Famous Tales of Fact and Fancy
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Title: Famous Tales of Fact and Fancy
Editor: Logan Marshall
Release date: March 28, 2008 [eBook #24935]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021
Language: English
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FAMOUS TALES OF FACT AND FANCY
Myths and Legends
of the Nations of the World
Retold for Boys and Girls
Translated and Edited by
LOGAN MARSHALL
Illustrated
With Original Plates
Philadelphia
The John C. Winston Company
Publishers
Copyright, MCMXIV
L. F. Myers
PREFACE
The myths and legends here gathered together have appealed and will
continue to appeal to every age. Nowhere in the realm of fiction are
there stories to compare with those which took form centuries ago when
the race was in its childhood--stories so intimately connected with the
life and history and religion of the great peoples of antiquity that
they have become an integral part of our own civilization, a heritage of
wealth to every child that is born into the world.
The historic basis of the tales is slight; yet who can think of the
Greeks without remembering the story of Troy, or of Rome without a
backward glance at AEneas, fabled founder of the race and hero of
Virgil's world-famous Latin epic? Any understanding of German
civilisation would be incomplete without knowledge of the mythical
prince Siegfried, hero of the earliest literature of the Teutonic
people, finally immortalized in the nineteenth century through the
musical dramas of Wagner. Any understanding of English civilization
would be similarly incomplete without the semi-historic figure of King
Arthur, glorified through the accumulated legends of the Middle Ages and
made to live again in the melodic idylls of the great Victorian
laureate. And so one might go on. In many ways the mythology and
folklore of a country are a truer index to the life of its people than
any of the pages of actual history; for through these channels the
imagination and the heart speak. All the chronicles of rulers and
governing bodies are as dust in comparison.
The imagination of the ancients had few if any bounds, and even Athens
in the height of her intellectual glory accepted the fabulous tales of
gods and half-gods. Today we read and wonder. But the child, who in his
brief lifetime must live over in part at least the history of the whole
race, delights in the myths and legends which made his ancestors admire
or tremble. They are naturally not so real to him as they were to his
forefathers; yet they open up a rich and gorgeous wonderland, without
excursions into which every child must grow up the poorer in mind and
spirit.
To the children of America, wherever they may be, this book is
dedicated. It is sure to bring enjoyment, because its stories have stood
the test of time.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PROMETHEUS THE FRIEND OF MAN 7
THE LABORS OF HERCULES 11
_From the German of Gustav Schwab._
DEUCALION AND PYRRHA 29
_From the German of Gustav Schwab._
THESEUS AND THE CENTAUR 33
_From the German of Gustav Schwab._
NIOBE 37
_From the German of Gustav Schwab._
THE GORGON'S HEAD 41
_From Hawthorne's "Wonder Book."_
THE GOLDEN FLEECE 67
_From Hawthorne's "Tanglewood Tales."_
THE CYCLOPS 106
_From Church's "Stories from Homer."_
OEDIPUS AND THE SPHINX 116
_Adapted from Church's "Stories from Greek Tragedians."_
ANTIGONE, A FAITHFUL DAUGHTER AND SISTER 118
_Adapted from Church's "Stories from Greek Tragedians."_
THE STORY OF IPHIGENIA 131
_From Church's "Stories from Greek Tragedians."_
THE SACK OF TROY 153
_From Church's "Stories from Virgil."_
BEOWULF AND GRENDEL 164
_From Joyce Pollard's "Stories from Old English
Romance."_
THE GOOD KING ARTHUR 179
THE GREAT KNIGHT SIEGFRIED 214
LOHENGRIN AND ELSA THE BEAUTIFUL 221
_From the German of Robert Hertwig._
FRITHIOF THE BOLD 226
_From the German of Robert Hertwig._
WAYLAND THE SMITH 231
_From the German of Robert Hertwig._
TWARDOWSKI, THE POLISH FAUST 237
ILIA MUROMEC OF RUSSIA 243
KRALEWITZ MARKO OF SERVIA 245
THE DECISION OF LIBUSCHA 248
COUNT ROLAND OF FRANCE 250
_From Church's "Stories of Charlemagne and the Peers
of France."_
THE CID 267
PROMETHEUS, THE FRIEND OF MAN
Many, many centuries ago there lived two brothers, Prometheus or
Forethought, and Epimetheus or Afterthought. They were the sons of those
Titans who had fought against Jupiter and been sent in chains to the
great prison-house of the lower world, but for some reason had escaped
punishment.
Prometheus, however, did not care for idle life among the gods on Mount
Olympus. Instead he preferred to spend his time on the earth, helping
men to find easier and better ways of living. For the children of earth
were not happy as they had been in the golden days when Saturn ruled.
Indeed, they were very poor and wretched and cold, without fire, without
food, and with no shelter but miserable caves.
"With fire they could at least warm their bodies and cook their food,"
Prometheus thought, "and later they could make tools and build houses
for themselves and enjoy some of the comforts of the gods."
So Prometheus went to Jupiter and asked that he might be permitted to
carry fire to the earth. But Jupiter shook his head in wrath.
"Fire, indeed!" he exclaimed. "If men had fire they would soon be as
strong and wise as we who dwell on Olympus. Never will I give my
consent."
Prometheus made no reply, but he didn't give up his idea of helping men.
"Some other way must be found," he thought.
Then, one day, as he was walking among some reeds he broke off one, and
seeing that its hollow stalk was filled with a dry, soft pith,
exclaimed:
"At last! In this I can carry fire, and the children of men shall have
the great gift in spite of Jupiter."
Immediately, taking a long stalk in his hands, he set out for the
dwelling of the sun in the far east. He reached there in the early
morning, just as Apollo's chariot was about to begin its journey across
the sky. Lighting his reed, he hurried back, carefully guarding the
precious spark that was hidden in the hollow stalk.
Then he showed men how to build fires for themselves, and it was not
long before they began to do all the wonderful things of which
Prometheus had dreamed. They learned to cook and to domesticate animals
and to till the fields and to mine precious metals and melt them into
tools and weapons. And they came out of their dark and gloomy caves and
built for themselves beautiful houses of wood and stone. And instead of
being sad and unhappy they began to laugh and sing. "Behold, the Age of
Gold has come again," they said.
But Jupiter was not so happy. He saw that men were gaining daily greater
power, and their very prosperity made him angry.
"That young Titan!" he cried out, when he heard what Prometheus had
done. "I will punish him."
But before punishing Prometheus he decided to vex the children of men.
So he gave a lump of clay to his blacksmith, Vulcan, and told him to
mold it in the form of a woman. When the work was done he carried it to
Olympus.
Jupiter called the other gods together, bidding them give her each a
gift. One bestowed upon her beauty, another, kindness, another, skill,
another, curiosity, and so on. Jupiter himself gave her the gift of
life, and they named her Pandora, which means "all-gifted."
Then Mercury, the messenger of the gods, took Pandora and led her down
the mountain side to the place where Prometheus and his brother were
living.
[Illustration: THE HERO APPROACHED THE DREADFUL MONSTER]
[Illustration: PROMETHEUS PUNISHED FOR HIS GIFT TO MAW]
"Epimetheus, here is a beautiful woman that Jupiter has sent to be your
wife," he said.
Epimetheus was delighted and soon loved Pandora very deeply, because of
her beauty and her goodness.
Now Pandora had brought with her as a gift from Jupiter a golden casket.
Athena had warned her never to open the box, but she could not help
wondering and wondering what it contained. Perhaps it held beautiful
jewels. Why should they go to waste?
At last she could not contain her curiosity any longer. She opened the
box just a little to take a peep inside. Immediately there was a
buzzing, whirring sound, and before she could snap down the lid ten
thousand ugly little creatures had jumped out. They were diseases and
troubles, and very glad they were to be free.
All over the earth they flew, entering into every household, and
carrying sorrow and distress wherever they went.
How Jupiter must have laughed when he saw the result of Pandora's
curiosity!
Soon after this the god decided that it was time to punish Prometheus.
He called Strength and Force and bade them seize the Titan and carry him
to the highest peak of the Caucasus Mountains. Then he sent Vulcan to
bind him with iron chains, making arms and feet fast to the rocks.
Vulcan was sorry for Prometheus, but dared not disobey.
So the friend of man lay, miserably bound, naked to the winds, while the
storms beat about him and an eagle tore at his liver with its cruel
talons. But Prometheus did not utter a groan in spite of all his
sufferings. Year after year he lay in agony, and yet he would not
complain, beg for mercy or repent of what he had done. Men were sorry
for him, but could do nothing.
Then one day a beautiful white cow passed over the mountain, and stopped
to look at Prometheus with sad eyes.
"I know you," Prometheus said. "You are Io, once a fair and happy maiden
dwelling in Argos, doomed by Jupiter and his jealous queen to wander
over the earth in this guise. Go southward and then west until you come
to the great river Nile. There you shall again become a maiden, fairer
than ever before, and shall marry the king of that country. And from
your race shall spring the hero who will break my chains and set me
free."
Centuries passed and then a great hero, Hercules, came to the Caucasus
Mountains. He climbed the rugged peak, slew the fierce eagle, and with
mighty blows broke the chains that bound the friend of man.
THE LABORS OF HERCULES
Before the birth of Hercules Jupiter had explained in the council of the
gods that the first descendant of Perseus should be the ruler of all the
others of his race. This honor was intended for the son of Perseus and
Alcmene; but Juno was jealous and brought it about that Eurystheus, who
was also a descendant of Perseus, should be born before Theseus. So
Eurystheus became king in Mycene, and the later-born Hercules remained
inferior to him.
Now Eurystheus watched with anxiety the rising fame of his young
relative, and called his subject to him, demanding that he carry through
certain great tasks or labors. When Hercules did not immediately obey,
Jupiter himself sent word to him that he should fulfill his service to
the King of Greece.
Nevertheless the hero son of a god could not make up his mind easily to
render service to a mere mortal. So he traveled to Delhi and questioned
the oracle as to what he should do. This was the answer:
_The overlordship of Eurystheus will be qualified on condition that
Hercules perform ten labors that Eurystheus shall assign him. When this
is done, Hercules shall be numbered among the immortal gods._
Hereupon Hercules fell into deep trouble. To serve a man of less
importance than himself hurt his dignity and self-esteem; but Jupiter
would not listen to his complaints.
THE FIRST LABOR
The first labor that Eurystheus assigned to Hercules was to bring him
the skin of the Nemean lion. This monster dwelt on the mountain of
Peloponnesus, in the forest between Kleona and Nemea, and could be
wounded by no weapons made of man. Some said he was the son of the giant
Typhon and the snake Echidna; others that he had dropped down from the
moon to the earth.
Hercules set out on his journey and came to Kleona, where a poor
laborer, Molorchus, received him hospitably. He met the latter just as
he was about to offer a sacrifice to Jupiter.
"Good man," said Hercules, "let the animal live thirty days longer;
then, if I return, offer it to Jupiter, my deliverer, and if I do not
return, offer it as a funeral sacrifice to me, the hero who has attained
immortality."
So Hercules continued on his way, his quiver of arrows over his
shoulder, his bow in one hand, and in the other a club made from the
trunk of a wild olive tree which he had passed on Mount Helicon and
pulled up by the roots. When he at last entered the Nemean wood, he
looked carefully in every direction in order that he might catch sight
of the monster lion before the lion should see him. It was mid-day, and
nowhere could he discover any trace of the lion or any path that seemed
to lead to his lair. He met no man in the field or in the forest: fear
held them all shut up in their distant dwellings. The whole afternoon he
wandered through the thick undergrowth, determined to test his strength
just as soon as he should encounter the lion.
At last, toward evening, the monster came through the forest, returning
from his trap in a deep fissure of the earth.
He was saturated with blood: head, mane and breast were reeking, and his
great tongue was licking his jaws. The hero, who saw him coming long
before he was near, took refuge in a thicket and waited until the lion
approached; then with his arrow he shot him in the side. But the shot
did not pierce his flesh; instead it flew back as if it had struck
stone, and fell on the mossy earth.
Then the animal raised his bloody head; looked around in every
direction, and in fierce anger showed his ugly teeth. Raising his head,
he exposed his heart, and immediately Hercules let fly another arrow,
hoping to pierce him through the lungs. Again the arrow did not enter
the flesh, but fell at the feet of the monster.
Hercules took a third arrow, while the lion, casting his eyes to the
side, watched him. His whole neck swelled with anger; he roared, and his
back was bent like a bow. He sprang toward his enemy; but Hercules threw
the arrow and cast off the lion skin in which he was clothed with the
left hand, while with the right he swung his club over the head of the
beast and gave him such a blow on the neck that, all ready to spring as
the lion was, he fell back, and came to a stand on trembling legs, with
shaking head. Before he could take another breath, Hercules was upon
him.
Throwing down his bow and quiver, that he might be entirely
unencumbered, he approached the animal from behind, threw his arm around
his neck and strangled him. Then for a long time he sought in vain to
strip the fallen animal of his hide. It yielded to no weapon or no
stone. At last the idea occurred to him of tearing it with the animal's
own claws, and this method immediately succeeded.
Later he prepared for himself a coat of mail out of the lion's skin, and
from the neck, a new helmet; but for the present he was content to don
his own costume and weapons, and with the lion's skin over his arm took
his way back to Tirynth.
THE SECOND LABOR
The second labor consisted in destroying a hydra. This monster dwelt in
the swamp of Lerna, but came occasionally over the country, destroying
herds and laying waste the fields. The hydra was an enormous creature--a
serpent with nine heads, of which eight were mortal and one immortal.
Hercules set out with high courage for this fight. He mounted his
chariot, and his beloved nephew Iolaus; the son of his stepbrother
Iphicles, who for a long time had been his inseparable companion, sat by
his side, guiding the horses; and so they sped toward Lerna.
At last the hydra was visible on a hill by the springs of Amymone, where
its lair was found. Here Iolaus left the horses stand. Hercules leaped
from the chariot and sought with burning arrows to drive the many-headed
serpent from its hiding place. It came forth hissing, its nine heads
raised and swaying like the branches of a tree in a storm.
Undismayed, Hercules approached it, seized it, and held it fast. But the
snake wrapped itself around one of his feet. Then he began with his
sword to cut off its heads. But this looked like an endless task, for no
sooner had he cut off one head than two grew in its place. At the same
time an enormous crab came to the help of the hydra and began biting the
hero's foot. Killing this with his club, he called to Iolaus for help.
The latter had lighted a torch, set fire to a portion of the nearby
wood, and with brands therefrom touched the serpent's newly growing
heads and prevented them from living. In this way the hero was at last
master of the situation and was able to cut off even the head of the
hydra that could not be killed. This he buried deep in the ground and
rolled a heavy stone over the place. The body of the hydra he cut into
half, dipping his arrows in the blood, which was poisonous.
From that time the wounds made by the arrows of Hercules were fatal.
THE THIRD LABOR
The third demand of Eurystheus was that Hercules bring to him alive the
hind Cerynitis. This was a noble animal, with horns of gold and feet of
iron. She lived on a hill in Arcadia, and was one of the five hinds
which the goddess Diana had caught on her first hunt. This one, of all
the five, was permitted to run loose again in the woods, for it was
decreed by fate that Hercules should one day hunt her.
For a whole year Hercules pursued her; came at last to the river Ladon;
and there captured the hind, not far from the city Oenon, on the
mountains of Diana. But he knew of no way of becoming master of the
animal without wounding her, so he lamed her with an arrow and then
carried her over his shoulder through Arcadia.
Here he met Diana herself with Apollo, who scolded him for wishing to
kill the animal that she had held sacred, and was about to take it from
him.
"Impiety did not move me, great goddess," said Hercules in his own
defense, "but only the direst necessity. How otherwise could I hold my
own against Eurystheus?"
And thus he softened the anger of the goddess and brought the animal to
Mycene.
THE FOURTH LABOR
Then Hercules set out on his fourth undertaking. It consisted in
bringing alive to Mycene a boar which, likewise sacred to Diana, was
laying waste the country around the mountain of Erymanthus.
On his wanderings in search of this adventure he came to the dwelling of
Pholus, the son of Silenus. Like all Centaurs, Pholus was half man and
half horse. He received his guest with hospitality and set before him
broiled meat, while he himself ate raw. But Hercules, not satisfied with
this, wished also to have something good to drink.
"Dear guest," said Pholus, "there is a cask in my cellar; but it belongs
to all the Centaurs jointly, and I hesitate to open it because I know
how little they welcome guests."
"Open it with good courage," answered Hercules, "I promise to defend you
against all displeasure."
As it happened, the cask of wine had been given to the Centaurs by
Bacchus, the god of wine, with the command that they should not open it
until, after four centuries, Hercules should appear in their midst.
Pholus went to the cellar and opened the wonderful cask. But scarcely
had he done so when the Centaurs caught the perfume of the rare old
wine, and, armed with stones and pine clubs, surrounded the cave of
Pholus. The first who tried to force their way in Hercules drove back
with brands he seized from the fire. The rest he pursued with bow and
arrow, driving them back to Malea, where lived the good Centaur, Chiron,
Hercules' old friend. To him his brother Centaurs had fled for
protection.
But Hercules still continued shooting, and sent an arrow through the arm
of an old Centaur, which unhappily went quite through and fell on
Chiron's knee, piercing the flesh. Then for the first time Hercules
recognized his friend of former days, ran to him in great distress,
pulled out the arrow, and laid healing ointment on the wound, as the
wise Chiron himself had taught him. But the wound, filled with the
poison of the hydra, could not be healed; so the centaur was carried
into his cave. There he wished to die in the arms of his friend. Vain
wish! The poor Centaur had forgotten that he was immortal, and though
wounded would not die.
Then Hercules with many tears bade farewell to his old teacher and
promised to send to him, no matter at what price, the great deliverer,
Death. And we know that he kept his word.
When Hercules from the pursuit of the other Centaurs returned to the
dwelling of Pholus he found him also dead. He had drawn the deadly arrow
from the lifeless body of one Centaur, and while he was wondering how
so small a thing could do such great damage, the poisoned arrow slipped
through his fingers and pierced his foot, killing him instantly.
Hercules was very sad, and buried his body reverently beneath the
mountain, which from that day was called Pholoe.
Then Hercules continued his hunt for the boar, drove him with cries out
of the thick of the woods, pursued him into a deep snow field, bound the
exhausted animal, and brought him, as he had been commanded, alive to
Mycene.
THE FIFTH LABOR
Thereupon King Eurystheus sent him upon the fifth labor, which: was one
little worthy of a hero. It was to clean the stables of Augeas in a
single day.
Augeas was king in Elis and had great herds of cattle. These herds were
kept, according to the custom, in a great inclosure before the palace.
Three thousand cattle were housed there, and as the stables had not been
cleaned for many years, so much manure had accumulated that it seemed an
insult to ask Hercules to clean them in one day.
When the hero stepped before King Augeas and without telling him
anything of the demands of Eurystheus, pledged himself to the task, the
latter measured the noble form in the lion-skin and could hardly refrain
from laughing when he thought of so worthy a warrior undertaking so
menial a work. But he said to himself: "Necessity has driven many a
brave man; perhaps this one wishes to enrich himself through me. That
will help him little. I can promise him a large reward if he cleans out
the stables, for he can in one day clear little enough." Then he spoke
confidently:
"Listen, O stranger. If you clean all of my stables in one day, I will
give over to you the tenth part of all my possessions in cattle."
Hercules accepted the offer, and the king expected to see him begin to
shovel. But Hercules, after he had called the son of Augeas to witness
the agreement, tore the foundations away from one side of the stables;
directed to it by means of a canal the streams of Alpheus and Peneus
that flowed near by; and let the waters carry away the filth through
another opening. So he accomplished the menial work without stooping to
anything unworthy of an immortal.
When Augeas learned that this work had been done in the service of
Eurystheus, he refused the reward and said that he had not promised it;
but he declared himself ready to have the question settled in court.
When the judges were assembled, Phyleus, commanded by Hercules to
appear, testified against his father, and explained how he had agreed to
offer Hercules a reward. Augeas did not wait for the decision; he grew
angry and commanded his son as well as the stranger to leave his kingdom
instantly.
THE SIXTH LABOR
Hercules now returned with new adventures to Eurystheus; but the latter
would not give him credit for the task because Hercules had demanded a
reward for his labor. He sent the hero forth upon a sixth adventure,
commanding him to drive away the Stymphalides. These were monster birds
of prey, as large as cranes, with iron feathers, beaks and claws. They
lived on the banks of Lake Stymphalus in Arcadia, and had the power of
using their feathers as arrows and piercing with their beaks even bronze
coats of mail. Thus they brought destruction to both animals and men in
all the surrounding country.
After a short journey Hercules, accustomed to wandering, arrived at the
lake, which was thickly shaded by a wood. Into this wood a great flock
of the birds had flown for fear of being robbed by wolves. The hero
stood undecided when he saw the frightful crowd, not knowing how he
could become master over so many enemies. Then he felt a light touch on
his shoulder, and glancing behind him saw the tall figure of the goddess
Minerva, who gave into his hands two mighty brass rattles made by
Vulcan. Telling him to use these to drive away the Stymphalides, she
disappeared.
Hercules mounted a hill near the lake, and began frightening the birds
by the noise of the rattles. The Stymphalides could not endure the awful
noise and flew, terrified, out of the forest. Then Hercules seized his
bow and sent arrow after arrow in pursuit of them, shooting many as they
flew. Those who were not killed left the lake and never returned.
THE SEVENTH LABOR
King Minos of Crete had promised Neptune (Poseidon), god of the sea, to
offer to him whatever animal should first come up out of the water, for
he declared he had no animal that was worthy for so high a sacrifice.
Therefore the god caused a very beautiful ox to rise out of the sea. But
the king was so taken with the noble appearance of the animal that he
secretly placed it among his own herds and offered another to Neptune.
Angered by this, the god had caused the animal to become mad, and it was
bringing great destruction to the island of Crete. To capture this
animal, master it, and bring it before Eurystheus, was the seventh labor
of Hercules.
When the hero came to Crete and with this intention stepped before
Minos, the king was not a little pleased over the prospect of ridding
the island of the bull, and he himself helped Hercules to capture the
raging animal. Hercules approached the dreadful monster without fear,
and so thoroughly did he master him that he rode home on the animal the
whole way to the sea.
With this work Eurystheus was pleased, and after he had regarded the
animal for a time with pleasure, set it free. No longer under Hercules'
management, the ox became wild again, wandered through all Laconia and
Arcadia, crossed over the isthmus to Marathon in Attica and devastated
the country there as formerly on the island of Crete. Later it was given
to the hero Theseus to become master over him.
THE EIGHTH LABOR
The eighth labor of Hercules was to bring the mares of the Thracian
Diomede to Mycene. Diomede was a son of Mars and ruler of the
Bistonians, a very warlike people. He had mares so wild and strong that
they had to be fastened with iron chains. Their fodder was chiefly hay;
but strangers who had the misfortune to come into the city were thrown
before them, their flesh serving the animals as food.
When Hercules arrived the first thing he did was to seize the inhuman
king himself and after he had overpowered the keepers, throw him before
his own mares. With this food the animals were satisfied and Hercules
was able to drive them to the sea.
But the Bistonians followed him with weapons, and Hercules was forced to
turn and fight them. He gave the horses into the keeping of his beloved,
companion Abderus, the son of Mercury, and while Hercules was away the
animals grew hungry again and devoured their keeper.
Hercules, returning, was greatly grieved over this loss, and later
founded a city in honor of Abderus, naming it after his lost friend. For
the present he was content to master the mares and drive them without
further mishap to Eurystheus.
The latter consecrated the horses to Juno. Their descendants were very
powerful, and the great king Alexander of Macedonia rode one of them.
THE NINTH LABOR
Returning from a long journey, the hero undertook an expedition against
the Amazons in order to finish the ninth adventure and bring to King
Eurystheus the sword belt of the Amazon Hippolyta.
The Amazons inhabited the region of the river Thermodon and were a race
of strong women who followed the occupations of men. From their children
they selected only such as were girls. United in an army, they waged
great wars. Their queen, Hippolyta, wore, as a sign of her leadership, a
girdle which the goddess of war had given her as a present.
Hercules gathered his warrior companions together into a ship, sailed
after many adventures into the Black Sea and at last into the mouth of
the river Thermodon, and the harbor of the Amazon city Themiscira. Here
the queen of the Amazons met him.
The lordly appearance of the hero flattered her pride, and when she
heard the object of his visit, she promised him the belt. But Juno, the
relentless enemy of Hercules, assuming the form of an Amazon, mingled
among the others and spread the news that a stranger was about to lead
away their queen. Then the Amazons fought with the warriors of Hercules,
and the best fighters of them attacked the hero and gave him a hard
battle.
The first who began fighting with him was called, because of her
swiftness, Aella, or Bride of the Wind; but she found in Hercules a
swifter opponent, was forced to yield and was in her swift flight
overtaken by him and vanquished. A second fell at the first attack; then
Prothoe, the third, who had come off victor in seven duels, also fell.
Hercules laid low eight others, among them three hunter companions of
Diana, who, although formerly always certain with their weapons, today
failed in their aim, and vainly covering themselves with their shields
fell before the arrows of the hero. Even Alkippe fell, who had sworn to
live her whole live unmarried: the vow she kept, but not her life.
After even Melanippe, the brave leader of the Amazons, was made captive,
all the rest took to wild flight, and Hippolyta the queen handed over
the sword belt which she had promised even before the fight. Hercules
took it as ransom and set Melanippe free.
THE TENTH LABOR
When the hero laid the sword belt of Queen Hippolyta at the feet of
Eurystheus, the latter gave him no rest, but sent him out immediately to
procure the cattle of the giant Geryone. The latter dwelt on an island
in the midst of the sea, and possessed a herd of beautiful red-brown
cattle; which were guarded by another giant and a two-headed dog.
Geryone himself was enormous, had three bodies, three heads, six arms
and six feet. No son of earth had ever measured his strength against
him, and Hercules realized exactly how many preparations were necessary
for this heavy undertaking. As everybody knew, Geryone's father, who
bore the name "Gold-Sword" because of his riches, was king of all Iberia
(Spain). Besides Geryone he had three brave giant sons who fought for
him; and each son had a mighty army of soldiers under his command. For
these very reasons had Eurystheus given the task to Hercules, for he
hoped that his hated existence would at last be ended in a war in such a
country. Yet Hercules set out on this undertaking no more dismayed than
on any previous expedition.
He gathered together his army on the island of Crete, which he had freed
from wild animals, and landed first in Libya. Here he met the giant
Antaeus, whose strength was renewed as often as he touched the earth. He
also freed Libya of birds of prey; for he hated wild animals and wicked
men because he saw in all of them the image of the overbearing and
unjust lord whom he so long had served.
After long wandering through desert country he came at last to a
fruitful land, through which great streams flowed. Here he founded a
city of vast size, which he named Hecatompylos (City of a Hundred
Gates). Then at last he reached the Atlantic Ocean and planted the two
mighty pillars which bear his name.
The sun burned so fiercely that Hercules could bear it no longer; he
raised his eyes to heaven and with raised bow threatened the sun-god.
Apollo wondered at his courage and lent him for his further journeys the
bark in which he himself was accustomed to lie from sunset to sunrise.
In this Hercules sailed to Iberia.
Here he found the three sons of Gold-Sword with three great armies
camping near each other; but he killed all the leaders and plundered the
land. Then he sailed to the island Erythia, where Geryone dwelt with his
herds.
As soon as the two-headed dog knew of his approach he sprang toward him;
but Hercules struck him with his club and killed him. He killed also the
giant herdsman who came to the help of the dog. Then he hurried away
with the cattle.
But Geryone overtook him and there was a fierce struggle. Juno herself
offered to assist the giant; but Hercules shot her with an arrow deep in
the heart, and the goddess, wounded, fled. Even the threefold body of
the giant which ran together in the region of the stomach, felt the
might of the deadly arrows and was forced to yield.
With glorious adventures Hercules continued his way home, driving the
cattle across country through Iberia and Italy. At Rhegium in lower
Italy one of his oxen got away and swam across the strait to Sicily.
Immediately Hercules drove the other cattle into the water and swam,
holding one by the horns, to Sicily. Then the hero pursued his way
without misfortune through Italy, Illyria and Thrace to Greece.
Hercules had now accomplished ten labors; but Eurystheus was still
unsatisfied and there were two more tasks to be undertaken.
THE ELEVENTH LABOR
At the celebration of the marriage of Jupiter and Juno, when all the
gods were bringing their wedding gifts to the happy pair, Mother Earth
did not wish to be left out. So she caused to spring forth on the
western borders of the great world-sea a many-branched tree full of
golden apples. Four maidens called the Hesperides, daughters of Night,
were the guardians of this sacred garden, and with them watched the
hundred-headed dragon, Ladon, whose father was Phorkys, the parent of
many monsters. Sleep came never to the eyes of this dragon and a fearful
hissing sound warned one of his presence, for each of his hundred
throats had a different voice. From this monster, so was the command of
Eurystheus, should Hercules seize the golden apples.
The hero set out on his long and adventurous journey and placed himself
in the hands of blind chance, for he did not know where the Hesperides
dwelt.
He went first to Thessaly, where dwelt the giant Termerus, who with his
skull knocked to death every traveler that he met; but on the mighty
cranium of Hercules the head of the giant himself was split open.
Farther on the hero came upon another monster in his way, Cycnus, the son
of Mars and Pyrene. He, when asked concerning the garden of the
Hesperides, instead of answering, challenged the wanderer to a duel, and
was beaten by Hercules. Then appeared Mars, the god of war, himself, to
avenge the death of his son; and Hercules was forced to fight with him.
But Jupiter did not wish that his sons should shed blood, and sent his
lightning bolt to separate the two.
Then Hercules continued his way through Illyria, hastened over the river
Eridanus, and came to the nymphs of Jupiter and Themis, who dwelt on the
banks of the stream. To these Hercules put his question.
"Go to the old river god Nereus," was their answer. "He is a seer and
knows all things. Surprise him while he sleeps and bind him; then he
will be forced to tell you the right way."
Hercules followed this advice and became master of the river god,
although the latter, according to his custom, assumed many different
forms. Hercules would not let him go until he had learned in what
locality he could find the golden apples of the Hesperides.
Informed of this, he went on his way toward Libya and Egypt. Over the
latter land ruled Busiris, the son of Neptune and Lysianassa. To him
during the period of a nine-year famine a prophet had borne the oracular
message that the land would again bear fruit if a stranger were
sacrificed once a year to Jupiter. In gratitude Busiris made a beginning
with the priest himself. Later he found great pleasure in the custom and
killed all strangers who came to Egypt. So Hercules was seized and
placed on the altar of Jupiter. But he broke the chains which bound him,
and killed Busiris and his son and the priestly herald.
With many adventures the hero continued his way, set free, as has been
told elsewhere, Prometheus, the Titan, who was bound to the Caucasus
Mountains, and came at last to the place where Atlas stood carrying the
weight of the heavens on his shoulders. Near him grew the tree which
bore the golden apples of the Hesperides.
Prometheus had advised the hero not to attempt himself to make the
robbery of the golden fruit, but to send Atlas on the errand. The giant
offered to do this if Hercules would support the heavens while he went.
This Hercules consented to do, and Atlas set out. He put to sleep the
dragon who lived beneath the tree and killed him. Then with a trick he
got the better of the keepers, and returned happily to Hercules with the
three apples which he had plucked.
"But," he said, "I have now found out how it feels to be relieved of
the heavy burden of the heavens. I will not carry them any longer." Then
he threw the apples down at the feet of the hero, and left him standing
with the unaccustomed, awful weight upon his shoulders.
Hercules had to think of a trick in order to get away. "Let me," he said
to the giant, "just make a coil of rope to bind around my head, so that
the frightful weight will not cause my forehead to give way."
Atlas found this new demand reasonable, and consented to take over the
burden again for a few minutes. But the deceiver was at last deceived,
and Hercules picked up the apples from the ground and set out on his way
back. He carried the apples to Eurystheus, who, since his object of
getting rid of the hero had not been accomplished, gave them back to
Hercules as a present. The latter laid them on the altar of Minerva; but
the goddess, knowing that it was contrary to the divine wishes to carry
away this sacred fruit, returned the apples to the garden of the
Hesperides.
THE TWELFTH LABOR
Instead of destroying his hated enemy the labors which Eurystheus had
imposed upon Hercules had only strengthened the hero in the fame for
which fate had selected him. He had become the protector of all the
wronged upon earth, and the boldest adventurer among mortals.
But the last labor he was to undertake in the region in which his hero
strength--so the impious king hoped--would not accompany him. This was a
fight with the dark powers of the underworld. He was to bring forth from
Hades Cerberus, the dog of Hell. This animal had three heads with
frightful jaws, from which incessantly poison flowed. A dragon's tail
hung from his body, and the hair of his head and of his back formed
hissing, coiling serpents.
To prepare himself for this fearful journey Hercules went to the city of
Eleusis, in Attic territory, where, from a wise priest, he received
secret instruction in the things of the upper and lower world, and where
also he received pardon for the murder of the Centaur.
Then, with strength to meet the horrors of the underworld, Hercules
traveled on to Peloponnesus, and to the Laconian city of Taenarus, which
contained the opening to the lower world. Here, accompanied by Mercury,
he descended through a cleft in the earth, and came to the entrance of
the city of King Pluto. The shades which sadly wandered back and forth
before the gates of the city took flight as soon as they caught sight of
flesh and blood in the form of a living man. Only the Gorgon Medusa and
the spirit of Meleager remained. The former Hercules wished to overthrow
with his sword, but Mercury touched him on the arm and told him that the
souls of the departed were only empty shadow pictures and could not be
wounded by mortal weapons.
With the soul of Meleager the hero chatted in friendly fashion, and
received from him loving messages for the upper world. Still nearer to
the gates of Hades Hercules caught sight of his friends Theseus and
Pirithous. When both saw the friendly form of Hercules they stretched
beseeching hands towards him, trembling with the hope that through his
strength they might again reach the upper world. Hercules grasped
Theseus by the hand, freed him from his chains and raised him from the
ground. A second attempt to free Pirithous did not succeed, for the
ground opened beneath his feet.
At the gate of the City of the Dead stood King Pluto, and denied
entrance to Hercules. But with an arrow the hero shot the god in the
shoulder, so that he feared the mortal; and when Hercules then asked
whether he might lead away the dog of Hades he did not longer oppose
him. But he imposed the condition that Hercules should become master of
Cerberus without using any weapons. So the hero set out, protected only
with cuirass and the lion skin.
He found the dog camping near the dwelling of Acheron, and without
paying any attention to the bellowing of the three heads, which was like
the echo of fearful resounding thunder, he seized the dog by the legs,
put his arms around his neck, and would not let him go, although the
dragon tail of the animal bit him in the cheek.
He held the neck of Cerberus firm, and did not let go until he was
really master of the monster. Then he raised it, and through another
opening of Hades returned in happiness to his own country. When the dog
of Hades saw the light of day he was afraid and began to spit poison,
from which poisonous plants sprung up out of the earth. Hercules brought
the monster in chains to Tirynth, and led it before the astonished
Eurystheus, who could not believe his eyes.
Now at last the king doubted whether he could ever rid himself of the
hated son of Jupiter. He yielded to his fate and dismissed the hero, who
led the dog of Hades back to his owner in the lower world.
Thus Hercules after all his labors was at last set free from the service
of Eurystheus, and returned to Thebes.
DEUCALION AND PYRRHA
While the men of the Age of Bronze still dwelt upon the earth reports of
their wickedness were carried to Jupiter. The god decided to verify the
reports by coming to earth himself in the form of a man, and everywhere
he went he found that the reports were much milder than the truth.
One evening in the late twilight he entered the inhospitable shelter of
the Arcadian King Lycaon, who was famed for his wild conduct. By several
signs he let it be known that he was a god, and the crowd dropped to
their knees; but Lycaon made light of the pious prayers.
"Let us see," he said, "whether he is a mortal or a god."
Thereupon he decided to destroy the guest that night while he lay in
slumber, not expecting death. But before doing so he killed a poor
hostage whom the Molossians had sent to him, cooked the half-living
limbs in boiling water or broiled them over a fire, and placed them on
the table before the guest for his evening meal.
But Jupiter, who knew all this, left the table and sent a raging fire
over the castle of the godless man. Frightened, the king fled into the
open field. The first cry he uttered was a howl; his garments changed to
fur; his arms to legs; he was transformed into a blood-thirsty wolf.
Jupiter returned to Olympus, held counsel with the gods and decided to
destroy the reckless race of men. At first he wanted to turn his
lightnings over all the earth, but the fear that the ether would take
fire and destroy the axle of the universe restrained him. He laid aside
the thunderbolt which the Cyclops had fashioned for him, and decided to
send rain from heaven over all the earth and so destroy the race of
mortals.
Immediately the North Wind and all the other cloud-scattering winds were
locked in the cave of Aeolus, and only the South Wind sent out. The
latter descended upon the earth; his frightful face was covered with
darkness; his beard was heavy with clouds; from his white hair ran the
flood; mists lay upon his brow; from his bosom dropped the water. The
South Wind grasped the heavens, seized in his hands the surrounding
clouds and began to squeeze them. The thunder rolled; floods of rain
burst from the heavens. The standing corn was bent to the earth;
destroyed was the hope of the farmer; destroyed the weary work of a
whole year.
Even Neptune, god of the sea, came to the assistance of his brother
Jupiter in the work of destruction. He called all the rivers together
and said, "Give full rein to your torrents; enter houses; break through
all dams!"
They followed his command, and Neptune himself struck the earth with his
trident and let the flood enter. Then the waters streamed over the open
meadows, covered the fields, dislodged trees, temples and houses.
Wherever a palace stood, its gables were soon covered with water and the
highest turrets were hidden in the torrent. Sea and earth were no longer
divided; all was flood--an unbroken stretch of water.
Men tried to save themselves as best they could; some climbed the high
mountains; others entered boats and rowed, now over the roofs of the
fallen houses, now over the hills of their ruined vineyards. Fish swam
among the branches of the highest trees; the wild boar was caught in the
flood; people were swept away by the water and those whom the flood
spared died of hunger on the barren mountains.
One high mountain in the country of Phocis still raised two peaks above
the surrounding waters. It was the great Mount Parnassus. Toward this
floated a boat containing Deucalion, the son of Prometheus, and his
wife Pyrrha. No man, no woman, had ever been found who surpassed these
in righteousness and piety. When, therefore, Jupiter, looking down from
heaven upon the earth, saw that only a single pair of mortals remained
of the many thousand times a thousand, both blameless, both devoted
servants of the gods, he sent forth the North Wind, recalled the clouds,
and once again separated the earth from the heavens and the heavens from
the earth.
Even Neptune, lord of the sea, laid down his trident and calmed the
flood. The ocean resumed its banks; the rivers returned to their beds;
forests stretched their slime-covered tree-tops out of the deep; hills
followed; finally stretches of level land appeared and the earth was as
before.
Deucalion looked around him. The country was laid waste; it was wrapped
in the silence of the grave. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he said to
his wife, Pyrrha, "Beloved, solitary companion of my life, as far as I
can see through all the surrounding country, I can discover no living
creature. We two must people the earth; all the rest have been drowned
by the flood. But even we are not yet certain of our lives. Every cloud
that I see strikes terror to my soul. And even if danger is past, what
shall we do alone on the forsaken earth? Oh, that my father Prometheus
had taught me the art of creating men and breathing life into them!"
Then the two began to weep. They threw themselves on their knees before
the half-destroyed altar of the goddess Themis, and began to pray,
saying, "Tell us? O goddess, by what means we can replace the race that
has disappeared? Oh, help the earth to new life."
"Leave my altar," sounded the voice of the goddess. "Uncover your heads,
ungird your garments and cast the bones of your mother behind you."
For a long time Deucalion and Pyrrha wondered over the puzzling words
of the goddess. Pyrrha was the first to break the silence. "Pardon me, O
noble goddess," she said, "if I do not obey you and cannot consent to
scatter the bones of my mother."
Then Deucalion had a happy thought. He comforted his wife. "Either my
reason deceives me," he said, "or the command of the goddess is good and
involves no impiety. The great mother of all of us is the Earth; her
bones are the stones, and these, Pyrrha, we will cast behind us!"
Both mistrusted this interpretation of the words, but what harm would it
do to try? Thereupon they uncovered their heads, ungirded their garments
and began casting stones behind them.
Then a wonderful thing happened. The stone began to lose its hardness,
became malleable, grew and took form--not definite at once, but rude
figures such as an artist first hews out of the rough marble. Whatever
was moist or earthy in the stones was changed into flesh; the harder
parts became bones; the veins in the rock remained as veins in the
bodies. Thus, in a little while, with the aid of the gods, the stones
which Deucalion threw assumed the form of men; those which Pyrrha threw,
the form of women.
This homely origin the race of men does not deny; they are a hardy
people, accustomed to work. Every moment of the day they remember from
what sturdy stock they have sprung.
THESEUS AND THE CENTAUR
Theseus, the hero king of Athens, had a reputation for great strength
and bravery; but Pirithous, the son of Ixion, one of the most famous
heroes of antiquity, wished to put him to the test. He therefore drove
the cattle which belonged to Theseus away from Marathon, and when he
heard that Theseus, weapon in hand, was following him, then, indeed, he
had what he desired. He did not flee, but turned around to meet him.
When the two heroes were near enough to see each other, each was so
filled with admiration for the beautiful form and the bravery of his
opponent that, as if at a given signal, both threw down their weapons
and hastened toward each other. Pirithous extended his hand to Theseus
and proposed that the latter act as arbitrator for the settlement of the
dispute about the cattle: whatever satisfaction Theseus would demand
Pirithous would willingly give.
"The only satisfaction which I desire," answered Pirithous, "is that you
instead of my enemy become my friend and comrade in arms."
Then the two heroes embraced each other and swore eternal friendship.
Soon after this Pirithous chose the Thessalian princess, Hippodamia,
from the race of Lapithae, for his bride, and invited Theseus to the
wedding. The Lapithae, among whom the ceremony took place, were a famous
family of Thessalians, rugged mountaineers, in some respects resembling
animals--the first mortals who had learned to manage a horse. But the
bride, who had sprung from this race, was not at all like the men of her
people. She was of noble form, with delicate, youthful face, so
beautiful that all the guests praised Pirithous for his good fortune.
The assembled princes of Thessaly were at the wedding feast, and also
the Centaurs, relatives of Pirithous. The Centaurs were half men; the
offspring which a cloud, assuming the form of the goddess Hera, had born
to Ixion, the father of Pirithous. They were the eternal enemies of the
Lapithae. Upon this occasion, however, and for the sake of the bride,
they had forgotten past grudges and come together to the joyful
celebration. The noble castle of Pirithous resounded with glad tumult;
bridal songs were sung; wine and food abounded. Indeed, there were so
many guests that the palace would not accommodate all. The Lapithae and
Centaurs sat at a special table in a grotto shaded by trees.
For a long time the festivities went on with undisturbed happiness. Then
the wine began to stir the heart of the wildest of the Centaurs,
Eurytion, and the beauty of the Princess Hippodamia awoke in him the mad
desire of robbing the bridegroom of his bride. Nobody knew how it came
to pass; nobody noticed the beginning of the unthinkable act; but
suddenly the guests saw the wild Eurytion lifting Hippodamia from her
feet, while she struggled and cried for help. His deed was the signal
for the rest of the drunken Centaurs to do likewise, and before the
strange heroes and the Lapithae could leave their places, every one of
the Centaurs had roughly seized one of the Thessalian princesses who
served at the court of the king or who had assembled as guests at the
wedding.
The castle and the grotto resembled a besieged city; the cry of the
women sounded far and wide. Quickly friends and relatives sprang from
their places.
"What delusion is this, Eurytion," cried Theseus, "to vex Pirithous
while I still live, and by so doing arouse the anger of two heroes?"
With these words he forced his way through the crowd and tore the stolen
bride from the struggling robber.
Eurytion said nothing, for he could not excuse his deed, but he lifted
his hand toward Theseus and gave him a rough knock in the chest. Then
Theseus, who had no weapon at hand, seized an iron jug of embossed
workmanship which stood near by and flung it into the face of his
opponent with such force that the Centaur fell backward on the ground,
while brains and blood oozed from the wound in his head.
"To arms!" the cry arose from all sides. At first beakers, flasks and
bowls flew back and forth. Then one sacrilegious monster grabbed the
oblations from the neighboring apartments. Another tore down the lamp
which burned over the table, while still another fought with a
sacrificial deer which had hung on one side of the grotto. A frightful
slaughter ensued. Rhoetus, the most wicked of the Centaurs after
Eurytion, seized the largest brand from the altar and thrust it into the
gaping wound of one of the fallen Lapithae, so that the blood hissed like
iron in a furnace. In opposition to him rose Dryas, the bravest of the
Lapithae, and seizing a glowing log from the fire, thrust it into the
Centaur's neck. The fate of this Centaur atoned for the death of his
fallen companion, and Dryas turned to the raging mob and laid five of
them low.
Then the spear of the brave hero Pirithous flew forth and pierced a
mighty Centaur, Petraus, just as he was about to uproot a tree to use it
for a club. The spear pinned him against the knotted oak. A second,
Dictys, fell at the stroke of the Greek hero, and in falling snapped off
a mighty ash tree; a third, wishing to avenge him, was crushed by
Theseus with an oak club.
The most beautiful and youthful of the Centaurs was Cyllarus. His long
hair and beard were golden; his smile was friendly; his neck, shoulders,
hands and breast were as beautiful as if formed by an artist. Even the
lower part of his body, the part which resembled a horse, was faultless,
pitch-black in color, with legs and tail of lighter dye. He had come to
the feast with his wife, the beautiful Centaur, Hylonome, who at the
table had leaned gracefully against him and even now united with him in
the raging fight. He received from an unknown hand a light wound near
his heart, and sank dying in the arms of his wife. Hylonome nursed his
dying form, kissed him and tried to retain the fleeting breath. When she
saw that he was gone she drew a dagger from her breast and stabbed
herself.
For a long time still the fight between the Lapithae and the Centaurs
continued; but at last night put an end to the tumult. Then Pirithous
remained in undisturbed possession of his bride, and on the following
morning Theseus departed, bidding farewell to his friend. The common
fight had quickly welded the fresh tie of their brotherhood into an
indestructible bond.
NIOBE
Niobe, Queen of Thebes, was proud of many things. Amphion, her husband,
had received from the Muses a wonderful lyre, to the music of which the
stones of the royal palace had of themselves assumed place. Her father
was Tantalus, who had been entertained by the gods; and she herself was
the ruler of a powerful kingdom and a woman of great pride of spirit and
majestic beauty. But of none of these things was she so proud as she was
of her fourteen lovely children, the seven sons and seven daughters to
whom she had given birth.
Indeed, Niobe was the happiest of all mothers, and so would she have
remained if she had not believed herself so peculiarly blessed. Her very
knowledge of her good fortune was her undoing.
One day the prophetess Manto, daughter of the soothsayer Tiresias, being
instructed of the gods, called together the women of Thebes to do honor
to the goddess Latona and her two children, Apollo and Diana. "Put
laurel wreaths upon your heads," were her commands, "and bring
sacrifices with pious prayers."
Then while the women of Thebes were gathering together, Niobe came
forth, clad in a gold-embroidered garment, with a crowd of followers,
radiant in her beauty, though angry, with her hair flowing about her
shoulders. She stopped in the midst of the busy women, and raising her
voice, spoke to them.
"Are you not foolish to worship gods of whom stories are told to you
when more favored beings dwell here among you? While you are making
sacrifices on the altar of Latona, why does my divine name remain
unknown? My father Tantalus is the only mortal who has ever sat at the
table of the gods, and my mother Dione is the sister of the Pleiades,
who as bright stars shine nightly in the heavens. One of my uncles is
the giant Atlas, who on his neck supports the vaulted heavens; my
grandfather is Jupiter, the father of the gods. The people of Phrygia
obey me, and to me and my husband belongs the city of Cadmus, the walls
of which were put together by the music that my husband played. Every
corner of my palace is filled with priceless treasures; and there, too,
are other treasures--children such as no other mother can show: seven
beautiful daughters, seven sturdy sons, and just as many sons- and
daughters-in-law. Ask now whether I have ground for pride. Consider
again before you honor more than me Latona, the unknown daughter of the
Titans, who could find no place in the whole earth in which she might
rest and give birth to her children until the island of Delos in
compassion offered her a precarious shelter. There she became the mother
of two children--the poor creature! Just the seventh part of my mother
joy! Who can deny that I am fortunate? Who will doubt that I shall
remain happy? Fortune would have a hard time if she undertook to shatter
my happiness. Take this or that one from my treasured children; but when
would the number of them dwindle to the sickly two of Latona? Away with
your sacrifices! Take the laurel out of your hair. Go back to your homes
and let me never see such foolishness again!"
Frightened at the outburst, the women removed the wreaths from their
heads, left their sacrifices and slunk home, still honoring Latona with
silent prayer.
On the summit of the Delian mountain Cynthas stood Latona with her two
children, watching what was taking place in distant Thebes. "See, my
children," she said, "I, your mother, who am so proud of your birth, who
yield place to no goddess except Juno, I am held up to ridicule by an
upstart mortal, and if you do not defend me, my children, I shall be
driven away from the ancient and holy altars. Yes, you too are insulted
by Niobe, and she would like to have you set aside for her children!"
Latona was about to go on, but Apollo interrupted her: "Cease your
lamentations, mother; you only delay the punishment."
Then he and his sister wrapped themselves in a magic cloud cloak that
made them invisible, and flew swiftly through the air until they reached
the town and castle of Cadmus.
Just outside the walls of the city was an open field that was used as a
race-course and practice ground for horses. Here the seven sons of
Amphion were amusing themselves, when suddenly the oldest dropped his
reins with a cry and fell from his horse, pierced to the heart by an
arrow. One after another the whole seven were struck down.
The news of the disaster soon spread through the city. Amphion, when he
heard that all his sons had perished, fell on his own sword. Then the
loud cries of his servants penetrated to the women's quarters.
For a long time Niobe could not believe that the gods had thus brought
vengeance. When she did, how unlike was she to the Niobe who drove the
people from the altars of the mighty goddess and strode through the city
with haughty mien. Crazed with grief she rushed out to the field where
her sons had been stricken, threw herself on their dead bodies, kissing
now this one and now that. Then, raising her arms to heaven, she cried,
"Look now upon my distress, thou cruel Latona; for the death of these
seven bows me to the earth. Triumph thou, O my victorious enemy!"
Now the seven daughters of Niobe, clad in garments of mourning, drew
near, and with loosened hair stood around their brothers. And the sight
of them brought a ray of joy to Niobe's white face. She forgot her grief
for a moment, and casting a scornful look to heaven, said, "Victor! No,
for even in my loss I have more than thou in thy happiness!"
Hardly had she spoken when there was the sound of a drawn bow. The
bystanders grew cold with fear, but Niobe was not frightened, for
misfortune had made her strong.
Suddenly one of the sisters put her hand to her breast and drew out an
arrow that had pierced her; then, unconscious, she sank to the ground.
Another daughter hastened to her mother to comfort her, but before she
could reach her she was laid low by a hidden wound. One after another
the rest fell, until only the last was left. She had fled to Niobe's lap
and childlike was hiding her face in her mother's garments.
"Leave me only this one," cried Niobe, "just the youngest of so many."
But even while she prayed the child fell lifeless from her lap, and
Niobe sat alone among the dead bodies of her husband, her sons and her
daughters. She was speechless with grief; no breath of air stirred the
hair on her head; the blood left her face; the eyes remained fixed on
the grief-stricken countenance; in the whole body there was no longer
any sign of life. The veins ceased to carry blood; the neck stiffened;
arms and feet grew rigid; the whole body was transformed into cold and
lifeless stone. Nothing living remained to her except her tears, which
continued flowing from her stony eyes.
Then a mighty wind lifted the image of stone, carried it over the sea
and set it down in Lydia, the old home of Niobe, in the barren mountains
under the stony cliffs of Sipylus. Here Niobe remained fixed as a marble
statue on the summit of the mountain, and to this very day you can see
the grief-stricken mother in tears.
[Illustration: THE CENTAUR FELL BACKWARD]
[Illustration: PERSEUS SLAYING THE MEDUSA]
THE GORGON'S HEAD
Perseus was the son of Danae, who was the daughter of a king. And when
Perseus was a very little boy, some wicked people put his mother and
himself into a chest and set them afloat upon the sea. The wind blew
freshly and drove the chest away from the shore, and the uneasy billows
tossed it up and down; while Danae clasped her child closely to her
bosom, and dreaded that some big wave would dash its foamy crest over
them both. The chest sailed on, however, and neither sank nor was upset,
until, when night was coming, it floated so near an island that it got
entangled in a fisherman's nets and was drawn out high and dry upon the
sand. This island was called Seriphus and it was reigned over by King
Polydectes, who happened to be the fisherman's brother.
This fisherman, I am glad to tell you, was an exceedingly humane and
upright man. He showed great kindness to Danae and her little boy, and
continued to befriend them until Perseus had grown to be a handsome
youth, very strong and active and skilful in the use of arms. Long
before this time King Polydectes had seen the two strangers--the mother
and her child--who had come to his dominions in a floating chest. As he
was not good and kind, like his brother the fisherman, but extremely
wicked, he resolved to send Perseus on a dangerous enterprise, in which
he would probably be killed, and then to do some great mischief to Danae
herself. So this bad-hearted king spent a long while in considering what
was the most dangerous thing that a young man could possibly undertake
to perform. At last, having hit upon an enterprise that promised to turn
out as fatally as he desired, he sent for the youthful Perseus.
The young man came to the palace and found the king sitting upon his
throne.
"Perseus," said King Polydectes, smiling craftily upon him, "you are
grown up a fine young man. You and your good mother have received a
great deal of kindness from myself, as well as from my worthy brother
the fisherman, and I suppose you would not be sorry to repay some of
it."
"Please, your Majesty," answered Perseus, "I would willingly risk my
life to do so."
"Well, then," continued the king, still with a cunning smile on his
lips, "I have a little adventure to propose to you, and as you are a
brave and enterprising youth, you will doubtless look upon it as a great
piece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity of distinguishing
yourself. You must know, my good Perseus, I think of getting married to
the beautiful Princess Hippodamia, and it is customary on these
occasions to make the bride a present of some far-fetched and elegant
curiosity. I have been a little perplexed, I must honestly confess,
where to obtain anything likely to please a princess of her exquisite
taste. But this morning, I flatter myself, I have thought of precisely
the article."
"And can I assist your Majesty in obtaining it?" cried Perseus, eagerly.
"You can if you are as brave a youth as I believe you to be," replied
King Polydectes with the utmost graciousness of manner. "The bridal gift
which I have set my heart on presenting to the beautiful Hippodamia is
the head of the Gorgon Medusa with the snaky locks; and I depend on you,
my dear Perseus, to bring it to me. So, as I am anxious to settle
affairs with the princess, the sooner you go in quest of the Gorgon, the
better I shall be pleased."
"I will set out tomorrow morning," answered Perseus.
"Pray do so, my gallant youth," rejoined the king. "And, Perseus, in
cutting off the Gorgon's head, be careful to make a clean stroke, so as
not to injure its appearance. You must bring it home in the very best
condition in order to suit the exquisite taste of the beautiful Princess
Hippodamia."
Perseus left the palace, but was scarcely out of hearing before
Polydectes burst into a laugh, being greatly amused, wicked king that he
was, to find how readily the young man fell into the snare. The news
quickly spread abroad that Perseus had undertaken to cut off the head of
Medusa with the snaky locks. Everybody was rejoiced, for most of the
inhabitants of the island were as wicked as the king himself and would
have liked nothing better than to see some enormous mischief happen to
Danae and her son. The only good man in this unfortunate island of
Seriphus appears to have been the fisherman. As Perseus walked along,
therefore, the people pointed after him and made mouths, and winked to
one another and ridiculed him as loudly as they dared.
"Ho, ho!" cried they; "Medusa's snakes will sting him soundly!"
Now, there were three Gorgons alive at that period, and they were the
most strange and terrible monsters that had ever been since the world
was made, or that have been seen in after days, or that are likely to be
seen in all time to come. I hardly know what sort of creature or
hobgoblin to call them. They were three sisters and seem to have borne
some distant resemblance to women, but were really a very frightful and
mischievous species of dragon. It is, indeed, difficult to imagine what
hideous beings these three sisters were. Why, instead of locks of hair,
if you can believe men, they had each of them a hundred enormous snakes
growing on their heads, all alive, twisting, wriggling, curling and
thrusting out their venomous tongues, with forked stings at the end! The
teeth of the Gorgons were terribly long tusks, their hands were made of
brass, and their bodies were all over scales, which, if not iron, were
something as hard and impenetrable. They had wings, too, and exceedingly
splendid ones, I can assure you, for every feather in them was pure,
bright, glittering, burnished gold; and they looked very dazzling, no
doubt, when the Gorgons were flying about in the sunshine.
But when people happened to catch a glimpse of their glittering
brightness, aloft in the air, they seldom stopped to gaze, but ran and
hid themselves as speedily as they could. You will think, perhaps, that
they were afraid of being stung by the serpents that served the Gorgons
instead of hair--or of having their heads bitten off by their ugly
tusks--or of being torn all to pieces by their brazen claws. Well, to be
sure, these were some of the dangers, but by no means the greatest nor
the most difficult to avoid. For the worst thing about these abominable
Gorgons was that if once a poor mortal fixed his eyes full upon one of
their faces, he was certain that very instant to be changed from warm
flesh and blood into cold and lifeless stone!
Thus, as you will easily perceive, it was a very dangerous adventure
that the wicked King Polydectes had contrived for this innocent young
man. Perseus himself, when he had thought over the matter, could not
help seeing that he had very little chance of coming safely through it,
and that he was far more likely to become a stone image than to bring
back the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. For, not to speak of other
difficulties, there was one which it would have puzzled an older man
than Perseus to get over. Not only must he fight with and slay this
golden-winged, iron-scaled, long-tusked, brazen-clawed, snaky-haired
monster, but he must do it with his eyes shut, or, at least, without so
much as a glance at the enemy with whom he was contending. Else, while
his arm was lifted to strike, he would stiffen into stone and stand
with that uplifted arm for centuries, until time and the wind and
weather should crumble him quite away. This would be a very sad thing to
befall a young man who wanted to perform a great many brave deeds and to
enjoy a great deal of happiness in this bright and beautiful world.
So disconsolate did these thoughts make him that Perseus could not bear
to tell his mother what he had undertaken to do. He therefore took his
shield, girded on his sword and crossed over from the island to the
mainland, where he sat down in a solitary place and hardly refrained
from shedding tears.
But while he was in this sorrowful mood, he heard a voice close beside
him.
"Perseus," said the voice, "why are you sad?"
He lifted his head from his hands, in which he had hidden it, and
behold! all alone as Perseus had supposed himself to be, there was a
stranger in the solitary place. It was a brisk, intelligent and
remarkably shrewd-looking young man, with a cloak over his shoulders, an
odd sort of cap on his head, a strangely twisted staff in his hand and a
short and very crooked sword hanging by his side. He was exceedingly
light and active in his figure, like a person much accustomed to
gymnastic exercises and well able to leap or run. Above all, the
stranger had such a cheerful, knowing and helpful aspect (though it was
certainly a little mischievous, into the bargain) that Perseus could not
help feeling his spirits grow livelier as he gazed at him. Besides,
being really a courageous youth, he felt greatly ashamed that anybody
should have found him with tears in his eyes like a timid little
schoolboy, when, after all, there might be no occasion for despair. So
Perseus wiped his eyes and answered the stranger pretty briskly, putting
on as brave a look as he could.
"I am not so very sad," said he, "only thoughtful about an adventure
that I have undertaken."
"Oho!" answered the stranger. "Well, tell me all about it and possibly I
may be of service to you. I have helped a good many young men through
adventures that looked difficult enough beforehand. Perhaps you may have
heard of me. I have more names than one, but the name of Quicksilver
suits me as well as any other. Tell me what the trouble is and we will
talk the matter over and see what can be done."
The stranger's words and manner put Perseus into quite a different mood
from his former one. He resolved to tell Quicksilver all his
difficulties, since he could not easily be worse off than he already
was, and, very possibly, his new friend might give him some advice that
would turn out well in the end. So he let the stranger know in few words
precisely what was the case--how the King Polydectes wanted the head of
Medusa with the snaky locks as a bridal gift for the beautiful Princess
Hippodamia and how that he had undertaken to get it for him, but was
afraid of being turned into stone.
"And that would be a great pity," said Quicksilver, with his mischievous
smile. "You would make a very handsome marble statue, it is true, and it
would be a considerable number of centuries before you crumbled away;
but, on the whole, one would rather be a young man for a few years than
a stone image for a great many."
"Oh, far rather!" exclaimed Perseus, with the tears again standing in
his eyes. "And, besides, what would my dear mother do if her beloved son
were turned into a stone?"
"Well, well, let us hope that the affair will not turn out so very
badly," replied Quicksilver in an encouraging tone. "I am the very
person to help you, if anybody can. My sister and myself will do our
utmost to bring you safe through the adventure, ugly as it now looks."
"Your sister?" repeated Perseus.
"Yes, my sister," said the stranger. "She is very wise, I promise you;
and as for myself, I generally have all my wits about me, such as they
are. If you show yourself bold and cautious, and follow our advice, you
need not fear being a stone image yet awhile. But, first of all, you
must polish your shield till you can see your face in it as distinctly
as in a mirror."
This seemed to Perseus rather an odd beginning of the adventure, for he
thought it of far more consequence that the shield should be strong
enough to defend him from the Gorgon's brazen claws than that it should
be bright enough to show him the reflection of his face. However,
concluding that Quicksilver knew better than himself, he immediately set
to work and scrubbed the shield with so much diligence and good will
that it very quickly shone like the moon at harvest time. Quicksilver
looked at it with a smile and nodded his approbation. Then taking off
his own short and crooked sword, he girded it about Perseus, instead of
the one which he had before worn.
"No sword but mine will answer your purpose," observed he; "the blade
has a most excellent temper and will cut through iron and brass as
easily as through the slenderest twig. And now we will set out. The next
thing is to find the Three Gray Women, who will tell us where to find
the Nymphs."
"The Three Gray Women!" cried Perseus, to whom this seemed only a new
difficulty in the path of his adventure. "Pray, who may the Three Gray
Women be? I never heard of them before."
"They are three very strange old ladies," said Quicksilver, laughing.
"They have but one eye among them, and only one tooth. Moreover, you
must find them out by starlight or in the dusk of the evening, for they
never show themselves by the light either of the sun or moon."
"But," said Perseus, "why should I waste my time with these Three Gray
Women? Would it not be better to set out at once in search of the
terrible Gorgons?"
"No, no," answered his friend. "There are other things to be done before
you can find your way to the Gorgons. There is nothing for it but to
hunt up these old ladies; and when we meet with them, you may be sure
that the Gorgons are not a great way off. Come, let us be stirring!"
Perseus by this time felt so much confidence in his companion's sagacity
that he made no more objections, and professed himself ready to begin
the adventure immediately. They accordingly set out and walked at a
pretty brisk pace; so brisk, indeed, that Perseus found it rather
difficult to keep up with his nimble friend Quicksilver. To say the
truth, he had a singular idea that Quicksilver was furnished with a pair
of winged shoes, which, of course, helped him along marvelously. And
then, too, when Perseus looked sideways at him out of the corner of his
eye, he seemed to see wings on the side of his head; although, if he
turned a full gaze, there were no such things to be perceived, but only
an odd kind of cap. But at all events, the twisted staff was evidently a
great convenience to Quicksilver, and enabled him to proceed so fast
that Perseus, though a remarkably active young man, began to be out of
breath.
"Here!" cried Quicksilver at last--for he knew well enough, rogue that
he was, how hard Perseus found it to keep pace with him--"take you the
staff, for you need it a great deal more than I. Are there no better
walkers than yourself in the island of Seriphus?"
"I could walk pretty well," said Perseus, glancing slyly at his
companion's feet, "if I had only a pair of winged shoes."
"We must see about getting you a pair," answered Quicksilver.
But the staff helped Perseus along so bravely that he no longer felt the
slightest weariness. In fact, the stick seemed to be alive in his hand
and to lend some of its life to Perseus. He and Quicksilver now walked
onward at their ease, talking very sociably together; and Quicksilver
told so many pleasant stories about his former adventures and how well
his wits had served him on various occasions that Perseus began to think
him a very wonderful person. He evidently knew the world; and nobody is
so charming to a young man as a friend who has that kind of knowledge.
Perseus listened the more eagerly, in the hope of brightening his own
wits by what he heard.
At last, he happened to recollect that Quicksilver had spoken of a
sister who was to lend her assistance in the adventure which they were
now bound upon.
"Where is she?" he inquired. "Shall we not meet her soon?"
"All at the proper time," said his companion. "But this sister of mine,
you must understand, is quite a different sort of character from myself.
She is very grave and prudent, seldom smiles, never laughs and makes it
a rule not to utter a word unless she has something particularly
profound to say. Neither will she listen to any but the wisest
conversation."
"Dear me!" ejaculated Perseus; "I shall be afraid to say a syllable."
"She is a very accomplished person, I assure you," continued
Quicksilver, "and has all the arts and science at her fingers' ends. In
short, she is so immoderately wise that many people call her wisdom
personified. But to tell you the truth, she has hardly vivacity enough
for my taste; and I think you would scarcely find her so pleasant a
traveling companion as myself. She has her good points, nevertheless;
and you will find the benefit of them in your encounter with the
Gorgons."
By this time it had grown quite dusk. They were now come to a very wild
and desert place, overgrown with shaggy bushes and so silent and
solitary that nobody seemed ever to have dwelt or journeyed there. All
was waste and desolate in the gray twilight, which grew every moment
more obscure. Perseus looked about him rather disconsolately and asked
Quicksilver whether they had a great deal farther to go.
"Hist! hist!" whispered his companion. "Make no noise! This is just the
time and place to meet the Three Gray Women. Be careful that they do not
see you before you see them, for though they have but a single eye among
the three, it is as sharp-sighted as half a dozen common eyes."
"But what must I do," asked Perseus, "when we meet them?"
Quicksilver explained to Perseus how the Three Gray Women managed with
their one eye. They were in the habit, it seems, of changing it from one
to another, as if it had been a pair of spectacles, or--which would have
suited them better--a quizzing glass. When one of the three had kept the
eye a certain time, she took it out of the socket and passed it to one
of her sisters, whose turn it might happen to be, and who immediately
clapped it into her own head and enjoyed a peep at the visible world.
Thus it will easily be understood that only one of the Three Gray Women
could see, while the other two were in utter darkness; and, moreover, at
the instant when the eye was passing from hand to hand, none of the poor
old ladies was able to see a wink. I have heard of a great many strange
things in my day, and have witnessed not a few, but none, it seems to
me, that can compare with the oddity of these Three Gray Women all
peeping through a single eye.
So thought Perseus, likewise, and was so astonished that he almost
fancied his companion was joking with him, and that there were no such
old women in the world.
"You will soon find whether I tell the truth or no," observed
Quicksilver. "Hark! hush! hist! hist! There they come now!"
Perseus looked earnestly through the dusk of the evening, and there,
sure enough, at no great distance off, he descried the Three Gray Women.
The light being so faint, he could not well make out what sort of
figures they were; only he discovered that they had long gray hair, and
as they came nearer he saw that two of them had but the empty socket of
an eye in the middle of their foreheads. But in the middle of the third
sister's forehead there was a very large, bright and piercing eye, which
sparkled like a great diamond in a ring; and so penetrating did it seem
to be that Perseus could not help thinking it must possess the gift of
seeing in the darkest midnight just as perfectly as at noonday. The
sight of three persons' eyes was melted and collected into that single
one.
Thus the three old dames got along about as comfortably, upon the whole,
as if they could all see at once. She who chanced to have the eye in her
forehead led the other two by the hands, peeping sharply about her all
the while; insomuch that Perseus dreaded lest she should see right
through the thick clump of bushes behind which he and Quicksilver had
hidden themselves. My stars! it was positively terrible to be within
reach of so very sharp an eye!
But before they reached the clump of bushes, one of the Three Gray Women
spoke.
"Sister! Sister Scarecrow!" cried she, "you have had the eye long
enough. It is my turn now!"
"Let me keep it a moment longer, Sister Nightmare," answered Scarecrow.
"I thought I had a glimpse of something behind that thick bush."
"Well, and what of that?" retorted Nightmare, peevishly. "Can't I see
into a thick bush as easily as yourself? The eye is mine as well as
yours; and I know the use of it as well as you, or maybe a little
better. I insist upon taking a peep immediately!"
But here the third sister, whose name was Shakejoint, began to complain,
and said that it was her turn to have the eye, and that Scarecrow and
Nightmare wanted to keep it all to themselves. To end the dispute, old
Dame Scarecrow took the eye out of her forehead and held it forth in her
hand.
"Take it, one of you," cried she, "and quit this foolish quarreling. For
my part, I shall be glad of a little thick darkness. Take it quickly,
however, or I must clap it into my own head again!"
Accordingly, both Nightmare and Shakejoint put out their hands, groping
eagerly to snatch the eye out of the hand of Scarecrow. But being both
alike blind, they could not easily find where Scarecrow's hand was; and
Scarecrow, being now just as much in the dark as Shakejoint and
Nightmare, could not at once meet either of their hands in order to put
the eye into it. Thus (as you will see with half an eye, my wise little
auditors) these good old dames had fallen into a strange perplexity.
For, though the eye shone and glistened like a star as Scarecrow held it
out, yet the Gray Women caught not the least glimpse of its light and
were all three in utter darkness from too impatient a desire to see.
Quicksilver was so much tickled at beholding Shakejoint and Nightmare
both groping for the eye, and each finding fault with Scarecrow and one
another, that he could scarcely help laughing aloud.
"Now is your time!" he whispered to Perseus. "Quick, quick! before they
can clap the eye into either of their heads. Rush out upon the old
ladies and snatch it from Scarecrow's hand!"
In an instant, while the Three Gray Women were still scolding each
other, Perseus leaped from behind the clump of bushes and made himself
master of the prize. The marvelous eye, as he held it in his hand, shone
very brightly, and seemed to look up into his face with a knowing air,
and an expression as if it would have winked had it been provided with a
pair of eyelids for that purpose. But the Gray Women knew nothing of
what had happened, and each supposing that one of her sisters was in
possession of the eye, they began their quarrel anew. At last, as
Perseus did not wish to put these respectable dames to greater
inconvenience than was really necessary, he thought it right to explain
the matter.
"My good ladies," said he, "pray do not be angry with one another. If
anybody is in fault, it is myself; for I have the honor to hold your
very brilliant and excellent eye in my own hand!"
"You! you have our eye! And who are you?" screamed the Three Gray Women
all in a breath; for they were terribly frightened, of course, at
hearing a strange voice and discovering that their eyesight had got into
the hands of they could not guess whom. "Oh, what shall we do, sisters?
what shall we do? We are all in the dark! Give us our eye! Give us our
one precious, solitary eye! You have two of your own! Give us our eye!"
"Tell them," whispered Quicksilver to Perseus, "that they shall have
back the eye as soon as they direct you where to find the Nymphs who
have the flying slippers, the magic wallet and the helmet of darkness."
"My dear, good, admirable old ladies," said Perseus, addressing the Gray
Women, "there is no occasion for putting yourselves into such a fright.
I am by no means a bad young man. You shall have back your eye, safe and
sound, and as bright as ever, the moment you tell me where to find the
Nymphs."
"The Nymphs! Goodness me! sisters, what Nymphs does he mean?" screamed
Scarecrow. "There are a great many Nymphs, people say; some that go a
hunting in the woods, and some that live inside of trees, and some that
have a comfortable home in fountains of water. We know nothing at all
about them. We are three unfortunate old souls that go wandering about
in the dusk and never had but one eye amongst us, and that one you have
stolen away. Oh, give it back, good stranger!--whoever you are, give it
back!"
All this while the Three Gray Women were groping with their outstretched
hands and trying their utmost to get hold of Perseus. But he took good
care to keep out of their reach.
"My respectable dames," said he--for his mother had taught him always to
use the greatest civility--"I hold your eye fast in my hand and shall
keep it safely for you until you please to tell me where to find these
Nymphs. The Nymphs, I mean, who keep the enchanted wallet, the flying
slippers and the what is it?--the helmet of invisibility."
"Mercy on us, sisters! what is the young man talking about?" exclaimed
Scarecrow, Nightmare and Shakejoint, one to another, with great
appearance of astonishment. "A pair of flying slippers, quoth he! His
heels would quickly fly higher than his head if he was silly enough to
put them on. And a helmet of invisibility! How could a helmet make him
invisible, unless it were big enough for him to hide under it? And an
enchanted wallet! What sort of a contrivance may that be, I wonder? No,
no, good stranger! we can tell you nothing of these marvelous things.
You have two eyes of your own and we have but a single one amongst us
three. You can find out such wonders better than three blind old
creatures like us."
Perseus, hearing them talk in this way, began really to think that the
Gray Women knew nothing of the matter; and, as it grieved him to put
them to so much trouble, he was just on the point of restoring their eye
and asking pardon for his rudeness in snatching it away. But Quicksilver
caught his hand.
"Don't let them make a fool of you!" said he. "These Three Gray Women
are the only persons in the world that can tell you where to find the
Nymphs, and unless you get that information you will never succeed in
cutting off the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. Keep fast hold on
the eye and all will go well."
As it turned out, Quicksilver was in the right. There are but few things
that people prize so much as they do their eyesight; and the Gray Women
valued their single eye as highly as if it had been half a dozen, which
was the number they ought to have had. Finding that there was no other
way of recovering it, they at last told Perseus what he wanted to know.
No sooner had they done so than he immediately and with the utmost
respect clapped the eye into the vacant socket in one of their
foreheads, thanked them for their kindness and bade them farewell.
Before the young man was out of hearing, however, they had got into a
new dispute, because he happened to have given the eye to Scarecrow, who
had already taken her turn of it when their trouble with Perseus
commenced.
It is greatly to be feared that the Three Gray Women were very much in
the habit of disturbing their mutual harmony by bickerings of this sort,
which was the more pity, as they could not conveniently do without one
another and were evidently intended to be inseparable companions. As a
general rule, I would advise all people, whether sisters or brothers,
old or young, who chance to have but one eye amongst them, to cultivate
forbearance and not all insist upon peeping through it at once.
Quicksilver and Perseus, in the meantime, were making the best of their
way in quest of the Nymphs. The old dames had given them such particular
directions that they were not long in finding them out. They proved to
be very different persons from Nightmare, Shakejoint and Scarecrow; for,
instead of being old, they were young and beautiful; and instead of one
eye amongst the sisterhood, each Nymph had two exceedingly bright eyes
of her own, with which she looked very kindly at Perseus. They seemed to
be acquainted with Quicksilver, and when he told them the adventure
which Perseus had undertaken, they made no difficulty about giving him
the valuable articles that were in their custody. In the first place,
they brought out what appeared to be a small purse, made of deer skin
and curiously embroidered, and bade him be sure and keep it safe. This
was the magic wallet. The Nymphs next produced a pair of shoes or
slippers or sandals, with a nice little pair of wings at the heel of
each.
"Put them on, Perseus," said Quicksilver. "You will find yourself as
light-heeled as you can desire for the remainder of our journey."
So Perseus proceeded to put one of the slippers on, while he laid the
other on the ground by his side. Unexpectedly, however, this other
slipper spread its wings, fluttered up off the ground and would probably
have flown away if Quicksilver had not made a leap and luckily caught it
in the air.
"Be more careful," said he as he gave it back to Perseus. "It would
frighten the birds up aloft if they should see a flying slipper amongst
them."
When Perseus had got on both of these wonderful slippers, he was
altogether too buoyant to tread on earth. Making a step or two, lo and
behold! upward he popped into the air high above the heads of
Quicksilver and the Nymphs, and found it very difficult to clamber down
again. Winged slippers and all such high-flying contrivances are seldom
quite easy to manage until one grows a little accustomed to them.
Quicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity and told him
that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait for the
invisible helmet.
The good-natured Nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving
plumes, all in readiness to put upon his head. And now there happened
about as wonderful an incident as anything that I have yet told you. The
instant before the helmet was put on, there stood Perseus, a beautiful
young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked sword by
his side and the brightly polished shield upon his arm--a figure that
seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness and glorious light. But
when the helmet had descended over his white brow, there was no longer
any Perseus to be seen! Nothing but empty air! Even the helmet that
covered him with its invisibility had vanished!
"Where are you, Perseus?" asked Quicksilver.
"Why, here, to be sure!" answered Perseus very quietly, although, his
voice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere. "Just where I
was a moment ago. Don't you see me?"
"No, indeed!" answered his friend. "You are hidden under the helmet. But
if I cannot see you, neither can the Gorgons. Follow me, therefore, and
we will try your dexterity in using the winged slippers."
With these words, Quicksilver's cap spread its wings, as if his head
were about to fly away from his shoulders; but his whole figure rose
lightly into the air and Perseus followed. By the time they had ascended
a few hundred feet the young man began to feel what a delightful thing
it was to leave the dull earth so far beneath him and to be able to flit
about like a bird.
It was now deep night. Perseus looked upward and saw the round, bright,
silvery moon and thought that he should desire nothing better than to
soar up thither and spend his life there. Then he looked downward again
and saw the earth, with its seas and lakes, and the silver course of its
rivers, and its snowy mountain peaks, and the breath of its fields, and
the dark cluster of its woods, and its cities of white marble; and with
the moonshine sleeping over the whole scene, it was as beautiful as the
moon or any star could be. And among other objects he saw the island of
Seriphus, where his dear mother was. Sometimes he and Quicksilver
approached a cloud that at a distance looked as if it were made of
fleecy silver, although when they plunged into it they found themselves
chilled and moistened with gray mist. So swift was their flight,
however, that in an instant they emerged from the cloud into the
moonlight again. Once a high-soaring eagle flew right against the
invisible Perseus. The bravest sights were the meteors that gleamed
suddenly out as if a bonfire had been kindled in the sky and made the
moonshine pale for as much as a hundred miles around them.
As the two companions flew onward, Perseus fancied that he could hear
the rustle of a garment close by his side; and it was on the side
opposite to the one where he beheld Quicksilver, yet only Quicksilver
was visible.
"Whose garment is this," inquired Perseus, "that keeps rustling close
beside me in the breeze?"
"Oh, it is my sister's!" answered Quicksilver. "She is coming along with
us, as I told you she would. We could do nothing without the help of my
sister. You have no idea how wise she is. She has such eyes, too! Why,
she can see you at this moment just as distinctly as if you were not
invisible, and I'll venture to say she will be the first to discover the
Gorgons."
By this time, in their swift voyage through the air, they had come
within sight of the great ocean and were soon flying over it. Far
beneath them the waves tossed themselves tumultuously in mid-sea, or
rolled a white surf line upon the long beaches, or foamed against the
rocky cliffs, with a roar that was thunderous in the lower world,
although it became a gentle murmur, like the voice of a baby half
asleep, before it reached the ears of Perseus. Just then a voice spoke
in the air close by him. It seemed to be a woman's voice and was
melodious, though not exactly what might be called sweet, but grave and
mild.
"Perseus," said the voice, "there are the Gorgons."
"Where?" exclaimed Perseus. "I cannot see them."
"On the shore of that island beneath you," replied the voice. "A pebble
dropped from your hand would strike in the midst of them."
"I told you she would be the first to discover them," said Quicksilver
to Perseus. "And there they are!"
Straight downward, two or three thousand feet below him, Perseus
perceived a small island, with the sea breaking into white foam all
around its rocky shore, except on one side, where there was a beach of
snowy sand. He descended toward it, and looking earnestly at a cluster
or heap of brightness at the foot of a precipice of black rocks, behold,
there were the terrible Gorgons! They lay fast asleep, soothed by the
thunder of the sea; for it required a tumult that would have deafened
everybody else to lull such fierce creatures into slumber. The moonlight
glistened on their steely scales and on their golden wings, which
drooped idly over the sand. Their brazen claws, horrible to look at,
were thrust out and clutched the wave-beaten fragments of rock, while
the sleeping Gorgons dreamed of tearing some poor mortal all to pieces.
The snakes that served them instead of hair seemed likewise to be
asleep, although now and then one would writhe and lift its head and
thrust out its forked tongue, emitting a drowsy hiss, and then let
itself subside among its sister snakes.
The Gorgons were more like an awful, gigantic kind of insect--immense,
golden-winged beetles or dragonflies or things of that sort--at once
ugly and beautiful--than like anything else; only that they were a
thousand and a million times as big. And with all this there was
something partly human about them, too. Luckily for Perseus, their faces
were completely hidden from him by the posture in which they lay, for
had he but looked one instant at them, he would have fallen heavily out
of the air, an image of senseless stone.
"Now," whispered Quicksilver as he hovered by the side of Perseus--"now
is your time to do the deed! Be quick, for if one of the Gorgons should
awake, you are too late!"
"Which shall I strike at?" asked Perseus, drawing his sword and
descending a little lower. "They all three look alike. All three have
snaky locks. Which of the three is Medusa?"
It must be understood that Medusa was the only one of these dragon
monsters whose head Perseus could possibly cut off. As for the other
two, let him have the sharpest sword that ever was forged, and he might
have hacked away by the hour together without doing them the least harm.
"Be cautious," said the calm voice which had before spoken to him. "One
of the Gorgons is stirring in her sleep and is just about to turn over.
That is Medusa. Do not look at her! The sight would turn you to stone!
Look at the reflection of her face and figure in the bright mirror of
your shield."
Perseus now understood Quicksilver's motive for so earnestly exhorting
him to polish his shield. In its surface he could safely look at the
reflection of the Gorgon's face. And there it was--that terrible
countenance--mirrored in the brightness of the shield, with the
moonlight falling over it and displaying all its horror. The snakes,
whose venomous natures could not altogether sleep, kept twisting
themselves over the forehead. It was the fiercest and most horrible face
that ever was seen or imagined, and yet with a strange, fearful and
savage kind of beauty in it. The eyes were closed and the Gorgon was
still in a deep slumber; but there was an unquiet expression disturbing
her features, as if the monster was troubled with an ugly dream. She
gnashed her white tusks and dug into the sand with her brazen claws.
The snakes, too, seemed to feel Medusa's dream and to be made more
restless by it. They twined themselves into tumultuous knots, writhed
fiercely and uplifted a hundred hissing heads without opening their
eyes.
"Now, now!" whispered Quicksilver, who was growing impatient. "Make a
dash at the monster!"
"But be calm," said the grave, melodious voice at the young man's side.
"Look in your shield as you fly downward, and take care that you do not
miss your first stroke."
Perseus flew cautiously downward, still keeping his eyes on Medusa's
face, as reflected in his shield. The nearer he came, the more terrible
did the snaky visage and metallic body of the monster grow. At last,
when he found himself hovering over her within arm's length, Perseus
uplifted his sword, while at the same instant each separate snake upon
the Gorgon's head stretched threateningly upward, and Medusa unclosed
her eyes. But she awoke too late. The sword was sharp, the stroke fell
like a lightning flash, and the head of the wicked Medusa tumbled from
her body!
"Admirably done!" cried Quicksilver. "Make haste and clap the head into
your magic wallet."
To the astonishment of Perseus, the small, embroidered wallet which he
had hung about his neck and which had hitherto been no bigger than a
purse, grew all at once large enough to contain Medusa's head. As quick
as thought, he snatched it up, with the snakes still writhing upon it,
and thrust it in.
"Your task is done," said the calm voice. "Now fly, for the other
Gorgons will do their utmost to take vengeance for Medusa's death."
It was, indeed, necessary to take flight, for Perseus had not done the
deed so quietly but that the clash of his sword and the hissing of the
snakes and the thump of Medusa's head as it tumbled upon the sea-beaten
sand awoke the other two monsters. There they sat for an instant,
sleepily rubbing their eyes with their brazen fingers, while all the
snakes on their heads reared themselves on end with surprise and with
venomous malice against they knew not what. But when the Gorgons saw the
scaly carcass of Medusa, headless, and her golden wings all ruffled and
half spread out on the sand, it was really awful to hear what yells and
screeches they set up. And then the snakes! They sent forth a
hundredfold hiss with one consent, and Medusa's snakes answered them out
of the magic wallet.
No sooner were the Gorgons broad awake than they hurtled upward into the
air, brandishing their brass talons, gnashing their horrible tusks and
flapping their huge wings so wildly that some of the golden feathers
were shaken out and floated down upon the shore. And there, perhaps,
those very feathers lie scattered till this day. Up rose the Gorgons, as
I tell you, staring horribly about, in hopes of turning somebody to
stone. Had Perseus looked them in the face or had he fallen into their
clutches, his poor mother would never have kissed her boy again! But he
took good care to turn his eyes another way; and as he wore the helmet
of invisibility, the Gorgons knew not in what direction to follow him;
nor did he fail to make the best use of the winged slippers by soaring
upward a perpendicular mile or so. At that height, when the screams of
those abominable creatures sounded faintly beneath him, he made a
straight course for the island of Seriphus, in order to carry Medusa's
head to King Polydectes.
I have no time to tell you of several marvelous things that befell
Perseus on his way homeward, such as his killing a hideous sea monster
just as it was on the point of devouring a beautiful maiden, nor how he
changed an enormous giant into a mountain of stone merely by showing him
the head of the Gorgon. If you doubt this latter story, you may make a
voyage to Africa some day or other and see the very mountain, which is
still known by the ancient giant's name.
Finally, our brave Perseus arrived at the island where he expected to
see his dear mother. But during his absence, the wicked king had treated
Danae so very ill that she was compelled to make her escape, and had
taken refuge in a temple, where some good old priests were extremely
kind to her. These praiseworthy priests and the kind-hearted fisherman,
who had first shown hospitality to Danae and little Perseus when he
found them afloat in the chest, seem to have been the only persons on
the island who cared about doing right. All the rest of the people, as
well as King Polydectes himself, were remarkably ill behaved and
deserved no better destiny than that which was now to happen.
Not finding his mother at home, Perseus went straight to the palace and
was immediately ushered into the presence of the king. Polydectes was by
no means rejoiced to see him, for he had felt almost certain, in his own
evil mind, that the Gorgons would have torn the poor young man to pieces
and have eaten him up out of the way. However, seeing him safely
returned, he put the best face he could upon the matter and asked
Perseus how he had succeeded.
"Have you performed your promise?" inquired he. "Have you brought me the
head of Medusa with the snaky locks? If not, young man, it will cost you
dear; for I must have a bridal present for the beautiful Princess
Hippodamia and there is nothing else that she would admire so much."
"Yes, please your Majesty," answered Perseus, in a quiet way, as if it
were no very wonderful deed for such a young man as he to perform. "I
have brought you the Gorgon's head, snaky locks and all!"
"Indeed! Pray, let me see it," quoth King Polydectes. "It must be a very
curious spectacle if all that travelers tell it be true!"
"Your Majesty is in the right," replied Perseus. "It is really an object
that will be pretty certain to fix the regards of all who look at it.
And if your Majesty think fit, I would suggest that a holiday be
proclaimed and that all your Majesty's subjects be summoned to behold
this wonderful curiosity. Few of them, I imagine, have seen a Gorgon's
head before and perhaps never may again!"
The king well knew that his subjects were an idle set of reprobates and
very fond of sight-seeing, as idle persons usually are. So he took the
young man's advice and sent out heralds and messengers in all directions
to blow the trumpet at the street corners and in the market places and
wherever two roads met, and summon everybody to court. Thither,
accordingly, came a great multitude of good-for-nothing vagabonds, all
of whom, out of pure love of mischief, would have been glad if Perseus
had met with some ill-hap in his encounter with the Gorgons. If there
were any better people in the island (as I really hope there may have
been, although the story tells nothing about any such), they stayed
quietly at home, minding their business and taking care of their little
children. Most of the inhabitants, at all events, ran as fast as they
could to the palace and shoved and pushed and elbowed one another in
their eagerness to get near a balcony on which Perseus showed himself,
holding the embroidered wallet in his hand.
On a platform within full view of the balcony sat the mighty King
Polydectes, amid his evil counselors, and with his flattering courtiers
in a semi-circle round about him. Monarch, counselors, courtiers and
subjects all gazed eagerly toward Perseus.
"Show us the head! Show us the head!" shouted the people; and there was
a fierceness in their cry as if they would tear Perseus to pieces unless
he should satisfy them with what he had to show. "Show us the head of
Medusa with the snaky locks!"
A feeling of sorrow and pity came over the youthful Perseus.
"O King Polydectes," cried he, "and ye many people, I am very loath to
show you the Gorgon's head!"
"Ah, the villain and coward!" yelled the people more fiercely than
before. "He is making game of us! He has no Gorgon's head! Show us the
head if you have it, or we will take your own head for a football!"
The evil counselors whispered bad advice in the king's ear; the
courtiers murmured, with one consent, that Perseus had shown disrespect
to their royal lord and master; and the great King Polydectes himself
waved his hand and ordered him, with the stern, deep voice of authority,
on his peril, to produce the head.
"Show me the Gorgon's head or I will cut off your own!"
And Perseus sighed.
"This instant," repeated Polydectes, "or you die!"
"Behold it then!" cried Perseus in a voice like the blast of a trumpet.
And suddenly holding up the head, not an eyelid had time to wink before
the wicked King Polydectes, his evil counselors and all his fierce
subjects were no longer anything but the mere images of a monarch and
his people. They were all fixed forever in the look and attitude of that
moment! At the first glimpse of the terrible head of Medusa, they
whitened into marble! And Perseus thrust the head back into his wallet
and went to tell his dear mother that she need no longer be afraid of
the wicked King Polydectes.
THE GOLDEN FLEECE
When Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little boy,
he was sent away from his parents and placed under the queerest
schoolmaster that ever you heard of. This learned person was one of the
people, or quadrupeds, called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern, and had
the body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a
man. His name was Chiron; and in spite of his odd appearance, he was a
very excellent teacher and had several scholars who afterward did him
credit by making a great figure in the world. The famous Hercules was
one, and so was Achilles, and Philoctetes likewise, and AEsculapius, who
acquired immense repute as a doctor. The good Chiron taught his pupils
how to play upon the harp, and how to cure diseases, and how to use the
sword and shield, together with various other branches of education in
which the lads of those days used to be instructed instead of writing
and arithmetic.
I have sometimes suspected that Master Chiron was not really very
different from other people, but that, being a kind-hearted and merry
old fellow, he was in the habit of making believe that he was a horse,
and scrambling about the schoolroom on all fours and letting the little
boys ride upon his back. And so, when his scholars had grown up and
grown old and were trotting their grandchildren on their knees, they
told them about the sports of their school-days; and these young folks
took the idea that their grandfathers had been taught their letters by a
Centaur, half man and half horse. Little children, not quite
understanding what is said to them, often get such absurd notions into
their heads, you know.
Be that as it may, it has always been told for a fact (and always will
be told, as long as the world lasts) that Chiron, with the head of a
schoolmaster, had the body and legs of a horse. Just imagine the grave
old gentleman clattering and stamping into the schoolroom on his four
hoofs, perhaps treading on some little fellow's toes, flourishing his
switch tail instead of a rod and now and then trotting out of doors to
eat a mouthful of grass! I wonder what the blacksmith charged him for a
set of iron shoes.
So Jason dwelt in the cave, with this four-footed Chiron from the time
that he was an infant only a few months old, until he had grown to the
full height of a man. He became a very good harper, I suppose, and
skilful in the use of weapons and tolerably acquainted with herbs and
other doctor's stuff, and above all, an admirable horseman; for, in
teaching young people to ride, the good Chiron must have been without a
rival among schoolmasters. At length, being now a tall and athletic
youth, Jason resolved to seek his fortune in the world without asking
Chiron's advice or telling him anything about the matter. This was very
unwise, to be sure; and I hope none of you, my little hearers, will ever
follow Jason's example. But, you are to understand, he had heard how
that he himself was a prince royal, and how his father, King AEson, had
been deprived of the kingdom of Iolchos by a certain Pelias, who would
also have killed Jason had he not been hidden in the Centaur's cave. And
being come to the strength of a man, Jason determined to set all this
business to rights and to punish the wicked Pelias for wronging his dear
father, and to cast him down from the throne and seat himself there
instead.
With this intention he took a spear in each hand and threw a leopard's
skin over his shoulders to keep off the rain, and set forth on his
travels, with his long yellow ringlets waving in the wind. The part of
his dress on which he most prided himself was a pair of sandals that had
been his father's. They were handsomely embroidered and were tied upon
his feet with strings of gold. But his whole attire was such as people
did not very often see; and as he passed along, the women and children
ran to the doors and windows, wondering whither this beautiful youth was
journeying, with his leopard's skin and his golden-tied sandals, and
what heroic deeds he meant to perform, with a spear in his right hand
and another in his left.
I know not how far Jason had traveled when he came to a turbulent river,
which rushed right across his pathway with specks of white foam along
its black eddies, hurrying tumultuously onward and roaring angrily as it
went. Though not a very broad river in the dry seasons of the year, it
was now swollen by heavy rains and by the melting of the snow on the
sides of Mount Olympus; and it thundered so loudly and looked so wild
and dangerous that Jason, bold as he was, thought it prudent to pause
upon the brink. The bed of the stream seemed to be strewn with sharp and
rugged rocks, some of which thrust themselves above the water. By and by
an uprooted tree, with shattered branches, came drifting along the
current and got entangled among the rocks. Now and then a drowned sheep
and once the carcass of a cow floated past.
In short, the swollen river had already done a great deal of mischief.
It was evidently too deep for Jason to wade and too boisterous for him
to swim; he could see no bridge, and as for a boat, had there been any,
the rocks would have broken it to pieces in an instant.
"See the poor lad," said a cracked voice close to his side. "He must
have had but a poor education, since he does not know how to cross a
little stream like this. Or is he afraid of wetting his fine
golden-stringed sandals? It is a pity his four-footed schoolmaster is
not here to carry him safely across on his back!"
Jason looked round greatly surprised, for he did not know that anybody
was near. But beside him stood an old woman, with a ragged mantle over
her head, leaning on a staff, the top of which was carved into the shape
of a cuckoo. She looked very aged and wrinkled and infirm; and yet her
eyes, which were as brown as those of an ox, were so extremely large and
beautiful that when they were fixed on Jason's eyes he could see nothing
else but them. The old woman had a pomegranate in her hand, although the
fruit was then quite out of season.
"Whither are you going, Jason?" she now asked.
She seemed to know his name, you will observe; and, indeed, those great
brown eyes looked as if they had a knowledge of everything, whether past
or to come. While Jason was gazing at her a peacock strutted forward and
took his stand at the old woman's side.
"I am going to Iolchos," answered the young man, "to bid the wicked King
Pelias come down from my father's throne and let me reign in his stead."
"Ah, well, then," said the old woman, still with the same cracked voice,
"if that is all your business, you need not be in a very great hurry.
Just take me on your back, there's a good youth, and carry me across the
river. I and my peacock have something to do on the other side, as well
as yourself."
"Good mother," replied Jason, "your business can hardly be so important
as the pulling down a king from his throne. Besides, as you may see for
yourself, the river is very boisterous; and if I should chance to
stumble, it would sweep both of us away more easily than it has carried
off yonder uprooted tree. I would gladly help you if I could, but I
doubt whether I am strong enough to carry you across."
"Then," said she very scornfully, "neither are you strong enough to pull
King Pelias off his throne. And, Jason, unless you will help an old
woman at her need, you ought not to be a king. What are kings made for,
save to succor the feeble and distressed? But do as you please. Either
take me on your back, or with my poor old limbs I shall try my best to
struggle across the stream."
Saying this, the old woman poked with her staff in the river as if to
find the safest place in its rocky bed where she might make the first
step. But Jason by this time had grown ashamed of his reluctance to help
her. He felt that he could never forgive himself if this poor feeble
creature should come to any harm in attempting to wrestle against the
headlong current. The good Chiron, whether half horse or no, had taught
him that the noblest use of his strength was to assist the weak; and
also that he must treat every young woman as if she were his sister and
every old one like a mother. Remembering these maxims, the vigorous and
beautiful young man knelt down and requested the good dame to mount upon
his back.
"The passage seems to me not very safe," he remarked, "but as your
business is so urgent I will try to carry you across. If the river
sweeps you away it shall take me, too."
"That, no doubt, will be a great comfort to both of us," quoth the old
woman. "But never fear! We shall get safely across."
So she threw her arms around Jason's neck; and, lifting her from the
ground, he stepped boldly into the raging and foamy current, and began
to stagger away from the shore. As for the peacock, it alighted on the
old dame's shoulder. Jason's two spears, one in each hand, kept him from
stumbling and enabled him to feel his way among the hidden rocks;
although every instant he expected that his companion and himself would
go down the stream together with the driftwood of shattered trees and
the carcasses of the sheep and cow. Down came the cold, snowy torrent
from the steep side of Olympus, raging and thundering as if it had a
real spite against Jason or, at all events, were determined to snatch
off his living burden from his shoulders. When he was half way across
the uprooted tree (which I have already told you about) broke loose from
among the rocks and bore down upon him with all its splintered branches
sticking out like the hundred arms of the giant Briareus. It rushed
past, however, without touching him. But the next moment his foot was
caught in a crevice between two rocks and stuck there so fast that in
the effort to get free he lost one of his golden-stringed sandals.
At this accident Jason could not help uttering a cry of vexation.
"What is the matter, Jason?" asked the old woman.
"Matter enough," said the young man. "I have lost a sandal here among
the rocks. And what sort of a figure shall I cut at the court of King
Pelias with a golden-stringed sandal on one foot and the other foot
bare!"
"Do not take it to heart," answered his companion cheerily. "You never
met with better fortune than in losing that sandal. It satisfies me that
you are the very person whom the Speaking Oak has been talking about."
There was no time just then to inquire what the Speaking Oak had said.
But the briskness of her tone encouraged the young man; and, besides, he
had never in his life felt so vigorous and mighty as since taking this
old woman on his back. Instead of being exhausted he gathered strength
as he went on; and, struggling up against the torrent, he at last gained
the opposite shore, clambered up the bank and set down the old dame and
her peacock safely on the grass. As soon as this was done, however, he
could not help looking rather despondently at his bare foot, with only a
remnant of the golden string of the sandal clinging round his ankle.
"You will get a handsomer pair of sandals by and by," said the old
woman, with a kindly look out of her beautiful brown eyes. "Only let
King Pelias get a glimpse of that bare foot and you shall see him turn
as pale as ashes, I promise you. There is your path. Go along, my good
Jason, and my blessing go with you. And when you sit on your throne
remember the old woman whom you helped over the river."
With these words she hobbled away, giving him a smile over her shoulder
as she departed. Whether the light of her beautiful brown eyes threw a
glory round about her, or whatever the cause might be, Jason fancied
that there was something very noble and majestic in her figure after
all, and that, though her gait seemed to be a rheumatic hobble, yet she
moved with as much grace and dignity as any queen on earth. Her peacock,
which had now fluttered down from her shoulder, strutted behind her in
prodigious pomp and spread out its magnificent tail on purpose for Jason
to admire it.
When the old dame and her peacock were out of sight Jason set forward on
his journey. After traveling a pretty long distance he came to a town
situated at the foot of a mountain and not a great way from the shore of
the sea. On the outside of the town there was an immense crowd of
people, not only men and women, but children, too, all in their best
clothes and evidently enjoying a holiday. The crowd was thickest toward
the seashore, and in that direction, over the people's heads, Jason saw
a wreath of smoke curling upward to the blue sky. He inquired of one of
the multitude what town it was near by and why so many persons were here
assembled together.
"This is the kingdom of Iolchos," answered the man, "and we are the
subjects of King Pelias. Our monarch has summoned us together, that we
may see him sacrifice a black bull to Neptune, who, they say, is his
majesty's father. Yonder is the king, where you see the smoke going up
from the altar."
While the man spoke he eyed Jason with great curiosity; for his garb was
quite unlike that of the Iolchians, and it looked very odd to see a
youth with a leopard's skin over his shoulders and each hand grasping a
spear. Jason perceived, too, that the man stared particularly at his
feet, one of which, you remember, was bare, while the other was
decorated with his father's golden-stringed sandal.
"Look at him! only look at him!" said the man to his next neighbor. "Do
you see? He wears but one sandal!"
Upon this, first one person and then another began to stare at Jason,
and everybody seemed to be greatly struck with something in his aspect;
though they turned their eyes much oftener toward his feet than to any
other part of his figure. Besides, he could hear them whispering to one
another.
"One sandal! One sandal!" they kept saying. "The man with one sandal!
Here he is at last! Whence has he come? What does he mean to do? What
will the king say to the one-sandaled man?"
Poor Jason was greatly abashed and made up his mind that the people of
Iolchos were exceedingly ill-bred to take such public notice of an
accidental deficiency in his dress. Meanwhile, whether it were that they
hustled him forward or that Jason of his own accord thrust a passage
through the crowd, it so happened that he soon found himself close to
the smoking altar, where King Pelias was sacrificing the black bull. The
murmur and hum of the multitude, in their surprise at the spectacle of
Jason with his one bare foot, grew so loud that it disturbed the
ceremonies; and the king, holding the great knife with which he was
just going to cut the bull's throat, turned angrily about and fixed his
eyes on Jason. The people had now withdrawn from around him, so that the
youth stood in an open space, near the smoking altar, front to front
with the angry King Pelias.
"Who are you?" cried the king, with a terrible frown. "And how dare you
make this disturbance, while I am sacrificing a black bull to my father
Neptune?"
"It is no fault of mine," answered Jason. "Your majesty must blame the
rudeness of your subjects, who have raised all this tumult because one
of my feet happens to be bare."
When Jason said this the king gave a quick, startled glance at his feet.
"Ha!" muttered he, "here is the one-sandaled fellow, sure enough! What
can I do with him?"
And he clutched more closely the great knife in his hand, as if he were
half a mind to slay Jason instead of the black bull. The people round
about caught up the king's words, indistinctly as they were uttered; and
first there was a murmur among them and then a loud shout.
"The one-sandaled man has come! The prophecy must be fulfilled!"
For you are to know that many years before King Pelias had been told by
the Speaking Oak of Dodona that a man with one sandal should cast him
down from his throne. On this account he had given strict orders that
nobody should ever come into his presence unless both sandals were
securely tied upon his feet; and he kept an officer in his palace whose
sole business it was to examine people's sandals and to supply them with
a new pair at the expense of the royal treasury as soon as the old ones
began to wear out. In the whole course of the king's reign he had never
been thrown into such a fright and agitation as by the spectacle of poor
Jason's bare foot. But as he was naturally a bold and hard-hearted man,
he soon took courage and began to consider in what way he might rid
himself of this terrible one-sandaled stranger.
"My good young man," said King Pelias, taking the softest tone
imaginable in order to throw Jason off his guard, "you are excessively
welcome to my kingdom. Judging by your dress, you must have traveled a
long distance, for it is not the fashion to wear leopard-skins in this
part of the world. Pray, what may I call your name, and where did you
receive your education?"
"My name is Jason," answered the young stranger. "Ever since my infancy
I have dwelt in the cave of Chiron the Centaur. He was my instructor,
and taught me music and horsemanship and how to cure wounds, and
likewise how to inflict wounds with my weapons!"
"I have heard of Chiron the schoolmaster," replied King Pelias, "and how
that there is an immense deal of learning and wisdom in his head,
although it happens to be set on a horse's body. It gives me great
delight to see one of his scholars at my court. But to test how much you
have profited under so excellent a teacher, will you allow me to ask you
a single question?"
"I do not pretend to be very wise," said Jason; "but ask me what you
please and I will answer to the best of my ability."
Now King Pelias meant cunningly to entrap the young man and to make him
say something that should be the cause of mischief and destruction to
himself. So with a crafty and evil smile upon his face, he spoke as
follows:
"What would you do, brave Jason," asked he, "if there were a man in the
world by whom, as you had reason to believe, you were doomed to be
ruined and slain--what would you do, I say, if that man stood before you
and in your power?"
When Jason saw the malice and wickedness which King Pelias could not
prevent from gleaming out of his eyes, he probably guessed that the king
had discovered what he came for, and that he intended to turn his own
words against himself. Still, he scorned to tell a falsehood. Like an
upright and honorable prince, as he was, he determined to speak out the
real truth. Since the king had chosen to ask him the question and since
Jason had promised him an answer, there was no right way save to tell
him precisely what would be the most prudent thing to do if he had his
worst enemy in his power.
Therefore, after a moment's consideration, he spoke up with a firm and
manly voice:
"I would send such a man," said he, "in quest of the Golden Fleece!"
This enterprise, you will understand, was, of all others, the most
difficult and dangerous in the world. In the first place, it would be
necessary to make a long voyage through unknown seas. There was hardly a
hope or a possibility that any young man who should undertake this
voyage would either succeed in obtaining the Golden Fleece or would
survive to return home and tell of the perils he had run. The eyes of
King Pelias sparkled with joy, therefore, when he heard Jason's reply.
"Well said, wise man with the one sandal!" cried he. "Go, then, and at
the peril of your life bring me back the Golden Fleece!"
"I go," answered Jason composedly. "If I fail, you need not fear that I
will ever come back to trouble you again. But if I return to Iolchos
with the prize, then, King Pelias, you must hasten down from your lofty
throne and give me your crown and scepter."
"That I will," said the king, with a sneer. "Meantime I will keep them
very safely for you."
The first thing that Jason thought of doing after he left the king's
presence was to go to Dodona and inquire of the Talking Oak what course
it was best to pursue. This wonderful tree stood in the center of an
ancient wood. Its stately trunk rose up a hundred feet into the air and
threw a broad and dense shadow over more than an acre of ground.
Standing beneath it, Jason looked up among the knotted branches and
green leaves and into the mysterious heart of the old tree, and spoke
aloud, as if he were addressing some person who was hidden in the depths
of the foliage.
"What shall I do," said he, "in order to win the Golden Fleece?"
At first there was a deep silence, not only within the shadow of the
Talking Oak, but all through the solitary wood. In a moment or two,
however, the leaves of the oak began to stir and rustle as if a gentle
breeze were wandering among them, although the other trees of the wood
were perfectly still. The sound grew louder and became like the roar of
a high wind. By and by Jason imagined that he could distinguish words,
but very confusedly, because each separate leaf of the tree seemed to be
a tongue and the whole myriad of tongues were babbling at once. But the
noise waxed broader and deeper until it resembled a tornado sweeping
through the oak and making one great utterance out of the thousand and
thousand of little murmurs which each leafy tongue had caused by its
rustling. And now, though it still had the tone of a mighty wind roaring
among the branches, it was also like a deep bass voice speaking, as
distinctly as a tree could be expected to speak, the following words:
"Go to Argus, the shipbuilder, and bid him build a galley with fifty
oars."
Then the voice melted again into the indistinct murmur of the rustling
leaves and died gradually away. When it was quite gone Jason felt
inclined to doubt whether he had actually heard the words or whether his
fancy had not shaped them out of the ordinary sound made by a breeze
while passing through the thick foliage of the tree.
But on inquiry among the people of Iolchos, he found that there was
really a man in the city by the name of Argus, who was a very skilful
builder of vessels. This showed some intelligence in the oak, else how
should it have known that any such person existed? At Jason's request
Argus readily consented to build him a galley so big that it should
require fifty strong men to row it, although no vessel of such a size
and burden had heretofore been seen in the world. So the head carpenter
and all his journeymen and apprentices began their work; and for a good
while afterward there they were busily employed hewing out the timbers
and making a great clatter with their hammers, until the new ship, which
was called the Argo, seemed to be quite ready for sea. And as the
Talking Oak had already given him such good advice, Jason thought that
it would not be amiss to ask for a little more. He visited it again,
therefore, and standing beside its huge, rough trunk, inquired what he
should do next.
This time there was no such universal quivering of the leaves throughout
the whole tree as there had been before. But after a while Jason
observed that the foliage of a great branch which stretched above his
head had begun to rustle as if the wind were stirring that one bough,
while all the other boughs of the oak were at rest.
"Cut me off!" said the branch, as soon as it could speak distinctly;
"cut me off! cut me off! and carve me into a figurehead for your
galley."
Accordingly, Jason took the branch at its word and lopped it off the
tree. A carver in the neighborhood engaged to make the figurehead. He
was a tolerably good workman and had already carved several figureheads
in what he intended for feminine shapes, and looking pretty much like
those which we see nowadays stuck up under a vessel's bowsprit, with
great staring eyes that never wink at the dash of the spray. But (what
was very strange) the carver found that his hand was guided by some
unseen power and by a skill beyond his own, and that his tools shaped
out an image which he had never dreamed of. When the work was finished
it turned out to be the figure of a beautiful woman, with a helmet on
her head, from beneath which the long ringlets fell down upon her
shoulders. On the left arm was a shield and in its center appeared a
lifelike representation of the head of Medusa with the snaky locks. The
right arm was extended as if pointing onward. The face of this wonderful
statue, though not angry or forbidding, was so grave and majestic that
perhaps you might call it severe; and as for the mouth, it seemed just
ready to unclose its lips and utter words of the deepest wisdom.
Jason was delighted with the oaken image and gave the carver no rest
until it was completed and set up where a figurehead has always stood,
from that time to this, in the vessel's prow.
"And now," cried he, as he stood gazing at the calm, majestic face of
the statue, "I must go to the Talking Oak and inquire what next to do."
"There is no need of that, Jason," said a voice which, though it was far
lower, reminded him of the mighty tones of the great oak. "When you
desire good advice you can seek it of me."
Jason had been looking straight into the face of the image when these
words were spoken. But he could hardly believe either his ears or his
eyes. The truth was, however, that the oaken lips had moved, and to all
appearance, the voice had proceeded from the statue's mouth. Recovering
a little from his surprise, Jason bethought himself that the image had
been carved out of the wood of the Talking Oak, and that, therefore, it
was really no great wonder, but, on the contrary, the most natural thing
in the world, that it should possess the faculty of speech. It should
have been very odd indeed if it had not. But certainly it was a great
piece of good fortune that he should be able to carry so wise a block of
wood along with him in his perilous voyage.
"Tell me, wondrous image," exclaimed Jason, "since you inherit the
wisdom of the Speaking Oak of Dodona, whose daughter you are--tell me,
where shall I find fifty bold youths who will take each of them an oar
of my galley? They must have sturdy arms to row and brave hearts to
encounter perils, or we shall never win the Golden Fleece."
"Go," replied the oaken image, "go, summon all the heroes of Greece."
And, in fact, considering what a great deed was to be done, could any
advice be wiser than this which Jason received from the figurehead of
his vessel? He lost no time in sending messengers to all the cities, and
making known to the whole people of Greece that Prince Jason, the son of
King AEson, was going in quest of the Fleece of Gold, and he desired the
help of forty-nine of the bravest and strongest young men alive, to row
his vessel and share his dangers. And Jason himself would be the
fiftieth.
At this news the adventurous youths all over the country began to bestir
themselves. Some of them had already fought with giants and slain
dragons; and the younger ones, who had not yet met with such good
fortune, thought it a shame to have lived so long without getting
astride of a flying serpent or sticking their spears into a Chimaera, or
at least thrusting their right arms down a monstrous lion's throat.
There was a fair prospect that they would meet with plenty of such
adventures before finding the Golden Fleece. As soon as they could
furbish up their helmets and shields, therefore, and gird on their
trusty swords, they came thronging to Iolchos and clambered on board the
new galley. Shaking hands with Jason, they assured him that they did not
care a pin for their lives, but would help row the vessel to the
remotest edge of the world and as much further as he might think it best
to go.
Many of these brave fellows had been educated by Chiron, the four-footed
pedagogue, and were therefore old schoolmates of Jason and knew him to
be a lad of spirit. The mighty Hercules, whose shoulders afterward held
up the sky, was one of them. And there were Castor and Pollux, the twin
brothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although they
had been hatched out of an egg; and Theseus, who was so renowned for
killing the Minotaur; and Lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes,
which could see through a millstone or look right down into the depths
of the earth and discover the treasures that were there; and Orpheus,
the very best of harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly
that the brute beasts stood upon their hind legs and capered merrily to
the music. Yes, and at some of his more moving tunes the rocks bestirred
their moss-grown bulk out of the ground, and a grove of forest trees
uprooted themselves and, nodding their tops to one another, performed a
country dance.
One of the rowers was a beautiful young woman named Atalanta, who had
been nursed among the mountains by a bear. So light of foot was this
fair damsel that she could step from one foamy crest of a wave to the
foamy crest of another without wetting more than the sole of her sandal.
She had grown up in a very wild way and talked much about the rights of
women, and loved hunting and war far better than her needle. But in my
opinion, the most remarkable of this famous company were two sons of the
North Wind (airy youngsters, and of rather a blustering disposition),
who had wings on their shoulders, and, in case of a calm, could puff
out their cheeks and blow almost as fresh a breeze as their father. I
ought not to forget the prophets and conjurers, of whom there were
several in the crew, and who could foretell what would happen tomorrow,
or the next day, or a hundred years hence, but were generally quite
unconscious of what was passing at the moment.
Jason appointed Tiphys to be helmsman, because he was a star-gazer and
knew the points of the compass. Lynceus, on account of his sharp sight,
was stationed as a lookout in the prow, where he saw a whole day's sail
ahead, but was rather apt to overlook things that lay directly under his
nose. If the sea only happened to be deep enough, however, Lynceus could
tell you exactly what kind of rocks or sands were at the bottom of it;
and he often cried out to his companions that they were sailing over
heaps of sunken treasure, which yet he was none the richer for
beholding. To confess the truth, few people believed him when he said
it.
Well! But when the Argonauts, as these fifty brave adventurers were
called, had prepared everything for the voyage, an unforeseen difficulty
threatened to end it before it was begun. The vessel, you must
understand, was so long and broad and ponderous that the united force of
all the fifty was insufficient to shove her into the water. Hercules, I
suppose, had not grown to his full strength, else he might have set her
afloat as easily as a little boy launches his boat upon a puddle. But
here were these fifty heroes, pushing and straining and growing red in
the face without making the Argo start an inch. At last, quite wearied
out, they sat themselves down on the shore, exceedingly disconsolate and
thinking that the vessel must be left to rot and fall in pieces and that
they must either swim across the sea or lose the Golden Fleece.
All at once Jason bethought himself of the galley's miraculous
figurehead.
"Oh, daughter of the Talking Oak," cried he, "how shall we set to work
to get our vessel into the water?"
"Seat yourselves," answered the image (for it had known what had ought
to be done from the very first and was only waiting for the question to
be put), "seat yourselves and handle your oars, and let Orpheus play
upon his harp."
Immediately the fifty heroes got on board, and seizing their oars, held
them perpendicularly in the air, while Orpheus (who liked such a task
far better than rowing) swept his fingers across the harp. At the first
ringing note of the music they felt the vessel stir. Orpheus thrummed
away briskly and the galley slid at once into the sea, dipping her prow
so deeply that the figurehead drank the wave with its marvelous lips,
and rising again as buoyant as a swan. The rowers plied their fifty
oars, the white foam boiled up before the prow, the water gurgled and
bubbled in their wake, while Orpheus continued to play so lively a
strain of music that the vessel seemed to dance over the billows by way
of keeping time to it. Thus triumphantly did the Argo sail out of the
harbor amid the huzzas and good wishes of everybody except the wicked
old Pelias, who stood on a promontory scowling at her and wishing that
he could blow out of his lungs the tempest of wrath that was in his
heart and so sink the galley with all on board. When they had sailed
above fifty miles over the sea Lynceus happened to cast his sharp eyes
behind, and said that there was this bad-hearted king, still perched
upon the promontory, and scowling so gloomily that it looked like a
black thunder-cloud in that quarter of the horizon.
In order to make the time pass away more pleasantly during the voyage,
the heroes talked about the Golden Fleece. It originally belonged, it
appears, to a Boeotian ram, who had taken on his back two children,
when in danger of their lives, and fled with them over land and sea as
far as Colchis. One of the children, whose name was Helle, fell into
the sea and was drowned. But the other (a little boy named Phrixus) was
brought safe ashore by the faithful ram, who, however, was so exhausted
that he immediately lay down and died. In memory of this good deed, and
as a token of his true heart, the fleece of the poor dead ram was
miraculously changed to gold and became one of the most beautiful
objects ever seen on earth. It was hung upon a tree in a sacred grove,
where it had now been kept I know not how many years, and was the envy
of mighty kings who had nothing so magnificent in any of their palaces.
If I were to tell you all the adventures of the Argonauts it would take
me till nightfall and perhaps a great deal longer. There was no lack of
wonderful events, as you may judge from what you have already heard. At
a certain island they were hospitably received by King Cyzicus, its
sovereign, who made a feast for them and treated them like brothers. But
the Argonauts saw that this good king looked downcast and very much
troubled, and they therefore inquired of him what was the matter. King
Cyzicus hereupon informed them that he and his subjects were greatly
abused and incommoded by the inhabitants of a neighboring mountain, who
made war upon them and killed many people and ravaged the country. And
while they were talking about it Cyzicus pointed to the mountain and
asked Jason and his companions what they saw there.
"I see some very tall objects," answered Jason, "but they are at such a
distance that I cannot distinctly make out what they are. To tell your
majesty the truth, they look so very strangely that I am inclined to
think them clouds which have chanced to take something like human
shapes."
"I see them very plainly," remarked Lynceus, whose eyes, you know, were
as far-sighted as a telescope. "They are a band of enormous giants, all
of whom have six arms apiece, and a club, a sword or some other weapon
in each of their hands."
"You have excellent eyes," said King Cyzicus. "Yes, they are six-armed
giants, as you say, and these are the enemies whom I and my subjects
have to contend with."
The next day, when the Argonauts were about setting sail, down came
these terrible giants, stepping a hundred yards at a stride, brandishing
their six arms apiece and looking very formidable so far aloft in the
air. Each of these monsters was able to carry on a whole war by himself,
for with one of his arms he could fling immense stones and wield a club
with another and a sword with a third, while a fourth was poking a long
spear at the enemy and the fifth and sixth were shooting him with a bow
and arrow. But luckily, though the giants were so huge and had so many
arms, they had each but one heart and that no bigger nor braver than the
heart of an ordinary man. Besides, if they had been like the
hundred-armed Briareus, the brave Argonauts would have given them their
hands full of fight. Jason and his friends went boldly to meet them,
slew a great many and made the rest take to their heels--so that if the
giants had had six legs apiece instead of six arms, it would have served
them better to run away with.
Another strange adventure happened when the voyagers came to Thrace,
where they found a poor blind king named Phineus, deserted by his
subjects and living in a very sorrowful way all by himself. On Jason's
inquiring whether they could do him any service, the king answered that
he was terribly tormented by three great winged creatures called
Harpies, which had the faces of women and the wings, bodies and claws of
vultures. These ugly wretches were in the habit of snatching away his
dinner, and allowed him no peace of his life. Upon hearing this the
Argonauts spread a plentiful feast on the seashore, well knowing from
what the blind king said of their greediness that the Harpies would
snuff up the scent of the victuals and quickly come to steal them away.
And so it turned out, for hardly was the table set before the three
hideous vulture-women came flapping their wings, seized the food in
their talons and flew off as fast as they could. But the two sons of the
North Wind drew their swords, spread their pinions and set off through
the air in pursuit of the thieves, whom they at last overtook among some
islands, after a chase of hundreds of miles. The two winged youths
blustered terribly at the Harpies (for they had the rough temper of
their father), and so frightened them with their drawn swords that they
solemnly promised never to trouble King Phineus again.
Then the Argonauts sailed onward and met with many other marvelous
incidents, any one of which would make a story by itself. At one time
they landed on an island and were reposing on the grass, when they
suddenly found themselves assailed by what seemed a shower of
steel-headed arrows. Some of them stuck in the ground, while others hit
against their shields and several penetrated their flesh. The fifty
heroes started up and looked about them for the hidden enemy, but could
find none nor see any spot on the whole island where even a single
archer could lie concealed. Still, however, the steel-headed arrows came
whizzing among them; and, at last, happening to look upward, they beheld
a large flock of birds hovering and wheeling aloft and shooting their
feathers down upon the Argonauts. These feathers were the steel-headed
arrows that had so tormented them. There was no possibility of making
any resistance, and the fifty heroic Argonauts might all have been
killed or wounded by a flock of troublesome birds without ever setting
eyes on the Golden Fleece if Jason had not thought of asking the advice
of the oaken image.
So he ran to the galley as fast as his legs would carry him.
"O daughter of the Speaking Oak," cried he, all out of breath, "we need
your wisdom more than ever before! We are in great peril from a flock of
birds, who are shooting us with their steel-pointed feathers. What can
we do to drive them away?"
"Make a clatter on your shields," said the image.
On receiving this excellent counsel, Jason hurried back to his
companions (who were far more dismayed than when they fought with the
six-armed giants) and bade them strike with their swords upon their
brazen shields. Forthwith the fifty heroes set heartily to work, banging
with might and main, and raised such a terrible clatter that the birds
made what haste they could to get away; and though they had shot half
the feathers out of their wings, they were soon seen skimming among the
clouds, a long distance off and looking like a flock of wild geese.
Orpheus celebrated this victory by playing a triumphant anthem on his
harp, and sang so melodiously that Jason begged him to desist, lest, as
the steel-feathered birds had been driven away by an ugly sound, they
might be enticed back again by a sweet one.
While the Argonauts remained on this island they saw a small vessel
approaching the shore, in which were two young men of princely demeanor,
and exceedingly handsome, as young princes generally were in those days.
Now, who do you imagine these two voyagers turned out to be? Why, if you
will believe me, they were the sons of that very Phrixus, who in his
childhood had been carried to Colchis on the back of the golden-fleeced
ram. Since that time Phrixus had married the king's daughter, and the
two young princes had been born and brought up at Colchis, and had spent
their play days on the outskirts of the grove, in the center of which
the Golden Fleece was hanging upon a tree. They were now on their way
to Greece, in hopes of getting back a kingdom that had been wrongfully
taken from their father.
When the princes understood whither the Argonauts were going they
offered to turn back and guide them to Colchis. At the same time,
however, they spoke as if it were very doubtful whether Jason would
succeed in getting the Golden Fleece. According to their account, the
tree on which it hung was guarded by a terrible dragon, who never failed
to devour at one mouthful every person who might venture within his
reach.
"There are other difficulties in the way," continued the young princes.
"But is not this enough? Ah, brave Jason, turn back before it is too
late! It would grieve us to the heart if you and your forty-nine brave
companions should be eaten up, at fifty mouthfuls, by this execrable
dragon."
"My young friends," quietly replied Jason, "I do not wonder that you
think the dragon very terrible. You have grown up from infancy in the
fear of this monster, and therefore still regard him with the awe that
children feel for the bugbears and hobgoblins which their nurses have
talked to them about. But in my view of the matter, the dragon is merely
a pretty large serpent who is not half so likely to snap me up at one
mouthful as I am to cut off his ugly head and strip the skin from his
body. At all events, turn back who may, I will never see Greece again
unless I carry with me the Golden Fleece."
"We will none of us turn back!" cried his forty-nine brave comrades.
"Let us get on board the galley this instant, and if the dragon is to
make a breakfast of us, much good may it do him."
And Orpheus (whose custom it was to set everything to music) began to
harp and sing most gloriously, and made every mother's son of them feel
as if nothing in this world were so delectable as to fight dragons and
nothing so truly honorable as to be eaten up at one mouthful, in case of
the worst.
After this (being now under the guidance of the two princes, who were
well acquainted with the way) they quickly sailed to Colchis. When the
king of the country, whose name was AEetes, heard of their arrival, he
instantly summoned Jason to court. The king was a stern and
cruel-looking potentate, and though he put on as polite and hospitable
an expression as he could, Jason did not like his face a whit better
than that of the wicked King Pelias, who dethroned his father.
"You are welcome, brave Jason," said King AEetes. "Pray, are you on a
pleasure voyage?--or do you meditate the discovery of unknown
islands?--or what other cause has procured me the happiness of seeing
you at my court?"
"Great sir," replied Jason, with an obeisance--for Chiron had taught him
how to behave with propriety, whether to kings or beggars--"I have come
hither with a purpose which I now beg your majesty's permission to
execute. King Pelias, who sits on my father's throne (to which he has no
more right than to the one on which your excellent majesty is now
seated), has engaged to come down from it and to give me his crown and
scepter, provided I bring him the Golden Fleece. This, as your majesty
is aware, is now hanging on a tree here at Colchis; and I humbly solicit
your gracious leave to take it away."
In spite of himself, the king's face twisted itself into an angry frown;
for, above all things else in the world, he prized the Golden Fleece,
and was even suspected of having done a very wicked act in order to get
it into his own possession. It put him into the worst possible humor,
therefore, to hear that the gallant Prince Jason and forty-nine of the
bravest young warriors of Greece had come to Colchis with the sole
purpose of taking away his chief treasure.
"Do you know," asked King AEetes, eyeing Jason very sternly, "what are
the conditions which you must fulfill before getting possession of the
Golden Fleece?"
"I have heard," rejoined the youth, "that a dragon lies beneath the tree
on which the prize hangs, and that whoever approaches him runs the risk
of being devoured at a mouthful."
"True," said the king, with a smile that did not look particularly
good-natured. "Very true, young man. But there are other things as hard,
or perhaps a little harder, to be done before you can even have the
privilege of being devoured by the dragon. For example, you must first
tame my two brazen-footed and brazen-lunged bulls, which Vulcan, the
wonderful blacksmith, made for me. There is a furnace in each of their
stomachs, and they breathe such hot fire out of their mouths and
nostrils that nobody has hitherto gone nigh them without being instantly
burned to a small, black cinder. What do you think of this, my brave
Jason?"
"I must encounter the peril," answered Jason composedly, "since it
stands in the way of my purpose."
"After taming the fiery bulls," continued King AEetes, who was determined
to scare Jason if possible, "you must yoke them to a plow and must plow
the sacred earth in the grove of Mars and sow some of the same dragon's
teeth from which Cadmus raised a crop of armed men. They are an unruly
set of reprobates, those sons of the dragon's teeth, and unless you
treat them suitably, they will fall upon you sword in hand. You and your
forty-nine Argonauts, my bold Jason, are hardly numerous or strong
enough to fight with such a host as will spring up."
"My master Chiron," replied Jason, "taught me long ago the story of
Cadmus. Perhaps I can manage the quarrelsome sons of the dragon's teeth
as well as Cadmus did."
"I wish the dragon had him," muttered King AEetes to himself, "and the
four-footed pedant, his schoolmaster, into the bargain. Why, what a
foolhardy, self-conceited coxcomb he is! We'll see what my
fire-breathing bulls will do for him. Well, Prince Jason," he continued
aloud, and as complacently as he could, "make yourself comfortable for
today, and tomorrow morning, since you insist upon it, you shall try
your skill at the plow."
While the king talked with Jason a beautiful young woman was standing
behind the throne. She fixed her eyes earnestly upon the youthful
stranger and listened attentively to every word that was spoken, and
when Jason withdrew from the king's presence this young woman followed
him out of the room.
"I am the king's daughter," she said to him, "and my name is Medea. I
know a great deal of which other young princesses are ignorant and can
do many things which they would be afraid so much as to dream of. If you
will trust to me I can instruct you how to tame the fiery bulls and sow
the dragon's teeth and get the Golden Fleece."
"Indeed, beautiful princess," answered Jason, "if you will do me this
service I promise to be grateful to you my whole life long."
Gazing at Medea, he beheld a wonderful intelligence in her face. She was
one of those persons whose eyes are full of mystery; so that while
looking into them, you seem to see a very great way, as into a deep
well, yet can never be certain whether you see into the furthest depths
or whether there be not something else hidden at the bottom. If Jason
had been capable of fearing anything he would have been afraid of making
this young princess his enemy; for, beautiful as she now looked, she
might the very next instant become as terrible as the dragon that kept
watch over the Golden Fleece.
"Princess," he exclaimed, "you seem indeed very wise and very powerful.
But how can you help me to do the things of which you speak? Are you an
enchantress?"
"Yes, Prince Jason," answered Medea, with a smile, "you have hit upon
the truth. I am an enchantress. Circe, my father's sister, taught me to
be one, and I could tell you, if I pleased, who was the old woman with
the peacock, the pomegranate and the cuckoo staff, whom you carried over
the river; and likewise, who it is that speaks through the lips of the
oaken image that stands in the prow of your galley. I am acquainted with
some of your secrets, you perceive. It is well for you that I am
favorably inclined, for otherwise you would hardly escape being snapped
up by the dragon."
"I should not so much care for the dragon," replied Jason, "if I only
knew how to manage the brazen-footed and fiery-lunged bulls."
"If you are as brave as I think you, and as you have need to be," said
Medea, "your own bold heart will teach you that there is but one way of
dealing with a mad bull. What it is I leave you to find out in the
moment of peril. As for the fiery breath of these animals, I have a
charmed ointment here which will prevent you from being burned up and
cure you if you chance to be a little scorched."
So she put a golden box into his hand and directed him how to apply the
perfumed unguent which it contained, and where to meet her at midnight.
"Only be brave," added she, "and before daybreak the brazen bulls shall
be tamed."
The young man assured her that his heart would not fail him. He then
rejoined his comrades, and told them what had passed between the
princess and himself, and warned them to be in readiness in case there
might be need of their help.
At the appointed hour he met the beautiful Medea on the marble steps of
the king's palace. She gave him a basket, in which were the dragon's
teeth, just as they had been pulled out of the monster's jaws by Cadmus
long ago. Medea then led Jason down the palace steps and through the
silent streets of the city and into the royal pasture-ground, where the
two brazen-footed bulls were kept. It was a starry night, with a bright
gleam along the eastern edge of the sky, where the moon was soon going
to show herself. After entering the pasture the princess paused and
looked around.
"There they are," said she, "reposing themselves and chewing their fiery
cuds in that furthest corner of the field. It will be excellent sport, I
assure you, when they catch a glimpse of your figure. My father and all
his court delight in nothing so much as to see a stranger trying to yoke
them in order to come at the Golden Fleece. It makes a holiday in
Colchis whenever such a thing happens. For my part, I enjoy it
immensely. You cannot imagine in what a mere twinkling of an eye their
hot breath shrivels a young man into a black cinder."
"Are you sure, beautiful Medea," asked Jason, "quite sure, that the
unguent in the gold box will prove a remedy against those terrible
burns?"
"If you doubt, if you are in the least afraid," said the princess,
looking him in the face by the dim starlight, "you had better never have
been born than go a step nigher to the bulls."
But Jason had set his heart steadfastly on getting the Golden Fleece,
and I positively doubt whether he would have gone back without it even
had he been certain of finding himself turned into a red-hot cinder, or
a handful of white ashes the instant he made a step further. He
therefore let go Medea's hand and walked boldly forward in the
direction whither she had pointed. At some distance before him he
perceived four streams of fiery vapor, regularly appearing and again
vanishing after dimly lighting up the surrounding obscurity. These, you
will understand, were caused by the breath of the brazen bulls, which
was quietly stealing out of their four nostrils as they lay chewing
their cuds.
At the first two or three steps which Jason made the four fiery streams
appeared to gush out somewhat more plentifully, for the two brazen bulls
had heard his foot-tramp and were lifting up their hot noses to snuff
the air. He went a little further, and by the way in which the red vapor
now spouted forth he judged that the creatures had got upon their feet.
Now he could see glowing sparks and vivid jets of flame. At the next
step each of the bulls made the pasture echo with a terrible roar, while
the burning breath which they thus belched forth lit up the whole field
with a momentary flash.
One other stride did bold Jason make; and suddenly, as a streak of
lightning, on came these fiery animals, roaring like thunder and sending
out sheets of white flame, which so kindled up the scene that the young
man could discern every object more distinctly than by daylight. Most
distinctly of all he saw the two horrible creatures galloping right down
upon him, their brazen hoofs rattling and ringing over the ground and
their tails sticking up stiffly into the air, as has always been the
fashion with angry bulls. Their breath scorched the herbage before them.
So intensely hot it was, indeed, that it caught a dry tree under which
Jason was now standing and set it all in a light blaze. But as for Jason
himself (thanks to Medea's enchanted ointment), the white flame curled
around his body without injuring him a jot more than if he had been made
of asbestos.
Greatly encouraged at finding himself not yet turned into a cinder, the
young man awaited the attack of the bulls. Just as the brazen brutes
fancied themselves sure of tossing him into the air he caught one of
them by the horn and the other by his screwed-up tail and held them in a
grip like that of an iron vise, one with his right hand, the other with
his left. Well, he must have been wonderfully strong in his arms, to be
sure! But the secret of the matter was that the brazen bulls were
enchanted creatures and that Jason had broken the spell of their fiery
fierceness by his bold way of handling them. And ever since that time it
has been the favorite method of brave men, when danger assails them, to
do what they call "taking the bull by the horns"; and to grip him by the
tail is pretty much the same thing--that is, to throw aside fear and
overcome the peril by despising it.
It was now easy to yoke the bulls and to harness them to the plow which
had lain rusting on the ground for a great many years gone by, so long
was it before anybody could be found capable of plowing that piece of
land. Jason, I suppose, had been taught how to draw a furrow by the good
old Chiron, who, perhaps, used to allow himself to be harnessed to the
plow. At any rate, our hero succeeded perfectly well in breaking up the
greensward; and by the time that the moon was a quarter of her journey
up the sky the plowed field lay before him, a large tract of black
earth, ready to be sown with the dragon's teeth. So Jason scattered them
broadcast and harrowed them into the soil with a brush-harrow, and took
his stand on the edge of the field, anxious to see what would happen
next.
"Must we wait long for harvest-time?" he inquired of Medea, who was now
standing by his side.
"Whether sooner or later, it will be sure to come," answered the
princess. "A crop of armed men never fails to spring up when the
dragon's teeth have been sown."
[Illustration: THE DRAGON FELL AT FULL LENGTH UPON THE GROUND]
[Illustration: THE BLIND OEDIPUS, LED BY HIS DAUGHTER ANTIGONE]
The moon was now high aloft in the heavens and threw its bright beams
over the plowed field, where as yet there was nothing to be seen. Any
farmer, on viewing it, would have said that Jason must wait weeks before
the green blades would peep from among the clods, and whole months
before the yellow grain would be ripened for the sickle. But by and by,
all over the field, there was something that glistened in the moonbeams
like sparkling drops of dew. These bright objects sprouted higher and
proved to be the steel heads of spears. Then there was a dazzling gleam
from a vast number of polished brass helmets, beneath which, as they
grew further out of the soil, appeared the dark and bearded visages of
warriors, struggling to free themselves from the imprisoning earth. The
first look that they gave at the upper world was a glare of wrath and
defiance. Next were seen their bright breastplates; in every right hand
there was a sword or a spear and on each left arm a shield; and when
this strange crop of warriors had but half grown out of the earth, they
struggled--such was their impatience of restraint--and, as it were, tore
themselves up by the roots. Wherever a dragon's tooth had fallen, there
stood a man armed for battle. They made a clangor with their swords
against their shields, and eyed one another fiercely; for they had come
into this beautiful world and into the peaceful moonlight full of rage
and stormy passions and ready to take the life of every human brother in
recompense for the boon of their own existence.
There have been many other armies in the world that seemed to possess
the same fierce nature with the one which had now sprouted from the
dragon's teeth; but these in the moonlit field were the more excusable,
because they never had women for their mothers. And now it would have
rejoiced any great captain who was bent on conquering the world, like
Alexander or Napoleon, to raise a crop of armed soldiers as easily as
Jason did!
For awhile the warriors stood flourishing their weapons, clashing their
swords against their shields and boiling over with the red-hot thirst
for battle. Then they began to shout, "Show us the enemy! Lead us to the
charge! Death or victory! Come on, brave comrades! Conquer or die!" and
a hundred other outcries, such as men always bellow forth on a
battle-field and which these dragon people seemed to have at their
tongues' ends. At last the front rank caught sight of Jason, who,
beholding the flash of so many weapons in the moonlight, had thought it
best to draw his sword. In a moment all the sons of the dragon's teeth
appeared to take Jason for an enemy; and crying with one voice, "Guard
the Golden Fleece!" they ran at him with uplifted swords and protruded
spears. Jason knew that it would be impossible to withstand this
blood-thirsty battalion with his single arm, but determined, since there
was nothing better to be done, to die as valiantly as if he himself had
sprung from a dragon's tooth.
Medea, however, bade him snatch up a stone from the ground.
"Throw it among them quickly!" cried she. "It is the only way to save
yourself."
The armed men were now so nigh that Jason could discern the fire
flashing out of their enraged eyes, when he let fly the stone and saw it
strike the helmet of a tall warrior who was rushing upon him with his
blade aloft. The stone glanced from this man's helmet to the shield of
his nearest comrade, and thence flew right into the angry face of
another, hitting him smartly between the eyes. Each of the three who had
been struck by the stone took it for granted that his next neighbor had
given him a blow; and instead of running any further toward Jason, they
began to fight among themselves. The confusion spread through the host,
so that it seemed scarcely a moment before they were all hacking,
hewing and stabbing at one another, lopping off arms, heads and legs and
doing such memorable deeds that Jason was filled with immense
admiration; although, at the same time, he could not help laughing to
behold these mighty men punishing each other for an offense which he
himself had committed. In an incredibly short space of time (almost as
short, indeed, as it had taken them to grow up) all but one of the
heroes of the dragon's teeth were stretched lifeless on the field. The
last survivor, the bravest and strongest of the whole, had just force
enough to wave his crimson sword over his head and give a shout of
exultation, crying, "Victory! Victory! Immortal fame!" when he himself
fell down and lay quietly among his slain brethren.
And there was the end of the army that had sprouted from the dragon's
teeth. That fierce and feverish fight was the only enjoyment which they
had tasted on this beautiful earth.
"Let them sleep in the bed of honor," said the Princess Medea, with a
sly smile at Jason. "The world will always have simpletons enough, just
like them, fighting and dying for they know not what, and fancying that
posterity will take the trouble to put laurel wreaths on their rusty and
battered helmets. Could you help smiling, Prince Jason, to see the
self-conceit of that last fellow, just as he tumbled down?"
"It made me very sad," answered Jason gravely. "And to tell you the
truth, princess, the Golden Fleece does not appear so well worth the
winning, after what I have here beheld."
"You will think differently in the morning," said Medea. "True, the
Golden Fleece may not be so valuable as you have thought it; but then
there is nothing better in the world, and one must needs have an object,
you know. Come! Your night's work has been well performed; and tomorrow
you can inform King AEetes that the first part of your allotted task is
fulfilled."
Agreeably to Medea's advice, Jason went betimes in the morning to the
palace of king AEetes. Entering the presence chamber, he stood at the
foot of the throne and made a low obeisance.
"Your eyes look heavy, Prince Jason," observed the king; "you appear to
have spent a sleepless night. I hope you have been considering the
matter a little more wisely and have concluded not to get yourself
scorched to a cinder in attempting to tame my brazen-lunged bulls."
"That is already accomplished, may it please your majesty," replied
Jason. "The bulls have been tamed and yoked; the field has been plowed;
the dragon's teeth have been sown broadcast and harrowed into the soil;
the crop of armed warriors has sprung up and they have slain one another
to the last man. And now I solicit your majesty's permission to
encounter the dragon, that I may take down the Golden Fleece from the
tree and depart with my forty-nine comrades."
King AEetes scowled and looked very angry and excessively disturbed; for
he knew that, in accordance with his kingly promise, he ought now to
permit Jason to win the fleece if his courage and skill should enable
him to do so. But since the young man had met with such good luck in the
matter of the brazen bulls and dragon's teeth, the king feared that he
would be equally successful in slaying the dragon. And therefore, though
he would gladly have seen Jason snapped up at a mouthful, he was
resolved (and it was a very wrong thing of this wicked potentate) not to
run any further risk of losing his beloved fleece.
"You never would have succeeded in this business, young man," said he,
"if my undutiful daughter Medea had not helped you with her
enchantments. Had you acted fairly, you would have been at this instant
a black cinder or a handful of white ashes. I forbid you, on pain of
death, to make any more attempts to get the Golden Fleece. To speak my
mind plainly, you shall never set eyes on so much as one of its
glistening locks."
Jason left the king's presence in great sorrow and anger. He could think
of nothing better to be done than to summon together his forty-nine
brave Argonauts, march at once to the grove of Mars, slay the dragon,
take possession of the Golden Fleece, get on board the Argo and spread
all sail for Iolchos. The success of this scheme depended, it is true,
on the doubtful point whether all the fifty heroes might not be snapped
up as so many mouthfuls by the dragon. But as Jason was hastening down
the palace steps, the Princess Medea called after him and beckoned him
to return. Her black eyes shone upon him with such a keen intelligence
that he felt as if there were a serpent peeping out of them, and
although she had done him so much service only the night before, he was
by no means very certain that she would not do him an equally great
mischief before sunset. These enchantresses, you must know, are never to
be depended upon.
"What says King AEetes, my royal and upright father?" inquired Medea,
slightly smiling. "Will he give you the Golden Fleece without any
further risk or trouble?"
"On the contrary," answered Jason, "he is very angry with me for taming
the brazen bulls and sowing the dragon's teeth. And he forbids me to
make any more attempts, and positively refuses to give up the Golden
Fleece, whether I slay the dragon or no."
"Yes, Jason," said the princess, "and I can tell you more. Unless you
set sail from Colchis before tomorrow's sunrise, the king means to burn
your fifty-oared galley and put yourself and your forty-nine brave
comrades to the sword. But be of good courage. The Golden Fleece you
shall have if it lies within the power of my enchantments to get it for
you. Wait for me here an hour before midnight."
At the appointed hour you might again have seen Prince Jason and the
Princess Medea, side by side, stealing through the streets of Colchis on
their way to the sacred grove, in the center of which the Golden Fleece
was suspended to a tree. While they were crossing the pasture ground the
brazen bulls came toward Jason, lowing, nodding their heads and
thrusting forth their snouts, which, as other cattle do, they loved to
have rubbed and caressed by a friendly hand. Their fierce nature was
thoroughly tamed; and with their fierceness, the two furnaces in their
stomaches had likewise been extinguished, insomuch that they probably
enjoyed far more comfort in grazing and chewing their cuds than ever
before. Indeed, it had heretofore been a great inconvenience to these
poor animals that, whenever they wished to eat a mouthful of grass, the
fire out of their nostrils had shriveled it up before they could manage
to crop it. How they contrived to keep themselves alive is more than I
can imagine. But now, instead of emitting jets of flame and streams of
sulphurous vapor, they breathed the very sweetest of cow breath.
After kindly patting the bulls, Jason followed Medea's guidance into the
Grove of Mars, where the great oak trees that had been growing for
centuries threw so thick a shade that the moonbeams struggled vainly to
find their way through it. Only here and there a glimmer fell upon the
leaf-strewn earth, or now and then a breeze stirred the boughs aside and
gave Jason a glimpse of the sky, lest in that deep obscurity he might
forget that there was one overhead. At length, when they had gone
further and further into the heart of the duskiness, Medea squeezed
Jason's hand.
"Look yonder," she whispered. "Do you see it?"
Gleaming among the venerable oaks there was a radiance, not like the
moonbeams, but rather resembling the golden glory of the setting sun. It
proceeded from an object which appeared to be suspended at about a man's
height from the ground, a little further within the wood.
"What is it?" asked Jason.
"Have you come so far to seek it," exclaimed Medea, "and do you not
recognize the meed of all your toils and perils when it glitters before
your eyes? It is the Golden Fleece."
Jason went onward a few steps further, and then stopped to gaze. Oh, how
beautiful it looked, shining with a marvelous light of its own, that
inestimable prize which so many heroes had longed to behold but had
perished in the quest of it, either by the perils of their voyage or by
the fiery breath of the brazen-lunged bulls.
"How gloriously it shines!" cried Jason in a rapture. "It has surely
been dipped in the richest gold of sunset. Let me hasten onward and take
it to my bosom."
"Stay," said Medea, holding him back. "Have you forgotten what guards
it?"
To say the truth, in the joy of beholding the object of his desires, the
terrible dragon had quite slipped out of Jason's memory. Soon, however,
something came to pass that reminded him what perils were still to be
encountered. An antelope that probably mistook the yellow radiance for
sunrise came bounding fleetly through the grove. He was rushing straight
toward the Golden Fleece, when suddenly there was a frightful hiss and
the immense head and half the scaly body of the dragon was thrust forth
(for he was twisted round the trunk of the tree on which the fleece
hung), and seizing the poor antelope, swallowed him with one snap of his
jaws.
After this feat, the dragon seemed sensible that some other living
creature was within reach, on which he felt inclined to finish his meal.
In various directions he kept poking his ugly snout among the trees,
stretching out his neck a terrible long way, now here, now there and now
close to the spot where Jason and the princess were hiding behind an
oak. Upon my word, as the head came waving and undulating through the
air and reaching almost within arm's length of Prince Jason, it was a
very hideous and uncomfortable sight. The gape of his enormous jaws was
nearly as wide as the gateway of the king's palace.
"Well, Jason," whispered Medea (for she was ill natured, as all
enchantresses are, and wanted to make the bold youth tremble), "what do
you think now of your prospect of winning the Golden Fleece?"
Jason answered only by drawing his sword and making a step forward.
"Stay, foolish youth," said Medea, grasping his arm. "Do not you see you
are lost without me as your good angel? In this gold box I have a magic
potion which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than
your sword."
The dragon had probably heard the voices, for swift as lightning his
black head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again, darting
full forty feet at a stretch. As it approached, Medea tossed the
contents of the gold box right down the monster's wide-open throat.
Immediately, with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle--flinging
his tail up to the tip-top of the tallest tree and shattering all its
branches as it crashed heavily down again--the dragon fell at full
length upon the ground and lay quite motionless.
"It is only a sleeping potion," said the enchantress to Prince Jason.
"One always finds a use for these mischievous creatures sooner or later;
so I did not wish to kill him outright. Quick! Snatch the prize and let
us begone. You have won the Golden Fleece."
Jason caught the fleece from the tree and hurried through the grove, the
deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed, by the golden glory
of the precious object that he bore along. A little way before him he
beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with her
peacock beside her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him to
haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the two
winged sons of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the
moonlight a few hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of
the Argonauts to embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his
sharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden
Fleece, although several stone walls, a hill, and the black shadows of
the Grove of Mars intervened between. By his advice the heroes had
seated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held
perpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.
As Jason drew near he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more
than ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice:
"Make haste. Prince Jason! For your life, make haste!"
With one bound he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of
the Golden Fleece, the forty-nine heroes gave a mighty shout, and
Orpheus, striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of
which the galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering
along with wings!
THE CYCLOPS
When the great city of Troy was taken, all the chiefs who had fought
against it set sail for their homes. But there was wrath in heaven
against them, for indeed they had borne themselves haughtily and cruelly
in the day of their victory. Therefore they did not all find a safe and
happy return. For one was shipwrecked and another was shamefully slain
by his false wife in his palace, and others found all things at home
troubled and changed and were driven to seek new dwellings elsewhere.
And some, whose wives and friends and people had been still true to them
through those ten long years of absence, were driven far and wide about
the world before they saw their native land again. And of all, the wise
Ulysses was he who wandered farthest and suffered most.
He was well-nigh the last to sail, for he had tarried many days to do
pleasure to Agamemnon, lord of all the Greeks. Twelve ships he had with
him--twelve he had brought to Troy--and in each there were some fifty
men, being scarce half of those that had sailed in them in the old days,
so many valiant heroes slept the last sleep by Simois and Scamander and
in the plain and on the seashore, slain in battle or by the shafts of
Apollo.
First they sailed northwest to the Thracian coast, where the Ciconians
dwelt, who had helped the men of Troy. Their city they took, and in it
much plunder, slaves and oxen, and jars of fragrant wine, and might have
escaped unhurt, but that they stayed to hold revel on the shore. For the
Ciconians gathered their neighbors, being men of the same blood, and did
battle with the invaders and drove them to their ship. And when Ulysses
numbered his men, he found that he had lost six out of each ship.
Scarce had he set out again when the wind began to blow fiercely; so,
seeing a smooth, sandy beach, they drove the ships ashore and dragged
them out of reach of the waves, and waited till the storm should abate.
And the third morning being fair, they sailed again and journeyed
prosperously till they came to the very end of the great Peloponnesian
land, where Cape Malea looks out upon the southern sea. But contrary
currents baffled them, so that they could not round it, and the north
wind blew so strongly that they must fain drive before it. And on the
tenth day they came to the land where the lotus grows--a wondrous fruit,
of which whosoever eats cares not to see country or wife or children
again. Now the Lotus eaters, for so they call the people of the land,
were a kindly folk and gave of the fruit to some of the sailors, not
meaning them any harm, but thinking it to be the best that they had to
give. These, when they had eaten, said that they would not sail any more
over the sea; which, when the wise Ulysses heard, he bade their comrades
bind them and carry them, sadly complaining, to the ships.
Then, the wind having abated, they took to their oars and rowed for many
days till they came to the country where the Cyclopes dwell. Now, a mile
or so from the shore there was an island, very fair and fertile, but no
man dwells there or tills the soil, and in the island a harbor where a
ship may be safe from all winds, and at the head of the harbor a stream
falling from the rock, and whispering alders all about it. Into this the
ships passed safely and were hauled up on the beach, and the crews slept
by them, waiting for the morning. And the next day they hunted the wild
goats, of which there was great store on the island, and feasted right
merrily on what they caught, with draughts of red wine which they had
carried off from the town of the Ciconians.
But on the morrow, Ulysses, for he was ever fond of adventure and would
know of every land to which he came what manner of men they were that
dwelt there, took one of his twelve ships and bade row to the land.
There was a great hill sloping to the shore, and there rose up here and
there a smoke from the caves where the Cyclopes dwelt apart, holding no
converse with each other, for they were a rude and savage folk, but
ruled each his own household, not caring for others. Now very close to
the shore was one of these caves, very huge and deep, with laurels round
about the mouth, and in front a fold with walls built of rough stone and
shaded by tall oaks and pines. So Ulysses chose out of the crew the
twelve bravest, and bade the rest guard the ship, and went to see what
manner of dwelling this was and who abode there. He had his sword by his
side, and on his shoulder a mighty skin of wine, sweet smelling and
strong, with which he might win the heart of some fierce savage, should
he chance to meet with such, as indeed his prudent heart forecasted that
he might.
So they entered the cave and judged that it was the dwelling of some
rich and skilful shepherd. For within there were pens for the young of
the sheep and of the goats, divided all according to their age, and
there were baskets full of cheeses, and full milk pails ranged along the
wall. But the Cyclops himself was away in the pastures. Then the
companions of Ulysses besought him that he would depart, taking with
him, if he would, a store of cheeses and sundry of the lambs and of the
kids. But he would not, for he wished to see, after his wont, what
manner of host this strange shepherd might be. And truly he saw it to
his cost!
It was evening when the Cyclops came home, a mighty giant, twenty feet
in height or more. On his shoulder he bore a vast bundle of pine logs
for his fire, and threw them down outside the cave with a great crash,
and drove the flocks within, and closed the entrance with a huge rock,
which twenty wagons and more could not bear. Then he milked the ewes and
all the she-goats, and half of the milk he curdled for cheese and half
he set ready for himself when he should sup. Next he kindled a fire with
the pine logs, and the flame lighted up all the cave, showing Ulysses
and his comrades.
"Who are ye?" cried Polyphemus, for that was the giant's name. "Are ye
traders or, haply, pirates?"
For in those days it was not counted shame to be called a pirate.
Ulysses shuddered at the dreadful voice and shape, but bore him bravely,
and answered, "We are no pirates, mighty sir, but Greeks, sailing back
from Troy, and subjects of the great King Agamemnon, whose fame is
spread from one end of heaven to the other. And we are come to beg
hospitality of thee in the name of Zeus, who rewards or punishes hosts
and guests according as they be faithful the one to the other, or no."
"Nay," said the giant, "it is but idle talk to tell me of Zeus and the
other gods. We Cyclopes take no account of gods, holding ourselves to be
much better and stronger than they. But come, tell me where have you
left your ship?"
But Ulysses saw his thought when he asked about the ship, how he was
minded to break it and take from them all hope of flight. Therefore he
answered him craftily:
"Ship have we none, for that which was ours King Poseidon brake, driving
it on a jutting rock on this coast, and we whom thou seest are all that
are escaped from the waves."
Polyphemus answered nothing, but without more ado caught up two of the
men, as a man might catch up the whelps of a dog, and dashed them on the
ground, and tore them limb from limb and devoured them, with huge
draughts of milk between, leaving not a morsel, not even the very
bones. But the others, when they saw the dreadful deed, could only weep
and pray to Zeus for help. And when the giant had ended his foul meal,
he lay down among his sheep and slept.
Then Ulysses questioned much in his heart whether he should slay the
monster as he slept, for he doubted not that his good sword would pierce
to the giant's heart, mighty as he was. But, being very wise, he
remembered that, should he slay him, he and his comrades would yet
perish miserably. For who should move away the great rock that lay
against the door of the cave? So they waited till the morning. And the
monster woke and milked his flocks, and afterward, seizing two men,
devoured them for his meal. Then he went to the pastures, but put the
great rock on the mouth of the cave, just as a man puts down the lid
upon his quiver.
All that day the wise Ulysses was thinking what he might best do to save
himself and his companions, and the end of his thinking was this: There
was a mighty pole in the cave, green wood of an olive tree, big as a
ship's mast, which Polyphemus purposed to use, when the smoke should
have dried it, as a walking staff. Of this he cut off a fathom's length,
and his comrades sharpened it and hardened it in the fire and then hid
it away. At evening the giant came back and drove his sheep into the
cave, nor left the rams outside, as he had been wont to do before, but
shut them in. And having duly done his shepherd's work, he made his
cruel feast as before. Then Ulysses came forward with the wine skin in
his hand and said:
"Drink, Cyclops, now that thou hast feasted. Drink and see what precious
things we had in our ship. But no one hereafter will come to thee with
such like, if thou dealest with strangers as cruelly as thou hast dealt
with us."
Then the Cyclops drank and was mightily pleased, and said, "Give me
again to drink and tell me thy name, stranger, and I will give thee a
gift such as a host should give. In good truth this is a rare liquor.
We, too, have vines, but they bear no wine like this, which indeed must
be such as the gods drink in heaven."
Then Ulysses gave him the cup again and he drank. Thrice he gave it to
him and thrice he drank, not knowing what it was and how it would work
within his brain.
Then Ulysses spake to him. "Thou didst ask my name, Cyclops. Lo! my name
is No Man. And now that thou knowest my name, thou shouldst give me thy
gift."
And he said, "My gift shall be that I will eat thee last of all thy
company."
And as he spake he fell back in a drunken sleep. Then Ulysses bade his
comrades be of good courage, for the time was come when they should be
delivered. And they thrust the stake of olive wood into the fire till it
was ready, green as it was, to burst into flame, and they thrust it into
the monster's eye; for he had but one eye, and that in the midst of his
forehead, with the eyebrow below it. And Ulysses leaned with all his
force upon the stake and thrust it in with might and main. And the
burning wood hissed in the eye, just as the red-hot iron hisses in the
water when a man seeks to temper steel for a sword.
Then the giant leapt up and tore away the stake and cried aloud, so that
all the Cyclopes who dwelt on the mountain side heard him and came about
his cave, asking him, "What aileth thee, Polyphemus, that thou makest
this uproar in the peaceful night, driving away sleep? Is any one
robbing thee of thy sheep or seeking to slay thee by craft or force?"
And the giant answered, "No Man slays me by craft."
"Nay, but," they said, "if no man does thee wrong, we cannot help thee.
The sickness which great Zeus may send, who can avoid? Pray to our
father, Poseidon, for help."
Then they departed, and Ulysses was glad at heart for the good success
of his device when he said that he was No Man.
But the Cyclops rolled away the great stone from the door of the cave
and sat in the midst, stretching out his hands to feel whether perchance
the men within the cave would seek to go out among the sheep.
Long did Ulysses think how he and his comrades should best escape. At
last he lighted upon a good device, and much he thanked Zeus for that
this once the giant had driven the rams with the other sheep into the
cave. For, these being great and strong, he fastened his comrades under
the bellies of the beasts, tying them with osier twigs, of which the
giant made his bed. One ram he took and fastened a man beneath it, and
two others he set, one on either side. So he did with the six, for but
six were left out of the twelve who had ventured with him from the ship.
And there was one mighty ram, far larger than all the others, and to
this Ulysses clung, grasping the fleece tight with both his hands. So
they waited for the morning. And when the morning came, the rams rushed
forth to the pasture; but the giant sat in the door and felt the back of
each as it went by, nor thought to try what might be underneath. Last of
all went the great ram. And the Cyclops knew him as he passed and said:
"How is this, thou, who art the leader of the flock? Thou art not wont
thus to lag behind. Thou hast always been the first to run to the
pastures and streams in the morning and the first to come back to the
fold when evening fell; and now thou art last of all. Perhaps thou art
troubled about thy master's eye, which some wretch--No Man, they call
him--has destroyed, having first mastered me with wine. He has not
escaped, I ween. I would that thou couldst speak and tell me where he is
lurking. Of a truth I would dash out his brains upon the ground and
avenge me of this No Man."
So speaking, he let him pass out of the cave. But when they were out of
reach of the giant, Ulysses loosed his hold of the ram and then unbound
his comrades. And they hastened to their ship, not forgetting to drive
before them a good store of the Cyclops' fat sheep. Right glad were
those that had abode by the ship to see them. Nor did they lament for
those that had died, though they were fain to do so, for Ulysses
forbade, fearing lest the noise of their weeping should betray them to
the giant, where they were. Then they all climbed into the ship, and
sitting well in order on the benches, smote the sea with their oars,
laying-to right lustily, that they might the sooner get away from the
accursed land. And when they had rowed a hundred yards or so, so that a
man's voice could yet be heard by one who stood upon the shore, Ulysses
stood up in the ship and shouted:
"He was no coward, O Cyclops, whose comrades thou didst so foully slay
in thy den. Justly art thou punished, monster, that devourest thy guests
in thy dwelling. May the gods make thee suffer yet worse things than
these."
Then the Cyclops in his wrath broke off the top of a great hill, a
mighty rock, and hurled it where he had heard the voice. Right in front
of the ship's bow it fell, and a great wave rose as it sank, and washed
the ship back to the shore. But Ulysses seized a long pole with both
hands and pushed the ship from the land and bade his comrades ply their
oars, nodding with his head, for he was too wise to speak, lest the
Cyclops should know where they were. Then they rowed with all their
might and main.
And when they had gotten twice as far as before, Ulysses made as if he
would speak again; but his comrades sought to hinder him, saying, "Nay,
my lord, anger not the giant any more. Surely we thought before we were
lost, when he threw the great rock and washed our ship back to the
shore. And if he hear thee now, he may crush our ship and us, for the
man throws a mighty bolt and throws it far."
But Ulysses would not be persuaded, but stood up and said, "Hear,
Cyclops! If any man ask who blinded thee, say that it was the warrior
Ulysses, son of Laertes, dwelling in Ithaca."
And the Cyclops answered with a groan, "Of a truth, the old oracles are
fulfilled, for long ago there came to this land one Telemus, a prophet,
and dwelt among us even to old age. This man foretold me that one
Ulysses would rob me of my sight. But I looked for a great man and a
strong, who should subdue me by force, and now a weakling has done the
deed, having cheated me with wine. But come thou hither, Ulysses, and I
will be a host indeed to thee. Or, at least, may Poseidon give thee such
a voyage to thy home as I would wish thee to have. For know that
Poseidon is my sire. May be that he may heal me of my grievous wound."
And Ulysses said, "Would to God, I could send thee down to the abode of
the dead, where thou wouldst be past all healing, even from Poseidon's
self."
Then Cyclops lifted up his hands to Poseidon and prayed:
"Hear me, Poseidon, if I am indeed thy son and thou my father. May this
Ulysses never reach his home! or, if the Fates have ordered that he
should reach it, may he come alone, all his comrades lost, and come to
find sore trouble in his house!"
And as he ended he hurled another mighty rock, which almost lighted on
the rudder's end, yet missed it as if by a hair's breadth. So Ulysses
and his comrades escaped and came to the island of the wild goats, where
they found their comrades, who indeed had waited long for them, in sore
fear lest they had perished. Then Ulysses divided among his company all
the sheep which they had taken from the Cyclops. And all, with one
consent, gave him for his share the great ram which had carried him out
of the cave, and he sacrificed it to Zeus. And all that day they feasted
right merrily on the flesh of sheep and on sweet wine, and when the
night was come, they lay down upon the shore and slept.
OEDIPUS AND THE SPHINX
It befell in times past that the gods, being angry with the inhabitants
of Thebes, sent into their land a very troublesome beast which men
called the Sphinx. Now this beast had the face and breast of a fair
woman, but the feet and claws of a lion; and it was wont to ask a riddle
of such as encountered it, and such as answered not aright it would tear
and devour.
When it had laid waste the land many days, there chanced to come to
Thebes one Oedipus, who had fled from the city of Corinth that he
might escape the doom which the gods had spoken against him. And the men
of the place told him of the Sphinx, how she cruelly devoured the
people, and that he who should deliver them from her should have the
kingdom. So Oedipus, being very bold, and also ready of wit, went
forth to meet the monster. And when she saw him she spake, saying:
"Read me this riddle right, or die:
What liveth there beneath the sky,
Four-footed creature that doth choose
Now three feet and now twain to use,
And still more feebly o'er the plain
Walketh with three feet than with twain?"
And Oedipus made reply:
"'Tis man, who in life's early day
Four-footed crawleth on his way;
When time hath made his strength complete,
Upright his form and twain his feet;
Whe
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