the people drove out King Athamas, because he had killed his child;

and he roamed about in his misery, till he came to the Oracle in Delphi.

And the Oracle told him that he must wander for his sin, till the wild

beasts should feast him as their guest. So he went on in hunger and

sorrow for many a weary day, till he saw a pack of wolves. The wolves

were tearing a sheep; but when they saw Athamas they fled, and left the

sheep for him, and he ate of it; and then he knew that the oracle was

fulfilled at last. So he wandered no more; but settled, and built a

town, and became a king again.

But the ram carried the two children far away over land and sea, till he

came to the Thracian Chersonese, and there Helle fell into the sea. So

those narrow straits are called ‘Hellespont,’ after her; and they bear

that name until this day.

Then the ram flew on with Phrixus to the north-east across the sea which

we call the Black Sea now; but the Hellens call it Euxine. And at last,

they say, he stopped at Colchis, on the steep Circassian coast; and there

Phrixus married Chalciope, the daughter of Aietes the king; and offered

the ram in sacrifice; and Aietes nailed the ram’s fleece to a beech, in

the grove of Ares the war-God.

And after awhile Phrixus died, and was buried, but his spirit had no

rest; for he was buried far from his native land, and the pleasant hills

of Hellas. So he came in dreams to the heroes of the Minuai, and called

sadly by their beds, ‘Come and set my spirit free, that I may go home to

my fathers and to my kinsfolk, and the pleasant Minuan land.’

And they asked, ‘How shall we set your spirit free?’

‘You must sail over the sea to Colchis, and bring home the golden fleece;

and then my spirit will come back with it, and I shall sleep with my

fathers and have rest.’

He came thus, and called to them often; but when they woke they looked at

each other, and said, ‘Who dare sail to Colchis, or bring home the golden

fleece?’ And in all the country none was brave enough to try it; for the

man and the time were not come.

Phrixus had a cousin called Æson, who was king in Iolcos by the sea.

There he ruled over the rich Minuan heroes, as Athamas his uncle ruled in

Boeotia; and, like Athamas, he was an unhappy man. For he had a

step-brother named Pelias, of whom some said that he was a nymph’s son,

and there were dark and sad tales about his birth. When he was a babe he

was cast out on the mountains, and a wild mare came by and kicked him.

But a shepherd passing found the baby, with its face all blackened by the

blow; and took him home, and called him Pelias, because his face was

bruised and black. And he grew up fierce and lawless, and did many a

fearful deed; and at last he drove out Æson his step-brother, and then

his own brother Neleus, and took the kingdom to himself, and ruled over

the rich Minuan heroes, in Iolcos by the sea.

And Æson, when he was driven out, went sadly away out of the town,

leading his little son by the hand; and he said to himself, ‘I must hide

the child in the mountains; or Pelias will surely kill him, because he is

the heir.’

So he went up from the sea across the valley, through the vineyards and

the olive groves, and across the torrent of Anauros, toward Pelion the

ancient mountain, whose brows are white with snow.

He went up and up into the mountain, over marsh, and crag, and down, till

the boy was tired and footsore, and Æson had to bear him in his arms,

till he came to the mouth of a lonely cave, at the foot of a mighty

cliff.

Above the cliff the snow-wreaths hung, dripping and cracking in the sun;

but at its foot around the cave’s mouth grew all fair flowers and herbs,

as if in a garden, ranged in order, each sort by itself. There they grew

gaily in the sunshine, and the spray of the torrent from above; while

from the cave came the sound of music, and a man’s voice singing to the

harp.

Then Æson put down the lad, and whispered—

‘Fear not, but go in, and whomsoever you shall find, lay your hands upon

his knees, and say, “In the name of Zeus, the father of Gods and men, I

am your guest from this day forth.”’

Then the lad went in without trembling, for he too was a hero’s son; but

when he was within, he stopped in wonder to listen to that magic song.

And there he saw the singer lying upon bear-skins and fragrant boughs:

Cheiron, the ancient centaur, the wisest of all things beneath the sky.

Down to the waist he was a man, but below he was a noble horse; his white

hair rolled down over his broad shoulders, and his white beard over his

broad brown chest; and his eyes were wise and mild, and his forehead like

a mountain-wall.

And in his hands he held a harp of gold, and struck it with a golden key;

and as he struck, he sang till his eyes glittered, and filled all the

cave with light.

And he sang of the birth of Time, and of the heavens and the dancing

stars; and of the ocean, and the ether, and the fire, and the shaping of

the wondrous earth. And he sang of the treasures of the hills, and the

hidden jewels of the mine, and the veins of fire and metal, and the

virtues of all healing herbs, and of the speech of birds, and of

prophecy, and of hidden things to come.

Then he sang of health, and strength, and manhood, and a valiant heart;

and of music, and hunting, and wrestling, and all the games which heroes

love: and of travel, and wars, and sieges, and a noble death in fight;

and then he sang of peace and plenty, and of equal justice in the land;

and as he sang the boy listened wide-eyed, and forgot his errand in the

song.

And at the last old Cheiron was silent, and called the lad with a soft

voice.

And the lad ran trembling to him, and would have laid his hands upon his

knees; but Cheiron smiled, and said, ‘Call hither your father Æson, for I

know you, and all that has befallen, and saw you both afar in the valley,

even before you left the town.’

Then Æson came in sadly, and Cheiron asked him, ‘Why camest you not

yourself to me, Æson the Æolid?’

And Æson said—

‘I thought, Cheiron will pity the lad if he sees him come alone; and I

wished to try whether he was fearless, and dare venture like a hero’s

son. But now I entreat you by Father Zeus, let the boy be your guest

till better times, and train him among the sons of the heroes, that he

may avenge his father’s house.’

Then Cheiron smiled, and drew the lad to him, and laid his hand upon his

golden locks, and said, ‘Are you afraid of my horse’s hoofs, fair boy, or

will you be my pupil from this day?’

‘I would gladly have horse’s hoofs like you, if I could sing such songs

as yours.’

And Cheiron laughed, and said, ‘Sit here by me till sundown, when your

playfellows will come home, and you shall learn like them to be a king,

worthy to rule over gallant men.’

Then he turned to Æson, and said, ‘Go back in peace, and bend before the

storm like a prudent man. This boy shall not cross the Anauros again,

till he has become a glory to you and to the house of Æolus.’

And Æson wept over his son and went away; but the boy did not weep, so

full was his fancy of that strange cave, and the centaur, and his song,

and the playfellows whom he was to see.

Then Cheiron put the lyre into his hands, and taught him how to play it,

till the sun sank low behind the cliff, and a shout was heard outside.

And then in came the sons of the heroes, Æneas, and Heracles, and Peleus,

and many another mighty name.

And great Cheiron leapt up joyfully, and his hoofs made the cave resound,

as they shouted, ‘Come out, Father Cheiron; come out and see our game.’

And one cried, ‘I have killed two deer;’ and another, ‘I took a wild cat

among the crags;’ and Heracles dragged a wild goat after him by its

horns, for he was as huge as a mountain crag; and Coeneus carried a

bear-cub under each arm, and laughed when they scratched and bit, for

neither tooth nor steel could wound him.

And Cheiron praised them all, each according to his deserts.

[Picture: Cheiron]

Only one walked apart and silent, Asclepius, the too-wise child, with his

bosom full of herbs and flowers, and round his wrist a spotted snake; he

came with downcast eyes to Cheiron, and whispered how he had watched the

snake cast its old skin, and grow young again before his eyes, and how he

had gone down into a village in the vale, and cured a dying man with a

herb which he had seen a sick goat eat.

And Cheiron smiled, and said, ‘To each Athené and Apollo give some gift,

and each is worthy in his place; but to this child they have given an

honour beyond all honours, to cure while others kill.’

Then the lads brought in wood, and split it, and lighted a blazing fire;

and others skinned the deer and quartered them, and set them to roast

before the fire; and while the venison was cooking they bathed in the

snow-torrent, and washed away the dust and sweat.

And then all ate till they could eat no more (for they had tasted nothing

since the dawn), and drank of the clear spring water, for wine is not fit

for growing lads. And when the remnants were put away, they all lay down

upon the skins and leaves about the fire, and each took the lyre in turn,

and sang and played with all his heart.

And after a while they all went out to a plot of grass at the cave’s

mouth, and there they boxed, and ran, and wrestled, and laughed till the

stones fell from the cliffs.

Then Cheiron took his lyre, and all the lads joined hands; and as be

played, they danced to his measure, in and out, and round and round.

There they danced hand in hand, till the night fell over land and sea,

while the black glen shone with their broad white limbs and the gleam of

their golden hair.

And the lad danced with them, delighted, and then slept a wholesome

sleep, upon fragrant leaves of bay, and myrtle, and marjoram, and flowers

of thyme; and rose at the dawn, and bathed in the torrent, and became a

schoolfellow to the heroes’ sons, and forgot Iolcos, and his father, and

all his former life. But he grew strong, and brave and cunning, upon the

pleasant downs of Pelion, in the keen hungry mountain air. And he learnt

to wrestle, and to box, and to hunt, and to play upon the harp; and next

he learnt to ride, for old Cheiron used to mount him on his back; and he

learnt the virtues of all herbs and how to cure all wounds; and Cheiron

called him Jason the healer, and that is his name until this day.