{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14752/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14752","id":"gutenberg_14752","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14752","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Children's stories","Classical literature -- Adaptations"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 14752-h.htm or 14752-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/7/5/14752/14752-h/14752-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/7/5/14752/14752-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILDREN'S HOUR\n\nIn Ten Volumes\n\nIllustrated\n\nVOLUME III\n\nSTORIES FROM THE CLASSICS\n\nSelected & Arranged by\n\nEVA MARCH TAPPAN\n\nHoughton Mifflin Company\n\n1907\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"_It is strange that they let that dog lie there_\"]\n\n\n\n\nBetween the dark and the daylight, when the night is beginning to lower\ncomes a pause in the days occupations, that is known as the Children's\nHour.\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\n\nAll rights in stories in this volume are reserved by the holders of the\ncopyrights. The publishers and others named in the subjoined list are the\nproprietors, either in their own right or as agents for the authors, of\nthe stories taken from the works enumerated, of which the ownership is\nhereby acknowledged. The editor takes this opportunity to thank both\nauthors and publishers for the ready generosity with which they have\nallowed her to include these stories in \"The Children's Hour.\"\n\n\"The Wonder-Book,\" and \"Tanglewood Tales,\" by Nathaniel Hawthorne;\npublished by Houghton, Mifflin & Company.\n\n\"Old Greek Folk Stories,\" by Josephine Preston Peabody; published by\nHoughton, Mifflin & Company.\n\n\"The Odyssey of Homer,\" English prose version by George Herbert Palmer;\npublished by Houghton, Mifflin & Company.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  TO THE CHILDREN\n\n  STORIES FROM HERODOTUS\n    LADRONIUS, THE PRINCE OF THIEVES\n                  Retold by G. H. Boden and W. Barrington d'Almeida\n    ARION AND THE DOLPHIN\n                  Retold by G. H. Boden and W. Barrington d'Almeida\n\n  STORIES FROM LIVY\n    ROMULUS, FOUNDER OF ROME                       Alfred J. Church\n    HOW HORATIUS HELD THE BRIDGE                   Alfred J. Church\n    HOW CINCINNATUS SAVED ROME                     Alfred J. Church\n    THE STORY OF VIRGINIA                          Alfred J. Church\n    THE SACRIFICE OF MARCUS CURTIUS                Alfred J. Church\n\n  STORIES FROM OVID\n    THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER                      Nathaniel Hawthorne\n    THE GOLDEN TOUCH                            Nathaniel Hawthorne\n    THE POMEGRANATE SEEDS                       Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n  OLD GREEK FOLK-STORIES\n    ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE                  Josephine Preston Peabody\n    ICARUS AND D\u00c6DALUS                    Josephine Preston Peabody\n    PHAETHON                              Josephine Preston Peabody\n    NIOBE                                 Josephine Preston Peabody\n    PYRAMUS AND THISBE                    Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n  STORIES OF THE TROJAN WAR\n    THE APPLE OF DISCORD                  Josephine Preston Peabody\n    THE QUARREL BETWEEN AGAMEMNON AND ACHILLES     Alfred J. Church\n    THE FIGHT BETWEEN PARIS AND MENELAUS            Walter C. Perry\n    THE DUEL BETWEEN HECTOR AND AJAX                Walter C. Perry\n    THE DEATH OF PATROCLUS AND THE BATTLE OF THE RIVER\n                                                   Alfred J. Church\n    VULCAN MAKES ARMOR FOR ACHILLES                 Walter C. Perry\n    THE SLAYING OF HECTOR                           Walter C. Perry\n    THE FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOR OF PATROCLUS         Walter C. Perry\n    THE WOODEN HORSE AND THE FALL OF TROY Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n  THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES\n    AN ADVENTURE WITH THE CYCLOPS                  Alfred J. Church\n    CIRCE'S PALACE                              Nathaniel Hawthorne\n    THE SIRENS--SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS\n                                Translated by George Herbert Palmer\n\n  ULYSSES IN ITHACA\n    ULYSSES LANDS ON THE SHORE OF ITHACA\n                    F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n    ULYSSES AT THE HOUSE OF THE SWINEHERD\n                    F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n    THE VENGEANCE OF ULYSSES\n      A. HIS RECEPTION AT THE PALACE\n                    F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n      B. THE TRIAL OF THE BOW\n                                Translated by George Herbert Palmer\n      C. THE SLAYING OF THE SUITORS\n                    F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n      D. PENELOPE RECOGNIZES ULYSSES\n                                Translated by George Herbert Palmer\n\n  THE WANDERINGS OF THE TROJAN \u00c6NEAS\n    THE FLIGHT OF \u00c6NEAS FROM THE RUINS OF TROY     Alfred J. Church\n    \u00c6NEAS'S ADVENTURE WITH THE HARPIES         Charles Henry Hanson\n    \u00c6NEAS IN THE LAND OF THE CYCLOPS           Charles Henry Hanson\n    \u00c6NEAS AND QUEEN DIDO                           Alfred J. Church\n    THE FUNERAL GAMES OF ANCHISES              Charles Henry Hanson\n    \u00c6NEAS'S VISIT TO THE LOWER WORLD           Charles Henry Hanson\n    \u00c6NEAS'S FIRST GREAT BATTLE WITH THE LATINS Charles Henry Hanson\n    \u00c6NEAS FINALLY CONQUERS THE LATINS              Alfred J. Church\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  \"IT IS STRANGE THAT THEY LET THAT DOG LIE THERE\"\n                                                L.F. Schutzenberger\n\n  \"I AM AFRAID THERE WILL NOT BE HALF ENOUGH SUPPER\"   Walter Crane\n\n  THEY LEAPED OUT OF THE BOTTOMLESS HOLE     George Wharton Edwards\n\n  TO HIM AT LAST THE THREE GODDESSES INTRUSTED THE JUDGMENT\n  AND THE GOLDEN APPLE                                Giulio Romano\n\n  FIERCE WAS THE FIGHT ABOUT THE BODY OF PATROCLUS    Giulio Romano\n\n  A GREAT IMAGE OF A HORSE                              Franz Cleyn\n\n  THE CYCLOPS IN HIS WRATH BRAKE OFF THE TOP OF A GREAT HILL\n                                                L.F. Schutzenberger\n\n  \"DEAR SON, HAVE YOU COME HOME AT LAST?\"              G. Truffault\n\n  THE FLIGHT FROM TROY                                  Franz Cleyn\n\n  THE VICTORY OF EURYALUS                               Franz Cleyn\n\n\n\n\nTO THE CHILDREN\n\n\nThe greater part of this book is made up of stories from the poems of\nHomer and Virgil. Homer is thought to have lived in Greece about three\nthousand years ago, and yet his poems never seem old-fashioned and people\ndo not tire of reading them. Boys and girls almost always like them,\nbecause they are so full of stories. If you want to read about giants or\nmermaids or shipwrecks or athletic contests or enchanters or furious\nbattles or the capture of cities or voyages to strange countries, all you\nhave to do is to open the Iliad and the Odyssey, and you will find stories\non all of these subjects. Homer can describe a foot-race or the throwing\nof a discus so that you hold your breath to see who will win; and he can\npicture a battle so vividly that you almost try to dodge the arrows and\nspears. He can make the tears come into your eyes by telling you of the\ngrief of the warrior's wife when he leaves her and their baby son to go to\nbattle; and he can almost make you shout, \"Hurrah for the brave champion!\"\nwhen he tells you what wonderful deeds of prowess have been done. He can\ndescribe a shield so minutely that you could make one like it; and he can\npaint a scene of feasting so perfectly that you feel as if you had been in\nthe very room.\n\nHow is it that Homer makes his stories seem so real? There are several\nreasons, but one of the strongest is because he tells the little things\nthat writers often forget to put in. When he describes the welcome given\nto two strangers at the house of the lost Ulysses, by Telemachus, son of\nthe wanderer, he begins, \"When they were come within the lofty hall, he\ncarried the spear to a tall pillar and set it in a well-worn rack.\" That\none word, \"well-worn,\" gives us the feeling that Homer is not making up a\nstory, but that he has really seen the rack and noticed how it looked. The\nsame sentence shows why it is that people do not tire of reading Homer. It\nends, \"where also stood many a spear of hardy Ulysses.\" This reminds the\nreader that in spite of the hero's long years of absence, no one has been\nallowed to remove his weapons from their old place. From this one phrase,\nthen, we can realize how much his wife and son love him, and how they have\nmourned for him. Telemachus welcomes the strangers, but we can feel how\neager he is for them to be made comfortable as soon as possible so he can\ntalk of his father and learn whether they have chanced to meet him in\ntheir wanderings. Homer's poems are full of such sentences as these; and,\nno matter how many times one reads them, some thought, unnoticed before,\nis ever coming to light. That is why they are always fresh and new and\ninteresting.\n\nThere is a tradition that Homer was blind, and that he wandered about from\none place to another, singing or reciting his poems; but this is only\ntradition, and there is little hope that we shall ever be able to find out\nwhether it is true or not.\n\nHomer's great poem, the Iliad, is the account of the Trojan War. His\nOdyssey relates the adventures of the hero Ulysses, or Odysseus, as the\nGreeks called him, in many years of wandering at the close of the war\nbefore his enemies among the Gods would permit him to return to his home.\nThere were Trojan heroes, however, as well as Greek, and \u00c6neas was one of\nthem. Virgil, the Latin poet, has told in the \u00c6neid the story of his\ntroubles and adventures. \u00c6neas, too, was driven over the waters, for the\nGods had told him it was the will of Jupiter, or Zeus, as it is in Greek,\nfor him to seek Italy and there found a city. Part of his journey is the\nsame as that of Ulysses. He, too, stops at the country of the one-eyed\ngiants and has to row as fast as he can to escape the rocks that they\nthrow at his vessel. He, too, hears the thunders of Mount \u00c6tna and sees\nthe flashing of the fires of the volcano. His sailors point to it in fear\nand whisper to one another, \"That is the giant Enceladus. He rebelled\nagainst the Gods and they piled the mountain on top of him. The fires of\nJupiter burn him, and he breathes out glowing flames. When he tosses from\none side to the other, the whole island of Sicily is shaken with a mighty\nearthquake.\"\n\nVirgil was no homeless singer; he was one of the great literary men of\nRome, and he read his poems aloud to the Emperor Augustus. He had a\nhandsome villa and a troop of friends. He enjoyed everything that was\nbeautiful and seemed as happy when a friend had written a good poem as if\nhe had composed it himself. He was never satisfied with his verse till he\nhad made every line as perfect as possible. When he was ill and knew that\nhe could not recover, he made a will, and in it he ordered the \u00c6neid to be\nburned, because it was not so polished as he wished. \"I meant to spend\nthree years more on it,\" he said. Fortunately for all the people who enjoy\na great poem, the Emperor forbade that this part of the will should be\ncarried out. He gave the manuscript to three friends of Virgil, all of\nthem poets, with orders to strike out every phrase that they believed\nVirgil would have struck out on revision, but not to add one word. This is\nthe way that the \u00c6neid was saved for us. If it had been destroyed, we\nshould have lost the work of one of the best storytellers that have ever\nlived.\n\nLivy, too, was a friend of the Emperor Augustus, He lived in Rome,\nenjoying his companions, the libraries of the city, and, most of all, his\nindependence. Even Virgil was ready to insert a few lines here and there\nin a poem to gratify his friends, or to choose a subject that he knew\nwould please the Emperor; but Livy wrote on the subject that pleased him\nand treated it just as he believed to be best. His great work was his\nhistory, and this he begins with a little preface, as independent as it is\ngraceful. \"Whether I shall gain any share of glory,\" he says, \"by writing\na history of the Roman people, I do not know. The work, however, will be a\npleasure to me; and even if any fame that might otherwise be mine should\nbe hidden by the success of other writers, I shall console myself by\nthinking of their excellence and greatness.\" No such thing happened,\nhowever, for the kindly historian was so praised and his work so fully\nappreciated that he said he had all the fame he could wish.\n\nHerodotus was a Greek who liked to travel. The world was very small in his\nday, for little of it was known except some of the lands bordering on the\nMediterranean. To visit Tyre, Babylon, Egypt, Palestine, and the islands\nof the eastern Mediterranean, as he did, made a man a great traveler five\ncenturies before Christ. Herodotus enjoyed all these wanderings, but they\nalso \"meant business\" to him. Whenever he came to a place of historical\ninterest, he stayed awhile. He explored the country thereabouts, he\nmeasured the important buildings, he talked with the people who knew most\nabout the place. Then, when he came to write of its history, he did not\nwrite like a man who had read an article or two in an encyclop\u00e6dia and was\ntrying to recite what he had learned, but like one who knew the place\nwhich he was describing and liked to talk about it, and about what had\nhappened there. It is no wonder that his history has always been a\nfavorite; and to be a favorite author for twenty centuries is no small\nglory.\n\nOvid was a Latin poet who knew how to tell a story. He could not only\ninvent a tale, but he could tell it so well that the reader feels as if it\nmust be true. His most interesting stories, however, he did not invent,\nfor they are a rewriting of the old mythological tales. In one respect he\nis like Homer; he never forgets the little things, and he tells so many\ndetails that we can hardly believe he is imagining them. In his story of\nBaucis and Philemon, for instance, Ovid does not forget to say that the\ncottage door was so low that the two gods had to stoop to pass through it;\nthat Baucis hurried to brighten the fire with dry leaves and bits of bark;\nthat one leg of the table was too short and had to be propped up with a\npiece of tile. He tells us that the kindhearted couple tried to catch\ntheir one goose so as to cook it for the supper of their guests; but that\nthey were so old, and the goose so nimble of wing, that he escaped them\nand flew to the Gods for refuge. We are so accustomed to think of Latin as\na grave, dignified language that almost every line of Ovid's\n\"Metamorphoses\" is a pleasant surprise. The stories that he tells, \"The\nMiraculous Pitcher\", \"The Golden Touch\", \"The Pomegranate Seeds\", and\nothers, retold by Hawthorne, are favorites among the boys and girls of\nto-day, and they must have been liked just as well by the Roman children.\nIn Rome the children read the great poets in school, and I fancy that they\nwere always glad when the hour came to read the \"Metamorphoses.\"\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM HERODOTUS\n\n\nLADRONIUS, THE PRINCE OF THIEVES\n\nRetold by G. H. Boden and W. Barrington d'Almeida\n\n\nMany hundreds of years ago, not long after the Greeks returned from the\nfamous siege of Troy, there lived a king of Egypt, whose name was\nRhampsinitus. So great a king was he, that he kept a small army constantly\nemployed in supplying the royal household with food, and another small\narmy was required to keep the gardens of the palace in order. And had any\none been bold enough to doubt the greatness of the king, he need only have\nlooked at his magnificent dress to set all doubts at rest forever. Upon\nthe neck of the king was a heavy necklace, glittering with priceless\njewels, and on his arms were massive bracelets of pure gold. A golden\nserpent, the symbol of royalty, gleamed from his forehead, and his golden\nbreastplate showed the sacred beetle worked in precious stones, to protect\nhim from evil spirits. Whenever he appeared in the streets of his capital,\nhe was borne in the royal chair on the shoulders of eight of his\ncourtiers, while on each side walked a great noble carrying a fan, shaped\nlike a palm leaf, with a long, straight stem. In front marched the\nbodyguard of Sardinians, men with fair skins and blue eyes, who looked\nvery much out of place among the swarthy Egyptians; and last of all came\nthe grim, black guards from Ethiopia, with their sabres flashing in the\nsun. And all the people fell on their faces and kissed the dust before\ntheir royal master. Moreover, King Rhampsinitus erected several enormous\nstatues of himself, as well as many fine palaces and a beautiful temple,\nbearing inscriptions which related all his great and glorious deeds, so\nthat the people who lived after him might know how great a king he had\nbeen.\n\nBut, in spite of all his greatness, there was one thing that prevented\nKing Rhampsinitus from being a happy man. He had so many treasures--masses\nof silver, nuggets of gold, and bags of gold-dust, jewelry, precious\nstones, and carvings in ivory--that he lived in constant fear of being\nrobbed. He had all his treasures packed in large jars and strong chests,\nwhich were securely fastened, sealed up, and stowed away in a strong room\nof the palace; but even then he did not feel comfortable, for might not\nthe palace be broken into by a clever thief and part of his treasure\nstolen, while he slept? Besides, there was so much treasure packed away\nalready, that it was difficult to find a safe place for any more. His\nanxiety made the king so unhappy, and caused him so many sleepless nights,\nthat he determined at last to build a large chamber of stone, with walls\ntoo thick for any thief to break through. He sent for his chief architect,\nwho collected a great multitude of workmen and set to work building the\nchamber without delay. Whole villages were compelled to join in the work;\neven the old men and children were employed in carrying away rubbish,\nbringing water and clay, and doing other work that was not too hard for\nthem. The stronger and more skillful workmen hewed great blocks of\ngranite, which were dragged to the place on wooden sledges; and, as they\nhad no cranes to lift the stones into their places on the walls, they were\nobliged to build mounds of sand and rough bricks, and roll up each stone\ngradually with wooden levers, until they got it into its proper place. It\nwas terribly hard work, but there were so many workmen, and the foremen\nused their whips so unmercifully, that the walls rose very rapidly.\n\nNow the architect was a cunning man, and guessed what the chamber was\nintended to hold. He therefore fitted one stone in such a way that it\nwould slide down and leave a hole just large enough for a man to crawl\nthrough; and yet, when you looked at the wall, there was no sign at all by\nwhich the secret could be discovered. Nor did the architect think it\nnecessary to mention the secret opening to his majesty, when he showed the\nchamber to him and told him that it was as strong as he could make it.\n\nRhampsinitus lost no time in moving his treasures into the new\ntreasure-chamber. The key he kept with him night and day, so that at last\nhe could sleep peacefully, knowing that any one who wished to pass the\nsolid, brass-bound door, must first prevail upon him to unlock it.\n\nFor some time all went well. The king went to the treasury every morning,\nand found everything in its place. Evidently he had been too clever for\nthe thieves.\n\nIn the mean time the architect was lying ill in bed, and day by day he\ngrew weaker and weaker; until at length he knew that his end was\napproaching, and, calling his two sons to his bedside, he told them of the\nsecret way into the treasure-chamber.\n\n\"I have little of my own to leave you, my sons,\" he said, \"and I have but\nlittle influence at court; but by the aid of this secret, which I devised\nfor your sake, you may become rich men, and hold the office of king's\ntreasurers for life.\"\n\nThe young men were delighted at his words, and so impatient were they to\nenjoy their good fortune, that on the very night of their father's funeral\nthey stole away quietly to the place where the treasure-house stood. They\nfound the sliding stone exactly as their father had described it. The\nyounger and slimmer of the two brothers crawled through the opening and\nfound himself in a dark chamber, surrounded by heavy chests and jars with\nsealed covers. Breaking open one of the latter, he put in his hand and\ndrew out a handful of gold, which sparkled and twinkled at him even in the\nfaint light which came through the hole in the wall. Handful after handful\nhe drew out and passed to his brother, at the same time filling the bags\nhe had brought with him, until both had as much as they could conveniently\ncarry. Then they replaced the stone, and returned to lay the treasure\nbefore their mother; for in those days stealing was considered rather a\nclever trick, and even the thief's mother did not scold him, so long as he\nwas not so clumsy as to be caught.\n\nImagine the consternation of King Rhampsinitus when he visited the chamber\nthe following morning! Everything seemed as secure as ever, and yet, when\nhe opened the door, there lay one of the great jars turned over and empty,\nwhile the lid of one of the chests was broken open and part of the\ncontents scattered on the floor. He examined every nook and cranny of the\nchamber from floor to ceiling, and there was no sign of any one's having\nforced an entrance. The fastenings of the door were firm, and the lock was\none which it was perfectly impossible to pick. For greater security,\nhowever, Rhampsinitus sent at once for a locksmith, and commanded him to\nfit the door with a second lock, the key of which he kept with the other.\n\nNotwithstanding this precaution, the treasure-chamber was robbed again on\nthe next night, and this time the thieves had broken open a great many of\nthe chests, and carried away some of the most valuable jewels. On the\nfollowing night a sentinel was posted, and still the treasury was robbed.\nThe sentinel vowed that he had stood with his back to the door all night,\nand there is little doubt that he spoke the truth, though the poor fellow\nwas accused of sleeping at his post, and punished for his negligence.\n\nThen the king took counsel of the fan-bearer on the right hand, who was\nalso prime minister. He made a long speech, beginning with his regret that\nhis majesty had not thought fit to consult him earlier, and concluding\nwith a learned discourse on the habits of rats.\n\n\"This is all very interesting,\" said Rhampsinitus, \"but I do not see that\nit helps very much to protect my treasure.\"\n\n\"I crave your majesty's pardon,\" the prime minister answered. \"I was about\nto observe that the best way to catch a rat is first to study the habits\nand tastes of the rat, and next to apply the knowledge so gained in\nsetting a trap.\"\n\nFrom which one may see that the prime minister was a very learned man, and\ncould not be expected to come to the point all at once. The king thanked\nhim for his valuable advice, and procured two or three powerful man-traps,\nwhich he placed within his treasure-chamber.\n\nNight came on, and the two thieves set to work as before, but no sooner\nhad the younger brother disappeared through the hole in the wall than he\nbegan to utter loud cries of agony.\n\n\"Peace, brother! You will rouse the guard,\" said the elder. \"What can have\nbefallen you?\"\n\nThe other controlled himself, and said with a groan, \"Ladronius, we are\nruined. I am held fast in a trap, and I think my leg is broken. O Horus,\nLord of Life, deliver me!\"\n\nWith some difficulty Ladronius crawled through the opening to aid his\nbrother, for, though a thief, he was no coward.\n\n\"Go back, Ladronius, go back!\" cried his brother. \"Leave me to my fate! I\nthink I hear the cries of the guard. No, brother, waste no more time!\" he\nentreated, as Ladronius tugged in vain at the cruel teeth of the trap.\n\"One thing remains to be done. Cut off my head, and take it away with you,\nthat I may not be recognized and so we both perish! I hear the footsteps\nof men approaching. Do not rob our mother of both her sons!\"\n\nAnd Ladronius, seeing that there was nothing else to be done, drew his\nsword, cut off his brother's head, and escaped through the opening, not\nforgetting to replace the stone behind him. He was only just in time, for\nscarcely had he gained the cover of a clump of trees, when the soldiers of\nthe guard came running to the place and began to belabor the door. To\ntheir surprise they found everything quiet and nothing displaced. They\nexamined the outside of the building thoroughly, and then, supposing that\nthey had been roused by a false alarm, they returned to the palace.\n\nIn the morning, Rhampsinitus paid his daily visit to the chamber, and\ndiscovered the headless body in the trap. He was more puzzled than ever.\nHe examined the fastenings of the door and the whole of the chamber over\nand over again, and no hole nor crevice could he find.\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said he, \"I have now bait for my trap. What can I do\nbetter than set a thief to catch a thief?\"\n\nSo he ordered the body to be hung from the outer wall of the chamber, and\nplaced sentinels to guard it, strictly charging them to bring before him\nany one who showed pity or sorrow for the dead.\n\nWhen the mother heard of her son's death and how the body had been\ntreated, she reproached Ladronius bitterly for his cowardice, and implored\nhim with many tears to bring back the body for proper burial. For the\nEgyptians thought that unless a man's body were properly embalmed and\nburied whole, he could have no life in the next world; so that it would be\na terrible misfortune if the head and the body were buried separately.\nLadronius attempted to comfort his mother, but did not dare to carry off\nhis brother's body so long as the sentinels were watching. In vain his\nmother wept and entreated him, until at last her grief was turned to\nanger, and she vowed that, if he did not obey her, she would go to the\nking and tell him the whole story. Then Ladronius, seeing her so\ndetermined, promised to do as she wished, and set his wits to work to\ninvent some means of carrying off the body without being caught by the\nsentinels. At last he thought of a plan, which seemed to have some chance\nof success. He hired two donkeys, and having bought some wineskins, which\nwere used in the place of bottles, he filled them with strong wine and\nplaced them on the donkeys' backs.\n\nThus equipped, and dressed up to look like an old merchant, he set out for\nthe place where his brother's body was suspended. When he drew near to the\nsentinels, he secretly loosened some of the strings which fastened the\nnecks of the wineskins, and then whipping the donkeys and letting them run\non a little way in front, he pursued them with loud cries.\n\n\"Oh, miserable wretch that I am!\" he cried, beating his head and looking\nthe very picture of despair. \"All my good wine wasted on the ground! What\nshall I do? Oh, what shall I do? Stop, most ungrateful of donkeys,\nchildren of Set, that devour my substance and waste my wine as if it were\nwater! May Tefnet plague you with gadflies, and Renenutet poison the\nthistles! Oh dear! oh dear! I am a ruined man.\"\n\nThe soldiers, supposing it to be a genuine accident, laughed loudly at the\nfellow's distress, and while some chased and caught the donkeys, the\nothers brought bowls and pitchers and began to drink the wine, as it ran\nout of the skins.\n\n\"Never mind, worthy sir!\" they said to Ladronius. \"The wine is serving a\nvery good purpose. Here is to our future friendship and your excellency's\nvery good health!\"\n\nLadronius pretended to fly into a great passion, and called them thieves\nand monsters of iniquity for robbing a poor man of his wine.\n\n\"Ay, laugh away!\" he cried. \"But a day of reckoning will come for your\nwickedness. See how the law treats robbers!\" And he pointed to his\nbrother's body hanging on the wall.\n\n\"Now, by Anubis, the fellow speaks truth,\" said one of the soldiers. \"We\nare but sorry fellows to drink away a poor man's living, and if this were\nto come to the ears of the king, we should be in evil case for leaving our\nduty.\"\n\nThe others laughed good-humoredly, as they tied up some of the skins, and\ndid their best to put the merchant into a good temper. Ladronius, after a\nlittle more grumbling, appeared to be pacified, and, as a sign of\ngood-will, presented a wineskin to the soldier who had first spoken in his\nfavor.\n\n\"May you never want a young friend to speak for you in your old age,\" said\nhe, \"and may you meet with no worse companions than these; for though they\nseem to be somewhat headstrong, yet I perceive that I spoke hard words in\nmy anger.\"\n\nThe soldiers, who by this time had sat down on the grass and were passing\nthe wineskin from one to another, declared that the merchant was a\ngood-hearted old fellow and invited him to come and drink their health.\n\n\"Nay, my masters,\" said Ladronius, pretending to adjust the straps on the\ndonkeys' backs. \"I have far to go, and I am but a little way on my\njourney.\"\n\nBut, as they pressed him, he consented to drink one cup with them before\nhe went. \"Though in truth,\" he added, \"if I mistake not, the skin is\nemptied already. I see that you would force me to part with another,\nbefore I set out.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he produced another wineskin, and the soldiers, who were\ngrowing merry, greeted him with a shout of delight, and insisted on his\nsitting down with them. Ladronius, still declaring that he could stay only\nlong enough to drink one cup with them, allowed himself to be placed in\nthe midst, where he presently proved himself so good a companion and told\nso many merry tales that the soldiers would not hear of his departure.\nThey drank more and more heavily, until at length a third skin was opened,\nand one by one the sentinels were overpowered by the strong wine, and all\nlay asleep on the ground.\n\nBy this time it had grown dark, and Ladronius, who had pretended to be as\ndrunk as the rest, cautiously raised his head, and finding that all the\nsentinels were snoring, he took down his brother's body and carried it\noff. But, before he went, he shaved the right side of the head of each of\nthe sentinels, to show his contempt for the king's precautions.\n\nThe king was furious when he discovered the failure of his plan and the\ninsult offered to his guards, all of whom were beheaded for their\ndisobedience to his orders. He was more determined than ever to catch the\nthief, and after taking counsel once more with his prime minister, he\ndecided upon another plan. He caused a proclamation to be made, in which\nhe promised the hand of his daughter to the man whom she should consider\nthe cleverest and most wicked of all men. He commanded the princess to sit\non a throne in the temple of Ra, the sun-god, and to speak to all who came\nto pay their homage to her, asking them what was the cleverest and most\nwicked deed they had done. But secretly Rhampsinitus told her that, if any\none related the story of the robbing of the treasury, she was to seize him\nby the hand, and hold him till the guards came and secured him.\n\nThe moment Ladronius heard the proclamation, he saw that it was another\ntrick to catch him, but he was so daring and so fond of adventure that he\ncould not resist the temptation to outdo the king in cunning once more. He\ndetermined actually to put his head in the lion's mouth--in other words,\nto go boldly to the temple and talk to the princess. He took with him\nunder his cloak the strangest of presents, an arm cut from a dead man's\nbody.\n\nWhen he entered the temple, he beheld the princess seated on her throne,\nlooking very beautiful in her royal robes, with her dark curls flowing\nover her shoulders, and the golden vulture of Egypt spreading his wings\nover her head. She looked a little pale and weary too, for she had talked\nwith many scores of suitors, all of whom had told her tales which were\nvery much alike and nothing at all to do with her father's\ntreasure-chamber. And when the princess looked up and saw Ladronius\nstanding there, with his bold, handsome face, and resolute eyes, she had a\nsuspicion that this was the robber of the treasury. At the same time she\nfelt some pity for the young man, whom she was to be the means of\npunishing for his bravery. However, she could only obey her father, and\nmotioning to Ladronius to approach, she addressed him with great courtesy,\nsaying, \"You seem, sir, by your bearing, to be a man of some strength and\ncourage. Tell me now, what is the most wicked thing, and what the\ncleverest, you ever did in your life?\"\n\nAnd Ladronius looked her straight in the face and answered, \"Most gracious\nprincess, the most wicked thing I ever did in my life was to cut off my\nbrother's head in His Majesty's treasure-house, and the cleverest was when\nI made the sentinels drunk and carried off my brother's body.\"\n\nScarcely were the words out of his mouth, when the princess jumped up and\ncaught him, as she supposed, by the arm, at the same time crying out for\nthe guards, who were concealed behind the throne. But, to her dismay, the\narm seemed to part company with the rest of the body, and she was left\nwith the cloak of Ladronius and the arm of the dead man, while Ladronius\nhimself was out of the temple before she had recovered from her surprise;\nnor could the guards find any trace of him outside.\n\nThe princess went back to her father in fear and trembling, and related\nhow Ladronius had escaped once more; but the king was so amazed at the\ndaring and skill of the young man, that he quite forgot to be angry.\n\nThe picture of the princess holding the arm that had no body attached to\nit, and gazing blankly after the departing figure of Ladronius, so took\nhis fancy, that he lay back on his couch, and laughed till his sides\nached.\n\n\"Bast!\" he cried at length. \"If the youth is really as clever as this, I\nwould rather have him my friend than my enemy. Such a man should be\nrewarded and not punished for his genius. So he made you a present of his\ncloak too, did he?\" And the king collapsed once more.\n\n\"And what manner of youth is he?\" he asked the princess; the princess\nanswered, with a blush, that he looked like a brave young man.\n\n\"That I am sure he is,\" said the king. \"I have learnt it to my cost. And\nhe is not ill-looking?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the princess; she would not describe him as ill-looking.\n\n\"Ah! well,\" said the king dryly, \"we must see whether we cannot find some\nmeans of securing his friendship.\"\n\nSo King Rhampsinitus ordered another proclamation to be made, promising\nthat if the robber would present himself to the king and confess how he\nhad broken into the treasury, the king would grant him a free pardon and a\ngreat reward beside.\n\nLadronius was not long in making up his mind. He knew that kings were not\nalways above treachery, but he had survived so many dangers that he\ndetermined to risk this also. He arrayed himself, therefore, in his best\nattire, and boldly presented himself to the king, who was delighted with\nhis courage and bade him relate the whole story fearlessly. And when\nRhampsinitus heard of the secret way into his treasury, he would not rest\nuntil he had seen the sliding stone and moved it for himself. He laughed\nheartily when he remembered how he had put another lock on the door, and\nhow he had posted a sentinel in the one place where he could see nothing\nof the thieves. Then he returned to the palace, and sent for the princess,\nhis daughter. Presently she entered with her train of maidens, and\nLadronius was so overcome by her fresh, girlish beauty, that he could\nhardly find voice enough to reply to the king's questions. The king rose\nand embraced his daughter, and then, addressing Ladronius before the\nassembled courtiers, he said, \"Ladronius, the Egyptians are the most\ncunning of all nations on the face of the earth, and you have proved\nyourself more cunning than all the Egyptians. And now, after robbing me of\nso many treasures, you are about to rob me of the best and most priceless\nof all.\"\n\nSo saying, he took his daughter by the hand, and led her to Ladronius.\n\n\"Take her, my son!\" he said. \"A good and obedient daughter should make a\nfaithful and loving wife.\"\n\nThe princess stood with her eyes cast down, blushing very prettily, and\nLadronius looked very handsome as he knelt and kissed her hand. Then the\ntrumpets began to blare, the drums rattled, the cymbals clashed, and the\ncourtiers shouted, \"Long live our gracious princess! Long live\nRhampsinitus and his son-in-law Ladronius!\" The royal minstrel brought his\nharp and sang a solemn chant, all about the beauty of the princess and the\nbravery of Ladronius; and the maids of honor performed a graceful dance to\nthe music, winding wreaths of lotus flowers about the bride and\nbridegroom. As the music ceased, the venerable High Priest of Ra, a tall\nold man with his head clean-shaven, came forward to bless and anoint them,\nand to tell how he had foreseen it all from the beginning.\n\nSo Ladronius and the beautiful princess were married, and, though it is\nnot in the story, there can be no doubt that they lived very happily for\nthe rest of their lives.\n\n\n\n\nARION AND THE DOLPHIN\n\nRetold by G. H. Boden and W. Barrington d'Almeida\n\n\nIt happened once upon a time, in the olden days, that a young man,\nPeriander of Corinth, started from a port in the south of Greece to sail\nto Miletus. Being caught in a storm, the boat was carried out of her\ncourse as far as the island of Lesbos, where she stayed for several days,\nin order that the damage caused by the storm might be repaired. In the\nmean time Periander landed, and occupied himself in wandering about the\nisland and watching the inhabitants. In his wanderings, he came one\nevening upon a group of men and women, the sight of whom made him pause\nwith a longing to join them. They had been working hard all day, gathering\nthe grapes, and pressing them in big, wooden vats, to extract the wine for\nwhich Lesbos was famous; and now, in the beautiful autumn evening, they\nwere making merry after their labors.\n\nNo wonder Periander stayed to watch them, for they made a very pretty\npicture,--the handsome youths, with their bronzed faces and strong, fine\nlimbs; the women with their gay dresses and bare feet, that seemed to have\nbeen made for dancing; the vine-clad hill at the back, and, over it all,\nthe glow of the setting sun. In the centre of the dancers sat a boy,\nplaying upon a small lute with seven strings. To this accompaniment the\ndancers chanted a song in praise of Dionysus, the god of the vine.\nGradually the music went faster and faster; and faster and faster the feet\nof the dancers sped over the ground, until they were all out of breath,\nand lay laughing on the grass.\n\nThen, as the boy struck another chord, all laughter was hushed, and he\nbegan to sing; it was a simple, plaintive little song, but there was a\nmagic in his voice which held the listeners spellbound. The last rays of\nthe setting sun played about his golden curls, and lit up his sweet,\nchildish face, as he sang:--\n\n  \"Why should you grieve for me, my love,\n    When I am laid to rest?\n  Our lives are shaped by the gods above,\n    And they know best.\n  What though I stand on the farther shore,\n  Others have crossed the stream before--\n    Why weep in vain?\n  Life is but a drop in the deep,\n  Soon we wake from the last, lone sleep,\n    And meet again.\"\n\nAs the last note died away, a sigh came from the listeners; some of the\nwomen turned away their faces, and the young men began to talk hastily, as\nif to hide their emotion.\n\nPeriander waited until the group began to break up. Then he stepped\nforward and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy looked up with a\nsmile.\n\n\"What is your name, my fair minstrel?\" asked Periander.\n\n\"My name is Arion,\" answered the boy, as if he were used to being\nquestioned. \"I come from Methymna beyond the hills, where I used to tend\nthe goats.\" And he told Periander that his mother and father died before\nhe could remember, and that he was brought up by an old goat-herd; until a\ntraveling minstrel, who happened one day to hear him singing on the hills,\ntook charge of him and taught him to play the lute.\n\n\"That was one of his own songs I was singing,\" said Arion. \"He always\nliked me to sing his songs; but, when I am a man, I shall make my own\nsongs, and sing them in the great cities over the sea.\"\n\n\"And so you shall,\" said Periander. \"Now, listen to me, Arion! Some day,\nperhaps, I also may be a great man, able to help you to become a great\nsinger. Remember, when you have need of a friend, that Periander of\nCorinth will help you, if he can!\"\n\nAnd, when he departed, Periander left a sum of money with a worthy old\ncouple, who promised to look after the boy, and see that he wanted\nnothing.\n\nAfter some years, Periander became king of Corinth, and having a love of\neverything beautiful, he soon gathered about him a little band of poets,\nartists, and musicians. One day, when he was listening to one of the court\nmusicians, something--it might have been a chord in the music--reminded\nhim of the little Lesbian Arion. He seemed to see once more the boy with\nthe golden light on his curls, and the upturned faces of the peasants\ngrouped around him; and the very words of the song ran in his head.\n\n\"By Apollo!\" he cried, so suddenly that the musician nearly fell off his\nseat. \"We will have the little Lesbian at court, and make a famous singer\nof him. Where is Glaucus? Ho, there! Bid Glaucus attend the king!\"\n\nWhen Glaucus appeared, the king bade him take a boat and sail for Lesbos.\n\"There you will make search for one Arion, a singer,\" he said. \"And when\nyou have found him, say, 'Periander of Corinth has need of his friend\nArion.' And see that you bring him safely to Corinth!\"\n\nGlaucus did as he was bidden, and in due time found Arion, now grown into\na tall, graceful youth. Arion, when he heard the message, consented to\naccompany Glaucus to Corinth, where he was greeted with great kindness by\nPeriander. He very soon became a great favorite among the Corinthians, and\nall the musicians envied him his beautiful voice and his skill in playing\non the lute. No one had such power to soothe the king in his black moods;\nnor was it at court alone that his fame as a singer was known, for he was\never ready to sing to the people, who idolized him and called him the son\nof Apollo. Among other things he taught them the song and dance of the\nLesbians in honor of Dionysus and the vine; it afterwards became one of\nthe most famous songs of Greece.\n\nMany years Arion stayed with Periander, who held him in high honor and\nloaded him with costly presents. His fame spread as far as Italy and\nSicily, and he had many requests that he would go over and sing to the\npeople there. At length, he determined to make the journey, not only from\ncuriosity to see new countries, but also because he had heard of the songs\nsung by the Sicilian shepherds, and had a great desire to study them.\nPeriander tried to dissuade him, but, finding him resolved, he assisted\nhim in his preparations, and on his departure exacted from him a promise\nthat he would return to Corinth.\n\nArion traveled about Italy and Sicily for a long time, and made a great\nfortune by his singing. But growing tired at last of the wandering life,\nhe went to Tarentum to find a ship which would take him back to Corinth.\nThere were two or three ships ready to make the journey, among them one\nnamed the Nausicaa, which was manned by a crew of Corinthians. This he\nchose, being somewhat nervous about the large sum of money he was\ncarrying, and thinking that he could trust the Corinthians, whom he knew,\nbetter than a crew of foreigners.\n\nThe Nausicaa was a strange-looking vessel, with a single sail, and long\noars pulled by men who sat on benches along the side. The prow, which was\ncarved to represent the maiden Nausicaa, stood well out of the water, and\nthe bulwarks descended in a graceful curve to rise again at the stern,\nwhere the captain stood and shaped his course by means of a broad paddle,\nwhich was hung over the side.\n\nThe voyage began happily enough, the wind being favorable, and the captain\nand crew all deference and politeness. But when they were well out to sea,\nthe behavior of the crew changed; they answered Arion's questions with\nscant politeness, and held many whispered consultations, which, from the\nblack glances cast at him, made him uneasy as to his safety. On the second\nevening, waking out of a light sleep, he heard them conspiring to throw\nhim overboard and divide his wealth among them. Arion started up and\nimplored them not to carry out their evil purpose, offering to hand over\nall his wealth, if they would spare his life. His entreaties and promises\nwere all in vain.\n\n\"We give you a fair choice,\" said the captain brutally. \"Either leap into\nthe sea at once, or kill yourself in some other way, and we will bury you\ndecently on shore.\"\n\nAbandoning his vain appeals for mercy, Arion begged them, as a last favor,\nto let him sing once more before he died.\n\n\"That we will not refuse,\" the captain answered; \"though, if you think to\nmove us by your wailing, let me tell you that you waste your breath!\" In\nreality, he was not displeased to have an opportunity of hearing the most\nfamous singer in the world.\n\nArion put on his sacred robes, in which he used to sing in the temple of\nApollo, and taking his lute he stepped firmly to the prow of the vessel.\nThere he stood, pale and calm, in the silvery light of the moon, his fair\nhair playing with the wind, while the little waves lifted themselves to\nlook at him, and then ran playfully into the shadow of the boat, to dash\ntheir heads against the beams and be broken into spray. The sailors were\nawed in spite of themselves, as that beautiful voice rose on the breeze.\nHe sang the old song which he had sung in the Lesbian vineyards when\nPeriander saw him first. And when he came to the last lines,--\n\n  \"Life is but a drop in the deep,\n  Soon we wake from the last, lone sleep,\n     And meet again,\"\n\nArion leapt over the side of the vessel, just as he was.\n\nThe captain, fearing that some of the crew might be moved to lend him\nassistance, gave the order to make all speed ahead. Had he waited, he\nmight have seen a most wonderful sight. For, as Arion fell into the sea,\nthe water seemed to become alive beneath him, and he felt it lifting him\nup, and carrying him rapidly away from the ship. Then he discovered that\nhe was seated astride on a great, black fish, which was swimming very\nrapidly on the top of the water, and he knew it must be a dolphin, which\nhad been attracted by his singing; for the dolphins, unlike most things\nthat live in the sea, have sharp ears, and are very fond of music. He\ntouched his lute, to see if the strings had suffered from the water, and,\nas he did so, the great back quivered beneath him. Finding, therefore,\nthat the dolphin liked the music, and thinking that he owed it some return\nfor saving his life, Arion began to sing, and sang song after song;\nwhenever he stopped, the dolphin ceased from swimming, as if to inquire\nthe reason; and when Arion began again, the dolphin bounded through the\nwater with great strokes of his broad tail. A strange sight it must have\nbeen, had there been any one there to see! But the dolphin went straight\nacross the open sea, where no ships were to be seen; for the sailors of\nthat day did not care to lose sight of the coast, but would sail all the\nway round a large bay rather than straight across it. So it was that Arion\ncame to T\u00e6narus in Greece, without having been seen by any man. The\ndolphin took him close to the shore, where he bade it good-by, and watched\nit swim away disconsolately.\n\nFrom T\u00e6narus he made his way on foot to Corinth. Periander was overjoyed\nto see him once more; and when he marveled at the strange costume in which\nArion had traveled, Arion related the whole story.\n\nPeriander listened attentively, and, when it was finished, remarked\ngravely, \"Are you then so little satisfied with your victories over the\nmusicians, Arion, that you have determined to be king of story-tellers\nalso?\"\n\n\"Does your majesty intend to throw doubt on my story?\" asked Arion.\n\n\"Far be it from me!\" answered Periander. \"The story pleases me well, and\nif you will tell me another such, I will take pains to believe that also.\"\n\n\"Then Zeus be my witness! I will find means to prove it,\" cried Arion.\n\n\"Have I not said that I doubted not?\" asked Periander. \"Yet I would gladly\nsee the proof. My crown to your lute upon the issue!\"\n\n\"So be it!\" said Arion. \"But first I must ask your majesty that none may\nspeak of my return; and when the ship _Nausicaa_ comes to port, let the\nseamen be dealt with as I shall appoint!\"\n\nThe king assented laughing, for he deemed the tale impossible. After some\ndays, however, it was announced that the ship _Nausicaa_ was in the\nharbor. Periander summoned the captain and all the crew to the palace, and\nasked them whether they had brought any news of his minstrel Arion. The\ncaptain replied that men said at Tarentum that Arion was still in Italy,\ntraveling from place to place, and received everywhere with great honor.\nThe rest of the sailors confirmed the story, and one of them added that\nArion was said to prefer Italy to Greece, nor had he any intention of\nreturning to Corinth.\n\nAt that moment a curtain was drawn and disclosed Arion, standing in his\nsacred robes and holding his lute, just as they had seen him last in the\nprow of the ship. The sailors, supposing that they beheld his spirit, were\nseized with terror, and fell at the king's feet, confessing all their\nwickedness and begging for mercy. But Periander was filled with\nindignation, and spurned them angrily. Arion interposed, urging the king\nto be merciful, now that the seamen had seen their wickedness, and were\nwilling to make restitution. Periander, however, would not hear of mercy.\n\n\"Your compassion bears witness to your noble spirit, Arion,\" he replied.\n\"But these men have planned a most cruel and cowardly murder, and cruelly\nshall they suffer for it. Seize me these men, guards, and bind them!\"\n\nThe guards came forward and began to lead away the trembling wretches.\n\n\"Stay!\" cried Arion. \"It is I who am king. Did not your majesty stake your\ncrown against my lute, and can the royal word be broken? Back, guards! I\nclaim my wager.\"\n\nPeriander could not refrain from laughter, but confessed himself beaten by\nthis piece of strategy. \"The wit of Arion,\" he said, \"is stronger than the\ntears of repentance. Release the prisoners!\"\n\n\"That being so,\" said Arion, \"and seeing that I find myself more easy with\nthe lute, I will restore the royal crown to Periander.\"\n\nSo the men were set at liberty, after having restored the property of\nArion, and departed full of gratitude, invoking blessings on his head.\n\nAnd lest any man should doubt the truth of the story in time to come,\nArion erected at T\u00e6narus a statue in bronze, representing a man riding on\na dolphin's back.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM LIVY\n\n\nROMULUS, FOUNDER OF ROME\n\nAdapted by Alfred J. Church\n\n\n\u00c6neas of Troy, coming to the land of Italy, took to wife Lavinia, daughter\nof King Latinus, and built him a city, which he called Lavinium, after the\nname of his wife. And, after thirty years, his son Ascanius went forth\nfrom Lavinium with much people, and built him a new city, which he called\nAlba. In this city reigned kings of the house and lineage of \u00c6neas for\ntwelve generations. Of these kings the eleventh in descent was one Procas,\nwho, having two sons, Numitor and Amulius, left his kingdom, according to\nthe custom, to Numitor, the elder. But Amulius drove out his brother, and\nreigned in his stead. Nor was he content with this wickedness, but slew\nall the male children of his brother. And the daughter of his brother,\nthat was named Rhea Silvia, he chose to be a priestess of Vesta, making as\nthough he would do the maiden honor, but his thought was that the name of\nhis brother should perish, for they that serve Vesta are vowed to\nperpetual virginity.\n\nBut it came to pass that Rhea bare twin sons, whose father, it was said,\nwas the god Mars. Very wroth was Amulius when he heard this thing; Rhea he\nmade fast in prison, and the children he gave to certain of his servants\nthat they should cast them into the river. Now it chanced that at this\nseason Tiber had overflowed his banks, neither could the servants come\nnear to the stream of the river; nevertheless they did not doubt that the\nchildren would perish, for all that the overflowing of the water was\nneither deep nor of a swift current. Thinking, then, that they had duly\nperformed the commandment of the king, they set down the babes in the\nflood and departed. But after a while the flood abated, and left the\nbasket wherein the children had been laid on dry ground. And a she-wolf,\ncoming down from the hill to drink at the river (for the country in those\ndays was desert and abounding in wild beasts), heard the crying of the\nchildren and ran to them. Nor did she devour them, but gave them suck;\nnay, so gentle was she that Faustulus, the king's shepherd, chancing to go\nby, saw that she licked them with her tongue. This Faustulus took the\nchildren and gave them to his wife to rear; and these, when they were of\nage to go by themselves, were not willing to abide with the flocks and\nherds, but were hunters, wandering through the forests that were in those\nparts. And afterward, being now come to full strength, they were not\ncontent to slay wild beasts only, but would assail troops of robbers, as\nthese were returning laden with their booty, and would divide the spoils\namong the shepherds. Now there was held in those days, on the hill that is\nnow called the Palatine, a yearly festival to the god Pan. This festival\nKing Evander first ordained, having come from Arcadia, in which land,\nbeing a land of shepherds, Pan, that is the god of shepherds, is greatly\nhonored. And when the young men and their company (for they had gathered a\ngreat company of shepherds about them, and led them in all matters both of\nbusiness and of sport) were busy with the festival, there came upon them\ncertain robbers that had made an ambush in the place, being very wroth by\nreason of the booty which they had lost. These laid hands on Remus, but\nRomulus they could not take, so fiercely did he fight against them. Remus,\ntherefore, they delivered up to King Amulius, accusing him of many things,\nand chiefly of this, that he and his companions had invaded the land of\nNumitor, dealing with them in the fashion of an enemy and carrying off\nmuch spoil. To Numitor, therefore, did the king deliver Remus, that he\nmight put him to death. Now Faustulus had believed from the beginning that\nthe children were of the royal house, for he knew that the babes had been\ncast into the river by the king's command, and the time also of his\nfinding them agreed thereto. Nevertheless he had not judged it expedient\nto open the matter before due time, but waited till occasion or necessity\nshould arise. But now, there being such necessity, he opened the matter to\nRomulus. Numitor also, when he had the young man Remus in his custody,\nknowing that he and his brother were twins, and that the time agreed, and\nseeing that they were of a high spirit, bethought him of his grandsons;\nand, indeed, having asked many questions of Remus, was come nigh to\nknowing of what race he was. And now also Romulus was ready to help his\nbrother. To come openly with his whole company he dared not, for he was\nnot a match for the power of King Amulius; but he bade sundry shepherds\nmake their way to the palace, each as best he could, appointing to them a\ntime at which they should meet. And now came Remus also, with a troop of\nyouths gathered together from the household of Numitor. Then did Romulus\nand Remus slay King Amulius. In the meanwhile Numitor gathered the youth\nof Alba to the citadel, crying out that they must make the place safe, for\nthat the enemy was upon them; but when he perceived that the young men had\ndone the deed, forthwith he called an assembly of the citizens, and set\nforth to them the wickedness which his brother had wrought against him,\nand how his grandsons had been born and bred and made known to him, and\nthen, in order, how the tyrant had been slain, himself having counseled\nthe deed. When he had so spoken the young men came with their company into\nthe midst of the assembly, and saluted him as king; to which thing the\nwhole multitude agreeing with one consent, Numitor was established upon\nthe throne.\n\nAfter this Romulus and his brother conceived this purpose, that, leaving\ntheir grandfather to be king at Alba, they should build for themselves a\nnew city in the place where, having been at the first left to die, they\nhad been brought up by Faustulus the shepherd. And to this purpose many\nagreed both of the men of Alba and of the Latins, and also of the\nshepherds that had followed them from the first, holding it for certain\nall of them that Alba and Lavinium would be of small account in comparison\nof this new city which they should build together. But while the brothers\nwere busy with these things, there sprang up afresh the same evil thing\nwhich had before wrought such trouble in their house, even the lust of\npower. For though the beginnings of the strife between them were peaceful,\nyet did it end in great wickedness. The matter fell out in this wise.\nSeeing that the brothers were twins, and that neither could claim to have\nthe preference to the other in respect of his age, it was agreed between\nthem that the gods that were the guardians of that country should make\nknown by means of augury which of the two they chose to give his name to\nthe new city. Then Romulus stood on the Palatine hill, and when there had\nbeen marked out for him a certain region of the sky, watched therein for a\nsign; and Remus watched in like manner, standing on the Aventine. And to\nRemus first came a sign, six vultures; but so soon as the sign had been\nproclaimed there came another to Romulus, even twelve vultures. Then they\nthat favored Remus clamored that the gods had chosen him for king, because\nhe had first seen the birds; and they that favored Romulus answered that\nhe was to be preferred because he had seen more in number. This dispute\nwaxed so hot that they fell to fighting; and in the fight it chanced that\nRemus was slain. But some say that when Romulus had marked out the borders\nof the town which he would build, and had caused a wall to be built round\nit, Remus leapt over the wall, scorning it because it was mean and low;\nand that Romulus slew him, crying out, \"Thus shall every man perish that\nshall dare to leap over my walls.\" Only others will have it that though he\nperished for this cause Romulus slew him not, but a certain Celer. This\nmuch is certain, that Romulus gained the whole kingdom for himself, and\ncalled the city after his own name.\n\nAnd now, having first done sacrifice to the Gods, he called a general\nassembly of the people, that he might give them laws, knowing that without\nlaws no city can endure. And judging that these would be the better kept\nof his subjects if he should himself bear something of the show of royal\nmajesty, he took certain signs of dignity, and especially twelve men that\nshould continually attend him, bearing bundles of rods, and in the midst\nof the rods an axe; these men they called _lictors_. Meanwhile the city\nincreased, for the king and his people enlarged their borders, looking\nrather to the greatness for which they hoped than to that which they had.\nAnd that this increase might not be altogether empty walls without men,\nRomulus set up a sanctuary, to which were gathered a great multitude of\nmen from the nations round about. All that were discontented and lovers of\nnovelty came to him. Nor did he take any account of their condition,\nwhether they were bond or free, but received them all. Thus was there\nadded to the city great strength. And the king, when he judged that there\nwas strength sufficient, was minded to add to the strength counsel.\nWherefore he chose a hundred men for counselors. A hundred he chose,\neither because he held that number to be sufficient, or because there were\nno more that were fit to bear this dignity and be called Fathers, for this\nwas the name of these counselors.\n\nAfter this the people bethought themselves how they should get for\nthemselves wives, for there were no women in the place. Wherefore Romulus\nsent ambassadors to the nations round about, praying that they should give\ntheir daughters to his people for wives. \"Cities,\" he said, \"have humble\nbeginnings even as all other things. Nevertheless they that have the Gods\nand their own valor to help become great. Now that the gods are with us,\nas ye know, be assured also that valor shall not be wanting.\" But the\nnations round about would not hearken to him, thinking scorn of this\ngathering of robbers and slaves and runaways, so that they said, \"Why do\nye not open a sanctuary for women also that so ye may find fit wives for\nyour people?\" Also they feared for themselves and their children what this\nnew city might grow to. Now when the ambassadors brought back this answer\nthe Romans were greatly wroth, and would take by force that which their\nneighbors would not give of their free will. And to the end that they\nmight do this more easily, King Romulus appointed certain days whereon he\nand his people would hold a festival with games to Neptune; and to this\nfestival he called all them that dwelt in the cities round about. But when\nmany were gathered together (for they were fain to see what this new city\nmight be), and were now wholly bent on the spectacle of the games, the\nyoung men of the Romans ran in upon them, and carried off all such as were\nunwedded among the women. To these King Romulus spake kindly, saying, \"The\nfault is not with us but with your fathers, who dealt proudly with us, and\nwould not give you to us in marriage. But now ye shall be held in all\nhonor as our wives, and shall have your portion of all that we possess.\nPut away therefore your anger, for ye shall find us so much the better\nhusbands than other men, as we must be to you not for husbands only but\nparents also and native country.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile the parents of them that had been carried off put on\nsackcloth, and went about through the cities crying out for vengeance upon\nthe Romans. And chiefly they sought for help from Titus Tatius, that was\nking of the Sabines in those days, and of great power and renown. But when\nthe Sabines seemed to be tardy in the matter, the men of C\u00e6re first\ngathered together their army and marched into the country of the Romans.\nAgainst these King Romulus led forth his men and put them to flight\nwithout much ado, having first slain their king with his own hand. Then,\nafter returning to Rome, he carried the arms which he had taken from the\nbody of the king to the hill of the Capitol, and laid them down at the\nshepherds' oak that stood thereon in those days. And when he had measured\nout the length and breadth of a temple that he would build to Jupiter upon\nthe hill, he said, \"O Jupiter, I, King Romulus, offer to thee these arms\nof a king, and dedicate therewith a temple in this place, in which temple\nthey that come after me shall offer to thee like spoils in like manner,\nwhen it shall chance that the leader of our host shall himself slay with\nhis own hands the leader of the host of the enemy.\" And this was the first\ntemple that was dedicated in Rome. And in all the time to come two only\noffered in this manner, to wit, Cornelius Cossus that slew Lars Tolumnius,\nking of Veii, and Claudius Marcellus that slew Britomarus, king of the\nGauls.\n\nAfter this, King Tatius and the Sabines came up against Rome with a great\narmy. And first of all they gained the citadel by treachery in this\nmanner. One Tarpeius was governor of the citadel, whose daughter, Tarpeia\nby name, going forth from the walls to fetch water for a sacrifice, took\nmoney from the king that she should receive certain of the soldiers within\nthe citadel; but when they had been so received, the men cast their\nshields upon her, slaying her with the weight of them. This they did\neither that they might be thought to have taken the place by force, or\nthat they judged it to be well that no faith should be kept with traitors.\nSome also tell this tale, that the Sabines wore great bracelets of gold on\ntheir left arms, and on their left hands fair rings with precious stones\ntherein, and that when the maiden covenanted with them that she should\nhave for a reward that which they carried in their left hands, they cast\ntheir shields upon her. And others say that she asked for their shields\nhaving the purpose to betray them, and for this cause was slain.\n\nThus the Sabines had possession of the citadel; and the next day King\nRomulus set the battle in array on the plain that lay between the hill of\nthe Capitol and the hill of the Palatine. And first the Romans were very\neager to recover the citadel, a certain Hostilius being their leader. But\nwhen this man, fighting in the forefront of the battle, was slain, the\nRomans turned their backs and fled before the Sabines, even unto the gate\nof the Palatine. Then King Romulus (for he himself had been carried away\nby the crowd of them that fled) held up his sword and his spear to the\nheavens, and cried aloud, \"O Jupiter, here in the Palatine didst thou\nfirst, by the tokens which thou sentest me, lay the foundations of my\ncity. And lo! the Sabines have taken the citadel by wicked craft, and have\ncrossed the valley, and are come up even hither. But if thou sufferest\nthem so far, do thou at the least defend this place against them, and stay\nthis shameful flight of my people. So will I build a temple for thee in\nthis place, even a temple of Jupiter the Stayer, that may be a memorial to\nafter generations of how thou didst this day save this city.\" And when he\nhad so spoken, even as though he knew that the prayer had been heard, he\ncried, \"Ye men of Rome, Jupiter bids you stand fast in this place and\nrenew the battle.\" And when the men of Rome heard these words, it was as\nif a voice from heaven had spoken to them, and they stood fast, and the\nking himself went forward and stood among the foremost. Now the leader of\nthe Sabines was one Curtius. This man, as he drave the Romans before him,\ncried out to his comrades, \"See, we have conquered these men, false hosts\nand feeble foes that they are! Surely now they know that it is one thing\nto carry off maidens and another to fight with men.\" But whilst he boasted\nhimself thus, King Romulus and a company of the youth rushed upon him. Now\nCurtius was fighting on horseback, and being thus assailed he fled,\nplunging into a certain pool which lay between the Palatine hill and the\nCapitol. Thus did he barely escape with his life, and the lake was called\nthereafter Curtius' pool. And now the Sabines began to give way to the\nRomans, when suddenly the women for whose sake they fought, having their\nhair loosened and their garments rent, ran in between them that fought,\ncrying out, \"Shed ye not each other's blood, ye that are fathers-in-law\nand sons-in-law to each other. But if ye break this bond that is between\nyou, slay us that are the cause of this trouble. And surely it were better\nfor us to die than to live if we be bereaved of our fathers or of our\nhusbands.\" With these words they stirred the hearts both of the chiefs and\nof the people, so that there was suddenly made a great silence. And\nafterward the leaders came forth to make a covenant; and these indeed so\nordered matters that there was not peace only, but one state where there\nhad been two. For the Sabines came to Rome and dwelt there; and King\nRomulus and King Tatius reigned together. Only, after a while, certain men\nof Lanuvium slew King Tatius as he was sacrificing to the Gods at\nLavinium; and thereafter Romulus only was king as before.\n\nWhen he had reigned thirty and seven years there befell the thing that\nshall now be told. On a certain day he called the people together on the\nfield of Mars, and held a review of his army. But while he did this there\narose suddenly a great storm, with loud thunderings and very thick clouds,\nso that the king was hidden away from the eyes of all the people. Nor\nindeed was he ever again seen upon the earth. And when men were recovered\nof their fear they were in great trouble, because they had lost their\nking, though indeed the Fathers would have it that he had been carried by\na whirlwind into heaven. Yet after a while they began to worship him as\nbeing now a god; and when nevertheless some doubted, and would even\nwhisper among themselves that Romulus had been torn in pieces by the\nFathers, there came forward a certain Proculus, who spake after this\nmanner: \"Ye men of Rome, this day, in the early morning, I saw Romulus,\nthe father of this city, come down from heaven and stand before me. And\nwhen great fear came upon me, I prayed that it might be lawful for me to\nlook upon him face to face. Then said he to me, 'Go thy way, tell the men\nof Rome that it is the will of them that dwell in heaven that Rome should\nbe the chiefest city in the world. Bid them therefore be diligent in war;\nand let them know for themselves and tell their children after them that\nthere is no power on earth so great that it shall be able to stand against\nthem.' And when he had thus spoken, he departed from me, going up into\nheaven.\" All men believed Proculus when he thus spake, and the people\nceased from their sorrow when they knew that King Romulus had been taken\nup into heaven.\n\n\n\n\nHOW HORATIUS HELD THE BRIDGE\n\nAdapted by Alfred J. Church\n\n\n    [King Tarquin had been driven from Rome because of his tyranny.]\n\n\nKing Tarquin and his son Lucius (for he only remained to him of the three)\nfled to Lars Porsenna, king of Clusium, and besought him that he would\nhelp them. \"Suffer not,\" they said, \"that we, who are Tuscans by birth,\nshould remain any more in poverty and exile. And take heed also to thyself\nand thine own kingdom if thou permit this new fashion of driving forth\nkings to go unpunished. For surely there is that in freedom which men\ngreatly desire, and if they that be kings defend not their dignity as\nstoutly as others seek to overthrow it, then shall the highest be made\neven as the lowest, and there shall be an end of kingship, than which\nthere is nothing more honorable under heaven.\" With these words they\npersuaded King Porsenna, who judging it well for the Etrurians that there\nshould be a king at Rome, and that king an Etrurian by birth, gathered\ntogether a great army and came up against Rome. But when men heard of his\ncoming, so mighty a city was Clusium in those days, and so great the fame\nof King Porsenna, there was such fear as had never been before.\nNevertheless they were steadfastly purposed to hold out. And first all\nthat were in the country fled into the city, and round about the city they\nset guards to keep it, part thereof being defended by walls, and part, for\nso it seemed, being made safe by the river. But here a great peril had\nwell-nigh overtaken the city; for there was a wooden bridge on the river\nby which the enemy had crossed but for the courage of a certain Horatius\nCocles. The matter fell out in this wise.\n\nThere was a certain hill which men called Janiculum on the side of the\nriver, and this hill King Porsenna took by a sudden attack. Which when\nHoratius saw (for he chanced to have been set to guard the bridge, and saw\nalso how the enemy were running at full speed to the place, and how the\nRomans were fleeing in confusion and threw away their arms as they ran),\nhe cried with a loud voice, \"Men of Rome, it is to no purpose that ye thus\nleave your post and flee, for if ye leave this bridge behind you for men\nto pass over, ye shall soon find that ye have more enemies in your city\nthan in Janiculum. Do ye therefore break it down with axe and fire as best\nye can. In the meanwhile I, so far as one man may do, will stay the\nenemy.\" And as he spake he ran forward to the farther end of the bridge\nand made ready to keep the way against the enemy. Nevertheless there stood\ntwo with him, Lartius and Herminius by name, men of noble birth both of\nthem and of great renown in arms. So these three for a while stayed the\nfirst onset of the enemy; and the men of Rome meanwhile brake down the\nbridge. And when there was but a small part remaining, and they that brake\nit down called to the three that they should come back, Horatius bade\nLartius and Herminius return, but he himself remained on the farther side,\nturning his eyes full of wrath in threatening fashion on the princes of\nthe Etrurians, and crying, \"Dare ye now to fight with me? or why are ye\nthus come at the bidding of your master, King Porsenna, to rob others of\nthe freedom that ye care not to have for yourselves?\" For a while they\ndelayed, looking each man to his neighbor, who should first deal with this\nchampion of the Romans. Then, for very shame, they all ran forward, and\nraising a great shout, threw their javelins at him. These all he took upon\nhis shield, nor stood the less firmly in his place on the bridge, from\nwhich when they would have thrust him by force, of a sudden the men of\nRome raised a great shout, for the bridge was now altogether broken down,\nand fell with a great crash into the river. And as the enemy stayed a\nwhile for fear, Horatius turned him to the river and said, \"O Father\nTiber, I beseech thee this day with all reverence that thou kindly receive\nthis soldier and his arms.\" And as he spake he leapt with all his arms\ninto the river and swam across to his own people, and though many javelins\nof the enemy fell about him, he was not one whit hurt. Nor did such valor\nfail to receive due honor from the city. For the citizens set up a statue\nof Horatius in the market-place; and they gave him of the public land so\nmuch as he could plough about in one day. Also there was this honor paid\nhim, that each citizen took somewhat of his own store and gave it to him,\nfor food was scarce in the city by reason of the siege.\n\n\n\n\nHOW CINCINNATUS SAVED ROME\n\nAdapted by Alfred J. Church\n\n\nIt came to pass that the \u00c6quians brake the treaty of peace which they had\nmade with Rome, and, taking one Gracchus Cloelius for their leader,\nmarched into the land of Tusculum; and when they had plundered the country\nthereabouts, and had gathered together much booty, they pitched their camp\non Mount \u00c6gidus. To them the Romans sent three ambassadors, who should\ncomplain of the wrong done, and seek redress. But when they would have\nfulfilled their errand, Gracchus the \u00c6quian spake, saying, \"If ye have any\nmessage from the Senate of Rome, tell it to this oak, for I have other\nbusiness to do;\" for it chanced that there was a great oak that stood hard\nby, and made a shadow over the general's tent. Then one of the\nambassadors, as he turned to depart, made reply, \"Yes, let this sacred oak\nand all the gods that are in heaven hear how ye have wrongfully broken the\ntreaty of peace; and let them that hear help us also in the day of battle,\nwhen we shall avenge on you the laws both of gods and of men that ye have\nset at nought.\"\n\nWhen the ambassadors had returned to Rome the Senate commanded that there\nshould be levied two armies; and that Minucius the Consul should march\nwith the one against the \u00c6quians on Mount \u00c6gidus, and that the other\nshould hinder the enemy from their plundering. This levying the tribunes\nof the Commons sought to hinder; and perchance had done so, but there also\ncame well-nigh to the walls of the city a great host of the Sabines\nplundering all the country. Thereupon the people willingly offered\nthemselves, and there were levied forthwith two great armies. Nevertheless\nwhen the Consul Minucius had marched to Mount \u00c6gidus, and had pitched his\ncamp not far from the \u00c6quians, he did nought for fear of the enemy, but\nkept himself within his entrenchments. And when the enemy perceived that\nhe was afraid, growing the bolder for his lack of courage, they drew lines\nabout him, keeping him in on every side. Yet before that he was altogether\nshut up there escaped from his camp five horsemen, that bare tidings to\nRome how that the Consul, together with his army, was besieged. The people\nwere sorely dismayed to hear such tidings; nor, when they cast about for\nhelp, saw they any man that might be sufficient for such peril, save only\nCincinnatus. By common consent, therefore, he was made Dictator for six\nmonths, a thing that may well be noted by those who hold that nothing is\nto be accounted of in comparison of riches, and that no man may win great\nhonor or show forth singular virtue unless he be well furnished with\nwealth. For here in this great peril of the Roman people there was no hope\nof safety but in one who was cultivating with his own hand a little plot\nof scarcely three acres of ground. For when the messengers of the people\ncame to him they found him ploughing, or, as some say, digging a ditch.\nWhen they had greeted each the other, the messengers said, \"May the Gods\nprosper this thing to the Roman people and to thee. Put on thy robe and\nhear the words of the people.\" Then said Cincinnatus, being not a little\nastonished, \"Is all well?\" and at the same time he called to his wife\nRacilia that she should bring forth his robe from the cottage. So she\nbrought it forth, and the man wiped from him the dust and the sweat, and\nclad himself in his robe, and stood before the messengers. These said to\nhim, \"The people of Rome make thee Dictator, and bid thee come forthwith\nto the city.\" And at the same time they told how the Consul and his army\nwere besieged by the \u00c6quians. So Cincinnatus departed to Rome; and when he\ncame to the other side of the Tiber there met him first his three sons,\nand next many of his kinsfolk and friends, and after them a numerous\ncompany of the nobles. These all conducted him to his house, the lictors,\nfour and twenty in number, marching before him. There was also assembled a\nvery great concourse of the people, fearing much how the Dictator might\ndeal with them, for they knew what manner of man he was, and that there\nwas no limit to his power, nor any appeal from him.\n\nThe next day before dawn the Dictator came into the market-place, and\nappointed one Lucius Tarquinius to be Master of the Horse. This Tarquinius\nwas held by common consent to excel all other men in exercises of war;\nonly, though, being a noble by birth, he should have been among the\nhorsemen, he had served, for lack of means, as a foot soldier. This done\nhe called an assembly of the people and commanded that all the shops in\nthe city should be shut; that no man should concern himself with any\nprivate business, but all that were of an age to go to the war should be\npresent before sunset in the Field of Mars, each man having with him\nprovisions of cooked food for five days, and twelve stakes. As for them\nthat were past the age, they should prepare the food while the young men\nmade ready their arms and sought for the stakes. These last they took as\nthey found them, no man hindering them; and when the time appointed by the\nDictator was come, all were assembled, ready, as occasion might serve,\neither to march or to give battle. Forthwith they set out, the Dictator\nleading the foot soldiers by their legions, and Tarquinius the horsemen,\nand each bidding them that followed make all haste. \"We must needs come,\"\nthey said, \"to our journey's end while it is yet night. Remember that the\nConsul and his army have been besieged now for three days, and that no man\nknows what a day or a night may bring forth.\" The soldiers themselves also\nwere zealous to obey, crying out to the standard-bearers that they should\nquicken their steps, and to their fellows that they should not lag behind.\nThus they came at midnight to Mount \u00c6gidus, and when they perceived that\nthe enemy was at hand they halted the standards. Then the Dictator rode\nforward to see, so far as the darkness would suffer him, how great was the\ncamp of the \u00c6quians and after what fashion it was pitched. This done he\ncommanded that the baggage should be gathered together into a heap, and\nthat the soldiers should stand every man in his own place. After this he\ncompassed about the whole army of the enemy with his own army, and\ncommanded that at a set signal every man should shout, and when they had\nshouted should dig a trench and set up therein the stakes. This the\nsoldiers did, and the noise of the shouting passed over the camp of the\nenemy and came into the city, causing therein great joy, even as it caused\ngreat fear in the camp. For the Romans cried, \"These be our countrymen,\nand they bring us help.\" Then said the Consul, \"We must make no delay. By\nthat shout is signified, not that they are come only, but that they are\nalready dealing with the enemy. Doubtless the camp of the \u00c6quians is even\nnow assailed from without. Take ye your arms and follow me.\" So the legion\nwent forth, it being yet night, to the battle, and as they went they\nshouted, that the Dictator might be aware. Now the \u00c6quians had set\nthemselves to hinder the making of a ditch and rampart which should shut\nthem in; but when the Romans from the camp fell upon them, fearing lest\nthese should make their way through the midst of their camp, they left\nthem that were with Cincinnatus to finish their entrenching, and fought\nwith the Consul. And when it was now light, lo! they were already shut in,\nand the Romans, having finished their entrenching, began to trouble them.\nAnd when the \u00c6quians perceived that the battle was now on either side of\nthem, they could withstand no longer, but sent ambassadors praying for\npeace, and saying, \"Ye have prevailed; slay us not, but rather permit us\nto depart, leaving our arms behind us.\" Then said the Dictator, \"I care\nnot to have the blood of the \u00c6quians. Ye may depart, but ye shall depart\npassing under the yoke, that ye may thus acknowledge to all men that ye\nare indeed vanquished.\" Now the yoke is thus made. There are set up in the\nground two spears, and over them is bound by ropes a third spear. So the\n\u00c6quians passed under the yoke.\n\nIn the camp of the enemy there was found abundance of spoil. This the\nDictator gave wholly to his own soldiers. \"Ye were well-nigh a spoil to\nthe enemy,\" said he to the army of the Consul, \"therefore ye shall have no\nshare in the spoiling of them. As for thee, Minucius, be thou a lieutenant\nonly till thou hast learnt how to bear thyself as a consul.\" Meanwhile at\nRome there was held a meeting of the Senate, at which it was commanded\nthat Cincinnatus should enter the city in triumph, his soldiers following\nhim in order of march. Before his chariot there were led the generals of\nthe enemy; also the standards were carried in the front; and after these\ncame the army, every man laden with spoil. That day there was great\nrejoicing in the city, every man setting forth a banquet before his doors\nin the street.\n\nAfter this, Virginius, that had borne false witness against C\u00e6so, was\nfound guilty of perjury, and went into exile. And when Cincinnatus saw\nthat justice had been done to this evil-doer, he resigned his\ndictatorship, having held it for sixteen days only.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF VIRGINIA\n\nAdapted by Alfred J. Church\n\n\nIt was agreed between the nobles and the commons that, to make an end of\ndisputing about the laws, ambassadors should be sent into Greece, and\nespecially to Athens (which city and its lawgiver, Solon, were held in\nhigh repute in those days), to learn what manner of laws and customs they\nhad, and to bring back a report of them. And when the ambassadors had\nbrought back their report, it seemed good to the people that in the\nfollowing year there should be appointed neither consuls nor any other\nmagistrate, but decemvirs only; that is to say, ten men, who should set in\norder the laws of Rome. Thus it came to pass in the ninety and first year\nfrom the driving out of the kings, that decemvirs were appointed in the\nstead of consuls, Appius Claudius being the chief of the ten.\n\nFor a while these pleased the people well, doing justice equally between\nman and man. And the custom was that each day one of the ten sat as judge\nwith the twelve lictors about him, the nine others sitting with one\nminister only. Also they busied themselves with the ordering of the laws;\nand at last set forth ten tables on which these were written. At the same\ntime they called the people together to an assembly, and spake to them\nthus: \"The Gods grant that this undertaking may turn to the credit of the\nstate, and of you, and of your children. Go, therefore, and read these\nlaws which we have set forth; for though we have done what ten men could\ndo to provide laws that should be just to all, whether they be high or\nlow, yet the understandings of many men may yet change many things for the\nbetter. Consider therefore all these matters in your own minds, and debate\nthem among yourselves. For we will that the Roman people should be bound\nby such laws only as they shall have agreed together to establish.\"\n\nThe ten tables were therefore set forth, and when these had been\nsufficiently considered, and such corrections made therein as seemed good,\na regular assembly of the people was called, and the laws were duly\nestablished. But now there was spread abroad a report that two tables were\nyet wanting, and that when these should have been added the whole would be\ncomplete; and thence there arose a desire that the Ten should be appointed\nto hold office a second year. This indeed was done; but Appius Claudius so\nordered matters that there were elected together with him none of the\nchief men of the state, but only such as were of an inferior condition and\nfortune.\n\nAfter this the Ten began more and more to set aside all law and right.\nThus whereas at the first one only on each day was followed by the twelve\nlictors, each of the Ten came daily into the market-place so attended, and\nwhereas before the lictors carried bundles of rods only, now there was\nbound up with the rods an axe; whereby was signified the power of life and\ndeath. Their actions also agreed with this show, for they and their\nministers plundered the goods and chattels of the people. Some also they\nscourged, and some they beheaded. And when they had so put a man to death,\nthey would divide his substance among those that waited upon them to do\ntheir pleasure.\n\nAmong their misdeeds two were especially notable. There was a certain\nSicinius in the host, a man of singular strength and courage, who took it\nill that the Ten should thus set themselves above all law, and was wont to\nsay to his comrades that the commons should depart from the city as they\nhad done in time past, or should at the least make them tribunes to be\ntheir champions as of old. This Sicinius the Ten sent on before the army,\nthere being then war with the Sabines, to search out a place for a camp;\nand with him they sent certain others, bidding them slay him when they\nshould have come to some convenient place. This they did, but not without\nsuffering much loss; for the man fought for his life and defended himself,\nslaying many of his enemies. Then they that escaped ran into the camp,\nsaying that Sicinius had fallen into an ambuscade, and had died along with\ncertain others of the soldiers. At the first, indeed, this story was\nbelieved; but afterward, when, by permission of the Ten, there went some\nto bury the dead, they found that none of the dead bodies had been\nspoiled, and that Sicinius lay with his arms in the midst, the others\nhaving their faces toward him; also that there was no dead body of an\nenemy in the place, nor any track as of them that had gone from the place;\nfor which reasons they brought back tidings that Sicinius had certainly\nbeen slain by his own comrades. At this there was great wrath in the camp;\nand the soldiers were ready to carry the body of Sicinius to Rome, but\nthat the Ten made a military funeral for him at the public cost. So they\nburied Sicinius with great lamentation; but the Ten were thereafter in\nvery ill repute among the soldiers.\n\nAgain, there was a certain centurion, Lucius Virginius by name, an upright\nman and of good credit both at home and abroad. This Virginius had a\ndaughter, Virginia, a very fair and virtuous maiden, whom he had espoused\nto a certain Icilius that had once been a tribune of the commons. On this\nmaiden Appius Claudius, the chief of the Ten, sought to lay hands, and for\nthis end gave commandment to one Marcus Claudius, who was one of the\nclients of his house, that he should claim the girl for a slave. On the\nmorrow therefore, as Virginia passed across the market-place, being on her\nway to school (for the schools in those days were held in the\nmarket-place), this Claudius seized her, affirming that she was born of a\nwoman that was a slave, and was therefore by right a slave herself. The\nmaiden standing still for fear, the nurse that attended her set up a great\ncry and called the citizens to help. Straightway there was a great\nconcourse, for many knew the maiden's father Virginius, and Icilius to\nwhom she was betrothed. Then said Claudius, seeing that he could not take\nher by force, \"There is no need of tumult or of gathering a crowd. I would\nproceed by law, not by force.\" Thereupon he summoned the girl before the\njudge. When they came to the judgment-seat of Appius the man told a tale\nthat had already been agreed upon between the two. \"This girl,\" he said,\n\"was born in my house, and was thence secretly taken to the house of\nVirginius, and passed off on the man as his daughter. Of this I will bring\nproof sufficient, such as will convince Virginius himself, who doubtless\nhas received the chief wrong in this matter. But in the meanwhile it is\nreasonable that the slave should remain in the house of her master.\" To\nthis the friends of the girl made answer, \"Virginius is absent on the\nservice of the state, and will be here within the space of two days, if\ntidings of this matter be sent to him. Now it is manifestly wrong that\njudgment concerning a man's children should be given while he is himself\nabsent. Let the cause, therefore, be postponed till he come. Meanwhile let\nthe maiden have her freedom, according to the law which Appius and his\nfellows have themselves established.\"\n\nAppius gave sentence in these words: \"That I am a favorer of freedom is\nmanifest from this law of which ye make mention. Yet this law must be\nobserved in all cases and without respect of persons; and as to this girl,\nthere is none but her father only to whom her owner may yield the custody\nof her. Let her father therefore be sent for; but in the meanwhile\nClaudius must have custody of her, as is his right, only giving security\nthat he will produce her on the morrow.\"\n\nAt this decree, so manifestly unrighteous was it, there was much\nmurmuring, yet none dared to oppose it, till Numitorius, the girl's uncle,\nand Icilius came forth from the crowd. The lictor cried, \"Sentence has\nbeen given,\" and bade Icilius give place. Then Icilius turned to Appius,\nsaying, \"Appius, thou must drive me hence with the sword before thou canst\nhave thy will in this matter. This maiden is my espoused wife; and verily,\nthough thou call hither all thy lictors and the lictors of thy colleagues,\nshe shall not remain in any house save the house of her father.\"\n\nTo this Appius, seeing that the multitude was greatly moved and were ready\nto break forth into open violence, made this reply: \"Icilius cares not for\nVirginia, but being a lover of sedition and tumult, seeks an occasion for\nstrife. Such occasion I will not give him to-day. But that he may know\nthat I yield not to his insolence, but have regard to the rights of a\nfather, I pronounce no sentence. I ask of Marcus Claudius that he will\nconcede something of his right, and suffer surety to be given for the girl\nagainst the morrow. But if on the morrow the father be not present here,\nthen I tell Icilius and his fellows that he who is the author of this law\nwill not fail to execute it. Neither will I call in the lictors of my\ncolleague to put down them that raise a tumult. For this my own lictors\nshall suffice.\"\n\nSo much time being thus gained, it seemed good to the friends of the\nmaiden that the son of Numitorius and the brother of Icilius, young men\nboth of them and active, should hasten with all speed to the camp, and\nbring Virginius thence as quickly as might be. So the two set out, and\nputting their horses to their full speed, carried tidings of the matter to\nthe father. As for Appius, he sat awhile on the judgment-seat, waiting for\nother business to be brought before him, for he would not have it seem\nthat he had come for this cause only; but finding that there was none, and\nindeed the people were wholly intent on the matter of Virginia, he\ndeparted to his own house. Thence he sent an epistle to his colleagues\nthat were at the camp, saying, \"Grant no leave of absence to Virginius,\nbut keep him in safe custody with you.\" But this availed nothing, for\nalready, before ever the epistle was brought to the camp, at the very\nfirst watch of the night, Virginius had set forth.\n\nWhen Virginius was come to the city, it being then early dawn, he put on\nmean apparel, as was the custom with such as were in danger of life or\nliberty, and carried about his daughter, who was clad in like manner,\npraying all that he met to help and succor him. \"Remember,\" said he, \"that\nday by day I stand fighting for you and for your children against your\nenemies. But what shall this profit you or me if this city being safe,\nnevertheless our children stand in peril of slavery and shame?\" Icilius\nspake in like manner, and the women (for a company of matrons followed\nVirginia) wept silently, stirring greatly the hearts of all that looked\nupon them. But Appius, so set was his heart on evil, heeded none of these\nthings; but so soon as he had sat him down on the seat of judgment, and he\nthat claimed the girl had said a few words complaining that right had not\nbeen done to him, he gave his sentence, suffering not Virginius to speak.\nWhat pretense of reason he gave can scarce be imagined, but the sentence\n(for this only is certain) was that the girl should be in the custody of\nClaudius till the matter should be decided by law. But when Claudius came\nto take the maiden, her friends and all the women that bare her company\nthrust him back. Then said Appius, \"I have sure proof, and this not from\nthe violence only of Icilius, but from what is told to me of gatherings by\nnight in the city, that there is a purpose in certain men to stir up\nsedition. Knowing this I have come hither with armed men; not to trouble\nquiet citizens, but to punish such as would break the peace of the state.\nSuch as be wise, therefore, will keep themselves quiet. Lictor, remove\nthis crowd, and make room for the master that he may take his slave.\"\nThese words he thundered forth in great anger; and the people, when they\nheard them, fell back in fear, so that the maiden stood without defense.\nThen Virginius, seeing that there were none to help him, said to Appius,\n\"I pray thee, Appius, if I have said aught that was harsh to thee, that\nthou wilt pardon it, knowing how a father must needs suffer in such a\ncase. But now suffer me to inquire somewhat of this woman that is the\ngirl's nurse, that I may know what is the truth of the matter. For if I\nhave been deceived in the matter, and am not in truth father to the girl,\nI shall be more content.\" Then, Appius giving permission, he led his\ndaughter and her nurse a little space aside, to the shops that are by the\ntemple of Cloacina, and snatching a knife from a butcher's, said, \"My\ndaughter, there is but this one way that I can make thee free,\" and he\ndrave the knife into her breast. Then he looked back to the judgment-seat\nand cried, \"With this blood, Appius, I devote thee and thy life to\nperdition.\" There went up a great cry from all that stood there when they\nsaw so dreadful a deed, and Appius commanded that they should seize him.\nBut no man laid hands on him, for he made a way for himself with the knife\nthat he carried in his hand, and they that followed defended him, till he\ncame to the gate of the city. Then Icilius and Numitorius took up the dead\nbody of the maiden and showed it to the people, saying much of the\nwickedness of him who had driven a father to do such a deed, and much also\nof the liberty which had been taken from them, and which, if they would\nonly use this occasion, they might now recover. As for Appius, he cried\nout to his lictors that they should lay hands on Icilius, and when the\ncrowd suffered not the lictors to approach, would himself have made a way\nto him, by the help of the young nobles that stood by him. But now the\ncrowd had leaders, themselves also nobles, Valerius and Horatius. These\nsaid, \"If Appius would deal with Icilius according to law we will be\nsecurities for him; if he mean to use violence, we are ready to meet him.\"\nAnd when the lictor would have laid hands on these two the multitude brake\nhis rods to pieces. Then Appius would have spoken to the people, but they\nclamored against him, so that at last, losing all courage and fearing for\nhis life, he covered his head and fled secretly to his own house.\n\nMeanwhile Virginius had made his way to the camp, which was now on Mount\nVecilius, and stirred up the army yet more than he had stirred the city.\n\"Lay not to my charge,\" he said, \"that which is in truth the wickedness of\nAppius; neither turn from me as from the murderer of my daughter. Her\nindeed I slew, thinking that death was better than slavery and shame; nor\nindeed had I survived her but that I hoped to avenge her death by the help\nof my comrades.\" Others also that had come from the city persuaded the\nsoldiers; some saying that the power of the Ten was overthrown, and others\nthat Appius had gone of his own accord into banishment. These words so\nprevailed with the soldiers that, without any bidding from their generals,\nthey took up their arms, and, with their standards carried before them,\ncame to Rome and pitched their camp on the Aventine.\n\nNevertheless, the Ten were still obstinate, affirming that they would not\nresign their authority till they had finished the work for which they had\nbeen appointed, namely, the drawing up of the twelve tables of the laws.\nAnd when the army perceived this they marched from the Aventine and took\nup their abode on the Sacred Hill, all the commons following them, so that\nthere was not left in the city a single man that had ability to move; nor\ndid the women and children stay behind, but all, as many as could move,\nbare them company; for Duilius, that had been tribune, said, \"Unless the\nSenate see the city deserted, they will take no heed of your complaints.\"\nAnd indeed, when these perceived what had taken place, they were more\nurgent than before that the Ten should resign their office. And these at\nlast consented. \"Only,\" said they, \"do not suffer us to perish from the\nrage of the commons. It will be an ill day for the nobles when the people\nshall learn to take vengeance on them.\" And the Senate so wrought that\nthough at the first the commons in their great fury demanded that the Ten\nshould be burned alive, yet they were persuaded to yield, it being agreed\nthat each man should be judged by the law according to his deserts.\nAppius, therefore, was accused by Virginius, and being cast into prison,\nslew himself before the day appointed for the trial. Oppius also, another\nof the Ten, whom the commons hated for his misdeeds next after Appius, was\naccused and died in like manner. As for Claudius, that had claimed\nVirginia for his slave, he was condemned to be banished. And thus at the\nlast, the guilty having been punished, the spirit of Virginia had rest.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SACRIFICE OF MARCUS CURTIUS\n\nAdapted by Alfred J. Church\n\n\nIn the three hundred and ninety-third year after the building of the city\nthere was seen suddenly to open in the market-place a great gulf of a\ndeepness that no man could measure. And this gulf could not be filled up,\nthough all the people brought earth and stones and the like to cast into\nit. But at the last there was sent a message from the Gods that the Romans\nmust inquire what was that by which more than all things the state was\nmade strong. \"For,\" said the soothsayer, \"this thing must be dedicated to\nthe Gods in this place if the commonwealth of Rome is to stand fast\nforever.\" And while they doubted, one Marcus Curtius, a youth that had won\ngreat renown in war, rebuked them, saying, \"Can ye doubt that Rome hath\nnothing better than arms and valor?\"\n\nThen all the people stood silent; and Curtius, first beholding the temples\nof the immortal Gods that hung over the market-place and the Capitol, and\nafterward stretching forth his hands both to heaven above and to this gulf\nthat opened its mouth to the very pit, as it were, of hell, devoted\nhimself for his country; and so--being clothed in armor and with arms in\nhis hand, and having his horse arrayed as sumptuously as might be--he\nleapt into the gulf; and the multitude, both of men and women, threw in\ngifts and offerings of the fruits of the earth, and afterward the earth\nclosed together.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM OVID\n\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS PITCHER\n\nBy Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\nOne evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his old wife Baucis sat\nat their cottage door, enjoying the calm and beautiful sunset. They had\nalready eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend a quiet hour\nor two before bedtime. So they talked together about their garden, and\ntheir cow, and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered over the\ncottage wall, and on which the grapes were beginning to turn purple. But\nthe rude shouts of children, and the fierce barking of dogs, in the\nvillage near at hand, grew louder and louder, until, at last, it was\nhardly possible for Baucis and Philemon to hear each other speak.\n\n\"Ah, wife,\" cried Philemon, \"I fear some poor traveler is seeking\nhospitality among our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him food\nand lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their custom is!\"\n\n\"Well-a-day!\" answered old Baucis, \"I do wish our neighbors felt a little\nmore kindness for their fellow-creatures. And only think of bringing up\ntheir children in this naughty way, and patting them on the head when they\nfling stones at strangers!\"\n\n\"Those children will never come to any good,\" said Philemon, shaking his\nwhite head. \"To tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some\nterrible thing were to happen to all the people in the village, unless\nthey mend their manners. But, as for you and me, so long as Providence\naffords us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to any poor,\nhomeless stranger that may come along and need it.\"\n\n\"That's right, husband!\" said Baucis. \"So we will!\"\n\nThese old folks, you must know, were quite poor, and had to work pretty\nhard for a living. Old Philemon toiled diligently in his garden, while\nBaucis was always busy with her distaff, or making a little butter and\ncheese with their cow's milk, or doing one thing and another about the\ncottage. Their food was seldom anything but bread, milk, and vegetables,\nwith sometimes a portion of honey from their beehive, and now and then a\nbunch of grapes, that had ripened against the cottage wall. But they were\ntwo of the kindest old people in the world, and would cheerfully have gone\nwithout their dinners, any day, rather than refuse a slice of their brown\nloaf, a cup of new milk, and a spoonful of honey, to the weary traveler\nwho might pause before their door. They felt as if such guests had a sort\nof holiness, and that they ought, therefore, to treat them better and more\nbountifully than their own selves.\n\nTheir cottage stood on a rising ground, at some short distance from a\nvillage, which lay in a hollow valley, that was about half a mile in\nbreadth. This valley, in past ages, when the world was new, had probably\nbeen the bed of a lake. There fishes had glided to and fro in the depths,\nand water-weeds had grown along the margin, and trees and hills had seen\ntheir reflected images in the broad and peaceful mirror. But, as the\nwaters subsided, men had cultivated the soil, and built houses on it, so\nthat it was now a fertile spot, and bore no traces of the ancient lake,\nexcept a very small brook, which meandered through the midst of the\nvillage, and supplied the inhabitants with water. The valley had been dry\nland so long that oaks had sprung up, and grown great and high, and\nperished with old age, and been succeeded by others, as tall and stately\nas the first. Never was there a prettier or more fruitful valley. The very\nsight of the plenty around them should have made the inhabitants kind and\ngentle, and ready to show their gratitude to Providence by doing good to\ntheir fellow-creatures.\n\nBut, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not\nworthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently. They\nwere a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for the poor,\nnor sympathy with the homeless. They would only have laughed, had anybody\ntold them that human beings owe a debt of love to one another, because\nthere is no other method of paying the debt of love and care which all of\nus owe to Providence. You will hardly believe what I am going to tell you.\nThese naughty people taught their children to be no better than\nthemselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of encouragement, when\nthey saw the little boys and girls run after some poor stranger, shouting\nat his heels, and pelting him with stones. They kept large and fierce\ndogs, and whenever a traveler ventured to show himself in the village\nstreet, this pack of disagreeable curs scampered to meet him, barking,\nsnarling, and showing their teeth. Then they would seize him by his leg,\nor by his clothes, just as it happened; and if he were ragged when he\ncame, he was generally a pitiable object before he had time to run away.\nThis was a very terrible thing to poor travelers, as you may suppose,\nespecially when they chanced to be sick, or feeble, or lame, or old. Such\npersons (if they once knew how badly these unkind people, and their unkind\nchildren and curs, were in the habit of behaving) would go miles and miles\nout of their way, rather than try to pass through the village again.\n\nWhat made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons\ncame in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their servants\nin rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil and\nobsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They would take off their\nhats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the children were rude,\nthey were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for the dogs, if\na single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master instantly beat him\nwith a club, and tied him up without any supper. This would have been all\nvery well, only it proved that the villagers cared much about the money\nthat a stranger had in his pocket, and nothing whatever for the human\nsoul, which lives equally in the beggar and the prince.\n\nSo now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he\nheard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the\nfarther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din, which\nlasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth of the\nvalley.\n\n\"I never heard the dogs so loud!\" observed the good old man.\n\n\"Nor the children so rude!\" answered his good old wife.\n\nThey sat shaking their heads, one to the other, while the noise came\nnearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which\ntheir cottage stood, they saw two travelers approaching on foot. Close\nbehind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A little\nfarther off ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries, and flung\nstones at the two strangers, with all their might. Once or twice, the\nyounger of the two men (he was a slender and very active figure) turned\nabout and drove back the dogs with a staff which he carried in his hand.\nHis companion, who was a very tall person, walked calmly along as if\ndisdaining to notice either the naughty children or the pack of curs,\nwhose manners the children seemed to imitate.\n\nBoth of the travelers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they might\nnot have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's lodging. And\nthis, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had allowed their\nchildren and dogs to treat them so rudely.\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said Philemon to Baucis, \"let us go and meet these poor\npeople. No doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the hill.\"\n\n\"Go you and meet them,\" answered Baucis, \"while I make haste within doors,\nand see whether we can get them anything for supper. A comfortable bowl of\nbread and milk would do wonders towards raising their spirits.\"\n\nAccordingly, she hastened into the cottage. Philemon, on his part, went\nforward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there was\nno need of saying what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest tone\nimaginable,--\n\n\"Welcome, strangers! welcome!\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way,\nnotwithstanding his weariness and trouble. \"This is quite another greeting\nthan we have met with yonder in the village. Pray, why do you live in such\na bad neighborhood?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smile, \"Providence\nput me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I may make you\nwhat amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbors.\"\n\n\"Well said, old father!\" cried the traveler, laughing; \"and, if the truth\nmust be told, my companion and myself need some amends. Those children\n(the little rascals!) have bespattered us finely with their mud-balls; and\none of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough already. But I\ntook him across the muzzle with my staff; and I think you may have heard\nhim yelp, even thus far off.\"\n\nPhilemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would you\nhave fancied, by the traveler's look and manner, that he was weary with a\nlong day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough treatment at the\nend of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of cap on his\nhead, the brim of which stuck out over both ears. Though it was a summer\nevening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about him, perhaps\nbecause his under garments were shabby. Philemon perceived, too, that he\nhad on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was now growing dusk, and as\nthe old man's eyesight was none the sharpest, he could not precisely tell\nin what the strangeness consisted. One thing, certainly, seemed queer. The\ntraveler was so wonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his\nfeet sometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be\nkept down by an effort.\n\n\"I used to be light-footed, in my youth,\" said Philemon to the traveler.\n\"But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.\"\n\n\"There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,\" answered the\nstranger; \"and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.\"\n\nThis staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever\nbeheld. It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a little pair of\nwings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented as\ntwining themselves about the staff, and were so very skillfully executed\nthat old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather dim) almost\nthought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and twisting.\n\n\"A curious piece of work, sure enough!\" said he. \"A staff with wings! It\nwould be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride of!\"\n\nBy this time Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage door.\n\n\"Friends,\" said the old man, \"sit down and rest yourselves here on this\nbench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper.\nWe are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have in the\ncupboard.\"\n\nThe younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his\nstaff fall, as he did so. And here happened something rather marvelous,\nthough trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up from the ground of\nits own accord, and, spreading its little pair of wings, it half hopped,\nhalf flew, and leaned itself against the wall of the cottage. There it\nstood quite still, except that the snakes continued to wriggle. But, in my\nprivate opinion, old Philemon's eyesight had been playing him tricks\nagain.\n\nBefore he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his attention\nfrom the wonderful staff, by speaking to him.\n\n\"Was there not,\" asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of voice,\n\"a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands yonder\nvillage?\"\n\n\"Not in my day, friend,\" answered Philemon; \"and yet I am an old man, as\nyou see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now,\nand the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst of\nthe valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it otherwise,\nso far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same, when old\nPhilemon shall be gone and forgotten!\"\n\n\"That is more than can be safely foretold,\" observed the stranger; and\nthere was something very stern in his deep voice. He shook his head, too,\nso that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement. \"Since the\ninhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections and sympathies\nof their nature, it were better that the lake should be rippling over\ntheir dwellings again!\"\n\nThe traveler looked so stern that Philemon was really almost frightened;\nthe more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed suddenly to grow\ndarker, and that, when he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder\nin the air.\n\nBut, in a moment afterwards, the stranger's face became so kindly and mild\nthat the old man quite forgot his terror. Nevertheless, he could not help\nfeeling that this elder traveler must be no ordinary personage, although\nhe happened now to be attired so humbly and to be journeying on foot. Not\nthat Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise, or any character of that\nsort; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who went about the world in\nthis poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly objects, and seeking\neverywhere to add a mite to his wisdom. This idea appeared the more\nprobable, because, when Philemon raised his eyes to the stranger's face,\nhe seemed to see more thought there, in one look, than he could have\nstudied out in a lifetime.\n\nWhile Baucis was getting the supper, the travelers both began to talk very\nsociably with Philemon. The younger, indeed, was extremely loquacious, and\nmade such shrewd and witty remarks that the good old man continually burst\nout a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest fellow whom he had seen\nfor many a day.\n\n\"Pray, my young friend,\" said he, as they grew familiar together, \"what\nmay I call your name?\"\n\n\"Why, I am very nimble, as you see,\" answered the traveler. \"So, if you\ncall me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well.\"\n\n\"Quicksilver? Quicksilver?\" repeated Philemon, looking in the traveler's\nface, to see if he were making fun of him. \"It is a very odd name! And\nyour companion there? Has he as strange a one?\"\n\n\"You must ask the thunder to tell it you!\" replied Quicksilver, putting on\na mysterious look. \"No other voice is loud enough.\"\n\nThis remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused\nPhilemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on\nventuring to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his\nvisage. But undoubtedly here was the grandest figure that ever sat so\nhumbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it was with\ngravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly moved to tell\nhim everything which he had most at heart. This is always the feeling that\npeople have when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend all\ntheir good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.\n\nBut Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many\nsecrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the\nevents of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been a\nscore of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself had dwelt\nin the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by honest\nlabor, always poor, but still contented. He told what excellent butter and\ncheese Baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he raised in\nhis garden. He said, too, that, because they loved one another so very\nmuch, it was the wish of both that death might not separate them, but that\nthey should die, as they had lived, together.\n\nAs the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made\nits expression as sweet as it was grand.\n\n\"You are a good old man,\" said he to Philemon, \"and you have a good old\nwife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted.\"\n\nAnd it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a\nbright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.\n\nBaucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make\napologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her guests.\n\n\"Had we known you were coming,\" said she, \"my good man and myself would\nhave gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper.\nBut I took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and our last\nloaf is already half eaten. Ah me! I never feel the sorrow of being poor,\nsave when a poor traveler knocks at our door.\"\n\n\"All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,\" replied\nthe elder stranger kindly. \"An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works\nmiracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to\nnectar and ambrosia.\"\n\n\"A welcome you shall have,\" cried Baucis, \"and likewise a little honey\nthat we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast!\" exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing; \"an\nabsolute feast! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at it! I\nthink I never felt hungrier in my life.\"\n\n\"Mercy on us!\" whispered Baucis to her husband. \"If the young man has such\na terrible appetite, I am afraid there will not be half enough supper!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"I AM AFRAID THERE WILL NOT BE HALF ENOUGH SUPPER\"]\n\nThey all went into the cottage.\n\nAnd now, my little auditors, shall I tell you something that will make you\nopen your eyes very wide? It is really one of the oddest circumstances in\nthe whole story. Quicksilver's staff, you recollect, had set itself up\nagainst the wall of the cottage. Well, when its master entered the door,\nleaving this wonderful staff behind, what should it do but immediately\nspread its little wings, and go hopping and fluttering up the doorsteps!\nTap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen floor; nor did it rest until it\nhad stood itself on end, with the greatest gravity and decorum, beside\nQuicksilver's chair. Old Philemon, however, as well as his wife, was so\ntaken up in attending to their guests that no notice was given to what the\nstaff had been about.\n\nAs Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry\ntravelers. In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf,\nwith a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the\nother. There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests. A\nmoderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a corner\nof the board; and when Baucis had filled two bowls, and set them before\nthe strangers, only a little milk remained in the bottom of the pitcher.\nAlas! it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds itself\npinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances. Poor Baucis kept wishing\nthat she might starve for a week to come, if it were possible, by so\ndoing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful supper.\n\nAnd, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help wishing\nthat their appetites had not been quite so large. Why, at their very first\nsitting down, the travelers both drank off all the milk in their two\nbowls, at a draught.\n\n\"A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please,\" said Quicksilver.\n\"The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear people,\" answered Baucis, in great confusion, \"I am so sorry\nand ashamed! But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk in the\npitcher. O husband, husband, why didn't we go without our supper?\"\n\n\"Why, it appears to me,\" cried Quicksilver, starting up from table and\ntaking the pitcher by the handle, \"it really appears to me that matters\nare not quite so bad as you represent them. Here is certainly more milk in\nthe pitcher.\"\n\nSo saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to fill,\nnot only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the pitcher that\nwas supposed to be almost empty. The good woman could scarcely believe her\neyes. She had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and had peeped in\nafterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set it down upon\nthe table.\n\n\"But I am old,\" thought Baucis to herself, \"and apt to be forgetful. I\nsuppose I must have made a mistake. At all events, the pitcher cannot help\nbeing empty now, after filling the bowls twice over.\"\n\n\"What excellent milk!\" observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the contents\nof the second bowl. \"Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask you\nfor a little more.\"\n\nNow Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that\nQuicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had\npoured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl. Of course, there\ncould not possibly be any left. However, in order to let him know\nprecisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture as\nif pouring milk into Quicksilver's bowl, but without the remotest idea\nthat any milk would stream forth. What was her surprise, therefore, when\nsuch an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl, that it was\nimmediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the table! The two\nsnakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but neither Baucis nor\nPhilemon happened to observe this circumstance) stretched out their heads,\nand began to lap up the spilt milk.\n\nAnd then what a delicious fragrance the milk had! It seemed as if\nPhilemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage\nthat could be found anywhere in the world. I only wish that each of you,\nmy beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at\nsupper-time!\n\n\"And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,\" said Quicksilver,\n\"and a little of that honey!\"\n\nBaucis cut him a slice accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and her\nhusband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be palatable, it\nwas now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of the oven. Tasting\na crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it more delicious than\nbread ever was before, and could hardly believe that it was a loaf of her\nown kneading and baking. Yet, what other loaf could it possibly be?\n\nBut oh, the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to\ndescribe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its color was that of the\npurest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a thousand\nflowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to\nseek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds. The wonder is,\nthat, after alighting on a flower-bed of so delicious fragrance and\nimmortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their\nhive in Philemon's garden. Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.\nThe perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that,\nhad you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low\nceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbor, with\ncelestial honeysuckles creeping over it.\n\nAlthough good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but think\nthat there was something rather out of the common way in all that had been\ngoing on. So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and laying a\nbunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by Philemon, and\ntold him what she had seen, in a whisper.\n\n\"Did you ever hear the like?\" asked she.\n\n\"No, I never did,\" answered Philemon, with a smile. \"And I rather think,\nmy dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream. If I\nhad poured out the milk, I should have seen through the business at once.\nThere happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you thought,--that\nis all.\"\n\n\"Ah, husband,\" said Baucis, \"say what you will, these are very uncommon\npeople.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" replied Philemon, still smiling, \"perhaps they are. They\ncertainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily glad\nto see them making so comfortable a supper.\"\n\nEach of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.\nBaucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of\nopinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each\nseparate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice. It\nwas entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been\nproduced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage wall.\n\n\"Very admirable grapes these!\" observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed one\nafter another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. \"Pray, my good\nhost, whence did you gather them?\"\n\n\"From my own vine,\" answered Philemon. \"You may see one of its branches\ntwisting across the window, yonder. But wife and I never thought the\ngrapes very fine ones.\"\n\n\"I never tasted better,\" said the guest. \"Another cup of this delicious\nmilk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince.\"\n\nThis time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for he\nwas curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels which\nBaucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old wife was incapable\nof falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she supposed to be\ntrue; but this was so very singular a case, that he wanted to see into it\nwith his own eyes. On taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped\ninto it, and was fully satisfied that it contained not so much as a single\ndrop. All at once, however, he beheld a little white fountain, which\ngushed up from the bottom of the pitcher, and speedily filled it to the\nbrim with foaming and deliciously fragrant milk. It was lucky that\nPhilemon, in his surprise, did not drop the miraculous pitcher from his\nhand.\n\n\"Who are ye, wonder-working strangers!\" cried he, even more bewildered\nthan his wife had been.\n\n\"Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends,\" replied the elder\ntraveler, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and\nawe-inspiring in it. \"Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your\npitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for the\nneedy wayfarer!\"\n\nThe supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their\nplace of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with them a\nlittle longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their\ndelight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and\nmore abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveler had inspired them\nwith such reverence that they dared not ask him any questions. And when\nPhilemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a fountain\nof milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter personage\npointed to his staff.\n\n\"There is the whole mystery of the affair,\" quoth Quicksilver; \"and if you\ncan make it out, I'll thank you to let me know. I can't tell what to make\nof my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this; sometimes\ngetting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If I had any\nfaith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched!\"\n\nHe said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather\nfancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his\nheels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old\ncouple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the\nevening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They had\ngiven up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed for\nthemselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their own\nhearts.\n\nThe old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the\nstrangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to\ndepart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,\nuntil Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,\nperhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast. The guests, however,\nseemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their journey\nbefore the heat of the day should come on. They, therefore, persisted in\nsetting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to walk forth with\nthem a short distance, and show them the road which they were to take.\n\nSo they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old\nfriends. It was very remarkable, indeed, how familiar the old couple\ninsensibly grew with the elder traveler, and how their good and simple\nspirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the\nillimitable ocean. And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick, laughing\nwits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but peeped into\ntheir minds, before they suspected it themselves. They sometimes wished,\nit is true, that he had not been quite so quick-witted, and also that he\nwould fling away his staff, which looked so mysteriously mischievous, with\nthe snakes always writhing about it. But then, again, Quicksilver showed\nhimself so very good-humored, that they would have been rejoiced to keep\nhim in their cottage, staff, snakes, and all, every day, and the whole day\nlong.\n\n\"Ah me! Well-a-day!\" exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little way\nfrom their door. \"If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing it is to\nshow hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their dogs, and never\nallow their children to fling another stone.\"\n\n\"It is a sin and shame for them to behave so,--that it is!\" cried good old\nBaucis vehemently. \"And I mean to go this very day, and tell some of them\nwhat naughty people they are!\"\n\n\"I fear,\" remarked Quicksilver; slyly smiling, \"that you will find none of\nthem at home.\"\n\nThe elder traveler's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and\nawful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon dared\nto speak a word. They gazed reverently into his face, as if they had been\ngazing at the sky.\n\n\"When men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a\nbrother,\" said the traveler, in tones so deep that they sounded like those\nof an organ, \"they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was created as\nthe abode of a great human brotherhood!\"\n\n\"And, by the by, my dear old people,\" cried Quicksilver, with the\nliveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, \"where is this same\nvillage that you talk about? On which side of us does it lie? Methinks I\ndo not see it hereabouts.\"\n\nPhilemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset, only\nthe day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the\nclumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing in\nit, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and prosperity. But what\nwas their astonishment! There was no longer any appearance of a village!\nEven the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had ceased to have\nexistence. In its stead, they beheld the broad, blue surface of a lake,\nwhich filled the great basin of the valley from brim to brim, and\nreflected the surrounding hills in its bosom with as tranquil an image as\nif it had been there ever since the creation of the world. For an instant,\nthe lake remained perfectly smooth. Then a little breeze sprang up, and\ncaused the water to dance, glitter, and sparkle in the early sunbeams, and\nto dash, with a pleasant rippling murmur, against the hither shore.\n\nThe lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were greatly\nperplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming about a\nvillage having lain there. But, the next moment, they remembered the\nvanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far\ntoo distinctly for a dream. The village had been there yesterday, and now\nwas gone!\n\n\"Alas!\" cried these kind-hearted old people, \"what has become of our poor\nneighbors?\"\n\n\"They no longer exist as men and women,\" said the elder traveler, in his\ngrand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a\ndistance. \"There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs; for\nthey never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the exercise\nof kindly affections between man and man. They retained no image of the\nbetter life in their bosoms; therefore, the lake, that was of old, has\nspread itself forth again, to reflect the sky!\"\n\n\"And as for those foolish people,\" said Quicksilver, with his mischievous\nsmile, \"they are all transformed to fishes. There needed but little\nchange, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the\ncoldest-blooded beings in existence. So, kind Mother Baucis, whenever you\nor your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can throw\nin a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbors!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Baucis shuddering, \"I would not, for the world, put one of\nthem on the gridiron!\"\n\n\"No,\" added Philemon, making a wry face, \"we could never relish them!\"\n\n\"As for you, good Philemon,\" continued the elder traveler,--\"and you, kind\nBaucis,--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt\nhospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger, that the\nmilk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and the\nhoney were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, at your board, off\nthe same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus. You have done well,\nmy dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever favor you have most at\nheart, and it is granted.\"\n\nPhilemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then--I know not which of\nthe two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both their\nhearts.\n\n\"Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same\ninstant, when we die! For we have always loved one another!\"\n\n\"Be it so!\" replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. \"Now, look\ntowards your cottage!\"\n\nThey did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of\nwhite marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their\nhumble residence had so lately stood!\n\n\"There is your home,\" said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them\nboth. \"Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace as freely as in the poor\nhovel to which you welcomed us last evening.\"\n\nThe old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! neither he\nnor Quicksilver was there.\n\nSo Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and\nspent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making\neverybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way. The\nmilk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvelous quality of\nbeing never empty, when it was desirable to have it full. Whenever an\nhonest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this\npitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid\nthat ever ran down his throat. But, if a cross and disagreeable curmudgeon\nhappened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage into a hard\nknot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk!\n\nThus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew\nolder and older, and very old indeed. At length, however, there came a\nsummer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their appearance,\nas on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their\npleasant faces, to invite the guests of over-night to breakfast. The\nguests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace, and\nall to no purpose. But, after a great deal of perplexity, they espied, in\nfront of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could remember to\nhave seen there the day before. Yet there they stood, with their roots\nfastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage overshadowing\nthe whole front of the edifice. One was an oak, and the other a\nlinden-tree. Their boughs--it was strange and beautiful to see--were\nintertwined together, and embraced one another, so that each tree seemed\nto live in the other tree's bosom much more than in its own.\n\nWhile the guests were marveling how these trees, that must have required\nat least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and venerable in\na single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their intermingled boughs\nastir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in the air, as if the two\nmysterious trees were speaking.\n\n\"I am old Philemon!\" murmured the oak.\n\n\"I am old Baucis!\" murmured the linden-tree.\n\nBut, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at\nonce,--\"Philemon! Baucis! Baucis! Philemon!\"--as if one were both and both\nwere one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart. It was\nplain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed their age,\nand were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so, Philemon\nas an oak, and Baucis as a linden-tree. And oh, what a hospitable shade\ndid they fling around them! Whenever a wayfarer paused beneath it, he\nheard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head, and wondered how\nthe sound should so much resemble words like these:--\n\n\"Welcome, welcome, dear traveler, welcome!\"\n\nAnd some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old\nPhilemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where, for\na great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty used\nto repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly from the miraculous\npitcher.\n\nAnd I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN TOUCH\n\nBy Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\nOnce upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose\nname was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself ever\nheard of, and whose name I either never knew or have entirely forgotten.\nSo, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to call her\nMarygold.\n\nThis King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world. He\nvalued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that precious\nmetal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the one little\nmaiden who played so merrily around her father's footstool. But the more\nMidas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He\nthought, foolish man! that the best thing he could possibly do for this\ndear child would be to bequeath her the immensest pile of yellow,\nglistening coin, that had ever been heaped together since the world was\nmade. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one purpose.\nIf ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the gold-tinted clouds of\nsunset, he wished that they were real gold, and that they could be\nsqueezed safely into his strong box. When little Marygold ran to meet him\nwith a bunch of buttercups and dandelions, he used to say, \"Poh, poh,\nchild! If these flowers were as golden as they look, they would be worth\nthe plucking!\"\n\nAnd yet, in his earlier days, before he was so entirely possessed of this\ninsane desire for riches, King Midas had shown a great taste for flowers.\nHe had planted a garden, in which grew the biggest and beautifulest and\nsweetest roses that any mortal ever saw or smelt. These roses were still\ngrowing in the garden, as large, as lovely, and as fragrant as when Midas\nused to pass whole hours in gazing at them and inhaling their perfume. But\nnow, if he looked at them at all, it was only to calculate how much the\ngarden would be worth if each of the innumerable rose-petals were a thin\nplate of gold. And though he once was fond of music (in spite of an idle\nstory about his ears, which were said to resemble those of an ass), the\nonly music for poor Midas, now, was the chink of one coin against another.\n\nAt length (as people always grow more and more foolish, unless they take\ncare to grow wiser and wiser), Midas had got to be so exceedingly\nunreasonable, that he could scarcely bear to see or touch any object that\nwas not gold. He made it his custom, therefore, to pass a large portion of\nevery day in a dark and dreary apartment, under ground, at the basement of\nhis palace. It was here that he kept his wealth. To this dismal hole--for\nit was little better than a dungeon--Midas betook himself, whenever he\nwanted to be particularly happy. Here, after carefully locking the door,\nhe would take a bag of gold coin, or a gold cup as big as a washbowl, or a\nheavy golden bar, or a peck-measure of gold-dust, and bring them from the\nobscure corners of the room into the one bright and narrow sunbeam that\nfell from the dungeon-like window. He valued the sunbeam for no other\nreason but that his treasure would not shine without its help. And then\nwould he reckon over the coins in the bag; toss up the bar, and catch it\nas it came down; sift the gold-dust through his fingers; look at the funny\nimage of his own face, as reflected in the burnished circumference of the\ncup; and whisper to himself, \"O Midas, rich King Midas, what a happy man\nart thou!\" But it was laughable to see how the image of his face kept\ngrinning at him, out of the polished surface of the cup. It seemed to be\naware of his foolish behavior, and to have a naughty inclination to make\nfun of him.\n\nMidas called himself a happy man, but felt that he was not yet quite so\nhappy as he might be. The very tiptop of enjoyment would never be reached,\nunless the whole world were to become his treasure-room, and be filled\nwith yellow metal which should be all his own.\n\nNow, I need hardly remind such wise little people as you are, that in the\nold, old times, when King Midas was alive, a great many things came to\npass, which we should consider wonderful if they were to happen in our own\nday and country. And, on the other hand, a great many things take place\nnowadays, which seem not only wonderful to us, but at which the people of\nold times would have stared their eyes out. On the whole, I regard our own\ntimes as the strangest of the two; but, however that may be, I must go on\nwith my story.\n\nMidas was enjoying himself in his treasure-room, one day, as usual, when\nhe perceived a shadow fall over the heaps of gold; and, looking suddenly\nup, what should he behold but the figure of a stranger, standing in the\nbright and narrow sunbeam! It was a young man, with a cheerful and ruddy\nface. Whether it was that the imagination of King Midas threw a yellow\ntinge over everything, or whatever the cause might be, he could not help\nfancying that the smile with which the stranger regarded him had a kind of\ngolden radiance in it. Certainly, although his figure intercepted the\nsunshine, there was now a brighter gleam upon all the piled-up treasures\nthan before. Even the remotest corners had their share of it, and were\nlighted up, when the stranger smiled, as with tips of flame and sparkles\nof fire. As Midas knew that he had carefully turned the key in the lock,\nand that no mortal strength could possibly break into his treasure-room,\nhe, of course, concluded that his visitor must be something more than\nmortal. It is no matter about telling you who he was. In those days, when\nthe earth was comparatively a new affair, it was supposed to be often the\nresort of beings endowed with supernatural power, and who used to interest\nthemselves in the joys and sorrows of men, women, and children, half\nplayfully and half seriously. Midas had met such beings before now, and\nwas not sorry to meet one of them again. The stranger's aspect, indeed,\nwas so good-humored and kindly, if not beneficent, that it would have been\nunreasonable to suspect him of intending any mischief. It was far more\nprobable that he came to do Midas a favor. And what could that favor be,\nunless to multiply his heaps of treasure?\n\nThe stranger gazed about the room; and when his lustrous smile had\nglistened upon all the golden objects that were there, he turned again to\nMidas.\n\n\"You are a wealthy man, friend Midas!\" he observed. \"I doubt whether any\nother four walls, on earth, contain so much gold as you have contrived to\npile up in this room.\"\n\n\"I have done pretty well,--pretty well,\" answered Midas, in a discontented\ntone. \"But, after all, it is but a trifle, when you consider that it has\ntaken me my whole life to get it together. If one could live a thousand\nyears, he might have time to grow rich!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"Then you are not satisfied?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"And pray what would satisfy you?\" asked the stranger. \"Merely for the\ncuriosity of the thing, I should be glad to know.\"\n\nMidas paused and meditated. He felt a presentiment that this stranger,\nwith such a golden lustre in his good-humored smile, had come hither with\nboth the power and the purpose of gratifying his utmost wishes. Now,\ntherefore, was the fortunate moment, when he had but to speak, and obtain\nwhatever possible, or seemingly impossible thing, it might come into his\nhead to ask. So he thought, and thought, and thought, and heaped up one\ngolden mountain upon another, in his imagination, without being able to\nimagine them big enough. At last, a bright idea occurred to King Midas. It\nseemed really as bright as the glistening metal which he loved so much.\n\nRaising his head, he looked the lustrous stranger in the face.\n\n\"Well, Midas,\" observed his visitor, \"I see that you have at length hit\nupon something that will satisfy you. Tell me your wish.\"\n\n\"It is only this,\" replied Midas. \"I am weary of collecting my treasures\nwith so much trouble, and beholding the heap so diminutive, after I have\ndone my best. I wish everything that I touch to be changed to gold!\"\n\nThe stranger's smile grew so very broad, that it seemed to fill the room\nlike an outburst of the sun, gleaming into a shadowy dell where the yellow\nautumnal leaves--for so looked the lumps and particles of gold--lie strewn\nin the glow of light.\n\n\"The Golden Touch!\" exclaimed he. \"You certainly deserve credit, friend\nMidas, for striking out so brilliant a conception. But are you quite sure\nthat this will satisfy you?\"\n\n\"How could it fail?\" said Midas.\n\n\"And will you never regret the possession of it?\"\n\n\"What could induce me?\" asked Midas. \"I ask nothing else, to render me\nperfectly happy.\"\n\n\"Be it as you wish, then,\" replied the stranger, waving his hand in token\nof farewell. \"To-morrow, at sunrise, you will find yourself gifted with\nthe Golden Touch.\"\n\nThe figure of the stranger then became exceedingly bright, and Midas\ninvoluntarily closed his eyes. On opening them again, he beheld only one\nyellow sunbeam in the room, and, all around him, the glistening of the\nprecious metal which he had spent his life in hoarding up.\n\nWhether Midas slept as usual that night, the story does not say. Asleep or\nawake, however, his mind was probably in the state of a child's, to whom a\nbeautiful new plaything has been promised in the morning. At any rate, day\nhad hardly peeped over the hills, when King Midas was broad awake, and,\nstretching his arms out of bed, began to touch the objects that were\nwithin reach. He was anxious to prove whether the Golden Touch had really\ncome, according to the stranger's promise. So he laid his finger on a\nchair by the bedside, and on various other things, but was grievously\ndisappointed to perceive that they remained of exactly the same substance\nas before. Indeed, he felt very much afraid that he had only dreamed about\nthe lustrous stranger, or else that the latter had been making game of\nhim. And what a miserable affair would it be, if, after all his hopes,\nMidas must content himself with what little gold he could scrape together\nby ordinary means, instead of creating it by a touch!\n\nAll this while it was only the gray of the morning, with but a streak of\nbrightness along the edge of the sky, where Midas could not see it. He lay\nin a very disconsolate mood, regretting the downfall of his hopes, and\nkept growing sadder and sadder, until the earliest sunbeam shone through\nthe window, and gilded the ceiling over his head. It seemed to Midas that\nthis bright yellow sunbeam was reflected in rather a singular way on the\nwhite covering of the bed. Looking more closely, what was his astonishment\nand delight, when he found that this linen fabric had been transmuted to\nwhat seemed a woven texture of the purest and brightest gold! The Golden\nTouch had come to him with the first sunbeam!\n\nMidas started up, in a kind of joyful frenzy, and ran about the room,\ngrasping at everything that happened to be in his way. He seized one of\nthe bed-posts, and it became immediately a fluted golden pillar. He pulled\naside a window-curtain, in order to admit a clear spectacle of the wonders\nwhich he was performing; and the tassel grew heavy in his hand,--a mass of\ngold. He took up a book from the table. At his first touch, it assumed the\nappearance of such a splendidly bound and gilt-edged volume as one often\nmeets with, nowadays; but, on running his fingers through the leaves,\nbehold! it was a bundle of thin golden plates, in which all the wisdom of\nthe book had grown illegible. He hurriedly put on his clothes, and was\nenraptured to see himself in a magnificent suit of gold cloth, which\nretained its flexibility and softness, although it burdened him a little\nwith its weight. He drew out his handkerchief, which little Marygold had\nhemmed for him. That was likewise gold, with the dear child's neat and\npretty stitches running all along the border, in gold thread!\n\nSomehow or other, this last transformation did not quite please King\nMidas. He would rather that his little daughter's handiwork should have\nremained just the same as when she climbed his knee and put it into his\nhand.\n\nBut it was not worth while to vex himself about a trifle. Midas now took\nhis spectacles from his pocket, and put them on his nose, in order that he\nmight see more distinctly what he was about. In those days, spectacles for\ncommon people had not been invented, but were already worn by kings; else,\nhow could Midas have had any? To his great perplexity, however, excellent\nas the glasses were, he discovered that he could not possibly see through\nthem. But this was the most natural thing in the world; for on taking them\noff, the transparent crystals turned out to be plates of yellow metal,\nand, of course, were worthless as spectacles, though valuable as gold. It\nstruck Midas as rather inconvenient that, with all his wealth, he could\nnever again be rich enough to own a pair of serviceable spectacles.\n\n\"It is no great matter, nevertheless,\" said he to himself, very\nphilosophically. \"We cannot expect any great good, without its being\naccompanied with some small inconvenience. The Golden Touch is worth the\nsacrifice of a pair of spectacles, at least, if not of one's very\neyesight. My own eyes will serve for ordinary purposes, and little\nMarygold will soon be old enough to read to me.\"\n\nWise King Midas was so exalted by his good fortune that the palace seemed\nnot sufficiently spacious to contain him. He therefore went downstairs,\nand smiled, on observing that the balustrade of the staircase became a bar\nof burnished gold, as his hand passed over it in his descent. He lifted\nthe door-latch (it was brass only a moment ago, but golden when his\nfingers quitted it), and emerged into the garden. Here, as it happened, he\nfound a great number of beautiful roses in full bloom, and others in all\nthe stages of lovely bud and blossom. Very delicious was their fragrance\nin the morning breeze. Their delicate blush was one of the fairest sights\nin the world; so gentle, so modest, and so full of sweet tranquillity did\nthese roses seem to be.\n\nBut Midas knew a way to make them far more precious, according to his way\nof thinking, than roses had ever been before. So he took great pains in\ngoing from bush to bush, and exercised his magic touch most indefatigably;\nuntil every individual flower and bud, and even the worms at the heart of\nsome of them, were changed to gold. By the time this good work was\ncompleted, King Midas was summoned to breakfast; and as the morning air\nhad given him an excellent appetite, he made haste back to the palace.\n\nWhat was usually a king's breakfast in the days of Midas, I really do not\nknow, and cannot stop now to investigate. To the best of my belief,\nhowever, on this particular morning, the breakfast consisted of hot cakes,\nsome nice little brook trout, roasted potatoes, fresh boiled eggs, and\ncoffee, for King Midas himself, and a bowl of bread and milk for his\ndaughter Marygold. At all events, this is a breakfast fit to set before a\nking; and, whether he had it or not, King Midas could not have had a\nbetter.\n\nLittle Marygold had not yet made her appearance. Her father ordered her to\nbe called, and, seating himself at table, awaited the child's coming, in\norder to begin his own breakfast. To do Midas justice, he really loved his\ndaughter, and loved her so much the more this morning, on account of the\ngood fortune which had befallen him. It was not a great while before he\nheard her coming along the passage-way crying bitterly. This circumstance\nsurprised him, because Marygold was one of the cheerfullest little people\nwhom you would see in a summer's day, and hardly shed a thimbleful of\ntears in a twelvemonth. When Midas heard her sobs, he determined to put\nlittle Marygold into better spirits, by an agreeable surprise; so, leaning\nacross the table, he touched his daughter's bowl (which was a China one,\nwith pretty figures all around it), and transmuted it to gleaming gold.\n\nMeanwhile, Marygold slowly and disconsolately opened the door, and showed\nherself with her apron at her eyes, still sobbing as if her heart would\nbreak.\n\n\"How now, my little lady!\" cried Midas. \"Pray what is the matter with you,\nthis bright morning?\"\n\nMarygold, without taking the apron from her eyes, held out her hand, in\nwhich was one of the roses which Midas had so recently transmuted.\n\n\"Beautiful!\" exclaimed her father. \"And what is there in this magnificent\ngolden rose to make you cry?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear father!\" answered the child, as well as her sobs would let her;\n\"it is not beautiful, but the ugliest flower that ever grew! As soon as I\nwas dressed I ran into the garden to gather some roses for you; because I\nknow you like them, and like them the better when gathered by your little\ndaughter. But, oh dear, dear me! What do you think has happened? Such a\nmisfortune! All the beautiful roses, that smelled so sweet and had so many\nlovely blushes, are blighted and spoilt! They are grown quite yellow, as\nyou see this one, and have no longer any fragrance! What can have been the\nmatter with them?\"\n\n\"Poh, my dear little girl,--pray don't cry about it!\" said Midas, who was\nashamed to confess that he himself had wrought the change which so greatly\nafflicted her. \"Sit down and eat your bread and milk! You will find it\neasy enough to exchange a golden rose like that (which will last hundreds\nof years) for an ordinary one which would wither in a day.\"\n\n\"I don't care for such roses as this!\" cried Marygold, tossing it\ncontemptuously away. \"It has no smell, and the hard petals prick my nose!\"\n\nThe child now sat down to table, but was so occupied with her grief for\nthe blighted roses that she did not even notice the wonderful\ntransmutation of her China bowl. Perhaps this was all the better; for\nMarygold was accustomed to take pleasure in looking at the queer figures,\nand strange trees and houses, that were painted on the circumference of\nthe bowl; and these ornaments were now entirely lost in the yellow hue of\nthe metal.\n\nMidas, meanwhile, had poured out a cup of coffee, and, as a matter of\ncourse, the coffee-pot, whatever metal it may have been when he took it\nup, was gold when he set it down. He thought to himself, that it was\nrather an extravagant style of splendor, in a king of his simple habits,\nto breakfast off a service of gold, and began to be puzzled with the\ndifficulty of keeping his treasures safe. The cupboard and the kitchen\nwould no longer be a secure place of deposit for articles so valuable as\ngolden bowls and coffee-pots.\n\nAmid these thoughts, he lifted a spoonful of coffee to his lips, and,\nsipping it, was astonished to perceive that the instant his lips touched\nthe liquid, it became molten gold, and the next moment, hardened into a\nlump!\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Midas, rather aghast.\n\n\"What is the matter, father?\" asked little Marygold, gazing at him, with\nthe tears still standing in her eyes.\n\n\"Nothing, child, nothing!\" said Midas. \"Eat your milk, before it gets\nquite cold.\"\n\nHe took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of\nexperiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was\nimmediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook trout into a\ngold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep in\nglass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a\nmetallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the\nnicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires; its\nfins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of the\nfork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely fried\nfish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as you may\nsuppose; only King Midas, just at that moment, would much rather have had\na real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable imitation of\none.\n\n\"I don't quite see,\" thought he to himself, \"how I am to get any\nbreakfast!\"\n\nHe took one of the smoking-hot cakes, and had scarcely broken it, when, to\nhis cruel mortification, though, a moment before, it had been of the\nwhitest wheat, it assumed the yellow hue of Indian meal. To say the truth,\nif it had really been a hot Indian cake, Midas would have prized it a good\ndeal more than he now did, when its solidity and increased weight made him\ntoo bitterly sensible that it was gold. Almost in despair, he helped\nhimself to a boiled egg, which immediately underwent a change similar to\nthose of the trout and the cake. The egg, indeed, might have been mistaken\nfor one of those which the famous goose, in the story-book, was in the\nhabit of laying; but King Midas was the only goose that had had anything\nto do with the matter.\n\n\"Well, this is a quandary!\" thought he, leaning back in his chair, and\nlooking quite enviously at little Marygold, who was now eating her bread\nand milk with great satisfaction. \"Such a costly breakfast before me, and\nnothing that can be eaten!\"\n\nHoping that, by dint of great dispatch, he might avoid what he now felt to\nbe a considerable inconvenience, King Midas next snatched a hot potato,\nand attempted to cram it into his mouth, and swallow it in a hurry. But\nthe Golden Touch was too nimble for him. He found his mouth full, not of\nmealy potato, but of solid metal, which so burnt his tongue that he roared\naloud, and, jumping up from the table, began to dance and stamp about the\nroom, both with pain and affright.\n\n\"Father, dear father!\" cried little Marygold, who was a very affectionate\nchild, \"pray what is the matter? Have you burnt your mouth?\"\n\n\"Ah, dear child,\" groaned Midas dolefully, \"I don't know what is to become\nof your poor father!\"\n\nAnd, truly, my dear little folks, did you ever hear of such a pitiable\ncase in all your lives? Here was literally the richest breakfast that\ncould be set before a king, and its very richness made it absolutely good\nfor nothing. The poorest laborer, sitting down to his crust of bread and\ncup of water, was far better off than King Midas, whose delicate food was\nreally worth its weight in gold. And what was to be done? Already, at\nbreakfast, Midas was excessively hungry. Would he be less so by\ndinner-time? And how ravenous would be his appetite for supper, which must\nundoubtedly consist of the same sort of indigestible dishes as those now\nbefore him! How many days, think you, would he survive a continuance of\nthis rich fare?\n\nThese reflections so troubled wise King Midas, that he began to doubt\nwhether, after all, riches are the one desirable thing in the world, or\neven the most desirable. But this was only a passing thought. So\nfascinated was Midas with the glitter of the yellow metal, that he would\nstill have refused to give up the Golden Touch for so paltry a\nconsideration as a breakfast. Just imagine what a price for one meal's\nvictuals! It would have been the same as paying millions and millions of\nmoney (and as many millions more as would take forever to reckon up) for\nsome fried trout, an egg, a potato, a hot cake, and a cup of coffee!\n\n\"It would be quite too dear,\" thought Midas.\n\nNevertheless, so great was his hunger, and the perplexity of his\nsituation, that he again groaned aloud, and very grievously too. Our\npretty Marygold could endure it no longer. She sat, a moment, gazing at\nher father, and trying with all the might of her little wits to find out\nwhat was the matter with him. Then, with a sweet and sorrowful impulse to\ncomfort him, she started from her chair, and, running to Midas, threw her\narms affectionately about his knees. He bent down and kissed her. He felt\nthat his little daughter's love was worth a thousand times more than he\nhad gained by the Golden Touch.\n\n\"My precious, precious Marygold!\" cried he.\n\nBut Marygold made no answer.\n\nAlas, what had he done? How fatal was the gift which the stranger\nbestowed! The moment the lips of Midas touched Marygold's forehead, a\nchange had taken place. Her sweet, rosy face, so full of affection as it\nhad been, assumed a glittering yellow color, with yellow teardrops\ncongealing on her cheeks. Her beautiful brown ringlets took the same tint.\nHer soft and tender little form grew hard and inflexible within her\nfather's encircling arms. Oh, terrible misfortune! The victim of his\ninsatiable desire for wealth, little Marygold was a human child no longer,\nbut a golden statue!\n\nYes, there she was, with the questioning look of love, grief, and pity,\nhardened into her face. It was the prettiest and most woeful sight that\never mortal saw. All the features and tokens of Marygold were there; even\nthe beloved little dimple remained in her golden chin. But the more\nperfect was the resemblance, the greater was the father's agony at\nbeholding this golden image, which was all that was left him of a\ndaughter. It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt\nparticularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight in\ngold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And now, at last, when\nit was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart, that\nloved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt\nthe earth and sky!\n\nIt would be too sad a story, if I were to tell you how Midas, in the\nfullness of all his gratified desires, began to wring his hands and bemoan\nhimself; and how he could neither bear to look at Marygold, nor yet to\nlook away from her. Except when his eyes were fixed on the image, he could\nnot possibly believe that she was changed to gold. But stealing another\nglance, there was the precious little figure, with a yellow tear-drop on\nits yellow cheek, and a look so piteous and tender that it seemed as if\nthat very expression must needs soften the gold, and make it flesh again.\nThis, however, could not be. So Midas had only to wring his hands, and to\nwish that he were the poorest man in the wide world, if the loss of all\nhis wealth might bring back the faintest rose-color to his dear child's\nface.\n\nWhile he was in this tumult of despair, he suddenly beheld a stranger\nstanding near the door. Midas bent down his head, without speaking; for he\nrecognized the same figure which had appeared to him, the day before, in\nthe treasure-room, and had bestowed on him this disastrous faculty of the\nGolden Touch. The stranger's countenance still wore a smile, which seemed\nto shed a yellow lustre all about the room, and gleamed on little\nMarygold's image, and on the other objects that had been transmuted by the\ntouch of Midas.\n\n\"Well, friend Midas,\" said the stranger, \"pray how do you succeed with the\nGolden Touch?\"\n\nMidas shook his head.\n\n\"I am very miserable,\" said he.\n\n\"Very miserable, indeed!\" exclaimed the stranger. \"And how happens that?\nHave I not faithfully kept my promise with you? Have you not everything\nthat your heart desired?\"\n\n\"Gold is not everything,\" answered Midas. \"And I have lost all that my\nheart really cared for.\"\n\n\"Ah! So you have made a discovery, since yesterday?\" observed the\nstranger. \"Let us see, then. Which of these two things do you think is\nreally worth the most,--the gift of the Golden Touch, or one cup of clear\ncold water?\"\n\n\"O blessed water!\" exclaimed Midas. \"It will never moisten my parched\nthroat again!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" continued the stranger, \"or a crust of bread?\"\n\n\"A piece of bread,\" answered Midas, \"is worth all the gold on earth!\"\n\n\"The Golden Touch,\" asked the stranger, \"or your own little Marygold,\nwarm, soft, and loving as she was an hour ago?\"\n\n\"Oh, my child, my dear child!\" cried poor Midas, wringing his hands. \"I\nwould not have given that one small dimple in her chin for the power of\nchanging this whole big earth into a solid lump of gold!\"\n\n\"You are wiser than you were, King Midas!\" said the stranger, looking\nseriously at him. \"Your own heart, I perceive, has not been entirely\nchanged from flesh to gold. Were it so, your case would indeed be\ndesperate. But you appear to be still capable of understanding that the\ncommonest things, such as lie within everybody's grasp, are more valuable\nthan the riches which so many mortals sigh and struggle after. Tell me,\nnow, do you sincerely desire to rid yourself of this Golden Touch?\"\n\n\"It is hateful to me!\" replied Midas.\n\nA fly settled on his nose, but immediately fell to the floor; for it, too,\nhad become gold. Midas shuddered.\n\n\"Go, then,\" said the stranger, \"and plunge into the river that glides past\nthe bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water, and\nsprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again from\ngold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and\nsincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has\noccasioned.\"\n\nKing Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger\nhad vanished.\n\nYou will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great\nearthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched\nit), and hastening to the riverside. As he scampered along, and forced his\nway through the shrubbery, it was positively marvelous to see how the\nfoliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and\nnowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in,\nwithout waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.\n\n\"Poof! poof! poof!\" snorted King Midas, as his head emerged out of the\nwater. \"Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have\nquite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!\"\n\nAs he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to\nsee it change from gold into the same good, honest earthen vessel which it\nhad been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change within\nhimself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out of his\nbosom. No doubt his heart had been gradually losing its human substance,\nand transmuting itself into insensible metal, but had now softened back\nagain into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of the river,\nMidas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed to find that the\ndelicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow\nblight. The curse of the Golden Touch had therefore really been removed\nfrom him.\n\nKing Midas hastened back to the palace; and I suppose the servants knew\nnot what to make of it when they saw their royal master so carefully\nbringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water, which was to\nundo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more precious to\nMidas, than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The first thing he\ndid, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls over the\ngolden figure of little Marygold.\n\nNo sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the\nrosy color came back to the dear child's cheek! and how she began to\nsneeze and sputter!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping\nwet, and her father still throwing more water over her!\n\n\"Pray do not, dear father!\" cried she. \"See how you have wet my nice\nfrock, which I put on only this morning!\"\n\nFor Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor\ncould she remember anything that had happened since the moment when she\nran with outstretched arms to comfort poor King Midas.\n\nHer father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very\nfoolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser he\nhad now grown. For this purpose he led little Marygold into the garden,\nwhere he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the rose-bushes,\nand with such good effect that above five thousand roses recovered their\nbeautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however, which, as long as\nhe lived, used to put King Midas in mind of the Golden Touch. One was,\nthat the sands of the river sparkled like gold; the other, that little\nMarygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had never observed in it\nbefore she had been transmuted by the effect of his kiss. This change of\nhue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's hair richer than in her\nbabyhood.\n\nWhen King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to trot Marygold's\nchildren on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvelous story,\npretty much as I have now told it to you. And then would he stroke their\nglossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade\nof gold, which they had inherited from their mother.\n\n\"And to tell you the truth, my precious little folks,\" quoth King Midas,\ndiligently trotting the children all the while, \"ever since that morning,\nI have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE POMEGRANATE SEEDS\n\nBy Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\nMother Ceres was exceedingly fond of her daughter Proserpina, and seldom\nlet her go alone into the fields. But, just at the time when my story\nbegins, the good lady was very busy, because she had the care of the\nwheat, and the Indian corn, and the rye and barley, and, in short, of the\ncrops of every kind, all over the earth; and as the season had thus far\nbeen uncommonly backward, it was necessary to make the harvest ripen more\nspeedily than usual. So she put on her turban, made of poppies (a kind of\nflower which she was always noted for wearing), and got into her car drawn\nby a pair of winged dragons, and was just ready to set off.\n\n\"Dear mother,\" said Proserpina, \"I shall be very lonely while you are\naway. May I not run down to the shore, and ask some of the sea-nymphs to\ncome up out of the waves and play with me?\"\n\n\"Yes, child,\" answered Mother Ceres. \"The sea-nymphs are good creatures,\nand will never lead you into any harm. But you must take care not to stray\naway from them, nor go wandering about the fields by yourself. Young\ngirls, without their mothers to take care of them, are very apt to get\ninto mischief.\"\n\nThe child promised to be as prudent as if she were a grown-up woman, and,\nby the time the winged dragons had whirled the car out of sight, she was\nalready on the shore, calling to the sea-nymphs to come and play with her.\nThey knew Proserpina's voice, and were not long in showing their\nglistening faces and sea-green hair above the water, at the bottom of\nwhich was their home. They brought along with them a great many beautiful\nshells; and, sitting down on the moist sand, where the surf wave broke\nover them, they busied themselves in making a necklace, which they hung\nround Proserpina's neck. By way of showing her gratitude, the child\nbesought them to go with her a little way into the fields, so that they\nmight gather abundance of flowers, with which she would make each of her\nkind playmates a wreath.\n\n\"Oh, no, dear Proserpina,\" cried the sea-nymphs; \"we dare not go with you\nupon the dry land. We are apt to grow faint, unless at every breath we can\nsnuff up the salt breeze of the ocean. And don't you see how careful we\nare to let the surf wave break over us every moment or two, so as to keep\nourselves comfortably moist? If it were not for that, we should soon look\nlike bunches of uprooted sea-weed dried in the sun.\"\n\n\"It is a great pity,\" said Proserpina, \"but do you wait for me here, and I\nwill run and gather my apron full of flowers, and be back again before the\nsurf wave has broken ten times over you. I long to make you some wreaths\nthat shall be as lovely as this necklace of many-colored shells.\"\n\n\"We will wait, then,\" answered the sea-nymphs. \"But while you are gone, we\nmay as well lie down on a bank of soft sponge, under the water. The air\nto-day is a little too dry for our comfort. But we will pop up our heads\nevery few minutes to see if you are coming.\"\n\nThe young Proserpina ran quickly to a spot where, only the day before, she\nhad seen a great many flowers. These, however, were now a little past\ntheir bloom; and wishing to give her friends the freshest and loveliest\nblossoms, she strayed farther into the fields, and found some that made\nher scream with delight. Never had she met with such exquisite flowers\nbefore,--violets, so large and fragrant,--roses, with so rich and delicate\na blush,--such superb hyacinths and such aromatic pinks,--and many others,\nsome of which seemed to be of new shapes and colors. Two or three times,\nmoreover, she could not help thinking that a tuft of most splendid flowers\nhad suddenly sprouted out of the earth before her very eyes, as if on\npurpose to tempt her a few steps farther. Proserpina's apron was soon\nfilled and brimming over with delightful blossoms. She was on the point of\nturning back in order to rejoin the sea-nymphs, and sit with them on the\nmoist sands, all twining wreaths together. But, a little farther on, what\nshould she behold? It was a large shrub, completely covered with the most\nmagnificent flowers in the world.\n\n\"The darlings!\" cried Proserpina; and then she thought to herself, \"I was\nlooking at that spot only a moment ago. How strange it is that I did not\nsee the flowers!\"\n\nThe nearer she approached the shrub, the more attractive it looked, until\nshe came quite close to it; and then, although its beauty was richer than\nwords can tell, she hardly knew whether to like it or not. It bore above a\nhundred flowers of the most brilliant hues, and each different from the\nothers, but all having a kind of resemblance among themselves, which\nshowed them to be sister blossoms. But there was a deep, glossy lustre on\nthe leaves of the shrub, and on the petals of the flowers, that made\nProserpina doubt whether they might not be poisonous. To tell you the\ntruth, foolish as it may seem, she was half inclined to turn round and run\naway.\n\n\"What a silly child I am!\" thought she, taking courage. \"It is really the\nmost beautiful shrub that ever sprang out of the earth. I will pull it up\nby the roots, and carry it home, and plant it in my mother's garden.\"\n\nHolding up her apron full of flowers with her left hand, Proserpina seized\nthe large shrub with the other, and pulled and pulled, but was hardly able\nto loosen the soil about its roots. What a deep-rooted plant it was! Again\nthe girl pulled with all her might, and observed that the earth began to\nstir and crack to some distance around the stem. She gave another pull,\nbut relaxed her hold, fancying that there was a rumbling sound right\nbeneath her feet. Did the roots extend down into some enchanted cavern?\nThen, laughing at herself for so childish a notion, she made another\neffort; up came the shrub, and Proserpina staggered back, holding the stem\ntriumphantly in her hand, and gazing at the deep hole which its roots had\nleft in the soil.\n\nMuch to her astonishment this hole kept spreading wider and wider, and\ngrowing deeper and deeper, until it really seemed to have no bottom; and\nall the while, there came a rumbling noise out of its depths, louder and\nlouder, and nearer and nearer, and sounding like the tramp of horses'\nhoofs and the rattling of wheels. Too much frightened to run away, she\nstood straining her eyes into this wonderful cavity, and soon saw a team\nof four sable horses, snorting smoke out of their nostrils, and tearing\ntheir way out of the earth with a splendid golden chariot whirling at\ntheir heels. They leaped out of the bottomless hole, chariot and all; and\nthere they were, tossing their black manes, flourishing their black tails,\nand curvetting with every one of their hoofs off the ground at once, close\nby the spot where Proserpina stood. In the chariot sat the figure of a\nman, richly dressed, with a crown on his head, all flaming with diamonds.\nHe was of a noble aspect, and rather handsome, but looked sullen and\ndiscontented; and he kept rubbing his eyes and shading them with his hand,\nas if he did not live enough in the sunshine to be very fond of its light.\n\n[Illustration: THEY LEAPED OUT OF THE BOTTOMLESS HOLE, CHARIOT AND ALL;\nAND THERE THEY WERE TOSSING THEIR BLACK TAILS, AND CURVETTING WITH EVERY\nONE OF THEIR HOOFS OFF THE GROUND AT ONCE, CLOSE BY THE SPOT WHERE\nPROSERPINA STOOD. IN THE CHARIOT SAT THE FIGURE OF A MAN]\n\nAs soon as this personage saw the affrighted Proserpina, he beckoned her\nto come a little nearer.\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" said he, with as cheerful a smile as he knew how to\nput on. \"Come! Will not you like to ride a little way with me, in my\nbeautiful chariot?\"\n\nBut Proserpina was so alarmed that she wished for nothing but to get out\nof his reach. And no wonder. The stranger did not look remarkably\ngood-natured, in spite of his smile; and as for his voice, its tones were\ndeep and stern, and sounded as much like the rumbling of an earthquake\nunder ground as anything else. As is always the case with children in\ntrouble, Proserpina's first thought was to call for her mother.\n\n\"Mother, Mother Ceres!\" cried she, all in a tremble. \"Come quickly and\nsave me.\"\n\nBut her voice was too faint for her mother to hear. Indeed, it is most\nprobable that Ceres was then a thousand miles off, making the corn grow in\nsome far-distant country. Nor could it have availed her poor daughter,\neven had she been within hearing; for no sooner did Proserpina begin to\ncry out, than the stranger leaped to the ground, caught the child in his\narms, and again mounting the chariot, shook the reins, and shouted to the\nfour black horses to set off. They immediately broke into so swift a\ngallop that it seemed rather like flying through the air than running\nalong the earth. In a moment, Proserpina lost sight of the pleasant vale\nof Enna, in which she had always dwelt. Another instant, and even the\nsummit of Mount \u00c6tna had become so blue in the distance that she could\nscarcely distinguish it from the smoke that gushed out of its crater. But\nstill the poor child screamed, and scattered her apron full of flowers\nalong the way, and left a long cry trailing behind the chariot; and many\nmothers, to whose ears it came, ran quickly to see if any mischief had\nbefallen their children. But Mother Ceres was a great way off, and could\nnot hear the cry.\n\nAs they rode on, the stranger did his best to soothe her.\n\n\"Why should you be so frightened, my pretty child?\" said he, trying to\nsoften his rough voice. \"I promise not to do you any harm. What! You have\nbeen gathering flowers? Wait till we come to my palace, and I will give\nyou a garden full of prettier flowers than those, all made of pearls, and\ndiamonds, and rubies. Can you guess who I am? They call my name Pluto, and\nI am the king of diamonds and all other precious stones. Every atom of the\ngold and silver that lies under the earth belongs to me, to say nothing of\nthe copper and iron, and of the coal-mines, which supply me with abundance\nof fuel. Do you see this splendid crown upon my head? You may have it for\na plaything. Oh, we shall be very good friends, and you will find me more\nagreeable than you expect, when once we get out of this troublesome\nsunshine.\"\n\n\"Let me go home!\" cried Proserpina. \"Let me go home!\"\n\n\"My home is better than your mother's,\" answered King Pluto \"It is a\npalace, all made of gold, with crystal windows; and because there is\nlittle or no sunshine thereabouts, the apartments are illuminated with\ndiamond lamps. You never saw anything half so magnificent as my throne. If\nyou like, you may sit down on it, and be my little queen, and I will sit\non the footstool.\"\n\n\"I don't care for golden palaces and thrones,\" sobbed Proserpina. \"Oh, my\nmother, my mother! Carry me back to my mother!\"\n\nBut King Pluto, as he called himself, only shouted to his steeds to go\nfaster.\n\n\"Pray do not be foolish, Proserpina,\" said he, in rather a sullen tone. \"I\noffer you my palace and my crown, and all the riches that are under the\nearth; and you treat me as if I were doing you an injury. The one thing\nwhich my palace needs is a merry little maid, to run upstairs and down,\nand cheer up the rooms with her smile. And this is what you must do for\nKing Pluto.\"\n\n\"Never!\" answered Proserpina, looking as miserable as she could. \"I shall\nnever smile again till you set me down at my mother's door.\"\n\nBut she might just as well have talked to the wind that whistled past\nthem; for Pluto urged on his horses, and went faster than ever. Proserpina\ncontinued to cry out, and screamed so long and so loudly, that her poor\nlittle voice was almost screamed away; and when it was nothing but a\nwhisper, she happened to cast her eyes over a great, broad field of waving\ngrain--and whom do you think she saw? Who, but Mother Ceres, making the\ncorn grow, and too busy to notice the golden chariot as it went rattling\nalong. The child mustered all her strength, and gave one more scream, but\nwas out of sight before Ceres had time to turn her head.\n\nKing Pluto had taken a road which now began to grow excessively gloomy. It\nwas bordered on each side with rocks and precipices, between which the\nrumbling of the chariot-wheels was reverberated with a noise like rolling\nthunder. The trees and bushes that grew in the crevices of the rocks had\nvery dismal foliage; and by and by, although it was hardly noon, the air\nbecame obscured with a gray twilight. The black horses had rushed along so\nswiftly, that they were already beyond the limits of the sunshine. But the\nduskier it grew, the more did Pluto's visage assume an air of\nsatisfaction. After all, he was not an ill-looking person, especially when\nhe left off twisting his features into a smile that did not belong to\nthem. Proserpina peeped at his face through the gathering dusk, and hoped\nthat he might not be so very wicked as she at first thought him.\n\n\"Ah, this twilight is truly refreshing,\" said King Pluto, \"after being so\ntormented with that ugly and impertinent glare of the sun. How much more\nagreeable is lamplight or torchlight, more particularly when reflected\nfrom diamonds! It will be a magnificent sight when we get to my palace.\"\n\n\"Is it much farther?\" asked Proserpina. \"And will you carry me back when I\nhave seen it?\"\n\n\"We will talk of that by and by,\" answered Pluto. \"We are just entering my\ndominions. Do you see that tall gateway before us? When we pass those\ngates, we are at home. And there lies my faithful mastiff at the\nthreshold. Cerberus! Cerberus! Come hither, my good dog!\"\n\nSo saying, Pluto pulled at the reins, and stopped the chariot right\nbetween the tall, massive pillars of the gateway. The mastiff of which he\nhad spoken got up from the threshold, and stood on his hinder legs, so as\nto put his forepaws on the chariot-wheel. But, my stars, what a strange\ndog it was! Why, he was a big, rough, ugly-looking monster, with three\nseparate heads, and each of them fiercer than the two others; but, fierce\nas they were, King Pluto patted them all. He seemed as fond of his\nthree-headed dog as if it had been a sweet little spaniel, with silken\nears and curly hair. Cerberus, on the other hand, was evidently rejoiced\nto see his master, and expressed his attachment, as other dogs do, by\nwagging his tail at a great rate. Proserpina's eyes being drawn to it by\nits brisk motion, she saw that this tail was neither more nor less than a\nlive dragon, with fiery eyes, and fangs that had a very poisonous aspect.\nAnd while the three-headed Cerberus was fawning so lovingly on King Pluto,\nthere was the dragon tail wagging against its will, and looking as cross\nand ill-natured as you can imagine, on its own separate account.\n\n\"Will the dog bite me?\" asked Proserpina, shrinking closer to Pluto. \"What\nan ugly creature he is!\"\n\n\"Oh, never fear,\" answered her companion. \"He never harms people unless\nthey try to enter my dominions without being sent for, or to get away when\nI wish to keep them here. Down, Cerberus! Now, my pretty Proserpina, we\nwill drive on.\"\n\nOn went the chariot, and King Pluto seemed greatly pleased to find himself\nonce more in his own kingdom. He drew Proserpina's attention to the rich\nveins of gold that were to be seen among the rocks, and pointed to several\nplaces where one stroke of a pick-axe would loosen a bushel of diamonds.\nAll along the road, indeed, there were sparkling gems, which would have\nbeen of inestimable value above ground, but which were here reckoned of\nthe meaner sort, and hardly worth a beggar's stooping for.\n\nNot far from the gateway, they came to a bridge, which seemed to be built\nof iron. Pluto stopped the chariot, and bade Proserpina look at the stream\nwhich was gliding so lazily beneath it. Never in her life had she beheld\nso torpid, so black, so muddy-looking a stream: its waters reflected no\nimages of anything that was on the banks, and it moved as sluggishly as if\nit had quite forgotten which way it ought to flow, and had rather stagnate\nthan flow either one way or the other.\n\n\"This is the river Lethe,\" observed King Pluto. \"Is it not a very pleasant\nstream?\" \"I think it a very dismal one,\" said Proserpina. \"It suits my\ntaste, however,\" answered Pluto, who was apt to be sullen when anybody\ndisagreed with him. \"At all events, its water has one very excellent\nquality; for a single draught of it makes people forget every care and\nsorrow that has hitherto tormented them. Only sip a little of it, my dear\nProserpina, and you will instantly cease to grieve for your mother, and\nwill have nothing in your memory that can prevent your being perfectly\nhappy in my palace. I will send for some, in a golden goblet, the moment\nwe arrive.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no, no!\" cried Proserpina, weeping afresh. \"I had a thousand\ntimes rather be miserable with remembering my mother than be happy in\nforgetting her. That dear, dear mother! I never, never will forget her.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said King Pluto. \"You do not know what fine times we will\nhave in my palace. Here we are just at the portal. These pillars are solid\ngold, I assure you.\"\n\nHe alighted from the chariot, and taking Proserpina in his arms, carried\nher up a lofty flight of steps into the great hall of the palace. It was\nsplendidly illuminated by means of large precious stones, of various hues,\nwhich seemed to burn like so many lamps, and glowed with a hundred-fold\nradiance all through the vast apartment. And yet there was a kind of gloom\nin the midst of this enchanted light; nor was there a single object in the\nhall that was really agreeable to behold, except the little Proserpina\nherself, a lovely child, with one earthly flower which she had not let\nfall from her hand. It is my opinion that even King Pluto had never been\nhappy in his palace, and that this was the true reason why he had stolen\naway Proserpina, in order that he might have something to love, instead of\ncheating his heart any longer with this tiresome magnificence. And, though\nhe pretended to dislike the sunshine of the upper world, yet the effect of\nthe child's presence, bedimmed as she was by her tears, was as if a faint\nand watery sunbeam had somehow or other found its way into the enchanted\nhall.\n\nPluto now summoned his domestics, and bade them lose no time in preparing\na most sumptuous banquet, and above all things, not to fail of setting a\ngolden beaker of the water of Lethe by Proserpina's plate.\n\n\"I will neither drink that nor anything else,\" said Proserpina. \"Nor will\nI taste a morsel of food, even if you keep me forever in your palace.\" on\nthe seashore, she hastened thither as fast as she could, and there beheld\nthe wet faces of the poor sea-nymphs peeping over a wave. All this while,\nthe good creatures had been waiting on the bank of sponge, and once every\nhalf-minute or so, had popped up their four heads above water, to see if\ntheir playmate were yet coming back. When they saw Mother Ceres, they sat\ndown on the crest of the surf wave, and let it toss them ashore at her\nfeet.\n\n\"Where is Proserpina?\" cried Ceres. \"Where is my child? Tell me, you\nnaughty sea-nymphs, have you enticed her under the sea?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, good Mother Ceres,\" said the innocent sea-nymphs, tossing back\ntheir green ringlets, and looking her in the face. \"We never should dream\nof such a thing. Proserpina has been at play with us, it is true; but she\nleft us a long while ago, meaning only to run a little way upon the dry\nland, and gather some flowers for a wreath. This was early in the day, and\nwe have seen nothing of her since.\"\n\nCeres scarcely waited to hear what the nymphs had to say, before she\nhurried off to make inquiries all through the neighborhood. But nobody\ntold her anything that could enable the poor mother to guess what had\nbecome of Proserpina. A fisherman, it is true, had noticed her little\nfootprints in the sand, as he went homeward along the beach with a basket\nof fish; a rustic had seen the child stooping to gather flowers; several\npersons had heard either the rattling of chariot-wheels or the rumbling of\ndistant thunder; and one old woman, while plucking vervain and catnip, had\nheard a scream, but supposed it to be some childish nonsense, and\ntherefore did not take the trouble to look up. The stupid people! It took\nthem such a tedious while to tell the nothing that they knew, that it was\ndark night before Mother Ceres found out that she must seek her daughter\nelsewhere. So she lighted a torch, and set forth, resolving never to come\nback until Proserpina was discovered.\n\nIn her haste and trouble of mind, she quite forgot her car and the winged\ndragons; or, it may be, she thought that she could follow up the search\nmore thoroughly on foot. At all events, this was the way in which she\nbegan her sorrowful journey, holding her torch before her, and looking\ncarefully at every object along the path. And as it happened, she had not\ngone far before she found one of the magnificent flowers which grew on the\nshrub that Proserpina had pulled up.\n\n\"Ha!\" thought Mother Ceres, examining it by torchlight. \"Here is mischief\nin this flower! The earth did not produce it by any help of mine, nor of\nits own accord. It is the work of enchantment, and is therefore poisonous;\nand perhaps it has poisoned my poor child.\"\n\nBut she put the poisonous flower in her bosom, not knowing whether she\nmight ever find any other memorial of Proserpina.\n\nAll night long, at the door of every cottage and farmhouse, Ceres knocked,\nand called up the weary laborers to inquire if they had seen her child;\nand they stood, gaping and half asleep, at the threshold, and answered her\npityingly, and besought her to come in and rest. At the portal of every\npalace, too, she made so loud a summons that the menials hurried to throw\nopen the gate, thinking that it must be some great king or queen, who\nwould demand a banquet for supper and a stately chamber to repose in. And\nwhen they saw only a sad and anxious woman, with a torch in her hand and a\nwreath of withered poppies on her head, they spoke rudely, and sometimes\nthreatened to set the dogs upon her. But nobody had seen Proserpina, nor\ncould give Mother Ceres the least hint which way to seek her. Thus passed\nthe night; and still she continued her search without sitting down to\nrest, or stopping to take food, or even remembering to put down the torch;\nalthough first the rosy dawn, and then the glad light of the morning sun,\nmade its red flame look thin and pale. But I wonder what sort of stuff\nthis torch was made of; for it burned dimly through the day, and at night\nwas as bright as ever, and never was extinguished by the rain or wind, in\nall the weary days and nights while Ceres was seeking for Proserpina.\n\nIt was not merely of human beings that she asked tidings of her daughter.\nIn the woods and by the streams, she met creatures of another nature, who\nused, in those old times, to haunt the pleasant and solitary places, and\nwere very sociable with persons who understood their language and customs,\nas Mother Ceres did. Sometimes, for instance, she tapped with her finger\nagainst the knotted trunk of a majestic oak; and immediately its rude bark\nwould cleave asunder, and forth would step a beautiful maiden, who was the\nhamadryad of the oak, dwelling inside of it, and sharing its long life,\nand rejoicing when its green leaves sported with the breeze. But not one\nof these leafy damsels had seen Proserpina. Then, going a little farther,\nCeres would, perhaps, come to a fountain, gushing out of a pebbly hollow\nin the earth, and would dabble with her hand in the water. Behold, up\nthrough its sandy and pebbly bed, along with the fountain's gush, a young\nwoman with dripping hair would arise, and stand gazing at Mother Ceres,\nhalf out of the water, and undulating up and down with its ever-restless\nmotion. But when the mother asked whether her poor lost child had stopped\nto drink out of the fountain, the naiad, with weeping eyes (for these\nwater-nymphs had tears to spare for everybody's grief), would answer,\n\"No!\" in a murmuring voice, which was just like the murmur of the stream.\n\nOften, likewise, she encountered fauns, who looked like sunburnt country\npeople, except that they had hairy ears, and little horns upon their\nforeheads, and the hinder legs of goats, on which they gamboled merrily\nabout the woods and fields. They were a frolicsome kind of creature, but\ngrew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow when Ceres inquired\nfor her daughter, and they had no good news to tell. But sometimes she\ncame suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs, who had faces like monkeys and\nhorses' tails behind them, and who were generally dancing in a very\nboisterous manner, with shouts of noisy laughter. When she stopped to\nquestion them, they would only laugh the louder, and make new merriment\nout of the lone woman's distress. How unkind of those ugly satyrs! And\nonce, while crossing a solitary sheep pasture, she saw a personage named\nPan, seated at the foot of a tall rock. And making music on a shepherd's\nflute. He, too, had horns and hairy ears, and goat's feet; but being\nacquainted with Mother Ceres, he answered her question as civilly as he\nknew how, and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden\nbowl. But neither could Pan tell her what had become of Proserpina, any\nbetter than the rest of these wild people.\n\nAnd thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights,\nfinding no trace of Proserpina, unless it were now and then a withered\nflower; and these, she picked up and put in her bosom, because she fancied\nthat they might have fallen from her poor child's hand. All day she\ntraveled onward through the hot sun; and at night, again, the flame of the\ntorch would redden and gleam along the pathway, and she continued her\nsearch by its light, without ever sitting down to rest.\n\nOn the tenth day, she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern, within which\n(though it was bright noon everywhere else) there would have been only a\ndusky twilight: but it so happened that a torch was burning there. It\nflickered and struggled with the duskiness, but could not half light up\nthe gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres was resolved to\nleave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the entrance of the\ncave, and lighted it up a little more by holding her own torch before her.\nIn so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a woman, sitting on\nthe brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of which had been swept\ninto the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it were) was by no means\nso beautiful as many of her sex: for her head, they tell me, was shaped\nvery much like a dog's, and, by way of ornament, she wore a wreath of\nsnakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the moment she saw her, knew that this\nwas an odd kind of a person, who put all her enjoyment in being miserable,\nand never would have a word to say to other people, unless they were as\nmelancholy and wretched as she herself delighted to be.\n\n\"I am wretched enough now,\" thought poor Ceres, \"to talk with this\nmelancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet.\"\n\nSo she stepped into the cave, and sat down, on the withered leaves by the\ndog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss, she\nhad found no other companion.\n\n\"O Hecate.\" said she, \"if ever you lose a daughter, you will know what\nsorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child\nProserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?\"\n\n\"No.\" answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every word\nor two.--\"no. Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter. But my\nears, you must know, are made in such a way that all cries of distress and\naffright, all over the world, are pretty sure to find their way to them:\nand nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very miserable. I\nheard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great distress.\nSomething terrible has happened to the child, you may rest assured. As\nwell as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel monster, was carrying\nher away.\"\n\n\"You kill me by saying so,\" cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. \"Where was\nthe sound, and which way did it seem to go?\"\n\n\"It passed very swiftly along,\" said Hecate, \"and, at the same time, there\nwas a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell you\nnothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your\ndaughter again. The best advice I can give you is to take up your abode in\nthis cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in the world.\"\n\n\"Not yet, dark Hecate.\" replied Ceres, \"But do you first come with your\ntorch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no\nmore hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come), then, if\nyou will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered\nleaves or on the naked rock, I will show you what it is to be miserable.\nBut until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I will\nnot allow myself space even to grieve.\"\n\nThe dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the\nsunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate\nCeres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the sun\nshine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad spirits\nquite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally consented\nto go, and they set out together, both carrying torches, although it was\nbroad daylight and clear sunshine. The torchlight seemed to make a gloom;\nso that the people whom they met along the road could not very distinctly\nsee their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught a glimpse of Hecate,\nwith the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally thought it\nprudent to run away, without waiting for a second glance.\n\nAs the pair traveled along in this woebegone manner, a thought struck\nCeres.\n\n\"There is one person.\" she exclaimed, \"who must have seen my poor child,\nand can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of him\nbefore? It is Phoebus.\"\n\n\"What,\" said Hecate, \"the young man that always sits in the sunshine? Oh,\npray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous young\nfellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a\nglare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which I\nhave almost wept away already.\"\n\n\"You have promised to be my companion,\" answered Ceres. \"Come, let us make\nhaste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it.\"\n\nAccordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them, sighing\ngrievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse\nlamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in\nbeing miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after a\npretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world.\nThere they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets,\nwhich seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments were like light\nsummer clouds; and the expression of his face was so exceedingly vivid,\nthat Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering that he ought to\nwear a black veil. Phoebus (for this was the very person whom they were\nseeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making its chords tremble with\nsweet music; at the same time singing a most exquisite song, which he had\nrecently composed. For besides a great many other accomplishments, this\nyoung man was renowned for his admirable poetry.\n\nAs Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them\nso cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and\nHecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she was\ntoo earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus smiled or\nfrowned.\n\n\"Phoebus!\" exclaimed she, \"I am in great trouble, and have come to you for\nassistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear child Proserpina?\"\n\n\"Proserpina! Proserpina, did you call her name?\" answered Phoebus,\nendeavoring to recollect; for there was such a continual flow of pleasant\nideas in his mind that he was apt to forget what had happened no longer\nago than yesterday. \"Ah, yes, I remember her now. A very lovely child,\nindeed. I am happy to tell you, my dear madam, that I did see the little\nProserpina not many days ago. You may make yourself perfectly easy about\nher. She is safe, and in excellent hands.\"\n\n\"Oh, where is my dear child?\" cried Ceres, clasping her hands and flinging\nherself at his feet.\n\n\"Why,\" said Phoebus,--and as he spoke, he kept touching his lyre so as to\nmake a thread of music run in and out among his words,--\"as the little\ndamsel was gathering flowers (and she has really a very exquisite taste\nfor flowers) she was suddenly snatched up by King Pluto, and carried off\nto his dominions. I have never been in that part of the universe; but the\nroyal palace, I am told, is built in a very noble style of architecture,\nand of the most splendid and costly materials. Gold, diamonds, pearls, and\nall manner of precious stones will be your daughter's ordinary playthings.\nI recommend to you, my dear lady, to give yourself no uneasiness.\nProserpina's sense of beauty will be duly gratified, and, even in spite of\nthe lack of sunshine, she will lead a very enviable life.\"\n\n\"Hush! Say not such a word!\" answered Ceres indignantly. \"What is there to\ngratify her heart? What are all the splendors you speak of, without\naffection? I must have her back again. Will you go with me, Phoebus, to\ndemand my daughter of this wicked Pluto?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me,\" replied Phoebus, with an elegant obeisance. \"I certainly\nwish you success, and regret that my own affairs are so immediately\npressing that I cannot have the pleasure of attending you. Besides, I am\nnot upon the best of terms with King Pluto. To tell you the truth, his\nthree-headed mastiff would never let me pass the gateway; for I should be\ncompelled to take a sheaf of sunbeams along with me, and those, you know,\nare forbidden things in Pluto's kingdom.\"\n\n\"Ah, Phoebus,\" said Ceres, with bitter meaning in her words, \"you have a\nharp instead of a heart. Farewell.\"\n\n\"Will not you stay a moment,\" asked Phoebus, \"and hear me turn the pretty\nand touching story of Proserpina into extemporary verses?\"\n\nBut Ceres shook her head, and hastened away, along with Hecate. Phoebus\n(who, as I have told you, was an exquisite poet) forthwith began to make\nan ode about the poor mother's grief; and, if we were to judge of his\nsensibility by this beautiful production, he must have been endowed with a\nvery tender heart. But when a poet gets into the habit of using his\nheartstrings to make chords for his lyre, he may thrum upon them as much\nas he will, without any great pain to himself. Accordingly, though Phoebus\nsang a very sad song, he was as merry all the while as were the sunbeams\namid which he dwelt.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres had now found out what had become of her daughter, but\nwas not a whit happier than before. Her case, on the contrary, looked more\ndesperate than ever. As long as Proserpina was above ground there might\nhave been hopes of regaining her. But now that the poor child was shut up\nwithin the iron gates of the king of the mines, at the threshold of which\nlay the three-headed Cerberus, there seemed no possibility of her ever\nmaking her escape. The dismal Hecate, who loved to take the darkest view\nof things, told Ceres that she had better come with her to the cavern, and\nspend the rest of her life in being miserable. Ceres answered that Hecate\nwas welcome to go back thither herself, but that, for her part, she would\nwander about the earth in quest of the entrance to King Pluto's dominions.\nAnd Hecate took her at her word, and hurried back to her beloved cave,\nfrightening a great many little children with a glimpse of her dog's face,\nas she went.\n\nPoor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her toilsome\nway all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame of which\nseemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in her heart.\nSo much did she suffer, that, though her aspect had been quite youthful\nwhen her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly person in a very\nbrief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had she ever thought of\nflinging away the wreath of withered poppies, which she put on the very\nmorning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed about in so wild a way,\nand with her hair so dishevelled, that people took her for some distracted\ncreature, and never dreamed that this was Mother Ceres, who had the\noversight of every seed which the husbandman planted. Nowadays, however,\nshe gave herself no trouble about seed-time nor harvest, but left the\nfarmers to take care of their own affairs, and the crops to fade or\nflourish, as the case might be. There was nothing, now, in which Ceres\nseemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw children at play or\ngathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed, she would stand and\ngaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children, too, appeared to have a\nsympathy with her grief, and would cluster themselves in a little group\nabout her knees, and look up wistfully in her face; and Ceres, after\ngiving them a kiss all around, would lead them to their homes, and advise\ntheir mothers never to let them stray out of sight.\n\n\"For if you do,\" said she, \"it may happen to you, as it has to me, that\nthe iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and\nsnatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away.\"\n\nOne day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's\nkingdom, she came to the palace of King Celeus, who reigned at Eleusis.\nAscending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the\nroyal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant, it\nseems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and would\ntake no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The queen--her name\nwas Metanira--was desirous of finding a nurse; and when she beheld a woman\nof matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she thought, in her own\nmind that here was the very person whom she needed. So Queen Metanira ran\nto the door, with the poor wailing baby in her arms, and besought Ceres to\ntake charge of it, or, at least, to tell her what would do it good.\"\n\n\"Will you trust the child entirely to me?\" asked Ceres.\n\n\"Yes, and gladly too,\" answered the queen, \"if you will devote all your\ntime to him. For I can see that you have been a mother.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Ceres. \"I once had a child of my own. Well, I will\nbe the nurse of this poor, sickly boy. But beware, I warn you, that you do\nnot interfere with any kind of treatment which I may judge proper for him.\nIf you do so, the poor infant must suffer for his mother's folly.\"\n\nThen she kissed the child, and it seemed to do him good, for he smiled and\nnestled closely into her bosom.\n\nSo Mother Ceres set her torch in a corner (where it kept burning all the\nwhile), and took up her abode in the palace of King Celeus, as nurse to\nthe little Prince Demoph\u00f6on. She treated him as if he were her own child,\nand allowed neither the king nor the queen to say whether he should be\nbathed in warm or cold water, or what he should eat, or how often he\nshould take the air, or when he should be put to bed. You would hardly\nbelieve me, if I were to tell how quickly the baby prince got rid of his\nailments, and grew fat, and rosy, and strong, and how he had two rows of\nivory teeth in less time than any other little fellow, before or since.\nInstead of the palest, and wretchedest, and puniest imp in the world (as\nhis own mother confessed him to be when Ceres first took him in charge),\nhe was now a strapping baby, crowing, laughing, kicking up his heels, and\nrolling from one end of the room to the other. All the good women of the\nneighborhood crowded to the palace, and held up their hands, in\nunutterable amazement, at the beauty and wholesomeness of this darling\nlittle prince. Their wonder was the greater, because he was never seen to\ntaste any food,--not even so much as a cup of milk.\n\n\"Pray, nurse,\" the queen kept saying, \"how is it that you make the child\nthrive so?\"\n\n\"I was a mother once,\" Ceres replied always; \"and having nursed my own\nchild, I know what other children need.\"\n\nBut Queen Metanira, as was very natural, had a great curiosity to know\nprecisely what the nurse did to her child. One night, therefore, she hid\nherself in the chamber where Ceres and the little prince were accustomed\nto sleep. There was a fire in the chimney, and it had now crumbled into\ngreat coals and embers, which lay glowing on the hearth, with a blaze\nflickering up now and then, and flinging a warm and ruddy light upon the\nwalls. Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the\nfirelight making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She undressed\nthe little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant liquid out\nof a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red embers, and\nmake a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had been. At last,\nwhile the baby was crowing and clapping its fat little hands, and laughing\nin the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your little brother or\nsister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres suddenly laid him, all\nnaked as he was, in the hollow, among the red-hot embers. She then raked\nthe ashes over him, and turned quietly away.\n\nYou may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking nothing\nless than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She burst forth\nfrom her hiding-place, and running to the hearth, raked open the fire, and\nsnatched up poor little Prince Demoph\u00f6on out of his bed of live coals, one\nof which he was griping in each of his fists. He immediately set up a\ngrievous cry, as babies are apt to do when rudely startled out of a sound\nsleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she could perceive no token of\nthe child's being injured by the hot fire in which he had lain. She now\nturned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to explain the mystery.\n\n\"Foolish woman,\" answered Ceres, \"did you not promise to intrust this poor\ninfant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done him. Had\nyou left him to my care, he would have grown up like a child of celestial\nbirth, endowed with superhuman strength and intelligence, and would have\nlived forever. Do you imagine that earthly children are to become immortal\nwithout being tempered to it in the fiercest heat of the fire? But you\nhave ruined your own son. For though he will be a strong man and a hero in\nhis day, yet, on account of your folly, he will grow old, and finally die,\nlike the sons of other women. The weak tenderness of his mother has cost\nthe poor boy an immortality. Farewell.\"\n\nSaying these words, she kissed the little prince Demoph\u00f6on, and sighed to\nthink what he had lost, and took her departure without heeding Queen\nMetanira, who entreated her to remain, and cover up the child among the\nhot embers as often as she pleased. Poor baby! He never slept so warmly\nagain.\n\nWhile she dwelt in the king's palace, Mother Ceres had been so continually\noccupied with taking care of the young prince, that her heart was a little\nlightened of its grief for Proserpina. But now, having nothing else to\nbusy herself about, she became just as wretched as before. At length, in\nher despair, she came to the dreadful resolution that not a stalk of\ngrain, nor a blade of grass, not a potato, nor a turnip, nor any other\nvegetable that was good for man or beast to eat, should be suffered to\ngrow until her daughter were restored. She even forbade the flowers to\nbloom, lest somebody's heart should be cheered by their beauty.\n\nNow, as not so much as a head of asparagus ever presumed to poke itself\nout of the ground, without the especial permission of Ceres, you may\nconceive what a terrible calamity had here fallen upon the earth. The\nhusbandmen ploughed and planted as usual; but there lay the rich black\nfurrows, all as barren as a desert of sand. The pastures looked as brown\nin the sweet month of June as ever they did in chill November. The rich\nman's broad acres and the cottager's small garden-patch were equally\nblighted. Every little girl's flower-bed showed nothing but dry stalks.\nThe old people shook their white heads, and said that the earth had grown\naged like themselves, and was no longer capable of wearing the warm smile\nof summer on its face. It was really piteous to see the poor starving\ncattle and sheep, how they followed behind Ceres, lowing and bleating, as\nif their instinct taught them to expect help from her; and everybody that\nwas acquainted with her power besought her to have mercy on the human\nrace, and, at all events, to let the grass grow. But Mother Ceres, though\nnaturally of an affectionate disposition, was now inexorable.\n\n\"Never,\" said she. \"If the earth is ever again to see any verdure, it must\nfirst grow along the path which my daughter will tread in coming back to\nme.\"\n\nFinally, as there seemed to be no other remedy, our old friend Quicksilver\nwas sent post haste to King Pluto, in hopes that he might be persuaded to\nundo the mischief he had done, and to set everything right again, by\ngiving up Proserpina. Quicksilver accordingly made the best of his way to\nthe great gate, took a flying leap right over the three-headed mastiff,\nand stood at the door of the palace in an inconceivably short time. The\nservants knew him both by his face and garb; for his short cloak and his\nwinged cap and shoes and his snaky staff had often been seen thereabouts\nin times gone by. He requested to be shown immediately into the king's\npresence; and Pluto, who heard his voice from the top of the stairs, and\nwho loved to recreate himself with Quicksilver's merry talk, called out to\nhim to come up. And while they settle their business together, we must\ninquire what Proserpina has been doing ever since we saw her last.\n\nThe child had declared, as you may remember, that she would not taste a\nmouthful of food as long as she should be compelled to remain in King\nPluto's palace. How she contrived to maintain her resolution, and at the\nsame time to keep herself tolerably plump and rosy, is more than I can\nexplain; but some young ladies, I am given to understand, possess the\nfaculty of living on air, and Proserpina seems to have possessed it too.\nAt any rate, it was now six months since she left the outside of the\nearth; and not a morsel, so far as the attendants were able to testify,\nhad yet passed between her teeth. This was the more creditable to\nProserpina, inasmuch as King Pluto had caused her to be tempted day after\nday, with all manner of sweetmeats, and richly preserved fruits, and\ndelicacies of every sort, such as young people are generally most fond of.\nBut her good mother had often told her of the hurtfulness of these things;\nand for that reason alone, if there had been no other, she would have\nresolutely refused to taste them.\n\nAll this time, being of a cheerful and active disposition, the little\ndamsel was not quite so unhappy as you may have supposed. The immense\npalace had a thousand rooms, and was full of beautiful and wonderful\nobjects. There was a never-ceasing gloom, it is true, which half hid\nitself among the innumerable pillars, gliding before the child as she\nwandered among them, and treading stealthily behind her in the echo of her\nfootsteps. Neither was all the dazzle of the precious stones, which flamed\nwith their own light, worth one gleam of natural sunshine; nor could the\nmost brilliant of the many-colored gems which Proserpina had for\nplaythings vie with the simple beauty of the flowers she used to gather.\nBut still, wherever the girl went, among those gilded halls and chambers,\nit seemed as if she carried nature and sunshine along with her, and as if\nshe scattered dewy blossoms on her right hand and on her left. After\nProserpina came, the palace was no longer the same abode of stately\nartifice and dismal magnificence that it had before been. The inhabitants\nall felt this, and King Pluto more than any of them.\n\n\"My own little Proserpina,\" he used to say, \"I wish you could like me a\nlittle better. We gloomy and cloudy-natured persons have often as warm\nhearts at bottom as those of a more cheerful character. If you would only\nstay with me of your own accord, it would make me happier than the\npossession of a hundred such palaces as this.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Proserpina, \"you should have tried to make me like you before\ncarrying me off. And the best thing you can do now is to let me go again.\nThen I might remember you sometimes, and think that you were as kind as\nyou knew how to be. Perhaps, too, one day or other, I might come back, and\npay you a visit.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pluto, with his gloomy smile, \"I will not trust you for\nthat. You are too fond of living in the broad daylight, and gathering\nflowers. What an idle and childish taste that is! Are not these gems,\nwhich I have ordered to be dug for you, and which are richer than any in\nmy crown,--are they not prettier than a violet?\"\n\n\"Not half so pretty,\" said Proserpina, snatching the gems from Pluto's\nhand, and flinging them to the other end of the hall. \"Oh, my sweet\nviolets, shall I never see you again?\"\n\nAnd then she burst into tears. But young people's tears have very little\nsaltness or acidity in them, and do not inflame the eyes so much as those\nof grown persons; so that it is not to be wondered at if, a few moments\nafterwards, Proserpina was sporting through the hall almost as merrily as\nshe and the four sea-nymphs had sported along the edge of the surf wave,\nKing Pluto gazed after her, and wished that he, too was a child. And\nlittle Proserpina, when she turned about, and beheld this great king\nstanding in his splendid hall, and looking so grand, and so melancholy,\nand so lonesome, was smitten with a kind of pity. She ran back to him,\nand, for the first time in all her life, put her small, soft hand in his.\n\n\"I love you a little,\" whispered she, looking up in his face.\n\n\"Do you, indeed, my dear child?\" cried Pluto, bending his dark face down\nto kiss her; but Proserpina shrank away from the kiss, for though his\nfeatures were noble, they were very dusky and grim. \"Well, I have not\ndeserved it of you, after keeping you a prisoner for so many months, and\nstarving you, besides. Are you not terribly hungry? Is there nothing which\nI can get you to eat?\"\n\nIn asking this question, the king of the mines had a very cunning purpose;\nfor, you will recollect, if Proserpina tasted a morsel of food in his\ndominions, she would never afterwards be at liberty to quit them.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Proserpina. \"Your head cook is always baking, and\nstewing, and roasting, and rolling out paste, and contriving one dish or\nanother, which he imagines may be to my liking. But he might just as well\nsave himself the trouble, poor, fat little man that he is. I have no\nappetite for anything in the world, unless it were a slice of bread of my\nmother's own baking, or a little fruit out of her garden.\"\n\nWhen Pluto heard this, he began to see that he had mistaken the best\nmethod of tempting Proserpina to eat. The cook's made dishes and\nartificial dainties were not half so delicious, in the good child's\nopinion, as the simple fare to which Mother Ceres had accustomed her.\nWondering that he had never thought of it before, the king now sent one of\nhis trusty attendants, with a large basket, to get some of the finest and\njuiciest pears, peaches, and plums which could anywhere be found in the\nupper world. Unfortunately, however, this was during the time when Ceres\nhad forbidden any fruits or vegetables to grow; and, after seeking all\nover the earth, King Pluto's servants found only a single pomegranate, and\nthat so dried up as to be not worth eating. Nevertheless, since there was\nno better to be had, he brought this dry, old, withered pomegranate home\nto the palace, put it on a magnificent golden salver, and carried it up to\nProserpina. Now it happened, curiously enough, that, just as the servant\nwas bringing the pomegranate into the back door of the palace, our friend\nQuicksilver had gone up the front steps, on his errand to get Proserpina\naway from King Pluto.\n\nAs soon as Proserpina saw the pomegranate on the golden salver, she told\nthe servant he had better take it away again.\n\n\"I shall not touch it, I assure you,\" said she. \"If I were ever so hungry,\nI should never think of eating such a miserable, dry pomegranate as that.\"\n\n\"It is the only one in the world,\" said the servant.\n\nHe set down the golden salver, with the wizened pomegranate upon it, and\nleft the room. When he was gone, Proserpina could not help coming close to\nthe table, and looking at this poor specimen of dried fruit with a great\ndeal of eagerness; for, to say the truth, on seeing something that suited\nher taste, she felt all the six months' appetite taking possession of her\nat once. To be sure, it was a very wretched-looking pomegranate, and\nseemed to have no more juice in it than an oyster-shell. But there was no\nchoice of such things in King Pluto's palace. This was the first fruit she\nhad seen there, and the last she was ever likely to see; and unless she\nate it up immediately, it would grow drier than it already was, and be\nwholly unfit to eat.\n\n\"At least, I may smell it,\" thought Proserpina.\n\nSo she took up the pomegranate, and applied it to her nose; and, somehow\nor other, being in such close neighborhood to her mouth, the fruit found\nits way into that little red cave. Dear me! what an everlasting pity!\nBefore Proserpina knew what she was about, her teeth had actually bitten\nit, of their own accord. Just as this fatal deed was done, the door of the\napartment opened, and in came King Pluto, followed by Quicksilver, who had\nbeen urging him to let his little prisoner go. At the first noise of their\nentrance, Proserpina withdrew the pomegranate from her mouth. But\nQuicksilver (whose eyes were very keen, and his wits the sharpest that\never anybody had) perceived that the child was a little confused; and\nseeing the empty salver, he suspected that she had been taking a sly\nnibble of something or other. As for honest Pluto, he never guessed at the\nsecret.\n\n\"My little Proserpina,\" said the king, sitting down, and affectionately\ndrawing her between his knees, \"here is Quicksilver, who tells me that a\ngreat many misfortunes have befallen innocent people on account of my\ndetaining you in my dominions. To confess the truth, I myself had already\nreflected that it was an unjustifiable act to take you away from your good\nmother. But, then, you must consider, my dear child, that this vast palace\nis apt to be gloomy (although the precious stones certainly shine very\nbright), and that I am not of the most cheerful disposition, and that\ntherefore it was a natural thing enough to seek for the society of some\nmerrier creature than myself. I hoped you would take my crown for a\nplaything, and me--ah, you laugh, naughty Proserpina--me, grim as I am,\nfor a playmate. It was a silly expectation.\"\n\n\"Not so extremely silly,\" whispered Proserpina. \"You have really amused me\nvery much, sometimes.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said King Pluto, rather dryly. \"But I can see, plainly\nenough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted\nkeeper of it. And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain\nyou here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you\ntasted food. I give you your liberty. Go with Quicksilver. Hasten home to\nyour dear mother.\"\n\nNow, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it impossible\nto take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a good deal of\ncompunction for not telling him about the pomegranate. She even shed a\ntear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great palace would seem\nto him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she\nherself,--his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had stolen, to\nbe sure, but only because he valued her so much,--after she should have\ndeparted. I know not how many kind things she might have said to the\ndisconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried her away.\n\n\"Come along quickly,\" whispered he in her ear, \"or his majesty may change\nhis royal mind. And take care, above all things, that you say nothing of\nwhat was brought you on the golden salver.\"\n\nIn a very short time, they had passed the great gateway (leaving the\nthree-headed Cerberus, barking and yelping, and growling, with threefold\ndin, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth. It was\ndelightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew\nverdant behind and on either side of her. Wherever she set her blessed\nfoot, there was at once a dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the\nwayside. The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigor and\nluxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in\nbarrenness. The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after\ntheir long fast, and ate enormously all day, and got up at midnight to eat\nmore. But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers,\nwhen they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush. Nor must I\nforget to say that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon the\nnewly blossoming trees, and sang together in a prodigious ecstasy of joy.\n\nMother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting\ndisconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand. She\nhad been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when, all at once,\nit flickered and went out.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" thought she. \"It was an enchanted torch, and should\nhave kept burning till my child came back.\"\n\nLifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing over\nthe brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a golden hue\ngleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just risen sun.\n\n\"Does the earth disobey me?\" exclaimed Mother Ceres indignantly. \"Does it\npresume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren until my daughter\nshall be restored to my arms?\"\n\n\"Then open your arms, dear mother,\" cried a well-known voice, \"and take\nyour little daughter into them.\"\n\nAnd Proserpina came running, and flung herself upon her mother's bosom.\nTheir mutual transport is not to be described. The grief of their\nseparation had caused both of them to shed a great many tears; and now\nthey shed a great many more, because their joy could not so well express\nitself in any other way.\n\nWhen their hearts had grown a little more quiet, Mother Ceres looked\nanxiously at Proserpina.\n\n\"My child,\" said she, \"did you taste any food while you were in King\nPluto's palace?\"\n\n\"Dearest mother,\" answered Proserpina. \"I will tell you the whole truth.\nUntil this very morning, not a morsel of food had passed my lips. But\nto-day, they brought me a pomegranate (a very dry one it was, and all\nshriveled up, till there was little left of it but seeds and skin), and\nhaving seen no fruit for so long a time, and being faint with hunger, I\nwas tempted just to bite it. The instant I tasted it, King Pluto and\nQuicksilver came into the room. I had not swallowed a morsel; but--dear\nmother, I hope it was no harm--but six of the pomegranate seeds, I am\nafraid, remained in my mouth.\"\n\n\"Ah, unfortunate child, and miserable me!\" exclaimed Ceres. \"For each of\nthose six pomegranate seeds you must spend one month of each year in King\nPluto's palace. You are but half restored to your mother. Only six months\nwith me, and six with that good-for-nothing King of Darkness!\"\n\n\"Do not speak so harshly of poor King Pluto,\" said Proserpina, kissing her\nmother. \"He has some very good qualities, and I really think I can bear to\nspend six months in his palace, if he will only let me spend the other six\nwith you. He certainly did very wrong to carry me off; but then, as he\nsays, it was but a dismal sort of life for him, to live in that great\ngloomy place, all alone; and it has made a wonderful change in his spirits\nto have a little girl to run up stairs and down. There is some comfort in\nmaking him so happy; and so, upon the whole, dearest mother, let us be\nthankful that he is not to keep me the whole year round.\"\n\n\n\n\nOLD GREEK FOLK-STORIES\n\n\nORPHEUS AND EURYDICE\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nWhen gods and shepherds piped and the stars sang, that was the day of\nmusicians! But the triumph of Phoebus Apollo himself was not so wonderful\nas the triumph of a mortal man who lived on earth, though some say that he\ncame of divine lineage. This was Orpheus, that best of harpers, who went\nwith the Grecian heroes of the great ship Argo in search of the Golden\nFleece.\n\nAfter his return from the quest, he won Eurydice for his wife, and they\nwere as happy as people can be who love each other and every one else. The\nvery wild beasts loved them, and the trees clustered about their home as\nif they were watered with music. But even the gods themselves were not\nalways free from sorrow, and one day misfortune came upon that harper\nOrpheus whom all men loved to honor.\n\nEurydice, his lovely wife, as she was wandering with the nymphs,\nunwittingly trod upon a serpent in the grass. Surely, if Orpheus had been\nwith her, playing upon his lyre, no creature could have harmed her. But\nOrpheus came too late. She died of the sting, and was lost to him in the\nUnderworld.\n\nFor days he wandered from his home, singing the story of his loss and his\ndespair to the helpless passers-by. His grief moved the very stones in the\nwilderness, and roused a dumb distress in the hearts of savage beasts.\nEven the gods on Mount Olympus gave ear, but they held no power over the\ndarkness of Hades.\n\nWherever Orpheus wandered with his lyre, no one had the will to forbid him\nentrance; and at length he found unguarded that very cave that leads to\nthe Underworld, where Pluto rules the spirits of the dead. He went down\nwithout fear. The fire in his living heart found him a way through the\ngloom of that place. He crossed the Styx, the black river that the Gods\nname as their most sacred oath. Charon, the harsh old ferryman who takes\nthe shades across, forgot to ask of him the coin that every soul must pay.\nFor Orpheus sang. There in the Underworld the song of Apollo would not\nhave moved the poor ghosts so much. It would have amazed them, like a star\nfar off that no one understands. But here was a human singer, and he sang\nof things that grow in every human heart, youth and love and death, the\nsweetness of the Earth, and the bitterness of losing aught that is dear to\nus.\n\nNow the dead, when they go to the Underworld, drink of the pool of Lethe;\nand forgetfulness of all that has passed comes upon them like a sleep, and\nthey lose their longing for the world, they lose their memory of pain, and\nlive content with that cool twilight. But not the pool of Lethe itself\ncould withstand the song of Orpheus; and in the hearts of the shades all\nthe old dreams awoke wondering. They remembered once more the life of men\non earth, the glory of the sun and moon, the sweetness of new grass, the\nwarmth of their homes, all the old joy and grief that they had known. And\nthey wept.\n\nEven the Furies were moved to pity. Those, too, who were suffering\npunishment for evil deeds ceased to be tormented for themselves, and\ngrieved only for the innocent Orpheus who had lost Eurydice. Sisyphus,\nthat fraudulent king (who is doomed to roll a monstrous boulder uphill\nforever), stopped to listen. The daughters of Danaus left off their task\nof drawing water in a sieve. Tantalus forgot hunger and thirst, though\nbefore his eyes hung magical fruits that were wont to vanish out of his\ngrasp, and just beyond reach bubbled the water that was a torment to his\nears; he did not hear it while Orpheus sang.\n\nSo, among a crowd of eager ghosts, Orpheus came, singing with all his\nheart, before the king and queen of Hades. And the queen Proserpina wept\nas she listened and grew homesick, remembering the fields of Enna and the\ngrowing of the wheat, and her own beautiful mother, Demeter. Then Pluto\ngave way.\n\nThey called Eurydice and she came, like a young guest unused to the\ndarkness of the Underworld. She was to return with Orpheus, but on one\ncondition. If he turned to look at her once before they reached the upper\nair, he must lose her again and go back to the world alone.\n\nRapt with joy, the happy Orpheus hastened on the way, thinking only of\nEurydice, who was following him. Past Lethe, across the Styx they went, he\nand his lovely wife, still silent as a shade. But the place was full of\ngloom, the silence weighed upon him, he had not seen her for so long; her\nfootsteps made no sound; and he could hardly believe the miracle, for\nPluto seldom relents. When the first gleam of upper daylight broke through\nthe cleft to the dismal world, he forgot all, save that he must know if\nshe still followed. He turned to see her face, and the promise was broken!\n\nShe smiled at him forgivingly, but it was too late. He stretched out his\narms to take her, but she faded from them, as the bright snow, that none\nmay keep, melts in our very hands. A murmur of farewell came to his\nears,--no more. She was gone.\n\nHe would have followed, but Charon, now on guard, drove him back. Seven\ndays he lingered there between the worlds of life and death, but after the\nbroken promise Hades would not listen to his song. Back to the earth he\nwandered, though it was sweet to him no longer. He died young, singing to\nthe last, and round about the place where his body rested, nightingales\nnested in the trees. His lyre was set among the stars; and he himself went\ndown to join Eurydice, unforbidden.\n\nThose two had no need of Lethe, for their life on earth had been wholly\nfair, and now that they are together they no longer own a sorrow.\n\n\n\n\nICARUS AND D\u00c6DALUS\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nAmong all those mortals who grew so wise that they learned the secrets of\nthe gods, none was more cunning than D\u00e6dalus.\n\nHe once built, for King Minos of Crete, a wonderful Labyrinth of winding\nways so cunningly tangled up and twisted around that, once inside, you\ncould never find your way out again without a magic clue. But the king's\nfavor veered with the wind, and one day he had his master architect\nimprisoned in a tower. D\u00e6dalus managed to escape from his cell; but it\nseemed impossible to leave the island, since every ship that came or went\nwas well guarded by order of the king.\n\nAt length, watching the sea-gulls in the air,--the only creatures that\nwere sure of liberty,--he thought of a plan for himself and his young son\nIcarus, who was captive with him.\n\nLittle by little, he gathered a store of feathers great and small. He\nfastened these together with thread, moulded them in with wax, and so\nfashioned two great wings like those of a bird. When they were done,\nD\u00e6dalus fitted them to his own shoulders, and after one or two efforts, he\nfound that by waving his arms he could winnow the air and cleave it, as a\nswimmer does the sea. He held himself aloft, wavered this way and that,\nwith the wind, and at last, like a great fledgling, he learned to fly.\n\nWithout delay, he fell to work on a pair of wings for the boy Icarus, and\ntaught him carefully how to use them, bidding him beware of rash\nadventures among the stars. \"Remember,\" said the father, \"never to fly\nvery low or very high, for the fogs about the earth would weigh you down,\nbut the blaze of the sun will surely melt your feathers apart if you go\ntoo near.\"\n\nFor Icarus, these cautions went in at one ear and out by the other. Who\ncould remember to be careful when he was to fly for the first time? Are\nbirds careful? Not they! And not an idea remained in the boy's head but\nthe one joy of escape.\n\nThe day came, and the fair wind that was to set them free. The father bird\nput on his wings, and, while the light urged them to be gone, he waited to\nsee that all was well with Icarus, for the two could not fly hand in hand.\nUp they rose, the boy after his father. The hateful ground of Crete sank\nbeneath them; and the country folk, who caught a glimpse of them when they\nwere high above the tree-tops, took it for a vision of the gods,--Apollo,\nperhaps, with Cupid after him.\n\nAt first there was a terror in the joy. The wide vacancy of the air dazed\nthem,--a glance downward made their brains reel. But when a great wind\nfilled their wings, and Icarus felt himself sustained, like a halcyon-bird\nin the hollow of a wave, like a child uplifted by his mother, he forgot\neverything in the world but joy. He forgot Crete and the other islands\nthat he had passed over: he saw but vaguely that winged thing in the\ndistance before him that was his father D\u00e6dalus. He longed for one draught\nof flight to quench the thirst of his captivity: he stretched out his arms\nto the sky and made towards the highest heavens.\n\nAlas for him! Warmer and warmer grew the air. Those arms, that had seemed\nto uphold him, relaxed. His wings wavered, drooped. He fluttered his young\nhands vainly,--he was falling,--and in that terror he remembered. The heat\nof the sun had melted the wax from his wings; the feathers were falling,\none by one, like snowflakes; and there was none to help.\n\nHe fell like a leaf tossed down the wind, down, down, with one cry that\novertook D\u00e6dalus far away. When he returned, and sought high and low for\nthe poor boy, he saw nothing but the bird-like feathers afloat on the\nwater, and he knew that Icarus was drowned.\n\nThe nearest island he named Icaria, in memory of the child; but he, in\nheavy grief, went to the temple of Apollo in Sicily, and there hung up his\nwings as an offering. Never again did he attempt to fly.\n\n\n\n\nPHAETHON\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nOnce upon a time, the reckless whim of a lad came near to destroying the\nEarth and robbing the spheres of their wits.\n\nThere were two playmates, said to be of heavenly parentage. One was\nEpaphus, who claimed Zeus as a father; and one was Phaethon, the earthly\nchild of Phoebus Apollo (or Helios, as some name the sun-god). One day\nthey were boasting together, each of his own father, and Epaphus, angry at\nthe other's fine story, dared him to go prove his kinship with the Sun.\n\nFull of rage and humiliation, Phaethon went to his mother, Clymene, where\nshe sat with his young sisters, the Heliades.\n\n\"It is true, my child,\" she said, \"I swear it in the light of yonder Sun.\nIf you have any doubt, go to the land whence he rises at morning and ask\nof him any gift you will; he is your father, and he cannot refuse you.\"\n\nAs soon as might be, Phaethon set out for the country of sunrise. He\njourneyed by day and by night far into the east, till he came to the\npalace of the Sun. It towered high as the clouds, glorious with gold and\nall manner of gems that looked like frozen fire, if that might be. The\nmighty walls were wrought with images of earth and sea and sky. Vulcan,\nthe smith of the Gods, had made them in his workshop (for Mount \u00c6tna is\none of his forges, and he has the central fires of the earth to help him\nfashion gold and iron, as men do glass). On the doors blazed the twelve\nsigns of the Zodiac, in silver that shone like snow in the sunlight.\nPhaethon was dazzled with the sight, but when he entered the palace hall\nhe could hardly bear the radiance.\n\nIn one glimpse through his half-shut eyes, he beheld a glorious being,\nnone other than Phoebus himself, seated upon a throne. He was clothed in\npurple raiment, and round his head there shone a blinding light, that\nenveloped even his courtiers upon the right and upon the left,--the\nSeasons with their emblems, Day, Month, Year, and the beautiful young\nHours in a row. In one glance of those all-seeing eyes, the sun-god knew\nhis child; but in order to try him he asked the boy his errand.\n\n\"O my father,\" stammered Phaethon, \"if you are my father indeed\"--and then\nhe took courage; for the god came down from his throne, put off the\nglorious halo that hurt mortal eyes, and embraced him tenderly.\n\n\"Indeed, thou art my son,\" said he. \"Ask any gift of me, and it shall be\nthine; I call the Styx to witness.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Phaethon rapturously. \"Let me drive thy chariot for one day!\"\n\nFor an instant the Sun's looks clouded. \"Choose again, my child,\" said he.\n\"Thou art only a mortal, and this task is mine alone of all the Gods. Not\nZeus himself dare drive the chariot of the Sun. The way is full of\nterrors, both for the horses and for all the stars along the roadside, and\nfor the Earth, who has all blessings from me. Listen, and choose again.\"\nAnd therewith he warned Phaethon of all the dangers that beset the\nway,--the great steep that the steeds must climb, the numbing dizziness of\nthe height, the fierce constellations that breathe out fire, and that\ndescent in the west where the Sun seems to go headlong.\n\nBut these counsels only made the reckless boy more eager to win honor of\nsuch a high enterprise.\n\n\"I will take care; only let me go,\" he begged.\n\nNow Phoebus had sworn by the black river Styx, an oath that none of the\nGods dare break, and he was forced to keep his promise.\n\nAlready Aurora, goddess of dawn, had thrown open the gates of the east,\nand the stars were beginning to wane. The Hours came forth to harness the\nfour horses, and Phaethon looked with exultation at the splendid\ncreatures, whose lord he was for a day. Wild, immortal steeds they were,\nfed with ambrosia, untamed as the winds; their very pet names signified\nflame, and all that flame can do,--Pyrois, Eo\u00fcs, \u00c6thon, Phlegon.\n\nAs the lad stood by, watching, Phoebus anointed his face with a philter\nthat should make him strong to endure the terrible heat and light, then\nset the halo upon his head, with a last word of counsel.\n\n\"Follow the road,\" said he, \"and never turn aside. Go not too high or too\nlow, for the sake of heavens and earth; else men and Gods will suffer. The\nFates alone know whether evil is to come of this. Yet if your heart fails\nyou, as I hope, abide here and I will make the journey, as I am wont to\ndo.\"\n\nBut Phaethon held to his choice and bade his father farewell. He took his\nplace in the chariot, gathered up the reins, and the horses sprang away,\neager for the road.\n\nAs they went, they bent their splendid necks to see the meaning of the\nstrange hand upon the reins,--the slender weight in the chariot. They\nturned their wild eyes upon Phaethon, to his secret foreboding, and\nneighed one to another. This was no master charioteer, but a mere lad, a\nfeather riding the wind. It was holiday for the horses of the Sun, and\naway they went.\n\nGrasping the reins that dragged him after, like an enemy, Phaethon looked\ndown from the fearful ascent and saw the Earth far beneath him, dim and\nfair. He was blind with dizziness and bewilderment. His hold slackened and\nthe horses redoubled their speed, wild with new liberty. They left the old\ntracks. Before he knew where he was, they had startled the constellations\nand well-nigh grazed the Serpent, so that it woke from its torpor and\nhissed.\n\nThe steeds took fright. This way and that they went, terrified by the\nmonsters they had never encountered before, shaking out of their silver\nquiet the cool stars towards the north, then fleeing as far to the south\namong new wonders. The heavens were full of terror.\n\nUp, far above the clouds, they went, and down again, towards the\ndefenseless Earth, that could not flee from the chariot of the Sun. Great\nrivers hid themselves in the ground, and mountains were consumed. Harvests\nperished like a moth that is singed in a candle-flame.\n\nIn vain did Phaethon call to the horses and pull upon the reins. As in a\nhideous dream, he saw his own Earth, his beautiful home and the home of\nall men, his kindred, parched by the fires of this mad chariot, and\nblackening beneath him. The ground cracked open and the sea shrank.\nHeedless water-nymphs, who had lingered in the shallows, were left gasping\nlike bright fishes. The dryads shrank, and tried to cover themselves from\nthe scorching heat. The poor Earth lifted her withered face in a last\nprayer to Zeus to save her if he might.\n\nThen Zeus, calling all the Gods to witness that there was no other means\nof safety, hurled his thunderbolt; and Phaethon knew no more.\n\nHis body fell through the heavens, aflame like a shooting star; and the\nhorses of the Sun dashed homeward with the empty chariot.\n\nPoor Clymene grieved sore over the boy's death; but the young Heliades,\ndaughters of the Sun, refused all comfort. Day and night they wept\ntogether about their brother's grave by the river, until the Gods took\npity and changed them all into poplar-trees. And ever after that they wept\nsweet tears of amber, clear as sunlight.\n\n\n\n\nNIOBE\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nThere are so many tales of the vanity of kings and queens that the half of\nthem cannot be told.\n\nThere was Cassiop\u00e6ia, queen of \u00c6thiopia, who boasted that her beauty\noutshone the beauty of all the sea-nymphs, so that in anger they sent a\nhorrible sea-serpent to ravage the coast. The king prayed of an oracle to\nknow how the monster might be appeased, and learned that he must offer up\nhis own daughter, Andromeda. The maiden was therefore chained to a rock by\nthe sea-side, and left to her fate. But who should come to rescue her but\na certain young hero, Perseus, who was hastening homeward after a perilous\nadventure with the snaky-haired Gorgons. Filled with pity at the story of\nAndromeda, he waited for the dragon, met and slew him, and set the maiden\nfree. As for the boastful queen, the Gods forgave her, and at her death\nshe was set among the stars. That story ended well.\n\nBut there was once a queen of Thebes, Niobe, fortunate above all women,\nand yet arrogant in the face of the gods. Very beautiful she was, and\nnobly born, but above all things she boasted of her children, for she had\nseven sons and seven daughters.\n\nNow there came the day when the people were wont to celebrate the feast of\nLatona, mother of Apollo and Diana; and Niobe, as she stood looking upon\nthe worshipers on their way to the temple, was filled with overweening\npride.\n\n\"Why do you worship Latona before me?\" she cried out. \"What does she\npossess that I have not in greater abundance? She has but two children,\nwhile I have seven sons and as many daughters. Nay, if she robbed me out\nof envy, I should still be rich. Go back to your houses; you have not eyes\nto know the rightful goddess.\"\n\nSuch impiety was enough to frighten any one, and her subjects returned to\ntheir daily work, awestruck and silent.\n\nBut Apollo and Diana were filled with wrath at this insult to their divine\nmother. Not only was she a great goddess and a power in the heavens, but\nduring her life on earth she had suffered many hardships for their sake.\nThe serpent Python had been sent to torment her; and, driven from land to\nland, under an evil spell, beset with dangers, she had found no\nresting-place but the island of Delos, held sacred ever after to her and\nher children. Once she had even been refused water by some churlish\npeasants, who could not believe in a goddess if she appeared in humble\nguise and travel-worn. But these men were all changed into frogs.\n\nIt needed no word from Latona herself to rouse her children to vengeance.\nSwift as a thought, the two immortal archers, brother and sister, stood in\nThebes, upon the towers of the citadel. Near by, the youth were pursuing\ntheir sports, while the feast of Latona went neglected. The sons of Queen\nNiobe were there, and against them Apollo bent his golden bow. An arrow\ncrossed the air like a sunbeam, and without a word the eldest prince fell\nfrom his horse. One by one his brothers died by the same hand, so swiftly\nthat they knew not what had befallen them, till all the sons of the royal\nhouse lay slain. Only the people of Thebes, stricken with terror, bore the\nnews to Queen Niobe, where she sat with her seven daughters. She would not\nbelieve in such a sorrow.\n\n\"Savage Latona,\" she cried, lifting her arms against the heavens, \"never\nthink that you have conquered. I am still the greater.\"\n\nAt that moment one of her daughters sank beside her. Diana had sped an\narrow from her bow that is like the crescent moon. Without a cry, nay,\neven as they murmured words of comfort, the sisters died, one by one. It\nwas all as swift and soundless as snowfall.\n\nOnly the guilty mother was left, transfixed with grief. Tears flowed from\nher eyes, but she spoke not a word, her heart never softened; and at last\nshe turned to stone, and the tears flowed down her cold face forever.\n\n\n\n\nPYRAMUS AND THISBE\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nVenus did not always befriend true lovers, as she had befriended\nHippomenes, with her three golden apples. Sometimes, in the enchanted\nisland of Cyprus, she forgot her worshipers far away, and they called on\nher in vain.\n\nSo it was in the sad story of Hero and Leander, who lived on opposite\nborders of the Hellespont. Hero dwelt at Sestos, where she served as a\npriestess, in the very temple of Venus; and Leander's home was in Abydos,\na town on the opposite shore. But every night this lover would swim across\nthe water to see Hero, guided by the light which she was wont to set in\nher tower. Even such loyalty could not conquer fate. There came a great\nstorm, one night, that put out the beacon, and washed Leander's body up\nwith the waves to Hero, and she sprang into the water to rejoin him, and\nso perished.\n\nNot wholly unlike this was the fate of Halcyone, a queen of Thessaly, who\ndreamed that her husband Ceyx had been drowned, and on waking hastened to\nthe shore to look for him. There she saw her dream come true,--his\nlifeless body floating towards her on the tide; and as she flung herself\nafter him, mad with grief, the air upheld her and she seemed to fly.\nHusband and wife were changed into birds; and there on the very water, at\ncertain seasons, they build a nest that floats unhurt,--a portent of calm\nfor many days and safe voyage for the ships. So it is that seamen love\nthese birds and look for halcyon weather.\n\nBut there once lived in Babylonia two lovers named Pyramus and Thisbe, who\nwere parted by a strange mischance. For they lived in adjoining houses;\nand although their parents had forbidden them to marry, these two had\nfound a means of talking together through a crevice in the wall.\n\nHere, again and again, Pyramus on his side of the wall and Thisbe on hers,\nthey would meet to tell each other all that had happened during the day,\nand to complain of their cruel parents. At length they decided that they\nwould endure it no longer, but that they would leave their homes and be\nmarried, come what might. They planned to meet, on a certain evening, by a\nmulberry-tree near the tomb of King Ninus, outside the city gates. Once\nsafely met, they were resolved to brave fortune together.\n\nSo far all went well. At the appointed time, Thisbe, heavily veiled,\nmanaged to escape from home unnoticed, and after a stealthy journey\nthrough the streets of Babylon, she came to the grove of mulberries near\nthe tomb of Ninus. The place was deserted, and once there she put off the\nveil from her face to see if Pyramus waited anywhere among the shadows.\nShe heard the sound of a footfall and turned to behold--not Pyramus, but a\ncreature unwelcome to any tryst--none other than a lioness crouching to\ndrink from the pool hard by.\n\nWithout a cry, Thisbe fled, dropping her veil as she ran. She found a\nhiding-place among the rocks at some distance, and there she waited, not\nknowing what else to do.\n\nThe lioness, having quenched her thirst (after some ferocious meal),\nturned from the spring and, coming upon the veil, sniffed at it curiously,\ntore and tossed it with her reddened jaws,--as she would have done with\nThisbe herself,--then dropped the plaything and crept away to the forest\nonce more.\n\nIt was but a little after this that Pyramus came hurrying to the\nmeeting-place, breathless with eagerness to find Thisbe and tell her what\nhad delayed him. He found no Thisbe there. For a moment he was confounded.\nThen he looked about for some signs of her, some footprint by the pool.\nThere was the trail of a wild beast in the grass, and near by a woman's\nveil, torn and stained with blood; he caught it up and knew it for\nThisbe's.\n\nSo she had come at the appointed hour, true to her word; she had waited\nthere for him alone and defenseless, and she had fallen a prey to some\nbeast from the jungle! As these thoughts rushed upon the young man's mind,\nhe could endure no more.\n\n\"Was it to meet me, Thisbe, that you came to such a death!\" cried he. \"And\nI followed all too late. But I will atone. Even now I come lagging, but by\nno will of mine!\"\n\nSo saying, the poor youth drew his sword and fell upon it, there at the\nfoot of that mulberry-tree which he had named as the trysting-place, and\nhis life-blood ran about the roots.\n\nDuring these very moments, Thisbe, hearing no sound and a little\nreassured, had stolen from her hiding-place and was come to the edge of\nthe grove. She saw that the lioness had left the spring, and, eager to\nshow her lover that she had dared all things to keep faith, she came\nslowly, little by little, back to the mulberry-tree.\n\nShe found Pyramus there, according to his promise. His own sword was in\nhis heart, the empty scabbard by his side, and in his hand he held her\nveil still clasped. Thisbe saw these things as in a dream, and suddenly\nthe truth awoke her. She saw the piteous mischance of all; and when the\ndying Pyramus opened his eyes and fixed them upon her, her heart broke.\nWith the same sword she stabbed herself, and the lovers died together.\n\nThere the parents found them, after a weary search, and they were buried\ntogether in the same tomb. But the berries of the mulberry-tree turned red\nthat day, and red they have remained ever since.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES OF THE TROJAN WAR\n\n\nTHE APPLE OF DISCORD\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nThere was once a war so great that the sound of it has come ringing down\nthe centuries from singer to singer, and will never die.\n\nThe rivalries of men and gods brought about many calamities, but none so\nheavy as this; and it would never have come to pass, they say, if it had\nnot been for jealousy among the immortals,--all because of a golden apple!\nBut Destiny has nurtured ominous plants from little seeds; and this is how\none evil grew great enough to overshadow heaven and earth.\n\nThe sea-nymph Thetis (whom Zeus himself had once desired for his wife) was\ngiven in marriage to a mortal, Peleus, and there was a great wedding-feast\nin heaven. Thither all the immortals were bidden, save one, Eris, the\ngoddess of Discord, ever an unwelcome guest. But she came unbidden. While\nthe wedding-guests sat at feast, she broke in upon their mirth, flung\namong them a golden apple, and departed with looks that boded ill. Some\none picked up the strange missile and read its inscription, \"For the\nFairest;\" and at once discussion arose among the goddesses. They were all\neager to claim the prize, but only three persisted.\n\nVenus, the very goddess of beauty, said that it was hers by right; but\nJuno could not endure to own herself less fair than another, and even\nAthene coveted the palm of beauty as well as of wisdom, and would not give\nit up! Discord had indeed come to the wedding-feast. Not one of the Gods\ndared to decide so dangerous a question,--not Zeus himself,--and the three\nrivals were forced to choose a judge among mortals.\n\nNow there lived on Mount Ida, near the city of Troy, a certain young\nshepherd by the name of Paris. He was as comely as Ganymede himself,--that\nTrojan youth whom Zeus, in the shape of an eagle, seized and bore away to\nOlympus, to be a cup-bearer to the gods. Paris, too, was a Trojan of royal\nbirth, but like Oedipus, he had been left on the mountain in his infancy,\nbecause the oracle had foretold that he would be the death of his kindred\nand the ruin of his country. Destiny saved and nurtured him to fulfill\nthat prophecy. He grew up as a shepherd and tended his flocks on the\nmountain, but his beauty held the favor of all the wood-folk there and won\nthe heart of the nymph Oenone.\n\nTo him, at last, the three goddesses intrusted the judgment and the golden\napple. Juno first stood before him in all her glory as queen of Gods and\nmen, and attended by her favorite peacocks as gorgeous to see as royal\nfan-bearers.\n\n[Illustration: TO HIM, AT LAST, THE THREE GODDESSES INTRUSTED THE JUDGMENT\nAND THE GOLDEN APPLE]\n\n\"Use but the judgment of a prince, Paris,\" she said, \"and I will give thee\nwealth and kingly power.\"\n\nSuch majesty and such promises would have moved the heart of any man; but\nthe eager Paris had at least to hear the claims of the other rivals.\nAthene rose before him, a vision welcome as daylight, with her sea-gray\neyes and golden hair beneath a golden helmet.\n\n\"Be wise in honoring me, Paris,\" she said, \"and I will give thee wisdom\nthat shall last forever, great glory among men, and renown in war.\"\n\nLast of all, Venus shone upon him, beautiful as none can ever hope to be.\nIf she had come, unnamed, as any country maid, her loveliness would have\ndazzled him like sea-foam in the sun; but she was girt with her magical\nCestus, a spell of beauty that no one can resist.\n\nWithout a bribe she might have conquered, and she smiled upon his dumb\namazement, saying, \"Paris, thou shalt yet have for wife the fairest woman\nin the world.\"\n\nAt these words, the happy shepherd fell on his knees and offered her the\ngolden apple. He took no heed of the slighted goddesses, who vanished in a\ncloud that boded storm.\n\nFrom that hour he sought only the counsel of Venus, and only cared to find\nthe highway to his new fortunes. From her he learned that he was the son\nof King Priam of Troy, and with her assistance he deserted the nymph\nOenone, whom he had married, and went in search of his royal kindred.\n\nFor it chanced at that time that Priam proclaimed a contest of strength\nbetween his sons and certain other princes, and promised as prize the most\nsplendid bull that could be found among the herds of Mount Ida. Thither\ncame the herdsmen to choose, and when they led away the pride of Paris's\nheart, he followed to Troy, thinking that he would try his fortune and\nperhaps win back his own.\n\nThe games took place before Priam and Hecuba and all their children,\nincluding those noble princes Hector and Helenus, and the young Cassandra,\ntheir sister. This poor maiden had a sad story, in spite of her royalty;\nfor, because she had once disdained Apollo, she was fated to foresee all\nthings, and ever to have her prophecies disbelieved. On this fateful day,\nshe alone was oppressed with strange forebodings.\n\nBut if he who was to be the ruin of his country had returned, he had come\nvictoriously. Paris won the contest. At the very moment of his honor, poor\nCassandra saw him with her prophetic eyes; and seeing as well all the\nguilt and misery that he was to bring upon them, she broke into bitter\nlamentations, and would have warned her kindred against the evil to come.\nBut the Trojans gave little heed; they were wont to look upon her visions\nas spells of madness. Paris had come back to them a glorious youth and a\nvictor; and when he made known the secret of his birth, they cast the\nwords of the oracle to the winds, and received the shepherd as a long-lost\nprince.\n\nThus far all went happily. But Venus, whose promise had not yet been\nfulfilled, bade Paris procure a ship and go in search of his destined\nbride. The prince said nothing of this quest, but urged his kindred to let\nhim go; and giving out a rumor that he was to find his father's lost\nsister Hesione, he set sail for Greece, and finally landed at Sparta.\n\nThere he was kindly received by Menelaus, the king, and his wife, Fair\nHelen.\n\nThis queen had been reared as the daughter of Tyndarus and Queen Leda, but\nsome say that she was the child of an enchanted swan, and there was indeed\na strange spell about her. All the greatest heroes of Greece had wooed her\nbefore she left her father's palace to be the wife of King Menelaus, and\nTyndarus, fearing for her peace, had bound her many suitors by an oath.\nAccording to this pledge, they were to respect her choice, and to go to\nthe aid of her husband if ever she should be stolen away from him. For in\nall Greece there was nothing so beautiful as the beauty of Helen. She was\nthe fairest woman in the world.\n\nNow thus did Venus fulfill her promise and the shepherd win his reward\nwith dishonor. Paris dwelt at the court of Menelaus for a long time,\ntreated with a royal courtesy which he ill repaid. For at length, while\nthe king was absent on a journey to Crete, his guest won the heart of Fair\nHelen, and persuaded her to forsake her husband and sail away to Troy, or\nIlium.\n\nKing Menelaus returned to find the nest empty of the swan. Paris and the\nfairest woman in the world were well across the sea.\n\nWhen this treachery came to light, all Greece took fire with indignation.\nThe heroes remembered their pledge, and wrath came upon them at the wrong\ndone to Menelaus. But they were less angered with Fair Helen than with\nParis, for they felt assured that the queen had been lured from her\ncountry and out of her own senses by some spell of enchantment. So they\ntook counsel how they might bring back Fair Helen to her home and husband.\n\nYears had come and gone since that wedding-feast when Eris had flung the\napple of discord, like a firebrand, among the guests. But the spark of\ndissension that had smouldered so long burst into flame now, and, fanned\nby the enmities of men and the rivalries of the Gods, it seemed like to\nfire heaven and earth.\n\nA few of the heroes answered the call to arms unwillingly. Time had\nreconciled them to the loss of Fair Helen, and they were loath to leave\nhome and happiness for war, even in her cause.\n\nOne of these was Odysseus, or Ulysses, king of Ithaca, who had married\nPenelope, and was quite content with his kingdom and his little son\nTelemachus. Indeed, he was so unwilling to leave them that he feigned\nmadness in order to escape service, appeared to forget his own kindred,\nand went ploughing the seashore and sowing salt in the furrows. But a\nmessenger, Palamedes, who came with the summons to war, suspected that\nthis sudden madness might be a stratagem, for the king was far famed as a\nman of many devices. He therefore stood by, one day (while Ulysses,\npretending to take no heed of him, went ploughing the sand) and he laid\nthe baby Telemachus directly in the way of the ploughshare. For once the\nwise man's craft deserted him. Ulysses turned the plough sharply, caught\nup the little prince, and there his fatherly wits were manifest! After\nthis he could no longer play madman. He had to take leave of his beloved\nwife Penelope and set out to join the heroes, little dreaming that he was\nnot to return for twenty years. Once embarked, however, he set himself to\nwork in the common cause of the heroes, and was soon as ingenious as\nPalamedes in rousing laggard warriors.\n\nThere remained one who was destined to be the greatest warrior of all.\nThis was Achilles, the son of Thetis,--foretold in the day of Prometheus\nas a man who should far outstrip his own father in glory and greatness.\nYears had passed since the marriage of Thetis to King Peleus, and their\nson Achilles was now grown to manhood, a wonder of strength indeed, and,\nmoreover, invulnerable. For his mother, forewarned of his death in the\nTrojan War, had dipped him in the sacred river Styx when he was a baby, so\nthat he could take no hurt from any weapon. From head to foot she had\nplunged him in, only forgetting the little heel that she held him by, and\nthis alone could be wounded by any chance. But even with such precautions\nThetis was not content. Fearful at the rumors of war to be, she had her\nson brought up, in woman's dress, among the daughters of King Lycomedes of\nScyros, that he might escape the notice of men and cheat his destiny.\n\nTo this very palace, however, came Ulysses in the guise of a merchant, and\nhe spread his wares before the royal household,--jewels and ivory, fine\nfabrics, and curiously wrought weapons. The king's daughters chose girdles\nand veils and such things as women delight in; but Achilles, heedless of\nthe like, sought out the weapons, and handled them with such manly\npleasure that his nature stood revealed. So he, too, yielded to his\ndestiny and set out to join the heroes.\n\nEverywhere men were banded together, building the ships and gathering\nsupplies. The allied forces of Greece (the Achaians, as they called\nthemselves) chose Agamemnon for their commander-in-chief. He was a mighty\nman, king of Mycen\u00e6 and Argos, and the brother of the wronged Menelaus.\nSecond to Achilles in strength was the giant Ajax; after him Diomedes,\nthen wise Ulysses, and Nestor, held in great reverence because of his\nexperienced age and fame. These were the chief heroes. After two years of\nbusy preparation, they reached the port of Aulis, whence they were to sail\nfor Troy.\n\nBut here delay held them. Agamemnon had chanced to kill a stag which was\nsacred to Diana, and the army was visited by pestilence, while a great\ncalm kept the ships imprisoned. At length the oracle made known the reason\nof this misfortune and demanded for atonement the maiden Iphigenia,\nAgamemnon's own daughter. In helpless grief the king consented to offer\nher up as a victim, and the maiden was brought, ready for sacrifice. But\nat the last moment Diana caught her away in a cloud, leaving a white hind\nin her place, and carried her to Tauris in Scythia, there to serve as a\npriestess in the temple. In the mean time, her kinsfolk, who were at a\nloss to understand how she had disappeared, mourned her as dead. But Diana\nhad accepted their child as an offering, and healing came to the army, and\nthe winds blew again. So the ships set sail.\n\nMeanwhile, in Troy across the sea, the aged Priam and Hecuba gave shelter\nto their son Paris and his stolen bride. They were not without misgivings\nas to these guests, but they made ready to defend their kindred and the\ncitadel.\n\nThere were many heroes among the Trojans and their allies, brave and\nupright men, who little deserved that such reproach should be brought upon\nthem by the guilt of Prince Paris. There were \u00c6neas and De\u00efphobus, Glaucus\nand Sarpedon, and Priam's most noble son Hector, chief of all the forces,\nand the very bulwark of Troy. These and many more were bitterly to regret\nthe day that had brought Paris back to his home. But he had taken refuge\nwith his own people, and the Trojans had to take up his cause against the\nhostile fleet that was coming across the sea.\n\nEven the Gods took sides. Juno and Athene, who had never forgiven the\njudgment of Paris, condemned all Troy with him and favored the Greeks, as\ndid also Neptune, god of the sea. But Venus, true to her favorite,\nfurthered the interests of the Trojans with all her power, and persuaded\nthe warlike Mars to do likewise. Zeus and Apollo strove to be impartial,\nbut they were yet to aid now one side, now another, according to the\nfortunes of the heroes whom they loved.\n\nOver the sea came the great embassy of ships, sped hither safely by the\ngod Neptune; and the heroes made their camp on the plain before Troy.\nFirst of all Ulysses and King Menelaus himself went into the city and\ndemanded that Fair Helen should be given back to her rightful husband.\nThis the Trojans refused, and so began the siege of Troy.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUARREL BETWEEN AGAMEMNON AND ACHILLES\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\nThe Greeks sacked the city of Chryse, where was a temple of Apollo, and a\npriest that served the temple. And when they divided the spoil, they gave\nto King Agamemnon with other gifts, the priest's daughter, Chryse\u00efs.\nThereupon there came to the camp Chryses, the priest, wishing to ransom\nhis daughter. Much gold he brought with him, and on his staff of gold he\ncarried the holy garland, that men might reverence him the more. He went\nto all the chiefs, and to the sons of Atreus first of all, saying,--\n\"Loose, I pray you, my dear daughter, and take the ransom for her; so may\nthe gods that dwell in Olympus grant you to take the city of Troy, and to\nhave safe return to your homes.\"\n\nThen all the others spake him fair, and would have done what he wished.\nOnly Agamemnon would not have it so.\n\n\"Get thee out, graybeard!\" he cried in great wrath. \"Let me not find thee\nlingering now by the ships, neither coming hither again, or it shall be\nthe worse for thee, for all thy priesthood. And as for thy daughter, I\nshall carry her away to Argos, when I shall have taken this city of Troy.\"\n\nThen the old man went out hastily in great fear and trouble. And he walked\nin his sorrow by the shore of the sounding sea, and prayed to his god\nApollo.\n\n\"Hear me, god of the silver bow! If I have built thee a temple, and\noffered thee fat of many bullocks and rams, hear me, and avenge my tears\non the Greeks with thine arrows!\"\n\nAnd Apollo heard him. Wroth was he that men had so dishonored his priest,\nand he came down from the top of Olympus, where he dwelt. Dreadful was the\nrattle of his arrows as he went, and his coming was as the night when it\ncometh over the sky. Then he shot the arrows of death, first on the dogs\nand the mules, and then on the men; and soon all along the shore rolled\nthe black smoke from the piles of wood on which they burnt the bodies of\nthe dead.\n\nFor nine days the shafts of the god went throughout the host; but on the\ntenth day Achilles called the people to an assembly. So Juno bade him, for\nshe loved the Greeks, and grieved to see them die. When they were gathered\ntogether he stood up among them, and spake to Agamemnon:--\n\n\"Surely it were better to return home, than that we should all perish here\nby war or plague. But come, let us ask some prophet or priest or dreamer\nof dreams why it is that Apollo is so wroth with us.\"\n\nThen stood up Calchas, best of seers, who knew what had been, and what\nwas, and what was to come, and spake:--\n\n\"Achilles, thou biddest me tell the people why Apollo is wroth with them.\nLo! I will tell thee, but thou must first swear to stand by me, for I know\nthat what I shall say will anger King Agamemnon, and it goes ill with\ncommon men when kings are angry.\"\n\n\"Speak out, thou wise man!\" cried Achilles; \"for I swear by Apollo that\nwhile I live no one shall lay hands on thee, no, not Agamemnon's self,\nthough he be sovereign lord of the Greeks.\"\n\nThen the blameless seer took heart, and spake: \"It is not for vow or\noffering that Apollo is wroth; it is for his servant the priest, for he\ncame to ransom his daughter, but Agamemnon scorned him, and would not let\nthe maiden go. Now, then, ye must send her back to Chryse without ransom,\nand with her a hundred beasts for sacrifice, so that the plague may be\nstayed.\"\n\nThen Agamemnon stood up in a fury, his eyes blazing like fire.\n\n\"Never,\" he cried, \"hast thou spoken good concerning me, ill prophet that\nthou art, and now thou tellest me to give up this maiden! I will do it,\nfor I would not that the people should perish. Only take care, ye Greeks,\nthat there be a share of the spoil for me, for it would ill beseem the\nlord of all the host that he alone should be without his share.\"\n\n\"Nay, my lord Agamemnon,\" cried Achilles, \"thou art too eager for gain. We\nhave no treasures out of which we may make up thy loss, for what we got\nout of the towns we have either sold or divided; nor would it be fitting\nthat the people should give back what has been given to them. Give up the\nmaiden, then, without conditions, and when we shall have taken this city\nof Troy, we will repay thee three and four fold.\"\n\n\"Nay, great Achilles,\" said Agamemnon, \"thou shalt not cheat me thus. If\nthe Greeks will give me such a share as I should have, well and good. But\nif not, I will take one for myself, whether it be from thee or from Ajax\nor from Ulysses; for my share I will have. But of this hereafter. Now let\nus see that this maiden be sent back. Let them get ready a ship, and put\nher herein, and with her a hundred victims, and let some chief go with the\nship, and see that all things be rightly done.\"\n\nThen cried Achilles, and his face was as black as a thunder-storm: \"Surely\nthou art altogether shameless and greedy, and, in truth, an ill ruler of\nmen. No quarrel have I with the Trojans. They never harried oxen or sheep\nof mine in fertile Phthia, for many murky mountains lie between, and a\ngreat breadth of roaring sea. But I have been fighting in thy cause, and\nthat of thy brother Menelaus. Naught carest thou for that. Thou leavest me\nto fight, and sittest in thy tent at ease. But when the spoil is divided,\nthine is always the lion's share. Small, indeed, is my part,--'a little\nthing, but dear.' And this, forsooth, thou wilt take away! Now am I\nresolved to go home. I have no mind to heap up goods and gold for thee,\nand be myself dishonored.\"\n\nAnd King Agamemnon answered, \"Go, and thy Myrmidons with thee! I have\nother chieftains as good as thou art, and ready, as thou art not, to pay\nme due respect; and Zeus, the god of council, is with me. I hate thee, for\nthou always lovest war and strife. And as for the matter of the spoil,\nknow that I will take thy share, the girl Brise\u00efs, and fetch her myself,\nif need be, that all may know that I am sovereign lord here in the host of\nthe Greeks.\"\n\nThen Achilles was mad with anger, and he thought in his heart, \"Shall I\narise and slay this caitiff, or shall I keep down the wrath in my breast?\"\nAnd as he thought he laid his hand on his sword-hilt, and had half-drawn\nhis sword from the scabbard, when lo! the goddess Athene stood behind him\n(for Juno, who loved both this chieftain and that, had sent her), and\ncaught him by the long locks of his yellow hair. But Achilles marveled\nmuch to feel the mighty grasp, and turned and looked, and knew the\ngoddess, but no one else in the assembly might see her. Terrible was the\nflash of his eyes as he cried, \"Art thou come, child of Zeus, to see the\ninsolence of Agamemnon? Of a truth, I think that he will perish for his\nfolly.\"\n\nBut Athene said, \"Nay, but I am come from heaven to abate thy wrath, if\nthou wilt hear me; white-armed Juno sent me, for she loveth and cherisheth\nyou both alike. Draw not thy sword; but use bitter words, even as thou\nwilt. Of a truth, I tell thee that for this insolence of to-day he will\nbring thee hereafter splendid gifts, threefold and fourfold for all that\nhe may take away. Only refrain thyself and do my bidding.\"\n\nThen Achilles answered, \"I will abide by thy command for all my wrath, for\nthe man who hearkens to the immortal gods is also heard of them.\" And as\nhe spake he laid his heavy hand upon the hilt, and thrust back the sword\ninto the scabbard, and Athene went her way to Olympus.\n\nThen he turned him to King Agamemnon, and spake again, for his anger was\nnot spent. \"Drunkard, with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer!\nnever fighting in the front of the battle, nor daring to lie in the\nambush! 'Tis a race of dastards that thou rulest, or this had been thy\nlast wrong. But this I tell thee, and confirm my words with a mighty\noath--by this sceptre do I swear. Once it was the branch of a tree, but\nnow the sons of the Greeks bear it in their hands, even they who maintain\nthe laws of Zeus; as surely as it shall never again have bark, or leaves,\nor shoot, so surely shall the Greeks one day miss Achilles, when they fall\nin heaps before the dreadful Hector; and thou shalt eat thy heart for\nrage, to think that thou hast wronged the bravest of thy host.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he dashed the sceptre, all embossed with studs of gold,\nupon the ground, and sat down. And on the other side Agamemnon sat in\nfurious anger. Then Nestor rose, an old man of a hundred years and more,\nand counseled peace. Let them listen, he said, to his counsel. Great\nchiefs in the old days, with whom no man now alive would dare to fight,\nhad listened. Let not Agamemnon take away from the bravest of the Greeks\nthe prize of war; let not Achilles, though he was mightier in battle than\nall other men, contend with Agamemnon, who was sovereign lord of all the\nhosts of Greece. But he spake in vain. For Agamemnon answered,--\n\n\"Nestor, thou speakest well, and peace is good. But this fellow would lord\nit over all; yet there are some, methinks, who will not obey him. For if\nthe immortal Gods have made him a great warrior, do they therefore grant\nhim leave to speak lawless words? Verily he must be taught that there is\none here, at least, who is better than he.\"\n\nAnd Achilles said, \"I were a slave and a coward if I owned thee as my\nlord. Not so; play the master over others, but think not to master me. As\nfor the prize which the Greeks gave me, let them do as they will. They\ngave it; let them take it away. But if thou darest to touch aught that is\nmine own, that hour thy life-blood shall redden on my spear.\"\n\nThen the assembly was dismissed. Chryse\u00efs was sent to her home with due\nofferings to the god, the wise Ulysses going with her. And all the people\npurified themselves, and offered offerings to the Gods; and the sweet\nsavor went up to heaven in the wreathing smoke.\n\nBut King Agamemnon would not go back from his purpose. So he called to him\nthe heralds, Talthybius and Eurybates, and said,--\n\n\"Heralds, go to the tents of Achilles, and fetch the maiden Brise\u00efs. But\nif he will not let her go, say that I will come myself with many others to\nfetch her; so will it be the worse for him.\"\n\nSorely against their will the heralds went. Along the seashore they\nwalked, till they came to where, amidst the Myrmidons, were the tents of\nAchilles. There they found him, sitting between his tent and his ship. He\ndid not rejoice to see them, and they stood in great terror and shame. But\nhe knew in his heart wherefore they had come, and cried aloud, \"Come near,\nye heralds, messengers of Gods and men. 'Tis no fault of yours that ye are\ncome on such an errand.\"\n\nThen he turned to Patroclus (now Patroclus was his dearest friend) and\nsaid,--\n\n\"Bring the maiden from her tent, and let the heralds lead her away. But\nlet them be witnesses, before gods and men, and before this evil-minded\nking, against the day when he shall have sore need of me to save his hosts\nfrom destruction. Fool that he is, who knoweth not to look back and to\nlook forward, that his people may be safe!\"\n\nThen Patroclus brought forth the maiden from her tent, and gave her to the\nheralds. And they led her away; but it was sorely against her will that\nshe went. But Achilles went apart from his comrades, and sat upon the\nseashore, falling into a great passion of tears, and stretching out his\nhands with loud prayer to his mother, Thetis, daughter of the sea. She\nheard him where she sat in the depths by her father, the old god of the\nsea, and rose from the gray sea, as a vapor rises, and came to where he\nwas weeping, and stroked him with her hand, and called him by his name.\n\n\"What ails thee, my son?\" she said.\n\nThen he told her the story of his wrong, and when he had ended he said,--\n\n\"Go, I pray thee, to the top of Olympus, to the palace of Zeus. Often have\nI heard thee in my father's hall boast how, long ago, thou didst help him\nwhen the other gods would have bound him, fetching Briareus of the hundred\nhands, who sat by him in his strength, so that the Gods feared to touch\nhim. Go now, and call these things to his mind, and pray him that he help\nthe sons of Troy, and give them victory in the battle, so that the Greeks,\nas they flee before them, may have joy of this king of theirs, who has\ndone such wrong to the bravest of his host.\"\n\nAnd his mother answered him, \"Surely thine is an evil lot, my son. This\nlife is short, and it should of right be without tears and full of joy;\nbut now it seems to me to be both short and sad. But I will go as thou\nsayest to Olympus, to the palace of Zeus; but not now, for he has gone,\nand the other Gods with him, to a twelve days' feast with the pious\nEthiopians. But when he cometh back I will entreat and persuade him. And\ndo thou sit still, nor go forth to battle.\"\n\nMeanwhile Ulysses drew near to Chryse with the holy offerings. And when\nthey were come within the haven, they furled the sail, and laid it in the\nship, and lowered the mast, and rowed the ship to her moorings. They cast\nout the anchor stones, and made fast the cables from the stern. After that\nthey landed, taking with them the offerings and the maid Chryse\u00efs. To the\naltar they brought the maid, and gave her into the arms of her father, and\nthe wise Ulysses said, \"See now; Agamemnon, King of men, sends back thy\ndaughter, and with her a hundred beasts for sacrifice, that we may appease\nthe god who hath smitten the Greeks in his wrath.\"\n\nThen the priest received his daughter right gladly, and when they had\nranged the beasts about the altar, and poured out the water of\npurification, and taken up handfuls of bruised barley, then the priest\nprayed, \"Hear me, God of the silver bow! If before thou didst hearken to\nmy prayer, and grievously afflict the Greeks, so hear me now, and stay\nthis plague which is come upon them.\"\n\nSo prayed he, and the god gave ear.\n\nThen they cast the barley on the heads of the cattle, and slew them, and\nflayed them, and they cut out the thigh-bones and wrapped them up in folds\nof fat, and laid raw morsels on them. These the priest burned on fagots,\npouring on sparkling wine; and the young men stood by, having the\nfive-pronged forks in their hands. And when the thighs were consumed, then\nthey cut up the rest, and broiled the pieces carefully on spits. This\nbeing done, they made their meal, nor did any one lack his share. And when\nthe meal was ended, then they poured a little wine into the cups to serve\nfor libations to the Gods. After that they sat till sunset, singing a hymn\nto the Archer God, and making merry; and he heard their voice and was\npleased.\n\nWhen the sun went down, they slept beside the stern-cables; and when the\ndawn appeared, then they embarked, raising the mast and spreading the\nsail; and Apollo sent them a favoring wind, and the dark blue wave hissed\nabout the stem of the ship as she went: so they came to the camp of the\nGreeks.\n\nBut all the time Achilles sat in wrath beside his ships; he went not to\nthe war, nor yet to the assembly, but sat fretting in his heart, because\nhe longed for the cry of the battle.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIGHT BETWEEN PARIS AND MENELAUS\n\nBy Walter C. Perry\n\n\nIn obedience to the summons of their leaders, the great host of the\nAchaians assembled on the plain of the flowing river Scamander,\ninnumerable as the leaves and flowers in the season of spring. And in the\nmidst of them stood the great ruler, Agamemnon: his head and eyes like\nthose of Loud-thundering Zeus; his waist like that of the Man-slaying\nMars; and with a breast like that of Neptune, the Ruler of the Sea. As the\nmail-clad Argives marched on, and rushed across the plain, the earth\ngroaned beneath them.\n\nNow \u00c6gis-bearing Zeus sent his messenger, Iris, to the assembly of the\nTrojans, with the voice of Polites, son of Priam, their sentinel at\nPriam's gate, and spake thus to Hector: \"This is no time for idle words,\nfor stern war is already upon you. But to thee, O Hector, do I especially\nspeak; and do thou obey my voice! As thou hast many allies, of diverse\nnations and tongues, let each chief marshal and command his own people,\nand lead them forth to war.\"\n\nAnd the glorious Hector knew the voice of the messenger, and hastened to\nobey. He straightway dissolved the assembly. The gates of Troy were then\nthrown open, and the Trojan host rushed forth, with a mighty din. The\nblameless Hector, with his glancing helmet, was foremost of all, and led\nthe bravest and strongest of the men; \u00c6neas, son of the goddess Aphrodite,\nor Venus, born amidst the peaks of Ida, led the Dardans; and of the other\nleaders of the allies, the most famous were Sarpedon, son of Zeus, and\nblameless Glaucus, who led the Lycians, from distant Lycia, by the\nswift-eddying Xanthus.\n\nAnd, as the countless hosts advanced, to meet each other in deadly\nconflict, the Trojans marched with noisy shouts, like the clamor of the\ncranes, when they fly to the streams of Oceanus, in the early morning,\nscreaming, and bringing death and destruction to the Pigmy men; but the\nAchaieans came on in silence, breathing dauntless courage.\n\nBut when they came near to each other, the goodly Paris went before the\nfront rank of the Trojans, and brandished his spear, and challenged all\nthe Argive chiefs to single combat. When the warlike Menelaus, whom Paris\nhad so deeply wronged by carrying off his wife, the beautiful Helen, saw\nParis there, he was glad, thinking that he should now punish the false\ntraitor for his wickedness. So he leaped from his chariot, in his clanging\narmor, and advanced to meet the challenger. And Paris saw him; and pale\nfear got hold of him, like to a man who has trodden on a serpent, in a\nwooded valley among the mountains; and he shrank back among the lordly\nTrojans.\n\nHis brother Hector saw him, and reproached him with scornful words. \"Base\ndeceiver of women, beautiful in appearance and favor, but coward at heart!\nwould that thou hadst never been born, or that thou hadst died unwedded!\nNow thou seest what kind of man is he, whose lovely wife thou hast carried\noff by stealth. Of no avail will be thy sounding lyre, thy beauteous face\nand curling hair, or all the gifts of golden Venus, when thou liest\ngroveling in the dust.\"\n\nAnd the goodly Paris answered him, \"Hector, thou rightly chidest me, and\nnot more than I deserve. _Thy_ heart is ever undaunted, and keen as the\naxe, which cutteth the strong oak, in the hands of a skillful shipwright.\nBut reproach me not for the lovely gifts of golden Aphrodite; for no man\ncan obtain them by wishing for them, for they are among the precious gifts\nof the blessed Gods. But if thou desirest that I should do battle with the\nvaliant Menelaus, make the Trojans and the Achaians sit down; and set me\nand Menelaus in the midst, to fight for Helen and for all the treasures\nwhich were taken away with her. And whichever of us twain shall be the\nvictor, let him bear away the woman and the treasure, and take them home.\"\n\nSo spake he, and they all kept silence; but Menelaus of the loud war-cry\nstood forward amongst the Greeks and made harangue, \"Hearken now to me,\nfor my heart hath endured the greatest grief. Whosoever of us twain shall\nfall, there let him lie. But now bring a goodly sacrifice, a white ram and\na black ewe, for the Earth and for the Sun; and another for\nLoud-thundering Zeus; and summon hither the great King Priam, that he may\ntake the pledge; for his sons are reckless and faithless; young men's\nhearts are too frivolous and fickle, but an old man looketh to the future\nand the past.\"\n\nAnd Hector sent heralds to the city, to fetch two lambs, and to summon\nPriam; while Agamemnon sent Talthybius for a ram. Now Iris, in Troy, came\nto Helen, in the semblance of Laodice, Paris's sister, fairest of Priam's\ndaughters, wife of Helicaon, the son of Antenor. She found Helen weaving a\ngreat purple web, on which she was embroidering the battles of the Argives\nand the Trojans. The swift-footed Iris came near her, and said, \"Come\nhither, dear lady, come with me, to see the wondrous deeds of the\nhorse-taming Trojans and the mail-clad Argives; for now the battle is\nsuspended, while Paris, and Menelaus, dear to Mars, will fight alone with\ntheir spears, for _thee_; and thou wilt be the fair wife of the victor.\"\nSo Iris spoke, and put into Helen's bosom a longing for her former\nhusband, and for her darling daughter. Then Helen veiled her face, and\nwent straightway to the Sc\u00e6an Gate, letting fall a tear; and her two\nhandmaidens, \u00c6thre and Clymene, followed her.\n\nOn the tower above the Sc\u00e6an Gate, she found the Trojan elders. These, on\naccount of their age, had ceased from war, but were still good orators,\nwith voices like the grasshoppers which sit upon a tree, and send forth\ntheir lily-like voice; so sat the elders of the Trojans on the Tower. When\nthose ancient sages saw the fair Helen coming to them, they were\nastounded, and whispered one to another, \"No wonder that the Trojans and\nthe Achaians have suffered so many things for such a glorious woman! But,\nfair as she is, let her sail away, and not stay here to trouble us and our\nchildren after us.\"\n\nBut the aged King Priam addressed her kindly. \"Dear Daughter! come hither,\nand see thy former husband and kinsmen! I do not blame _thee_, but the\nGods, and especially Venus, by whom this sad war has been brought upon us.\nBut tell me who is that huge Achaian warrior? Many are taller than he, but\nI have never seen a man so stately and royal.\" And the fair Helen, the\ndaughter of Zeus, replied, \"O venerable Father of my lord! would that\ndeath had been my lot, when I followed thy son to Troy, and left my home\nand husband, and my dear young daughter, and all the loved companions of\nmy girlhood! But that was not to be, and therefore I mourn and weep. The\nman of whom thou speakest is Atreides, the wide-ruling monarch Agamemnon,\nwho is both a stately king and a doughty warrior; he is the brother of\nMenelaus my husband--shameless thing that I am!\"\n\nThen the aged Priam asked her about the other Achaian chiefs,--Ulysses,\nand the gigantic Ajax, the bulwark of the host, and the godlike Idomeneus;\nand the lovely Helen told him all, and said, \"I see all the other\nbright-eyed Achaians, and could tell their names; but two I see not, even\nmine own brothers, horse-taming Castor and the boxer Pollux; peradventure\nthey came not with the Achaians; or if they came, they fight not, for fear\nof the revilings which men heap on me--shameless that I am!\" She knew not\nthat the earth already covered them, in Laced\u00e6mon, their dear native land.\nNow the aged Priam drove out through the Sc\u00e6an Gate, with Antenor by his\nside; and, when he had come to the Achaians and the Trojans, he descended\nfrom his chariot, and stood on the Earth, the bounteous grain-giver. Then\nAgamemnon, the king of men, and Ulysses, the man of many devices, rose up;\nand the stately heralds brought the holy oath-offerings to the gods, and\nmixed the ruddy wine in the mixing-bowl, from which they gave portions to\nthe Achaian and the Trojan chiefs. Agamemnon raised his hands to heaven\nand prayed, \"O Father Zeus, most great and glorious! O Sun, who seest and\nhearest all things! O ye Rivers, and thou, Mother Earth! be ye all\nwitnesses to our oaths! If Paris shall kill Menelaus, then let him keep\nHelen and all her possessions; but if the yellow-haired Menelaus slay\nParis, then let the Trojans give back Helen and her treasures!\"\n\nThen the lordly Agamemnon slew the lambs, and prayed again to Zeus. But\nPriam spake unto the Achaians and the Trojans. \"I verily will return to\nbreezy Ilium; for I cannot bear to see my own son engaged in deadly\nconflict with the war-loving Menelaus.\"\n\nThen the goodly Paris, lord of the fair-haired Helen, put on his beautiful\narmor. First he set the splendid greaves upon his legs, fastened round the\nankles with silver clasps; then he donned the corslet, which he had\nborrowed from his brother Lycaon; and he threw over his shoulders the\nsilver-studded sword-belt with his sword, and took up his mighty shield;\nand upon his beauteous head he placed the helmet, with a horsehair crest,\nand the plume nodded terribly; and he took a strong spear in his hand.\n\nThen he and Menelaus stood face to face, on the ground which Hector and\nUlysses had meted out; and they brandished their spears, with wrath\nagainst each other. Paris drew the lot to be the first to cast his\nlong-shafted spear; he threw it, and it struck the round shield of\nAtreides Menelaus, but did not pierce it; for the point of the spear was\nturned.\n\nThen Menelaus, poising his lance, prayed to Zeus, \"O Father Zeus! grant me\nto take vengeance on goodly Paris, who did me such foul wrong--_me_, who\nhad shown him so much kindness!\" He said, and hurled his strong spear,\nwhich struck the bright shield of the son of Priam; and the sharp point\npassed through it, and through his breastplate, and rent the tunic, close\nto the side of his body; but Paris swerved from it, and shunned the black\nfate of death. Then Menelaus drew his sword from the silver-studded\nsheath, and smote on the helmet of Paris, but the sword was shattered, and\nfell in pieces from his hand. Then he looked up to heaven, and exclaimed,\n\"O Father Zeus! thou art the most cruel of all the Gods!\"\n\nSo saying, he caught Paris by his horse-hair crest, and dragged him\ntowards the well-greaved Achaians, and the embroidered strap of the helmet\nwent nigh to strangle him. But Venus, daughter of great Zeus, who loved\nthe beauteous Paris, drew near him, and tore the strap of leather; and the\nhelmet came away, empty, in the strong hand of the son of Atreus. Full of\nwrath, he hurled it towards his trusty companions, and they took it up. He\nthen rushed back again, to slay his enemy; but golden-haired Venus, being\na goddess, easily caught up Paris, and hid him in thick darkness, and\ncarried him into Troy, to his high and fragrant chamber.\n\nVenus, the golden Goddess of Love, then went to summon Helen, in the\nlikeness of an old woman, a wool-comber, who had worked for Helen in\nLaced\u00e6mon, and whom she greatly loved. She found the white-armed Helen on\nthe high tower, and spake: \"Come hither to Paris, who sends for thee; he\nis there in the fragrant chamber, shining in beauty--\n\n  \"Not like a warrior parted from the foe,\n  But some fair dancer from the public show.\"\n          (Pope's Translation of the _Iliad_.)\n\nBut Helen's heart was greatly moved; she knew the golden Venus, saw her\nfair neck and sparkling eyes, and called her by her name. \"O thou strange\nGoddess! wouldst thou again deceive me? Now Menelaus hath conquered Paris,\nand will carry me home--accursed as I am! And now do _thou_ no more return\nto Olympus, but leave the dwelling of the Gods, and go and sit by Paris,\ntill he make _thee_ his wife--or perchance, his slave. But _I_ will not go\nto him; for all the Trojan women would justly blame me hereafter; I have\ninnumerable griefs within my heart.\"\n\nThen was the bright goddess sore displeased, and spake harshly to her.\n\"Beware! thou foolish woman! lest in my wrath I leave thee, and henceforth\nhate thee, as I have loved thee until now!\" Venus spake, and Helen,\ndaughter of great Zeus, trembled and obeyed, wrapping her beautiful\ngarments about her; and the goddess led her to the fragrant chamber in the\npalace, and set her on a chair before the goodly Paris.\n\nBut Helen looked askance at her lord, and chode him with bitter words.\n\"Would that thou hadst never come back from the fight, but hadst perished\nby the arm of the warrior who was once my husband! Thou didst boast\nthyself to be a better man than Menelaus! Go then, and challenge him\nagain, to meet thee face to face once more!\"\n\nYet Helen, though she could not but despise Paris, soon became reconciled\nto him, partly from a remnant of her former love for him, and partly from\nher fear of Venus.\n\nIn the meantime, Menelaus was raging through the field in search of him.\nNor could any of the Trojans find him, or they would have given him up;\nfor they hated him like death, as the cause of all their sufferings.\n\nAnd King Agamemnon said to the Trojans, \"Now that the Mars-loving Menelaus\nhath conquered Paris do ye give back to us Helen and all her treasures!\"\nBut this was not to be.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DUEL BETWEEN HECTOR AND AJAX\n\nBy Walter C. Perry\n\n\nAnd now we must speak of Hector, the noble Trojan prince, who, after\nAchilles, was the most famous warrior of the two hostile armies. Achilles,\nindeed, was the son of a goddess, even silver-footed Thetis; while\nHector's mother, Hecuba, was a mortal woman.\n\nWell knowing the dangers to which he was exposed, and how soon he might\nfall in battle, Hector now bethought him of his lovely wife, Andromache,\nand his little boy Astyanax. When he came to the Sc\u00e6an Gate, the Trojan\nwomen came running to him, with eager questions about their husbands,\nsons, and brothers; and sorrow filled their hearts. Among them came his\nfond and generous mother, Hecuba, leading by the hand the fairest of her\ndaughters, Laodice, and she called him by his name, and spoke: \"Dear Son!\nwhy hast thou left the field? Do the Achaians press thee hard? Dost thou\ncome to make prayers to Father Zeus, from the Citadel? But come, I will\nbring thee honey-sweet wine, that thou mayest pour out a libation to\nAlmighty Zeus, the Son of Cronos, and refresh thyself with a draught.\"\n\nBut Hector answered her, \"Bring me no luscious wine, dear mother! lest\nthou rob me of my strength and courage. Nor dare I make a libation to\nZeus, with hands unwashen and soiled with blood. But go thou to the Temple\nof Athene, driver of the spoil; and lay the finest robe, the most precious\nto thyself, upon her knees; and vow to sacrifice twelve fat kine to her;\nand beg her to have mercy on the Trojans, and on their wives and little\nchildren! So, perhaps, she will hold back the terrible warrior, Tydides,\nfrom sacred Ilium. And I will go and seek out Paris; would that the earth\nwould swallow him up! for Zeus hath cherished him to be the bane of his\ncountry, and of his father Priam.\"\n\nThen Hecuba went to her ambrosial chamber, and took the finest of her\nembroidered robes, the work of Sidonian women, which shone like a star;\nand went, with other aged women, to the temple of Athene. And the\nfair-cheeked Theano, daughter of Kisseus, the priestess, wife of Antenor,\nopened the temple gates, and took the shining robe, and laid it upon\nAthene's knees, and prayed to the great daughter of Zeus. But the goddess\ndid not grant her prayer.\n\nBut Hector went his way to the fair palace of Paris, and found him in his\nchamber, polishing his beautiful armor, and proving his curved bow. Then,\nwhen Hector saw him, he reproached him with bitter words. \"O thou strange\nman! thou dost not well to nurse thy spite against the Trojans, who are\nnow perishing before the city, and all for thy sake! Rise, then, now, lest\nthe city be burned with fire!\"\n\nAnd the goodly Paris answered, \"It is not so much by reason of my wrath\nagainst the Trojans, but I would fain indulge my sorrow. My wife, too,\nhath urged me to the battle. Tarry then awhile, and I will don my armor;\nor go thou before, and I will follow.\"\n\nThen the divine Helen, daughter of great Zeus, came and spoke gently to\nHector, and said, \"O brother! brother of vile _me_, who am a dog--would\nthat, when my mother bare me, the storm-wind had snatched me away to a\nmountain, or a billow of the loud-roaring sea had swept me away, before\nall these evil things had befallen me! Would that I had been mated with a\nbetter man than Paris, whose heart is not sound, and never will be. But\ncome, my brother, and sit by me; for thou verily hast suffered most for\nme, who am a dog, and for the grievous sin of Paris, upon whom, surely,\nZeus is bringing evil days; he will be, hereafter, a song of scorn in the\nmouths of future men, through all time to come.\"\n\nBut noble Hector answered her, \"If thou lovest me, dear Helen, bid me not\nstay; for I go to succor my friends, who long for me in my absence. But do\nthou try and rouse this husband of thine, and bid him overtake me. As for\nme, I shall first go to my home, and to my wife and my little son; for who\nknoweth whether I shall ever return to them again?\"\n\nSo spake the glorious Hector, and went his way to his own well-furnished\nhouse; but he found not Andromache there; for she had gone to the tower,\nwith her fair-robed nurse and with her boy, all bathed in tears. Hector\nasked the servants whither the white-armed Andromache was gone; and the\nbusy matron of the house replied, \"She is gone to the tower of holy Troy;\nfor she heard that the Trojans were defeated, and the Achaians\nvictorious.\" Then Hector returned, by the same way, down the wide streets,\nand came to the Sc\u00e6an Gate.\n\nAnd his peerless wife, even Andromache, daughter of the high-minded\nE\u00ebtion, king of Cilicia--she whom he had won by countless gifts--came\nrunning to meet him. And with her came the handmaid, the nurse, bearing in\nher arms Hector's tender boy, Astyanax, beautiful as the morning star. And\nHector smiled, and looked on his darling boy, while Andromache stood\nbeside him weeping. And she clasped his hand, and called him by his name.\n\"O my dear lord, thy dauntless courage will destroy thee! Hast thou no\npity for thy infant child, and for thy hapless wife, who soon will be a\nwidow? It were far better for me to die, if I lose _thee_; for nevermore\ncan I know comfort, but only pain and sorrow. For I shall be utterly\nalone. I have neither father nor mother; for E\u00ebtion, my royal sire, was\nslain by great Achilles. And all my seven brothers went down to Hades on\nthe selfsame day! they too were slain by swift-footed Pelides. But my\nmother was smitten in her father's halls, by the gentle arrows of the\narcher Artemis. Lo! now, _thou_ art all in all to me, father, mother,\nbrother, and dearly loved husband! Come, then, take pity on us, and abide\nin the tower, and make not thy boy an orphan, and thy wife a widow!\"\n\nAnd the glorious Hector of the glancing helm answered her, and said, \"Dear\nWife! I too think of all these things. But how can I shun the battle, like\na coward, to be the mock of the Trojans, and of the Trojan dames with\ntrailing robes? I, who have always fought in the van of battle, and won\nglory for my father and myself? I know that the day will come, when sacred\nIlium shall be leveled with the ground, and Priam and the people of Priam\nshall perish. But it is not so much the fate of Priam, and of my mother,\nHecuba, and of my brethren, which fills my soul with anguish; but it is\n_thy_ misery, dear one, in the day when some Achaian warrior shall bear\nthee away, weeping, and rob thee of thy freedom. Thou, alas! wilt abide in\nArgos, and ply the loom, the slave of another woman; or bear water from\nthe Hypereian fount, being harshly treated! And one will say, as he\nlooketh upon thee, 'This was the wife of Hector, the foremost of the\nhorse-taming Trojans in the war round Ilium.' But may the deep earth cover\n_me_, ere I hear thee crying in the day of thy captivity.\"\n\nSo spake he, and held out his arms to take his darling boy. But the child\nshrank crying, and nestled in the bosom of his well-girdled nurse; for he\nfeared the horsehair crest, nodding terribly from the brazen helmet. Then\nthe fond parents laughed; and Hector doffed his helmet, and laid it on the\nground. And he kissed his dear child, and fondled him, and prayed thus to\nZeus:--\n\n\"O Zeus! and all ye Gods! grant that this, my son, may like me be foremost\nto fight among the Trojans, and rule as a king in Ilium; so that men may\nsay, 'He is far better than his father'!\"\n\nThus speaking, he laid the child in the fragrant bosom of his dear wife\nAndromache; and he pitied her, and caressed her with his hand, and called\nher by her name. \"Dear one! be not thus utterly cast down. No man can slay\nme till my hour of destiny is come. But no man, when once he hath been\nborn, can escape his fate, be he a brave man or a coward. Go thou to thy\nhouse, to the distaff and the loom, and make thy maidens ply their labors.\nBut _men_ shall engage in war, and I the first of all in Troy.\"\n\nSo spake Hector of the glancing helmet, and went his way. And his dear\nwife went to her home, looking back at him as she went, shedding bitter\ntears. And she found her maidens there, and with them she bewailed her\nlord, while yet he lived; for they feared that he would never again return\nfrom battle.\n\nAnd the goodly Paris donned his beautiful armor, and hastened after his\nbrother, whom he overtook, and he made excuse for his long tarrying. And\nHector answered him, \"No man can justly speak lightly of thy deeds, for\nthou art strong; but thou art slack and careless, and I am grieved when I\nhear shameful things said of thee by the Trojans, who for thee bear so\nmuch toil. But let us be going.\"\n\nSo the twain brothers, the glorious Hector and the goodly Paris, went\nforth to the battle. And Paris slew Menesthius, of Arne, son of Are\u00efthous;\nand Hector smote noble E\u00efoneus in the neck, and relaxed his limbs in\ndeath. And Glaucus, captain of the Lycian allies, cast his spear at\nIphinous, and pierced his shoulder; and he fell from his chariot, and his\nlimbs were loosened.\n\nBut when the fierce-eyed Athene saw the Trojans making havoc of the\nAchaians, she rushed down from the peaks of Olympus, to sacred Ilium. And\nApollo, who favored the Trojans, saw her from Pergamus, and hastened to\nmeet her; and they met by the beech-tree, and Apollo of the Silver Bow\naddressed her: \"Why dost thou come, O Daughter of the Loud-Thunderer? Is\nit to bring victory to the Greeks? for thou hast no pity on the Trojans.\nBut hearken unto me, and let us stop the battle for this day--hereafter\nthey shall fight again.\"\n\nAnd the fierce-eyed goddess answered him, \"Be it so, Far-Darter! for this\nwas my purpose when I came from high Olympus. But how thinkest thou to\nmake the war to cease?\"\n\nThen King Apollo spake. \"Let us rouse the valiant spirit of horse-taming\nHector, to challenge one of the Greeks to deadly single combat.\" And the\nfierce-eyed Maid assented to his words.\n\nAnd the dear son of royal Priam, Helenus, the wise augur, who knew the\ncounsel of the Gods, drew near to Hector, and spake thus to him: \"Dear\nbrother, who art peer of Zeus in counsel, wouldst thou listen to me? Make\nthe Trojans and the Achaians sit down; and do thou challenge the bravest\nof the Achaians to meet thee in single combat. I hear the voice of the\ndeathless Gods, that it is not yet thy lot to die.\"\n\nAnd the great Hector rejoiced at his words; and going into the throng, he\nheld back the companies of the Trojans with his spear, holding it in the\nmiddle, and made them all sit down. And Agamemnon made the well-greaved\nAchaians sit down. And Athene and Apollo, in the form of vultures, sat on\na lofty tree, and watched the hosts. And Hector stood between the two\narmies, and spake: \"Hear me, ye Trojans and Achaians! Amongst you are the\ngreat chiefs of the Achaians. Now let one of these be your champion, to\nfight with me, Hector: and I call Zeus to witness, that if he slay me, you\nshall let him carry off my armor, but give my body to the Trojans, that\nthey may render to me the honor of the funeral pyre. But if the Far-Darter\nshall grant me glory, that I may slay _him_, then will I strip him of his\narmor, and hang it in the Temple of Apollo; but his lifeless body I will\ngive back to the long-haired Achaians, that they may bury him, and build\nhim a barrow by the Hellespont.\"\n\nThus spake the glorious Hector; but all were silent; for they were afraid\nto meet him. Then, at last, Menelaus, groaning deeply, reproached the\nAchaians, and said, \"O ye women of Achaia, no longer _men!_ surely this\nwill be an everlasting shame to us, if none of the Greeks dare to fight\nwith the noble Hector! But I myself will arm me; for the issues of victory\nare with the Gods.\"\n\nAnd he began to put on his dazzling armor. And now wouldst thou, Menelaus,\nhave yielded up thy life at the hands of Hector; but the great ruler,\nAgamemnon, rose up and stayed thee. \"Art thou mad, O foster-son of Zeus?\nDraw back, though with grief and pain; and think not to fight with Hector,\nthe man-slaying son of Priam; for he is a far better man than thou, even\ngodlike Achilles feareth to meet this man in battle. Go then and sit down;\nand we will choose another champion.\"\n\nAnd the fair-haired Menelaus obeyed his brother's words, and his henchmen\ngladly took off his bright armor. And the wise Nestor arose, and upbraided\nall the Achaian chiefs: \"Fie on us! Shame and lamentation have come upon\nus all. Surely the aged Peleus, the goodly king of the Myrmidons, would\ndeeply groan, if he heard that we are all cowering before great Hector; he\nwould pray that his soul might leave his body and go down to Hades. Would\nto Zeus, and to Athene and Apollo, that I were young, as when the Pylians\nmet the Arcadians in battle, and Ereuthalion, the squire of King Lycurgus\nof Arcadia, wearing the divine armor of Are\u00efthous, of the iron mace,\nbefore the walls of Pheia, by the waters of Iardanus, challenged all our\nhost; and they were afraid and trembled. Then I, the youngest of all,\nstood up and fought with him, and Athene gave me great glory; for he was\nthe tallest man, and of the greatest bulk, that I have ever slain. Would\nthat I were still so young and strong! But of you, leaders of the\nAchaians, not one has heart enough to meet great Hector.\"\n\nThe wise old man's reproaches filled the Achaian chiefs with shame; and\nnine of them rose up, ready to fight; namely, Agamemnon, king of men; and\nthe stalwart Diomedes; and Idomeneus, and his brother in arms, Meriones,\nequal in fight to murderous Mars; and Eurypylus, and Thaus, and the wily\nUlysses, and two others. Then Nestor spake again. \"Now cast lots for him\nthat shall be champion.\" Then each man marked his lot, and threw it into\nAgamemnon's helmet; and all men prayed that the lot might fall on Ajax or\nDiomedes, or the king of rich Mycen\u00e6. Then Nestor shook the helmet, and\nthe lot of Ajax leapt out; and the herald placed it in the hand of mighty\nAjax, and he was glad; for he said, \"I think that I shall vanquish goodly\nHector.\" And they all prayed to the Son of Cronos, to give victory to\nAjax, or to grant unto each of them equal glory and renown.\n\nThen huge Ajax donned his bright armor of bronze, and came forth like the\nwar-god Mars when he goeth to battle. The Achaians were glad, but the\nTrojans trembled; and even the brave Hector felt his heart beat quicker in\nhis breast. But he would not shrink from the combat, seeing that he had\nhimself challenged all the Achaians. And Ajax came on, bearing a mighty\nshield, like a tower, which Tychius, the cunning leather-worker, had made\nfor him, of sevenfold hides of lusty bulls, all overlaid with bronze. And\nhe stood near godlike Hector, and spake: \"Now shalt thou see what manner\nof men the Greeks have among them, even now when Achilles, the\nlion-hearted, hath left us in his wrath. But do thou begin the fight!\"\n\nAnd Hector answered him, \"Great Ajax, son of Telamon, sprung from Zeus!\nspeak not to me as if I were a poor weak boy, or a woman! for I too have\nknowledge of war and slaughter. I know how to charge into the midst of the\nchariots, or, at close quarters, to join in the wild dance of Mars.\" He\nsaid, and hurled his long-shafted spear, and struck the sevenfold shield\nof Ajax; it passed through six folds, but was stopped by the seventh.\n\nThen Ajax, sprung from Zeus, threw his ponderous lance at the shield of\nmighty Priam's son. It passed right through the bright shield, and through\nthe well-wrought corselet, and rent his tunic; but he swerved aside, and\nescaped gloomy death. Then the two fell upon each other, like ravening\nlions or wild boars; and Hector smote the shield of Ajax with his spear,\nbut the sharp point was turned by the stout buckler. Then Ajax leapt upon\nhim, and drove his spear at Hector's neck, making a wound from which the\ndark blood flowed.\n\nBut Hector, undismayed, took up a great stone from the ground, and with it\nsmote the boss of Ajax's shield. And Ajax heaved up a far bigger stone and\nthrew it on the buckler of Hector, and it fell on him like a huge\nmillstone, and stretched him on his back! But Apollo raised him, and set\nhim on his legs again.\n\nThen they would have furiously attacked each other with their swords, had\nnot the Achaian herald, Talthybius, and the Trojan herald, Idaius,\nintervened and stopped the fight, holding their staves of office between\nthe godlike warriors; and Idaius spake to them: \"Fight no longer, brave\nyouths; for Zeus loveth you both; and we know well what gallant warriors\nye are. Night is upon us, whose commands it behooveth us to obey.\"\n\nAnd the Telamonian Ajax answered, \"Let Hector say those words; for it was\nhe who challenged us.\"\n\nAnd Hector of the shining helmet said, \"Ajax, since thou hast received\nstrength and wisdom from the Gods, and dost excel all the Achaians in the\nfight, let us now cease from battle for the day, and hereafter we will\nfight again, until the Gods shall give victory to one of us. Go now, and\nrejoice thy friends and kinsmen by the ships, and I will gladden the\nhearts of Trojan men and long-robed dames in the holy city of King Priam.\nBut now let us exchange costly gifts, that Trojans and Achaians may say of\nus that we, having met in this heart-gnawing strife, have parted like good\nfriends.\" He spake, and gave to Ajax a silver-studded sword; and Ajax gave\nhim a purple belt. So they parted, and went their way; the one to the\nships of the Achaians, and the other to the holy city of Troy. And the\nTrojans rejoiced that Hector had escaped unhurt from the unapproachable\nhands of mighty Ajax.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF PATROCLUS AND THE BATTLE OF THE RIVER\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\nPatroclus came and stood by the side of Achilles weeping. Then said\nAchilles, \"What ails thee, Patroclus, that thou weepest like a girl-child\nthat runs along by her mother's side, and would be taken up, holding her\ngown, and looking at her with tearful eyes till she lift her in her arms?\nHast thou heard evil news from Phthia? Menoetius yet lives, they say, and\nPeleus. Or art thou weeping for the Greeks, because they perish for their\nfolly?\"\n\nThen said Patroclus, \"Be not wroth with me, great Achilles, for indeed the\nGreeks are in grievous straits, and all their bravest are wounded, and\nstill thou cherishest thy wrath. Surely Peleus was not thy father, nor\nThetis thy mother; but the rocks begat thee, and the sea brought thee\nforth. Or if thou goest not to battle, fearing some warning from the Gods,\nyet let me go, and thy Myrmidons with me. And let me put thy armor on me;\nso shall the Greeks have breathing-space from the war.\"\n\nSo he spake, entreating, nor knew that for his own doom he entreated. And\nAchilles made reply,--\n\n\"It is no warning that I heed, that I keep back from the war. But these\nmen took from me my prize, which I won with my own hands. But let the past\nbe past. I said I would not rise up till the battle should come nigh to my\nown ships. But thou mayest put my armor upon thee, and lead my Myrmidons\nto the fight. For in truth the men of Troy are gathered as a dark cloud\nabout the ships, and the Greeks have scarce standing-ground between them\nand the sea. For they see not the gleam of my helmet. And Diomed is not\nthere with his spear; nor do I hear the voice of Agamemnon, but only the\nvoice of Hector as he calls the men of Troy to the battle. Go, therefore,\nPatroclus, and drive the fire from the ships. And then come thou back, nor\nfight any more with the Trojans, lest thou take my glory from me. And go\nnot near, in the delight of the battle, to the walls of Troy, lest one of\nthe Gods meet thee to thy hurt; and, of a truth, the keen Archer Apollo\nloves the Trojans well.\"\n\nBut as they talked the one to the other, Ajax could hold out no longer.\nFor swords and javelins came thick upon him, and clattered on his helmet,\nand his shoulder was weary with the great shield which he held; and he\nbreathed heavily and hard, and the great drops of sweat fell upon the\nground. Then at the last Hector came near and smote his spear with a great\nsword, so that the head fell off. Then was Ajax sore afraid, and gave way,\nand the men of Troy set torches to the ship's stem, and a great flame shot\nup to the sky. And Achilles saw it, and smote his thigh and spake:--\n\n\"Haste thee, Patroclus, for I see the fire rising up from the ships. Put\nthou on the armor, and I will call my people to the war.\" So Patroclus put\non the armor--corselet, and shield, and helmet--and bound upon his\nshoulder the silver-studded sword, and took a mighty spear in his hand.\nBut the great Pelian spear he took not, for that no man but Achilles might\nwield. Then Automedon yoked the horses to the chariot, Bayard and Piebald,\nand with them in the side harness, Pedasus; and they two were deathless\nsteeds, but he was mortal.\n\nMeanwhile Achilles had called the Myrmidons to battle. Fifty ships had he\nbrought to Troy, and in each there were fifty men. Five leaders they had,\nand the bravest of the five was Pisander.\n\nThen Achilles said, \"Forget not, ye Myrmidons, the bold words that ye\nspake against the men of Troy during the days of my wrath, making\ncomplaint that I kept you from the battle against your will. Now,\ntherefore, ye have that which you desired.\"\n\nSo the Myrmidons went to the battle in close array, helmet to helmet, and\nshield to shield, close as the stones with which a builder builds a wall.\nAnd in front went Patroclus, and Automedon in the chariot beside him. Then\nAchilles went to his tent and took a great cup from the chest, which\nThetis his mother had given him. Now no man drank of that cup but he only,\nnor did he pour out of it libations to any of the Gods, but only to Zeus.\nThis first he cleansed with sulphur, and then with water from the spring.\nAnd after this he washed his hands, and stood in the midst of the space\nbefore his tent, and poured out of it to Zeus, saying, \"O Zeus, I send my\ncomrade to this battle; make him strong and bold, and give him glory, and\nbring him home safe to the ships, and my people with him.\"\n\nSo he prayed, and Father Zeus heard him, and part he granted and part\ndenied.\n\nBut now Patroclus with the Myrmidons had come to where the battle was\nraging about the ship of Protesilaus, and when the men of Troy beheld him\nthey thought that Achilles had forgotten his wrath and was come forth to\nthe war. And first Patroclus slew Pyr\u00e6chmes, who was the chief of the\nP\u00e6onians who live on the banks of the broad Axius. Then the men of Troy\nturned to flee, and many chiefs of fame fell by the spears of the Greeks.\nSo the battle rolled back to the trench, and in the trench many chariots\nof the Trojans were broken, but the horses of Achilles went across it at a\nstride, so nimble were they and strong. And the heart of Patroclus was set\nto slay Hector; but he could not overtake him, so swift were his horses.\nThen did Patroclus turn his chariot, and keep back those that fled, that\nthey should not go to the city, and rushed hither and thither, still\nslaying as he went.\n\nBut Sarpedon, when he saw the Lycians dismayed and scattered, called to\nthem that they should be of good courage, saying that he would himself\nmake trial of this great warrior. So he leapt down from his chariot, and\nPatroclus also leapt down, and they rushed at each other as two eagles\nrush together. Then first Patroclus struck down Thrasymelus, who was the\ncomrade of Sarpedon; and Sarpedon, who had a spear in either hand, with\nthe one struck the horse Pedasus, which was of mortal breed, on the right\nshoulder, and with the other missed his aim, sending it over the left\nshoulder of Patroclus. But Patroclus missed not his aim, driving his spear\ninto Sarpedon's heart. Then fell the great Lycian chief, as an oak, or a\npoplar, or a pine falls upon the hills before the axe. But he called to\nGlaucus, his companion, saying, \"Now must thou show thyself a good\nwarrior, Glaucus. First call the men of Lycia to fight for me, and do thou\nfight thyself, for it would be foul shame to thee, all thy days, if the\nGreeks should spoil me of my arms.\"\n\nThen he died. But Glaucus was sore troubled, for he could not help him, so\ngrievous was the wound where Teucer had wounded him. Therefore he prayed\nto Apollo, and Apollo helped him and made him whole. Then he went first to\nthe Lycians, bidding them fight for their king, and then to the chiefs of\nthe Trojans, that they should save the body of Sarpedon. And to Hector he\nsaid, \"Little carest thou for thy allies. Lo! Sarpedon is dead, slain by\nPatroclus. Suffer not the Myrmidons to carry him off and do dishonor to\nhis body.\"\n\nBut Hector was troubled to hear such news, and so were all the sons of\nTroy, for Sarpedon was the bravest of the allies, and led most people to\nthe battle. So with a great shout they charged, and drove the Greeks back\na space from the body; and then again the Greeks did the like. And so the\nbattle raged, till no one would have known the great Sarpedon, so covered\nwas he with spears and blood and dust. But at the last the Greeks drave\nback the men of Troy from the body, and stripped the arms, but the body\nitself they harmed not. For Apollo came down at the bidding of Zeus, and\ncarried it out of the midst of the battle, and washed it with water, and\nanointed it with ambrosia, and wrapped it in garments of the Gods. And\nthen he gave it to Sleep and Death, and these two carried it to Lycia, his\nfatherland.\n\nThen did Patroclus forget the word which Achilles had spoken to him, that\nhe should not go near to Troy, for he pursued the men of the city even to\nthe wall. Thrice he mounted on the angle of the wall, and thrice Apollo\nhimself drove him back, pushing his shining shield. But the fourth time\nthe god said, \"Go thou back, Patroclus. It is not for thee to take the\ncity of Troy; no, nor for Achilles, who is far better than thou art.\"\n\nSo Patroclus went back, fearing the wrath of the archer god. Then Apollo\nstirred up the spirit of Hector, that he should go against Patroclus.\nTherefore he went, with his brother Cebriones for driver of his chariot.\nBut when they came near, Patroclus cast a great stone which he had in his\nhand, and smote Cebriones on the forehead, crushing it in, so that he fell\nheadlong from the chariot. And Patroclus mocked him, saying,--\n\n\"How nimble is this man! how lightly he dives! What spoil he would take of\noysters, diving from a ship, even in a stormy sea! Who would have thought\nthat there were such skillful divers in Troy!\"\n\nThen again the battle waxed hot about the body of Cebriones, and this too,\nat the last, the Greeks drew unto themselves, and spoiled it of the arms.\nAnd this being accomplished, Patroclus rushed against the men of Troy.\nThrice he rushed, and each time he slew nine chiefs of fame. But the\nfourth time Apollo stood behind him and struck him on the head and\nshoulders, so that his eyes were darkened. And the helmet fell from off\nhis head, so that the horse-hair plumes were soiled with dust. Never\nbefore had it touched the ground, for it was the helmet of Achilles. And\nalso the god brake the spear in his hand, and struck the shield from his\narms, and loosed his corselet. All amazed he stood, and then Euphorbus,\nson of Panthous, smote him on the back with his spear, but slew him not.\nThen Patroclus sought to flee to the ranks of his comrades. But Hector saw\nhim, and thrust at him with his spear, smiting him in the groin, so that\nhe fell. And when the Greeks saw him fall, they sent up a terrible cry.\nThen Hector stood over him and cried,--\n\n\"Didst thou think to spoil our city, Patroclus, and to carry away our\nwives and daughters in the ships? But lo! I have slain thee, and the fowls\nof the air shall eat thy flesh; nor shall the great Achilles help thee at\nall,--Achilles, who bade thee, I trow, strip the tunic from my breast, and\nthou thoughtest in thy folly to do it.\"\n\nBut Patroclus answered, \"Thou boasteth much, Hector. Yet _thou_ didst not\nslay me, but Apollo, who took from me my arms, for had twenty such as thou\nmet me, I had slain them all. And mark thou this: death and fate are close\nto thee by the hand of the great Achilles.\"\n\nAnd Hector answered, but Patroclus was dead already, \"Why dost thou\nprophesy death to me? Maybe the great Achilles himself shall fall by my\nhand.\" Then he drew his spear from the wound, and went after Automedon, to\nslay him, but the swift horse of Achilles carried him away.\n\nFierce was the fight about the body of Patroclus, and many heroes fell,\nboth on this side and on that.\n\n[Illustration: FIERCE WAS THE FIGHT ABOUT THE BODY OF PATROCLUS AND MANY\nHEROES FELL]\n\nMeanwhile Antilochus, son of Nestor, ran to Achilles and said, \"I bring\nill news; Patroclus lies low. The Greeks fight for his body, but Hector\nhath his arms.\"\n\nThen Achilles took of the dust of the plain in his hand, and poured it on\nhis head, and lay at his length upon the ground, and tare his hair. And\nall the women wailed. And Antilochus sat weeping; but ever he held the\nhands of Achilles, lest he should slay himself in his great grief.\n\nThen came his mother, hearing his cry, from where she sat in the depths of\nthe sea, and laid her hand on him and said,--\n\n\"Why weepest thou, my son? Hide not the matter from me, but tell me.\"\n\nAnd Achilles answered, \"All that Zeus promised thee for me he hath\nfulfilled. But what profit have I, for my friend Patroclus is dead, and\nHector has the arms which I gave him to wear. And as for me, I care not to\nlive, except I can avenge me upon him.\"\n\nThen said Thetis, \"Nay, my son, speak not thus. For when Hector dieth, thy\ndoom also is near.\"\n\nAnd Achilles spake in great wrath: \"Would that I might die this hour,\nseeing that I could not help my friend, but am a burden on the earth,--I,\nwho am better in battle than all the Greeks besides. Cursed be the wrath\nthat sets men to strive the one with the other, even as it set me to\nstrive with King Agamemnon! But let the past be past. And as for my\nfate--let it come when it may, so that I first avenge myself on Hector.\nWherefore, seek not to keep me back from the battle.\"\n\nThen Thetis said, \"Be it so; only thou canst not go without thy arms which\nHector hath. But to-morrow will I go to Vulcan, that he may furnish thee\nanew.\"\n\nBut while they talked the men of Troy pressed the Greeks more and more,\nand the two heroes, Ajax the Greater and Ajax the Less, could no longer\nkeep Hector back, but that he should lay hold of the body of Patroclus.\nAnd indeed he would have taken it, but that Zeus sent Iris to Achilles,\nwho said,--\n\n\"Rouse thee, son of Peleus, or Patroclus will be a prey for the dogs of\nTroy.\"\n\nBut Achilles said, \"How shall I go?--for arms have I none, nor know I\nwhose I might wear. Haply I could shift with the shield of Ajax, son of\nTelamon, but he, I know, is carrying it in the front of the battle.\"\n\nThen answered Iris, \"Go only to the trench and show thyself; so shall the\nmen of Troy tremble and cease from the battle, and the Greeks shall have\nbreathing-space.\"\n\nSo he went, and Athene put her \u00e6gis about his mighty shoulders, and a\ngolden halo about his head, making it shine as a flame of fire, even as\nthe watch-fires shine at night from some city that is beseiged. Then went\nhe to the trench; with the battle he mingled not, heeding his mother's\ncommands, but he shouted aloud, and his voice was as the sound of a\ntrumpet. And when the men of Troy heard, they were stricken with fear, and\nthe horses backed with the chariots, and the drivers were astonished when\nthey saw the flaming fire above his head which Athene had kindled. Thrice\nacross the trench the great Achilles shouted, and thrice the men of Troy\nfell back. And that hour there perished twelve chiefs of fame, wounded by\ntheir own spears or trampled by their own steeds, so great was the terror\namong the men of Troy.\n\nRight gladly did the Greeks take Patroclus out of the press. Then they\nlaid him on a bier, and carried him to the tent, Achilles walking with\nmany tears by his side.\n\nBut on the other side the men of Troy held an assembly. Standing they held\nit, for none dared to sit, lest Achilles should be upon them.\n\nThen spake Polydamas: \"Let us not wait here for the morning. It was well\nfor us to fight at the ships while Achilles yet kept his wrath against\nAgamemnon. But now it is not so, for to-morrow he will come against us in\nhis anger, and many will fall before him. Wherefore, let us go back to the\ncity, for high are the walls and strong the gates, and he will perish\nbefore he pass them.\"\n\nThen said Hector, \"This is ill counsel, Polydamas. Shall we shut ourselves\nup in the city, where all our goods are wasted already, buying meat for\nthe people? Nay, let us watch to-night, and to-morrow will we fight with\nthe Greeks. And if Achilles be indeed come forth from his tent, be it so.\nI will not shun to meet him, for Mars gives the victory now to one man and\nnow to another.\"\n\nSo he spake, and all the people applauded, not knowing what the morrow\nshould bring forth.\n\nThus did it come to pass that Achilles went again into the battle, eager\nabove all things to meet with Hector and to slay him.\n\nBut Apollo stood by \u00c6neas, and spake to him: \"\u00c6neas, where are now thy\nboastings that thou wouldst meet Achilles face to face?\"\n\nThen \u00c6neas answered, \"Nay, I have stood up against him in the day when he\ntook the town of Lyrnessus. But I fled before him, and only my nimble feet\nsaved me from falling by his spear. Surely a god is ever with him, making\nhis spear to fly aright.\"\n\nHim Apollo answered again, \"Thou, too, art the son of a goddess, and thy\nmother is greater than his, for she is but a daughter of the sea. Drive\nstraight at him with thy spear, and let not his threats dismay thee.\"\n\nThen \u00c6neas stood out from the press to meet Achilles and Achilles said,\n\"Fightest thou with me because thou hopest to reign over the men of Troy,\nor have they given thee a choice portion of ground, ploughland and\norchard, to be thine when thou hast slain me? Thou wilt not find it easy.\nDost thou not remember how thou fleddest before me in the day that I took\nLyrnessus?\"\n\nThen \u00c6neas answered, \"Think not to terrify me with words, son of Peleus,\nfor I, too, am the son of a goddess. Let us make a trial one of the\nother.\"\n\nThen he cast his spear, and it struck the shield of Achilles with so\ndreadful a sound that the hero feared lest it should pierce it through,\nknowing not that the gifts of the Gods are not easy for mortal man to\nvanquish. Two folds, indeed, it pierced, that were of bronze, but in the\ngold it was stayed, and there were yet two of tin within. Then Achilles\ncast his spear. Through the shield of \u00c6neas it passed, and though it\nwounded him not, yet was he sore dismayed, so near it came. Then Achilles\ndrew his sword, and rushed on \u00c6neas, and \u00c6neas caught up a great stone to\ncast at him. But it was not the will of the Gods that \u00c6neas should perish,\nseeing that he and his sons after him should rule over the men of Troy in\nthe ages to come. Therefore Neptune lifted him up, and bore him over the\nranks of men to the left of the battle, but first he drew the spear out of\nthe shield, and laid it at the feet of Achilles. Much the hero marveled to\nsee it, crying, \"This is a great wonder that I behold with mine eyes. For\nI see my spear before me, but the man whom I sought to slay, I see not. Of\na truth \u00c6neas spake truth, saying that he was dear to the immortal Gods.\"\n\nThen he rushed into the battle, slaying as he went. And Hector would have\nmet him, but Apollo stood by him and said, \"Fight not with Achilles, lest\nhe slay thee.\" Therefore he went back among the men of Troy. Many did\nAchilles slay, and among them Polydorus, son of Priam, who, because he was\nthe youngest and very dear, his father suffered not to go to the battle.\nYet he went, in his folly, and being very swift of foot, he trusted in his\nspeed, running through the foremost of the fighters. But as he ran\nAchilles smote him and wounded him to the death. When Hector saw it, he\ncould not bear any more to stand apart. Therefore he rushed at Achilles,\nand Achilles rejoiced to see him, saying, \"This is the man who slew my\ncomrade;\" and to Hector he cried, \"Come hither, and taste of death.\"\n\nAnd Hector made answer, \"Son of Peleus, seek not to make me afraid with\nwords. For though I be weaker than thou, yet victory lieth on the knees of\nthe Gods, and I, too, bear a spear.\"\n\nThen he cast his spear, but Athene turned it aside with her breath, and\nlaid it again at his feet. And when Achilles leapt upon Hector with a\nshout, Apollo snatched him away. Three times did Achilles leap upon him,\nand three times he struck only the mist. But the fourth time he cried with\na terrible voice, \"Dog, thou hast escaped from death, Apollo helping thee;\nbut I shall meet thee again, and make an end of thee.\"\n\nThen Achilles turned to the others, and slew multitudes of them, so that\nthey fled, some across the plain, and some to the river, the eddying\nXanthus. And these leapt into the water as locusts leap into a river when\na fire which men light drives them from the fields. And all the river was\nfull of horses and men. Then Achilles leapt into the stream, leaving his\nspear on the bank, resting on the tamarisk trees. Only his sword had he,\nand with this he slew many; and they were as fishes which fly from some\ngreat dolphin in the sea. In all the bays of a harbor they hide\nthemselves, for the great beast devours them apace. So did the Trojans\nhide themselves under the banks of the river. And when Achilles was weary\nof slaying, he took twelve alive, whom he would slay on the tomb of\nPatroclus.\n\nYet there was one man who dared to stand up against him, while the others\nfled. This was Asterop\u00e6us, who was the grandson of the river-god Axius,\nand led the men of P\u00e6onia. And Achilles wondered to see him, and said,\n\"Who art thou that standest against me?\"\n\nAnd he said, \"I am the grandson of the river-god Axius, fairest of all the\nstreams on the earth, and I lead the men of P\u00e6onia.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he cast two spears, one with each hand, for he could use\neither alike; and the one struck the shield, nor pierced it through, for\nthe gold staved it, and the other grazed the right hand of Achilles so\nthat the blood spurted forth. Then did Achilles cast his spear, but missed\nhis aim, and the great spear stood fast in the bank. And thrice Asterop\u00e6us\nstrove to draw it forth. Thrice he strove in vain, and the fourth time he\nstrove to break the spear. But as he strove Achilles smote him that he\ndied. Yet had he some glory, for that he wounded the great Achilles.\n\nWhen the River saw that Asterop\u00e6us was dead, and that Achilles was slaying\nmany of the P\u00e6onians--for these were troubled, their chief being dead--he\ntook upon him the shape of a man, and spake to Achilles, saying, \"Truly,\nAchilles, thou excellest all other men in might and deeds of blood, for\nthe Gods themselves protect thee. It may be that Zeus hath given thee to\nslay all the sons of Troy; nevertheless, depart from me and work thy will\nupon the plain; for my stream is choked with the multitude of corpses, nor\ncan I pass to the sea. Do thou, therefore, cease from troubling me.\"\n\nTo him Achilles made answer, \"This shall be as thou wilt, O Scamander. But\nthe Trojans I will not cease from slaying till I have driven them into\ntheir city and have made trial of Hector, whether I shall vanquish him or\nhe shall vanquish me.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he sped on, pursuing the Trojans. Then the River cried to\nApollo, \"Little thou doest the will of thy father, thou of the Silver Bow,\nwho bade thee stand by the men of Troy and help them till darkness should\ncover the land.\" And he rushed on with a great wave, stirring together all\nhis streams. The dead bodies he threw upon the shore, roaring as a bull\nroareth; and them that lived he hid in the depths of his eddies. And all\nabout Achilles rose up the flood, beating full upon his shield, so that he\ncould not stand fast upon his feet. Then Achilles laid hold of a\nlime-tree, fair and tall, that grew upon the bank; but the tree brake\ntherefrom with all its roots, and tare down the bank, and lay across the\nRiver, staying its flood, for it had many branches. Thereupon Achilles\nleapt out of the water and sped across the plain, being sore afraid. But\nthe River ceased not from pursuing him, that he might stay him from\nslaughter and save the sons of Troy. So far as a man may throw a spear, so\nfar did Achilles leap; strong as an eagle was he, the hunting-bird that is\nthe strongest and swiftest of all birds. And still as he fled the River\npursued after him with a great roar. Even as it is with a man that would\nwater his garden, bringing a stream from a fountain; he has a pick-axe in\nhis hand to break down all that would stay the water; and the stream runs\non, rolling the pebbles along with it, and overtakes him that guides it.\nEven so did the River overtake Achilles, for all that he was swift of\nfoot, for indeed the Gods are mightier than men. And when Achilles would\nhave stood against the River, seeking to know whether indeed all the Gods\nwere against him, then the great wave smote upon his shoulders; and when\nhe leapt into the air, it bowed his knees beneath him and devoured the\nground from under his feet. Then Achilles looked up to heaven and groaned,\ncrying out, \"O Zeus, will none of the Gods pity me, and save me from the\nRiver? I care not what else may befall me. Truly my mother hath deceived\nme, saying that I should perish under the walls of Troy by the arrows of\nApollo. Surely it had been better that Hector should slay me, for he is\nthe bravest of the men of Troy, but now I shall perish miserably in the\nRiver, as some herd-boy perisheth whom a torrent sweeps away in a storm.\"\n\nSo he spake; but Poseidon and Athene stood by him, having taken upon them\nthe shape of men, and took him by the hand and strengthened him with\ncomforting words, for Poseidon spake, saying, \"Son of Peleus, tremble not,\nneither be afraid. It is not thy fate to be mastered by the River. He\nshall soon cease from troubling thee. And do thou heed what we say. Stay\nnot thy hands from the battle, till thou shalt have driven all the sons of\nTroy that escape thee within the walls of the city. And when thou shalt\nhave slain Hector, go back to the ships; for this day is the day of thy\nglory.\"\n\nThen the two departed from him. Now all the plain was covered with water,\nwherein floated much fair armor and many dead bodies. But Achilles went on\neven against the stream, nor could the River hold him back; for Athene put\ngreat might into his heart. Yet did not Scamander cease from his wrath,\nbut lifted his waves yet higher, and cried aloud to Simois, \"Dear brother,\nlet us two stay the fury of this man, or else of a surety he will destroy\nthe city of Priam. Come now, fill all thy streams and rouse thy torrents\nagainst him, and lift up against him a mighty wave with a great concourse\nof tree-trunks and stones, that we may stay this wild man from his\nfighting. Very high thoughts hath he, even as a god; yet shall neither his\nmight nor his beauty nor his fair form profit him; for they shall be\ncovered with much mud; and over himself will I heap abundance of sand\nbeyond all counting. Neither shall the Greeks be able to gather his bones\ntogether, with such a heap will I hide them. Surely a great tomb will I\nbuild for him; nor will his people have need to make a mound over him when\nthey would bury him.\"\n\nThen he rushed again upon Achilles, swelling high with foam and blood and\ndead bodies of men. Very dark was the wave as it rose, and was like to\nhave overwhelmed the man, so that Juno greatly feared for him, lest the\nRiver should sweep him away. And she cried to Vulcan, her son, saying,\n\"Rouse thee, Haltfoot, my son! I thought that thou wouldst have been a\nmatch for Scamander in battle. But come, help us, and bring much fire with\nthee; and I will call the west wind and the south wind from the sea, with\nsuch a storm as shall consume the sons of Troy, both them and their arms.\nAnd do thou burn the trees that are by the banks of Xanthus, yea, and the\nRiver himself. And let him not turn thee from thy purpose by fury or by\ncraft; but burn till I shall bid thee cease.\"\n\nThen Vulcan lit a great fire. First he burned the dead bodies that lay\nupon the plain, and it dried all the plain, as the north wind in the\nautumn time dries a field, to the joy of him that tills it. After this it\nlaid hold of the River. The lime-trees and the willows and the tamarisks\nit burned; also the plants that grew in the streams. And the eels and the\nfishes were sore distressed, twisting hither and thither in the water,\nbeing troubled by the breath of Vulcan. So the might of the River was\nsubdued, and he cried aloud, \"O Vulcan, no one of the Gods can match\nhimself with thee. Cease now from consuming me; and Achilles may drive the\nmen of Troy from their city if he will. What have I to do with the strife\nand sorrow of men?\"\n\nSo he spake, for all his streams were boiling--as a cauldron boils with a\ngreat fire beneath it, when a man would melt the fat of a great hog; nor\ncould he flow any longer to the sea, so sorely did the breath of the\nFire-god trouble him. Then he cried aloud to Juno, entreating her: \"O\nJuno, why doth thy son torment me only among all? Why should I be blamed\nmore than others that help the men of Troy? Verily, I will cease from\nhelping them, if he also will cease. Nay, I will swear a great oath that I\nwill keep no more the day of doom from the sons of Troy; no, not when all\nthe city shall be consumed with fire.\"\n\nAnd Queen Juno heard him, and called to Vulcan, saying, \"Cease, my son; it\ndoth not beseem thee to work such damage to a god for the sake of a mortal\nman.\"\n\nSo Vulcan quenched his fire, and the River flowed as he flowed before.\n\n\n\n\nVULCAN MAKES ARMOR FOR ACHILLES\n\nBy Walter C. Perry\n\n\nOn high Olympus, the Loud-thundering Zeus spake mockingly to his consort,\nJuno, and said, \"At length, thou hast what thou desirest, and hast roused\nAchilles to fight against the Trojans. Surely, the long-haired Achaians\nmust be thine own children, since thou lovest them so dearly!\"\n\nAnd the ox-eyed queen replied, \"Dread son of Cronos! what words are these\nwhich have passed the barrier of thy teeth? Even a mortal man doth what he\ncan to help another; and shall not I, the chief of goddesses by birth and\nas thy wife--O thou king of the deathless Gods!--shall not _I_ avenge\nmyself upon the men of Troy?\"\n\nThus these two strove with one another.\n\nMeantime, the silver-footed Thetis came to the splendid palace of Vulcan,\nbright and immortal, which shone like a star among the mansions of the\nGods. She found him at his bellows, sweating from his mighty toil; for he\nwas forging twenty tripods, to stand round the walls of his well-built\nmansion. Beneath each of them he placed wheels of gold; and they move, of\nthemselves, into the assembly of the Gods, and so return.\n\nWhile he was thus employed, the silver-footed Thetis approached the house.\nAnd Charis, of the shining veil, the wedded wife of Vulcan (whose first\nwife had been Aphrodite or Venus), came forth to meet her, and took her by\nthe hand, and called her by her name. \"O long-robed Thetis! dear and\nhonored as thou art! not oft, I ween, dost thou come to visit us. But\nfollow me, that I may show thee due hospitality.\"\n\nThen she led the way in, and seated Thetis on a lofty chair with silver\nstuds, beautiful, and cunningly wrought, and placed a footstool beneath\nher shining feet. And she called to Vulcan, the divine artificer, \"Come\nhither, Vulcan! for the silver-footed Thetis seeketh thine aid.\"\n\nAnd the glorious lame god answered, \"Revered and dear to me is she; for\nshe saved me, when my shameless mother threw me down from heaven; and I\nshould have suffered dire anguish had not Eurynome, daughter of Oceanos,\nand Thetis taken me to their hearts and comforted me. Nine years I spent\nwith them, and fashioned all kinds of curious work of bronze--clasps, and\nspiral bracelets, and ear-rings, like the calyx of a flower, and\nnecklaces--in the hollow grot, while all around me roared the streams of\ngreat Oceanus. And none of the other Gods knew where I was, but only\nThetis and Eurynome. And now that she is come, a welcome guest, to my\nhouse, I will repay the fair-haired nymph in every way, for saving my\nlife.\"\n\nSo saying, he raised his mighty bulk from the block, and, limping on his\nslender legs, moved quickly; and he put away his bellows, and placed his\ntools in a silver chest, and sponged his face and hands, his strong neck\nand hairy breast; then he donned his tunic, and leaning on a staff, he\nlimped along. And golden handmaids, in the form of living maidens, came to\nhelp their lord; these have intelligent minds, and human voices, and skill\nfrom the deathless Gods. And he went with halting gait, and seated himself\non a shining throne, near the silver-footed Thetis; and he took her by the\nhand, and said to her, \"O dear and honored Thetis of the flowing robes!\nwhy comest thou to our house, thou, an infrequent guest?\"\n\nThen the silver-footed goddess answered him, \"O Vulcan! hath Zeus, the son\nof Cronos, laid on any other goddess in Olympus such grievous woes as on\n_me_, unhappy that I am? He chose out me, from all the sea nymphs, to\nendure marriage with a mortal. A son I bare, the greatest of heroes. I\nbrought him up, like a young tree in a fruitful soil, and sent him in a\nhigh-peaked ship to war against the Trojans; but never again will he\nreturn to me, in the halls of his aged father Peleus. And even while I yet\nsee him, and he beholdeth the light of the sun, he is full of grief, and I\ncannot help him. For King Agamemnon took away his prize, the dearly loved\nmaiden Brise\u00efs. For the loss of her, he pined and wept; nor would he allow\nhis Myrmidons to join in the battle, though the Achaians were hard pressed\nand driven to their ships. The chiefs of the Argives came to him with\nprayers and tears, and many costly gifts. And though he refused himself to\nrescue them, he suffered Patroclus to put on his divine armor, and sent\nmany of the Myrmidons with him to the battle. And the son of Menoetius\nperformed high deeds of valor, and went near to sack the city. But the\nFar-Darting Apollo and glorious Hector slew him, and gained immortal\nglory. And now, I come as a suppliant, to clasp thy knees, and to pray\nthat thou wouldst give my short-lived son a shield, a helmet, a\nbreastplate, and goodly greaves.\"\n\nThen the lame god, the famous artificer, replied, \"Be of good cheer, O\nsilver-footed Queen, and be not troubled about these things! Would that I\ncould as surely save him from mournful death, as that I will supply him\nwith goodly armor, a wonder to behold!\"\n\nAnd he returned to his workshop, and bade his bellows--there were twenty\nof them--blow the blasts on the fire and prepare the earthen moulds; and\nas Vulcan willed, the work was done. He melted the tough bronze and tin,\nthe gold and silver, with the fire; and placed an anvil and took a strong\nhammer in one hand, and tongs in the other, and with these he worked.\n\nFirst, he made the shield, broad and strong, with many decorations. Around\nit he placed a triple bright rim, and a silver strap depended from it. The\nshield itself was formed with five zones, in each of which he fashioned\nmany curious works.\n\nTherein he fashioned the Earth, the Sky, the Sea, the unwearied Sun, the\nMoon at the full, and all the bright luminaries which crown the azure\nfirmament: the Pleiades, daughters of Atlas, the Hyades, the mighty Orion,\nand, turning about to watch Orion, the Bear, which alone of all the stars\nbathes not in the streams of Oceanus.\n\nAlso, on the shield, he sculptured two fair cities of articulate-speaking\nmen. In one of these were wedding-festivals; and, with a blaze of\ntorchlight, the brides were conducted from their chambers along the\nstreets; while the hymeneal song was loud, and the youths whirled round\nand round in the giddy dance, to the music of flute and harp; while the\nwomen stood at their doors, watching and admiring. In that city he also\nfashioned an assembly of the people, in which a contention had arisen,\nabout the blood-fine or \"were-geld\" for a murdered man; the people, with\nnoisy shouts, cheered, on either side; but the heralds stilled the tumult,\nholding their staves of office in their hands; and then the judges rose\nup, to pronounce their verdict.\n\nAround the other city lay two armies besieging it, with flashing arms. Two\nplans were considered: either to destroy the town, or to divide the wealth\nthereof with its citizens. But the beleaguered garrison had not yet\nyielded, but armed themselves and set an ambush. Their dear wives and\nchildren, and the old men, stood on the walls to defend it, while the\nstrong men went forth to fight. And they were led by Mars and Athene,\nwhose forms were fashioned in gold, with golden raiment; and, as gods, he\nmade them larger and more beautiful than the mortals around them.\n\nThe men in ambush set upon the herdsmen who were driving oxen to the\nwatering-place of the army, and making music with their pipes. They\ncarried off the cattle; but the besiegers, as they sat before the rostra,\nheard the lowing of the oxen and drove up, with their high-stepping\nhorses, to repel the raid. Then a fierce conflict arose; and in it were\nseen Strife, and Uproar, and Dire Fate; like living warriors, they rushed\non one another, and haled away the dead whom they slew.\n\nIn another part of the shield, he represented a rich, deep-soiled, fallow\nfield, thrice ploughed; and when the ploughers came to the end of the\nfurrow, a man would give to each of them a goblet of sweet wine. And the\nploughed ground grew black behind them, like real soil, although it was of\ngold. Then there, too, was a rich field of corn, where reapers were\ncutting the harvest with their sickles and it fell in rows; and others\nwere binding it with bands of straw; while the lord looked on, and was\nglad at heart. And under a spreading oak a feast was being made ready for\nthe reapers.\n\nAnd he fashioned therein a vineyard, rich with clusters of black grapes,\nwhich the youths and maidens, in their glee, carried in baskets; while a\nboy, in their midst, made sweet music on a clear-sounding harp; and he\nsang the \"Song of Linos,\" and the rest kept time with their feet.\n\nAnd there was a herd of straight-horned oxen, all of gold and tin,\nhurrying to the pasture beside the gently murmuring stream and the waving\nrushes. Four herdsmen, of gold, followed them, and nine fleet dogs. And\ntwo terrible lions seized a bellowing bull. The herdsmen followed, but\nthey could not set on their dogs to bite the lions, for the dogs shrank\nback, barking and whining, and turned away.\n\nAnd therein the glorious divine artist placed a wide pasture full of white\nsheep, with folds and tents and huts. And he made a dancing-ground, like\nthat which D\u00e6dalus wrought at Gnosos for lovely fair-haired Ariadne.\nThere, lusty youths in shining tunics glistening with oil, danced with\nfair maidens of costly wooing. The maidens had wreaths of flowers upon\ntheir heads; and the youths wore daggers banging from silver sword-belts.\nThey whirled round, with lightly tripping feet, swift as the potter's\nwheel, holding each other by the wrist; and then they ran, in lines, to\nmeet each other. A crowd of friends stood round and joyfully watched the\ndance, and a divine minstrel made sweet music with his harp, while a pair\nof tumblers diverted the crowd.\n\nLastly, around the margin of the shield, Vulcan made the stream of the\nmighty river Oceanus, which encircleth the earth.\n\nAnd when he had finished this strong and splendid shield, he wrought the\nbreastplate, glowing with blazing fire; and he made a heavy helmet for the\nhead, beautiful, and adorned with curious art; upon it was a crest of\ngold. But the goodly greaves he made of flexible tin. When he had\ncompleted the whole suit of glorious armor, he laid it before the\nsilver-footed Thetis, the mother of Achilles; and she darted, swift as a\nhawk, from snowy Olympus, bearing the brightly glittering arms to her dear\nson.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SLAYING OF HECTOR\n\nBy Walter C. Perry\n\n\nMeantime, Achilles went on slaughtering the Trojans; and the aged Priam\nstood on the sacred tower, and saw the son of Peleus driving the Trojans\nbefore him. And he shouted aloud to the brave warders of the gates, \"Open\nthe gates, that the fugitives may enter!\" And the Far-Darter went to the\nfront, to save the Trojans who were fleeing to the sheltering walls, with\nAchilles behind them in hot pursuit.\n\nThen would the Achaians have stormed the lofty gates of Troy, had not\nPhoebus Apollo roused Agenor, a brave and noble prince, son of Antenor.\nApollo stood by this man's side, leaning on an oak, and shrouded in mist,\nand put courage into his heart, that he might ward off fate from the\nTrojans. And when Agenor saw Achilles, he stood irresolute, and said to\nhis mighty heart, \"If I too flee before Achilles, he will catch me and\nslay me as a coward. Or shall I fly by another way, and hide me in the\nspurs of Ida? How, then, if I go forth to meet him? for his flesh, too,\nmay surely be pierced by the keen bronze, and he has but one life, like\nother mortals.\"\n\nAnd his heart grew strong within him, to stay and fight. And he cried out\naloud to Achilles, \"Surely, thou thinkest this very day to sack the proud\ncity of Troy? Fool! many terrible things will happen before _that_; for\nthere are many of us--many and brave--to protect our dear parents and\nwives and little children, and to guard holy Ilium. Thou, too, perhaps,\nmighty as thou art, mayest here meet death.\"\n\nHe spake and hurled a spear at Achilles with his strong hand. And it smote\nhim below the knee, and the tin-wrought greave rang loudly; but the stout\nspear bounded off, for it could not pierce the work of Vulcan.\n\nThen Achilles rushed on godlike Agenor; but him Apollo caught in a mist,\nand carried him safely out of the fray. And the god took the form of\nAgenor, and ran a little way before Achilles, towards the deep-flowing\nScamander. And while Apollo thus deceived the mighty son of Peleus, the\nrouted Trojans ran, well pleased, to their stronghold, and the great city\nwas filled with their multitude.\n\nThen as he ran before Achilles, the mighty Far-Darter addressed him, and\nspake: \"O son of Peleus! why dost thou, being a mortal man, pursue _me_\nwith thy swift feet, who am a deathless god?\" Then, in wrath, the son of\nPeleus answered him: \"Thou hast blinded me, most mischievous of all the\nGods! and lured me away from the walls; else would many a Trojan have\nfallen, or ever he had reached the city.\" He then went towards the city,\nwith a proud heart, like a war-horse victorious in a chariot race; and the\naged Priam saw him, blazing like the star in autumn brightest of all,\nwhich men call \"Orion's Dog,\" that bringeth fever upon wretched mortals.\n\nAnd the old man cried aloud, in his agony, and beat his head with his\nfists, and called in a piercing voice to his dear son Hector. For the\nbrave hero, when all the others had escaped into the city, remained alone\nat the Sc\u00e6an Gate eager to fight with Achilles. And his wretched father\nstretched forth his withered hands, and pleaded piteously to his son:--\n\n\"Hector! dear Hector! do not meet this terrible man alone, for he is far\nmightier than thou, and knoweth no pity. Already hath he robbed me of many\na brave son; and now I no longer see two of my children, Lycaon and the\ngoodly Polydorus, whom Laotho\u00eb, princess among women, bare to me. But the\ndeath of others will cause us briefer grief, if thou, dear Hector, art not\nslain. Come, then, within the walls, and save the men and women of Troy!\nAnd have pity on me, too, to whom the son of Cronos hath allotted a\nterrible doom in my old age--to see my brave sons dragged away, and my\nfair daughters carried off, as captives, by the cruel hands of the\nAchaians. Last of all, I too shall be torn, on my own threshold, by\nravenous dogs--even the dogs which I myself have reared with food from my\ntable, to guard my house. They will tear my flesh and drink my blood! It\nmay well become a _young_ man to lie slain on the field, for he is highly\nhonored in his death; but when dogs defile an old man's head and beard,\nthis is the most lamentable thing that befalleth wretched mortals.\"\n\nAnd the old man tore his hair in his sore agony; but even he prevailed not\nwith the soul of Hector. And then his dear mother, Hecuba, took up the\nplaint and spake through her piteous tears.\n\n\"Hector! my child! have respect to the mother who bare thee and nursed\nthee on this bosom! Pity _me_! and fight the foe from this side of the\nwall! For if he slay thee, not on a funeral bed shall I, and thy dear\nwife, won by so many gifts, deplore thee; but the swift dogs shall devour\nthee, far away from us, by the black ships of the Argives.\"\n\nThus wailed they over their glorious son, beseeching him; but they could\nnot prevail, for honor held him fast. Meanwhile, Achilles drew nigh, in\nstrength like a giant; but Hector awaited him undismayed, leaning his\nshield against the tower. And he communed thus with his brave soul: \"Alas,\nif I go through the gates, Polydamas will justly blame me; for he gave me\ngood advice--that I should lead the host into the city on that fatal\nnight, when the noble Achilles returned to the war. And I would not\nhearken to him, although he counseled well. And now that I have brought\nthis evil on the city by my folly, I am ashamed to appear before the men,\nand the proud dames with trailing robes, lest some one should taunt me and\nsay, 'Hector in his pride hath ruined us.' Better then would it be for me\nto meet Achilles, and either slay him or fall with glory before the city.\nOr how would it be if I should lay aside all my arms, and go to meet the\nson of Peleus, and offer to restore Argive Helen and all her possessions\nto Menelaus and Agamemnon, and to divide the wealth of Troy with the\nAchaians? But no! I might come to him unarmed, but he is merciless, and\nwould slay me on the spot, as if I were a woman. But why do I hesitate?\nThis is no time to hold dalliance with him, from oak or rock, like youths\nand maidens. Better to fight at once, and see to whom Olympian Zeus will\ngive the victory!\"\n\nWhile he thus pondered, Achilles, peer of Mars, came on, poising his\nterrible spear of Pelian ash; and his divine armor, the work of a god,\nblazed like fire or the rising sun. And when Hector saw him he was seized\nwith panic, and he fled from the gates in terror.\n\nBut Achilles, swift of foot, rushed after him. As a falcon, swiftest of\nall birds, swoops upon the trembling dove, and takes no heed of her\npiteous screaming, so Achilles flew straight at Hector. And pursuer and\npursued passed by the guard and the wild fig-tree, the sport of the winds,\nand came to the two springs of water, which feed the deep-whirling\nScamander. Brave was he who fled, but mightier far was he who chased him\non his swift feet; and they were racing not for some prize in the games,\nbut for the life of the noble horse-taming Hector. And like horses in the\nrace for a great prize--a tripod or a woman--so the twain ran thrice round\nthe sacred city of King Priam; and all the Gods were looking on.\n\nAnd Zeus, the great father of Gods and men, spake first: \"Alas! I see a\nman whom I love above all others chased round the walls of Troy. Come now,\nlet us take some counsel, whether to save him or leave him to be slain by\nthe son of Peleus.\"\n\nAnd the fierce-eyed Athene answered him, \"O thou great Lord of the\nLightning, Cloud-girt King! what a word hast thou spoken! Wouldst thou\nindeed save a mortal long ago doomed by Fate? Do as thou pleasest; but we\nGods shall not praise thee.\"\n\nAnd her great father, the Cloud-Gatherer, answered with gentle words, \"O\nTrito-born, my dear child! be of good cheer. I spake not in earnest, and\nwould fain please thee. Do as seemeth good to thee.\" And Athene, full of\njoy, sped down from high Olympus.\n\nAchilles, with all speed, was chasing the noble Hector, as the dogs hunt\nthe fawn of a deer through dale and woodland; and though the fawn hideth\nbehind a bush, they follow by the scent until they find it; so Hector\ncould not escape from the swift-footed son of Peleus. Often did Hector\nrush along the strong walls, in hopes that the Trojans within might succor\nhim from above with their arrows. But Achilles gained on him and turned\nhim into the plain again.\n\nAnd so, though Hector failed in his flight and Achilles in his pursuit,\nyet might Hector have escaped his doom, had not this been the last time\nthat Apollo the Far-Darter came nigh to him, to nerve his heart and his\nswift knees. Achilles had made a sign to his comrades, and forbade them to\nlaunch their darts against the noble Hector, lest one of them should gain\nhigh honor, and he come only second. And when they had, for the fourth\ntime, run round the walls and reached the springs, then Zeus, the Great\nFather, raised his golden scales, and placed in each the lot of gloomy\ndeath,--one for Hector, and the other for Achilles. And he held the scales\nby the middle, and poised them; and the noble Hector's scale sank down to\nHades; and Phoebus Apollo left him.\n\nBut the fierce-eyed goddess Athene came near to Achilles and spake winged\nwords: \"Now, at last, O godlike Achilles! shall we twain carry off great\nglory to the Achaian ships! He cannot now escape us, though the Far-Darter\nshould grovel at the feet of Zeus with fruitless prayers. But do thou stay\nand recover thy breath; and I will go and persuade Hector to stand up\nagainst thee in fight.\" And he gladly obeyed her voice, and stood leaning\non his ashen spear.\n\nAnd she, Athene, came to noble Hector in the likeness of his brother\nDe\u00efphobus, and spake to him: \"Dear Lord and elder Brother, surely the\nfleet-footed son of Peleus hath done great violence against thee, chasing\nthee round the walls! But let us twain make a stand against him!\"\n\nAnd the great Hector answered, \"De\u00efphobus, thou wert ever the dearest of\nmy brothers; now I honor thee still more, because thou hast dared to come\nout from behind the walls to aid me, while others skulk within.\"\n\nThe fierce-eyed goddess, as De\u00efphobus, spake again: \"It is true that my\nfather, and my queenly mother, and all my comrades, besought me to stay\nwith them, so greatly do they fear the mighty son of Peleus; but my heart\nwas sore for thee, dear brother! But let us fight amain, and see whether\nhe will carry our spoils to his ships, or fall beneath thy spear!\" And so,\nwith her cunning words, she led him on to death.\n\nAnd when he and Achilles were come near to each other, the noble Hector\nspake: \"O mighty Achilles, thrice did I flee before thee round the great\ncity of Priam, and dared not await thy onslaught. But now I will stand up\nagainst thee, to slay or to be slain. But come, let us make a covenant\nwith one another, and call the Gods, the best guardians of oaths, to\nwitness. If Zeus grant me to take thy life, and despoil thee of thy divine\narmor, then will I give back thy body to the warlike Achaians; and do thou\nthe same by me!\"\n\nAnd Achilles, with a malignant scowl, replied, \"Speak not to me of\ncovenants! There is no covenant between men and lions, or between wolves\nand sheep, but only eternal war. And there can be no pledge of faith\nbetween us twain, until one of us hath sated the murderous Mars with his\nblood. Therefore, show thyself a good spearman and a brave man of war!\nThere is no escape for thee; for Pallas Athene hath delivered thee into my\nhands.\"\n\nHe spake, and cast his long-shafted spear at Hector. But Hector stooped,\nand the strong bronze spear flew over his head; but Athene picked it up,\nunknown to Hector, and gave it back to Achilles. Then Hector, rejoicing,\nspake to the son of Peleus: \"Thou hast missed! Nor dost thou surely know\nthe day of my doom, as thou pretendest. Thou shalt not plant thy spear in\nmy back, as I flee before thee; but in my breast, if the Gods allow it.\nBut now, in thy turn, avoid _my_ spear!\" So spake he, and smote the middle\nof Achilles' shield with his long-shafted spear, but it bounded back from\nthe shield. Then Hector was dismayed, for he had no second spear to throw.\nAnd he called aloud to his brother, De\u00efphobus; but no answer came, for\n_he_ was far away. Then Hector knew that he was betrayed, and that Athene\nhad deceived him, in the likeness of his brother. \"Now,\" he cried, \"is\nDeath come near me, and there is no way of escape! This is the will of\nZeus and of the Far-Darter, who once were wont to succor me. But I will\nnot die ingloriously, but yet perform some notable deed of arms.\"\n\nHe said, and, with his sharp sword, swooped down upon Achilles. But\nAchilles rushed at him, wild with fury, brandishing his spear, with evil\nintent against noble Hector, and eyed him over, to see where he might\npierce his flesh most easily. The rest of Hector's body was protected by\nthe splendid armor which he had stripped from the body of Patroclus; but\nthere was one chink, between the collar-bone and the throat, through which\nAchilles thrust his spear. Yet it cut not the windpipe; and Hector was\nable to speak faint words to his insulting foe, after he had fallen to the\nground.\n\nAchilles triumphed over him: \"Ah, Hector! when thou wert stripping\nPatroclus of my goodly armor, thou caredst nothing for me, who was far\naway! I, his friend and avenger, was left among the black ships--even I, a\nmightier man than he! Thee shall the dogs and birds devour; but he shall\nhave honorable burial.\"\n\nThen, with his last breath, the noble Hector of the bright helm addressed\nhis pitiless foe: \"Achilles! I pray thee, by thy soul, and by thy parents'\nheads, let not Achaian dogs devour me by the ships! but accept great store\nof gold and bronze from my father and my queenly mother, and restore my\nbody to them, that the Trojans may deck my funeral pyre with all due\nhonor!\"\n\nAnd Achilles, with a grim scowl, replied, \"Clasp not my knees, vile dog!\nnor speak to me of parents! Such evil hast thou done me, that I could\ndevour thee raw! Not for thy weight in gold would I give thee to thy\nqueenly mother, to mourn over thee; but dogs and birds shall batten on thy\nflesh!\"\n\nThen the dying Hector uttered his last words: \"Thou iron-hearted man! now\nI know thee; nor did I think to prevail upon thee. But beware of the wrath\nof the Gods, when Paris and the Far-Darter slay thee, at the Sc\u00e6an Gate,\nbrave though thou art!\"\n\nHe spake; and Death overshadowed him; and his soul went down to Hades,\nwailing to leave beauty, youth, and vigor.\n\nAnd Achilles spake again to the dead Hector: \"Lie thou there! And as for\nme, I will die when it seemeth good to the deathless Gods!\"\n\nAnd the Achaians ran up, and looked with wonder at the noble stature and\nbeauty of the Trojan hero. And they all inflicted wounds upon him, as he\nlay, saying, \"He is easier to deal with now than when he was burning our\nships with flames of fire.\"\n\nAnd when the son of Peleus had stripped him of his armor, he stood up, and\nspake to the Achaians:--\n\n\"Great chiefs and counselors of the Argives! at last the Gods have granted\nus to slay this man, whose single arm hath wrought more evil to us than\nall the rest together. Let us now approach the city, and learn the purpose\nof the Trojans; whether they will now surrender the citadel or go on\nfighting, though great Hector is no more. But why do I thus ponder in my\nmind? Patroclus is lying unburied and unwept by the ships. Never can I\nforget him, while I live; and even in the House of Hades, I will remember\nmy dearest friend. Come, then! let us raise the chant of victory, and bear\nour deadliest foe to the black ships!\"\n\nThen he foully outraged the dead body of glorious Hector; slitting the\nsinews of both feet, from heel to ankle, he passed ox-hide straps through\nthem, and fastened them to his chariot, leaving the goodly head to trail\nupon the ground. Then he laid the armor on the chariot; and mounting it,\nlashed his willing horses to full speed. And in the dust lay the once\nbeautiful head, with its flowing hair; for Zeus had now given Hector up to\nhis enemies, to be foully used in his own native land.\n\nAnd when his dear mother, Hecuba, saw her much-loved son dragged along,\nbegrimed with dust, she tore her hair, and shrieked aloud, and tossed far\naway her glistening veil. And his father, King Priam, wailed and mourned;\nand with him all the men and women in the city, as if the beetling towers\nof Ilium were already smouldering in fire. Hardly could they keep the aged\nfather from rushing through the gates; for he threw himself in the dust\nand supplicated each man by name: \"O friend, forbear! and if you love me,\nlet me go to the ships of the Achaians, and pray to this arrogant, this\nfearful man!\" Thus wailed old Priam; and the men wailed with him. And\nQueen Hecuba led the loud lamentations of the women. \"Why,\" she cried,\n\"should I yet live, when thou, my son, my boast, my glory, art dead? the\npride and blessing of all, both men and women of the city, who honored\nthee as a god; for in thy life thou wert an honor to them all!\" Thus\nmourned his unhappy mother.\n\nBut to his wife, the noble, beautiful, tender-hearted Andromache, no\nmessenger had brought the fearful tidings that Hector had remained without\nthe gates. All unconscious, she was sitting in the inner chamber of her\nlofty palace, weaving a purple web of double woof, and embroidering it\nwith many flowers. And she was ordering her handmaids to prepare a warm\nbath for her dear husband, when he should return from the battle; poor\nchild! little knowing that the fierce-eyed Athene had treacherously slain\nhim, by the hand of Achilles! But when she heard shrieks and lamentations\nfrom the walls, she reeled, and the shuttle dropped from her hands. And\nshe spake again to her fair-haired maidens: \"Surely, that was the cry of\nHector's noble mother! Some terrible thing must have befallen my godlike\nhusband! Come, then, follow me, that I may learn what has happened; I\ngreatly fear that he has been cut off from the city by Achilles; for he\nwould never retreat among the throng, or yield to any man, in his high\ncourage.\"\n\nAnd she rushed, all frantic, through the house, followed by her maidens,\nand came to the walls, and saw Hector dragged through the dust, towards\nthe black ships of the Achaians. Then darkness shrouded her fair eyes, and\nshe fell backwards in a swoon. And when roused, she tore from her head the\nnet, the fillet, and the nuptial veil which golden Venus had given her,\nwhen noble Hector of the shining helm led her forth, from King E\u00ebtion's\npalace, as his bride. And the sisters-in-law of her dear husband gathered\nround her, and raised her from the ground, all distracted as she was and\nnigh unto death. When she had recovered from her swoon, she sobbed and\nwailed, crying, \"O Hector! to the same evil fate were we twain born, thou\nin Troy, and I in Thebes, where my great father, E\u00ebtion, reared me as a\nlittle child. Would that I had never been born, since thou leavest me a\nhapless widow! And our son, thine and mine, ill-fated one! is but a little\nchild; and thou canst no more profit him, nor he be a joy to thee, since\nthou art dead! A helpless orphan, he is cut off from his playmates; and if\nhe pluck the robe of his father's friends, one may, in pity, just hold the\ncup to his lips, but give him not to satisfy his hunger and his thirst;\nwhile other children, whose parents still live, will drive him from their\nfeast, with taunts and blows, saying, 'Away with thee! thou hast no father\nat our table!' Then will he come back to me, his lonely mother; he, who so\nlately sat on his father's knee, and fed on the choicest of food! and when\nsleep fell upon him, tired with his childish play, he nestled in a soft\nbed in his nurse's arms. But now that his father is no more, he shall\nsuffer untold griefs, even he whom the Trojans called 'Astyanax,' king of\nthe city, because thou, O my beloved lord! wert the sole defense and glory\nof their lofty walls.\" Thus wailed the fair Andromache; and the women\nmoaned around her.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOR OF PATROCLUS\n\nBy Walter C. Perry\n\n\nThe noble Achilles could not do enough in honor of his lost friend,\nPatroclus, and he had determined to hold games, of every kind, in which\nthe mail-clad Achaians might compete for prizes; and to this end he had\nbrought goodly treasures from his ships,--tripods, and caldrons, horses,\nmules, and oxen, well-girdled women, and hoary iron. The first and most\nimportant contest was a chariot race, for which he offered a woman skilled\nin needlework, and a two-handled tripod, holding two-and-twenty\nmeasures--these, for the best man of all; the second prize was a mare, six\nyears old, with a mule foal; the third prize was a fair new caldron, of\nfour measures; the fourth was two talents of bright gold; the fifth was a\ntwo-handled vase, untarnished by the fire.\n\nAnd Achilles addressed the chiefs, and said, \"If the race were in honor of\nsome other warrior, then should I enter the lists, and bear away the\nprize; for ye know that my horses are immortal, and by far the best;\nNeptune, the Earth-Girdler, gave them to my father, and he to me. But I\nand they will stand aside; for they have lost a noble and gentle driver,\nwho oft-times washed them with clear water and then poured soft oil upon\ntheir goodly manes! And now they stand with sorrow in their breasts, and\ntheir full long manes are trailing on the earth. But now, let whoever of\nyou trusteth in his horses and his strong chariot take his place in the\nlists!\"\n\nAnd first came forward Eumelus, son of Admetus; next came the mighty\nDiomedes, with the famous horses of Tros, which he had taken from \u00c6neas;\nthen arose Menelaus,--the fair-haired, godlike Menelaus, with Aithe,\nAgamemnon's mare, and his own horse, Podargus; and the fourth was\nAntilochus, son of the wise Nestor, who yoked swift Pylian horses to his\nchariot.\n\nHis father Nestor, son of Neleus, stood by Antilochus, and gave him good\nadvice, although he himself was wise. \"Antilochus, my son,\" he said,\n\"though thou art young, yet Zeus and Neptune have loved thee, and made\nthee a perfect horseman; and there is little need for me to teach thee.\nBut the other horses are better than thine; and I fear that much trouble\nis in store for thee. But skill and cunning are better than force, and so\none charioteer defeats another. Look well to the posts at either end, and\nrun closely by them. Now I will tell thee another thing. Some six feet\nabove the ground, there stands the withered stump of a tree, with two\nwhite stones, on either side; this is the mark fixed by the swift-footed\nAchilles. Do thou drive thy horses hard by this, and lean slightly to the\nleft, and lash the off horse and give him rein; but let the near horse so\nclosely skirt the post that the nave of the wheel of thy car may seem to\ngraze the stone; but beware of touching it!\"\n\nNext, Meriones made ready his chariot; and so did the others. Then they\nmounted their cars, and drew lots for their places. Great Diomedes drew\nthe best. Achilles ranged them all side by side, and pointed to the\nturning-post, in the plain, near which he posted old Phoenix, as umpire.\n\nThen, at a signal from the son of Peleus, they raised their long whips,\ntogether, standing upright, and lashed their horses, and encouraged them\nby hand and voice. And the chariots now ran evenly on the ground, and now\nbounded high in air. But when they entered the last part of the course,\ndriving towards the sea, the fleet mares of Eumelus, grandson of Pheres,\nrushed to the front; and next came Diomedes, with the stallions of Tros,\nso near that they seemed to be mounting the car of Eumelus, and with their\nhot breath covered his back and shoulders. Then Tydides would either have\ngained a victory, or it would have been at least a dead heat; but Phoebus\nApollo was angry with him, and dashed his shining whip from his hand. He\nshed hot tears of fury, when he saw that the mares of Eumelus were still\nat their utmost speed, while his own horses slackened their speed, no\nlonger feeling the lash. But, luckily for Diomedes, his constant friend\nAthene marked the trick of Apollo; and, speeding after Diomedes, she gave\nhim back the scourge, and put fresh mettle into his steeds. She then\npursued Eumelus, and brake the yoke of his horses; they bolted from the\ncourse, and he was hurled off his car into the dust. Meanwhile, Tydides\nrushed on before the others, for Athene was shedding glory on his head.\n\nNext to him ran the horses of Menelaus, son of Atreus. Then came\nAntilochus, son of Nestor, who spake thus to his father's Pylian horses:\n\"I do not ask you to contend with Tydides, whose horses Athene herself is\nspeeding; but I pray you to catch up the chariot of Atrides; and be not\nbeaten by Aithe, lest she, who is only a mare, pour ridicule upon you.\"\nThus spake Antilochus, and his horses were afraid, and sped on more\nswiftly. But Antilochus noted a narrow gully, where the rain had collected\nand had carried away a part of the course. There Menelaus was driving,\nwhen Antilochus turned his horses out of the way, and followed him at one\nside. Then Menelaus, fearing a collision, shouted loudly to the son of\nNestor: \"Antilochus, hold in thy horses! and drive not so recklessly!\nclose ahead there is a wider space, where we can pass one another!\" But\nAntilochus, as if he heard him not, drove on more madly than ever and\nplied the lash; and the golden-haired son of Atreus called again to him,\nreproving him: \"Antilochus, there is no man more spiteful than thou; away\nwith thee! wrongly have we called thee _wise_!\" Then he called on his\nhorses, and they increased their speed, fearing the anger of their lord,\nand quickly overtook the others.\n\nNow the Argive chiefs sat together, watching the race as the chariots flew\nalong the course. The first to see them coming was Idomeneus, the Cretan\nprince, the son of Deucalion; he was sitting apart from the rest on the\nhighest place, and he could distinguish the voices of the drivers. He\nnoticed a chestnut horse, with a white star on his forehead, round like\nthe full moon; and he stood up and spake: \"Friends and Counselors of the\nArgives! can ye see the horses as I do? To me, there appeareth a new\nchariot and horses; and the mares which led at the start I can no longer\nsee.\"\n\nThen the son of O\u00efleus, Ajax, rebuked him in boorish fashion: \"Idomeneus,\nwhy chatterest thou before the time? Thou art not one of the youngest, nor\nare thine eyes of the sharpest. The same mares of Eumelus are still\nleading, and he is standing up in the chariot.\"\n\nAnd the great chief, Idomeneus, answered in great wrath, \"Ajax, ever ready\nto abuse, inconsiderate slanderer! thou art in all respects inferior to\nthe other Argives, for thy mind is rude.\"\n\nThus spoke the Cretan hero. And the son of O\u00efleus rose again, to reply\nwith scornful words; but Achilles himself stood forward and said, \"No\nlonger, Idomeneus and Ajax, bandy insulting words with one another; for it\nis not meet! Sit ye still, and watch; and soon will ye know which horses\nare leading.\" He spake; and straightway Tydides came driving up in his\nfair chariot, overlaid with gold and tin, which ran lightly behind the\nhorses, and scarcely left a trace in the fine dust of the plain. Checking\nhis horses in the middle of the crowd, he leapt to the ground and claimed\nthe splendid prize; and the gallant Sthenelus made no delay, but gave to\nhis victorious comrade the woman and the tripod to bear away.\n\nNext to Diomedes came the son of Nestor, Antilochus, who had passed by\nMenelaus by a clever stratagem, though his horses were inferior; but even\nso, Menelaus had pressed him hard, and was behind him only so far as a\nhorse is from the wheel of the chariot which he draweth.\n\nBut Meriones, the brave charioteer of Idomeneus, came in about the cast of\na lance behind Menelaus; for his horses were the slowest, and he was\nhimself but a sluggish driver. Last of all came Eumelus, the son of\nAdmetus, dragging his broken chariot. The swift-footed Achilles, son of\nPeleus, pitied him, and spake winged words to the chiefs: \"Lo! the best\nman of all comes last; but let us give him a prize--the second! And let\nTydides bear away the first!\"\n\nAll the Achaians heard him, and shouted applause; and the noble Achilles\nwould have given him the mare had not Antilochus, son of the wise and\nglorious Nestor, stood up in defense of his claim: \"O Achilles!\" he said,\n\"justly shall I be wroth with thee, if thou takest away the prize which I\nhave fairly won. Thou thinkest only of the unlucky chance which hath\nbefallen Eumelus and his horses; but he ought to have made prayer to the\ndeathless Gods, and then he would not have come in last of all. If thou\npitiest him, there is much treasure in thy house,--gold, and bronze, and\nsheep, and handmaids, and horses. Give him, if it pleaseth thee and the\nAchaians, a still richer prize. But I will not give up the mare; for she\nis _mine_.\"\n\nAnd Achilles smiled on his comrade Antilochus, whom he dearly loved, and\nanswered him, \"Antilochus, I will do as thou sayest: I will give him the\nbronze cuirass, edged with shining tin, which I took from Asterop\u00e6us.\"\n\nBut the great Menelaus arose, filled with insatiable wrath against\nAntilochus. The herald placed a sceptre in his hand, and called for\nsilence. Then the godlike king made harangue, and said, \"Antilochus! thou\nwho wert once accounted wise--what is this that thou hast done? Thou hast\ndisgraced my skill, and discomfited my horses, by thrusting thine, which\nare far worse, in front of them. Come then, great chiefs of the Argives!\ngive judgment, without favor, between him and me! That no one may say\nhereafter, that ye favored me for my power and rank, I will myself set the\nissue before you; so that no one may reproach me. Stand forth, Antilochus,\nbefore thy chariot; and take thy whip, and lay thy hand upon thy horses,\nand swear by the great Girdler and Shaker of the Earth, that thou didst\nnot, by set purpose and malice, hinder my chariot in the course!\"\n\nThen Antilochus made prudent answer, \"Be patient with me, King Menelaus!\nfor I am younger, and thou art in all respects my better. Bear with me,\nthen: and I will myself give thee the mare, my prize, rather than lose my\nplace in thy heart, O thou beloved of Zeus!\" Thus spake the noble-minded\nson of Nestor; and he gave the mare to Menelaus, king of men.\n\nAnd the heart of the son of Atreus rejoiced, as the ripe ears of corn,\nwhen the dew descendeth upon them, in the glistening cornfield. And he\nspake kindly to Antilochus, and said, \"Lo! at once do I put away my anger;\nfor of old thou wert never rash or light-minded; but now thy reason was\noverborne by the impetuosity of youth. Therefore I grant thy prayer, and\nwill even give thee the mare; for I am in no wise covetous or\nunforgiving.\"\n\nHe spake, and gave the mare to No\u00ebmon, the comrade of Antilochus, to lead\naway; but he took the bright caldron to himself. And Meriones, who came in\nfourth, took the two talents of gold. But the fifth prize, a vase with two\nhandles, was not obtained; and the noble Achilles gave this to Nestor,\nand, standing by him, uttered winged words:--\n\n\"Let this, O Father! be for thee an heirloom, and a memorial of Patroclus'\nfuneral games--of him, whom thou wilt never see again! I give it to thee\nsince thou mayest not contend in boxing, nor in wrestling, nor in throwing\nthe lance, nor in the foot-race; for rueful old age weigheth heavily upon\nthee.\"\n\nNestor gladly received the splendid gift, and spake: \"True and fitting are\nthy words, dear friend! My limbs are no longer sound, nor do my arms move\neasily from my shoulders; and I must make way for younger men. But I\naccept thy free gift with joy, and rejoice that thou dost remember our old\nfriendship.\"\n\nThen Pelides brought forward the prizes for the rough, fierce\nboxing-match: a six-year-old unbroken mule for the winner; and a\ntwo-handled goblet for the loser. Then quickly rose the famous boxer\nEpeius, and laid his hand on the stubborn mule, and boasted aloud: \"Let\nwho will bear away the goblet; but the mule is mine! for no one will beat\nme with his fists!\" They all kept silence, and feared. Only one came\nforward, even Euryalus, the gallant son of King Mecistus. The famous\nwarrior Tydides made him ready for the fight, and bade him God speed. The\ntwain went into the ring, and fell to work; and terrible was the gnashing\nof their teeth, and the sweat ran down from their limbs. Epeius came on\nfiercely, and struck Euryalus on the cheek, and that was enough; for all\nhis limbs were loosened. As a fish on a weedy beach, in the ripple caused\nby Boreas, leapeth high in air, so Euryalus leapt up in his anguish. But\nthe generous Epeius raised him again to his feet, and his comrades led him\naway, with dragging feet and drooping head, and spitting out black blood.\n\nNext came the terrible wrestling match; and for this the glorious Achilles\nbrought out two costly prizes: for the winner, a fireproof tripod, worth\ntwelve oxen; and for the loser, a woman skilled in handiwork, valued at\nfour oxen. And he cried aloud to the Achaians, \"Stand forward all ye who\nwill enter into this contest!\"\n\nThen rose Telamonian Ajax and the crafty Ulysses, and faced each other.\nAnd they entered the ring, and grasped each other with their strong hands,\nlike the rafters of a house, joined by some skillful builder to withstand\nthe wind. Their backbones grated and creaked beneath the strain; the sweat\npoured down from their limbs, and bloody weals streaked their sides and\nshoulders, as they struggled for the well-wrought tripod. But neither\ncould Ulysses throw the burly Ajax, nor Ajax him. And when the Achaians\ngrew tired of the futile contest, Ajax spake to Ulysses: \"O thou offspring\nof the Gods, Laertes' son! do thou lift me, or I will lift thee, and the\nissue will be on the lap of Zeus!\"\n\nSo saying, he raised Ulysses. But the Wily One did not forget his craft.\nFrom behind, he struck the hollow of Ajax's knee, and threw him on his\nback; and Ulysses fell upon him; and the people marveled. Then, in his\nturn, Ulysses tried to lift huge Ajax, but could not; so he thrust his\ncrooked knee into the hollow of the other's; and they again both fell to\nthe ground, covered with dust. When they rose for a third bout, Achilles\nrestrained them. \"No longer wear ye one another out, with toil and pain!\nYe both have won and shall receive equal prizes!\" And they cleansed\nthemselves, and put on their doublets.\n\nThen the noble son of Peleus offered prizes for the foot-race; the first,\na silver krater holding six measures, curiously chased by Sidonian\nartists--by far the most beautiful mixing-cup in the whole world. For the\nsecond he offered a stalled ox; and for the third, half a talent of gold.\nThe wondrous krater Phoenicians had brought by sea, and given it to Thoas,\nthe ruler of Lemnos; and Euneus, son of Jason, inherited it from Jason,\nwho received it from Thoas, his father-in-law; and Euneus gave it to the\nhero Patroclus, as a ransom for Lycaon, son of Priam; this splendid goblet\nwas offered to the swiftest of foot.\n\nThen three valiant heroes arose: Ajax, son of O\u00efleus; Ulysses, the wily\none; and Antilochus, the best runner of the youths. Achilles ranged them\nside by side, and showed them the goal. All started at full speed; but\nAjax soon took the lead; and Ulysses came close behind him, near as the\nshuttle to the breast of a fair-girdled woman when she is weaving,--so\nnear that his breath was warm on the back of Ajax. But as they neared the\ngoal, the wily Ulysses prayed to the fierce-eyed Athene, \"O goddess, come\nand help my feet!\" And Athene heard her favorite, and strengthened all his\nlimbs. But just as they were about to pounce upon the prize, Ajax slipped\nin the blood of the slaughtered oxen, and fell; his mouth and nostrils\nwere filled with dirt and gore. So the patient Ulysses took the priceless\nkrater, and Ajax the fatted ox. But Ajax, holding his prize by the horn,\nand spitting the filth from his mouth, spake to the Achaians: \"O fie upon\nit! it was the goddess who betrayed me; she who is ever near to Ulysses,\nas a mother to her child.\" And the Achaians laughed merrily, to see him in\nsuch a sorry plight.\n\nAntilochus, smiling, took the last prize, half a talent of gold; and he\ntoo spake winged words to the Argives: \"My friends, ye too will agree with\nme that the deathless Gods show favor to the older men. Ajax is a little\nolder than I; but Ulysses is of a former generation. It were not easy for\nany one, except Achilles, fleet of foot, to outrun _him_.\"\n\nAchilles was pleased at the honor done to his swiftness. \"Not unrewarded,\"\nhe said, \"shall the praise be which thou hast bestowed on me: I give thee\nanother half-talent of gold.\" Antilochus received it gladly. Then the\nassembly was dissolved, and the Achaians dispersed, each to his own ship.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOODEN HORSE AND THE FALL OF TROY\n\nBy Josephine Preston Peabody\n\n\nNine years the Greeks laid siege to Troy, and Troy held out against every\ndevice. On both sides the lives of many heroes were spent, and they were\nforced to acknowledge each other enemies of great valor.\n\nSometimes the chief warriors fought in single combat, while the armies\nlooked on, and the old men of Troy, with the women, came out to watch afar\noff from the city walls. King Priam and Queen Hecuba would come, and\nCassandra, sad with foreknowledge of their doom, and Andromache, the\nlovely young wife of Hector, with her little son, whom the people called\nthe city's king. Sometimes fair Helen came to look across the plain to the\nfellow-countrymen whom she had forsaken; and although she was the cause of\nall this war, the Trojans half forgave her when she passed by, because her\nbeauty was like a spell, and warmed hard hearts as the sunshine mellows\napples. So for nine years the Greeks plundered the neighboring towns, but\nthe city Troy stood fast, and the Grecian ships waited with folded wings.\n\nIn the tenth year of the war the Greeks, who could not take the city by\nforce, pondered how they might take it by craft. At length, with the aid\nof Ulysses, they devised a plan.\n\nA portion of the Grecian host broke up camp and set sail as if they were\nhomeward bound; but, once out of sight, they anchored their ships behind a\nneighboring island. The rest of the army then fell to work upon a great\nimage of a horse. They built it of wood, fitted and carved, and with a\ndoor so cunningly concealed that none might notice it. When it was\nfinished the horse looked like a prodigious idol; but it was hollow,\nskillfully pierced here and there, and so spacious that a band of men\ncould lie hidden within and take no harm. Into this hiding-place went\nUlysses, Menelaus, and the other chiefs, fully armed, and when the door\nwas shut upon them, the rest of the Grecian army broke camp and went away.\n\n[Illustration: A GREAT IMAGE OF A HORSE. THEY BUILT IT OF WOOD, FITTED AND\nCARVED, AND WITH A DOOR SO CUNNINGLY CONCEALED THAT NONE MIGHT NOTICE IT.\nWHEN IT WAS FINISHED THE HORSE LOOKED LIKE A PRODIGIOUS IDOL, BUT IT WAS\nHOLLOW, SKILLFULLY PIERCED HERE AND THERE]\n\nMeanwhile, in Troy, the people had seen the departure of the ships, and\nthe news had spread like wildfire. The great enemy had lost heart,--after\nten years of war! Part of the army had gone,--the rest were going. Already\nthe last of the ships had set sail, and the camp was deserted. The tents\nthat had whitened the plain were gone like a frost before the sun. The war\nwas over!\n\nThe whole city went wild with joy. Like one who has been a prisoner for\nmany years, it flung off all restraint, and the people rose as a single\nman to test the truth of new liberty. The gates were thrown wide, and the\nTrojans--men, women, and children--thronged over the plain and into the\nempty camp of the enemy. There stood the Wooden Horse.\n\nNo one knew what it could be. Fearful at first, they gathered around it,\nas children gather around a live horse; they marveled at its wondrous\nheight and girth, and were for moving it into the city as a trophy of war.\n\nAt this, one man interposed,--Laoco\u00f6n, a priest of Neptune. \"Take heed,\ncitizens,\" said he. \"Beware of all that comes from the Greeks. Have you\nfought them for ten years without learning their devices? This is some\npiece of treachery.\"\n\nBut there was another outcry in the crowd, and at that moment certain of\nthe Trojans dragged forward a wretched man who wore the garments of a\nGreek. He seemed the sole remnant of the Grecian army, and as such they\nconsented to spare his life, if he would tell them the truth.\n\nSinon, for this was the spy's name, said that he had been left behind by\nthe malice of Ulysses, and he told them that the Greeks had built the\nWooden Horse as an offering to Athene, and that they had made it so huge\nin order to keep it from being moved out of the camp, since it was\ndestined to bring triumph to its possessors.\n\nAt this the joy of the Trojans was redoubled, and they set their wits to\nfind out how they might soonest drag the great horse across the plain and\ninto the city to insure victory. While they stood talking, two immense\nserpents rose out of the sea and made towards the camp. Some of the people\ntook flight, others were transfixed with terror; but all, near and far,\nwatched this new omen. Rearing their crests, the sea-serpents crossed the\nshore, swift, shining, terrible as a risen water-flood that descends upon\na helpless little town. Straight through the crowd they swept, and seized\nthe priest Laoco\u00f6n where he stood, with his two sons, and wrapped them all\nround and round in fearful coils. There was no chance of escape. Father\nand sons perished together; and when the monsters had devoured the three\nmen, into the sea they slipped again, leaving no trace of the horror.\n\nThe terrified Trojans saw an omen in this. To their minds punishment had\ncome upon Laoco\u00f6n for his words against the Wooden Horse. Surely, it was\nsacred to the Gods; he had spoken blasphemy, and had perished before their\neyes. They flung his warning to the winds. They wreathed the horse with\ngarlands, amid great acclaim; and then, all lending a hand, they dragged\nit, little by little, out of the camp and into the city of Troy. With the\nclose of that victorious day, they gave up every memory of danger and made\nmerry after ten years of privation.\n\nThat very night Sinon the spy opened the hidden door of the Wooden Horse,\nand in the darkness, Ulysses, Menelaus, and the other chiefs who had lain\nhidden there crept out and gave the signal to the Grecian army. For, under\ncover of night, those ships that had been moored behind the island had\nsailed back again, and the Greeks were come upon Troy.\n\nNot a Trojan was on guard. The whole city was at feast when the enemy rose\nin its midst, and the warning of Laoco\u00f6n was fulfilled.\n\nPriam and his warriors fell by the sword, and their kingdom was plundered\nof all its fair possessions, women and children and treasure. Last of all,\nthe city itself was burned to its very foundations.\n\nHomeward sailed the Greeks, taking as royal captives poor Cassandra and\nAndromache and many another Trojan. And home at last went fair Helen, the\ncause of all this sorrow, eager to be forgiven by her husband, King\nMenelaus. For she had awakened from the enchantment of Venus, and even\nbefore the death of Paris she had secretly longed for her home and\nkindred. Home to Sparta she came with the king after a long and stormy\nvoyage, and there she lived and died the fairest of women.\n\nBut the kingdom of Troy was fallen. Nothing remained of all its glory but\nthe glory of its dead heroes and fair women, and the ruins of its citadel\nby the river Scamander. There even now, beneath the foundations of later\nhomes that were built and burned, built and burned, in the wars of a\nthousand years after, the ruins of ancient Troy lie hidden, like mouldered\nleaves deep under the new grass. And there, to this very day, men who love\nthe story are delving after the dead city as you might search for a buried\ntreasure.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES\n\n\nAN ADVENTURE WITH THE CYCLOPS\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\n    [After the fall of Troy the Greeks set out for home, but many of\n    them had troubles and dangers to meet before they saw again the\n    shores of their native land. The one who suffered most was\n    Ulysses, and the following is his story of his adventure with the\n    one-eyed giant, the Cyclops.]\n\n\nThe wind that bore me from Troy brought me to Ismarus, a city of the\nCiconians. This I sacked, slaying the people that dwelt therein. Much\nspoil did we take out of the city, dividing it among the people, so that\neach man had his share. And when we had done this, I commanded my men that\nthey should depart with all speed; but they, in their folly, would not\nhear me. For there was much wine to drink, and sheep and kine to slay;\ntherefore they sat on the shore and feasted. Meanwhile the people of the\ncity fetched others, their kinsmen that dwelt in the mountains, and were\nmore in number and more valiant than they, and skillful in all manner of\nfighting. In the early morning they assembled themselves together, thick\nas the flowers and the leaves that grow in the springtime, and set the\nbattle in array. Then we fought with them; while the day waxed we\nprevailed over them, and beat them back, though they were more in number\nthan we; but when the sun was descending in the heavens, then the Cicones\novercame us, and drave us to our ships. Six from each ship perished, but\nthe remnant of us escaped from death.\n\nOn the tenth day after this we came to the land where the lotus grows--a\nwondrous fruit of which whosoever eats cares not to see country or wife or\nchildren again. Now the Lotus-Eaters, for they so called the people of the\nland, were a kindly folk, and gave of the fruit to some of the sailors,\nnot meaning them any harm, but thinking it to be the best that they had to\ngive. These, when they had eaten, said that they would not sail any more\nover the sea; which, when I heard, I bade their comrades bind them and\ncarry them, sadly complaining, to the ships.\n\nThen, the wind having abated, we took to our oars, and rowed for many days\ntill we came to the country where the Cyclops dwell. Now, a mile or so\nfrom the shore there was an island, very fair and fertile, but no man\ndwells there or tills the soil, and in the island a harbor where a ship\nmay be safe from all winds, and at the head of the harbor a stream falling\nfrom a rock, and whispering alders all about it. Into this the ships\npassed safely, and were hauled up on the beach, and the crews slept by\nthem, waiting for the morning.\n\nWhen the dawn appeared, then we wandered through the island; and the\nnymphs of the land started the wild goats that my company might have food\nto eat. Thereupon we took our bows and our spears from the ships, and shot\nat the goats; and the Gods gave us plenty of prey. Twelve ships I had in\nmy company, and each ship had nine goats for its share, and my own portion\nwas ten.\n\nThen all the day we sat and feasted, drinking the sweet wine which we had\ntaken from the city of the Cicones, and eating the flesh of the goats; and\nas we sat we looked across to the land of the Cyclops, seeing the smoke\nand hearing the voices of the men and of the sheep and of the goats. And\nwhen the sun set and darkness came over the land, we lay down upon the\nseashore and slept.\n\nThe next day I gathered my men together, and said, \"Abide ye here, dear\nfriends; I with my own ship and my own company will go and make trial of\nthe folk that dwell in yonder island, whether they are just or unjust.\"\n\nSo I climbed into my ship, and bade my company follow me; so we came to\nthe land of the Cyclops. Close to the shore was a cave, with laurels round\nabout the mouth. This was the dwelling of the Cyclops. Alone he dwelt, a\ncreature without law. Nor was he like to mortal men, but rather to some\nwooded peak of the hills that stands out apart from all the rest.\n\nThen I bade the rest of my comrades abide by the ship, and keep it, but I\ntook twelve men, the bravest that there were in the crew, and went forth.\nI had with me a goat-skin full of the wine, dark red, and sweet, which the\npriest of Apollo at Ismarus had given me. Because we kept him and his wife\nand child from harm when we sacked the city, reverencing the god,\ntherefore did he give it me. Three things did he give me,--seven talents\nof gold, and a mixing-bowl of silver, and of wine twelve jars. So precious\nwas it that none in his house knew of it saving himself and his wife and\none dame that kept the house. When they drank of it they mixed twenty\nmeasures of water with one of wine, and the smell that went up from it was\nwondrous sweet. No man could easily refrain from drinking it. With this\nwine I filled a great skin and bore it with me; also I bare corn in a\nwallet, for my heart within me boded that I should need it.\n\nSo we entered the cave, and judged that it was the dwelling of some rich\nand skillful shepherd. For within there were pens for the young of the\nsheep and of the goats, divided all according to their age, and there were\nbaskets full of cheeses, and full milkpails ranged along the wall. But the\nCyclops himself was away in the pastures. Then my companions besought me\nthat I would depart, taking with me, if I would, a store of cheeses and\nsundry of the lambs and of the kids. But I would not, for I wished to see,\nafter my wont, what manner of host this strange shepherd might be, and, if\nit might be, to take a gift from his hand, such as is the due of\nstrangers. Verily, his coming was not to be a joy to my company.\n\nIt was evening when the Cyclops came home,--a mighty giant, very tall of\nstature, and when we saw him we fled into the sacred place of the cave in\ngreat fear. On his shoulder he bore a vast bundle of pine logs for his\nfire, and threw them down outside the cave with a great crash, and drove\nthe flocks within, and closed the entrance with a huge rock, which twenty\nwagons and more could not bear. Then he milked the ewes and all the\nshe-goats, and half of the milk he curdled for cheese, and half he set\nready for himself, when he should sup. Next he kindled a fire with the\npine logs, and the flame lighted up all the cave, showing to him both me\nand my comrades.\n\n\"Who are ye?\" cried Polyphemus, for that was the giant's name. \"Are ye\ntraders, or, haply, pirates?\"\n\nI shuddered at the dreadful voice and shape, but bare me bravely, and\nanswered, \"We are no pirates, mighty sir, but Greeks sailing back from\nTroy, and subjects of the great King Agamemnon, whose fame is spread from\none end of heaven to the other. And we are come to beg hospitality of thee\nin the name of Zeus, who rewards or punishes hosts and guests, according\nas they be faithful the one to the other, or no.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the giant; \"it is but idle talk to tell me of Zeus and the\nother Gods. We Cyclops take no account of gods, holding ourselves to be\nmuch better and stronger than they. But come, tell me, where have you left\nyour ship?\"\n\nBut I saw his thought when he asked about the ship, how he was minded to\nbreak it, and take from us all hope of flight. Therefore I answered him\ncraftily,--\n\n\"Ship have we none, for that which was ours King Neptune brake, driving it\non a jutting rock on this coast, and we whom thou seest are all that are\nescaped from the waves.\"\n\nPolyphemus answered nothing, but without more ado caught up two of the\nmen, as a man might catch up the whelps of a dog, and dashed them on the\nground, and tare them limb from limb, and devoured them, with huge\ndraughts of milk between, leaving not a morsel, not even the very bones.\nBut we that were left, when we saw the dreadful deed, could only weep and\npray to Zeus for help. And when the giant had filled his maw with human\nflesh and with the milk of the flocks, he lay down among his sheep and\nslept.\n\nThen I questioned much in my heart whether I should slay the monster as he\nslept, for I doubted not that my good sword would pierce to the giant's\nheart, mighty as he was. But my second thought kept me back, for I\nremembered that, should I slay him, I and my comrades would yet perish\nmiserably. For who should move away the great rock that lay against the\ndoor of the cave? So we waited till the morning, with grief in our hearts.\nAnd the monster woke, and milked his flocks, and afterwards, seizing two\nmen, devoured them for his meal. Then he went to the pastures, but put the\ngreat rock on the mouth of the cave, just as a man puts down the lid upon\nhis quiver.\n\nAll that day I was thinking what I might best do to save myself and my\ncompanions, and the end of my thinking was this: there was a mighty pole\nin the cave, green wood of an olive-tree, big as a ship's mast, which\nPolyphemus purposed to use, when the smoke should have dried it, as a\nwalking-staff. Of this I cut off a fathom's length, and my comrades\nsharpened it and hardened it in the fire, and then hid it away. At evening\nthe giant came back, and drove his sheep into the cave, nor left the rams\noutside, as he had been wont to do before, but shut them in. And having\nduly done his shepherd's work, he took, as before, two of my comrades, and\ndevoured them. And when he had finished his supper, I came forward,\nholding the wineskin in my hand, and said,--\n\n\"Drink, Cyclops, now that thou hast feasted. Drink, and see what precious\nthings we had in our ship. But no one hereafter will come to thee with\nsuch like, if thou dealest with strangers as cruelly as thou hast dealt\nwith us.\"\n\nThen the Cyclops drank, and was mightily pleased, and said, \"Give me again\nto drink, and tell me thy name, stranger, and I will give thee a gift such\nas a host should give. In good truth this is a rare liquor. We, too, have\nvines, but they bear not wine like this, which, indeed, must be such as\nthe Gods drink in heaven.\"\n\nThen I gave him the cup again, and he drank. Thrice I gave it to him, and\nthrice he drank, not knowing what it was, and how it would work within his\nbrain.\n\nThen I spake to him: \"Thou didst ask my name, Cyclops. My name is No Man.\nAnd now that thou knowest my name, thou shouldst give me thy gift.\"\n\nAnd he said, \"My gift shall be that I will eat thee last of all thy\ncompany.\"\n\nAnd as he spake, he fell back in a drunken sleep. Then I bade my comrades\nbe of good courage, for the time was come when they should be delivered.\nAnd they thrust the stake of olive-wood into the fire till it was ready,\ngreen as it was, to burst into flame, and they thrust it into the\nmonster's eye; for he had but one eye, and that in the midst of his\nforehead, with the eyebrow below it. And I, standing above, leant with all\nmy force upon the stake, and turned it about, as a man bores the timber of\na ship with a drill. And the burning wood hissed in the eye, just as the\nred-hot iron hisses in the water when a man seeks to temper steel for a\nsword.\n\nThen the giant leapt up, and tore away the stake, and cried aloud, so that\nall the Cyclops who dwelt on the mountain-side heard him and came about\nhis cave, asking him, \"What aileth thee, Polyphemus, that thou makest this\nuproar in the peaceful night, driving away sleep? Is any one robbing thee\nof thy sheep, or seeking to slay thee by craft or force?\"\n\nAnd the giant answered, \"No Man slays me by craft.\"\n\n\"Nay, but,\" they said, \"if no man does thee wrong we cannot help thee. The\nsickness which great Zeus may send, who can avoid? Pray to our father,\nNeptune, for help.\"\n\nSo they spake, and I laughed in my heart when I saw how I had beguiled\nthem by the name that I had given.\n\nBut the Cyclops rolled away the great stone from the door of the cave, and\nsat in the midst, stretching out his hands, to feel whether perchance the\nmen within the cave would seek to go out among the sheep.\n\nLong did I think how I and my comrades should best escape. At last I\nlighted upon a device that seemed better than all the rest, and much I\nthanked Zeus for that this once the giant had driven the rams with the\nother sheep into the cave. For, these being great and strong, I fastened\nmy comrades under the bellies of the beasts, tying them with osier twigs,\nof which the giant made his bed. One ram I took, and fastened a man\nbeneath it, and two rams I set, one on either side. So I did with the six,\nfor but six were left out of the twelve who had ventured with me from the\nship. And there was one mighty ram far larger than all the others, and to\nthis I clung, grasping the fleece tight with both my hands. So we all\nwaited for the morning. And when the morning came, the rams rushed forth\nto the pasture; but the giant sat in the door and felt the back of each as\nit went by, nor thought to try what might be underneath. Last of all went\nthe great ram. And the Cyclops knew him as he passed, and said,--\n\n\"How is this, thou who art the leader of the flock? Thou art not wont thus\nto lag behind. Thou hast always been the first to run to the pastures and\nstreams in the morning, and the first to come back to the fold when\nevening fell; and now thou art last of all. Perhaps thou art troubled\nabout thy master's eye, which some wretch--No Man, they call him--has\ndestroyed, having first mastered me with wine. He has not escaped, I ween.\nI would that thou couldst speak, and tell me where he is lurking. Of a\ntruth, I would dash out his brains upon the ground, and avenge me of this\nNo Man.\"\n\nSo speaking, he let the ram pass out of the cave. But when we were now out\nof reach of the giant, I loosed my hold of the ram, and then unbound my\ncomrades. And we hastened to our ship, not forgetting to drive the sheep\nbefore us, and often looking back till we came to the seashore. Right glad\nwere those that had abode by the ship to see us. Nor did they lament for\nthose that had died, though we were fain to do so, for I forbade, fearing\nlest the noise of their weeping should betray us to the giant, where we\nwere. Then we all climbed into the ship, and sitting well in order on the\nbenches smote the sea with our oars, laying to right lustily, that we\nmight the sooner get away from the accursed land. And when we had rowed a\nhundred yards or so, so that a man's voice could yet be heard by one who\nstood upon the shore, I stood up in the ship and shouted,--\n\n\"He was no coward, O Cyclops, whose comrades thou didst so foully slay in\nthy den. Justly art thou punished, monster, that devourest thy guests in\nthy dwelling. May the Gods make thee suffer worse things than these!\"\n\nThen the Cyclops in his wrath brake off the top of a great hill, a mighty\nrock, and hurled it where he had heard the voice. Right in front of the\nship's bow it fell, and a great wave rose as it sank, and washed the ship\nback to the shore. But I seized a long pole with both hands, and pushed\nthe ship from the land, and bade my comrades ply their oars, nodding with\nmy head, for I would not speak, lest the Cyclops should know where we\nwere. Then they rowed with all their might and main.\n\n[Illustration: THE CYCLOPS IN HIS WRATH BRAKE OFF THE TOP OF A GREAT HILL]\n\nAnd when we had gotten twice as far as before I made as if I would speak\nagain; but my comrades sought to hinder me, saying, \"Nay, my lord, anger\nnot the giant any more. Surely we thought we were lost before, when he\nthrew the great rock, and washed our ship back to the shore. And if he\nhear thee now, he may crush our ship and us, for the man throws a mighty\nbolt, and throws it far.\"\n\nBut I would not be persuaded, but stood up and said, \"Hear, Cyclops! If\nany man ask who blinded thee, say that it was the warrior Ulysses, son of\nLaertes, dwelling in Ithaca.\"\n\n\n\n\nCIRCE'S PALACE\n\nBy Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\nAt one time in the course of Ulysses' weary voyage, he arrived at an\nisland that looked very green and pleasant, but the name of which was\nunknown to him. For, only a little while before he came thither, he had\nmet with a terrible hurricane, or rather a great many hurricanes at once,\nwhich drove his fleet of vessels into a strange part of the sea, where\nneither himself nor any of his mariners had ever sailed. This misfortune\nwas entirely owing to the foolish curiosity of his shipmates, who, while\nUlysses lay asleep, had untied some very bulky leathern bags, in which\nthey supposed a valuable treasure to be concealed. But in each of these\nstout bags, King \u00c6olus, the ruler of the winds, had tied up a tempest, and\nhad given it to Ulysses to keep, in order that he might be sure of a\nfavorable passage homeward to Ithaca; and when the strings were loosened,\nforth rushed the whistling blasts, like air out of a blown bladder,\nwhitening the sea with foam, and scattering the vessels nobody could tell\nwhither.\n\nImmediately after escaping from this peril, a still greater one had\nbefallen him. Scudding before the hurricane, he reached a place which, as\nhe afterwards found, was called L\u00e6strygonia, where some monstrous giants\nhad eaten up many of his companions, and had sunk every one of his\nvessels, except that in which he himself sailed, by flinging great masses\nof rock at them, from the cliffs along the shore. After going through such\ntroubles as these, you cannot wonder that King Ulysses was glad to moor\nhis tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove of the green island, which I began\nwith telling you about. But he had encountered so many dangers from\ngiants, and one-eyed Cyclops, and monsters of the sea and land, that he\ncould not help dreading some mischief, even in this pleasant and seemingly\nsolitary spot. For two days, therefore, the poor weather-worn voyagers\nkept quiet, and either stayed on board of their vessel or merely crept\nalong under cliffs that bordered the shore; and to keep themselves alive,\nthey dug shell-fish out of the sand, and sought for any little rill of\nfresh water that might be running towards the sea.\n\nBefore the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of life;\nfor the followers of King Ulysses, as you will find it important to\nremember, were terrible gormandizers, and pretty sure to grumble if they\nmissed their regular meals, and their irregular ones besides. Their stock\nof provisions was quite exhausted, and even the shell-fish began to get\nscarce, so that they had now to choose between starving to death or\nventuring into the interior of the island, where, perhaps, some huge\nthree-headed dragon or other horrible monster had his den. Such misshapen\ncreatures were very numerous in those days; and nobody ever expected to\nmake a voyage or take a journey without running more or less risk of being\ndevoured by them.\n\nBut King Ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the third\nmorning he determined to discover what sort of a place the island was, and\nwhether it were possible to obtain a supply of food for the hungry mouths\nof his companions. So, taking a spear in his hand, he clambered to the\nsummit of a cliff, and gazed round about him. At a distance, towards the\ncentre of the island, he beheld the stately towers of what seemed to be a\npalace, built of snow-white marble, and rising in the midst of a grove of\nlofty trees. The thick branches of these trees stretched across the front\nof the edifice, and more than half concealed it, although, from the\nportion which he saw, Ulysses judged it to be spacious and exceedingly\nbeautiful, and probably the residence of some great nobleman or prince. A\nblue smoke went curling up from the chimney, and was almost the\npleasantest part of the spectacle to Ulysses. For, from the abundance of\nthis smoke, it was reasonable to conclude that there was a good fire in\nthe kitchen, and that, at dinnertime, a plentiful banquet would be served\nup to the inhabitants of the palace, and to whatever guests might happen\nto drop in.\n\nWith so agreeable a prospect before him, Ulysses fancied that he could not\ndo better than to go straight to the palace gate, and tell the master of\nit that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not far off, who\nhad eaten nothing for a day or two save a few clams and oysters, and would\ntherefore be thankful for a little food. And the prince or nobleman must\nbe a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if, at least, when his own dinner\nwas over, he would not bid them welcome to the broken victuals from the\ntable.\n\nPleasing himself with this idea, King Ulysses had made a few steps in the\ndirection of the palace, when there was a great twittering and chirping\nfrom the branch of a neighboring tree. A moment afterwards, a bird came\nflying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to brush his face\nwith its wings. It was a very pretty little bird, with purple wings and\nbody, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden feathers round its neck, and\non its head a golden tuft, which looked like a king's crown in miniature.\nUlysses tried to catch the bird. But it fluttered nimbly out of his reach,\nstill chirping in a piteous tone, as if it could have told a lamentable\nstory, had it only been gifted with human language. And when he attempted\nto drive it away, the bird flew no farther than the bough of the next\ntree, and again came fluttering about his head, with its doleful chirp, as\nsoon as he showed a purpose of going forward.\n\n\"Have you anything to tell me, little bird?\" asked Ulysses.\n\nAnd he was ready to listen attentively to whatever the bird might\ncommunicate; for at the siege of Troy and elsewhere he had known such odd\nthings to happen that he would not have considered it much out of the\ncommon run had this little feathered creature talked as plainly as\nhimself.\n\n\"Peep!\" said the bird. \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" And nothing else would it\nsay, but only, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" in a melancholy cadence, and over\nand over and over again. As often as Ulysses moved forward, however, the\nbird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive him back, with\nthe anxious flutter of its purple wings. Its unaccountable behavior made\nhim conclude, at last, that the bird knew of some danger that awaited him,\nand which must needs be very terrible, beyond all question, since it moved\neven a little fowl to feel compassion for a human being. So he resolved,\nfor the present, to return to the vessel, and tell his companions what he\nhad seen.\n\nThis appeared to satisfy the bird. As soon as Ulysses turned back, it ran\nup the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark with its\nlong, sharp bill; for it was a kind of woodpecker, you must know, and had\nto get its living in the same manner as other birds of that species. But\nevery little while, as it pecked at the bark of the tree, the purple bird\nbethought itself of some secret sorrow, and repeated its plaintive note of\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\"\n\nOn his way to the shore, Ulysses had the good luck to kill a large stag by\nthrusting his spear into its back. Taking it on his shoulders (for he was\na remarkably strong man), he lugged it along with him, and flung it down\nbefore his hungry companions. I have already hinted to you what\ngormandizers some of the comrades of King Ulysses were. From what is\nrelated of them, I reckon that their favorite diet was pork, and that they\nhad lived upon it until a good part of their physical substance was\nswine's flesh, and their tempers and dispositions were very much akin to\nthe hog. A dish of venison, however, was no unacceptable meal to them,\nespecially after feeding so long on oysters and clams. So, beholding the\ndead stag, they felt of its ribs in a knowing way, and lost no time in\nkindling a fire, of drift-wood, to cook it. The rest of the day was spent\nin feasting; and if these enormous eaters got up from table at sunset, it\nwas only because they could not scrape another morsel off the poor\nanimal's bones.\n\nThe next morning their appetites were as sharp as ever. They looked at\nUlysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff again, and come\nback with another fat deer upon his shoulders. Instead of setting out,\nhowever, he summoned the whole crew together, and told them it was in vain\nto hope that he could kill a stag every day for their dinner, and\ntherefore it was advisable to think of some other mode of satisfying their\nhunger.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"when I was on the cliff yesterday, I discovered that this\nisland is inhabited. At a considerable distance from the shore stood a\nmarble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a great deal of\nsmoke curling out of one of its chimneys.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips. \"That smoke\nmust have come from the kitchen fire. There was a good dinner on the spit;\nand no doubt there will be as good a one to-day.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the wise Ulysses, \"you must remember, my good friends,\nour misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed Polyphemus, the Cyclops!\nInstead of his ordinary milk diet, did he not eat up two of our comrades\nfor his supper, and a couple more for breakfast, and two at his supper\nagain? Methinks I see him yet, the hideous monster, scanning us with that\ngreat red eye, in the middle of his forehead, to single out the fattest.\nAnd then again, only a few days ago, did we not fall into the hands of the\nking of the L\u00e6strygons, and those other horrible giants, his subjects, who\ndevoured a great many more of us than are now left? To tell you the truth,\nif we go to yonder palace, there can be no question that we shall make our\nappearance at the dinner-table; but whether seated as guests or served up\nas food, is a point to be seriously considered.\"\n\n\"Either way,\" murmured some of the hungriest of the crew, \"it will be\nbetter than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being well\nfattened beforehand and daintily cooked afterwards.\"\n\n\"That is a matter of taste,\" said King Ulysses, \"and, for my own part,\nneither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would\nreconcile me to being dished at last. My proposal is, therefore, that we\ndivide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing lots,\nwhich of the two shall go to the palace, and beg for food and assistance.\nIf these can be obtained, all is well. If not, and if the inhabitants\nprove as inhospitable as Polyphemus or the L\u00e6strygons, then there will but\nhalf of us perish, and the remainder may set sail and escape.\"\n\nAs nobody objected to this scheme, Ulysses proceeded to count the whole\nband, and found that there were forty-six men, including himself. He then\nnumbered off twenty-two of them, and put Eurylochus (who was one of his\nchief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity) at their head.\nUlysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men, in person. Then,\ntaking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one of which was\nwritten, \"Go,\" and on the other, \"Stay.\" Another person now held the\nhelmet, while Ulysses and Eurylochus drew out each a shell; and the word\n\"Go\" was found written on that which Eurylochus had drawn. In this manner\nit was decided that Ulysses and his twenty-two men were to remain at the\nseaside until the other party should have found out what sort of treatment\nthey might expect at the mysterious palace. As there was no help for it,\nEurylochus immediately set forth at the head of his twenty-two followers,\nwho went off in a very melancholy state of mind, leaving their friends in\nhardly better spirits than themselves.\n\nNo sooner had they clambered up the cliff, than they discerned the tall\nmarble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the\nlovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it. A gush of smoke came\nfrom a chimney in the rear of the edifice. This vapor rose high in the\nair, and meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to pass over\nthe heads of the hungry mariners. When people's appetites are keen, they\nhave a very quick scent for anything savory in the wind.\n\n\"That smoke comes from the kitchen!\" cried one of them, turning up his\nnose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly. \"And, as sure as I'm a\nhalf-starved vagabond, I smell roast meat in it.\"\n\n\"Pig, roast pig!\" said another. \"Ah, the dainty little porker! My mouth\nwaters for him.\"\n\n\"Let us make haste,\" cried the others, \"or we shall be too late for the\ngood cheer!\"\n\nBut scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the cliff,\nwhen a bird came fluttering to meet them. It was the same pretty little\nbird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs, the golden collar\nround its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its head, whose behavior had\nso much surprised Ulysses. It hovered about Eurylochus, and almost brushed\nhis face with its wings.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" chirped the bird.\n\nSo plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the little\ncreature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret that it had\nto tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.\n\n\"My pretty bird,\" said Eurylochus,--for he was a wary person, and let no\ntoken of harm escape his notice,--\"my pretty bird, who sent you hither?\nAnd what is the message which you bring?\"\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" replied the bird, very sorrowfully.\n\nThen it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked round at them, as\nif exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.\nEurylochus and a few of the others were inclined to turn back. They could\nnot help suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of something\nmischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of\nwhich affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow. But the\nrest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace kitchen,\nridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of them (more brutal\nthan his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer in the whole crew)\nsaid such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the mere thought did not\nturn him into a wild beast in shape, as he already was in his nature.\n\n\"This troublesome and impertinent little fowl,\" said he, \"would make a\ndelicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting away\nbetween the teeth. If he comes within my reach, I'll catch him, and give\nhim to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew away,\ncrying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep,\" more dolorously than ever.\n\n\"That bird,\" remarked Eurylochus, \"knows more than we do about what awaits\nus at the palace.\"\n\n\"Come on, then,\" cried his comrades, \"and we'll soon know as much as he\ndoes.\"\n\nThe party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant wood.\nEvery little while they caught new glimpses of the marble palace, which\nlooked more and more beautiful the nearer they approached it. They soon\nentered a broad pathway, which seemed to be very neatly kept, and which\nwent winding along with streaks of sunshine falling across it, and specks\nof light quivering among the deepest shadows that fell from the lofty\ntrees. It was bordered, too, with a great many sweet-smelling flowers,\nsuch as the mariners had never seen before. So rich and beautiful they\nwere that, if the shrubs grew wild here and were native in the soil, then\nthis island was surely the flower-garden of the whole earth; or, if\ntransplanted from some other clime, it must have been from the Happy\nIslands that lay towards the golden sunset.\n\n\"There has been a great deal of pains foolishly wasted on these flowers,\"\nobserved one of the company; and I tell you what he said, that you may\nkeep in mind what gormandizers they were. \"For my part, if I were the\nowner of the palace, I would bid my gardener cultivate nothing but savory\npotherbs to make a stuffing for roast meat, or to flavor a stew with.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" cried the others. \"But I'll warrant you there's a kitchen\ngarden in the rear of the palace.\"\n\nAt one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it for\nwant of liquor which they liked better. Looking into its bosom, they\nbeheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly distorted by\nthe gush and motion of the water, that each one of them appeared to be\nlaughing at himself and all his companions. So ridiculous were these\nimages of themselves, indeed, that they did really laugh aloud, and could\nhardly be grave again as soon as they wished. And after they had drunk,\nthey grew still merrier than before.\n\n\"It has a twang of the wine-cask in it,\" said one, smacking his lips.\n\n\"Make haste!\" cried his fellows; \"we'll find the wine-cask itself at the\npalace; and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains.\"\n\nThen they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of the\nsavory banquet at which they hoped to be guests. But Eurylochus told them\nthat he felt as if he were walking in a dream.\n\n\"If I am really awake,\" continued he, \"then, in my opinion, we are on the\npoint of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that befell us in\nthe cave of Polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating L\u00e6strygons, or in\nthe windy palace of King \u00c6olus, which stands on a brazen-walled island.\nThis kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me before any wonderful\noccurrence. If you take my advice, you will turn back.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent from\nthe palace kitchen was now very perceptible. \"We would not turn back,\nthough we were certain that the king of the L\u00e6strygons, as big as a\nmountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge Polyphemus, the\none-eyed Cyclops, at its foot.\"\n\nAt length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to be\nvery large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon its roof.\nThough it was now midday, and the sun shone brightly over the marble\nfront, yet its snowy whiteness and its fantastic style of architecture\nmade it look unreal, like the frostwork on a window-pane, or like the\nshapes of castles which one sees among the clouds by moonlight. But just\nthen a puff of wind brought down the smoke of the kitchen chimney among\nthem, and caused each man to smell the odor of the dish that he liked\nbest; and, after scenting it, they thought everything else moonshine, and\nnothing real save this palace, and save the banquet that was evidently\nready to be served up in it.\n\nSo they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got half-way\nacross the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves came\nbounding to meet them. The terrified mariners started back, expecting no\nbetter fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured. To their surprise and\njoy, however, these wild beasts merely capered around them, wagging their\ntails, offering their heads to be stroked and patted, and behaving just\nlike so many well-bred house-dogs, when they wish to express their delight\nat meeting their master or their master's friends. The biggest lion licked\nthe feet of Eurylochus; and every other lion, and every wolf and tiger,\nsingled out one of his two and twenty followers, whom the beast fondled as\nif he loved him better than a beef-bone.\n\nBut, for all that, Eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce and\nsavage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any moment, to\nfeel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the tigers make a\ndeadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the man whom he had\nfondled. Their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere freak; but their savage\nnature was as true as their teeth and claws.\n\nNevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts\nfrisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they\nmounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low\ngrowl, particularly from the wolves, as if they thought it a pity, after\nall, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what they were\nmade of.\n\nEurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and looked\nthrough the open doorway into the interior of the palace. The first thing\nthat they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the middle of it,\ngushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin, and falling back\ninto it with a continual plash. The water of this fountain, as it spouted\nupward, was constantly taking new shapes, not very distinctly, but plainly\nenough for a nimble fancy to recognize what they were. Now it was the\nshape of a man in a long robe, the fleecy whiteness of which was made out\nof the fountain's spray; now it was a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or an\nass, or, as often as anything else, a hog, wallowing in the marble basin\nas if it were his sty. It was either magic or some very curious machinery\nthat caused the gushing waterspout to assume all these forms. But, before\nthe strangers had time to look closely at this wonderful sight, their\nattention was drawn off by a very sweet and agreeable sound. A woman's\nvoice was singing melodiously in another room of the palace, and with her\nvoice was mingled the noise of a loom, at which she was probably seated,\nweaving a rich texture of cloth, and intertwining the high and low\nsweetness of her voice into a rich tissue of harmony.\n\nBy and by the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were\nseveral feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and then\na merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three or four\nyoung women sit at work together.\n\n\"What a sweet song that was!\" exclaimed one of the voyagers.\n\n\"Too sweet, indeed,\" answered Eurylochus, shaking his head. \"Yet it was\nnot so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those birdlike damsels who wanted\nto tempt us on the rocks, so that our vessel might be wrecked, and our\nbones left whitening along the shore.\"\n\n\"But just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that buzz of\nthe loom, as the shuttle passes to and fro,\" said another comrade. \"What a\ndomestic, household, homelike sound it is! Ah, before that weary siege of\nTroy, I used to hear the buzzing loom and the women's voices under my own\nroof. Shall I never hear them again? nor taste those nice little savory\ndishes which my dearest wife knew how to serve up?\"\n\n\"Tush! we shall fare better here,\" said another. \"But how innocently those\nwomen are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear them! And\nmark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and familiar, but which yet\nseems to have the authority of a mistress among them. Let us show\nourselves at once. What harm can the lady of the palace and her maidens do\nto mariners and warriors like us?\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Eurylochus, \"that it was a young maiden who beguiled\nthree of our friends into the palace of the king of the L\u00e6strygons, who\nate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye.\"\n\nNo warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions. They\nwent up to a pair of folding-doors at the farther end of the hall, and,\nthrowing them wide open, passed into the next room. Eurylochus, meanwhile,\nhad stepped behind a pillar. In the short moment while the folding-doors\nopened and closed again, he caught a glimpse of a very beautiful woman\nrising from the loom and coming to meet the poor weather-beaten wanderers,\nwith a hospitable smile and her hand stretched out in welcome. There were\nfour other young women, who joined their hands and danced merrily forward,\nmaking gestures of obeisance to the strangers. They were only less\nbeautiful than the lady who seemed to be their mistress. Yet Eurylochus\nfancied that one of them had sea-green hair, and that the close-fitting\nbodice of a second looked like the bark of a tree, and that both the\nothers had something odd in their aspect, although he could not quite\ndetermine what it was, in the little while that he had to examine them.\n\nThe folding-doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the\npillar, in the solitude of the outer hall. There Eurylochus waited until\nhe was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but without\nhearing anything that could help him to guess what had become of his\nfriends. Footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and repassing in\nother parts of the palace. Then there was a clatter of silver dishes, or\ngolden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in a splendid\nbanqueting-hall. But by and by he heard a tremendous grunting and\nsquealing, and then a sudden scampering, like that of small, hard hoofs\nover a marble floor, while the voices of the mistress and her four\nhandmaidens were screaming all together, in tones of anger and derision.\nEurylochus could not conceive what had happened, unless a drove of swine\nhad broken into the palace, attracted by the smell of the feast. Chancing\nto cast his eyes at the fountain, he saw that it did not shift its shape,\nas formerly, nor looked either like a long-robed man, or a lion, a tiger,\na wolf, or an ass. It looked like nothing but a hog, which lay wallowing\nin the marble basin, and filled it from brim to brim.\n\nBut we must leave the prudent Eurylochus waiting in the outer hall, and\nfollow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace. As soon as the\nbeautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as I have told you, and\ncame forward, smiling, and stretching out her hand. She took the hand of\nthe foremost among them, and bade him and the whole party welcome.\n\n\"You have been long expected, my good friends,\" said she. \"I and my\nmaidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to\nrecognize us. Look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces must\nnot have been familiar to us.\"\n\nSo the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman had\nbeen weaving in her loom; and to their vast astonishment they saw their\nown figures perfectly represented in different colored threads. It was a\nlifelike picture of their recent adventures, showing them in the cave of\nPolyphemus, and how they had put out his one great moony eye; while in\nanother part of the tapestry they were untying the leathern bags, puffed\nout with contrary winds; and farther on, they beheld themselves scampering\naway from the gigantic king of the L\u00e6strygons, who had caught one of them\nby the leg. Lastly, there they were, sitting on the desolate shore of this\nvery island, hungry and downcast, and looking ruefully at the bare bones\nof the stag which they devoured yesterday. This was as far as the work had\nyet proceeded; but when the beautiful woman should again sit down at her\nloom, she would probably make a picture of what had since happened to the\nstrangers, and of what was now going to happen.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"that I know all about your troubles; and you cannot\ndoubt that I desire to make you happy for as long a time as you may remain\nwith me. For this purpose, my honored guests, I have ordered a banquet to\nbe prepared. Fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, and in luscious stews, and\nseasoned, I trust, to all your tastes, are ready to be served up. If your\nappetites tell you it is dinner-time, then come with me to the festal\nsaloon.\"\n\nAt this kind invitation, the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed; and one\nof them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their hospitable\nhostess that any hour of the day was dinner-time with them, whenever they\ncould get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it with. So the\nbeautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens (one of them had\nsea-green hair, another a bodice of oak-bark, a third sprinkled a shower\nof water-drops from her fingers' ends, and the fourth had some other\noddity, which I have forgotten), all these followed behind, and hurried\nthe guests along, until they entered a magnificent saloon. It was built in\na perfect oval, and lighted from a crystal dome above. Around the walls\nwere ranged two and twenty thrones, overhung by canopies of crimson and\ngold, and provided with the softest of cushions, which were tasseled and\nfringed with gold cord. Each of the strangers was invited to sit down; and\nthere they were, two and twenty storm-beaten mariners, in worn and\ntattered garb, sitting on two and twenty cushioned and canopied thrones,\nso rich and gorgeous that the proudest monarch had nothing more splendid\nin his stateliest hall.\n\nThen you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and\nleaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction in\nhoarse whispers.\n\n\"Our good hostess has made kings of us all,\" said one. \"Ha! do you smell\nthe feast? I'll engage it will be fit to set before two-and-twenty kings.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said another, \"it will be, mainly, good substantial joints,\nsirloins, spareribs, and hinder quarters, without too many kickshaws. If I\nthought the good lady would not take it amiss, I should call for a fat\nslice of fried bacon to begin with.\"\n\nAh, the gluttons and gormandizers! You see how it was with them. In the\nloftiest seats of dignity, on royal thrones, they could think of nothing\nbut their greedy appetite, which was the portion of their nature that they\nshared with wolves and swine; so that they resembled those vilest of\nanimals far more than they did kings,--if, indeed, kings were what they\nought to be.\n\nBut the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there\nentered a train of two and twenty serving-men, bringing dishes of the\nrichest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a steam\nthat it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon. An equal\nnumber of attendants brought great flagons of wine, of various kinds, some\nof which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling down the throat;\nwhile, of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear that you could see\nthe wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet. While the servants\nsupplied the two and twenty guests with food and drink, the hostess and\nher four maidens went from one throne to another, exhorting them to eat\ntheir fill, and to quaff wine abundantly, and thus to recompense\nthemselves, at this one banquet, for the many days when they had gone\nwithout a dinner. But, whenever the mariners were not looking at them\n(which was pretty often, as they looked chiefly into the basins and\nplatters), the beautiful woman and her damsels turned aside and laughed.\nEven the servants, as they knelt down to present the dishes, might be seen\nto grin and sneer, while the guests were helping themselves to the offered\ndainties.\n\nAnd once in a while the strangers seemed to taste something that they did\nnot like.\n\n\"Here is an odd kind of a spice in this dish,\" said one. \"I can't say it\nquite suits my palate. Down it goes, however.\"\n\n\"Send a good draught of wine down your throat,\" said his comrade on the\nnext throne. \"That is the stuff to make this sort of cookery relish well.\nThough I must needs say, the wine has a queer taste too. But the more I\ndrink of it the better I like the flavor.\"\n\nWhatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at dinner\na prodigiously long while; and it would really have made you ashamed to\nsee how they swilled down the liquor and gobbled up the food. They sat, on\ngolden thrones, to be sure; but they behaved like pigs in a sty, and, if\nthey had had their wits about them, they might have guessed that this was\nthe opinion of their beautiful hostess and her maidens. It brings a blush\ninto my face to reckon up, in my own mind, what mountains of meat and\npudding, and what gallons of wine, these two and twenty guzzlers and\ngormandizers ate and drank. They forgot all about their homes, and their\nwives, and children, and all about Ulysses, and everything else, except\nthis banquet, at which they wanted to keep feasting forever. But at length\nthey began to give over, from mere incapacity to hold any more.\n\n\"That last bit of fat is too much for me,\" said one.\n\n\"And I have not room for another morsel,\" said his next neighbor, heaving\na sigh. \"What a pity! My appetite is as sharp as ever.\"\n\nIn short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones, with\nsuch a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to behold. When\ntheir hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her four damsels; so did\nthe two-and-twenty serving men that bore the dishes, and their\ntwo-and-twenty fellows that poured out the wine. And the louder they all\nlaughed, the more stupid and helpless did the two-and-twenty gormandizers\nlook. Then the beautiful woman took her stand in the middle of the saloon,\nand stretching out a slender rod (it had been all the while in her hand,\nalthough they never noticed it till this moment), she turned it from one\nguest to another, until each had felt it pointed at himself. Beautiful as\nher face was, and though there was a smile on it, it looked just as wicked\nand mischievous as the ugliest serpent that ever was seen; and fat-witted\nas the voyagers had made themselves, they began to suspect that they had\nfallen into the power of an evil-minded enchantress.\n\n\"Wretches,\" cried she, \"you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in this\nprincely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hogpen. You are already\nswine in everything but the human form, which you disgrace, and which I\nmyself should be ashamed to keep a moment longer, were you to share it\nwith me. But it will require only the slightest exercise of magic to make\nthe exterior conform to the hoggish disposition. Assume your proper\nshapes, gormandizers, and begone to the sty!\"\n\nUttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot\nimperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding, instead of\nhis comrades in human shape, one and twenty hogs sitting on the same\nnumber of golden thrones. Each man (as he still supposed himself to be)\nessayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he could merely grunt,\nand that, in a word, he was just such another beast as his companions. It\nlooked so intolerably absurd to see hogs on cushioned thrones, that they\nmade haste to wallow down upon all fours, like other swine. They tried to\ngroan and beg for mercy, but forthwith emitted the most awful grunting and\nsquealing that ever came out of swinish throats. They would have wrung\ntheir hands in despair, but, attempting to do so, grew all the more\ndesperate for seeing themselves squatted on their hams, and pawing the air\nwith their fore trotters. Dear me! what pendulous ears they had! what\nlittle red eyes, half buried in fat! and what long snouts, instead of\nGrecian noses!\n\nBut brutes as they certainly were, they yet had enough of human nature in\nthem to be shocked at their own hideousness; and still intending to groan,\nthey uttered a viler grunt and squeal than before. So harsh and\near-piercing it was, that you would have fancied a butcher was sticking\nhis knife into each of their throats, or, at the very least, that somebody\nwas pulling every hog by his funny little twist of a tail.\n\n\"Begone to your sty!\" cried the enchantress, giving them some smart\nstrokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving-men. \"Drive out\nthese swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat.\"\n\nThe door of the saloon being flung open, the drove of hogs ran in all\ndirections save the right one, in accordance with their hoggish\nperversity, but were finally driven into the back yard of the palace. It\nwas a sight to bring tears into one's eyes (and I hope none of you will be\ncruel enough to laugh at it) to see the poor creatures go snuffing along,\npicking up here a cabbage leaf and there a turnip-top, and rooting their\nnoses in the earth for whatever they could find. In their sty, moreover,\nthey behaved more piggishly than the pigs that had been born so; for they\nbit and snorted at one another, put their feet in the trough, and gobbled\nup their victuals in a ridiculous hurry; and, when there was nothing more\nto be had, they made a great pile of themselves among some unclean straw\nand fell fast asleep. If they had any human reason left, it was just\nenough to keep them wondering when they should be slaughtered, and what\nquality of bacon they should make.\n\nMeantime, as I told you before, Eurylochus had waited, and waited, and\nwaited, in the entrance-hall of the palace, without being able to\ncomprehend what had befallen his friends. At last, when the swinish uproar\nresounded through the palace, and when he saw the image of a hog in the\nmarble basin, he thought it best to hasten back to the vessel, and inform\nthe wise Ulysses of these marvelous occurrences. So he ran as fast as he\ncould down the steps, and never stopped to draw breath till he reached the\nshore.\n\n\"Why do you come alone?\" asked King Ulysses, as soon as he saw him. \"Where\nare your two and twenty comrades?\"\n\nAt these questions Eurylochus burst into tears.\n\n\"Alas!\" cried he, \"I greatly fear that we shall never see one of their\nfaces again.\"\n\nThen he told Ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it, and\nadded that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress, and\nthe marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal cavern in\nreality. As for his companions, he could not imagine what had become of\nthem, unless they had been given to the swine to be devoured alive. At\nthis intelligence all the voyagers were greatly affrighted. But Ulysses\nlost no time in girding on his sword, and hanging his bow and quiver over\nhis shoulders, and taking a spear in his right hand. When his followers\nsaw their wise leader making these preparations, they inquired whither he\nwas going, and earnestly besought him not to leave them.\n\n\"You are our king,\" cried they; \"and what is more, you are the wisest man\nin the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can get us out\nof this danger. If you desert us, and go to the enchanted palace, you will\nsuffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not a soul of us will\never see our dear Ithaca again.\"\n\n\"As I am your king,\" answered Ulysses, \"and wiser than any of you, it is\ntherefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades, and\nwhether anything can yet be done to rescue them. Wait for me here until\nto-morrow. If I do not then return, you must hoist sail, and endeavor to\nfind your way to our native land. For my part, I am answerable for the\nfate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my side in battle, and been\nso often drenched to the skin, along with me, by the same tempestuous\nsurges. I will either bring them back with me or perish.\"\n\nHad his followers dared, they would have detained him by force. But King\nUlysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade them stop\nhim at their peril. Seeing him so determined, they let him go, and sat\ndown on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could be, waiting and\npraying for his return.\n\nIt happened to Ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few steps\nfrom the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering towards him,\ncrying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" and using all the art it could to persuade\nhim to go no farther.\n\n\"What mean you, little bird?\" cried Ulysses. \"You are arrayed like a king\nin purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head. Is it because\nI too am a king that you desire so earnestly to speak with me? If you can\ntalk in human language, say what you would have me do.\"\n\n\"Peep!\" answered the purple bird, very dolorously. \"Peep, peep,\npe--we--ep!\"\n\nCertainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and it\nwas a sorrowful predicament that he could not, at least, have the\nconsolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste in\ntrying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and had\ngone a good way along the pleasant wood-path, when there met him a young\nman of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather singular\ngarb. He wore a short cloak, and a sort of cap that seemed to be furnished\nwith a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step, you would have\nsupposed that there might likewise be wings on his feet. To enable him to\nwalk still better (for he was always on one journey or another), he\ncarried a winged staff, around which two serpents were wriggling and\ntwisting. In short, I have said enough to make you guess that it was\nQuicksilver; and Ulysses (who knew him of old, and had learned a great\ndeal of his wisdom from him) recognized him in a moment.\n\n\"Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?\" asked Quicksilver.\n\"Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The wicked enchantress\n(whose name is Circe, the sister of King \u00c6etes) dwells in the marble\npalace which you see yonder among the trees. By her magic arts, she\nchanges every human being into the brute, beast, or fowl whom he happens\nmost to resemble.\"\n\n\"That little bird which met me at the edge of the cliff,\" exclaimed\nUlysses; \"was he a human being once?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Quicksilver. \"He was once a king, named Picus, and a\npretty good sort of a king too, only rather too proud of his purple robe,\nand his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was forced to\ntake the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and wolves, and\ntigers who will come running to meet you, in front of the palace, were\nformerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their dispositions the wild\nbeasts whose forms they now rightfully wear.\"\n\n\"And my poor companions,\" said Ulysses. \"Have they undergone a similar\nchange, through the arts of this wicked Circe?\"\n\n\"You well know what gormandizers they were,\" replied Quicksilver; and,\nrogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. \"So you will\nnot be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of swine! If\nCirce had never done anything worse, I really should not think her so very\nmuch to blame.\"\n\n\"But can I do nothing to help them?\" inquired Ulysses.\n\n\"It will require all your wisdom,\" said Quicksilver, \"and a little of my\nown into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from being\ntransformed into a fox. But do as I bid you, and the matter may end better\nthan it has begun.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of something; he\nwent stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand on a little plant\nwith a snow-white flower, which he plucked and smelt of. Ulysses had been\nlooking at that very spot only just before; and it appeared to him that\nthe plant had burst into full flower the instant when Quicksilver touched\nit with his fingers.\n\n\"Take this flower, King Ulysses,\" said he. \"Guard it as you do your\neyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious, and\nyou might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another like it.\nKeep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you enter the\npalace, and while you are talking with the enchantress. Especially when\nshe offers you food, or a draught of wine out of her goblet, be careful to\nfill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance. Follow these directions,\nand you may defy her magic arts to change you into a fox.\"\n\nQuicksilver then gave him some further advice how to behave, and, bidding\nhim be bold and prudent, again assured him that, powerful as Circe was, he\nwould have a fair prospect of coming safely out of her enchanted palace.\nAfter listening attentively, Ulysses thanked his good friend, and resumed\nhis way. But he had taken only a few steps, when, recollecting some other\nquestions which he wished to ask, he turned round again, and beheld nobody\non the spot where Quicksilver had stood; for that winged cap of his, and\nthose winged shoes with the help of the winged staff, had carried him\nquickly out of sight.\n\nWhen Ulysses reached the lawn in front of the palace, the lions and other\nsavage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned upon him\nand licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with his long spear,\nand sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he knew that they had\nonce been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him limb from limb, instead\nof fawning upon him, could they do the mischief that was in their hearts.\nThe wild beasts yelped and glared at him, and stood at a distance while he\nascended the palace steps.\n\nOn entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the centre of it.\nThe up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a long,\nwhite, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of welcome. The\nking likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom, and the sweet\nmelody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the pleasant voices of\nherself and the four maidens talking together, with peals of merry\nlaughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much time in listening to\nthe laughter or the song. He leaned his spear against one of the pillars\nof the hall, and then, after loosening his sword in the scabbard, stepped\nboldly forward, and threw the folding-doors wide open. The moment she\nbeheld his stately figure standing in the doorway, the beautiful woman\nrose from the loom, and ran to meet him with a glad smile throwing its\nsunshine over her face, and both her hands extended.\n\n\"Welcome, brave stranger!\" cried she. \"We were expecting you.\"\n\nAnd the nymph with the sea-green hair made a courtesy down to the ground,\nand likewise bade him welcome; so did her sister with the bodice of oaken\nbark, and she that sprinkled dew-drops from her fingers' ends, and the\nfourth one with some oddity which I cannot remember. And Circe, as the\nbeautiful enchantress was called (who had deluded so many persons that she\ndid not doubt of being able to delude Ulysses, not imagining how wise he\nwas), again addressed him.\n\n\"Your companions,\" said she, \"have already been received into my palace,\nand have enjoyed the hospitable treatment to which the propriety of their\nbehavior so well entitles them. If such be your pleasure, you shall first\ntake some refreshment, and then join them in the elegant apartments which\nthey now occupy. See, I and my maidens have been weaving their figures\ninto this piece of tapestry.\"\n\nShe pointed to the web of beautifully woven cloth in the loom. Circe and\nthe four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the arrival\nof the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now been wrought,\nin addition to what I before described. In this new part, Ulysses saw his\ntwo and twenty friends represented as sitting on cushioned and canopied\nthrones, greedily devouring dainties and quaffing deep draughts of wine.\nThe work had not yet gone any further. Oh, no, indeed! The enchantress was\nfar too cunning to let Ulysses see the mischief which her magic arts had\nsince brought upon the gormandizers.\n\n\"As for yourself, valiant sir,\" said Circe, \"judging by the dignity of\nyour aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to follow\nme, and you shall be treated as befits your rank.\"\n\nSo Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon, where his two and twenty\ncomrades had devoured the banquet which ended so disastrously for\nthemselves. But all this while he had held the snow-white flower in his\nhand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking; and as he\ncrossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale several\nlong and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of two and twenty thrones,\nwhich had before been ranged around the wall, there was now only a single\nthrone, in the centre of the apartment. But this was surely the most\nmagnificent seat that ever a king or an emperor reposed himself upon, all\nmade of chased gold, studded with precious stones, with a cushion that\nlooked like a soft heap of living roses, and overhung by a canopy of\nsunlight which Circe knew how to weave into drapery. The enchantress took\nUlysses by the hand, and made him sit down upon this dazzling throne.\nThen, clapping her hands, she summoned the chief butler.\n\n\"Bring hither,\" said she, \"the goblet that is set apart for kings to drink\nout of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal brother,\nKing \u00c6etes, praised so highly, when he visited me with my fair daughter\nMedea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it would delight\nher to see me offering this wine to my honored guest.\"\n\nBut Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white\nflower to his nose.\n\n\"Is it a wholesome wine?\" he asked.\n\nAt this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked round\nat them, with an aspect of severity.\n\n\"It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,\"\nsaid she; \"for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to do,\nit brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be.\"\n\nThe chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into\nswine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste to\nbring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and which\nkept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim. But,\ndelightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most potent\nenchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of the pure\ngrape-juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the danger of\nthe thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better. The mere\nsmell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough to turn a\nman's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's claws grow out of his\nfingers, or a fox's brush behind him.\n\n\"Drink, my noble guest,\" said Circe, smiling as she presented him with the\ngoblet. \"You will find in this draught a solace for all your troubles.\"\n\nKing Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he\nheld the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath\nthat his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance. Then,\ndrinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the face.\n\n\"Wretch,\" cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, \"how dare\nyou keep your human shape a moment longer? Take the form of the brute whom\nyou most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow swine in the sty; if a\nlion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the lawn; if a fox,\ngo exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou hast quaffed off my wine,\nand canst be man no longer.\"\n\nBut, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing\ndown from his throne in swinish shape or taking any other brutal form,\nUlysses looked even more manly and kinglike than before. He gave the magic\ngoblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor, to the farthest\nend of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he seized the enchantress by\nher beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant to strike off\nher head at one blow.\n\n\"Wicked Circe,\" cried he, in a terrible voice, \"this sword shall put an\nend to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no more\nmischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which make\nbeasts of them.\"\n\nThe tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed\nso brightly and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe was\nalmost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow. The chief\nbutler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet as he\nwent; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their knees,\nwringing their hands and screaming for mercy.\n\n\"Spare me!\" cried Circe,--\"spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now I\nknow that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most prudent\nof mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only couldst\nhave conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show thee true\nhospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this magnificent\npalace to be henceforth thy home.\"\n\nThe four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and especially\nthe ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal of salt water,\nand the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from her fingers'\nends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would not be pacified\nuntil Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his companions, and as\nmany others as he should direct, from their present forms of beast or bird\ninto their former shapes of men.\n\n\"On these conditions,\" said he, \"I consent to spare your life. Otherwise\nyou must die upon the spot.\"\n\nWith a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have\nconsented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however\nlittle she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out of\nthe back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty.\nThere were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and\nthough the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was\nwonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new\nbrethren who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically,\nindeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to make\nit a point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise to\noutdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men once turn\nto brutes, the trifle of man's wit that remains in them adds tenfold to\ntheir brutality.\n\nThe comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of\nhaving formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two and twenty\nenormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards\nhim, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both hands\nto his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they wanted, nor\nwhether they were merely hungry or miserable from some other cause. It was\ncurious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them thrusting their\nnoses into the mire, in quest of something to eat. The nymph with the\nbodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an oak) threw a handful of\nacorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs scrambled and fought for\nthe prize, as if they had tasted not so much as a noggin of sour milk for\na twelvemonth.\n\n\"These must certainly be my comrades,\" said Ulysses. \"I recognize their\ndispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into the\nhuman form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their bad\nexample should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original\nshapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It will\nrequire greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them.\"\n\nSo Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the\nsound of which the two and twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears. It\nwas a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and\ntheir mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not\ngobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and another\nbegan to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore\ntrotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs or\nmen, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled the\nlatter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of Ulysses, looking\npretty much the same as when they left the vessel.\n\nYou must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely gone\nout of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's character, it is\nvery difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by the hamadryad, who,\nbeing exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another handful of acorns before\nthe twenty-two newly restored people; whereupon down they wallowed, in a\nmoment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful way. Then, recollecting\nthemselves, they scrambled to their feet, and looked more than commonly\nfoolish.\n\n\"Thanks, noble Ulysses!\" they cried. \"From brute beasts you have restored\nus to the condition of men again.\"\n\n\"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me,\" said the wise king.\n\"I fear I have done but little for you.\"\n\nTo say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their voices,\nand for a long time afterwards they spoke gruffly, and were apt to set up\na squeal.\n\n\"It must depend on your own future behavior,\" added Ulysses, \"whether you\ndo not find your way back to the sty.\"\n\nAt this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a\nneighboring tree.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--wee--ep!\"\n\nIt was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their\nheads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would\nremember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of\nharm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good\nlittle fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the words\nspoken, and before the bird had time to utter another \"Pe--weep,\" King\nPicus leaped down from the bough of the tree, as majestic a sovereign as\nany in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow\nstockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden\ncrown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another the\ncourtesies which belonged to their elevated rank. But from that time\nforth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of\nroyalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the\nupper servant of his people, and that it must be his lifelong labor to\nmake them better and happier.\n\nAs for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored\nthem to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it\nadvisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning\nof their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of\nmen, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the\nblood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as they\nliked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything was\nsettled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his\ncomrades, whom he had left at the seashore. These being arrived, with the\nprudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in\nCirce's enchanted palace until quite rested and refreshed from the toils\nand hardships of their voyage.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIRENS--SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS\n\nTranslated by George Herbert Palmer\n\n\nI turned me toward my ship, and called my crew to come on board and loose\nthe cables. Quickly they came, took places at the pins, and sitting in\norder smote the foaming water with their oars. And for our aid behind our\ndark-bowed ship came a fair wind to fill our sail, a welcome comrade, sent\nus by fair-haired Circe, the mighty goddess, human of speech. When we had\ndone our work at the several ropes about the ship, we sat us down, while\nwind and helmsman kept her steady.\n\nNow to my men, with aching heart, I said, \"My friends, it is not right for\nonly one or two to know the oracles which Circe told, that heavenly\ngoddess. Therefore I speak, that, knowing all, we so may die, or fleeing\ndeath and doom, we may escape. She warns us first against the marvelous\nSirens, and bids us flee their voice and flowery meadow. Only myself she\nbade to hear their song; but bind me with galling cords, to hold me firm,\nupright upon the mast-block,--round it let the rope be wound. And if I\nshould entreat you, and bid you set me free, thereat with still more\nfetters bind me fast.\"\n\nThus I, relating all my tale, talked with my comrades. Meanwhile our\nstanch ship swiftly neared the Sirens' island; a fair wind swept her on.\nOn a sudden the wind ceased; there came a breathless calm; Heaven hushed\nthe waves. My comrades, rising, furled the sail, stowed it on board the\nhollow ship, then sitting at their oars whitened the water with the\npolished blades. But I with my sharp sword cut a great cake of wax into\nsmall bits, which I then kneaded in my sturdy hands. Soon the wax warmed,\nforced by the powerful pressure and by the rays of the exalted sun, the\nlord of all. Then one by one I stopped the ears of all my crew; and on the\ndeck they bound me hand and foot, upright upon the mast-block, round which\nthey wound the rope; and sitting down they smote the foaming water with\ntheir oars. But when we were as far away as one can call, and driving\nswiftly onward, our speeding ship, as it drew near, did not escape the\nSirens, and thus they lifted up their penetrating voice:--\n\n\"Come hither, come, Ulysses, whom all praise! great glory to the Achaians!\nBring on your ship, and listen to our song. For none has ever passed us in\na black-hulled ship till from our lips he heard ecstatic song, then went\nhis way rejoicing and with larger knowledge. For we know all that on the\nplain of Troy Argives and Trojans suffered at the Gods' behest; we know\nwhatever happens on the bounteous earth.\"\n\nSo spoke they, sending forth their glorious song, and my heart longed to\nlisten. Knitting my brows, I signed my men to set me free; but bending\nforward, on they rowed. And straightway Perimedes and Eurylochus arose and\nlaid upon me still more cords, and drew them tighter. Then, after passing\nby, when we could hear no more the Sirens' voice nor any singing, quickly\nmy trusty crew removed the wax with which I stopped their ears, and set me\nfree from bondage.\n\nSoon after we left the island, I observed a smoke, I saw high waves and\nheard a plunging sound. From the hands of my frightened men down fell the\noars, and splashed against the current. There the ship stayed, for they\nworked the tapering oars no more. Along the ship I passed, inspiriting my\nmen with cheering words, standing by each in turn:--\n\n\"Friends, hitherto we have not been untried in danger. Here is no greater\ndanger than when the Cyclops penned us with brutal might in the deep cave.\nYet out of that, through energy of mine, through will and wisdom, we\nescaped. These dangers, too, I think some day we shall remember. Come\nthen, and what I say let us all follow. You with your oars strike the deep\nbreakers of the sea, while sitting at the pins, and see if Zeus will set\nus free from present death and let us go in safety. And, helmsman, these\nare my commands for you; lay them to heart, for you control the rudders of\nour hollow ship: keep the ship off that smoke and surf and hug the crags,\nor else, before you know it, she may veer off that way, and you will bring\nus into danger.\"\n\nSo I spoke, and my words they quickly heeded. But Scylla I did not\nname,--that hopeless horror,--for fear through fright my men might cease\nto row, and huddle all together in the hold. I disregarded too the hard\nbehest of Circe, when she had said I must by no means arm. Putting on my\nglittering armor and taking in my hands my two long spears, I went upon\nthe ship's fore-deck, for thence I looked for the first sight of Scylla of\nthe rocks, who brought my men disaster. Nowhere could I descry her; I\ntried my eyes with searching up and down the dusky cliff.\n\nSo up the strait we sailed in sadness; for here lay Scylla, and there\ndivine Charybdis fearfully sucked the salt sea-water down. Whenever she\nbelched it forth, like a kettle in fierce flame all would foam swirling\nup, and overhead spray fell upon the tops of both the crags. But when she\ngulped the salt sea-water down, then all within seemed in a whirl; the\nrock around roared fearfully, and down below the bottom showed, dark with\nthe sand. Pale terror seized my men; on her we looked and feared to die.\n\nAnd now it was that Scylla snatched from the hollow ship six of my\ncomrades who were best in skill and strength. Turning my eyes toward my\nswift ship to seek my men, I saw their feet and hands already in the air\nas they were carried up. They screamed aloud and called my name for the\nlast time, in agony of heart. As when a fisher, on a jutting rock, with\nlong rod throws a bait to lure the little fishes, casting into the deep\nthe horn of stall-fed ox; then, catching a fish, flings it ashore\nwrithing,--even so were these drawn writhing up the rocks. There at her\ndoor she ate them, loudly shrieking and stretching forth their hands in\nmortal pangs toward me. That was the saddest sight my eyes have ever seen,\nin all my toils, searching the ocean pathways.\n\n\n\n\nULYSSES IN ITHACA\n\n\nULYSSES LANDS ON THE SHORE OF ITHACA\n\nBy F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n\n\n    [For ten years Ulysses was driven hither and thither over the\n    water, seeking for his homeland, Ithaca. At length he was\n    shipwrecked on the shores of Phoeacia. The king, Alcinous,\n    entertained him most hospitably, and Ulysses related to him the\n    story of his wanderings.]\n\n\nWhen Ulysses had finished his story, there was silence in the hall till\nAlcinous said, \"Ulysses, now that you have come to my house after all\nthese troubles, you shall return without more wandering to your home.\" And\nthen he bade the princes go home for the night and meet again in the\nmorning to bring their gifts.\n\nSo next day the Sea-kings went down to the ship and put their gifts on\nboard and then returned to the palace and sacrificed an ox to Zeus. And\nthen they feasted and drank their good wine and waited till the sun went\ndown. And the minstrel sang to them, but Ulysses kept looking at the sun\nimpatiently, like a hungry ploughman tired out at the close of day. At\nlast the time arrived, and then Ulysses said, \"Alcinous, let me go now,\nand fare you well. My escort and my gifts are all prepared, and I could\nwish no more. May I but find my wife and my dear ones all safe and sound\nat home! And may Heaven grant you, too, happy homes and every blessing and\nno distress among your people!\" And to Queen Arete he said, \"Lady, may you\nlive happily with your husband and children, and all this people, till old\nage comes to you and death, which must come to all!\"\n\nThen the herald led the way and Ulysses followed to the ship, and the\nqueen sent her servants with him to carry warm clothing for the voyage and\nfood and drink. And when they had stored the ship he lay down silently in\nthe stern, and the rowers took their places in the benches and plied their\noars, while a deep, sweet sleep fell upon him, like the sleep of death.\nThen the wonderful ship leapt forward on her way, like a team of chariot\nhorses plunging beneath the whip, and the great dark wave roared round the\nstern. No hawk could fly so quickly as that ship flew through the waves,\nand the hawk is the swiftest of all birds. And as she sped, the man who\nhad suffered so much and was as wise as the Gods lay peacefully asleep,\nand forgot his sufferings.\n\nBut when the bright star rose that tells of the approach of day, the ship\ndrew near the island of Ithaca. There is a haven there between two steep\nheadlands which break the waves, so that ships can ride in safety without\na mooring rope, and at the head of it an olive-tree, and a shadowy cave\nwhere the water fairies come and tend their bees and weave their sea-blue\ngarments on the hanging looms and mix their wine in bowls and jars of\nstone. There are springs of water in the cave, and two ways into it, one\nto the north for men to enter, and one to the south where none but the\nGods may pass.\n\nThe Sea-kings knew this harbor and rowed straight into it and ran their\nship half a keel's length ashore. Then they lifted Ulysses out of the\nstern, wrapt in the rugs and coverlet, and laid him still asleep upon the\nsand. And the gifts they placed in a heap by the trunk of the olive-tree,\na little out of the road, so that no passer-by might rob him as he slept.\n\nThen they sailed away; and after they were gone Ulysses awoke, but he\ncould not recognize the land where he lay, for Athene had cast a mist\nabout him so that everything looked strange, though he was the lord of it\nall. There were the mountain paths and the sheltering creeks, the high,\nsteep rocks and the trees in bloom; but he could not see it aright, and\nstarted up and smote his hands upon his thighs and cried aloud,--\n\n\"What land have I come to now? And what can I do with all this treasure?\nIf the Sea-kings did not really mean to send me back to Ithaca they should\nhave conveyed me to some other people who would have sent me home.\" And\nthen he counted the gifts over, the golden vessels, and the beautiful\ngarments, and found nothing missing, but they gave him no pleasure; and he\nturned sadly to walk along the shore and dream of home, when a young\nherdsman met him, of noble figure, with a javelin in his hand and a fine\nmantle in double folds upon his shoulders. Ulysses was glad to greet him,\nand asked what country he had reached. It was Athene in disguise, and she\nanswered, \"Truly, stranger, you must have come from far indeed. For this\nis a famous island that all men know, whether they live in the east or in\nthe west. It is a rugged land, and no place for horses and chariots, but\nthough it is narrow, it is not so poor; for there are stores of corn and\nwine, plenty of water for the cattle and plenty of wood. Its name is\nIthaca, and some men have heard of it even at Troy, which they say is a\nlong way off.\"\n\nThen brave Ulysses rejoiced in his heart to hear that it was his native\nland; but he would not tell the herdsman who he was, and made up a cunning\nstory that he had escaped as an outlaw from Crete and had been left upon\nthe island by a Phoenician crew. And the goddess smiled to hear him, and\nstood forth in her own true form, a wise and noble woman, tall and fair,\nand put her hand upon his shoulder, and said,--\n\n\"Come, let us practice no more craft on one another, Ulysses, for we are\nboth famous for our wit and wiles, you among mortals and I among the Gods.\nI am Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, and I have stood beside you and\nprotected you in all your wanderings and toil. And now I have come here to\ntell you of the troubles that await you in your house, and to help you\nwith my counsel. But you must still endure in silence, and tell no one\nthat Ulysses has returned.\"\n\nAnd Ulysses made answer, \"It is hard, goddess, for a mortal to know you,\nwise though he may be, for you come in many shapes. Truly I have known\nyour kindness from of old in Troy, but when we went on board the ships, I\nnever saw you at my side again. Tell me, I pray you, if this is Ithaca\nindeed, my native land.\"\n\nThen the goddess answered, \"I see, Ulysses, that you keep your ready wit\nand steadfast mind. I could not show myself your friend before for fear of\nangering Neptune, my own father's brother. But come now, and I will show\nyou Ithaca; there is the haven and the olive with its slender leaves, and\nthe cave where you once made many an offering to the water nymphs.\"\n\nAnd then she rolled away the mist, and the long-suffering hero rejoiced to\nsee his native land again. He kissed the kindly earth, and vowed to the\nnymphs that he would bring them offerings as of old if he lived to see his\ndear son a man.\n\nThen the goddess bade him be of good cheer, and showed him a hiding-place\nin the cavern for the gifts. And then they sat down by the trunk of the\nolive-tree, and Athene told him all the misdeeds of the suitors, and how\nhis wife had beguiled them and kept them waiting till his return, and how\nhe must avenge himself and her.\n\nThen Ulysses said, \"Truly, I should have perished in my own halls, like\nAgamemnon, if you had not warned me. Help me, therefore, with your wisdom,\nand stand beside me again and put strength and courage within me as in the\ndays of Troy. For with you by my side I could fight against three hundred\nmen.\"\n\nAnd Pallas Athene made answer, \"I will be with you, Ulysses, when the hour\nof the conflict is come, and the blood of the suitors who eat up your\nsubstance shall be shed at last. But now I will change you into a poor\nbeggar, so old and so wretched that no one will know you, and in that\nguise you must go and stay with the herdsman Eum\u00e6us, who tends your swine,\nuntil I have brought your son Telemachus from Sparta, where he has gone to\nseek tidings of you.\"\n\nThen she touched him with her magic wand, and the fair flesh withered on\nhis limbs, and the golden locks fell from his head, and he was changed\ninto an old man. His skin was shriveled and his bright eyes dimmed, and\nfor his covering she gave him a tattered wrap, begrimed with smoke, and a\nworn deerskin on his shoulder, and a wallet and a staff in his hand.\n\nThen she vanished, and left him to take his way alone across the hills.\n\n\n\n\nULYSSES AT THE HOUSE OF THE SWINEHERD\n\nBy F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n\n\nUlysses went up along the rough mountain path, through the forest and over\nthe hills, till he came to the house where his faithful steward lived. It\nstood in an open space, and there was a large courtyard in front with a\nwall of heavy stones and hawthorn boughs and a stout oak palisade. Inside\nthe yard there were twelve sties for the pigs, and the swineherd kept four\nwatch-dogs to guard the place, great beasts and fierce as wolves, that he\nhad reared himself. Ulysses found him at home, sitting in the porch alone,\nand cutting himself a pair of sandals from a brown oxhide.\n\nThe dogs caught sight of the king as soon as he came up and flew at him,\nbarking, but he had the wit to let go his staff and sit down at once on\nthe ground. Still it might have gone hard with him there in front of his\nown servant's house had not Eum\u00e6us rushed out of the porch, dropping the\nleather in his haste, and scolded the dogs, driving them off with a volley\nof stones.\n\nThen he said to Ulysses, \"A little more, old man, and the dogs would have\ntorn you in pieces, and disgraced me forever. And I have my full share of\ntrouble as it is, for I have lost the best master in all the world and\nmust sit here to mourn for him and fatten his swine for other men, while\nhe is wandering somewhere in foreign lands, hungry and thirsty perhaps, if\nhe is still alive at all. But now come in yourself, and let me give you\nfood and drink and tell me your own tale.\"\n\nSo he took Ulysses into the house and made a seat for him with a pile of\nbrushwood boughs and a great thick shaggy goat-skin which he used for his\nown bed, and all with so kind a welcome that it warmed the king's heart\nand made him pray the Gods to bless him for his goodness. But Eum\u00e6us only\nsaid, \"How could I neglect a stranger, though he were a worse man than\nyou? All strangers and beggars are sent to us by Zeus. Take my gift and\nwelcome, though it is little enough I have to give, a servant such as I,\nwith new masters to lord it over him. For we have lost the king who would\nhave loved me and given me house and lands and all that a faithful servant\nought to have, whose work is blest by the Gods and prospers, as mine does\nhere. Alas! he is dead and gone! he went away with Agamemnon to fight at\nTroy and never came home again.\"\n\nSo saying, the good swineherd rose and fetched what meat and wine he had,\nand set it before Ulysses, grieving that he had nothing better for him\nbecause the shameless suitors plundered everything.\n\nBut Ulysses ate and drank eagerly, and when his strength had come again he\nasked Eum\u00e6us, \"My friend, who is this master of yours you tell me of? Did\nyou not say he was lost for Agamemnon's sake? Perhaps I may have seen him,\nfor I have traveled far.\"\n\nBut the swineherd answered, \"Old man, his wife and son will believe no\ntraveler's tale. They have heard too many such. Every wandering beggar who\ncomes to Ithaca goes to my mistress with some empty story to get a meal\nfor himself, and she welcomes him and treats him kindly and asks him about\nit all, with the tears running down her cheeks in a woman's way. Yes, even\nyou, old man, might learn to weave such tales if you thought they would\nget you a cloak or a vest. No, he is dead, and dogs and birds have eaten\nhim, or else he has fed the fishes and his bones lie somewhere on the\nseashore, buried in the sand. And he has left us all to grieve for him,\nbut no one more than me, who can never have so kind a master again, not\nthough I had my heart's desire and went back to my native land and saw my\nfather and mother, and the dear home where I was born. It is Ulysses above\nall whom I long to see once more. There, stranger, I have called him by\nhis name, and that I should not do; for he is still my dear master though\nhe is far away.\"\n\nThen Ulysses said, \"My friend, your hope has gone and you will never\nbelieve me. But I tell you this and seal it with an oath: Ulysses will\nreturn! Poor as I am, I will take no reward for my news till he comes to\nhis own again, but you shall give me a new vest and cloak that day, and I\nwill wear them.\"\n\nBut the swineherd answered, \"Ah, my friend, I shall never need to pay you\nthat reward. He will never come back again. But now drink your wine in\npeace, and let us talk of something else, and do not call to mind the\nsorrow that almost breaks my heart. Tell me of yourself and your own\ntroubles and who you are, and what ship brought you here, for you will not\nsay you came afoot.\"\n\nThen Ulysses pretended he was a Cretan and had fought at Troy, and told\nEum\u00e6us a long tale of adventures and how he had been wrecked at last on\nthe coast of Epirus. The king of the country, he said, had rescued him,\nand he had learned that Ulysses had been there a little while before, and\nwas already on his way to Ithaca.\n\nThe swineherd listened eagerly to it all, but when Ulysses had finished he\nsaid, \"Poor friend, my heart aches to hear of all your sufferings. But\nthere is one thing you should not have said, one thing I can never\nbelieve, and that is that Ulysses will return. And why need you lie to\nplease me? I can see for myself that you are old and unhappy, a wanderer\nwhom the Gods have sent to me. It is not for such a tale I will show you\nthe kindness that you need, but because I pity you myself and reverence\nthe law of Zeus.\"\n\n\"If I lie,\" Ulysses answered, \"you may have me thrown from the cliff as a\nwarning to other cheats. I swear it, and call the Gods to witness.\"\n\nBut the true-hearted swineherd only said, \"I should get a good name by\nthat, my friend, if I took you into nay house and had you for my guest,\nand then murdered you brutally! Do you think I could pray to Zeus after\nthat without a fear? But now it is supper-time, and my men will be coming\nhome.\" While they spoke, the herdsmen came up with the swine, and the sows\nwere driven into the pens, grunting and squealing noisily as they settled\nin for the night. Then Eum\u00e6us called out, \"Bring in the fattest boar, and\nlet us make a sacrifice in honor of our guest, and get some reward\nourselves for all the trouble we have spent upon the drove,--trouble lost,\nsince strangers take the fruit of it all.\"\n\nSo they brought in a big fat white-tusked boar, while Eum\u00e6us split the\nwood for the fire. And he did not forget the Immortals, for he had a pious\nheart: he made the due offerings first and prayed for his master's return,\nand then he stood up at the board to carve, and gave each man his share\nand a special slice for his guest from the whole length of the chine.\nUlysses took it and thanked him with all his heart:--\n\n\"May Father Zeus be your friend, Eum\u00e6us, and give you what I would give\nyou for your kindness to a poor old man like me.\"\n\nBut the swineherd said, \"Take it, my good friend, take it and enjoy it.\nZeus will give or withhold as it may please him, for he can do all\nthings.\"\n\nSo they sat down to the feast, and after they had had their fill the\nswineherd's servant cleared everything away, and then they made ready for\nsleep. The evening closed in black and stormy, and a west wind sprang up\nbringing the rain with it, and blew hard all the night; so Eum\u00e6us made up\na bed of fleeces for Ulysses by the fire and gave him a great thick cloak\nas well, that he kept for the roughest weather. But he could not bring\nhimself to stay there too, away from his herd of pigs, and he wrapped\nhimself up warmly and went out to sleep beside them in the open. Ulysses\nsaw, and smiled to see, what care he took of everything, while he thought\nhis master was far away.\n\n[On the following morning] Ulysses and the swineherd were already\npreparing their breakfast when Telemachus came up. The dogs knew him and\nplayed round him lovingly. \"Eum\u00e6us,\" said Ulysses, \"some friend of yours\nis coming, for I hear footsteps, and the dogs are pleased and do not\nbark.\"\n\nHe had hardly finished speaking when his own dear son stood in the\ndoorway. The swineherd started up and dropped the vessels in which he was\nmixing the wine. He went to meet his young master and fell on his neck and\nkissed him as a father would kiss an only son escaped from death. \"Light\nof my eyes, dear son, have you come home at last? When you sailed away to\nPylos, I never thought to see you again. But come in and let me feast my\neyes upon you; for you do not often visit us, but are kept at home in the\ntown, watching that crowd of ruinous suitors.\"\n\nAnd Telemachus answered, \"Gladly, good father; I have come to see you, and\nto hear tidings of my mother.\"\n\nThen the swineherd told him that his mother still waited patiently at\nhome, and spent her days and nights in weeping.\n\n[Illustration: \"DEAR SON, HAVE YOU COME HOME AT LAST? WHEN YOU SAILED AWAY\nTO PYLOS, I NEVER THOUGHT TO SEE YOU AGAIN. BUT COME IN AND LET ME FEAST\nMY EYES UPON YOU; FOR YOU DO NOT OFTEN VISIT US, BUT ARE KEPT AT HOME IN\nTHE TOWN, WATCHING THAT CROWD OF RUINOUS SUITORS.\" AND TELEMACHUS\nANSWERED, \"GLADLY, GOOD FATHER; I HAVE COME TO SEE YOU, AND TO HEAR\nTIDINGS OF MY MOTHER.\" THEN THE SWINEHERD TOLD HIM THAT HIS MOTHER STILL\nWAITED PATIENTLY AT HOME.]\n\nThen Telemachus went into the house, and as he came up Ulysses rose to\ngive him his seat, but he would not take it, and said, \"Keep your seat,\nstranger, this man shall make up another for me.\" So Ulysses sat down\nagain, and the swineherd made a seat for Telemachus of the green brushwood\nand put a fleece upon it. Then he set food before them, and when they had\neaten, Telemachus asked who the stranger was, and how he had come to\nIthaca. And Eum\u00e6us told him Ulysses's own story and begged him to protect\nthe wanderer. But Telemachus thought of the suitors and did not wish to\ntake him to the palace.\n\n\"I will give him a coat and a vest,\" he said, \"and shoes for his feet, and\na two-edged sword, and I will send him on his way. But I cannot take him\ninto the house, where the suitors would mock at him and use him ill. One\nman cannot restrain them, and he so young as I.\"\n\nThen Ulysses said, \"Sir, if I may speak, I would say foul wrong is done\nyou in your house, and my heart burns at the thought. Do your people hate\nyou, or will your brothers give you no support? Would that I were as young\nas you are, and were Ulysses's son or Ulysses himself. I would go to the\npalace and fall upon all the throng, and die there, one man against a\nhundred, sooner than see the shameful deeds that are done in that glorious\nhouse.\"\n\nAnd Telemachus answered, \"Hear me, stranger, and I will tell you all. My\npeople do not hate me, and I have no quarrel with them. But I have no\nbrothers to stand by me, for Zeus has never given more than one son to\neach generation of our line. And there are many foemen in the house, all\nthe princes of the islands, and they too woo my mother and threaten my\nlife, and I cannot see how it will end.\"\n\nThen he said to Eum\u00e6us, \"Go up to the house, old father, as quickly as you\ncan, and tell my mother that I am come back safe from Pylos, and I will\nwait for you here.\"\n\nAnd Eum\u00e6us answered, \"I hear, master, and understand. But shall I not go\nto Laertes on my way and tell him too? For since you set sail for Pylos,\nthey say he has not eaten or drunk or gone about his work, but sits in his\nhouse sorrowing and wasting away with grief.\"\n\nBut Telemachus bade him go straight to the palace and return at once, and\nlet the queen send word to Laertes by one of the maids. So Eum\u00e6us went\nforth, and when Athene saw him go, she drew near, and came and stood by\nthe gateway and showed herself to Ulysses, a tall and beautiful woman,\nwith wisdom in her look. The dogs saw her too and were afraid, and shrank\naway whining into the corner of the yard, but Telemachus could not see\nher. Then the goddess nodded to Ulysses, and he went out and stood before\nher, and she said, \"Noble Ulysses, now is the time to reveal yourself to\nyour son, and go forth with him to the town, with death and doom for the\nsuitors. I shall be near you in the battle and eager to fight.\"\n\nThen she touched him with her golden wand and gave him his beauty and\nstature once more, and his old bronzed color came back and his beard grew\nthick and his garments shone bright again: and so she sent him to the hut.\nAnd when Telemachus saw him, he marveled and turned away his eyes, for he\nthought it must be a god.\n\n\"Stranger,\" he said, \"you are changed since a moment ago; your color is\nnot the same, nor your garments. If you are one of the Immortals, be\ngracious to us, and let us offer you gifts and sacrifice.\"\n\nThen Ulysses cried out, \"I am no god, but your own dear father, for whose\nsake you are suffering cruel wrongs and the spite of men.\" And then he\nkissed his son and let his tears take their way at last.\n\nBut Telemachus could not believe it, and said, \"You cannot be my father,\nbut a god come down to deceive me and make me grieve still more. No mortal\ncould do what you have done, for a moment since you were old and wretched,\nand poorly clad, and now you seem like one of the heavenly Gods.\"\n\nThen his father answered, \"My son, no other Ulysses will ever come back to\nyou. Athene has done this wonder, for she is a goddess and can make men\nwhat she will, now poor, now rich, now old, now young; such power have the\nlords of heaven to exalt us or bring us low.\"\n\nThen Telemachus fell on his neck, and they wept aloud together. And they\nwould have wept out their hearts till evening, had not Telemachus asked\nhis father how he had come to Ithaca at last; and Ulysses told him that\nthe sea-kings had brought him and put him on shore asleep, and that Athene\nhad sent him to the swineherd's hut. \"But now tell me of the suitors. How\nmany are they and what manner of men? Can the two of us make head against\nthe throng?\"\n\n\"Father,\" he answered, \"I know well your fame, mighty and wise in war. But\nthis we could never dare, two men against a host. They are a hundred and\ntwenty in all, the best fighting men from Ithaca and the islands round.\nThink, if you can, of some champion who would befriend us and give us\nhelp.\"\n\nAnd Ulysses made answer, \"What think you, if Father Zeus and the goddess\nAthene stood by our side? Should we still need other help?\"\n\n\"Truly they are the best of champions,\" said Telemachus, \"though they sit\non high among the clouds; and they rule both men and Gods.\" \"And they will\nbe with us,\" said his father, \"when we come to the trial of war. Now at\ndaybreak you must go home and mix with the suitors, and later on the\nswineherd will bring me to the town, disguised again as the old\nbeggar-man; and if they ill-treat me or even strike me or drag me out of\nthe house, you must look on and bear it. You may check them by speaking,\nbut they will not listen, for the day of their doom is at hand. And tell\nno one that Ulysses has come home, not even Laertes nor the swineherd nor\nPenelope herself; we must keep the secret until we are sure of our\nfriends.\"\n\nThen Telemachus said that his father might trust him, and so they talked\non together. Meanwhile Eum\u00e6us had reached the palace with the tidings that\nTelemachus had returned; and the suitors who were in the hall heard it and\nwere dismayed, for they saw that their plot had failed. They went out of\nthe palace and sat down before the gates, and were talking of sending word\nto their ship that was lying in wait for Telemachus, when the ship itself\ncame into the harbor, with the other princes on board. So they all went up\ntogether to the public square and debated what to do, and they resolved to\nmurder Telemachus as soon as they found another chance. Then they went\nback and sat down again on the polished seats in the hall.\n\nNow Medon the herald had heard them plotting together in the square, and\nwent and told Penelope all they had said, and how they had purposed\nputting her son to death. She went down at once to the hall with her\nwomen, and stood in the doorway with her bright veil before her face and\nspoke to Antinous and said, \"Wicked and insolent man, can it be that they\ncall you in Ithaca one of their wisest men? No, it is a fool's work you\nare doing, plotting to kill my son. He is helpless before you now, but\nZeus is the friend of the helpless and avenges their wrongs. Impious and\nungrateful too! Did not Ulysses once shield your father from his enemies\nand save his life? Yet you waste his substance and would murder his son?\"\n\nThen Eurymachus spoke and tried to soothe her. No one, he said, should\ninjure Telemachus while he was alive, for he loved him more than any man\non earth. Eurymachus's words were fair, and Penelope could say no more;\nyet all the while he was planning the death of her son.\n\nIn the evening the swineherd reached his hut again, and found Ulysses\nchanged to the old beggar-man once more, preparing supper with Telemachus.\n\n\"What news, good Eum\u00e6us?\" said the young man. \"Have the proud lords come\nhome from their ambush, or are they still waiting out yonder to take me as\nI return?\" And Eum\u00e6us replied, \"I did not stay, master, to go through the\ntown and find out the news, for when I had given my message I wanted to be\nat home. But one thing I saw from the brow of the hill as I came along. A\nswift ship was entering the harbor, full of armor and armed men. They may\nhave been the princes, but I cannot say.\"\n\nAs he heard this, Telemachus looked at his father and smiled, but he took\ngood care that the swineherd should not see.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VENGEANCE OF ULYSSES\n\n\nA. HIS RECEPTION AT THE PALACE.\n\nBy F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n\n\nEarly next morning, when the rosy-fingered dawn was in the sky, Telemachus\nbound on his sandals and took his stout spear in his hand, and said to the\nswineherd, \"Old friend, I must now be off to the city and let my mother\nsee me, for I know she will weep and sigh until I am there myself. And as\nfor this poor stranger, I would have you take him to the town and let him\nbeg for bite and sup from door to door, and those who choose can give. For\nI cannot be host to every wanderer with all the trouble I have to bear.\nAnd if that makes him angry--well! it is only the worse for him; I am a\nman that speaks his mind.\"\n\nThen Ulysses answered readily, \"Sir, I do not ask to stay here myself; a\nbeggar should not beg in the fields. Nor am I young enough to work on a\nfarm at a master's beck and call. So go your ways, and your man shall take\nme with him to the town. But I will wait till the sun is high, for I am\nafraid of the morning frost with these threadbare rags of mine.\"\n\nSo Telemachus strode away until he reached the palace, and went into the\nhall. The old nurse Eurycleia was there with the maids, spreading fleeces\non the inlaid stools and chairs; and she saw him at once and went up to\nhim with tears in her eyes, and then all the women gathered round and\nkissed him and welcomed him home again. And Penelope came down from her\nchamber and flung her arms round her son, and kissed his head and both his\neyes, and said to him tearfully, \"You have come home, Telemachus, light of\nmy eyes! I thought I should never see you again, when you sailed away to\nPylos secretly, against my will, to get tidings of your father. And now\ntell me all you heard.\"\n\nBut Telemachus said to her, \"Mother, why make me think of trouble now,\nwhen I have just escaped from death? Rather put on your fairest robes, and\ngo and pray the Gods to grant us a day of vengeance. But I must be off to\nthe public square to meet a guest of mine whom I brought here in my ship.\nI sent him on before me with the crew, and bade one of them take him to\nhis house until I came myself.\"\n\nSo Penelope went away and prayed to the Gods, while the prince went down\nto the public square and found Theoclymenus and brought him back to the\npalace, and they sat down together in the hall. Then one of the old\nservants brought up a polished table and spread it for them with good\nthings for their meal, and Penelope came and sat beside the door, spinning\nher fine soft yarn. She did not speak till they had finished, but then she\nsaid to her son, \"Telemachus, I see I must go up to my room and lie down\non my bed, the bed I have watered with my tears ever since Ulysses went\naway to Troy; for you are determined not to talk to me and tell me the\nnews of your father before the suitors come into the hall!\"\n\nThen Telemachus said, \"Mother, I will tell you all I know. We reached\nPylos and found Nestor there, and he took me into his splendid house, and\nwelcomed me as lovingly as though I had been a long-lost son of his own.\nBut he could tell me nothing of my father, not even if he were alive or\ndead, and so he sent me on to Sparta, to the house of Menelaus. There I\nsaw Helen, the fairest of women, for whom the Greeks and Trojans fought\nand suffered so long. Menelaus asked me why I came and I told him about\nthe suitors and all the wrong they did. Then he cried, 'Curse on them! The\ndastards in the hero's place! Oh, that Ulysses would return! They would\nsoon have cause enough to hate this suit of theirs!' And then he told me\nhow he had heard tidings of my father from Proteus, the wizard of the sea.\nHe was living still, so the wizard said, on an island far away, in the\ncave of a wood nymph called Calypso, who kept him there against his will,\nand he had no ship to carry him over the broad sea. That was all Menelaus\ncould tell me; and when I had done my errand I came away, and the Gods\nhave brought me home in safety.\"\n\nAnd as Penelope listened her heart filled with sorrow; but Theoclymenus,\nthe seer, said to her, \"Listen to me, wife of Ulysses, and I will prophesy\nto you; for your son has heard nothing certain, but I have seen omens that\nare sure. I swear by Zeus, the ruler of the Gods, and by the board and the\nhearth of Ulysses himself where I am standing now, he is already here in\nIthaca, he knows of all this wickedness, and is waiting to punish the\nsuitors as they deserve.\"\n\nAt that moment the princes came in from their sport and flung their cloaks\naside, and set about slaughtering the sheep and the fatted goats and the\nswine for their feast.\n\nMeanwhile Ulysses was starting for the town, with the swineherd to show\nhim the way. He had slung the tattered wallet across his shoulder, and\nEum\u00e6us had given him a staff, and every one who met them would have taken\nthe king for a poor old beggar-man, hobbling along with his crutch.\n\nSo they went down the rocky path till they reached a running spring by the\nwayside where the townsfolk got their water. There was a grove of tall\npoplars round it, and the cool stream bubbled down from the rock overhead,\nand above the fountain there was an altar to the nymphs where the\npassers-by laid their offerings.\n\nThere they chanced to meet Melanthius, the king's goatherd, driving his\nfattest goats to the town for the suitors' feast. He was a favorite of\ntheirs, and did all he could to please them. Now as soon as he saw the two\nhe broke out into scoffs and gibes, till the heart of Ulysses grew hot\nwith anger.\n\n\"Look there!\" he shouted, \"one rascal leading another! Trust a man to find\nhis mate! A plague on you, swineherd, where are you taking that pitiful\nwretch? Another beggar, I suppose, to hang about the doors and cringe for\nthe scraps and spoil our feasts? Now if you would only let me have him to\nwatch my farm and sweep out my stalls and fetch fodder for my kids, he\ncould drink as much whey as he liked and get some flesh on his bones. But\nno! His tricks have spoilt him for any honest work!\"\n\nSo he jeered at them in his folly, and as he passed he kicked Ulysses on\nthe thigh, but the king stood firm, and took the blow in silence, though\nhe could have found it in his heart to strike the man dead on the spot.\nBut Eum\u00e6us turned round fiercely, and cried to the Gods for vengeance.\n\n\"Nymphs of the spring,\" he prayed, \"if ever my master honored you, hear my\nprayer, and send him home again! He would make a sweep of all your\ninsolence, you good-for-nothing wretch, loitering here in the city while\nyour flocks are left to ruin!\"\n\n\"Oho!\" cried Melanthius. \"Listen to the foul-mouthed dog! I must put him\non board a ship and sell him in a foreign land, and make some use of him\nthat way! Why, Ulysses will never see the day of his return! He is dead\nand gone; I wish his son would follow him!\"\n\nWith that he turned on his heel and hastened away to the palace hall,\nwhere he sat down with the suitors at their feast. And the other two\nfollowed slowly until they reached the gate. There they paused, and\nUlysses caught the swineherd by the hand, and cried,--\n\n\"Eum\u00e6us, this must be the palace of the king! No one could mistake it.\nSee, there is room after room, and a spacious courtyard with a wall and\ncoping-stones and solid double doors to make it safe. And I am sure that a\ngreat company is seated there at the banquet, for I can smell the roasted\nmeat and hear the sound of the lyre.\"\n\nThen Eum\u00e6us said, \"Your wits are quick enough; it is the very place. And\nnow tell me: would you rather go in alone and face the princes while I\nwait here, or will you stay behind and let me go in first? But if you wait\nhere, you must not wait too long, for some one might catch sight of you\nand strike you and drive you from the gate.\"\n\nThen the hero said to him, \"I understand; I knew what I had to meet. Do\nyou go first and I will wait behind. For I have some knowledge of thrusts\nand blows, and my heart has learned to endure; for I have suffered much in\nstorm and battle, and I can bear this like the rest.\"\n\nBut while they were talking, a dog who was lying there lifted his head and\npricked his ears. It was the hound Argus, whom Ulysses had reared himself\nlong ago before the war, but had to leave behind when he went away to\nTroy. Once he used to follow the hunters to the chase, but no one cared\nfor him now when his master was away, and he lay there covered with\nvermin, on a dung-heap in front of the gates. Yet even so, when he felt\nthat Ulysses was near him, he wagged his tail and dropped his ears; but he\nhad not strength enough to drag himself up to his master. And when Ulysses\nsaw it, he turned away his face so that Eum\u00e6us should not see the tears in\nhis eyes, and said, \"Eum\u00e6us, it is strange that they let that dog lie\nthere in the dung. He looks a noble creature, but perhaps he has never\nbeen swift enough for the chase, and they have only kept him for his\nbeauty.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes!\" Eum\u00e6us answered, \"it is easy to see that he has no master now.\nIf you had been here when Ulysses went to Troy, you would have wondered at\nthe creature's pace and strength. In the thickest depth of the forest no\nquarry could escape him, and no hound was ever keener-scented. But now he\nis old and wretched and his lord has perished far away, and the heedless\nwomen take no care of him. Slaves can do nothing as they ought when the\nmaster is not there, for a man loses half his manhood when he falls into\nslavery.\"\n\nThen Eum\u00e6us went on into the palace and up to the hall where the suitors\nwere. But Argus had seen his master again at last, and when he had seen\nhim, he died.\n\nAs soon as the swineherd came in, Telemachus caught sight of him, and\nbeckoned him to a stool at his side, and gave him his share of the feast.\nAfter a little while Ulysses came up too, and sat down on the threshold\nlike a poor old beggar-man. Then his son sent him meat and bread by the\nswineherd, and said that a beggar should be bold, and he ought to go among\nthe princes and ask each man for a dole. So he went round from one to the\nother, stretching out his hand for a morsel in the true beggar's way. And\nevery one else felt some pity and gave him an alms, but Antinous mocked at\nthem all and told them they were ready enough to be generous with\nanother's wealth. And at last he grew angry and cursed Ulysses for a\nwhining rascal, and hurled a footstool at his head, bidding him begone and\ntrouble them no more. The stool struck Ulysses on the shoulder, but he\nstood like a rock, motionless and silent, with black thoughts in his\nheart. Then he went back straight to the threshold and sat down and spoke\nto all the company:--\n\n\"Listen to me, my lords! No man bears any rancor for a blow in open war,\nbut Antinous has struck me because I am a beggar and know the curse of\nhunger. If there be any gods who avenge the poor man's cause, I pray that\nhe may die before his marriage day!\"\n\nAt that the others felt shame, and told Antinous he did wrong to strike\nthe homeless wanderer.\n\n\"Who knows?\" they said. \"He might be one of the heavenly Gods, and woe to\nyou if he were! For sometimes the Immortals take upon themselves the\nlikeness of strangers, and enter our cities, and go about among men,\nwatching the good and evil that they do.\"\n\nThus they warned him, but he cared little for all they said. And\nTelemachus sat there full of rage and grief to see his father struck, but\nhe kept back the tears and held his peace.\n\nNow Penelope was sitting in her room behind the hall, and she saw what had\nhappened, and was angry with Antinous, and called the swineherd to her\nside.\n\n\"Go, good Eum\u00e6us, and tell the stranger to come here. And I will ask him\nif he has ever heard of Ulysses, for he looks like a man who has wandered\nfar.\"\n\nAnd the swineherd said, \"Yes, he is a Cretan, and has had all kinds of\nadventures before he was driven here, and he could tell you stories that\nwould charm you like a minstrel's sweetest song, and you would never tire\nof listening. And he says that he has heard of Ulysses, near home, in the\nrich land of Epirus, and that he is already on his way to us, bringing a\nstore of treasures with him.\"\n\nThen Penelope said, \"Quick, bring the stranger here at once, and let him\nspeak with me face to face. And if I see that he tells the truth I will\ngive him a vest and a cloak for himself.\"\n\nSo the swineherd hurried back with the message; but Ulysses said he dared\nnot face the princes a second time and it would be better to speak with\nPenelope later in the evening, alone by the fireside; and when the queen\nheard this, she said that the stranger was right. By this time it was\nafternoon, and Eum\u00e6us went up to Telemachus and whispered that he must be\noff to his work again. Telemachus said he might go, but bade him have\nsupper first and told him to come back next morning without fail. So the\nswineherd took his food in the hall, and then started home for his farm,\nto look after his pigs and everything that he had charge of there.\n\n\n\n\nB. THE TRIAL OF THE BOW\n\nTranslated by George Herbert Palmer\n\n\nAnd now the goddess, clear-eyed Athene, put in the mind of Icarius's\ndaughter, heedful Penelope, to offer to the suitors in the hall the bow\nand the gray steel, as means of sport and harbingers of death. She mounted\nthe long stairway of her house, holding a crooked key in her firm hand,--a\ngoodly key of bronze, having an ivory handle,--and hastened with her\ndamsels to a far-off room where her lord's treasure lay, bronze, gold, and\nwell-wrought steel. Here also lay his curved bow and the quiver for his\narrows,--and many grievous shafts were in it still,--gifts which a friend\nhad given Ulysses when he met him once in Laced\u00e6mon,--Iphitus, son of\nEurytus, a man like the Immortals. At Messene the two met, in the house of\nwise Orsilochus. Ulysses had come hither to claim a debt, which the whole\ndistrict owed him; for upon ships of many oars Messenians carried off from\nIthaca three hundred sheep together with their herdsmen. In the long quest\nfor these, Ulysses took the journey when he was but a youth; for his\nfather and the other elders sent him forth. Iphitus, on the other hand,\nwas seeking horses; for twelve mares had been lost, which had as foals\ntwelve hardy mules. These afterwards became the death and doom of Iphitus\nwhen he met the stalwart son of Zeus, the hero Hercules, who well knew\ndeeds of daring; for Hercules slew Iphitus in his own house, although his\nguest, and recklessly did not regard the anger of the Gods nor yet the\nproffered table, but slew the man and kept at his own hall the\nstrong-hoofed mares. It was when seeking these that Iphitus had met\nUlysses and given the bow which in old days great Eurytus was wont to\nbear, and which on dying in his lofty hall he left his son. To Iphitus\nUlysses gave a sharp-edged sword and a stout spear, as the beginning of a\nloving friendship. They never sat, however, at one another's table; ere\nthat could be, the son of Zeus slew godlike Iphitus, the son of Eurytus,\nwho gave the bow. Royal Ulysses, when going off to war in the black ships,\nwould never take this bow. It always stood in its own place at home, as a\nmemorial of his honored friend. In his own land he bore it.\n\nNow when the royal lady reached this room and stood on the oaken\nthreshold,--which long ago the carpenter had smoothed with skill and\nleveled to the line, fitting the posts thereto and setting the shining\ndoors,--then quickly from its ring she loosed the strap, thrust in the\nkey, and with a careful aim shot back the door-bolts. As a bull roars when\nfeeding in the field, so roared the goodly door touched by the key, and\nopen flew before her. She stepped to a raised dais where stood some chests\nin which lay fragrant garments. Thence reaching up, she took from its peg\nthe bow in the glittering case which held it. And now she sat her down and\nlaid the case upon her lap, and loudly weeping drew her lord's bow forth.\nBut when she had had her fill of tears and sighs, she hastened to the hall\nto meet the lordly suitors, bearing in hand the curved bow and the quiver\nfor the arrows, and many grievous shafts were in it still. Beside her,\ndamsels bore a box in which lay many a piece of steel and bronze,\nimplements of her lord's for games like these. And when the royal lady\nreached the suitors, she stood beside a column of the strong-built roof,\nholding before her face her delicate wimple, the while a faithful damsel\nstood on either hand. And straightway she addressed the suitors, speaking\nthus:--\n\n\"Hearken, you haughty suitors who beset this house, eating and drinking\never, now my husband is long gone; no word of excuse can you suggest\nexcept your wish to marry me and win me for your wife. Well then, my\nsuitors,--since before you stands your prize,--I offer you the mighty bow\nof prince Ulysses; and whoever with his hands shall lightliest bend the\nbow and shoot through all twelve axes, him will I follow and forsake this\nhome, this bridal home, so very beautiful and full of wealth, a place I\nthink I ever shall remember, even in my dreams.\"\n\nSo saying, she bade Eum\u00e6us, the noble swineherd, deliver to the suitors\nthe bow and the gray steel. With tears Eum\u00e6us took the arms and laid them\ndown before them. Near by, the neatherd also wept to see his master's bow.\nBut Antinous rebuked them, and spoke to them and said,--\n\n\"You stupid boors, who only mind the passing minute, wretched pair, what\ndo you mean by shedding tears, troubling this lady's heart, when already\nher heart is prostrated with grief at losing her dear husband? Sit down\nand eat in silence, or else go forth and weep, but leave the bow behind, a\ndread ordeal for the suitors; for I am sure this polished bow will not be\nbent with ease. There is not a man of all now here so powerful as Ulysses.\nI saw him once myself, and well recall him, though I was then a child.\"\n\nHe spoke, but in his breast his heart was hoping to draw the string and\nsend an arrow through the steel; yet he was to be the first to taste the\nshaft of good Ulysses, whom he now wronged though seated in his hall,\nwhile to like outrage he encouraged all his comrades. To these now spoke\nrevered Telemachus:--\n\n\"Ha! Zeus the son of Cronos has made me play the fool! My mother--and wise\nshe is--says she will follow some strange man and quit this house; and I\nbut laugh and in my silly soul am glad. Come then, you suitors, since\nbefore you stands your prize, a lady whose like cannot be found throughout\nAchaian land, in sacred Pylos, Argos, or Mycen\u00e6, in Ithaca itself, or the\ndark mainland, as you yourselves well know,--what needs my mother\npraise?--come then, delay not with excuse nor longer hesitate to bend the\nbow, but let us learn what is to be. I too might try the bow. And if I\nstretch it and send an arrow through the steel, then with no shame to me\nmy honored mother may forsake this house and follow some one else, leaving\nme here behind; for I shall then be able to wield my father's arms.\"\n\nHe spoke, and flung his red cloak from his shoulders, rising full height,\nand put away the sharp sword also from his shoulder. First then he set the\naxes, marking one long furrow for them all, aligned by cord. The earth on\nthe two sides he stamped down flat. Surprise filled all beholders to see\nhow properly he set them, though he had never seen the game before. Then\nhe went and stood upon the threshold and began to try the bow. Three times\nhe made it tremble as he sought to make it bend. Three times he slacked\nhis strain, still hoping in his heart to draw the string and send an arrow\nthrough the steel. And now he might have drawn it by force of a fourth\ntug, had not Ulysses shaken his head and stayed the eager boy. So to the\nsuitors once more spoke revered Telemachus:--\n\n\"Fie! Shall I ever be a coward and a weakling, or am I still but young and\ncannot trust my arm to right me with the man who wrongs me first? But\ncome, you who are stronger men than I, come try the bow and end the\ncontest.\"\n\nSo saying, he laid by the bow and stood it on the ground, leaning it on\nthe firm-set polished door. The swift shaft, too, he likewise leaned\nagainst the bow's fair knob, and once more took the seat from which he\nfirst arose. Then said to them Antinous, Eupeithes' son,--\n\n\"Rise up in order all, from left to right, beginning where the cupbearer\nbegins to pour the wine.\"\n\nSo said Antinous, and his saying pleased them. Then first arose Leiodes,\nson of Oenops, who was their soothsayer and had his place beside the\ngoodly mixer, farthest along the hall. To him alone their lawlessness was\nhateful; he abhorred the suitor crowd. He it was now who first took up the\nbow and the swift shaft; and going to the threshold, he stood and tried\nthe bow. He could not bend it. Tugging the string wearied his hands,--his\nsoft, unhorny hands,--and to the suitors thus he spoke:--\n\n\"No, friends, I cannot bend it. Let some other take the bow. Ah, many\nchiefs this bow shall rob of life and breath! Yet better far to die than\nlive and still to fail in that for which we constantly are gathered,\nwaiting expectantly from day to day! Now each man hopes and purposes at\nheart to win Penelope, Ulysses' wife. But when he shall have tried the bow\nand seen his failure, then to some other fair-robed woman of Achaia let\neach go, and offer her his suit and woo her with his gifts. So may\nPenelope marry the man who gives her most and comes with fate to favor!\"\n\nWhen he had spoken, he laid by the bow, leaning it on the firm-set\npolished door. The swift shaft, too, he likewise leaned against the bow's\nfair knob, and once more took the seat from which he first arose. But\nAntinous rebuked him, and spoke to him, and said,--\n\n\"Leiodes, what words have passed the barrier of your teeth? Strange words\nand harsh! Vexatious words to hear! As if this bow must rob our chiefs of\nlife and breath because you cannot bend it! Why, your good mother did not\nbear you for a brandisher of bows and arrows. But others among the lordly\nsuitors will bend it by and by.\"\n\nSo saying, he gave an order to Melanthius, the goatherd: \"Hasten,\nMelanthius, and light a fire in the hall and set a long bench near, with\nfleeces on it; then bring me the large cake of fat which lies inside the\ndoor, that after we have warmed the bow and greased it well, we young men\nmay try the bow and end the contest.\"\n\nHe spoke, and straightway Melanthius kindled a steady fire, and set a\nbench beside it with a fleece thereon, and brought out the large cake of\nfat which lay inside the door, and so the young men warmed the bow and\nmade their trial. But yet they could not bend it; they fell far short of\npower. Antinous, however, still held back, and prince Eurymachus, who were\nthe suitors' leaders; for they in manly excellence were quite the best of\nall.\n\nMeanwhile out of the house at the same moment came two men, princely\nUlysses' herdsmen of the oxen and the swine; and after them came royal\nUlysses also from the house. And when they were outside the gate, beyond\nthe yard, speaking in gentle words Ulysses said,--\n\n\"Neatherd, and you too, swineherd, may I tell a certain tale, or shall I\nhide it still? My heart bids me speak. How ready would you be to aid\nUlysses if he should come from somewhere, thus, on a sudden, and a god\nshould bring him home? Would you support the suitors or Ulysses? Speak\nfreely, as your heart and spirit bid you speak.\"\n\nThen said to him the herdsman of the cattle, \"O father Zeus, grant this my\nprayer! May he return and Heaven be his guide! Then shall you know what\nmight is mine and how my hands obey.\"\n\nSo prayed Eum\u00e6us too to all the Gods, that wise Ulysses might return to\nhis own home. So when he knew with certainty the heart of each, finding\nhis words once more Ulysses said,--\n\n\"Lo, it is I, through many grievous toils now in the twentieth year come\nto my native land! And yet I know that of my servants none but you desire\nmy coming. From all the rest I have not heard one prayer that I return. To\nyou then I will truly tell what shall hereafter be. If God by me subdues\nthe lordly suitors, I will obtain you wives and give you wealth and homes\nestablished near my own; and henceforth in my eyes you shall be friends\nand brethren of Telemachus. Come, then, and I will show you too a very\ntrusty sign,--that you may know me certainly and be assured in heart,--the\nscar the boar dealt long ago with his white tusk, when I once journeyed to\nParnassus with Autolycus's sons.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew aside his rags from the great scar. And when the two\nbeheld and understood it all, their tears burst forth; they threw their\narms round wise Ulysses, and passionately kissed his face and neck. So\nlikewise did Ulysses kiss their heads and hands. And daylight had gone\ndown upon their weeping had not Ulysses stayed their tears and said,--\n\n\"Have done with grief and wailing, or somebody in coming from the hall may\nsee, and tell the tale indoors. Nay, go in one by one, not all together. I\nwill go first, you after. And let this be agreed: the rest within, the\nlordly suitors, will not allow me to receive the bow and quiver. But,\nnoble Eum\u00e6us, bring the bow along the room and lay it in my hands. Then\ntell the women to lock the hall's close-fitting doors; and if from their\ninner room they hear a moaning or a strife within our walls, let no one\nventure forth, but stay in silence at her work. And noble Philoetius, in\nyour care I put the courtyard gates. Bolt with the bar and quickly lash\nthe fastening.\"\n\nSo saying, Ulysses made his way into the stately house, and went and took\nthe seat from which he first arose. And soon the serving-men of princely\nUlysses entered too.\n\nNow Eurymachus held the bow and turned it up and down, trying to heat it\nat the glowing fire. But still, with all his pains, he could not bend it;\nhis proud soul groaned aloud. Then bitterly he spoke; these were the words\nhe said,--\n\n\"Ah! here is woe for me and woe for all! Not that I so much mourn missing\nthe marriage, though vexed I am at that. Still, there are enough more\nwomen of Achaia, both here in sea-girt Ithaca and in the other cities. But\nif in strength we fall so short of princely Ulysses that we cannot bend\nhis bow--oh, the disgrace for future times to know!\"\n\nThen said Antinous, Eupeithes' son, \"Not so, Eurymachus, and you yourself\nknow better. To-day throughout the land is the archer-god's high feast.\nWho then could bend a bow? Nay, quietly lay it by; and for the axes, what\nif we leave them standing? Nobody. I am sure, will carry one away and\ntrespass on the house of Laertes' son, Ulysses. Come then, and let the\nwine-pourer give pious portions to our cups, that after a libation we may\nlay aside curved bows. To-morrow morning tell Melanthius, the goatherd, to\ndrive us here the choicest goats of all his flock; and we will set the\nthighs before the archer-god, Apollo, then try the bow and end the\ncontest.\"\n\nSo said Antinous, and his saying pleased them. Pages poured water on their\nhands; young men brimmed bowls with drink and served to all, with a first\npious portion for the cups. And after they had poured and drunk as their\nhearts would, then in his subtlety said wise Ulysses,--\n\n\"Hearken, you suitors of the illustrious queen, and let me tell you what\nthe heart within me bids. I beg a special favor of Eurymachus, and great\nAntinous too; for his advice was wise, that you now drop the bow and leave\nthe matter with the Gods, and in the morning God shall grant the power to\nwhom he may. But give me now the polished bow, and let me in your presence\nprove my skill and power and see if I have yet such vigor left as once\nthere was within my supple limbs, or whether wanderings and neglect have\nruined all.\"\n\nAt these his words all were exceeding wroth, fearing that he might bend\nthe polished bow. But Antinous rebuked him, and spoke to him and said,\n\"You scurvy stranger, with not a whit of sense, are you not satisfied to\neat in peace with us, your betters, unstinted in your food and hearing all\nwe say? Nobody else, stranger or beggar, hears our talk. 'Tis wine that\ngoads you, honeyed wine, a thing that has brought others trouble, when\ntaken greedily and drunk without due measure. Wine crazed the Centaur,\nfamed Eurytion, at the house of bold Peirithous, on his visit to the\nLapith\u00e6. And when his wits were crazed with wine, he madly wrought foul\noutrage on the household of Peirithous. So indignation seized the heroes.\nThrough the porch and out of doors they rushed, dragging Eurytion forth,\nshorn by the pitiless sword of ears and nose. Crazed in his wits, he went\nhis way, bearing in his bewildered heart the burden of his guilt. And\nhence arose a feud between the Centaurs and mankind; but the beginning of\nthe woe he himself caused by wine. Even so I prophesy great harm to you,\nif you shall bend the bow. No kindness will you meet from any in our land,\nbut we will send you by black ship straight to King Echetus, the bane of\nall mankind, out of whose hands you never shall come clear. Be quiet,\nthen, and take your drink! Do not presume to vie with younger men!\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"Antinous, it is neither honorable nor\nfitting to worry strangers who may reach this palace of Telemachus. Do you\nsuppose the stranger, if he bends the great bow of Ulysses, confident in\nhis skill and strength of arm, will lead me home and take me for his wife?\nHe in his inmost soul imagines no such thing. Let none of you sit at the\ntable disturbed by such a thought; for that could never, never, be!\"\n\nThen answered her Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, \"Daughter of Icarius,\nheedful Penelope, we do not think the man will marry you. Of course that\ncould not be. And yet we dread the talk of men and women, and fear that\none of the baser sort of the Achaians say,'Men far inferior sue for a good\nman's wife, and cannot bend his polished bow. But somebody else--a\nwandering beggar--came, and easily bent the bow and sent an arrow through\nthe steel.' This they will say, to us a shame indeed.\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"Eurymachus, men cannot be in honor in\nthe land and rudely rob the household of their prince. Why, then, count\nthis a shame? The stranger is right tall, and well-knit too, and calls\nhimself the son of a good father. Give him the polished bow, and let us\nsee. For this I tell you, and it shall be done: if he shall bend it and\nApollo grants his prayer, I will clothe him in a coat and tunic, goodly\ngarments, give him a pointed spear to keep off dogs and men, a two-edged\nsword, and sandals for his feet, and I will send him where his heart and\nsoul may bid him go.\"\n\nThen answered her discreet Telemachus, \"My mother, no Achaian has better\nright than I to give or to refuse the bow to any as I will. And out of all\nwho rule in rocky Ithaca, or in the islands off toward grazing Elis, none\nmay oppose my will, even if I wished to put the bows into the stranger's\nhands and let him take them once for all away. Then seek your chamber and\nattend to matters of your own,--the loom, the distaff,--and bid the women\nply their tasks. Bows are for men, for all, especially for me; for power\nwithin this house rests here.\"\n\nAmazed, she turned to her own room again, for the wise saying of her son\nshe laid to heart. And coming to the upper chamber with her maids, she\nthere bewailed Ulysses, her dear husband, till on her lids clear-eyed\nAthene caused a sweet sleep to fall.\n\nMeanwhile the noble swineherd, taking the curved bow, was bearing it away.\nBut the suitors all broke into uproar in the hall, and a rude youth would\nsay, \"Where are you carrying the curved bow, you miserable swineherd?\nCrazy fool! Soon out among the swine, away from men, swift dogs shall eat\nyou,--dogs you yourself have bred,--will but Apollo and the other\ndeathless Gods be gracious!\" At these their words the bearer of the bow\nlaid it down where he stood, frightened because the crowd within the hall\ncried out upon him. But from the other side Telemachus called threatening\naloud, \"Nay, father! Carry on the bow! You cannot well heed all. Take\ncare, or I, a nimbler man than you, will drive you to the fields with\npelting stones. Superior in strength I am to you. Ah, would I were as much\nbeyond the others in the house, beyond these suitors, in my skill and\nstrength of arm! Then would I soon send somebody away in sorrow from my\nhouse; for men work evil here.\"\n\nHe spoke, and all burst into merry laughter and laid aside their bitter\nanger with Telemachus. And so the swineherd, bearing the bow along the\nhall, drew near to wise Ulysses and put it in his hands; then calling\naside nurse Eurycleia, thus he said,--\n\n\"Telemachus bids you, heedful Eurycleia, to lock the hall's close-fitting\ndoors; and if a woman from the inner room hears moaning or a strife within\nour walls, let her not venture forth, but stay in silence at her work.\"\n\nSuch were his words; unwinged, they rested with her. She locked the doors\nof the stately hall. Then silently from the house Philoetius stole forth\nand straightway barred the gates of the fenced court. Beneath the portico\nthere lay a curved ship's cable, made of biblus plant. With this he lashed\nthe gates, then passed indoors himself, and went and took the seat from\nwhich he first arose, eyeing Ulysses. Now Ulysses already held the bow and\nturned it round and round, trying it here and there to see if worms had\ngnawed the horn while its lord was far away. And glancing at his neighbor\none would say,--\n\n\"A sort of fancier and a trickster with the bow this fellow is. No doubt\nat home he has himself a bow like that, or means to make one like it. See\nhow he turns it in his hands this way and that, ready for\nmischief,--rascal!\"\n\nThen would another rude youth answer thus: \"Oh, may he always meet with\nluck as good as when he is unable now to bend the bow!\"\n\nSo talked the suitors. Meantime wise Ulysses, when he had handled the\ngreat bow and scanned it closely,--even as one well skilled to play the\nlyre and sing stretches with ease round its new peg a string, securing at\neach end the twisted sheep-gut, so without effort did Ulysses string the\nmighty bow. Holding it now with his right hand, he tried its cord; and\nclear to the touch it sang, voiced like the swallow. Great consternation\ncame upon the suitors. All faces then changed color. Zeus thundered loud\nfor signal. And glad was long-tried royal Ulysses to think the son of\ncrafty Cronos had sent an omen. He picked up a swift shaft which lay\nbeside him on the table, drawn. Within the hollow quiver still remained\nthe rest, which the Achaians soon should prove. Then laying the arrow on\nthe arch, he drew the string and arrow notches, and forth from the bench\non which he sat let fly the shaft, with careful aim, and did not miss an\naxe's ring from first to last, but clean through all sped on the\nbronze-tipped arrow; and to Telemachus he said,--\n\n\"Telemachus, the guest now sitting in your hall brings you no shame. I did\nnot miss my mark, nor in the bending of the bow make a long labor. My\nstrength is sound as ever, not what the mocking suitors here despised. But\nit is time for the Achaians to make supper ready, while it is daylight\nstill; and then for us in other ways to make them sport,--with dance and\nlyre; for these attend a feast.\"\n\nHe spoke and frowned the sign. His sharp sword then Telemachus girt on,\nthe son of princely Ulysses clasped his right hand around his spear, and\nclose beside his father's seat he took his stand, armed with the gleaming\nbronze.\n\n\n\n\nC. THE SLAYING OF THE SUITORS\n\nBy F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell\n\n\nUlysses sprang to the great threshold with the bow and quiver in his hand.\nHe poured out the arrows at his feet, and shouted to the princes, \"So ends\nthe game you could not play! Now for another mark which no man has ever\nhit before!\"\n\nWith that he shot at Antinous. He, as it chanced, was just lifting a\ngolden cup from the board, never dreaming that death would meet him there\nwith all his comrades round him at the feast. But before the wine touched\nhis lips the arrow struck him in the throat, and the cup dropped from his\nhand, and he fell dying to the floor. The princes sprang to their feet\nwhen they saw their comrade fallen, and looked round the walls for armor,\nbut there was not a spear or shield to be found. Then they turned in fury\non Ulysses: \"Madman, are you shooting at men? You have slain the noblest\nyouth in Ithaca, and you shall not live to draw bow again.\"\n\nBut Ulysses faced them sternly and said, \"Dogs, you thought that I should\nnever return. You have rioted in my home, and outraged the women of my\nhousehold, and you have wooed my own wife while I was yet a living man.\nYou took no thought for the Gods who rule in heaven, nor for the\nindignation of men in days hereafter. Now your time is come.\"\n\nAll grew pale as he spoke, and Eurymachus alone found words: \"If you are\nin truth King Ulysses, your words are just; there have been many shameful\ndeeds done upon your lands and in your house. But Antinous, who was the\ncause of all, lies dead; it was he who lead us on, hoping that he might\ntake your kingdom for himself. Spare us now that he has met his doom, for\nwe are your own people; and we will make you full atonement for all that\nhas been eaten and drunk in your halls.\"\n\n\"Eurymachus, you might give me all you have, but even then I would not\nhold my hands until I had taken vengeance for every wrong. You have your\nchoice. Fight, or fly, if you think that flight can save you.\"\n\nAt that their knees shook beneath them, but Eurymachus cried, \"Comrades,\nthis man will have no mercy. He has got the bow in his hands, and he will\nshoot us down from the threshold, so long as there is one of us left\nalive. Draw your swords, and guard yourselves, with the tables; and let us\nall set upon him at once and drive him from the doorway. If we can reach\nthe city, we are safe.\"\n\nAs he spoke he drew his sword and sprang forward with a cry; and at the\nsame moment Ulysses shot. The arrow struck him in the breast, and he\ndropped forward over the table, while the mist of death sank upon his\neyes. Then Amphinomus made a rush on the doorway. But Telemachus was too\nquick for him; he hurled his spear and struck him from behind between the\nshoulders, and he fell crashing on the floor. Telemachus sprang back,\nleaving the spear, for he dared not wait to draw it out. He darted to his\nfather's side. \"Father, we ought to have armor; I will go and get weapons\nfor us.\"\n\n\"Run and bring them,\" said. Ulysses, \"while I have arrows left; when these\nare gone I cannot hold the doorway against them all.\"\n\nSo Telemachus ran to the armory and hurried back with helmets and shields\nand spears; and he armed himself and made the two servants do the same,\nand they took their stand beside the king. While the arrows lasted,\nUlysses shot, and struck down the wooers man by man. And then he leant the\nbow against the doorpost, and slung the shield about him and put on the\nhelmet and took two spears in his hand.\n\nNow there was a postern in the hall, close beside the great doorway and\nopening on the corridor. Ulysses had put the swineherd to guard it, and\nnow the boldest of the suitors said to the rest, \"Could not some of us\nforce a passage there and raise the cry for rescue?\"\n\n\"Little use in that,\" said Melanthius, \"the great doorway is too close,\nand one brave man might stop us all before we reached the court. I have a\nbetter plan. Ulysses and his son have stowed away the weapons, and I think\nI know where they are. I will go and fetch you what you need.\"\n\nWith these words he clambered up through the lights of the hall and got\ninto the armory, and fetched out twelve shields and as many spears and\nhelmets, and brought them to the princes. The heart of Ulysses misgave him\nwhen he saw the armor and the long spears in their hands; and he felt that\nthe fight would go hard, and said to Telemachus, \"Melanthius or one of the\nwomen has betrayed us.\"\n\n\"Father, it was my fault,\" said Telemachus; \"I left the door of the armory\nopen, and one of them must have kept sharper watch than I did. Go, Eum\u00e6us,\nmake fast the door, and see whether this is the doing of Melanthius, as I\nguess.\"\n\nWhile they spoke, Melanthius went again to fetch more armor, and the\nswineherd spied him and said, \"There is the villain going to the armory,\nas we thought; tell me, shall I kill him, if I can master him, or shall I\nbring him here to suffer for his sins?\" \"Telemachus and I will guard the\ndoorway here,\" said Ulysses, \"and you and the shepherd shall bind him hand\nand foot and leave him in the chamber to wait his doom.\"\n\nSo the two went up to the armory, and stood in wait on either side of the\ndoor; and as Melanthius came out, they leapt upon him and dragged him back\nby the hair and flung him on the ground and bound him tightly to a pillar\nhand and foot. \"Lie there,\" said Eum\u00e6us, \"and take your ease: the dawn\nwill not find you sleeping, when it is time for you to rise and drive out\nyour goats.\" With that they went back to join Ulysses, and the four stood\ntogether at the threshold,--four men against a host.\n\nThen Athene came among them in the likeness of Mentor, and Ulysses knew\nher and rejoiced. \"Mentor,\" he shouted, \"help me in my need, for we are\ncomrades from of old.\" And the wooers sent up another shout, \"Do not\nlisten to him, Mentor; or your turn will come when he is slain.\" But\nAthene taunted Ulysses and spurred him to the fight: \"Have you lost your\nstrength and courage, Ulysses? It was not thus you did battle for Helen in\nthe ten years' war at Troy. Is it so hard to face the suitors in your own\nhouse and home? Come, stand by me, and see if Mentor forgets old\nfriendship.\" Yet she left the victory still uncertain, that she might\nprove his courage to the full. She turned herself into a swallow and flew\nup into the roof and perched on a blackened rafter overhead.\n\nThen the wooers took courage, when they saw that Mentor was gone, and that\nthe four stood alone in the doorway. And one of them said to the rest,\n\"Let six of us hurl our spears together at Ulysses. If once he falls,\nthere will be little trouble with the rest.\" So they flung their spears as\nhe bade them; but all of them missed the mark. Then Ulysses gave the word\nto his men, and they all took steady aim and threw, and each one killed\nhis man; and the wooers fell back into the farther end of the hall, while\nthe four dashed on together and drew out their spears from the bodies of\nthe slain. Once more the suitors hurled, and Telemachus and the swineherd\nwere wounded; but the other spears fell wide. Then at last Athene lifted\nher shield of war high overhead,--the shield that brings death to\nmen,--and panic seized the wooers, and they fled through the hall like a\ndrove of cattle when the gadfly stings them. But the four leapt on them\nlike vultures swooping from the clouds; and they fled left and right\nthrough the hall, but there was no escape.\n\nOnly Phemius, the minstrel, whom the wooers had forced to sing before\nthem, sprang forward and clasped the knees of Ulysses and said, \"Have\nmercy on me, Ulysses: you would not slay a minstrel, who gladdens the\nhearts of Gods and men? The princes forced me here against my will.\"\n\nAnd Telemachus heard and said to his father, \"Do not hurt him, for he is\nnot to blame: and let us save the herald too, if he is yet alive, for he\ntook care of me when I was a child.\"\n\nNow the herald had hidden himself under a stool and pulled an ox-hide over\nhim, and when he heard this he crept out and clasped the knees of\nTelemachus and begged that he would plead for him. \"Have no fear,\" said\nUlysses; \"my son has saved your life. Go out, you and the minstrel, and\nwait in the courtyard, for I have other work to do within.\" So the two\nwent out into the courtyard, and sat down beside the altar, looking for\ntheir death each moment.\n\nThen Ulysses searched through the hall, to see if any one was yet lurking\nalive. But they all lay round him fallen in the dust and blood, heaped\nupon each other like fishes on a sunny beach when the fisherman has drawn\nhis net to land. Then he told Telemachus to call out the old nurse\nEurycleia. She came and found Ulysses standing among the bodies of the\nslain, with his hands and feet all stained with blood, and she was ready\nto shout aloud for triumph when she saw the great work accomplished. But\nUlysses checked her cry and said, \"Keep your joy unspoken, old nurse;\nthere should be no shout of triumph over the slain. It is the judgment of\nHeaven that has repaid them for the evil deeds they did.\"\n\nThen he gave orders that the bodies of the dead should be carried out and\nthat the blood should be washed away. And when this was done he turned to\nEurycleia and said, \"Bring fire and sulphur now and I will purify the\nhall. Then bid Penelope meet me here.\"\n\n\"Yes, my child,\" said the old nurse, \"I will obey you. But let me bring\nyou a mantle first: it is not fitting that you should stand here with only\nyour rags to cover you.\" But Ulysses said that she must do his bidding at\nonce. So she brought sulphur and lit a fire, and Ulysses purified the\nhall.\n\n\n\n\nD. PENELOPE RECOGNIZES ULYSSES\n\nTranslated by George Herbert Palmer\n\n\nThe old woman, full of glee, went to the upper chamber to tell her\nmistress her dear lord was in the house. Her knees grew strong; her feet\noutran themselves. By Penelope's head she paused, and thus she spoke:--\n\n\"Awake, Penelope, dear child, to see with your own eyes what you have\nhoped to see this many a day! Ulysses is here! He has come home at last,\nand slain the haughty suitors, the men who vexed his house, devoured his\nsubstance, and oppressed his son.\"\n\nThen heedful Penelope said to her, \"Dear nurse, the Gods have crazed you.\nThey can befool one who is very wise, and often they have set the simple\nin the paths of prudence. They have confused you; you were sober-minded\nheretofore. Why mock me when my heart is full of sorrow, telling wild\ntales like these? And why arouse me from the sleep that sweetly bound me\nand kept my eyelids closed? I have not slept so soundly since Ulysses went\naway to see accursed Ilium,--name never to be named. Nay then, go down,\nback to the hall. If any other of my maids had come and told me this and\nwaked me out of sleep, I would soon have sent her off in sorry wise into\nthe hall once more. This time age serves you well.\"\n\nThen said to her the good nurse Eurycleia, \"Dear child, I do not mock you.\nIn very truth it is Ulysses; he is come, as I have said. He is the\nstranger whom everybody in the hall has set at naught. Telemachus knew\nlong ago that he was here, but out of prudence hid his knowledge of his\nfather till he should have revenge from those bold men for wicked deeds.\"\n\nSo spoke she; and Penelope was glad, and, springing from her bed, fell on\nthe woman's neck, and let the tears burst from her eyes; and, speaking in\nwinged words, she said,--\n\n\"Nay, tell me, then, dear nurse, and tell me truly; if he is really come\nas you declare, how was it he laid hands upon the shameless suitors, being\nalone, while they were always here together?\"\n\nThen answered her the good nurse Eurycleia, \"I did not see; I did not ask;\nI only heard the groans of dying men. In a corner of our protected chamber\nwe sat and trembled,--the doors were tightly closed,--until your son\nTelemachus called to me from the hall; for his father bade him call. And\nthere among the bodies of the slain I found Ulysses standing. All around,\ncovering the trodden floor, they lay, one on another. It would have warmed\nyour heart to see him, like a lion, dabbled with blood and gore. Now all\nthe bodies are collected at the courtyard gate, while he is fumigating the\nfair house by lighting a great fire. He sent me here to call you. Follow\nme, then, that you may come to gladness in your true hearts together, for\nsorely have you suffered. Now the long hope has been at last fulfilled. He\nhas come back alive to his own hearth, and found you still, you and his\nson, within his hall; and upon those who did him wrong, the suitors, on\nall of them here in his home he has obtained revenge.\"\n\nThen heedful Penelope said to her, \"Dear nurse, be not too boastful yet,\nnor filled with glee. You know how welcome here the sight of him would be\nto all, and most to me and to the son we had. But this is no true tale you\ntell. Nay, rather some immortal slew the lordly suitors, in anger at their\ngalling insolence and wicked deeds; for they respected nobody on earth,\nbad man or good, who came among them. So for their sins they suffered. But\nUlysses, far from Achaia, lost the hope of coming home; nay, he himself\nwas lost.\"\n\nThen answered her the good nurse Eurycleia, \"My child, what word has\npassed the barrier of your teeth, to say your husband, who is now beside\nyour hearth, will never come! Your heart is always doubting. Come, then,\nand let me name another sign most sure,--the scar the boar dealt long ago\nwith his white tusk. I found it as I washed him, and I would have told you\nthen; but he laid his hand upon my mouth, and in his watchful wisdom would\nnot let me speak. But follow me. I stake my very life; if I deceive you,\nslay me by the vilest death.\"\n\nThen heedful Penelope answered her, \"Dear nurse, 'tis hard for you to\ntrace the counsels of the everlasting Gods, however wise you are.\nNevertheless, let us go down to meet my son, and see the suitors who are\ndead, and him who slew them.\"\n\nSo saying, she went from her chamber to the hall, and much her heart\ndebated whether aloof to question her dear husband, or to draw near and\nkiss his face and take his hand. But when she entered, crossing the stone\nthreshold, she sat down opposite Ulysses, in the firelight, beside the\nfarther wall. He sat by a tall pillar, looking down, waiting to hear if\nhis stately wife would speak when she should look his way. But she sat\nsilent long; amazement filled her heart. Now she would gaze with a long\nlook upon his face, and now she would not know him for the mean clothes\nthat he wore. But Telemachus rebuked her, and spoke to her and said,--\n\n\"Mother, hard mother, of ungentle heart, why do you hold aloof so from my\nfather, and do not sit beside him, plying him with words and questions?\nThere is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to stand off from the\nhusband who, after many grievous toils, comes in the twentieth year home\nto his native land. Your heart is always harder than a stone!\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"My child, my soul within is dazed with\nwonder. I cannot speak to him, nor ask a question, nor look him in the\nface. But if this indeed is Ulysses, come at last, we certainly shall know\neach other better than others know; for we have signs which we two\nunderstand,--signs hidden from the rest.\"\n\nAs she, long tried, spoke thus, royal Ulysses smiled, and said to\nTelemachus forthwith in winged words, \"Telemachus, leave your mother in\nthe hall to try my truth. She soon will know me better. Now, because I am\nfoul and dressed in sorry clothes, she holds me in dishonor, and says I am\nnot he. But you and I have yet to plan how all may turn out well. For\nwhoso kills one man among a tribe, though the man leaves few champions\nbehind, becomes an exile, quitting kin and country. We have destroyed the\npillars of the state, the very noblest youths of Ithaca. Form, then, a\nplan, I pray.\"\n\nThen answered him discreet Telemachus, \"Look you to that, dear father.\nYour wisdom is, they say, the best among mankind. No mortal man can rival\nyou. Zealously will we follow, and not fail, I think, in daring, so far as\npower is ours.\"\n\nThen wise Ulysses answered him and said, \"Then I will tell you what seems\nbest to me. First wash and put on tunics, and bid the maids about the\nhouse array themselves. Then let the sacred bard with tuneful lyre lead us\nin sportive dancing, that men may say, hearing us from without, 'It is a\nwedding,' whether such men be passers-by or neighboring folk; and so broad\nrumor may not reach the town about the suitors' murder till we are gone to\nour well-wooded farm. There will we plan as the Olympian shall grant us\nwisdom.\"\n\nSo he spoke, and willingly they heeded and obeyed. For first they washed\nthemselves and put on tunics, and the women also put on their attire. And\nthen the noble bard took up his hollow lyre, and in them stirred desire\nfor merry music and the gallant dance; and the great house resounded to\nthe tread of lusty men and gay-girt women. And one who heard the dancing\nfrom without would say, \"Well, well! some man has married the long-courted\nqueen. Hard-hearted! For the husband of her youth she would not guard her\ngreat house to the end, till he should come.\" So they would say, but knew\nnot how things were.\n\nMeanwhile within the house Eurynome, the housekeeper, bathed resolute\nUlysses and anointed him with oil, and on him put a goodly robe and tunic.\nUpon his face Athene cast great beauty; she made him taller than before,\nand stouter to behold, and made the curling locks to fall round his head\nas on the hyacinth flower. As when a man lays gold on silver,--some\nskillful man whom Vulcan and Pallas Athene have trained in every art, and\nhe fashions graceful work, so did she cast a grace upon his head and\nshoulders. Forth from the bath he came, in bearing like the Immortals, and\nonce more took the seat from which he first arose, facing his wife, and\nspoke to her these words:--\n\n\"Lady, a heart impenetrable beyond the sex of women the dwellers on\nOlympus gave to you. There is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to\nstand off from the husband who, after many grievous toils, comes in the\ntwentieth year home to his native land. Come, then, good nurse, and make\nmy bed, that I may lie alone. For certainly of iron is the heart within\nher breast.\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"Nay, sir, I am not proud, nor\ncontemptuous of you, nor too much dazed with wonder. I very well remember\nwhat you were when you went upon your long-oared ship away from Ithaca.\nHowever, Eurycleia, make up his massive bed outside that stately chamber\nwhich he himself once built. Move the massive frame out there, and throw\nthe bedding on,--the fleeces, robes, and bright-hued rugs.\"\n\nShe said this in the hope to prove her husband, but Ulysses spoke in anger\nto his faithful wife: \"Woman, these are bitter words which you have said!\nWho set my bed elsewhere? A hard task that would be for one, however\nskilled,--unless a god should come and by his will set it with ease upon\nsome other spot; but among men no living being, even in his prime, could\nlightly shift it; for a great token is inwrought into its curious frame. I\nbuilt it; no one else. There grew a thick-leaved olive shrub inside the\nyard, full-grown and vigorous, in girth much like a pillar. Round this I\nformed my chamber, and I worked till it was done, building it out of\nclose-set stones, and roofing it over well. Framed and tight-fitting doors\nI added to it. Then I lopped the thick-leaved olive's crest, cutting the\nstem high up above the roots, neatly and skillfully smoothed with my axe\nthe sides, and to the line I kept all true to shape my post, and with an\nauger I bored it all along. Starting with this, I fashioned me the bed\ntill it was finished, and I inlaid it well with gold, with silver, and\nwith ivory. On it I stretched a thong of ox-hide, gay with purple. This is\nthe token I now tell. I do not know whether the bed still stands there,\nwife, or whether somebody has set it elsewhere, cutting the olive trunk.\"\n\nAs he spoke thus, her knees grew feeble and her very soul, when she\nrecognized the tokens which Ulysses exactly told. Then bursting into\ntears, she ran straight toward him, threw her arms round Ulysses' neck and\nkissed his face, and said,--\n\n\"Ulysses, do not scorn me! Ever before, you were the wisest of mankind.\nThe Gods have sent us sorrow, and grudged our staying side by side to\nshare the joys of youth and reach the threshold of old age. But do not be\nangry with me now, nor take it ill that then when I first saw you I did\nnot greet you thus; for the heart within my breast was always trembling. I\nfeared some man might come and cheat me with his tale. Many a man makes\nwicked schemes for gain. Nay, Argive Helen, the daughter of Zeus, would\nnot have given herself to love a stranger if she had known how warrior\nsons of the Achaians would bring her home again, back to her native land.\nAnd yet it was a god prompted her deed of shame. Before, she did not\ncherish in her heart such sin, such grievous sin, from which began the woe\nwhich stretched to us. But now, when you have clearly told the tokens of\nour bed, which no one else has seen, but only you and I and the single\nservant, Actoris, whom my father gave me on my coming here to keep the\ndoor of our closed chamber,--you make even my ungentle heart believe.\"\n\nSo she spoke, and stirred still more his yearning after tears; and he\nbegan to weep, holding his loved and faithful wife. As when the welcome\nland appears to swimmers, whose sturdy ship Neptune wrecked at sea,\nconfounded by the winds and solid waters; a few escape the foaming sea and\nswim ashore; thick salt foam crusts their flesh; they climb the welcome\nland, and are escaped from danger; so welcome to her gazing eyes appeared\nher husband. From round his neck she never let her white arms go. And\nrosy-fingered dawn had found them weeping, but a different plan the\ngoddess formed, clear-eyed Athene. She checked the long night in its\npassage, and at the ocean-stream she stayed the gold-throned dawn, and did\nnot suffer it to yoke the swift-paced horses which carry light to men,\nLampus and Phaethon, which bear the dawn. And now to his wife said wise\nUlysses,--\n\n\"O wife, we have not reached the end of all our trials yet. Hereafter\ncomes a task immeasurable, long and severe, which I must needs fulfill;\nfor so the spirit of Tiresias told me, that day when I descended to the\nhouse of Hades to learn about the journey of my comrades and myself. But\ncome, my wife, let us to bed, that there at last we may refresh ourselves\nwith pleasant sleep.\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"The bed shall be prepared whenever\nyour heart wills, now that the Gods have let you reach your stately house\nand native land. But since you speak of this, and God inspires your heart,\ncome, tell that trial. In time to come, I know, I shall experience it. To\nlearn about it now, makes it no worse.\"\n\nThen wise Ulysses answered her and said, \"Lady, why urge me so insistently\nto tell? Well, I will speak it out; I will not hide it. Yet your heart\nwill feel no joy; I have no joy myself; for Tiresias bade me go to many a\npeopled town, bearing in hand a shapely oar, till I should reach the men\nthat know no sea and do not eat food mixed with salt. These, therefore,\nhave no knowledge of the red-cheeked ships, nor of the shapely oars which\nare the wings of ships. And this was the sign, he said, easy to be\nobserved. I will not hide it from you. When another traveler, meeting me,\nshould say I had a winnowing-fan on my white shoulder, there in the ground\nhe bade me fix my oar and make fit offerings to lord Neptune,--a ram, a\nbull, and the sow's mate, a boar,--and, turning homeward, to offer sacred\nhecatombs to the immortal gods who hold the open sky, all in the order\ndue. And on myself death from the sea shall very gently come and cut me\noff, bowed down with hale old age. Round me shall be a prosperous people.\nAll this, he said, should be fulfilled.\"\n\nThen said to him heedful Penelope, \"If gods can make old age the better\ntime, then there is hope there will be rest from trouble.\"\n\nSo they conversed together. Meanwhile, Eurynome and the nurse prepared\ntheir bed with clothing soft, under the light of blazing torches. And\nafter they had spread the comfortable bed, with busy speed, the old woman\ndeparted to her room to rest; while the chamber-servant, Eurynome, with\ntorch in hand, walked on before, as they two came to bed. She brought them\nto their chamber, and then she went her way. So they came gladly to their\nold bed's rites. And now Telemachus, the neatherd, and the swineherd\nstayed their feet from dancing, and bade the women stay, and all betook\nthemselves to rest throughout the dusky halls.\n\nSo when the pair had joyed in happy love, they joyed in talking too, each\none relating; she, the royal lady, what she endured at home, watching the\nwasteful throng of suitors, who, making excuse of her, slew many cattle,\nbeeves, and sturdy sheep, and stores of wine were drained from out the\ncasks; he, high-born Ulysses, what miseries he brought on other men and\nwhat he bore himself in anguish,--all he told, and she was glad to listen.\nNo sleep fell on her eyelids till he had told her all.\n\nHe began with how at first he conquered the Ciconians, and came thereafter\nto the fruitful land of Lotus-Eaters; then what the Cyclops did, and how\nhe took revenge for the brave comrades whom the Cyclops ate, and never\npitied; then how he came to \u00c6olus, who gave him hearty welcome and sent\nhim on his way; but it was fated that he should not reach his dear land\nyet, for a sweeping storm bore him once more along the swarming sea,\nloudly lamenting; how he came to Telepylus in L\u00e6strygonia, where the men\ndestroyed his ships and his mailed comrades, all of them; Ulysses fled in\nhis black ship alone. He told of Circe, too, and all her crafty guile; and\nhow on a ship of many oars he came to the mouldering house of Hades, there\nto consult the spirit of Teiresias of Thebes, and looked on all his\ncomrades, and on the mother who had borne him and cared for him when\nlittle; how he had heard the full-voiced Sirens' song; how he came to the\nWandering Rocks, to dire Charybdis and to Scylla, past whom none goes\nunharmed; how then his crew slew the Sun's kine; how Zeus with a blazing\nbolt smote his swift ship,--Zeus, thundering from on high,--and his good\ncomrades perished, utterly, all, while he escaped their evil doom; how he\ncame to the island of Ogygia and to the nymph Calypso, who held him in her\nhollow grotto, wishing him to be her husband, cherishing him, and saying\nshe would make him an immortal, young forever, but she never beguiled the\nheart within his breast; then how he came through many toils to the\nPh\u00e6acians, who honored him exceedingly, as if he were a god, and brought\nhim on his way to his native land, giving him stores of bronze and gold\nand clothing. This was the latest tale he told, when pleasant sleep fell\non him, easing his limbs and from his heart removing care.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERINGS OF THE TROJAN \u00c6NEAS\n\n\nTHE FLIGHT OF \u00c6NEAS FROM THE RUINS OF TROY\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\n\u00c6neas, a famous Trojan warrior, fought bravely as long as the city stood;\nbut when it had fallen, he bethought himself of his father Anchises, and\nhis wife Creusa, and of his little son Ascanius, and how he had left them\nwithout defense at home. But as he turned to seek them, the night being\nnow, by reason of many fires, as clear as the day, he espied Helen sitting\nin the temple of Vesta, where she had sought sanctuary; for she feared the\nmen of Troy, to whom she had brought ruin and destruction, and not less\nher own husband, whom she had deceived. Then was his wrath kindled, and he\nspake to himself, \"Shall this evil woman return safe to Sparta? Shall she\nsee again her home and her children, with Trojan women forsooth to be her\nhandmaidens? Shall Troy be burnt and King Priam be slain, and she take no\nharm? Not so; for though there be no glory to be won from such a deed, yet\nshall I satisfy myself, taking vengeance upon her for my kinsmen and my\ncountrymen.\" But while he thought these things in his heart, lo! there\nappeared unto him Venus, his mother, made manifest as he had never seen\nher before, as fair and as tall as the dwellers in heaven behold her. Then\nVenus spake thus: \"What meaneth all this rage, my son? Hast thou no care\nfor me? Hast thou forgotten thy father Anchises, and thy wife, and thy\nlittle son? Of a surety the fire and the sword had consumed them long\nsince but that I cared for them and saved them. It is not Helen, no, nor\nParis, that hath laid low this great city of Troy, but the wrath of the\nGods. See now, for I will take away the mist that covers thine eyes; see\nhow Neptune with his trident is overthrowing the walls and rooting up the\ncity from its foundations; and how Juno stands with spear and shield in\nthe Sc\u00e6an Gate and calls fresh hosts from the ships; and how Pallas sits\non the height with the storm-cloud about her and her Gorgon shield; and\nhow Father Jupiter himself stirs up the enemy against Troy. Fly,\ntherefore, my son. I will not leave thee till thou shalt reach thy\nfather's house.\" And as she spake she vanished in the darkness.\n\nThen did \u00c6neas see dreadful forms and gods who were enemies of Troy, and\nbefore his eyes the whole city seemed to sink down into the fire. Even as\na mountain oak upon the hills on which the woodmen ply their axes bows its\nhead while all its boughs shake about it, till at last, as blow comes\nafter blow, with a mighty groan it falls crashing down from the height,\neven so the city seemed to fall. Then did \u00c6neas pass on his way, the\ngoddess leading him, and the flames gave place to him, and the javelins\nharmed him not.\n\nBut when he was come to his house he bethought him first of the old man\nhis father; but when he would have carried him to the hills, Anchises\nwould not, being loath to live in some strange country when Troy had\nperished. \"Nay,\" said he, \"fly ye who are strong and in the flower of your\ndays. But as for me, if the Gods had willed that I should live, they had\nsaved this dwelling for me. Enough it is, yea, and more than enough, that\nonce I have seen this city taken, and lived. Bid me, then, farewell as\nthough I were dead. Death will I find for myself. And truly I have long\nlingered here a useless stock and hated of the Gods, since Jupiter smote\nme with the blast of his thunder.\"\n\nNor could the old man be moved from his purpose, though his son and his\nson's wife, and even the child Ascanius, besought him with many tears that\nhe should not make yet heavier the doom that was upon them. Then was \u00c6neas\nminded to go back to the battle and die. For what hope was left?\n\"Thoughtest thou, my father,\" he cried, \"that I should flee and leave thee\nbehind? What evil word is this that has fallen from thy lips? If the Gods\nwill have it that nought of Troy should be left, and thou be minded that\nthou and thine should perish with the city, be it so. The way is easy;\nsoon will Pyrrhus be here: Pyrrhus, red with Priam's blood; Pyrrhus, who\nslays the son before the face of the father, and the father at the altar.\nWas it for this, kind Mother Venus, that thou broughtest me safe through\nfire and sword, to see the enemy in my home, and my father and my wife and\nmy son lying slaughtered together? Comrades, give me my arms, and take me\nback to the battle. At the least I will die avenged.\"\n\nBut as he girded on his arms and would have departed from the house, his\nwife Creusa caught his feet upon the threshold, staying him, and held out\nthe little Ascanius, saying, \"If thou goest to thy death, take wife and\nchild with thee; but if thou hopest aught from arms, guard first the house\nwhere thou hast father and wife and child.\"\n\nAnd lo! as she spake there befell a mighty marvel, for before the face of\nfather and mother there was seen to shine a light on the head of the boy\nAscanius, and to play upon his waving hair and glitter on his temples. And\nwhen they feared to see this thing, and would have stifled the flame or\nquenched it with water, the old man Anchises in great joy raised his eyes\nto heaven, and cried aloud, \"O Father Jupiter, if prayer move thee at all,\ngive thine aid and make this omen sure.\" And even as he spake the thunder\nrolled on his left hand, and a star shot through the skies, leaving a long\ntrail of light behind, and passed over the house-tops till it was hidden\nin the woods of Ida. Then the old man lifted himself up and did obeisance\nto the star, and said, \"I delay no more: whithersoever ye lead I will\nfollow. Gods of my country, save my house and my grandson. This omen is of\nyou. And now, my son, I refuse not to go.\"\n\nThen said \u00c6neas, and as he spake the fire came nearer, and the light was\nclearer to see, and the heat more fierce, \"Climb, dear father, on my\nshoulders; I will bear thee, nor grow weary with the weight. We will be\nsaved or perish together. The little Ascanius shall go with me, and my\nwife follow behind, not over near. And ye, servants of my house, hearken\nto me; ye mind how that to one who passes out of the city there is a tomb\nand a temple of Ceres in a lonely place, and an ancient cypress-tree hard\nby. There will we gather by divers ways. And do thou, my father, take the\nholy images in thy hands, for as for me, who have but newly come from\nbattle, I may not touch them till I have washed me in the running stream.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he put a cloak of lion's skin upon his shoulders, and the\nold man sat thereon. Ascanius also laid hold of his hand, and Creusa\nfollowed behind. So he went in much dread and trembling. For indeed before\nsword and spear of the enemy he had not feared, but now he feared for them\nthat were with him. But when he was come nigh unto the gates, and the\njourney was well-nigh finished, there befell a grievous mischance, for\nthere was heard a sound as of many feet through the darkness; and the old\nman cried to him, \"Fly, my son, fly; they are coming. I see the flashing\nof shields and swords.\" But as \u00c6neas hasted to go, Creusa his wife was\nsevered from him. But whether she wandered from the way or sat down in\nweariness, no man may say. Only he saw her no more, nor knew her to be\nlost, till all his company being met at the temple of Ceres, she only was\nfound wanting. Very grievous did the thing seem to him, nor did he cease\nto cry out in his wrath against Gods and men. Also he bade his comrades\nhave a care of his father and his son, and of the household gods, and\ngirded him again with arms, and so passed into the city. And first he went\nto the wall and to the gate by which he had come forth, and then to his\nhouse, if haply she had returned thither. But there indeed the men of\nGreece were come, and the fire had well-nigh mastered it. And after that\nhe went to the citadel and to the palace of King Priam. And lo! in the\nporch of Juno's temple, Phoenix and Ulysses were keeping guard over the\nspoil, even the treasure of the temples, tables of the Gods, and solid\ncups of gold, and raiment, and a long array of them that had been taken\ncaptive, children and women. But not the less did he seek his wife through\nall the streets of the city, yea, and called her aloud by name. But lo! as\nhe called, the image of her whom he sought seemed to stand before him,\nonly greater than she had been while she was yet alive. And the spirit\nspake, saying, \"Why art thou vainly troubled? These things have not\nbefallen us against the pleasure of the Gods. The ruler of Olympus willeth\nnot that Creusa should bear thee company in thy journey. For thou hast a\nlong journey to take, and many seas to cross, till thou come to the\nHesperian shore, where Lydian Tiber flows softly through a good land and a\nfertile. There shalt thou have great prosperity, and take to thyself a\nwife of royal race. Weep not, then, for Creusa, whom thou lovest, nor\nthink that I shall be carried away to be a bond-slave to some Grecian\nwoman. Such fate befits not a daughter of Dardanus and daughter-in-law of\nVenus. The mighty mother of the Gods keepeth me in this land to serve her.\nAnd now, farewell, and love the young Ascanius, even thy son and mine.\"\n\n[Illustration: AND AS HE SPAKE HE PUT A CLOAK OF LION'S SKIN UPON HIS\nSHOULDERS, AND THE OLD MAN SAT THEREON. ASCANIUS ALSO LAID HOLD OF HIS\nHAND, AND CREUSA FOLLOWED BEHIND. SO HE WENT IN MUCH DREAD AND TREMBLING,\nFOR INDEED BEFORE SWORD AND SPEAR OF THE ENEMY HE HAD NOT FEARED, BUT NOW\nHE FEARED MUCH FOR THEM THAT WERE WITH HIM]\n\nSo spake the spirit, and when \u00c6neas wept and would have spoken, vanished\nout of his sight. Thrice he would have cast his arms about her neck, and\nthrice the image mocked him, being thin as air and fleeting as a dream.\nThen, the night being now spent, he sought his comrades, and found with\nmuch joy and wonder that a great company of men and women were gathered\ntogether, and were willing, all of them, to follow him whithersoever he\nwent. And now the morning star rose over Mount Ida, and \u00c6neas, seeing that\nthe Greeks held the city, and that there was no longer any hope of succor,\nwent his way to the mountains, taking with him his father.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS'S ADVENTURE WITH THE HARPIES\n\nBy Charles Henry Hanson\n\n\n    [For three days the vessels of \u00c6neas were tossed about by terrible\n    storm winds.]\n\n\nAt last, on the fourth day, the fury of the storm abated, and they came in\nsight of land,--at first lofty mountains, and afterwards, as they drew\nnearer, rich grassy plains, on which the wanderers saw herds of cattle and\nflocks of goats grazing without a keeper. As soon as the storm-beaten\nvessels could be brought to the shore, the Trojans hastened to land, and\nslaughtered some of the cattle, preparing a luxurious banquet. But this\nthey were not destined to enjoy in peace; for scarcely had they stretched\nthemselves on the couches they had hurriedly prepared beside the food when\nthere was a sudden rushing of wings, and three ghastly creatures swooped\ndown upon the feast, devoured a large part of it, and so defiled the rest\nwith their loathsome touch that very little was eatable. These were the\nHarpies, and by their appearance \u00c6neas knew that he and his companions had\narrived at the Strophades, two islands in the Ionian Sea which for many\nyears had been given up to the monsters. They were fearful of aspect: down\nto the breast they resembled women, with scanty black hair and glaring\nred-rimmed eyes, and on their faces ever a famine-stricken look; but they\nhad wings instead of arms, and their bodies and lower limbs were those of\nhuge birds, foul and uncleanly. These hateful creatures had long before\nbeen sent by the Gods to plague Pheneus the Blind, king of Thrace, who had\ncruelly treated his sons. Whenever a meal was spread for the king, the\nHarpies used to descend and devour it. At last some brave warriors, who\nwere passing through Thrace, were persuaded by the promise of rewards from\nPheneus to rid him of the monsters, and drove them to the far Strophades,\nwhere they had ever since dwelt.\n\nIrritated at the loss of their feast, \u00c6neas and his companions prepared\nmore food, and determined, if necessary, to defend it with their swords.\nThey accordingly concealed their weapons in the grass, and stationed one\nof their number on the watch, to give notice with the sound of a trumpet\nwhen the Harpies were approaching. This was done accordingly, and the\nobscene creatures, when they again swooped down to seize on the cooked\nmeats, which they relished more than any other food, were driven off,\nthough not without difficulty. But one of them, perching on a high rock,\ncroaked forth to the astonished mariners this dismal prophecy:--\n\n\"Woe to you, Trojans! Do you dare to make war upon us after having slain\nour oxen, and to banish the innocent Harpies from the kingdom which is\ntheirs by right? Fix, then, in your minds these words, which the father of\nGods and men revealed to Phoebus Apollo, and Apollo to me. Italy is the\nland you seek, and Italy you shall reach at last, after many perils; but\nyou shall not build up the walls of your new-founded city until dire\nfamine and suffering, visiting you because you have injured us, shall\ncompel you to devour your tables as well as the food that is upon them.\"\n\nThe gloomy prediction terrified most of the wanderers, and they urged\n\u00c6neas to endeavor to propitiate the unclean monsters with invocations and\nsacrifices. But Anchises, after imploring Jupiter to ward off the\nthreatened calamities, commanded that the expedition should at once quit\nthat melancholy shore. After passing the rugged cliffs of Ithaca, and\nuttering maledictions on the land that bred Ulysses, the most cunning\nenemy of Troy, the exiles arrived in safety at the harbor of Leucadia,\nwhere the ships were anchored, and the travelers landed to rest awhile\nafter the fatigues of the voyage. Here they celebrated the games of their\ncountry; and \u00c6neas hung on the door-posts of an ancient and famous temple\nof Apollo a suit of armor, which he had taken from a Greek warrior slain\nbefore Troy, placing above it an inscription, \"These arms \u00c6neas won from\nthe victorious Greeks.\"\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS IN THE LAND OF THE CYCLOPS\n\nBy Charles Henry Hanson\n\n\nA day's sail over the blue Mediterranean brought \u00c6neas and his followers\nin sight of the southeastern shores of Italy; and as they saw the swelling\nhills and grassy plains of the promised land, they broke into cries of\njoy. The ships were run into a secure harbor, and sacrifices offered up\nfor the propitiation of Minerva and of Juno; after which, mindful of the\ninjunctions of Helenus to avoid those parts of Italy which lay nearest to\nGreece, the adventurers resumed their voyage. Keeping near the coast, they\npassed the Bay of Tarentum and the lofty promontories of Calabria. Now\ncame in sight the immense bulk of Etna, lifting its fire-crowned head into\nthe clouds; and the roaring of the terrible Charybdis could be distinctly\nheard. Remembering the warnings of Helenus, they hastily turned to the\nleft, and avoided the perilous strait, but sought refuge in a place\nscarcely less dangerous; for they landed in the country of the Cyclops,\nwhere, only a little while before, Ulysses had been with his comrades, and\nhad endured great sufferings at the hands of the giant Polyphemus. The\nCyclops, it will be remembered, were a race of savage shepherds, of\nimmense stature, having each but one eye in the middle of his forehead.\nThey dwelt in caves, and kept great flocks and herds. Polyphemus was the\nlargest and fiercest of them all; and when Ulysses and his companions\nentered his cave he kept them prisoners, and devoured several of them. The\nhero himself and the rest of his followers had escaped him by making him\ndrunk with wine they had brought on shore from their ships, and then\nputting out his eye with a sharpened stake, the point of which they had\nhardened in the fire. The knowledge of this adventure came to \u00c6neas and\nhis Trojans in a strange fashion. On the morning after their arrival in\nthe country of the Cyclops, they were on the shore, when they were\nsurprised to see a man emerge from the woods, and approach them with\nsuppliant gestures. His appearance was wild and emaciated, his beard\novergrown, his garments ragged; but nevertheless it was easy to perceive\nthat he was a Greek. When he saw that the voyagers wore Trojan dress and\narms, he paused in fear, but the next moment he hurried toward them with\ntears and entreaties.\n\n\"I conjure you,\" he cried, \"by the stars, by the powers above, by the\nlight of heaven, ye Trojans, take me hence. Carry me where you will, do\nwith me what you will, I shall be content. I confess that I was one who\nbore arms against Troy; if you deem that a crime, put me to death for it.\nAt least I shall have the satisfaction of dying by the hands of men.\"\n\n\u00c6neas and Anchises received the stranger kindly, assured him of his\nsafety, and asked him who he was, and how he came to be in that desolate\ncountry. He answered that he was an Ithacan, his name Ach\u00e6menides, and\nthat he had been one of the companions of Ulysses in his wanderings. He\nrelated the adventures of the Ithacan hero in the cave of Polyphemus, and\ntold how he himself, having been by accident left behind when his comrades\nescaped, had since led a wretched existence in the woods, living on wild\nberries and roots, and continually in dread lest he should be seen by the\nCyclops. He advised \u00c6neas to lose no time in quitting the country, lest\nthe ferocious shepherds should discover and destroy them. Even as\nAch\u00e6menides spoke, Polyphemus was seen accompanying his flock to their\npasture. So tall was he of stature that he carried the trunk of a\npine-tree as a staff to guide his footsteps. Reaching the sea he stepped\ninto it, and bent down to bathe the wound inflicted by Ulysses. The\nTrojans hastened to cut their cables, and rowed out to sea. The giant\nheard the sound of their oars, and turned to follow them; but in his\nblindness he dared not follow far, and therefore he called on his brethren\nwith a cry so loud that the very sea was shaken in its depths. Forthwith\nthe huge Cyclops came trooping to the shore, like a wood of lofty trees\nendued with life and motion; but by this time the Trojan vessels had got\nbeyond their reach.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS AND QUEEN DIDO\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\n    [\u00c6neas was driven by a storm upon the shores of Carthage.]\n\n\nNow it came to pass on the next day that \u00c6neas, having first hidden his\nships in a bay that was well covered with trees, went forth to spy out the\nnew land whither he was come, and Achates only went with him. And \u00c6neas\nhad in each hand a broad-pointed spear. And as he went there met him in\nthe middle of the wood his mother, but habited as a Spartan virgin, for\nshe had hung a bow from her shoulders after the fashion of a huntress, and\nher hair was loose, and her tunic short to the knees, and her garments\ngathered in a knot upon her breast. Then first the false huntress spake:\n\"If perchance ye have seen one of my sisters wandering hereabouts, make\nknown to me the place. She is girded with a quiver, and is clothed with\nthe skin of a spotted lynx, or, maybe, she hunts a wild boar with horn and\nhound.\"\n\nTo whom \u00c6neas, \"I have not seen nor heard sister of thine, O virgin--for\nwhat shall I call thee? for, of a surety, neither is thy look as of a\nmortal woman, nor yet thy voice. A goddess certainly thou art, sister of\nPhoebus, or, haply, one of the nymphs. But whosoever thou art, look\nfavorably upon us and help us. Tell us in what land we be, for the winds\nhave driven us hither, and we know not aught of place or people.\"\n\nAnd Venus said, \"Nay, stranger, I am not such as ye think. We virgins of\nTyre are wont to carry a quiver and to wear a buskin of purple. For indeed\nit is a Tyrian city that is hard by, though the land be Libya. And of this\ncity Dido is queen, having come hither from Tyre, flying from the\nwrong-doing of her brother. And indeed the story of the thing is long, but\nI will recount the chief matter thereof to thee. The husband of this Dido\nwas one Sich\u00e6us, richest among all the men of Phoenicia, and greatly\nbeloved of his wife, whom he married from a virgin. Now the brother of\nthis Sich\u00e6us was Pygmalion, the king of the country, and he exceeded all\nmen in wickedness. And when there arose a quarrel between them, the king,\nbeing exceedingly mad after gold, took him unaware, even as he did\nsacrifice at the altar, and slew him. And the king hid the matter many\ndays from Dido, and cheated her with false hopes. But at the last there\ncame to her in her dreams the likeness of the dead man, baring his wounds\nand showing the wickedness which had been done. Also he bade her make\nhaste and fly from that land, and, that she might do this the more easily,\ntold her of great treasure, gold and silver, that was hidden in the earth.\nAnd Dido, being much moved by these things, made ready for flight; also\nshe sought for companions, and there came together to her as many as hated\nthe king or feared him. Then did they seize ships that chanced to be ready\nand laded them with gold, even the treasure of King Pygmalion, and so fled\nacross the sea. And in all this was a woman the leader. Then came they to\nthis place, where thou seest the walls and citadel of Carthage, and bought\nso much land as they could cover with a bull's hide. And now do ye answer\nme this, Whence come ye, and whither do ye go?\"\n\nThen answered \u00c6neas, \"Should I tell the whole story of our wanderings, and\nthou have leisure to hear, evening would come ere I could make an end. We\nare men of Troy, who, having journeyed over many seas, have now been\ndriven by storms to this shore of Libya. And as for me, men call me Prince\n\u00c6neas. The land I seek is Italy, and my race is from Jupiter himself. With\ntwenty ships did I set sail, going in the way whereon the Gods sent me.\nAnd of these scarce seven are left. And now, seeing that Europe and Asia\nendure me not, I wander over the desert places of Africa.\"\n\nBut Venus suffered him not to speak more, but said, \"Whoever thou art,\nstranger, that art come to this Tyrian city, thou art surely beloved by\nthe Gods. And now go, show thyself to the queen. And as for thy ships and\nthy companions, I tell thee that they are safe in the haven, if I have not\nlearnt augury in vain. See those twenty swans, how joyously they fly! And\nnow there cometh an eagle swooping down from the sky, putting them to\nconfusion, but now again they move in due order, and some are settling on\nthe earth and some are preparing to settle. Even so doth it fare with thy\nships, for either are they already in the haven or enter thereinto with\nsails full set.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke she turned away, and there shone a rosy light from her\nneck, also there came from her hair a sweet savor as of ambrosia, and her\ngarments grew under her feet; and \u00c6neas perceived that she was his mother,\nand cried aloud,--\n\n\"O my mother, why dost thou mock me so often with false shows, nor\nsufferest me to join my hand unto thy hand, and to speak with thee face to\nface?\"\n\nAnd he went towards the walls of the city. But Venus covered him and his\ncompanions with a mist, that no man might see them, or hinder them, or\ninquire of their business, and then departed to Paphos, where was her\ntemple and also many altars of incense. Then the men hastened on their\nway, and mounting a hill which hung over the city, marveled to behold it,\nfor indeed it was very great and noble, with mighty gates and streets, and\na multitude that walked therein. For some built the walls and the citadel,\nrolling great stones with their hands, and others marked out places for\nhouses. Also they chose those that should give judgment and bear rule in\nthe city. Some, too, digged out harbors, and others laid the foundations\nof a theatre, and cut out great pillars of stone. Like to bees they were,\nwhen, the summer being newly come, the young swarms go forth, or when they\nlabor filling the cells with honey, and some receive the burdens of those\nthat return from the fields, and others keep off the drones from the hive.\nEven so labored the men of Tyre. And when \u00c6neas beheld them he cried,\n\"Happy ye, who even now have a city to dwell in!\" And being yet hidden by\nthe mist, he went in at the gate and mingled with the men, being seen of\nnone.\n\nNow in the midst of the city was a wood, very thick with trees, and here\nthe men of Carthage, first come to the land from their voyage, had digged\nout of the ground that which Juno had said should be a sign to them, even\na horse's head; for that, finding this, their city would be mighty in war,\nand full of riches. Here, then, Dido was building a temple to Juno, very\nsplendid, with threshold of bronze, and many steps thereunto; of bronze\nalso were the door-posts and the gates. And here befell a thing which gave\nmuch comfort and courage to \u00c6neas; for as he stood and regarded the place,\nwaiting also for the queen, he saw set forth in order upon the walls the\nbattles that had been fought at Troy, the sons of Atreus also, and King\nPriam, and fierce Achilles. Then said he, not without tears, \"Is there any\nland, O Achates, that is not filled with our sorrows? Seest thou Priam?\nYet withal there is a reward for virtue here also, and tears and pity for\nthe troubles of men. Fear not, therefore. Surely the fame of these things\nshall profit us.\"\n\nThen he looked, satisfying his soul with the paintings on the walls. For\nthere was the city of Troy. In this part of the field the Greeks fled and\nthe youth of Troy pursued them, and in that the men of Troy fled, and\nAchilles followed hard upon them in his chariot. Also he saw the white\ntents of Rhesus, king of Thrace, whom the fierce Diomed slew in his sleep,\nwhen he was newly come to Troy, and drave his horses to the camp before\nthey ate of the grass of the fields of Troy or drank the waters of\nNanthus. There also Troilus was pictured, ill matched in battle with\nAchilles. His horses bare him along; but he lay on his back in the\nchariot, yet holding the reins, and his neck and head were dragged upon\nthe earth, and the spear-point made a trail in the dust. And in another\nplace the women of Troy went suppliant-wise to the temple of Minerva,\nbearing a great and beautiful robe, sad and beating their breasts, and\nwith hair unbound; but the goddess regarded them not. Also Achilles\ndragged the body of Hector three times round the walls of Troy, and was\nselling it for gold. And \u00c6neas groaned when he saw the man whom he loved,\nand the old man Priam reaching out helpless hands. Also he knew himself,\nfighting in the midst of the Grecian chiefs; black Memnon also he knew,\nand the hosts of the East; and Penthesilea leading the army of the Amazons\nwith shields shaped as the moon. Fierce she was to see, with one breast\nbared for battle, and a golden girdle beneath it, a damsel daring to fight\nwith men.\n\nBut while \u00c6neas marveled to see these things, lo! there came, with a great\nthrong of youths behind her, Dido, most beautiful of women, fair as Diana,\nwhen, on the banks of Eurotas or on the hills of Cynthus, she leads the\ndance with a thousand nymphs of the mountains about her. On her shoulder\nshe bears a quiver, and overtops them all, and her mother, even Latona,\nsilently rejoices to behold her. So fair and seemly to see was Dido as she\nbare herself right nobly in the midst, being busy in the work of her\nkingdom. Then she sat herself down on a lofty throne in the gate of the\ntemple, with many armed men about her. And she did justice between man and\nman; also she divided the work of the city, sharing it equally or parting\nby lot.\n\nThen of a sudden \u00c6neas heard a great clamor, and saw a company of men come\nquickly to the place, among whom were Antheus and Sergestus and Cloanthus,\nand others of the men of Troy that had been parted from him in the storm.\nRight glad was he to behold them, yet was not without fear; and though he\nwould fain have come forth and caught them by the hand, yet did he tarry,\nwaiting to hear how the men had fared, where they had left their ships,\nand wherefore they were come.\n\nThen Ilioneus, leave being now given that he should speak, thus began: \"O\nQueen, whom Jupiter permits to build a new city in these lands, we men of\nTroy, whom the winds have carried over many seas, pray thee that thou save\nour ships from fire, and spare a people that serveth the Gods. For,\nindeed, we are not come to waste the dwellings of this land, or to carry\noff spoils to our ships. For, of a truth, they who have suffered so much\nthink not of such deeds. There is a land which the Greeks call Hesperia,\nbut the people themselves Italy, after the name of their chief; an ancient\nland, mighty in arms and fertile of corn. Hither, were we journeying, when\na storm arising scattered our ships, and only these few that thou seest\nescaped to the land. And can there be nation so savage that it receiveth\nnot shipwrecked men on its shore, but beareth arms against them, and\nforbiddeth them to land? Nay, but if ye care not for men, yet regard the\nGods, who forget neither them that do righteously nor them that\ntransgress. We had a king, \u00c6neas, than whom there lived not a man more\ndutiful to Gods and men, and greater in war. If indeed he be yet alive,\nthen we fear not at all. For of a truth it will not repent thee to have\nhelped us. And if not, other friends have we, as Acestes of Sicily. Grant\nus, therefore, to shelter our ships from the wind; also to fit them with\nfresh timber from the woods, and to make ready oars for rowing, so that,\nfinding again our king and our companions, we may gain the land of Italy.\nBut if he be dead, and Ascanius his son lost also, then there is a\ndwelling ready for us in the land of Sicily, with Acestes, who is our\nfriend.\"\n\nThen Dido, her eyes bent on the ground, thus spake: \"Fear not, men of\nTroy. If we have seemed to deal harshly with you, pardon us, seeing that,\nbeing newly settled in this land, we must keep watch and ward over our\ncoasts. But as for the men of Troy, and their deeds in arms, who knows\nthem not? Think not that we in Carthage are so dull of heart, or dwell so\nremote from man, that we are ignorant of these things. Whether, therefore,\nye will journey to Italy or rather return to Sicily and King Acestes, know\nthat I will give you all help, and protect you; or, if ye will, settle in\nthis land of ours. Yours is this city which I am building. I will make no\ndifference between man of Troy and man of Tyre. Would that your king also\nwere here! Surely I will send those that shall seek him in all parts of\nLibya, lest haply he should be gone astray in any forest or strange city\nof the land.\"\n\nAnd when \u00c6neas and Achates heard these things they were glad, and would\nhave come forth from the cloud, and Achates said, \"What thinkest thou? Lo,\nthy comrades are safe, saving him whom we saw with our own eyes drowned in\nthe waves; and all other things are according as thy mother said.\"\n\nAnd even as he spake the cloud parted from about them, and \u00c6neas stood\nforth, very bright to behold, with face and breast as of a god, for his\nmother had given to him hair beautiful to see, and cast about him the\npurple light of youth, even as a workman sets ivory in some fair ornament,\nor compasseth about silver or marble of Paros with gold. Then spake he to\nthe queen: \"Lo! I am he whom ye seek, even \u00c6neas of Troy, scarcely saved\nfrom the waters of the sea. And as for thee, O Queen, seeing that thou\nonly hast been found to pity the unspeakable sorrows of Troy, and biddest\nus, though we be but poor exiles and lacking all things, to share thy city\nand thy home, may the Gods do so to thee as thou deservest. And, of a\ntruth, so long as the rivers run to the seas, and the shadows fall on the\nhollows of the hills, so long will thy name and thy glory survive,\nwhatever be the land to which the Gods shall bring me.\" Then gave he his\nright hand to Ilioneus, and his left hand to Sergestus, and greeted them\nwith great joy.\n\nAnd Dido, hearing these things, was silent for a while, but at the last\nshe spake. \"What ill fortune brings thee into perils so great? what power\ndrave thee to these savage shores? Well do I mind me how in days gone by\nthere came to Sidon one Teucer, who, having been banished from his\ncountry, sought help from Belus that he might find a kingdom for himself.\nAnd it chanced that in those days Belus, my father, had newly conquered\nthe land of Cyprus. From that day did I know the tale of Troy, and thy\nname also, and the chiefs of Greece. Also I remember that Teucer spake\nhonorably of the men of Troy, saying that he was himself sprung of the old\nTeucrian stock. Come ye, therefore to my palace. I too have wandered far,\neven as you, and so have come to this land, and having suffered much, have\nlearnt to succor them that suffer.\"\n\nSo saying she led \u00c6neas into her palace; also she sent to his companions\nin the ships great store of provisions, even twenty oxen and a hundred\nbristly swine and a hundred ewe sheep with their lambs. But in the palace\na great feast was set forth, couches covered with broidered purple and\nsilver vessels without end, and cups of gold, whereon were embossed the\nmighty deeds of the men of old time.\n\nAnd in the mean time \u00c6neas sent Achates in haste to the ships, that he\nmight fetch Ascanius to the feast. Also he bade that the boy should bring\nwith him gifts of such things as they had saved from the ruins of Troy,--a\nmantle stiff with broidery of gold and a veil bordered with yellow\nacanthus, which the fair Helen had taken with her, flying from her home;\nbut Leda, her mother, had given them to Helen; a sceptre likewise which\nIlione, first-born of the daughters of Priam, had carried, and a necklace\nof pearls and a double crown of jewels and gold.\n\nBut Venus was troubled in heart, fearing evil to her son should the men of\nTyre be treacherous, after their wont, and Juno remember her wrath.\nWherefore, taking counsel with herself, she called to the winged boy, even\nLove, that was her son, and spake: \"My son, who art all my power and\nstrength, who laughest at the thunders of Jupiter, thou knowest how Juno,\nbeing exceedingly wroth against thy brother \u00c6neas, causeth him to wander\nout of the way over all lands. This day Dido hath him in her palace, and\nspeaketh him fair; but I fear me much how these things may end. Wherefore\nhear thou that which I purpose. Thy brother hath even now sent for the boy\nAscanius, that he may come to the palace, bringing with him gifts of such\nthings as they saved from the ruins of Troy. Him will I cause to fall into\na deep sleep and hide in Cythera or Idalium, and do thou for one night\ntake upon thee his likeness. And when Queen Dido at the feast shall hold\nthee in her lap, and kiss and embrace thee, do thou breathe by stealth thy\nfire into her heart.\"\n\nThen did Love as his mother bade him, and put off his wings, and took upon\nhim the shape of Ascanius, but on the boy Venus caused there to fall a\ndeep sleep, and carried him to the woods of Idalium, and lapped him in\nsweet-smelling flowers. And in his stead Love carried the gifts to the\nqueen. And when he was come they sat down to the feast, the queen being in\nthe midst under a canopy. \u00c6neas also and the men of Troy lay on coverlets\nof purple, to whom serving-men brought water and bread in baskets and\nnapkins; and within fifty handmaids were ready to replenish the store of\nvictual and to fan the fire; and a hundred others, with pages as many,\nloaded the tables with dishes and drinking-cups. Many men of Tyre also\nwere bidden to the feast. Much they marveled at the gifts of \u00c6neas, and\nmuch at the false Ascanius. Dido also could not satisfy herself with\nlooking on him, nor knew what trouble he was preparing for her in the time\nto come. And he, having first embraced the father who was not his father,\nand clung about his neck, addressed himself to Queen Dido, and she ever\nfollowed him with her eyes, and sometimes would hold him on her lap. And\nstill he worked upon her that she should forget the dead Sich\u00e6us and\nconceive a new love in her heart.\n\nBut when they first paused from the feast, lo! men set great bowls upon\nthe table and filled them to the brim with wine. Then did the queen call\nfor a great vessel of gold, with many jewels upon it, from which Belus,\nand all the kings from Belus, had drunk, and called for wine, and having\nfilled it she cried, \"O Jupiter, whom they call the god of hosts and\nguests, cause that this be a day of joy for the men of Troy and for them\nof Tyre, and that our children remember it forever. Also Bacchus, giver of\njoy, be present, and kindly Juno.\" And when she had touched the wine with\nher lips, she handed the great cup to Prince Bitias, who drank thereout a\nmighty draught, and the other princes after him. Then the minstrel Iopas,\nwhom Atlas himself had taught, sang to the harp, of the moon, how she goes\non her way, and of the sun, how his light is darkened. He sang also of\nmen, and of the beasts of the field, whence they come; and of the stars,\nArcturus, and the Greater Bear and the Less, and the Hyades; and of the\nwinter sun, why he hastens to dip himself in the ocean; and of the winter\nnights, why they tarry so long. The queen also talked much of the story of\nTroy, of Priam, and of Hector, asking many things, as of the arms of\nMemnon, and of the horses of Diomed, and of Achilles, how great he was.\nAnd at last she said to \u00c6neas, \"Tell us now thy story, how Troy was taken,\nand thy wanderings over land and sea.\" And \u00c6neas made answer, \"Nay, O\nQueen, but thou biddest me renew a sorrow unspeakable. Yet, if thou art\nminded to hear these things, hearken.\" And he told her all that had\nbefallen him, even to the day when his father Anchises died.\n\nMuch was Queen Dido moved by the story, and much did she marvel at him\nthat told it, and scarce could sleep for thinking of him. And the next day\nshe spake to Anna, her sister, \"O my sister, I have been troubled this\nnight with ill dreams, and my heart is disquieted within me. What a man is\nthis stranger that hath come to our shores! How noble of mien! How bold in\nwar! Sure I am that he is of the sons of the Gods. What fortunes have been\nhis! Of what wars he told us! Surely were I not steadfastly purposed that\nI would not yoke me again in marriage, this were the man to whom I might\nyield. Only he--for I will tell thee the truth, my sister--only he, since\nthe day when Sich\u00e6us died by our brother's hand, hath moved my heart. But\nmay the earth swallow me up, or the almighty Father strike me with\nlightning, ere I stoop to such baseness. The husband of my youth hath\ncarried with him my love, and he shall keep it in his grave.\"\n\nSo she spake, with many tears. And her sister made answer, \"Why wilt thou\nwaste thy youth in sorrow, without child or husband? Thinkest thou that\nthere is care or remembrance of such things in the grave? No suitors\nindeed have pleased thee here or in Tyre, but wilt thou also contend with\na love that is after thine own heart? Think too of the nations among whom\nthou dwellest, how fierce they are, and of thy brother at Tyre, what he\nthreatens against thee. Surely it was by the will of the Gods, and of Juno\nchiefly, that the ships of Troy came hither. And this city, which thou\nbuildest, to what greatness will it grow if only thou wilt make for\nthyself such alliance! How great will be the glory of Carthage if the\nstrength of Troy be joined unto her! Only do thou pray to the Gods and\noffer sacrifices; and, for the present, seeing that the time of sailing is\nnow past, make excuse that these strangers tarry with thee awhile.\"\n\nThus did Anna comfort her sister and encourage her. And first the two\noffered sacrifice to the Gods, chiefly to Juno, who careth for the bond of\nmarriage. Also, examining the entrails of slain beasts, they sought to\nlearn the things that should happen thereafter. And ever Dido would\ncompany with \u00c6neas, leading him about the walls of the city which she\nbuilded. And often she would begin to speak and stay in the midst of her\nwords. And when even was come, she would hear again and again at the\nbanquet the tale of Troy, and while others slept would watch, and while he\nwas far away would seem to see him and to hear him. Ascanius, too, she\nwould embrace for love of his father, if so she might cheat her own heart.\nBut the work of the city was stayed meanwhile; nor did the towers rise in\ntheir places, nor the youth practice themselves in arms.\n\nThen Juno, seeing how it fared with the queen, spake to Venus: \"Are ye\nsatisfied with your victory, thou and thy son, that ye have vanquished,\nthe two of you, one woman? Well I knew that thou fearedst lest this\nCarthage should harm thy favorite. But why should there be war between us?\nThou hast what thou seekest. Let us make alliance. Let Dido obey a\nPhrygian husband, and bring the men of Tyre as her dowry.\"\n\nBut Venus knew that she spake with ill intent, to the end that the men of\nTroy should not reign in the land of Italy. Nevertheless she dissembled\nwith her tongue, and spake: \"Who would not rather have peace with thee\nthan war? Only I doubt whether this thing shall be to the pleasure of\nJupiter. This thou must learn, seeing that thou art his wife, and where\nthou leadest I will follow.\"\n\nSo the two, taking counsel together, ordered things in this wise. The next\nday a great hunting was prepared. For as soon as ever the sun was risen\nupon the earth, the youth of the city assembled, with nets and hunting\nspears and dogs that ran by scent. And the princes of Carthage waited for\nthe queen at the palace door, where her horse stood champing the bit, with\ntrappings of purple and gold. And after a while she came forth, with many\nfollowing her. And she had upon her a Sidonian mantle, with a border\nwrought with divers colors; of gold was her quiver, and of gold the knot\nof her hair, and of gold the clasp to her mantle. \u00c6neas likewise came\nforth, beautiful as is Apollo when he leaveth Lydia and the stream of\nXanthus, coming to Delos, and hath about his hair a wreath of bay-leaves\nand a circlet of gold. So fair was \u00c6neas to see. And when the hunters came\nto the hills they found great store of goats and stags, which they chased.\nAnd of all the company Ascanius was the foremost, thinking scorn of such\nhunting, and wishing that a wild boar or a lion out of the hills would\ncome forth to be his prey.\n\nAnd now befell a great storm, with much thunder and hail, from which the\nhunters sought shelter. But \u00c6neas and the queen, being left of all their\ncompany, came together to the same cave. And there they plighted their\ntroth one to the other. Nor did the queen after that make secret of her\nlove, but called \u00c6neas her husband.\n\nStraightway went Rumor and told these things through the cities of Libya.\nNow Rumor, men say, is the youngest daughter of Earth, a marvelous\ncreature, moving very swiftly with feet and wings, and having many\nfeathers upon her, and under every feather an eye and a tongue and a mouth\nand an ear. In the night she flieth between heaven and earth, and sleepeth\nnot; and in the day she sitteth on some housetop or lofty tower, or\nspreadeth fear over mighty cities; and she loveth that which is false even\nas she loveth that which is true. So now she went telling through Libya\nhow \u00c6neas of Troy was come, and Dido was wedded to him, and how they lived\ncareless and at ease, and thinking not of the work to which they were\ncalled.\n\nAnd first of all she went to Prince Iarbas, who himself had sought Dido in\nmarriage. And Iarbas was very wroth when he heard it, and, coming to the\ntemple of Jupiter, spread his grief before the Gods, how that he had given\na place on his coasts to this Dido, and would have taken her to wife, but\nthat she had married a stranger from Phrygia, another Paris, whose dress\nand adornments were of a woman rather than of a man.\n\nAnd Jupiter saw that this was so, and he said to Mercury, who was his\nmessenger, \"Go speak to \u00c6neas these words: 'Thus saith the king of Gods\nand men. Is this what thy mother promised of thee, twice saving thee from\nthe spear of the Greeks? Art thou he that shall rule Italy and its mighty\nmen of war, and spread thy dominion to the ends of the world? If thou\nthyself forgettest these things, dost thou grudge to thy son the citadels\nof Rome? What doest thou here? Why lookest thou not to Italy? Depart and\ntarry not.'\"\n\nThen Mercury fitted the winged sandals to his feet, and took the wand with\nwhich he driveth the spirits of the dead, and came right soon to Mount\nAtlas, which standeth bearing the heaven on his head, and having always\nclouds about his top, and snow upon his shoulders, and a beard that is\nstiff with ice. There Mercury stood awhile; then, as a bird which seeks\nits prey in the sea, shot headlong down, and came to \u00c6neas where he stood,\nwith a yellow jasper in his sword-hilt, and a cloak of purple shot with\ngold about his shoulders, and spake: \"Buildest thou Carthage, forgetting\nthine own work? The Almighty Father saith to thee, 'What meanest thou? Why\ntarriest thou here? If thou carest not for thyself, yet think of thy son,\nand that the Fates have given to him Italy and Rome.'\"\n\nAnd \u00c6neas saw him no more. And he stood stricken with fear and doubt. Fain\nwould he obey the voice, and go as the Gods commanded. But how should he\ntell this purpose to the queen? But at the last it seemed good to him to\ncall certain of the chiefs, as Mnestheus, and Sergestus, and Antheus, and\nbid them make ready the ships in silence, and gather together the people,\nbut dissemble the cause, and he himself would watch a fitting time to\nspeak and unfold the matter to the queen.\n\nYet was not Dido deceived, for love is keen of sight. Rumor also told her\nthat they made ready the ships for sailing. Then, flying through the city,\neven as one on whom has come the frenzy of Bacchus flies by night over\nMount Cith\u00e6ron, she came upon \u00c6neas, and spake: \"Thoughtest thou to hide\nthy crime, and to depart in silence from this land? Carest thou not for\nher whom thou leavest to die? And hast thou no fear of winter storms that\nvex the sea? By all that I have done for thee and given thee, if there be\nyet any place for repentance, repent thee of this purpose. For thy sake I\nsuffer the wrath of the princes of Libya and of my own people; and if thou\nleavest me, for what should I live?--till my brother overthrow my city, or\nIarbas carry me away captive? If but I had a little \u00c6neas to play in my\nhalls I should not seem so altogether desolate.\"\n\nBut \u00c6neas, fearing the words of Jupiter, stood with eyes that relented\nnot. At the last he spake: \"I deny not, O Queen, the benefits that thou\nhast done unto me, nor ever, while I live, shall I forget Dido. I sought\nnot to fly by stealth; yet did I never promise that I would abide in this\nplace. Could I have chosen according to my will I had built again the city\nof Troy where it stood; but the Gods command that I should seek Italy.\nThou hast thy Carthage; why dost thou grudge Italy to us? Nor may I tarry.\nNight after night have I seen my father Anchises warning me in dreams.\nAlso even now the messenger of Jupiter came to me--with these ears I heard\nhim--and bade me depart.\"\n\nThen, in great wrath, with eyes askance, did Dido break forth upon him:\n\"Surely no goddess was thy mother, nor art thou come of the race of\nDardanus. The rocks of Caucasus brought thee forth, and an Hyrcanian\ntigress gave thee suck. For why should I dissemble? Was he moved at all my\ntears? Did he pity my love? Nay, the very Gods are against me. This man I\ntook to myself when he was shipwrecked and ready to perish. I brought back\nhis ships, his companions from destruction. And now forsooth comes the\nmessenger of Jupiter with dreadful commands from the Gods. As for thee, I\nkeep thee not. Go, seek thy Italy across the seas: only, if there is any\nvengeance in heaven, thou wilt pay the penalty for this wrong, being\nwrecked on some rock in their midst. Then wilt thou call on Dido in vain.\nAye, and where-ever thou shalt go I will haunt thee, and rejoice in the\ndwellings below to hear thy doom.\"\n\nThen she turned, and hasted to go into the house. But her spirit left her,\nso that her maidens bare her to her chamber and laid her on her bed.\n\nThen \u00c6neas, though indeed he was much troubled in heart, and would fain\nhave comforted the queen, was obedient to the heavenly word, and departed\nto his ships. And the men of Troy busied themselves in making them ready\nfor the voyage. Even as the ants spoil a great heap of corn and store it\nin their dwellings against winter, moving in a black line across the\nfield, and some carry the great grains, and some chide those that linger,\neven so did the Trojans swarm along the ways and labor at the work.\n\nBut when Dido saw it she called to Anna her sister and said, \"Seest thou\nhow they hasten the work along the shore? Even now the sails are ready for\nthe winds, and the sailors have wreathed the ships with garlands, as if\nfor departure. Go thou--the deceiver always trusted thee, and thou knowest\nhow best to move him--go and entreat him. I harmed not him nor his people;\nlet him then grant me this only. Let him wait for a fairer time for his\njourney. I ask not that he give up his purpose; only that he grant me a\nshort breathing space, till I may learn how to bear this sorrow.\"\n\nAnd Anna hearkened to her sister, and took the message to \u00c6neas, yet\nprofited nothing, for the Gods shut his ears that he should not hear. Even\nas the oak stands firm when the north wind would root it up from the\nearth,--its leaves are scattered all around, yet doth it remain firm, for\nits roots go down to the regions below, even as far as its branches reach\nto heaven,--so stood \u00c6neas firm, and, though he wept many tears, changed\nnot his purpose.\n\nThen did Dido grow weary of her life. For when she did sacrifice, the pure\nwater would grow black and the wine be changed to blood. Also from the\nshrine of her husband, which was in the midst of her palace, was heard a\nvoice calling her, and the owl cried aloud from the house-top. And in her\ndreams the cruel \u00c6neas seemed to drive her before him; or she seemed to be\ngoing a long way with none to bear her company, and be seeking her own\npeople in a land that was desert. Therefore, hiding the thing that was in\nher heart, she spake to her sister, saying, \"I have found a way, my\nsister, that shall bring him back to me or set me free from him. Near the\nshore of the Great Sea, where the \u00c6thiopians dwell, is a priestess, who\nguards the temple of the daughters of Hesperus, being wont to feed the\ndragons that kept the apples of gold. She is able by her charms to loose\nthe heart from care or to bind it, and to stay rivers also, and to turn\nthe courses of the stars, and to call up the spirits of the dead. Do thou,\ntherefore--for this is what the priestess commands--build a pile in the\nopen court, and put thereon the sword which he left hanging in our\nchamber, and the garments he wore, and the couch on which he lay, even all\nthat was his, so that they may perish together.\"\n\nAnd when these things were done--for Anna knew not of her purpose--and\nalso an image of \u00c6neas was laid upon the pile, the priestess, with her\nhair unbound, called upon all the gods that dwell below, sprinkling\nthereon water that was drawn, she said, from the lake of Avernus, and\nscattering evil herbs that had been cut at the full moon with a sickle of\nbronze. Dido also, with one foot bare and her garments loosened, threw\nmeal upon the fire and called upon the gods, if haply there be any, that\nlook upon those that love and suffer wrong.\n\nIn the mean time \u00c6neas lay asleep in the hind part of his ship, when there\nappeared to him in a dream the god Mercury, even as he had seen him when\nhe brought the commandment of Jupiter. And Mercury spake, saying, \"Son of\nVenus, canst thou sleep? seest thou not what perils surround thee, nor\nhearest how the favorable west wind calls? The queen purposes evil against\nthee. If thou lingerest till the morning come thou wilt see the shore\ncovered with them that wish thee harm. Fly, then, and tarry not; for a\nwoman is ever of many minds.\"\n\nThen did \u00c6neas in great fear start from his sleep, and call his\ncompanions, saying, \"Wake, and sit on the benches, and loose the sails.\n'Tis a god thus bids us fly.\" And even as he spake he cut the cable with\nhis sword. And all hasted to follow him, and sped over the sea.\n\nAnd now it was morning, and Queen Dido, from her watch-tower, saw the\nships upon the sea. Then she smote upon her breast and tore her hair, and\ncried, \"Shall this stranger mock us thus? Hasten to follow him. Bring down\nthe ships from the docks, make ready sword and fire. And this was the man\nwho bare upon his shoulders his aged father. Why did I not tear him to\npieces, and slay his companions with the sword, and serve up the young\nAscanius at his meal? And if I had perished, what then? for I die to-day.\nO Sun, that regardest all the earth, and Juno, that carest for marriage\nbonds, and Hecate, Queen of the dead, and ye Furies that take vengeance on\nevil-doers, hear me. If it be ordered that he reach that land, yet grant\nthat he suffer many things from his enemies, and be driven from his city,\nand beg for help from strangers, and see his people cruelly slain with the\nsword; and, when he shall have made peace on ill conditions, that he enjoy\nnot long his kingdoms, but die before his day, and lie unburied on the\nplain. And ye, men of Tyre, hate his children and his people forever. Let\nthere be no love or peace between you. And may some avenger arise from my\ngrave who shall persecute the race of Dardanus with fire and sword. So\nshall there be war forever between him and me.\"\n\nThen she spake to old Barce, who had been nurse to her husband Sich\u00e6us,\n\"Bid my sister bathe herself in water, and bring with her beasts for\nsacrifice. And do thou also put a garland about thy head, for I am minded\nto finish this sacrifice which I have begun, and to burn the image of the\nman of Troy.\"\n\nAnd when the old woman made haste to do her bidding, Queen Dido ran to the\ncourt where the pile was made for the burning, and mounted on the pile,\nand drew the sword of \u00c6neas from the scabbard. Then did she throw herself\nupon the bed, and cry,\n\n\"Now do I yield up my life. I have finished my course. I have built a\nmighty city. I have avenged my husband on him that slew him. Happy had I\nbeen, yea, too happy! had the ships of Troy never come to this land.\" Then\nshe kissed the bed and cried, \"Shall I die unavenged? Nevertheless let me\ndie. The man of Troy shall see this fire from the sea whereon he journeys,\nand carry with him an augury of death.\"\n\nAnd when her maidens looked, lo! she had fallen upon the sword, and the\nblood was upon her hands. And a great cry went up through the palace,\nexceeding loud and bitter, even as if the enemy had taken Carthage or\nancient Tyre, and the fire were mounting over the dwellings of men and of\nGods. And Anna her sister heard it, and rushing through the midst called\nher by name: \"O my sister, was this thy purpose? Were the pile and the\nsword and the fire for this? Why wouldst thou not suffer that I should die\nwith thee? For surely, my sister, thou hast slain thyself, and me, and thy\npeople, and thy city. But give me water, ye maidens, that I may wash her\nwounds, and if there be any breath left in her, we may yet stay it.\"\n\nThen she climbed on to the pile, and caught her sister in her arms, and\nsought to staunch the blood with her garments. Three times did Dido strive\nto raise her eyes; three times did her spirit leave her. Three times she\nwould have raised herself upon her elbow; three times she fell back upon\nthe bed, looking with wandering eyes for the light, and groaning that she\nyet beheld it.\n\nThen Juno, looking down from heaven, saw that her pain was long, and\npitied her, and sent down Iris, her messenger, that she might loose the\nsoul that struggled to be free. For, seeing that she died not by nature,\nnor yet by the hand of man, but before her time and of her own madness,\nQueen Proserpine had not shred the ringlet from her head which she shreds\nfrom them that die. Wherefore Iris, flying down with dewy wings from\nheaven, with a thousand colors about her from the light of the sun, stood\nabout her head and said, \"I give thee to death, even as I am bidden, and\nloose thee from thy body.\" Then she shred the lock, and Queen Dido gave up\nthe ghost.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUNERAL GAMES OF ANCHISES\n\nBy Charles Henry Hanson\n\n\n\u00c6neas called together all his followers, and reminded minded them that a\nyear had now passed since the death of his father. Not of their own\npurpose, but doubtless by the will of the Gods, they had now returned to\nthe friendly land where his bones had been laid. It was therefore his\nintention to celebrate funeral games. For eight days there should be\nfeasting, for which Acestes had generously provided two oxen for each\nship; and on the ninth day he would give prizes to be contested in the\nfoot-race, in shooting with the bow, and in boxing with the cestus.\n\nHaving thus spoken, the hero, according to the custom of that time, placed\na wreath of myrtle upon his head and proceeded to the tomb of his father,\nwhere he poured out, as a libation to the Gods, two bowls of wine, two of\nnew milk, and two of sacred blood. Then he scattered flowers over the\ntomb, and offered up a prayer to his father's shade. Immediately there\ncame forth from the tomb a huge snake with glittering scales of blue and\ngold, which, after tasting of what had been poured out, retired again to\nthe recesses of the vault. Believing this creature to be an attendant on\nhis father's spirit, \u00c6neas offered rich sacrifices--ewes, sows, and\nbullocks--and his companions followed his example. The eight days of\nfeasting passed pleasantly enough, and the morning appointed for the\nfuneral games dawned bright and serene. A joyous crowd assembled on the\nshore, some to take part in the contests, and others to watch them. The\nfirst of the games was a race between galleys, and four ships had been\nentered to take part in it. The first was the Pristis, or Shark, of which\nMnestheus was the captain. The Chimera, a vessel of immense size, was\ncommanded by Gyas. The other vessels were the Centaur and the Scylla,--the\nfirst commanded by Sergestus, and the second by Cloanthus. Some way out in\nthe sea, opposite to the starting-point, a rock rose amid the restless\nwaters. The galleys were to round this rock, on which \u00c6neas had planted an\noak-tree as a mark, and then return to the shore. The vessels were\nassigned their places by lot, and the captain of each took his place on\nthe poop; while the rowers, stripped to the waist, their shoulders\nglistening with oil, sat with their arms stretched to the oars, eager for\nthe signal. At the blast of a trumpet all the oars struck the sea at once,\nand beat it into foam, and the vessels shot forward amid the loud shouts\nof the multitude. The Chimera, under Gyas's skillful guidance, took the\nlead; next followed the Scylla, whose rowers were more efficient, but were\nunable to make such progress, because the vessel was naturally slower.\nBehind the Shark and the Centaur followed close together, and first the\none and then the other gained a slight advantage. The two leading vessels\nwere rapidly nearing the rock when Gyas perceived that his helmsman,\nMenoetes, was keeping a course too far to the right, in fear of some\nhidden crags, and was thus losing the advantage that had been gained. He\nurged him to steer more to the left, nor to care even if the oars grazed\nthe rock; but Menoetes was afraid to obey the command. And now Cloanthus\nin the Scylla, taking the very course Gyas had wished to follow, ran\nboldly between the Chimera and the rock, and so got round the goal in\nfront of his antagonist. When Gyas beheld this he was full of wrath.\nRushing to the helm, he seized the over-cautious Menoetes and hurled him\ninto the sea; then he himself took the helm, and at once guided his ship\nand issued commands and cries of encouragement to his oarsmen. The\nluckless Menoetes with difficulty contrived to scramble out of the sea\nonto the rock, and sat there in his dripping garments, while the\nspectators roared with laughter at his misadventure. But now Mnestheus in\nthe Shark and Sergestus in the Centaur pushed forward with redoubled zeal\nin the hope of obtaining the lead. Sergestus got a little in front of his\ncompetitor, but Mnestheus, walking among his rowers, urged them to put\nforth their utmost strength, and at least not to suffer the disgrace of\nbeing last. In response to his appeal they bent to the oar with new vigor;\nthe ship trembled under their strokes and the water seemed to fly from\nbeneath her keel. Suddenly, while the Centaur, in full career, was\npressing close to the rock to prevent the Shark from passing on the inner\nside, she ran upon a jutting point where she remained fast, while the oars\nwere shattered against the hard rocks. In a moment the Shark shot past,\nand having rounded the goal, dashed on the homeward way. Ere long\nMnestheus had overtaken the Chimera, which had lost ground because she was\ndeprived of her steersman. Cloanthus in the Scylla was now alone in front\nof the Shark; and though the race was nearly over, the frantic efforts of\nMnestheus' crew might have gained him the victory, but that Cloanthus\npoured forth passionate prayers to the marine deities, and promised them\nample offerings if the first prize became his. They heard his vows, and\ngathering underneath his vessel, pushed it forward, so that it entered the\nharbor just in front of the Shark. Then \u00c6neas proclaimed Cloanthus the\nvictor, and gave him a mantle embroidered with gold and ornamented with a\nthick fringe of the costly Meliboean purple. On Mnestheus, who had so\ngallantly gained the second place, he bestowed a ponderous coat of mail\nworked in gold and brass, which he had himself taken from a famous Greek\nwarrior, Demoleus, whom he had slain before Troy. Gyas received two\ncaldrons of brass, and some silver bowls ornamented with rich carvings.\nLastly, when Sergestus had slowly brought back to port his crippled\ngalley, his chief bestowed on him, in reward for having rescued the vessel\nfrom her perilous position, a Cretan female slave with her two children.\n\nThus ended the galley race; and the assembled multitude now proceeded to a\ngrassy plain a little way inland, where thrones were placed for Acestes,\n\u00c6neas, and the other leaders. Here the remaining games were to be\ncelebrated, and first of all a foot race. Among the competitors in this\nwere Euryalus, a Trojan youth distinguished for his personal beauty;\nNisus, a brave warrior, who was his constant friend and companion; Diores,\nSalius, and Patron, three other Trojans; and two Sicilian youths famous\nfor their speed, named Elymus and Panopes. \u00c6neas announced that he would\ngive two Cretan javelins of bright steel and a carved battle-axe of silver\nto each who took part in the race, and to the three who came in first\nother rich prizes: to the first a war-horse with costly trappings; to the\nsecond a quiver full of Thracian arrows, with a gold belt and jeweled\nbuckle; and to the third a Grecian helmet. The runners having been placed\nin proper order, the signal was given, and they darted forward like a\ntempest. Nisus led the way, Salius coming second, and Euryalus third, with\nthe rest following close behind. Already Nisus was near the goal, when\nunluckily his foot slipped at a spot where some victims had been\nsacrificed for the altar, and the blood soaking into the grass had made it\nslippery. Down he fell into the puddle, and in a moment his chance of\nvictory had disappeared. But even then, in spite of his disappointment, he\nwas mindful of his affection for Euryalus, and resolved that since he\ncould not win the race, his friend should do so. He rose to his feet just\nas Salius was coming up, and contrived to stand in his way so as to\noverturn him. Euryalus, who had still kept the third place, now sprang\nforward, and was easily victorious amid the applause of the crowd. Elymus\ncame in next, and close behind him Diores. But Salius loudly demanded that\nthe first prize of right belonged to him, because he had been deprived of\nthe victory by unfair means. The spectators, however, favored the claim of\nEuryalus because of his youth and beauty; and Diores vehemently took the\nsame side, since, if Salius were adjudged the victory, he would not\nreceive a prize at all. \u00c6neas speedily silenced all contention by\ndeclaring that the promised rewards should go to the three who had arrived\nfirst at the winning-post; but he added that he would show his sympathy\nfor the disaster which had befallen Salius, and therefore bestowed on him\nthe shaggy hide of a Getulian lion, still retaining the claws, which had\nbeen gilt. Upon this, Nisus also merrily asked for some consolation, since\nbut for an accident the first prize would have been his, and he showed his\nface and limbs all besmeared with mud. His chief entered into the jest,\nand gave him a buckler, finely carved, which had once hung on the walls of\nNeptune's temple at Troy.\n\n[Illustration: HE ROSE TO HIS FEET JUST AT THE MOMENT THAT SALIUS WAS\nCOMING UP, AND CONTRIVED TO STAND IN HIS WAY SO AS TO OVERTURN HIM.\nEURYALUS, WHO HAD STILL KEPT THE THIRD PLACE, NOW SPRANG FORWARD, AND WAS\nEASILY VICTORIOUS AMID THE APPLAUSE OF THE CROWD. ELYMUS CAME IN NEXT, AND\nCLOSE BEHIND HIM DIORES. BUT SALIUS LOUDLY DEMANDED THAT THE FIRST PRIZE\nOF RIGHT BELONGED TO HIM.]\n\nThe next contest was that with the cestus, the boxing-glove of the\nancients, a formidable implement, intended not to soften the blows dealt\nby the boxers, but to make them more painful, for it was composed of\nstrips of hardened oxhide. To the competitors in this sport--if such it\ncould be called--\u00c6neas offered two prizes,--the first a bullock, decked\nwith gold and fillets, and the second a sword and a shining helmet. A\nnoted Trojan warrior named Dares, a man of immense strength and bulk, who\nwas also celebrated for his skill with the cestus, presented himself to\ncontest this prize. He brandished his huge fists in the air, and paced\nvaingloriously backward and forward in the arena, challenging any one in\nthe assembly to meet him. But there was no response; his friends were too\nwell acquainted with his skill, and the Sicilians were awed by his\nformidable appearance. At last, therefore, imagining that nobody would\nventure to encounter him, he advanced to \u00c6neas and asked that the prize\nmight be given up to him. It seemed, indeed, that this would have to be\ndone, when King Acestes turned to one of his elders, a venerable Sicilian\nchief named Entellus, and asked how it was that he thus allowed such\nsplendid prizes to be taken before his eyes without striking a blow for\nthem. Entellus had, in his younger days, been a great champion with the\ncestus, having been taught the use of the weapon by none other than Eryx,\nat that time king of Sicily, and one of the most expert boxers in the\nworld. So confident had Eryx been in his powers, that when the mighty\nHercules passed through Sicily on his way from Spain, where he had slain\nKing Geryon and carried off his splendid cattle, the Sicilian monarch\nventured to challenge the hero to a combat with the cestus, staking his\nkingdom against the cattle which Hercules was bearing away to Greece.\nHercules had accepted the challenge, and had slain Eryx in the encounter;\nbut the tradition of his skill had been preserved by his pupil Entellus.\nThe chief was now old, and disinclined for exertion; but when thus urged\nby King Acestes, he slowly rose and threw into the arena the gauntlets\nwhich King Eryx had been accustomed to use. Terrible weapons indeed\nthey-were, with heavy pieces of iron and lead sewn into them underneath\nthe oxhide. At the mere sight of them Dares shrank back appalled, and\nrefused to fight with such implements. \"These,\" said Entellus, \"were the\ngauntlets with which my master Eryx encountered Hercules; and these, after\nhis death, I myself was accustomed to use. But if Dares likes not such\ngloves, let \u00c6neas provide others for both of us.\" With these words he\nthrew off his upper garments and bared his massive shoulders and sinewy\narms. The Trojan chief brought out two pairs of gauntlets of less\nformidable make, with which the two champions armed themselves; and then\nthey stood face to face, and both raised their arms for the encounter. For\nsome time they stood parrying each other's blows and watching for an\nopportunity. Presently, as they grew warmer, many heavy strokes were given\non each side, now on the head, now on the breast. Entellus stood stiff and\nunmoved in the same firm posture, only bending to evade Dares's blows, and\nalways closely watching his antagonist, who, more active, wheeled round\nhim, trying first one method of attack, then another. At last Entellus\nuplifted his right arm, thinking he saw an opportunity for delivering a\ndecisive stroke; but Dares with great agility slipped out of the way, and\nas the arm of Entellus encountered no resistance save from the empty air,\nhe fell forward on the ground through the violence of his own effort.\nAcclamations burst from all the onlookers, and Acestes himself stepped\nforward to assist his old companion to his feet. But the mishap had only\naroused Entellus's anger; he no longer acted on the defensive, but rushed\nupon his opponent with irresistible ardor, and smote blow after blow,\ndriving Dares headlong over the field, pouring down strokes as incessantly\nas a shower of hail rattles upon the house-tops. \u00c6neas now deemed it high\ntime to put a stop to the combat, and called upon Dares, who indeed was\nquite overpowered, to yield. His comrades led the beaten champion to the\nships, with the blood flowing from his battered head and face, and on his\nbehalf they took away the helmet and sword, leaving the bull to the\nconqueror. Entellus, proud of his victory, laid hold of the animal, and\nexclaimed, \"Behold, O chief, and you Trojans, from this what my strength\nonce was, and also from what death you have saved Dares.\" With these words\nhe smote the bull on the forehead with the cestus so mightily that the\nskull was battered in and the brute sank dead at his feet.\n\nAfter this exciting competition came a more peaceful sport,--a trial of\nskill with the bow. A mast was planted on a sward, and to the top of it a\nliving dove was secured by a cord. This was the mark, and four archers\ncame forward to contend for the prizes,--Hippoco\u00f6n, the brother of Nisus\nand one of \u00c6neas's dearest friends; Mnestheus, the winner of the second\nprize in the galley race; Eurytion, a brother of that Pandarus who was one\nof the most skillful archers that fought in the Trojan war, and who, after\nwounding Menelaus, was slain by Diomedes; and lastly, King Acestes\nhimself. Hippoco\u00f6n shot first, and his arrow, whizzing past the fluttering\ndove, pierced the pole to which she was fastened. This, though it did not\nhit the mark, was an excellent shot, and it won loud applause from the\nspectators. Mnestheus next discharged his dart, taking a long and steady\naim; but his arrow, instead of striking the bird, cut in two the cord by\nwhich she was fastened, and, spreading her wings, the dove at once flew\naway. Instantly, however, Eurytion raised his bow, and shot with so true\nan aim that he struck the bird even in mid-flight, and brought her\nlifeless to the earth. There was thus no longer a mark at which Acestes\ncould aim; but notwithstanding he drew his bow and discharged a shaft high\ninto the air. And now a strange prodigy happened; for the arrow, soaring\nupward, took fire as it flew, and marked out a path of flame, till, being\nquite consumed, it vanished into the air. This spectacle naturally excited\nthe wonder and reverence of the assembled multitude; and \u00c6neas, embracing\nAcestes, declared that the incident was an omen from the Gods awarding to\nhim the first prize. He therefore bestowed on him a splendid bowl,\nembossed with figures, which had once belonged to Anchises, nor did the\nother competitors dispute the justice of the decision.\n\nBut the games were not yet ended. The Trojan chief had prepared a closing\nspectacle as a surprise for the spectators. He sent a messenger to summon\nAscanius, and in the mean time ordered a large space of ground to be\ncleared. Then suddenly his son entered on horseback at the head of a\nnumerous company,--all the youths of the expedition. They were attired\nalike, with garlands on their heads and circles of gold about their necks;\nand each carried two spears of cornel-wood, tipped with steel. The young\nequestrians were divided into three companies; one was commanded by\nAscanius himself, mounted on a beautiful Sidonian steed which had been\ngiven him by Queen Dido; a second by the youthful Priam, a son of that\nPolites whom Pyrrhus slew at the fall of Troy; and the third by Atys, a\nboy who was Ascanius' especial friend and companion. They went through a\nseries of evolutions, now advancing in line, again forming in different\nbands and pretending to charge one another, and afterwards going through\nmany other intricate manoeuvres. The scene was a most picturesque one, and\ngave great pleasure to those who witnessed it.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS'S VISIT TO THE LOWER WORLD\n\nBy Charles Henry Hanson\n\n\nContinuing his voyage, \u00c6neas reached the shore of the country afterwards\nnamed Campania, the modern province of Naples. Here the ships were\ncarefully moored, and the crews disembarked. Some busied themselves in\nkindling fires and preparing a meal; others explored the country in search\nof game. \u00c6neas, however, hastened at once to seek the temple of Apollo and\nthe adjoining cave of the Cum\u00e6an Sibyl,--the most famous of all the\noracles of antiquity. The temple and cave were situated in a thick wood,\nclosely adjoining the gloomy lake of Avernus, a black pool of unknown\ndepth, hedged in by precipitous cliffs, and emitting gases so poisonous\nthat no bird was able to fly over it in safety. In the rocks at one side\nof the lake there yawned a sombre cavern, which was believed in those days\nto be the entrance to the kingdom of Pluto--the abode of the dead.\n\n\u00c6neas was surveying the temple,--an edifice of great splendor, adorned\nwith pictures wrought in metal by the cunning hand of D\u00e6dalus,--when\nAchates, whom he had sent before him to the Sibyl's cave, approached,\nconducting the priestess. \"O prince,\" she said, \"this is not the time for\nadmiring the works of men. It will be more fitting for you to propitiate\nthe god with sacrifices, so that he may inspire me.\" With this mandate the\nhero at once complied, and then the Sibyl summoned him and his followers\nto the entrance of her cave,--a vast apartment carved out of the living\nrock, whence issued a hundred corridors. Scarcely had the Trojans\napproached the threshold when the virgin exclaimed, \"Now is the time to\nconsult your fate! The god! lo, the god!\" As she cried out thus her looks\nsuddenly changed, her color came and went, her hair fell in disorder over\nher shoulders, her bosom heaved, and she was shaken by an uncontrollable\npassion. Her very form seemed to dilate, and the tone of her voice was no\nlonger that of a mere mortal, since she was inspired by the influence of\nthe god. \"Trojan \u00c6neas!\" she exclaimed, \"delay no longer to offer thy\nprayers for the knowledge which thou seekest; for not till then can I\nreveal to thee the secrets of the future.\"\n\nEarnestly did \u00c6neas implore pity and aid from Apollo; and of the Sibyl he\nentreated that she should proclaim her revelations by word of mouth, and\nnot, as was her custom, write them on leaves of trees, lest they should\nbecome the sport of the winds. At first the prophetess did not answer; she\nwas not yet fully possessed by the spirit of the god, and raved in wild\necstasy in the cave, struggling, as it were, to resist the will of\nPhoebus, who, on his part, wearied her foaming lips, subdued her fierce\nheart, and moulded her to his will. Then all at once the hundred doors of\nthe cavern flew open of their own accord, and the Sibyl proclaimed the\ndivine response,--\n\n\"O thou who hast at length overpassed the perils of the ocean, yet more\nterrible trials await thee on shore. Thou and thy Trojans shall indeed\nreach the promised land--that is assured; but ye shall wish that ye had\nnever come thither. Wars, horrid wars, I foresee, and Tiber foaming with a\ndeluge of blood. Another Achilles awaits thee in Latium--he also the son\nof a goddess. Nor shall the persecutions of Juno cease to follow the\nTrojans wherever they may be; and in your distress you will humbly\nsupplicate all the surrounding Italian states for aid. Once more shall a\nmarriage with a foreign wife be a source of affliction to you. But yield\nnot under your sufferings; encounter them resolutely in the teeth of\nadverse fortune, and when you least expect it, the means of deliverance\nshall come to you from a Greek city.\"\n\nSo, under the inspiration of Apollo, spoke the Sibyl. When she had ceased,\n\u00c6neas answered that no prospect of further trials could appall him, for he\nwas prepared to endure the worst that could befall. But he now entreated,\nsince it was said that the entrance to the shades was near, that the Sibyl\nshould conduct him into those dark regions, in order that he might obtain\nan interview with the spectre of his father. It was Anchises' self, he\nadded, who had bidden him make this request; and filial devotion would\nenable him to perform a task which Orpheus had achieved out of love for\nhis wife Eurydice, and Pollux through his attachment to his brother\nCastor.\n\n\"\u00c6neas,\" replied the priestess, \"easy is the descent into Hades: grim\nPluto's gate stands open night and day, but to retrace your steps and\nescape to the upper regions will be a difficult task indeed, and one which\nfew have hitherto been able to accomplish. If, however, you are fixed in\nthe resolve to pursue so desperate an enterprise, learn what first is to\nbe done. There is in the dark woods which surround the Lake of Avernus a\ncertain tree, dense of foliage, on which grows a single bough of gold,\nwith leaves and twigs of the same precious metal, and no living mortal can\nenter Hades unless he has first found and plucked this bough, which is\ndemanded by Proserpine, the consort of Pluto and queen of the infernal\nrealms, as her peculiar tribute. When the bough is torn off, another\nalways grows in its place. Therefore search for it diligently, and when\nyou have discovered it grasp it with your hand. If the Fates are\npropitious to your enterprise, you will be able to pluck it easily; if\notherwise, your whole strength could not tear it from the tree, nor could\nyou ever sever it with your sword. In the mean time the body of one of\nyour friends lies lifeless, and demands the funeral rites. First bury him\nwith proper ceremonies, and then return to me with black cattle for the\nsacrifices; and then you shall be able to visit the realms of Hades, to\nwhich most living men are denied an entrance.\"\n\nWith sorrowful thoughts \u00c6neas, closely followed by Achates, now withdrew\nfrom the shrine, and took the way to the shore. Both were greatly\nperplexed to know what was the corpse needing burial of which the Sibyl\nhad spoken. But while they were wondering they came to the beach, and\nthere, before them, they saw lying the body of Misenus, who had come to a\nlamentable end. Misenus was the most skilled among all the Trojans in the\nart of blowing the trumpet. He had been, besides, a famous warrior, and\nduring the siege of Troy was accustomed to be the companion of Hector in\nthe field, and to fight by his side. When Hector fell, he attached himself\nto \u00c6neas, scorning to follow any less illustrious chief, and so had formed\none of the band which the hero was conducting to Latium. But he was\ninordinately vain of his skill with the trumpet, and believed himself\nsuperior even to the Tritons, the sea-deities whose especial province it\nwas to lull the seas at the command of Neptune by blowing upon instruments\nmade of shells. These Tritons Misenus had challenged to a trial of skill,\nand by way of defiance had blown so loud a note that the deities were\nafraid to respond to his challenge; but being full of jealousy, they had\nnow contrived to lure him into the sea and drown him. The discovery of his\nlifeless body filled all his comrades with sadness. They gathered about\nhim with loud lamentations, and then prepared to erect his funeral pyre,\nhastening with axes into the thick surrounding woods, and cutting down\nhuge oaks and pines and ash-trees.\n\n\u00c6neas himself led the way in the performance of this task, and while he\nwas engaged in it he could not help exclaiming, as his glance surveyed the\nwide forest, \"Would that I could now perceive the golden bough which I\nmust find before entering Hades; for in this ample forest, how can I begin\nto search for it?\" Scarcely had he spoken when two pigeons suddenly\nswooped down from the upper air and alighted at his feet. He guessed at\nonce that these doves, his mother's favorite birds, had been sent for his\nguidance, and he entreated them to conduct him to the place where the\nprecious bough was growing. The doves, feeding and flying by turns,\nadvanced through the wood at such a speed that \u00c6neas could easily keep\nthem in sight, and presently, having reached the very edge of Lake\nAvernus, both rose at once into the air, and settled on a great tree of\nvery dense foliage. The hero hastened to the spot, and there indeed, on\none of the lower limbs of the tree, gleamed the bough, the rich yellow\nlustre of its leaves and twigs contrasting vividly with the deep green of\nthe surrounding foliage. \u00c6neas with delight grasped it, and plucked it\nfrom its place, and, bearing it carefully in his hand, hastened to rejoin\nhis companions.\n\nThey, in the mean time, had reared on the shore a vast pile of logs of\npine and oak, the sides of which they had interlaced with smaller boughs.\nAfter having carefully washed and purified the body of Misenus, they first\nmade a couch upon the pyre, with the apparel of the dead man, and then,\nwith renewed cries of grief, placed the body upon it. His arms, too, they\nlaid beside him, and having poured incense and oil abundantly upon the\npile, they set it on fire. When only smouldering embers were left, these\nwere quenched with wine, and the ashes of the dead were carefully\ncollected and placed in a brazen urn. This urn was afterwards deposited in\na lofty tomb which \u00c6neas erected on a promontory that henceforth bore the\nname of Misenus.\n\nThe funeral ceremonies having thus duly been performed, the hero proceeded\nto the cave of the Sibyl, and called upon her to fulfill her promise, and\naccompany him to the kingdom of the dead. She led him to the mouth of the\nblack cavern at the side of Lake Avernus, and there offered up sacrifices\nof black cattle and sheep, uttering various invocations. Presently the\nground began to rumble beneath their feet; upon which the Sibyl ordered\nthose of \u00c6neas's followers who had attended him to withdraw from the spot,\nand exhorted the chief himself, drawing his sword from its sheath, to\nmarch firmly forward. So saying she plunged into the cave, nor did he\nhesitate to follow.\n\nAt first they moved along through a region that was utterly waste, void,\nand covered with an intense gloom, deep as that of a winter's night when\nthe moon is obscured by clouds. But this desolate tract was not wholly\nuntenanted, for \u00c6neas saw flitting about certain hideous shadowy forms.\nThe spirits of Grief and Revenge and pale Disease, Fear and Famine and\ndeformed Indigence, had their abode in this vestibule of Hades; and so,\ntoo, Death and Toil, and murderous War, and frantic Discord, her head\ncrowned with curling vipers and bound by a blood-dyed fillet. Here, also,\nwere the iron chambers in which dwelt the terrible Furies. In the midst\nrose a gloomy elm, which was the haunt of vain Dreams, who dwelt under\nevery leaf. Beyond this tree were many huge and misshapen\nmonsters,--Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas, and the great dragon of\nthe Lern\u00e6an lake, which, when it plagued the upper earth, was slain by\nHercules. Here, also, was the huge Chim\u00e6ra, with its three heads vomiting\nflames; Gorgons, Harpies, and other ghastly forms flitted about. At so\nfearful a sight. \u00c6neas was seized with sudden fear; he drew his sword, and\nwould have struck at the monsters, if the Sibyl had not restrained his\nhand and reminded him that they were but disembodied shadows.\n\nThe path now led them to a place where the three infernal rivers, Acheron,\nCocytus, and Styx, met in one deep, black, and boiling flood. Here there\nkept guard the grim ferryman Charon, an infernal deity of fearful aspect.\nA long gray beard fell all tangled and neglected from his chin; his filthy\nand ragged garments were knotted over his shoulders; his eyes glittered\nwith baleful light. He sat on a great black barge, which he pushed to and\nfro across the river with a pole. An immense crowd of shades was\nincessantly pouring to the banks,--young and old, matrons and virgins,\nwarriors who had endured the toils of a long life and tender boys who had\ndied while yet under the care of their parents. All were eager to cross\nthe stream, and stretched their hands in earnest entreaty to Charon to\nadmit them into his boat. But the sullen ferryman only consented to\nreceive some; others he drove back with his pole, and would on no account\npermit them to cross.\n\n\u00c6neas was amazed at this scene, and asked the Sibyl to explain to him its\nmeaning. \"You see before you,\" she replied, \"the deep pools of Cocytus,\nand the Stygian lake, by which the Gods are accustomed to swear when they\ntake an oath which they dare not violate. All that crowd which Charon will\nnot ferry across is composed of persons who after death received not the\nrites of burial; those only are permitted to enter the boat who have been\ninterred with proper ceremonies. As for the others, they wander unquiet\nabout these shores for a hundred years before they are allowed to cross to\nthe regions beyond.\"\n\nWhen \u00c6neas heard this he was filled with sadness, for among the spectres\nof the unburied who crowded on the bank he saw many of his own comrades\nwho had perished during the storms he had had to encounter during his long\nvoyages. As he looked, there advanced, slow and mournful, the pilot\nPalinurus, who had been thrown overboard by Somnus during the recent\nvoyage from Sicily. The hero accosted him, and asked him what god had torn\nhim from his post and overwhelmed him in the midst of the ocean. The\noracle of Apollo, he said, had assured him that Palinurus would be safe on\nthe sea, and would arrive on the Italian coast; and yet it would seem that\nthe oracle had been falsified. The shade of Palinurus, knowing nothing of\nthe enchantment which had been wrought on him by Somnus, replied that no\ngod had destroyed him, and that the oracle had spoken truly. He had fallen\ninto the sea through being overcome by slumber, and having kept afloat for\nthree days and nights, had on the fourth day reached the Italian shore\nalive, but had been cruelly murdered by the savage people while clambering\nup the cliffs. Now his body was tossing on the waves, sometimes thrown on\nthe shore and then washed off again. But he passionately entreated \u00c6neas\neither to find his corpse and inter it with proper solemnities, or else to\ncontrive some means of taking him as his companion across the black waters\nof Styx, unburied as he was, that at last his soul might find rest. The\nSibyl, however, rebuked him for expressing so impious a desire, and for\nhoping that the fixed decrees of the Gods could be violated for the\nbenefit of one insignificant mortal. But by way of consolation she\ninformed him that the people of the country where he had met with his\ndeath, compelled by terrible plagues sent by Jupiter, would offer solemn\natonement to his remains, erect a tomb to his memory, and give his name to\nthe place where it stood.\n\n\u00c6neas and the Sibyl now advanced toward the river; but when Charon saw\nthem approaching, he called out, \"Whoever thou mayest be that art now\ncoming armed and in life to our rivers, say quickly on what errand thou\nart coming. This is the region of ghosts and death; to waft over the\nbodies of the living in my boat is not permitted. Nor was it joyful to me\nto receive Hercules when he came, nor Theseus and Pirithous, though they\nwere descendants of the Gods and unconquerable in war. Hercules dared to\nbind in chains Cerberus himself, the keeper of the gate of Tartarus, and\ndragged him trembling from the very throne of Pluto. The others attempted\na feat scarcely less perilous, for they sought to carry off our queen\nProserpine.\"\n\n\"Be not disturbed,\" answered the Sibyl; \"we at least meditate no such\nplots, nor does this mortal bring with him his arms for any purpose of\nviolence. He is \u00c6neas of Troy, illustrious for piety and skill in arms,\nand he penetrates these gloomy abodes to have converse with his father\nAnchises. If your compassion is not moved by his filial devotion, at least\npay regard to this branch.\" And so saying, she produced the golden bough.\nThe surly ferryman, though filled with rage at being forced to obey, was\nat once silenced. He brought his boat to the bank, and silently received\ninto it \u00c6neas and his companion, driving back the ghosts that at the same\ntime eagerly strove to enter the vessel. It was old and leaky, and sank\ndeep in the black flood under the unaccustomed weight of living mortals;\nbut Charon ferried them safely across, and landed them on the farther\nside, where, in a huge den at the gate of the infernal regions, lay\nCerberus, the terrible three-headed dog which was the guardian of the\nplace--a ferocious brute which only Hercules among living men had been\nable to subdue. When \u00c6neas approached he opened his huge jaws and made all\nHades resound with his barking; but the Sibyl threw to him a medicated\ncake, which he at once devoured, and was thereby lulled into profound\nsleep. The way was now safe; the Trojan chief and his companion passed\nquickly through the open gate, and entered the dread region where Minos\nand his fellow judges pronounced on the fate of each ghost that came\nbefore them.\n\nThe first place within the gate was assigned to the shades of infants, cut\noff in the very beginning of life, who filled their allotted region with\nloud wailings and weeping. Beyond these were placed persons who had been\nput to death in consequence of false accusations. Not even the unjust\nsuffering which such persons had endured on earth could at once procure\nfor them a place among those happy spirits declared free of guilt. Here\nthey were doomed to wait till the inexorable Minos examined each case and\ngave his award. Immediately adjoining was the place allotted to those who,\nthough unstained by crime, had become weary of life and had committed\nself-destruction. Gladly, indeed, would they have now returned to the\nupper world they had despised, but no such return was possible to them.\n\n\u00c6neas and his companion next viewed a region named the Fields of\nMourning,--a wide tract, with shady paths and thick myrtle groves,\ndedicated to those who had died through unrequited love, and were held to\nhave been emancipated by the miseries they had endured on earth from\nsuffering any punishment below. Here were to be seen, wandering\ndisconsolately, many women of whom \u00c6neas had heard in old legends of\nGreece and Troy. Among them he beheld, with sorrow and pity, the\nill-starred Queen of Carthage, the wound she had herself inflicted yet\ngaping in her fair bosom. \"Dido!\" he exclaimed with tears, \"was it then a\ntrue rumor that reached me of your having died after my departure, and by\nyour own hand? If I have been the cause of your death, I am indeed\nunhappy. By all I hold sacred, fair queen, I swear to you that it was\nagainst my own will I quitted Carthage. The will of the Gods, which now\nhas brought me, while yet living, into these melancholy realms, drove me\nfrom you; but I dreamt not that our separation would bring upon you such\nextreme suffering. Why will you not speak to me? Why do you fly from me?\nNever again will the Fates permit us to meet together.\" But all his\nentreaties and his tears were vain. The spectre gazed upon him awhile with\neyes of inexorable hate, and then turned away, with a gesture of\nunrelenting aversion, to a shady recess near by, where she was joined by\nthe ghost of her first lord, Sich\u00e6us, who by the compassion of Pluto had\nbeen permitted to bear her company. \u00c6neas resumed his journey, pondering\nsadly over the fate of the woman who but a little since had loved him so\nardently and to whom he had unwillingly brought such misfortunes. He and\nhis guide now came to a place dedicated to the shades of renowned\nwarriors. Here he saw numbers of those brave Trojans, once his companions\nin arms, who had fallen before Troy. They eagerly crowded around him,\npressed his hands, and questioned him as to the circumstances which had\nbrought him, while yet alive, amongst them. There, too, were many Greeks\nwho had perished during the Trojan war; but when they beheld the hero in\nthe flesh, and wearing his gleaming armor, they fled from him in dismay.\nAs he passed on, after exchanging affectionate words with many of his old\ncomrades, he met De\u00efphobus, that son of Priam who, after the death of\nParis, became the husband of Helen. The spectre of the prince was cruelly\nmutilated,--so that \u00c6neas scarcely knew him. \"Who, O De\u00efphobus,\" he\nexclaimed, \"could have inflicted such shameful wounds upon you? After I\nhad escaped from Troy a story was brought to me that you had indeed\nperished, but honorably and in fair fight, having slain many of the enemy.\nThen I erected in your honor an empty tomb on the shore under Mount Ida,\nand offered proper funeral rites, for your body I was unable to find.\"\n\n\"You, my friend,\" answered De\u00efphobus, \"omitted no duty towards my corpse\nthat you could perform. But I owe my death and these infamous wounds to\nthe wickedness of Helen; they are the marks of her love. On the night\nafter the fatal horse was brought into Troy, I was lying asleep in my\nchamber, enjoying needful repose. Then my faithless wife removed all the\narms from my palace, and even took away my sword from the side of my\ncouch. That done, she threw open the gates, and herself summoned her\nformer husband, Menelaus, and he and Ulysses burst into my apartment and\ninflicted on me these wounds, for which I pray the Gods that they may be\nrequited.\"\n\n\u00c6neas would have spent yet more time in conversing with the shades of his\nformer comrades; but the Sibyl reminded him that the hour was approaching\nwhen he must return to the upper world. \"Here,\" she said, \"the path is\ndivided. To the right, past the palace of Pluto, lies our way to the\nElysian Fields; on the left is the way to Tartarus, the place of\npunishment for the wicked.\"\n\nAs they proceeded toward Elysium, \u00c6neas looked around him, and beheld to\nthe left a vast prison, enclosed by mighty walls, at the foot of which ran\nPhlegethon, the river of fire, whirling along great rocks in its furious\ncurrent. Across the stream, just opposite to where he was standing, was a\nlofty gate, with columns of solid adamant. In an iron tower adjoining sat\nTisiphone, the eldest of the Furies, watching the gate. From within sounds\nwere heard--groans of pain, the sound of cruel lashes, and the clanking of\nchains. \u00c6neas asked his companion what punishments were being inflicted\nwithin, and who were the sufferers. \"This,\" replied the Sibyl, \"is\nTartarus, whereinto no righteous person can enter. Here Rhadamanthus\npresides: he searches into the deeds of all who are sent hither, obliges\nthem to confess all the crimes they have committed in the upper world, and\nawards the punishment. As soon as the sentence is pronounced, Tisiphone\nscourges the doomed one with a whip of scorpions, and then consigns him to\nthe fierce attendants of her sister Furies. Immediately the gates,\ncreaking on their hinges, fly open. Within, the entrance is guarded by a\nhideous Hydra, with fifty black and gaping mouths. In the pit of Tartarus\nbeyond, the giants who waged war against the ruler of the Gods lie\nprostrated by his thunderbolts. Beside them, enduring terrible tortures,\nis Salmoneus. He was a king of Elis in Greece, and was so puffed up by\npride that he rode through his city on a high chariot drawn by four\nprancing horses, waving in his hand a torch, and pretending to be Jupiter\nhimself, wielding his thunderbolts. The Almighty Sire punished his impiety\nby hurling from Olympus a real thunderbolt, which deprived him of life;\nand now he pays the penalty of his mad pride by eternal sufferings in\nTartarus. There also lies Tityus, the huge giant who, having insulted the\ngoddess Latona, was slain by the darts of her children, Apollo and Diana,\nand whose writhing body now lies extended over nine acres of ground, while\ninsatiable vultures perpetually prey on his vitals, that are renewed as\nfast as they are devoured. Beyond him is Ixion, bound to a wheel that\nnever ceases to revolve, while he is scourged by attendant Furies. He it\nwas who, being admitted to Olympus by the generosity of Jupiter himself,\ndared to seek the love of the queen of the Gods. Not less dreadful is the\npunishment allotted to Pirithous, who, along with Theseus, endeavored to\ncarry off the Queen of Hades, Proserpine, from the side of Pluto. Over his\nhead hangs a huge rock, which every moment seems about to fall and crush\nhim, but yet never actually descends; moreover, he is plagued with a\ngnawing hunger, and a rich banquet is always before him, which yet he is\nnever able to reach. Myriads of other unhappy shades, whose course on\nearth has been stained by detestable crime, here expiate the evil they\nhave done; but had I a hundred mouths and a hundred tongues, I could not\nrecount all their offenses and the varieties of their punishment. It is\nnecessary that we should go forward, since yonder stands the palace of\nPluto, where thou, O \u00c6neas, must deposit the bough which has gained thee\nadmission here.\"\n\nObedient to his guide, \u00c6neas advanced to the vast portals of the palace\nwhere Pluto, the brother of Jupiter and monarch of the infernal kingdom,\nhad his abode with his lovely queen Proserpine, the daughter of Ceres,\nwhom ages before he had carried off from the upper world. There he made\ndue reverence before the goddess, and deposited the golden bough at her\nfeet. Advancing beyond, \u00c6neas and the Sibyl came at last to the Elysian\nFields,--the abode of joy assigned to those who during life had been\ndistinguished for piety, virtue, and heroic actions. Here were lovely\ngreen fields and pleasant groves; the air was pure and balmy, the sky was\nblue, and all was glowing-in the light of the blessed sun. Some of the\nhappy spirits who dwelt in this region were amusing themselves by\nwrestling on the greensward, and other sports in which they had delighted\non earth, such as chariot-racing, exercises with the spear and the bow.\nOthers were dancing and singing to the delicious notes which Orpheus, the\nmost skillful of musicians, produced from his lyre. On the bank of the\nriver Eridanus, which pours its clear waters through Elysium over sands of\ngold, were gathered a band whose heads were adorned with snow-white\nfillets. These were priests who had kept unstained the purity and sanctity\nof their office; poets who had sung the praises of the Gods in immortal\nverse; and those who had made human life more happy by the invention of\nuseful arts. Among them the Sibyl sought out Musseus, the father of the\npoets, and besought him to reveal in what retreat they should find\nAnchises, on whose account she and her companion had traversed all the\nregions of the shades.\n\n\"None of us,\" answered the venerable shade, \"have here any fixed abode. We\nwander at our will among the shady groves and by the pleasant banks of the\nriver. But if you mount with me this little eminence, I will show you him\nwhom you seek.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he led them to a spot where they could survey all the shining\nplains around, and pointed to where Anchises, reclined in a secluded vale,\nwas surveying the souls of his descendants who were destined in future\ntimes to visit the earth, and were enacting beforehand the achievements\nthey were fated to accomplish during life. As soon as he saw \u00c6neas\nadvancing toward him, he rose with hands stretched out and joyful tears\npouring down his face.\n\n\"Are you indeed,\" he exclaimed, \"come to me at last, my son? Am I\npermitted once more to see your face, and to listen to the tones of your\ndear voice? Now indeed the hopes which I cherished are fulfilled. By how\nmany dangers have you been threatened since we parted! I was filled with\ndread lest you should be prevented from accomplishing your task by the\ntemptations which beset you at Carthage.\"\n\n\"Thy apparition, beloved father,\" answered \u00c6neas, \"continually appearing\nto me in dreams, urged me forward even to these regions. Permit me now to\nclasp thee in my arms, and do not withdraw from my embrace.\" Thrice did he\nattempt to throw his arms about the shade, which being only composed of\nthin air, was not perceptible to his touch. While the two conversed\ntogether, \u00c6neas observed at no great distance from them a stream, at which\nprodigious numbers of ghosts were incessantly crowding to drink, swarming\nlike bees round their hive. Astonished at this spectacle, the hero\ninquired of his father what that stream was, and why those spectres were\nso eager to drink of it. \"These,\" answered Anchises, \"are souls destined\nby fate to occupy other bodies in the upper world; and the stream is\nLethe, one draught of which is sufficient to destroy all recollection of\ntheir former condition.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" said \u00c6neas, \"it is not to be believed that any souls which\nhave tasted the delights of this abode will be desirous to return again to\nthe life of earth, with its uncertainties and its miseries. How comes it\nthat this impulse possesses them?\"\n\nIn reply to this question, Anchises entered into a long explanation, the\nsubstance of which was that all the spirits of the departed had to endure\nin the regions below a process of expiation for their earthly sins, longer\nor shorter according to the nature of their transgressions. Those that\nwere not consigned to the pains of Tartarus entered the Elysian Fields,\nwhere, after they had remained a thousand years, they were summoned to\ndrink of the waters of Lethe, and thus lose all recollection of their\nformer lives; after which, being purified from all stain, they were fitted\nto return to the upper world and inhabit new bodies. Anchises added that\nhe would show to his son the forms of his own descendants in the Italian\nkingdom he was destined to establish, and would trace for him their\nachievements. Leading \u00c6neas and the Sibyl onto a rising ground, in the\nmidst of the souls which were crowding about the magic stream of Lethe, he\npointed out to him a long array of future kings of Latium,--Silvius, who\nwas to be the son of \u00c6neas's old age by his consort Lavinia; Procas,\nCapys, and Numitor, destined to be monarchs of Alba Longa; and Romulus,\nthe future founder of the great city of Rome, which would extend over\nseven hills, and would spread her dominion over the whole earth. Not far\nfrom these were the souls of Romulus's successors in the' early days of\nRome,--Numa Pompilius, who first would give his country laws, and\nencourage the arts of peace; Tullus Hostilius, who would wage victorious\nwars, and extend the territories of Rome; Ancus Martius, not less\nsuccessful in the field; and Tarquin, destined to lose the throne through\nhis oppressive reign. Anchises proceeded to indicate to his wondering son\nmany of the patriots and generals who in future years were to contribute\nto the glory and power of the Roman State,--more especially the great\nJulius Caesar, the lineal descendant of \u00c6neas himself; and Augustus, who\nwould once more establish the golden age in Latium, and whose empire would\nextend to countries as yet unknown. The venerable shade concluded his\nforecast of the future with a splendid description of the part which Rome\nwas destined to play in the world's history:--\n\n  \"Let others better mould the running mass\n  Of metals, and inform the breathing brass,\n  And soften into flesh a marble face;\n  Plead better at the bar; describes the skies,\n  And when the stars descend, and when they rise:\n  But Rome! 'tis thine alone, with awful sway\n  To rule mankind, and make the world obey,\n  Disposing peace and war thy own majestic way;\n  To tame the proud, the fettered slave to free,--\n  These are imperial arts, and worthy thee.\"\n\nHaving thus inspired \u00c6neas with renewed determination by showing him the\nbrilliant future that was awaiting his descendants, Anchises conducted him\nover those parts of the Elysian Fields which he had not yet visited, and\nshowed him everything that was of peculiar interest. As they went, he\ndiscoursed to him respecting the wars which he would have to wage in\nLatium, and gave him counsel as to the means by which he should overcome\nevery difficulty. Then at last, having brought him to the ivory gate\nwhence the gods were accustomed to send false dreams to the upper world,\nhe bade him farewell. By that gate \u00c6neas and the Sibyl quitted the abodes\nof the dead, and ascended without difficulty or adventure to the cave of\nthe oracle, whence the hero hastened at once to his ships. Without loss of\ntime he ordered the sails to be spread, and the ships were steered along\nthe coast, drawing nearer ever hour to their final destination.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS'S FIRST GREAT BATTLE WITH THE LATINS\n\nBy Charles Henry Hanson\n\n\n    [\u00c6neas finally lands in Italy, the country promised him by the\n    Gods as a home for his race. The Italian king, Latinus, has been\n    warned by signs and omens that the hand of his daughter Lavinia\n    must not be given to an Italian prince, but to a stranger coming\n    from a far country. He believes that \u00c6neas is the hero chosen by\n    the Fates as her husband, and greets him in most friendly manner.\n    Queen Amata, however, is influenced by the Trojan-hating Juno to\n    oppose this marriage. Turnus, chief of the Rutuli, a suitor of\n    Lavinia, is next aroused, and soon the whole kingdom is in a\n    turmoil. A fierce battle ensues.]\n\n\nTurnus, having brought the bulk of his forces from before the beseiged\ncamp, hurled them against the army of \u00c6neas before its ranks were properly\nformed, and a furious conflict at once began to rage. The Trojan hero,\nrejoicing to find himself once more on a field of battle, first\nencountered the Latian warriors, who chanced to be in his front. Their\nleader was Theron, a man of gigantic stature, who did not hesitate to\nengage \u00c6neas hand to hand; but he paid dearly for his rashness, for the\nsword which Vulcan had forged--so keen was its edge, so excellent its\ntemper--pierced through his brazen buckler and his tunic stiffened by bars\nof gold, and penetrating his side, drained the life-blood. Next the hero\nstruck down Lycas; and rushing onward, encountered two stalwart rustics,\nCisseus and Gyas, who were making havoc among the Trojans by beating them\ndown with ponderous clubs. On the divine armor the heavy blows of these\nrude weapons fell harmless, while the spear of \u00c6neas proved fatal to both\nthose who wielded them. An insolent warrior named Pharus was defying the\nhero from a short distance with taunting speech, when he hurled a javelin,\nwhich struck the boaster full in the mouth, and transfixing the throat,\nsilenced him forever. Now a band of seven brothers, the sons of Phorcus,\nall at once attacked \u00c6neas with darts, throwing them together. Some of the\nweapons struck his helmet and shield, and rebounded; others, turned aside\nby the care of Venus, grazed his skin. \u00c6neas called to Achates to bring\nhim more spears, and snatching one as soon as it was offered, hurled it\nagainst M\u00e6on, one of the brothers, with such force that it penetrated his\nshield and corselet, and inflicted a mortal wound in his breast. Another\nbrother, Alcanor, hurrying up to M\u00e6on's assistance, he smote with a second\nspear, just where the arm and shoulder join, leaving the arm hanging to\nthe body only by two or three shreds of skin and muscle. Seeing the\nslaughter that \u00c6neas was spreading around him, Hal\u00e6sus and Messapus\nhurried up with their bands to confront him, and so in that part of the\nfield the battle grew still more furious.\n\nIn another part, where Pallas was fighting at the head of his Arcadian\nhorsemen, the ground had been rendered so uneven by the winter torrents\nthat they were obliged to dismount, and being unaccustomed to fight on\nfoot, they began to retreat before the fierce assault of the Rutulians. At\nthis sight their brave young leader was overwhelmed with shame and\nmortification. \"Whither,\" he cried, \"my fellow countrymen, do you fly? I\nimplore you, by the memory of your gallant deeds in the past, by the name\nof Evander, the king you love, by my own hopes of glory, not to flee. Your\nway lies through your foes, not from them; with your swords must you cut a\npassage where they crowd most densely. These are not gods who pursue us;\nthey are mortals, like ourselves, and they are not stronger or more\nnumerous than we. The ocean hems us in with an impassable barrier on the\none side; the enemy confronts us on the other, and separates us from our\nfriends. Whether shall we fly into the sea, or force our way toward the\nTrojans?\" So saying, he turned, and dashed into the midst of the hostile\nranks. Tagus was the first who fell a victim to his noble wrath; for as he\nwas stooping to pick up a heavy stone, the spear of Pallas struck him in\nthe middle of the back, and shattered the spine and ribs. As the young\nhero was withdrawing the weapon, Hisbon rushed on and struck at him from\nabove; but the blow fell short, and before he could recover his guard\nPallas buried his sword deep in his body. Warrior after warrior he struck\ndown, restored the confidence of his followers, and spread confusion and\ndismay in the opposite ranks, raging among them as the flames lit by the\nhusbandman in the autumn spread through the stubble, and destroy\neverything in their path. But now the Auruncian chief, Hal\u00e6sus, summoned\nby some of his followers to their aid, opposed the advance of the\nArcadians. He was a tried and fierce warrior, and he slew five of the\nbravest of Pallas's men before the young chief could confront him. Then,\nhowever, the son of Evander hurled a spear with such skill and certainty\nof aim that he pierced Hal\u00e6sus's heart, and the grim leader of the Aurunci\nsank lifeless on the field. His fall was a sore discouragement to the\ntroops of Turnus, which would have sought safety in flight, had not\nLausus, the gallant son of Mezentius,--noble and upright offspring of an\nunworthy father,--suddenly come to their aid. First encountering Abas,\nleader of the Populonians, he slew him with a single blow of his sword,\nand followed up his success with a furious slaughter of Arcadians and\nEtrurians. Thus the battle continued: on the one side Pallas impetuously\nurged the attack; on the other Lausus not less obstinately maintained the\ndefense. They were equal in years, and in beauty and grace of form; and to\nboth alike the Fates had assigned a place among the victims of the war.\nBut the Gods had ordained that they should not encounter hand to hand;\neach was destined to succumb to a superior foe.\n\nTurnus was leading his troops in another quarter of the field, when he was\nsummoned to hasten to the assistance of Lausus, who alone was bearing up\nthe battle against Pallas and his Arcadians. Quickly he turned his chariot\nin that direction, and as soon as he reached the spot, called on his\nwarriors to withdraw from the conflict. \"I alone,\" he said, \"will\nencounter Pallas; to me his life is given. Would to Heaven his father were\nhere to witness our combat.\" The Rutulians obeyed the command of their\nking, and fell back; while Pallas, amazed at their retreat and the sudden\nappearance of Turnus, gazed on his opponent. Then, in reply to his\nvaunting speech, he said, \"Now, either by carrying off thy spoils or by a\nnoble death at thy hands, I shall be rendered famous. My sire knows how to\nbear either extremity of fortune. Cease thy threatenings and let us\nengage.\" As he spoke, the hearts of the Arcadians, who loved him, were\nfilled with fear and sorrow. Turnus sprang from his chariot, and came\nforward to the encounter on foot, advancing as a lion bounds toward his\nprey. As soon as Pallas thought him within reach of his spear, he prepared\nto throw it, and uttered this prayer to Hercules: \"By my father's\nhospitality, and that abode which thou, his guest, didst visit, O Alcides,\naid, I implore thee, my arduous attempt. May the dying eyes of Turnus\nbehold me strip him, expiring, of his bloody armor, and endure the sight\nof a victorious foe.\" Hercules, from his place on Olympus, heard the\nprayer, and knowing that the decree of Fate was otherwise, answered with\nheavy groans and unavailing tears. These were not unseen by Jupiter, who\nstrove to console his immortal son. \"To every one,\" he said, \"his day is\nfixed; a short and irretrievable term of life is given to all; but to\nlengthen out fame by heroic deeds is the best that man can do. Under the\nlofty walls of Troy many sons of gods themselves perished,--among them the\nheroic Sarpedon, my own offspring, perished; Turnus, too, is summoned by\nthe Fates, and has nearly reached his term of life.\" He spoke, and turned\naway his gaze from the battlefield, himself pitying the untimely death of\nPallas.\n\nAnd now the brave son of Evander with his utmost force hurled his spear,\nand then hastened to draw his sword from its scabbard. The weapon struck\nTurnus where the shoulder was protected by the corselet, and piercing\nthrough the solid brass, slightly grazed the hero's body. Then Turnus,\npoising a steel-tipped javelin, darted it at Pallas, exclaiming, \"See\nwhether mine be not the more penetrating shaft.\" Cast with irresistible\nmight, it tore its way through the youth's shield, composed though it was\nof thick plates of brass and iron, and through his cuirass, and inflicted\na ghastly wound in his breast. In vain he wrenched out the deadly missile\nfrom his body; even as he withdrew it life deserted his quivering form,\nand he fell to the ground. Bestriding the corpse, Turnus cried, \"Ye\nArcadians, faithfully report to Evander this message,--I send him back his\nPallas in such a plight as he deserved. Whatever honor is in a tomb,\nwhatever solace in the performance of funeral rites, I freely grant him.\nHis league with the Trojan intruder shall cost him dear.\" So saying, he\npressed his foot on the body, and tore away a massive belt, adorned with\nfigures richly carved in gold. This spoil Turnus exultingly clasped around\nhis own body, little dreaming that the time would come when he would wish\nthat he had never taken it, and that he and Pallas had never met. But now\nthe lifeless corpse of the youth, stripped of its arms and still bleeding\nfrom the fatal wound inflicted by the Rutulian chief, was laid on a shield\nand borne away by his weeping followers. Thus the first day on which he\ntook a part in war saw also the young hero's death, though not, indeed,\nbefore he had strewn the plain with Rutulian corpses.\n\nSpeedily the news of this sad disaster, and of the consequent retreat of\nhis forces in that part of the field, was borne to \u00c6neas. Rendered furious\nby the event, he impetuously mowed with his sword a bloody passage through\nthe hostile ranks in search of Turnus, on whom he was eager to avenge the\ndeath of his friend. The thought of the bright youth who had thus perished\nin his cause, of the hoary father bereaved of all that made life dear to\nhim, filled his heart with sorrow as he recalled the kindness which both\nhad shown to him, and the pledges of enduring friendship he had exchanged\nwith them. Eight Rutulian warriors he struck down, and captured them\nalive, destining them as victims to be offered to the shade of Pallas, and\nto drench with their blood the flames of the hero's funeral pyre. Next,\n\u00c6neas having hurled a javelin at a Latian named Magus, the trembling\nwretch evaded the dart by stooping, and as \u00c6neas rushed upon him with\nuplifted sword, he clasped his knees, and implored him to spare his life,\nproffering a large ransom of silver and gold which lay concealed\nunderground in his house. Sternly the Trojan chief bade him keep his\ntreasures for his sons; as for showing mercy, that was forbidden to him\nfrom the moment that Pallas fell by the hand of Turnus. Then grasping the\nsuppliant's helmet, and forcing back his head so as to expose the neck,\neven as Magus renewed his petition he plunged the sword into his body to\nthe hilt. Near by, the luckless \u00c6monides, a priest of Apollo and Diana,\nwho wore a sacred fillet on his temples and shone in burnished armor, fell\na victim to his relentless spear, and the splendid arms he had worn were\ncarried off by Serestus as an offering to Mars. The Rutulians fled in\nterror before the raging chief; but King C\u00e6culus of Pr\u00e6neste, and Umbro,\nthe leader of the Marsians, renewed the struggle. A huge warrior named\nTarquitus, the son of the nymph Dryope, dared to oppose himself to \u00c6neas,\nbut his fate was soon decided. The hero first pierced his corselet with a\nspear, and then, as he lay wounded and imploring mercy, smote off his head\nwith his sword. Spurning the bleeding trunk, he furiously cried, \"Lie\nthere, haughty champion! Thee no tender mother shall lodge in the earth,\nor place a tomb above thy body; to birds of prey thou shalt be left, or\ncast in the sea to be devoured by fishes.\" Still insatiable of slaughter,\nhe drove into terrified flight Ant\u00e6us and Lycas, two of Turnus's bravest\nfollowers. But now the fierce Lucagus approached in a chariot drawn by two\nsnow-white coursers. These were guided by his brother Liger, while he\nhimself flourished his sword in the air, and prepared to encounter \u00c6neas,\nwho on his part rushed forward to meet them. \"These,\" cried Liger, \"are\nnot the steeds of Diomedes, nor this the plain of Troy. Here an end shall\nbe put at once to thy life and to the war.\" Against these insults \u00c6neas\nprepared to give an answer otherwise than in words, and as Lucagus bent\nforward in readiness for the fight, the Trojan javelin whizzed through the\nrim of his shield, smote him in the groin, and hurled him, quivering in\nthe pangs of death, out of the chariot. \u00c6neas assailed his dying ears with\na bitter scoff: \"It is not, O Lucagus, the slowness of thy steeds in\nflight that hath lost thee thy chariot, but thou thyself, springing from\nthy seat, hast abandoned it.\" So saying, he seized the chariot; and now\nthe miserable Liger, extending his hands in supplication, begged for his\nlife. \"It was not in this fashion that thou spokest a little while since,\"\nreplied the relentless hero. \"It would not be fitting that thou shouldst\ndesert thy brother. Die, therefore, and attend him to the shades.\" With\nthat he thrust the avenging sword through his heart, whence the trembling\nsoul fled with a shriek.\n\nSo \u00c6neas spread havoc amid the hostile ranks, and drove the forces of\nTurnus back in headlong rout, so that Ascanius and those who had hitherto\nbeen shut up in the fortifications were able to issue forth into the\nfield. Meanwhile Jupiter, watching from Olympus the fortunes of the day,\naccosted his consort. \"Thou art in the right, my cherished queen, in\nalleging that Venus gives her aid to the Trojans; for without divine aid,\nhow would it be possible for any mortal to achieve such deeds as \u00c6neas is\nnow accomplishing?\" \"Why,\" submissively answered Juno, \"dost thou tease\nme, who am already oppressed with anguish for the fate of the people I\nbefriend? Had I that share in your love which I once enjoyed, and which it\nis fitting for me to possess, thou surely couldst not refuse me this much,\nthat I might have permission to rescue Turnus from the fate that threatens\nhim, and restore him safe to his father Daunus. But since that cannot be,\nlet him die, and glut the vengeance of the Trojan with his blood; yet his\norigin is divine, and often has he piled thy altars with sacrifices.\" Not\nunmoved, the ruler of the Gods replied, \"If you plead for a respite from\nimmediate death, and a little breathing-time for the youth, I grant you to\nbear him from the field, and for a short time to preserve him. So far I\nwill indulge you; but if you hope to gain any greater favor, and imagine\nthat the whole predetermined course of the war is to be altered at your\nentreaty, you delude yourself with empty hopes.\" With tears Juno\nresponded, \"What if thou shouldst grant in thy heart what in words thou\ndost refuse, and continue the life of Turnus for its natural duration? I\nfear much that a speedy end awaits the brave youth; but oh! I pray that I\nmay be misled by groundless alarms, and that thou, to whom all power\nbelongs, may alter thy purpose for the better.\"\n\nNot daring to say more, the queen of heaven hastily descended from Olympus\ntowards the contending armies. Then she devised an airy phantom, wearing\narmor which exactly resembled that of \u00c6neas, and imitating to the life his\nwalk and mien. This shadow she caused to flutter in the forefront of the\nbattle, full in the view of Turnus, and to provoke him with darts and\ninsolent words. The enraged Rutulian eagerly pressed upon it, and from a\ndistance hurled against it a spear. Immediately the spectre, wheeling\nabout, took to flight. Turnus, imagining that in very truth it was the\nTrojan chief who feared to meet him, and filled with baseless exultation,\ncried out, \"\u00c6neas, whither dost thou fly? Desert not thus thy promised\nbride; with this right hand will I bestow upon thee the settled abode thou\nhast sought in vain through so many lands and seas.\" Thus vociferating, he\nmadly pursued the deceitful phantom. It chanced that near the shore there\nlay a vessel, joined to the land by a temporary bridge of planks. Hither\nJuno led the shadow, and caused it in seeming fear to leap on board and\nthrow itself into a hiding-place. With not less speed Turnus followed,\nbounded along the bridge, and mounted to the lofty prow of the ship in\nsearch of the supposed fugitive. Instantly the goddess severed the cable,\nand drove the vessel over the foaming waves. Then the phantom melted into\nthe air, and the Rutulian, utterly bewildered, gazed about him in despair,\nnor did he feel at all thankful to the guardian deity for having thus\npreserved him from the arms of \u00c6neas. \"Almighty Father,\" he cried, raising\nhis eyes and hands towards heaven, \"why dost thou think me worthy of such\nshame as this? What have I done to merit such a punishment? whither am I\nborne? How shall I venture again to enter the walls of Laurentum or look\nupon my camp? What will be said of me by the warriors who have followed me\ninto this war, and whom--unutterable shame!--I have abandoned to the\nbloodthirsty Trojans! O winds! take pity on me, I entreat you; dash this\nvessel on some rugged crag, and overwhelm me so that I can no longer be\nconscious either of my humiliation or of the reproaches of my Rutulians.\"\nWhile he thus lamented, he was uncertain whether he should put an end to\nhis own life with his sword or plunge into the sea and endeavor to regain\nthe land by swimming. Three times he attempted each expedient, and as\noften Juno, full of pity, restrained him. Carried along by a favorable\nwind, the ship bore him safely to the capital of his father, King Daunus.\n\nMeanwhile \u00c6neas raged through the battle-field in search of the victim\nwhom the queen of the Gods had thus snatched from his conquering hands.\nUnder his leadership the Trojans and their allies, flushed with success,\npressed more eagerly on their discomfited foe; but Mezentius now advanced\nto restore the courage of the Rutulians. The Etrurians, as soon as they\nsaw their expelled monarch, out of hostility to whom they had engaged in\nthe war, rushed upon him with shouts of rage; but he, as fearless as he\nwas wicked, stood as firmly against them as a great rock on the shore\nmeets all the fury of the winds and waves. Three warriors he overthrew in\nquick succession: Hebrus he cut down with his sword, Latagus he slew by\nhurling a great stone which battered in his face, and at Palmus he threw a\njavelin which pierced his thigh and extended him helpless on the ground.\nThen the raging king slew Evas the Phrygian, and a Trojan named Mimas, who\nin former days had been the companion of Paris, having been born in Troy\non the same night that gave to the light the ill-starred son of Priam.\nParis now lay in eternal repose amid the ruins of his native city, while\nto Mimas the sword of Mezentius assigned an unknown grave on the distant\nshore of Italy. And just as when an old wild boar, chased from his retreat\namid the wooded Alps, stands at bay among the underwood, and the hunters,\nafraid to approach him, ply him with darts from a distance, while he\ngnashes his tusks with rage and faces them undaunted, so stood Mezentius;\nwhile his former subjects, though filled with just anger against him, and\neager for his destruction, dare not come within reach of his dreaded\nsword, but galled him with spears and useless clamor. It chanced that a\nGreek from Corytus, named Acron, presented himself in the front,\nconspicuous in nodding plumes, and in purple trappings that had been\nworked for him by his betrothed wife. His gay attire caught the eye of\nMezentius, who rushed forward and smote down the luckless Greek; then, as\nthe others fell back, he cut off the retreat of an Etrurian chief, Orodes,\nforced him to engage hand to hand, and speedily slew him. Pressing his\nfoot on the expiring warrior to draw out his lance from his body,\nMezentius cried to his followers, \"Behold, friends! Orodes has fallen--not\nthe meanest of our foes.\" The Rutulians raised a joyful shout, but the\ndying Orodes faintly answered, \"Not long shall thou rejoice with impunity\nover me; a similar fate awaits thyself, and soon shalt thou also be\nstretched lifeless on this same field.\" Smiling scornfully, Mezentius\nreturned, \"Die thou, and leave my fate to the Gods, in whose hands it\nrests.\" His example inspired other of the Rutulians; they pressed fiercely\nforward and drove back the troops of \u00c6neas. Mezentius advanced at their\nhead, and as he strode along, the Trojan hero espied him, and hastened\ntowards him. Unawed by the prospect of an encounter even with so terrible\na foe, Mezentius stood firm, and poising a huge spear in his hand,\nexclaimed,--for he was a contemner of the Gods, and never offered\ninvocations to them,--\"Now let this right hand and this good dart be my\naid; and then I vow that my son, my dear Lausus, shall be clad in the\nbright arms torn from the body of yon Trojan pirate.\" With these words he\ndrew the spear. Sent with a true aim, it struck the shield of \u00c6neas, but\nglanced from the hardened surface, and turning aside, pierced the side of\nAntores, a faithful follower of Evander, who had come with Pallas to the\nwar. Thus died Antores, by a weapon never aimed at him, but he was\nspeedily avenged. \u00c6neas, putting all his might into the cast, now in his\nturn hurled his spear. It tore its way through the triple plates of\nMezentius' shield, through his corselet, and inflicted a severe wound in\nhis groin, though its force was so far spent that the injury was not\nmortal.\n\nOverjoyed at the sight of his enemy's blood, \u00c6neas drew his sword from its\nsheath, and rushed upon Mezentius, who was as yet bewildered by the blow.\nWhen Lausus saw his father in such peril he sprang forward and stood\nbefore \u00c6neas, while Mezentius fell back among his friends, the Trojan\nlance still trailing in his armor. Lausus received the first stroke of\n\u00c6neas' sword on his buckler, while the Rutulians with loud shouts\napplauded him, and poured on the Trojan hero a tempest of darts. Against\nthis he protected himself with his shield, and meanwhile, pitying the\nyouth and courage of Lausus, spoke to him in words of warning: \"Why do you\nthus rush on your own destruction, and attempt what is beyond your\nstrength? Your filial devotion blinds you to your danger.\" But Lausus,\nresolute to defend his wounded sire, returned a haughty defiance. Then\n\u00c6neas could no longer control his wrath; he exerted all his strength, and\nthrust his terrible sword up to the hilt through the body of the youth,\nwho sank lifeless on the blood-steeped ground. When \u00c6neas saw the comely\nyoung warrior stretched dead before him, his heart was filled with pity.\n\"Ill-fated youth!\" he cried, \"how can I testify my reverence for thy\nfilial piety and thy undaunted valor? Thou shalt at least retain those\narms which it was thy delight to wear, and thy body shall be given up\nunspoiled to thy friends.\" With that he summoned the dismayed followers of\nLausus, and with his own hands raised from the ground the comely body, all\ndisfigured with blood and wounds. Meantime Mezentius had retreated to the\nbank of the Tiber, where he took off his armor, and bathed his wound with\nwater. While he was thus resting from the fatigues of the battle, he was\nfull of anxiety for his son, and sent messenger after messenger to recall\nhim from the fight. But too soon a crowd of weeping warriors appeared,\ncarrying the corpse of Lausus in their arms. The sorrowing father divined\nwhat had occurred from their lamentations, even before the body was\nbrought to him. He threw dust upon his head, he clasped the loved form in\nhis arms, and bedewed the pallid face with his tears. \"O my son,\" he\nexclaimed, \"was I possessed with such a fond desire of life as to suffer\nthee to offer thyself in my place to the relentless foe? Am I preserved at\nthe cost of these cruel wounds? Now, indeed, I feel the calamity of exile.\nMy crimes have cost thee not only thy paternal throne and sceptre, but thy\nlife also. It was I that owed expiation to my country, and should have\nsatisfied my people by a deserved death. And yet I live! yet I do not quit\nthe detested light! but I will quickly follow thee.\" Then he rose up, and\nthough crippled by the wound in his thigh, and suffering anguish from its\nsmart, he did not flinch, but ordered his attendants to bring his courser.\nThis was a horse famous for its speed and its prompt obedience to the\nrein. When it was brought, he accosted it: \"Long have we lived together,\nRhoebus, and many great deeds have we accomplished. To-day we shall either\nbear away the head of \u00c6neas and his arms all spattered with his blood, or\nwe shall perish together; for I am assured that thou wilt never condescend\nto bear a Trojan lord.\" Then mounting the noble steed, he filled both\nhands with darts, and dashed recklessly into the midst of the battle. His\nheart swelling with rage and shame and grief, he thrice loudly summoned\n\u00c6neas to the combat. \u00c6neas heard, and rejoiced at the challenge; and with\nthreatening spear advanced to meet his foe. \"Barbarous wretch,\" cried\nMezentius, \"thinkest thou to affright me with thy weapons, now that thou\nhast robbed me of my son? That was the only means by which thou couldst\ndestroy me. I fear neither death nor the anger of any of your gods.\nForbear threats; now am I come hither to die, but first I bring you these\ngifts.\" So saying, he rapidly hurled one dart after another at the hero,\nwhirling swiftly round him on his horse; but the shield framed by Vulcan's\nhands received all the shafts and repelled them. Wearied at last of so\nunequal a fight, in which he had to endure ceaseless attacks without\nstriking a blow, \u00c6neas stepped forward, and hurled his spear against the\ncharger, piercing its skull betwixt the ears. The fiery horse reared\nupward in the death agony, and then fell backward upon his rider, pressing\nhim to the earth. The spectators of this fierce combat uplifted their\nvoices in shouts, some in joy and others in sorrow, as \u00c6neas rushed up to\nthe fallen warrior, and lifting his sword to deal the fatal blow, cried,\n\"Where is now the stern Mezentius?\" The Etrurian, on the other hand,\nreplied, \"Spiteful foe, why dost thou threaten and insult before thou\nstrikest? Thou wilt do me no wrong in slaying me. I sought thee expecting\nnothing else, and neither I nor my son has asked mercy at thy hands. One\nfavor alone I implore of thee, that thou wilt give burial to my corpse. I\nknow well that the hate of my former subjects would pursue me after death.\nDefend my remains, I entreat, from outrage, and grant me a grave along\nwith my son.\" He said no more, but extended his throat to receive the\nfatal blow, which descended and drew forth his life as the blood poured\nover his armor.\n\nThe shades of night were now gathering, and as the Rutulians and Latins\nhad quitted the field in confusion, the conflicts of that sanguinary day\nwere at last, ended.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS FINALLY CONQUERS THE LATINS\n\nBy Alfred J. Church\n\n\nPrince Turnus was filled with rage. Even as a lion which a hunter hath\nwounded breaketh the arrow wherewith he hath been stricken, and rouseth\nhimself to battle, shaking his mane and roaring, so Turnus arose. And\nfirst he spake to King Latinus, saying, \"I will meet this man face to\nface, and slay him while ye look on; or, if the Gods will that he vanquish\nme so, he shall rule over you, and have Lavinia to wife.\"\n\nBut King Latinus made answer, \"Yet think awhile, my son. Thou hast the\nkingdom of thy father Daunus; and there are other noble virgins in Latium\nwhom thou mayest have to wife. Wilt thou not then be content? For to give\nmy daughter to any husband of this nation I was forbidden, as thou\nknowest. Yet did I disobey, being moved by love of thee, my wife also\nbeseeching me with many tears. Thou seest what troubles I and my people,\nand thou more than all, have suffered from that time. Twice have we fled\nin the battle, and now the city only is left to us. If I must yield me to\nthese men, let me yield whilst thou art yet alive. For what doth it profit\nme that thou shouldst die? Nay, but all men would cry shame on me if I\ngave thee to death!\" Now for a space Turnus spake not for wrath. Then he\nsaid, \"Be not troubled for me, my father. For I, too, can smite with the\nspear; and as for this \u00c6neas, his mother will not be at hand to snatch him\nin a cloud from my sight.\"\n\nThen Amata cried to him, saying, \"Fight not, I beseech thee, with these\nmen of Troy, my son; for surely what thou sufferest I also shall suffer.\nNor will I live to see \u00c6neas my son-in-law.\"\n\nAnd Lavinia heard the voice of her mother, and wept. As a man stains ivory\nwith crimson, or as roses are seen mixed with lilies, even so the virgin's\nface burned with crimson. And Turnus, regarding her, loved her\nexceedingly, and made answer, \"Trouble me not with tears or idle words, my\nmother, for to this battle I must go. And do thou, Idmon the herald, say\nto the Phrygian king, 'To-morrow, when the sun shall rise, let the people\nhave peace, but we two will fight together. And let him that prevaileth\nhave Lavinia to wife.'\"\n\nThen first he went to the stalls of his horses. The wife of the North Wind\ngave them to Pilumnus. Whiter than snow were they, and swifter than the\nwind. Then he put the coat of mail about his shoulders, and fitted a\nhelmet on his head, and took the great sword which Vulcan had made for\nDaunus his father, and had dipped it when it was white-hot in the river of\nStyx. His spear also he took where it stood against a pillar, saying,\n\"Serve me well, my spear, that hast never failed me before, that I may lay\nlow this womanish robber of Phrygia, and soil with dust his curled and\nperfumed hair.\" The next day the men of Italy and the men of Troy measured\nout a space for the battle. And in the midst they builded an altar of\nturf. And the two armies sat on the one side and on the other, having\nfixed their spears in the earth and laid down their shields. Also the\nwomen and the old men stood on the towers and roofs of the city, that they\nmight see the fight.\n\nBut Queen Juno spake to Juturna, the sister of Turnus, saying, \"Seest thou\nhow these two are now about to fight, face to face? And indeed Turnus\ngoeth to his death. As for me, I endure not to look upon this covenant or\nthis battle. But if thou canst do aught for thy brother, lo! the time is\nat hand.\" And when the nymph wept and beat her breast, Juno said, \"This is\nno time for tears. Save thy brother, if thou canst, from death; or cause\nthat they break this covenant.\"\n\nAfter this came the kings, that they might make the covenant together. And\nKing Latinus rode in a chariot with four horses, and he had on his head a\ncrown with twelve rays of gold, for he was of the race of the sun; and\nTurnus came in a chariot with two white horses, having a javelin in either\nhand; and \u00c6neas had donned the arms which Vulcan had made, and with him\nwas the young Iulus. And after due offering \u00c6neas sware, calling on all\nthe Gods, \"If the victory shall fall this day to Turnus, the men of Troy\nshall depart to the city of Evander, nor trouble this land any more. But\nif it fall to me, I will not that the Latins should serve the men of Troy.\nLet the nations be equal one with the other. The gods that I bring we will\nworship together, but King Latinus shall reign as before. A new city shall\nthe men of Troy build for me, and Lavinia shall call it after her own\nname.\"\n\nThen King Latinus sware, calling on the gods that are above and the gods\nthat are below, saying, \"This covenant shall stand forever, whatsoever may\nbefall. As sure as this sceptre which I bear--once it was a tree, but a\ncunning workman closed it in bronze, to be the glory of the Latian\nkings--shall never again bear twig or leaf, so surely shall this covenant\nbe kept.\"\n\nBut the thing pleased not the Latins; for before, indeed, they judged that\nthe battle would not be equal between two; and now were they the more\nassured, seeing them when they came together, and that Turnus walked with\neyes cast to the ground, and was pale and wan. Wherefore there arose a\nmurmuring among the people, which when Juturna perceived, she took upon\nherself the likeness of Camertus, who was a prince and a great warrior\namong them, and passed through the host saying, \"Are ye not ashamed, men\nof Italy, that one man should do battle for you all? For count these men;\nsurely they are scarce one against two. And if he be vanquished, what\nshame for you! As for him, indeed, though he die, yet shall his glory\nreach to the heavens; but ye shall suffer disgrace, serving these\nstrangers forever.\"\n\nAnd when she saw that the people were moved, she gave also a sign from\nheaven. For lo! an eagle, that drave a crowd of sea-fowl before him,\nswooped down to the water, and caught a great swan; and even while the\nItalians looked, the birds that before had fled turned and pursued the\neagle, and drave him before them, so that he dropped the swan and fled\naway. Which thing when the Italians perceived they shouted, and made them\nready for battle. And the augur Tolumnius cried, \"This is the token that I\nhave looked for. For this eagle is the stranger, and ye are the birds,\nwhich before, indeed, have fled, but shall now make him to flee.\"\n\nAnd he ran forward and cast his spear, smiting a man of Arcadia below the\nbelt, upon the groin. One of nine brothers was he, sons of a Tuscan\nmother, but their father was a Greek; and they, when they saw him slain,\ncaught swords and spears, and ran forward. And straightway the battle was\nbegun. First they brake down the altars, that they might take firebrands\ntherefrom; and King Latinus fled from the place. Then did Messapus drive\nhis horses against King Aulestes of Mantua, who, being fain to fly,\nstumbled upon the altar and fell headlong on the ground. And Messapus\nsmote him with a spear that was like a weaver's beam, saying, \"This, of a\ntruth, is a worthier victim.\" After this Coryneus, the Arcadian, when\nEbysus would have smitten him, snatched a brand from the altar and set\nfire to the beard of the man, and, before he came to himself, caught him\nby the hair, and thrusting him to the ground, so slew him. And when\nPodalirius pursued Alsus the shepherd, and now held his sword over him\nready to strike, the other turned, and with a battle-axe cleft the man's\nhead from forehead to chin.\n\nBut all the while the righteous \u00c6neas, having his head bare, and holding\nneither spear nor sword, cried to the people, \"What seek ye? what madness\nis this? The covenant is established, and I only have the right to do\nbattle.\" But even while he spake an arrow smote him, wounding him. But who\nlet it fly no man knoweth; for who, of a truth, would boast that he had\nwounded \u00c6neas? And he departed from the battle.\n\nNow when Turnus saw that \u00c6neas had departed from the battle he called for\nhis chariot. And when he had mounted thereon he drave it through the host\nof the enemy, slaying many valiant heroes, as Sthenelus and Pholus, and\nthe two sons of Imbrasus the Lycian, Glaucus and Lades. Then he saw\nEumedes, son of that Dolon who would have spied out the camp of the\nGreeks, asking as his reward the horses of Achilles (but Diomed slew him).\nHim Turnus smote with a javelin from afar, and, when he fell, came near\nand put his foot upon him, and taking his sword drave it into his neck,\nsaying, \"Lo! now thou hast the land which thou soughtest. Lie there and\nmeasure out Italy for thyself.\" Many others he slew, for the army fled\nbefore him. Yet did one man, Phegeus by name, stand against him, and would\nhave stayed the chariot, clutching the bridles of the horses in his hand.\nBut as he clung to the yoke and was dragged along, Turnus broke his\ncuirass with his spear, and wounded him. And when the man set his shield\nbefore him, and made at Turnus with his sword, the wheels dashed him to\nthe ground, and Turnus struck him between the helmet and the breastplate\nand smote off his head.\n\nBut in the meanwhile Mnestheus and Achates and Iulus led \u00c6neas to the\ncamp, leaning on his spear. Very wroth was he, and strove to draw forth\nthe arrow. And when he could not, he commanded that they should open the\nwound with the knife, and so send him back to the battle. Iapis also, the\nphysician, ministered to him. Now this Iapis was dearer than all other men\nto Apollo, and when the god would have given him all his arts, even\nprophecy and music and archery, he chose rather to know the virtues of\nherbs and the art of healing, that so he might prolong the life of his\nfather, who was even ready to die. This Iapis, then, having his garments\ngirt about him in healer's fashion, would have drawn forth the arrow with\nthe pincers, but could not. And while he strove, the battle came nearer,\nand the sky was hidden by clouds of dust, and javelins fell thick into the\ncamp. But when Venus saw how grievously her son was troubled, she brought\nfrom Ida, which is a mountain of Crete, the herb dittany. A hairy stalk it\nhath and a purple flower. The wild goats know it well if so be that they\nhave been wounded by arrows. This, then, Venus, having hidden her face,\nbrought and dipped into the water, and sprinkled there with ambrosia and\nsweet-smelling panacea.\n\nAnd Iapis, unawares, applied the water that had been healed; and lo! the\npain was stayed and the blood was staunched and the arrow came forth,\nthough no man drew it, and \u00c6neas's strength came back to him as before.\nThen said lapis, \"Art of mine hath not healed thee, my son. The Gods call\nthee to thy work.\" Then did \u00c6neas arm himself again, and when he had\nkissed Iulus and bidden him farewell, he went forth to the battle. And all\nthe chiefs went with him, and the men of Troy took courage and drave back\nthe Latins. Then befell a great slaughter, for Gyas slew Ufens, who was\nthe leader of the \u00c6quians; also Tolumnius, the great augur, was slain, who\nhad first broken the covenant, slaying a man with his spear. But \u00c6neas\ndeigned not to turn his hand against any man, seeking only for Turnus,\nthat he might fight with him. But when the nymph Juturna perceived this\nshe was sore afraid. Therefore she came near to the chariot of her\nbrother, and thrust out Metiscus, his charioteer, where he held the reins,\nand herself stood in his room, having made herself like to him in shape\nand voice. Then as a swallow flies through the halls and arcades of some\nrich man's house, seeking food for its young, so Juturna drave the chariot\nof her brother hither and thither. And ever \u00c6neas followed behind, and\ncalled to him that he should stay; but whenever he espied the man, and\nwould have overtaken him by running, then again did Juturna turn the\nhorses about and flee. And as he sped Messapus cast a spear at him. But\n\u00c6neas saw it coming, and put his shield over him, resting on his knee. Yet\ndid the spear smite him on the helmet-top and shear off the crest. Then\nindeed was his wrath kindled, and he rushed into the army of the enemy,\nslaying many as he went.\n\nThen was there a great slaughter made on this side and on that. But after\na while Venus put it into the heart of \u00c6neas that he should lead his army\nagainst the city. Therefore he called together the chiefs, and, standing\nin the midst of them on a mound, spake, saying, \"Hearken now to my words,\nand delay not to fulfill them, for of a truth Jupiter is on our side. I am\npurposed this day to lay this city of Latinus even with the ground, if\nthey still refuse to obey. For why should I wait for Turnus till it please\nhim to meet me in battle?\"\n\nThen did the whole array make for the walls of the city. And some carried\nfirebrands, and some scaling-ladders, and some slew the warders at the\ngates, and cast javelins at them who stood on the walls. And then there\narose a great strife in the city, for some would have opened the gates\nthat the men of Troy might enter, and others made haste to defend the\nwalls. Hither and thither did they run with much tumult, even as bees in a\nhive in a rock which a shepherd hath filled with smoke, having first shut\nall the doors thereof.\n\nThen also did other ill fortune befall the Latins, for when Queen Amata\nsaw from the roof of the palace that the enemy were come near to the\nwalls, and saw not anywhere the army of the Latins, she supposed Turnus to\nhave fallen in the battle. Whereupon, crying out that she was the cause of\nall these woes, she made a noose of the purple garment wherewith she was\nclad, and hanged herself from a beam of the roof. Then did lamentation go\nthrough the city, for the women wailed and tore their hair, and King\nLatinus rent his clothes and threw dust upon his head.\n\nBut the cry that went up from the city came to the ears of Turnus where he\nfought in the farthest part of the plain. And he caught the reins and\nsaid, \"What meaneth this sound of trouble and wailing that I hear?\" And\nthe false Metiscus, who was in truth his sister, made answer, \"Let us\nfight, O Turnus, here where the Gods give us victory. There are enough to\ndefend the city.\" But Turnus spake, saying, \"Nay, my sister, for who thou\nart I have known even from the beginning; it must not be so. Why camest\nthou down from heaven? Was it to see thy brother die? And now what shall I\ndo? Have I not seen Murranus die, and Ufens the \u00c6quian? And shall I suffer\nthis city to be destroyed? Shall this land see Turnus flee before his\nenemies? Be ye kind to me, O gods of the dead, seeing that the gods of\nheaven hate me. I come down to you a righteous spirit, and not unworthy of\nmy fathers.\"\n\nAnd even as he spake came Saces, riding on a horse that was covered with\nfoam, and on his face was the wound of an arrow. And he cried, \"O Turnus,\nour last hopes are in thee. For \u00c6neas is about to destroy the city, and\nthe firebrands are cast upon the roofs. And King Latinus is sore tried\nwith doubt, and the Queen hath laid hands upon herself and is dead. And\nnow only Messapus and Atinas maintain the battle, and the fight grows\nfierce around them, whilst thou drivest thy chariot about these empty\nfields.\"\n\nThen for a while Turnus stood speechless, and shame and grief and madness\nwere in his soul; and he looked to the city, and lo! the fire went up even\nto the top of the tower which he himself had builded upon the walls to be\na defense against the enemy. And when he saw it, he cried, \"It is enough,\nmy sister; I go whither the Gods call me. I will meet with \u00c6neas face to\nface, and endure my doom.\"\n\nAnd as he spake he leapt down from his chariot, and ran across the plain\ntill he came near to the city, even where the blood was deepest upon the\nearth, and the arrows were thickest in the air. And he beckoned with the\nhand and called to the Italians, saying, \"Stay now your arrows. I am come\nto fight this battle for you all.\" And when they heard it they left a\nspace in the midst. \u00c6neas also, when he heard the name of Turnus, left\nattacking the city, and came to meet him, mighty as Athos, or Eryx, or\nFather Apenninus, that raiseth his snowy head to the heavens. And the men\nof Troy and the Latins and King Latinus marveled to see them meet, so\nmighty they were.\n\nFirst they cast their spears at each other, and then ran together, and\ntheir shields struck one against the other with a crash that went up to\nthe sky. And Jupiter held the balance in heaven, weighing their doom. Then\nTurnus, rising to the stroke, smote fiercely with his sword. And the men\nof Troy and the Latins cried out when they saw him strike. But the\ntreacherous sword brake in the blow. And when he saw the empty hilt in his\nhand he turned to flee. They say that when he mounted his chariot that day\nto enter the battle, not heeding the matter in his haste, he left his\nfather's sword behind him, and took the sword of Metiscus, which, indeed,\nserved him well while the men of Troy fled before him, but brake, even as\nice breaks, when it came to the shield which Vulcan had made. Thereupon\nTurnus fled, and \u00c6neas, though the wound which the arrow had made hindered\nhim, pursued. Even as a hound follows a stag that is penned within some\nnarrow space, for the beast flees hither and thither, and the staunch\nUmbrian hound follows close upon him, and almost holds him, and snaps his\nteeth, yet bites him not, so did \u00c6neas follow hard on Turnus. And still\nTurnus cried out that some one should give him his sword, and \u00c6neas\nthreatened that he would destroy the city if any should help him. Five\ntimes about the space they ran; not for some prize they strove, but for\nthe life of Turnus. Now there stood in the plain the stump of a wild\nolive-tree. The tree was sacred to Faunus, but the men of Troy had cut it,\nand the stump only was left. Herein the spear of \u00c6neas was fixed, and now\nhe would have drawn it forth that he might slay Turnus therewith, seeing\nthat he could not overtake him by running. Which when Turnus perceived, he\ncried to Faunus, saying, \"O Faunus, if I have kept holy for thee that\nwhich the men of Troy have profaned, hold fast this spear.\" And the god\nheard him; nor could \u00c6neas draw it forth. But while he strove, Juturna,\ntaking again the form of Metiscus, ran and gave to Turnus his sword. And\nVenus, perceiving it, wrenched forth the spear from the stump. So the two\nstood again face to face.\n\nThen spake Jupiter to Juno, where she sat in a cloud watching the battle,\n\"How long wilt thou fight against fate? What purpose hast thou now in thy\nheart? Was it well that Juturna--for what could she avail without thy\nhelp?--should give back to Turnus his sword? Thou hast driven the men of\nTroy over land and sea, and kindled a dreadful war, and mingled the song\nof marriage with mourning. Further thou mayest not go.\"\n\nAnd Juno humbly made answer, \"This is thy will, great Father; else had I\nnot sat here, but stood in the battle smiting the men of Troy. And indeed\nI spake to Juturna that she should help her brother; but aught else I know\nnot. And now I yield. Yet grant me this. Suffer not that the Latins should\nbe called after the name of Troy, nor change their speech, nor their garb.\nLet Rome rule the world, but let Troy perish forever.\"\n\nThen spake with a smile the Maker of all things, \"Truly thou art a\ndaughter of Saturn, so fierce is the wrath of thy soul. And now what thou\nprayest I give. The Italians shall not change name, nor speech, nor garb.\nThe men of Troy shall mingle with them, and I will give them a new\nworship, and call them all Latins. Nor shall any race pay thee more honor\nthan they.\"\n\nThen Jupiter sent a fury from the pit. And she took the form of a bird,\neven of an owl that sitteth by night on the roof of a desolate house, and\nflew before the face of Turnus and flapped her wings against his shield.\nThen was Turnus stricken with great fear, so that his hair stood up and\nhis tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. And when Juturna knew the sound\nof the false bird what it was, she cried aloud for fear, and left her\nbrother and fled, hiding herself in the river of Tiber.\n\nBut \u00c6neas came on, shaking his spear that was like unto a tree, and said,\n\"Why delayest thou, O Turnus? Why drawest thou back? Fly now if thou canst\nthrough the air, or hide thyself in the earth.\" And Turnus made answer, \"I\nfear not thy threats, but the Gods and Jupiter, that are against me this\nday.\" And as he spake he saw-a great stone which lay hard by, the landmark\nof a field. Scarce could twelve chosen men, such as men are now, lift it\non their shoulders. This he caught from the earth and cast it at his\nenemy, running forward as he cast. But he knew not, so troubled was he in\nhis soul, that he ran or that he cast, for his knees tottered beneath him\nand his blood grew cold with fear. And the stone fell short, nor reached\nthe mark. Even as in a dream, when dull sleep is on the eyes of a man, he\nwould fain run but cannot, for his strength faileth him, neither cometh\nthere any voice when he would speak; so it fared with Turnus. For he\nlooked to the Latins and to the city, and saw the dreadful spear approach,\nnor knew how he might fly, neither how he might fight, and could not spy\nanywhere his chariot or his sister. And all the while \u00c6neas shook his\nspear and waited that his aim should be sure. And at the last he threw it\nwith all his might. Even as a whirlwind it flew, and brake through the\nseven folds of the shield and pierced the thigh. And Turnus dropped with\nhis knee bent to the ground. And all the Latins groaned aloud to see him\nfall. Then he entreated \u00c6neas, saying, \"I have deserved my fate. Take thou\nthat which thou hast won. Yet perchance thou mayest have pity on the old\nman, my father, even Daunus, for such an one was thy father Anchises, and\ngive me back to my own people, if it be but my body that thou givest. Yet\nhast thou conquered, and the Latins have seen me beg my life of thee, and\nLavinia is thine. Therefore I pray thee, stay now thy wrath.\" Then for a\nwhile \u00c6neas stood doubting; aye, and might have spared the man, when lo!\nhe spied upon his shoulders the belt of Pallas, whom he had slain. And his\nwrath was greatly kindled, and he cried with a dreadful voice, \"Shalt thou\nwho art clothed with the spoils of my friends escape me? 'Tis Pallas\nslays thee with this wound, and takes vengeance on thy accursed blood.\"\nAnd as he spake he drave the steel into his breast. And with a groan the\nwrathful spirit passed into darkness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAccording to the old legends \u00c6neas wedded the fair Lavinia, founded his\ncity of Lavinium, and ruled over it for three years. Then in a battle with\nthe Rutulians, or some other Italian people, he disappeared; and as his\nbody was not found after the conflict was over, it was believed that the\nGods had taken him up to heaven. His son Ascanius peacefully succeeded\nhim, and removed the capital of his kingdom to Alba Longa, which city\nagain, after the lapse of centuries, gave birth to mighty Rome.\n\n\n\n\nEND OF VOLUME III","title":"The Children's Hour, Volume 3 (of 10): Stories from the Classics","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":132897}