{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15616/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15616","id":"gutenberg_15616","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15616","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Gods, Greek -- Fiction","Gods, Norse -- Fiction","Knights and knighthood -- Fiction","Short stories"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\nHERO TALES\n\n\nBY\n\nJAMES BALDWIN\n\n\n\n\n\nAuthor of \"The Story of Siegfried,\" \"The Story of Roland,\" \"A Story of\nthe Golden Age,\" \"Baldwin's Readers,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\nCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n\n1914\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1904, BY\n\nCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n\n\n\n\nTO\n\nCARRIE EDITH AND NELLIE MAY\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nIn the world's literature there are certain stories which, told ages\nago, can never be forgotten.  They have within them that which gives\npleasure to all intelligent men, women and children.  They appeal to\nthe sympathies, the desires, and the admiration of all sorts and\nconditions of mankind.  These are the stories that are said to be\nimmortal.  They have been repeated and re-repeated in many forms and to\nall kinds of audiences.  They have been recited and sung in royal\npalaces, in the halls of mediaeval castles, and by the camp fires of\nwarring heroes.  Parents have taught them to their children, and\ngeneration after generation has preserved their memory.  They have been\nwritten on parchment and printed in books, translated into many\nlanguages, abridged, extended, edited, and \"adapted.\"  But through all\nthese changes and the vicissitudes of time, they still preserve the\nqualities that have made them so universally popular.\n\nChief among these masterpieces of imagination are the tales of gods and\nheroes that have come down to us from the golden age of Greece, and\nparticularly the tales of Troy that cluster around the narratives of\nold Homer in his \"Iliad\" and \"Odyssey.\"  Three thousand years or more\nhave passed since they were first recited, and yet they have lost none\nof their original charm.  Few persons of intelligence are unacquainted\nwith these tales, for our literature abounds in allusions to them; and\nno one who pretends to the possession of culture or learning can afford\nto be ignorant of them.\n\nSecond only in interest, especially to us of Anglo-Saxon descent, are\nthe hero tales of the ancient North and the stirring legends connected\nwith the \"Nibelungen Lied.\"  Of much later origin than the Greek\nstories, and somewhat inferior to them in refinement of thought and\ndelicacy of imagery, these tales partake of the rugged, forceful\ncharacter of the people among whom they were composed.  Yet, with all\ntheir austerity and sternness, they are replete with vivid action, and\nthey charm us by their very strength and the lessons which they teach\nof heroic endurance and the triumph of eternal justice.\n\nScarcely inferior to these latter, but not so well known to\nEnglish-speaking people, are the tales of knighthood and chivalry that\ncommemorate the romantic deeds of Charlemagne and his paladins.\nWritten in various languages, and at periods widely separated, these\ntales present a curious mixture of fact and fiction, of the real and\nthe marvellous, of the beautiful and the grotesque, of pagan\nsuperstition and Christian devotion.  Although there were, in truth, no\nknights in the time of Charlemagne, and the institution of chivalry did\nnot exist until many years later, yet these legends are of value as\nportraying life and manners in that period of history which we call the\nDark Ages; and their pictures of knightly courage and generosity,\nfaithfulness, and loyalty, appeal to our nobler feelings and stir our\nhearts with admiration.\n\nTo know something of these three great cycles, or groups, of classic\nand romantic stories--the hero tales of Troy, those of the ancient\nNorth, and those of Charlemagne--is essential to the acquirement of\nrefined literary tastes.  For this knowledge will go far toward helping\nits possessor to enjoy many things in our modern literature that would\notherwise be puzzling or obscure.  The importance, therefore, of\nplacing some of the best of such tales early within the reach of school\nchildren and all young readers cannot be disputed.\n\nIn three volumes somewhat larger than the present one--\"A Story of the\nGolden Age,\" \"The Story of Siegfried,\" and \"The Story of Roland\"--I\nhave already endeavored to introduce young readers to the most\ninteresting portions of these great cycles of romance, narrating in\neach the adventures of the hero who is the central figure in the group\nof legends or tales under consideration.  The present volume, made up\nof selections from these earlier books, has been prepared in response\nto repeated suggestions that certain portions of them, and especially\nsome of the independent shorter stories, are well adapted to use in\nreading-classes at school.  Of the seventeen stories herein presented,\nnine are from the \"Golden Age,\" four from \"Siegfried,\" and four from\n\"Roland.\"  They are, for the most part, episodes, complete in\nthemselves, and connected only by a slender thread with the main\nnarrative.  Their intrinsic value is in no way diminished by being thus\nseparated from their former setting, and each tale being independent of\nthe others, they lend themselves more readily to the demands of the\nschoolroom.\n\nIt is well to observe that in no case have I endeavored to repeat the\nstory in its exact original form.  To have done so would have defeated\nthe purpose in view; for without proper adaptation such stories are\nusually neither interesting nor intelligible to children.  I have\ntherefore recast and rearranged, using my own words, and adding here a\ntouch of color and here a fanciful idea, as the narrative has seemed to\npermit or as my audience of school children may demand.  Nevertheless,\nin the end, the essential features of each tale--those which give it\nvalue in its original form--remain unchanged.\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  How Apollo Came to Parnassus\n  The Hunt in the Wood of Calydon\n  The Choice of Hercules\n  Alpheus and Arethusa\n  The Golden Apple\n  Paris and Oenone\n  Hesione\n  Paris and Helen\n  Iphigenia\n  The Hoard of the Elves\n  The Forging of Balmung\n  Idun and Her Apples\n  The Doom of the Mischief-maker\n  The Hunt in the Wood of Puelle\n  Ogier the Dane and the Fairies\n  How Charlemagne Crossed the Alps\n  What Happened at Roncevaux\n\n\n\n\nHOW APOLLO CAME TO PARNASSUS\n\nA very long time ago, Apollo was born in the island of Delos.  When the\nglad news of his birth was told, Earth smiled, and decked herself with\nflowers; the nymphs of Delos sang songs of joy that were heard to the\nutmost bounds of Greece; and choirs of white swans flew seven times\naround the island, piping notes of praise to the pure being who had\ncome to dwell among men.  Then Zeus looked down from high Olympus, and\ncrowned the babe with a golden head-band, and put into his hands a\nsilver bow and a sweet-toned lyre such as no man had ever seen; and he\ngave him a team of white swans to drive, and bade him go forth to teach\nmen the things which are right and good, and to make light that which\nis hidden in darkness.\n\nSo Apollo arose, beautiful as the morning sun, and journeyed through\nmany lands, seeking a dwelling place.  He stopped for a time at the\nfoot of Mount Olympus, and played so sweetly upon his lyre that Zeus\nand all his court were entranced.  Then he wandered up and down through\nthe whole length of the Thessalian land; but nowhere could he find a\nspot in which he was willing to dwell.  At length he climbed into his\ncar, and bade his swan team fly with him to the country of the\nHyperboreans beyond the far-off northern mountains.  Forthwith they\nobeyed; and through the pure regions of the upper air they bore him,\nwinging their way ever northward.  They carried him over many an\nunknown land, and on the seventh day they came to the Snowy Mountains\nwhere the griffins, with lion bodies and eagle wings, guard the golden\ntreasures of the North.\n\nIn these mountains, the North Wind has his home; and from his deep\ncaves he now and then comes forth, chilling with his cold and angry\nbreath the orchards and the fair fields of Greece, and bringing death\nand dire disasters In his train.  But northward this blustering Boreas\ncannot blow, for the heaven-towering mountains stand like a wall\nagainst him, and drive him back.  Hence it is that beyond these\nmountains the storms of winter never come, but one happy springtime\nruns through all the year.  There the flowers bloom, and the grain\nripens, and the fruits drop mellowing to the earth, and the red wine is\npressed from the luscious grape, every day the same.\n\nThe Hyperboreans who dwell in that favored land know neither pain nor\nsickness, nor wearying labor nor eating care; but their youth is as\nunfading as the springtime, and old age with its wrinkles and its\nsorrows is evermore a stranger to them.  The spirit of evil, which\nwould lead all men to err, has never found entrance among them, and\nthey are free from vile passions and unworthy thoughts; and among them\nthere is neither war, nor wicked deeds, nor fear of the avenging\nFuries, for their hearts are pure and clean, and never burdened with\nthe love of self.\n\nWhen the swan team of silver-bowed Apollo had carried him over the\nSnowy Mountains, they alighted in the Hyperborean land.  And the people\nwelcomed Apollo with shouts of joy and songs of triumph, as one for\nwhom they had long been waiting.  He took up his abode there, and dwelt\nwith them one whole year, delighting them with his presence, and ruling\nover them as their king.  But when twelve moons had passed, he\nbethought him that the toiling, suffering men of Greece needed most his\naid and care.  Therefore he bade the Hyperboreans farewell, and again\nwent up into his sun-bright car; and his winged team carried him back\nto the land of his birth.\n\nLong time Apollo sought a place where he might build a temple to which\nmen might come to learn of him and to seek his help in time of need.\nAt length he came to a broad plain, by the shore of a beautiful lake;\nand there he began to build a house, for the land was a pleasant one,\nwell-watered, and rich in grain and fruit.  But the nymph that lived in\nthe lake liked not to have Apollo so near her, lest men seeing and\nloving him should forget to honor her; and one day, garmented with\nmosses and crowned with lilies, she came and stood before him in the\nsunlight.\n\n\"Apollo of the silver bow,\" said she, \"have you not made a mistake in\nchoosing this place for a dwelling?  These rich plains around us will\nnot always be as peaceful as now; for their very richness will tempt\nthe spoiler, and the song of the cicada will then give place to the din\nof battle.  Even in times of peace you would hardly have a quiet hour\nhere: for great herds of cattle come crowding down every day to my lake\nfor water; the noisy ploughman, driving his team afield, disturbs the\nmorning hour with his boorish shouts; and boys and dogs keep up a\nconstant din, and make life in this place a burden.\"\n\n\"Fair nymph,\" said Apollo, \"I had hoped to dwell here in thy happy\nvale, a neighbor and friend to thee.  Yet, since this place is not what\nit seems to be, whither shall I go, and where shall I build my house?\"\n\n\"Go to the cleft in Mount Parnassus,\" answered the nymph.  \"There thou\ncanst dwell in peace, and men will come from all parts of the world to\ndo thee honor.\"\n\nAnd so Apollo went down to Parnassus, and there in the cleft of the\nmountain he laid the foundations of his shrine.  Then he called the\nmaster architects of the world, Trophonius and Agamedes, and gave to\nthem the building of the high walls and the massive roof.  When they\nhad finished their work, he said, \"Say now what reward you most desire\nfor your labor, and I will give it you.\"\n\n\"Give us,\" said the brothers, \"that which is the best for men.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered Apollo.  \"When the full moon is seen above the\nmountain-tops, you shall have your wish.\"\n\nBut when the moon rose full and clear above the heights, the two\nbrothers were dead.\n\n\nApollo was pleased with the place which he had chosen for a home; for\nthere he found rest and quiet, and neither the hum of labor nor the din\nof battle was likely ever to enter.  One thing, however, must needs be\ndone before he could have perfect peace.  There lived near the foot of\nthe mountain a huge serpent called Python, which was the terror of all\nthe land.  Oftentimes, coming out of its den, this monster attacked the\nflocks and herds, and sometimes even their keepers; and it had been\nknown to carry little children and helpless women to its den, and there\ndevour them.\n\nThe men of the place came to Apollo, and prayed him to drive out or\ndestroy their terrible enemy.  So, taking in hand his silver bow, he\nsallied out at break of day to meet the monster when it should issue\nfrom its slimy cave.  The vile creature shrank back when it saw its\nradiant enemy, and would fain have hidden itself in the deep gorges of\nthe mountain.  But Apollo quickly launched a swift arrow at it, crying,\n\"Thou bane of man, lie thou upon the earth, and enrich it with thy dead\nbody!\"  The never-erring arrow sped to the mark; and the great beast\ndied, wallowing in its gore.  And the people in their joy came out to\nmeet the archer, singing paeans in his praise.  They crowned him with\nwild flowers and wreaths of olives, and hailed him as the Pythian king;\nand the nightingales sang to him in the groves, and the swallows and\ncicadas twittered and tuned their melodies in harmony with his lyre.\n\nBut as yet there were no priests in Apollo's temple; and he pondered,\nlong doubting, as to whom he should choose.  One day he stood upon the\nmountain's topmost peak, whence he could view all Greece and the seas\naround it.  Far away in the south, he spied a little ship sailing from\nCrete to sandy Pylos; and the men who were on board were Cretan\nmerchants.\n\n\"These men shall serve in my temple!\" he cried.\n\nUpward he sprang, and high he soared above the sea; then swiftly\ndescending like a fiery star, he plunged into the waves.  There he\nchanged himself into the form of a dolphin, and swam with speed to\novertake the vessel.\n\nLong before the ship had reached Pylos, the mighty fish came up with\nit, and struck its stern.  The crew were dumb with terror, and sat\nstill in their places; their oars were motionless; the sail hung limp\nand useless from the mast.  Yet the vessel sped through the waves with\nthe speed of the wind, for the dolphin was driving it forward by the\nforce of his fins.  Past many a headland, past Pylos and other pleasant\nharbors, they hastened.  Vainly did the pilot try to land at each\nfavorable place: the ship would not obey her helm.  They rounded the\nheadland of Araxus, and came into the long bay of Crissa; and there the\ndolphin left off guiding the vessel, and swam playfully around it,\nwhile a brisk west wind filled the sail, and bore the voyagers safely\ninto port.\n\nThen the dolphin changed into the form of a glowing star, which,\nshooting high into the heavens, lit up the whole world with its glory;\nand as the awe-stricken crew stood gazing at the wonder, it fell with\nthe quickness of light upon Mount Parnassus.  Into his temple Apollo\nhastened, and there he kindled an undying fire.  Then, in the form of a\nhandsome youth, with golden hair falling in waves upon his shoulders,\nhe hastened to the beach to welcome the Cretan strangers.\n\n\"Hall, seamen!\" he cried.  \"Who are you, and whence do you come?  Shall\nI greet you as friends and guests, or shall I know you as robbers\nbringing death and distress to many a fair home?\"\n\nThen answered the Cretan captain, \"Fair stranger, the gods have brought\nus hither; for by no wish of our own have we come.  We are Cretan\nmerchants, and we were on our way to Pylos with stores of merchandise,\nto barter with the tradesmen of that city.  But some unknown being,\nwhose might is greater than the might of men, has carried us far beyond\nour wished-for port, even to this unknown shore.  Tell us now, we pray\nthee, what land is this?  And who art thou who lookest so like a god?\"\n\n\"Friends and guests, for such indeed you must be,\" answered the radiant\nyouth, \"think never again of sailing upon the wine-faced sea, but draw\nnow your vessel high up on the beach.  And when you have brought out\nall your goods and built an altar upon the shore, take of your white\nbarley which you have with you, and offer it reverently to Phoebus\nApollo.  For I am he; and it was I who brought you hither, so that you\nmight keep my temple, and make known my wishes unto men.  And since it\nwas in the form of a dolphin that you first saw me, let the town which\nstands around my temple be known as Delphi [Dolphin], and let men\nworship me there as Apollo Delphinius.\"\n\nThen the Cretans did as he had bidden them: they drew their vessel high\nup on the white beach, and when they had unladen it of their goods,\nthey built an altar on the shore, and offered white barley to Phoebus\nApollo, and gave thanks to the ever-living powers who had saved them\nfrom the terrors of the deep.  After they had feasted and rested from\ntheir long voyage, they turned their faces toward Parnassus; and\nApollo, playing sweeter music than men had ever heard, led the way; and\nthe folk of Delphi, with choirs of boys and maidens, came to meet them,\nsinging songs of victory as they helped the Cretans up the steep\npathway to the temple in the cleft of the mountain.\n\n\"I leave you now to have sole care of my temple,\" said Apollo.  \"I\ncharge you to keep it well.  Deal righteously with all men; let no\nunclean thing pass your lips; forget self; guard well your thoughts,\nand keep your hearts free from guile.  If you do these things, you\nshall be blessed with length of days and all that makes life glad.  But\nif you forget my words, and deal treacherously with men, and cause any\nto wander from the path of right, then shall you be driven forth\nhomeless and accursed, and others shall take your places in the service\nof my house.\"\n\nThen the bright youth left them and hastened away to Mount Olympus.\nBut every year he came again, and looked into his house, and spoke\nwords of warning and of hope to his servants; and men say that he has\noften been seen on Parnassus, playing his lyre to the listening Muses,\nor with his sister, Artemis, chasing the mountain deer.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNT IN THE WOOD OF CALYDON\n\nRELATED BY AUTOLYCUS[1]\n\n\"When I was younger than I am to-day,\" said the old chief, as they sat\none evening in the light of the blazing brands--\"when I was much\nyounger than now, it was my fortune to take part in the most famous\nboar hunt the world has ever known.\n\n\"There lived at that time, in Calydon, a mighty chief named\nOineus--and, indeed, I know not but that he still lives.  Oineus was\nrich in vineyards and in orchards, and no other man in all Greece was\nhappier or more blessed than he.  He had married, early in life, the\nPrincess Althea, fairest of the maidens of Acarnania; and to them a son\nhad been born, golden-haired and beautiful, whom they called Meleager.\n\n\"When Meleager was yet but one day old, his father held him in his\narms, and prayed to Zeus and the mighty powers above: 'Grant, Father\nZeus, and all ye deathless ones, that this my son may be the foremost\namong the men of Greece.  And let it come to pass, that when they see\nhis valiant deeds, his countrymen shall say, \"Behold, this youth is\ngreater than his father,\" and all of one accord shall hail him as their\nguardian king.'\n\n\"Then his mother, Althea, weeping tears of joy, prayed that the boy\nmight grow up to be pure-minded and gentle, the hope and pride of his\nparents, and the delight and staff of their declining years.\n\n\"Scarcely had the words of prayer died from her lips, when there came\ninto her chamber the three unerring Fates who spin the destinies of\nmen.  White-robed and garlanded, they stood beside the babe, and with\nunwearied fingers drew out the lines of his untried life.  Clotho held\nthe golden distaff in her hand, and twirled and twisted the delicate\nthread.  Lachesis, now sad, now hopeful, with her long white fingers\nheld the hour-glass, and framed her lips to say, 'It is enough.'  And\nAtropos, blind and unpitying as the future always is, stood ready, with\ncruel shears, to clip the twist in twain.  Busily and silently Clotho\nspun; and the golden thread, thin as a spider's web, yet beautiful as a\nsunbeam, grew longer and more golden between her skilful fingers.  Then\nLachesis cried out, 'It is finished!'  But Atropos hid her shears\nbeneath her mantle, and said, 'Not so.  Behold, there is a brand\nburning upon the hearth.  Wait until it is all burned into ashes and\nsmoke, and then I will cut the thread of the child's life.  Spin on,\nsweet Clotho!'\n\n\"Quick as thought, Althea sprang forward, snatched the blazing brand\nfrom the hearth, and quenched its flame in a jar of water; and when she\nknew that not a single spark was left glowing upon it, she locked it\nsafely in a chest where none but she could find it.  As she did this,\nthe pitiless sisters vanished from her sight, saying as they flitted\nthrough the air, 'We bide our time.'\n\n\"Meleager grew up to be a tall and fair and gentle youth; and when at\nlast he became a man, he sailed on the ship Argo, with Jason and the\ngreat heroes of that day, in search of the Golden Fleece.  Many brave\ndeeds were his in foreign lands; and when he came home again to\nCalydon, he brought with him a fair young wife, gentle Cleopatra,\ndaughter of Idas the boaster.\n\n\"Oineus had gathered in his harvest; and he was glad and thankful in\nhis heart, because his fields had yielded plenteously; his vines had\nbeen loaded with purple grapes, and his orchards filled with abundance\nof pleasant fruit.  Grateful, as men should always be, to the givers of\npeace and plenty, he held within his halls a harvest festival, to which\nhe invited the brave and beautiful of all the country round.  Happy was\nthis feast, and the hours were bright with smiles and sunshine; and men\nforgot sorrow and labor, and thought only of the gladness of life.\n\n\"Then Oineus took of the first-fruits of his fields and his vineyards\nand his orchards, and offered them with much thankfulness to the givers\nof good.  But he forgot to deck the shrine of Artemis with gifts,\nlittle thinking that the huntress queen cared for anything which mortal\nmen might offer her.  Ah, woful mistake was that!  For, in her anger at\nthe slight, Artemis sent a savage boar, with ivory tusks and foaming\nmouth, to overrun the lands of Calydon.  Many a field did the monster\nravage, many a tree uproot; and all the growing vines, which late had\nborne so rich a vintage, were trampled to the ground.\n\n\"Sadly troubled was Oineus, and he knew not what to do.  For the fierce\nbeast could not be slain, but with his terrible tusks he had sent many\na rash hunter to an untimely death.  Then the young man Meleager said,\n'I will call together the heroes of Greece, and we will hunt the boar\nin the wood of Calydon.'\n\n\"So at the call of Meleager, the warriors flocked from every land, to\njoin in the hunt of the fierce wild boar.  Among them came Castor and\nPollux, the twin brothers; and Idas, the boaster, the father-in-law of\nMeleager; and mighty Jason, captain of the Argo; and Atalanta, the\nswift-footed daughter of Iasus, of Arcadia; and many Acarnanian\nhuntsmen led by the brothers of Queen Althea.  Thither also did I\nhasten, although men spitefully said that I was far more skilful in\ntaking tame beasts than in slaying wild ones.\n\n\"Nine days we feasted in the halls of Oineus; and every day we tried\nour skill with bows and arrows, and tested the strength of our\nwell-seasoned spears.  On the tenth, the bugles sounded, and hounds and\nhuntsmen gathered in the courtyard of the chief, chafing for the hunt.\n\n\"Soon we sallied forth from the town, a hundred huntsmen, with dogs\ninnumerable.  Through the fields and orchards, laid waste by the savage\nbeast, we passed; and Atalanta, keen of sight and swift of foot, her\nlong hair floating in the wind behind her, led all the rest.  It was\nnot long until, in a narrow dell once green with vines and trees, but\nnow strewn thick with withered branches, we roused the fierce creature\nfrom his lair.\n\n\"At first he fled, followed closely by the baying hounds.  Then\nsuddenly he faced his foes; with gnashing teeth and bloodshot eyes, he\ncharged furiously upon them.  A score of hounds were slain outright;\nand Cepheus, of Arcadia, rushing blindly onward, was caught by the\nbeast, and torn in pieces by his sharp tusks.  Then swift-footed\nAtalanta, bounding forward, struck the beast a deadly blow with her\nspear.  He stopped short, and ceased his furious onslaught.\n\n\"Terrible were the cries of the wounded creature, as he made a last\ncharge upon the huntsmen.  But Meleager with a skilful sword-thrust\npierced his heart and the beast fell weltering in his gore.  Great joy\nfilled the hearts of the Calydonians when they saw the scourge of their\nland laid low and helpless.  They quickly flayed the beast, and the\nheroes who had shared in the hunt divided the flesh among them; but the\nhead and the bristly hide they offered to Meleager.\n\n\"'Not to me does the prize belong,' he cried, 'but to Atalanta, the\nswift-footed huntress.  For the first wound--the true death stroke,\nindeed--was given by her; and to her, woman though she be, all honor\nand the prize must be awarded.'\n\n\"With these words, he bore the grinning head and the bristly hide to\nthe young huntress, and laid them at her feet.  Then his uncles, the\nbrothers of Queen Althea, rushed angrily forward, saying that no woman\nshould ever bear a prize away from them; and they seized the hide, and\nwould have taken it away, had not Meleager forbidden them.  Yet they\nwould not loose their hold upon the prize, but drew their swords, and\nwrathfully threatened Meleager's life.\n\n\"The hero's heart grew hot within him, and he shrank not from the\naffray.  Long and fearful was the struggle--uncles against nephew; but\nin the end the brothers of Althea lay bleeding upon the ground, while\nthe victor brought again the boar's hide, and laid it the second time\nat Atalanta's feet.  The fair huntress took the prize, and carried it\naway with her to deck her father's hall in the pleasant Arcadian land.\nAnd the heroes, when they had feasted nine other days with King Oineus,\nbetook themselves to their own homes.\n\n\"But the hearts of the Acarnanian hunters were bitter toward Meleager,\nbecause no part of the wild boar was awarded to them.  They called\ntheir chiefs around them, and all their brave men, and made war upon\nKing Oineus and Meleager.  Many battles did they fight round Calydon;\nyet so long as Meleager led his warriors to the fray, the Acarnanians\nfared but ill.\n\n\"Then Queen Althea, filled with grief for her brothers' untimely fate,\nforgot her love for her son, and prayed that her Acarnanian kinsmen\nmight prevail against him.  Upon the hard earth she knelt: she beat the\nground with her hands, and heaped the dust about her; and, weeping\nbitter tears, she called upon Hades to avenge her of Meleager.  And\neven as she prayed, the pitiless Furies, wandering amid the darkness,\nheard her cries, and came, obedient to her wishes.\n\n\"When Meleager heard that his mother had turned against him, he\nwithdrew in sorrow to his own house, and sought comfort and peace with\nhis wife, fair Cleopatra; and he would not lead his warriors any more\nto battle against the Acarnanians.  Then the enemy besieged the city: a\nfearful tumult rose about the gates; the high towers were assaulted,\nand everywhere the Calydonians were driven back dismayed and beaten.\n\n\"With uplifted hands and tearful eyes, King Oineus and the elders of\nthe city came to Meleager, and besought him to take the field again.\nRich gifts they offered him.  They bade him choose for his own the most\nfertile farm in Calydon--at the least fifty acres, half for tillage and\nhalf for vines; but he would not listen to them.\n\n\"The din of battle thickened outside the gates; the towers shook with\nthe thundering blows of the besiegers.  Old Oineus with trembling limbs\nclimbed up the stairway to his son's secluded chamber, and, weeping,\nprayed him to come down and save the city from fire and pillage.  Still\nhe kept silent, and went not.  His sisters came, and his most trusted\nfriends.  'Come, Meleager,' they prayed, 'forget thy grief, and think\nonly of our great need.  Aid thy people, or we shall all perish!'\n\n\"None of these prayers moved him.  The gates were beaten down; the\nenemy was within the walls; the tide of battle shook the very tower\nwhere Meleager sat; the doom of Calydon seemed to be sealed.  Then came\nthe fair Cleopatra, and knelt before her husband, and besought him to\nwithhold no longer the aid which he alone could give.  'O Meleager,'\nshe sobbed, 'none but thou can save us.  Wilt thou sit still, and see\nthe city laid in ashes, thy dearest friends slaughtered, and thy wife\nand sweet babes dragged from their homes and sold into cruel slavery?'\n\n\"Then Meleager rose and girded on his armor.  To the streets he\nhastened, shouting his well-known battle cry.  Eagerly and hopefully\ndid the Calydonian warriors rally around him.  Fiercely did they meet\nthe foe.  Terrible was the bloodshed.  Back from the battered gates and\nthe crumbling wall the Acarnanian hosts were driven.  A panic seized\nupon them.  They turned and fled, and not many of them escaped the\nswords of Meleager's men.\n\n\"Again there was peace in Calydon, and the orchards of King Oineus\nblossomed and bore fruit as of old; but the gifts and large rewards\nwhich the elders had promised to Meleager were forgotten.  He had saved\nhis country, but his countrymen were ungrateful.\n\n\"Meleager again laid aside his war gear, and sought the quiet of his\nown home and the cheering presence of fair Cleopatra.  For the\nremembrance of his mother's curse and his country's ingratitude weighed\nheavily on his mind, and he cared no longer to mingle with his fellow\nmen.\n\n\"Then it was that Althea's hatred of her son waxed stronger, and she\nthought of the half-burned brand which she had hidden, and of the words\nwhich the Fatal Sisters had spoken so many years before.\n\n\"'He is no longer my son,' said she, 'and why should I withhold the\nburning of the brand?  He can never again bring comfort to my heart;\nfor the blood of my brothers, whom I loved, is upon his head.'\n\n\"And she took the charred billet from the place where she had hidden\nit, and cast it again into the flames.  And as it slowly burned away,\nso did the life of Meleager wane.  Lovingly he bade his wife farewell;\nsoftly he whispered a prayer to the unseen powers above; and as the\nflickering flames of the fatal brand died into darkness, he gently\nbreathed his last.\n\n\"Then sharp-toothed remorse seized upon Althea, and the mother love\nwhich had slept in her bosom was reawakened.  Too late, also, the folk\nof Calydon remembered who it was that had saved them from slavery and\ndeath.  Down into the comfortless halls of Hades, Althea hastened to\nseek her son's forgiveness.  The loving heart of Cleopatra, surcharged\nwith grief, was broken; and her gentle spirit fled to the world of\nshades to meet that of her hero-husband.  Meleager's sisters would not\nbe consoled, so great was the sorrow which had come upon them; and they\nwept and lamented day and night, until kind Artemis in pity for their\nyouth changed them into the birds which we call Meleagrides.\"\n\n\n[1]Autolycus was a famous mountain chief who lived in rude state on the\nslopes of Parnassus and was noted for his courage and cunning.  He was\nthe grandfather of Odysseus (Ulysses), to whom the story is supposed to\nhave been related.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHOICE OF HERCULES\n\nWhen Hercules was a fair-faced youth, and life was all before him, he\nwent out one morning to do an errand for his stepfather.  But as he\nwalked his heart was full of bitter thoughts; and he murmured because\nothers no better than himself were living in ease and pleasure, while\nfor him there was naught but a life of labor and pain.\n\nAs he thought upon these things, he came to a place where two roads\nmet; and he stopped, not certain which one to take.\n\nThe road on his right was hilly and rough; there was no beauty in it or\nabout it: but he saw that it led straight toward the blue mountains in\nthe far distance.\n\nThe road on his left was broad and smooth, with shade trees on either\nside, where sang an innumerable choir of birds; and it went winding\namong green meadows, where bloomed countless flowers: but it ended in\nfog and mist long before it reached the wonderful blue mountains in the\ndistance.\n\nWhile the lad stood in doubt as to these roads, he saw two fair women\ncoming toward him, each on a different road.  The one who came by the\nflowery way reached him first, and Hercules saw that she was as\nbeautiful as a summer day.\n\nHer cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled; she, spoke warm, persuasive\nwords.  \"O noble youth,\" she said, \"be no longer bowed down with labor\nand sore trials, but come and follow me, I will lead you into pleasant\npaths, where there are no storms to disturb and no troubles to annoy.\nYou shall live in ease, with one unending round of music and mirth; and\nyou shall not want for anything that makes life joyous--sparkling wine,\nor soft couches, or rich robes, or the loving eyes of beautiful\nmaidens.  Come with me, and life shall be to you a day-dream of\ngladness.\"\n\nBy this time the other fair woman had drawn near, and she now spoke to\nthe lad.  \"I have nothing to promise you,\" said she, \"save that which\nyou shall win with your own strength.  The road upon which I would lead\nyou is uneven and hard, and climbs many a hill, and descends into many\na valley and quagmire.  The views which you will sometimes get from the\nhilltops are grand and glorious, but the deep valleys are dark, and the\nascent from them is toilsome.  Nevertheless, the road leads to the blue\nmountains of endless fame, which you see far away on the horizon.  They\ncannot be reached without labor; in fact, there is nothing worth having\nthat must not be won by toil.  If you would have fruits and flowers,\nyou must plant them and care for them; if you would gain the love of\nyour fellow men, you must love them and suffer for them; if you would\nenjoy the favor of Heaven, you must make yourself worthy of that favor;\nif you would have eternal fame, you must not scorn the hard road that\nleads to it.\"\n\nThen Hercules saw that this lady, although she was as beautiful as the\nother, had a countenance pure and gentle, like the sky on a balmy\nmorning in May.\n\n\"What is your name?\" he asked.\n\n\"Some call me Labor,\" she answered, \"but others know me as Virtue.\"\n\nThen he turned to the first lady.  \"And what is your name?\" he asked.\n\n\"Some call me Pleasure,\" she said, with a bewitching smile, \"but I\nchoose to be known as the Joyous and Happy One.\"\n\n\"Virtue,\" said Hercules, \"I will take thee as my guide!  The road of\nlabor and honest effort shall be mine, and my heart shall no longer\ncherish bitterness or discontent.\"\n\nAnd he put his hand into that of Virtue, and entered with her upon the\nstraight and forbidding road which leads to the fair blue mountains on\nthe pale and distant horizon.\n\n\n\n\nALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA\n\nIn Arcadia there is a little mountain stream called Alpheus.  It flows\nthrough woods and meadows and among the hills for many miles, and then\nit sinks beneath the rocks.  Farther down the valley it rises again,\nand dancing and sparkling, as if in happy chase of something, it\nhurries onward towards the plain; but soon it hides itself a second\ntime in underground caverns, making its way through rocky tunnels where\nthe light of day has never been.  Then at last it gushes once more from\nits prison chambers; and, flowing thence with many windings through the\nfields of Elis, it empties its waters into the sea.\n\nYears ago there was no river Alpheus; the channel through which it\nflows had not then been hollowed out, and rank grass and tall bending\nreeds grew thick where now its waters sparkle brightest.  It was then\nthat a huntsman, bearing the name of Alpheus, ranged through the woods,\nand chased the wild deer among the glades and glens of sweet Arcadia.\nFar away by the lonely sea dwelt his fair young wife, and his lovely\nbabe Orsilochus; but dearer than home or wife or babe to Alpheus, was\nthe free life of the huntsman among the mountain solitudes.  For he\nloved the woods and the blue sky and the singing birds, and the frail\nflowers upon the hillside; and he longed to live among them always,\nwhere his ears could listen to their music, and his eyes look upon\ntheir beauty.\n\n\"O Artemis, huntress queen!\" he cried, \"I ask but one boon of thee.\nLet me ramble forever among these happy scenes!\"\n\nArtemis heard him, and answered his prayer.  For, as he spoke, a bright\nvision passed before him.  A sweet-faced maiden went tripping down the\nvalley, culling the choicest flowers, and singing of hope and joy and\nthe blessedness of a life pure and true.  It was Arethusa, the Arcadian\nnymph, by some supposed to be a daughter of old Nereus, the elder of\nthe sea.\n\nThen Alpheus heard no more the songs of the birds, or the music of the\nbreeze; he saw no longer the blue sky above him, or the nodding flowers\nat his feet: he was blind and deaf to all the world, save only the\nbeautiful nymph.  Arethusa was the world to him.\n\nHe reached out his arms to catch her; but, swifter than a frightened\ndeer, she fled down the valley, through deep ravines and grassy glades\nand rocky caverns underneath the hills, and out into the grassy\nmeadows, and across the plains of Elis, to the sounding sea.  And\nAlpheus followed, forgetful of everything but the fleeing vision.\nWhen, at length, he reached the sea, he looked back; and, lo! he was no\nlonger a huntsman, but a river doomed to meander forever among the\nscenes, for love of which he had forgotten his wife and his babe and\nthe duties of life.  It was thus that Artemis answered his prayer.\n\nAnd men say that Arethusa, the nymph, was afterwards changed into a\nfountain; and that to this day, in the far-off island of Ortygia, that\nfountain gushes from the rocks in an unfailing, crystal stream.  But\nOrsilochus, the babe forgotten by his father, grew to manhood, and in\ncourse of time became the king of the seafaring people of Messene.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN APPLE\n\nRELATED BY CHEIRON THE CENTAUR[1]\n\n\"There is a cavern somewhere on Mount Pelion larger by far and a\nthousand times more beautiful than this; but its doorway is hidden to\nmortals, and but few men have ever stood beneath its vaulted roof.  In\nthat cavern the ever-living ones who oversee the affairs of men, once\nheld high carnival; for they had met there at the marriage feast of\nKing Peleus, and the woods and rocks of mighty Pelion echoed with the\nsound of their merry-making.  But wherefore should the marriage feast\nof a mortal be held in such a place and with guests so noble and so\ngreat?  I will tell you.\n\n\"After Peleus had escaped from a plot which some wicked men had made\nfor his destruction, he dwelt long time with me, who am his\ngrandfather.  But the days seemed long to him, thus shut out from\nfellowship with men, and the sun seemed to move slowly in the heavens;\nand often he would walk around to the other side of the mountain, and\nsitting upon a great rock, he would gaze for long hours upon the purple\nwaters of the sea.  One morning as thus he sat, he saw the sea nymph\nThetis come up out of the waves and walk upon the shore beneath him.\nFairer than a dream was she--more beautiful than any picture of nymph\nor goddess.  She was clad in a robe of green silk, woven by the sea\nmaidens in their watery grottoes; and there was a chaplet of pearls\nupon her head, and sandals of sparkling silver were upon her feet.\n\n\"As Peleus gazed upon this lovely creature, he heard a voice whispering\nin his ear.  It was the voice of wise Athena.\n\n\"'Most luckless of mortal men,' she said, 'there is recompense in store\nfor those who repent of their wrong-doing, and who, leaving the paths\nof error, turn again to the road of virtue.  The immortals have seen\nthy sorrow for the evil deeds of thy youth, and they have looked with\npity upon thee in thy misfortunes.  And now thy days of exile and of\nsore punishment are drawing to an end.  Behold the silver-footed\nThetis, most beautiful of the nymphs of the sea, whom even the\nimmortals have wooed in vain!  She has been sent to this shore, to be\nwon and wedded by thee.'\n\n\"Peleus looked up to see the speaker of these words, but he beheld only\na blue cloud resting above the mountain-top; he turned his eyes\ndownward again, and, to his grief, the silver-footed Thetis had\nvanished in the waves.  All day he sat and waited for her return, but\nshe came not.  When darkness began to fall he sought me in my cave\nhall, and told me what he had seen and heard; and I taught him how to\nwin the sea nymph for his bride.\n\n\"So when the sun again gilded the crags of Pelion, brave Peleus hid\nhimself among the rocks close by the sea-washed shore, and waited for\nthe coming of the silver-footed lady of the sea.  In a little time she\nrose, beautiful as the star of morning, from the waves.  She sat down\nupon the beach, and dallied with her golden tresses, and sang sweet\nsongs of a happy land in the depths of the sounding sea.  Peleus,\nbearing in mind what I had taught him, arose from his hiding-place, and\ncaught the beauteous creature in his arms.  In vain did she struggle to\nleap into the waves.  Seven times she changed her form as he held her:\nby turns she changed into a fountain of water, into a cloud of mist,\ninto a burning flame, and into a senseless rock.  But Peleus held her\nfast; and she changed then into a tawny lion, and then into a tall\ntree, and lastly she took her own matchless form again.\n\n\"Then Peleus held the lovely Thetis by the hand, and they walked long\ntime together upon the beach, while the birds sang among the trees on\nPelion's leafy slopes, and the dolphins sported in the waters at their\nfeet.  Thus Peleus wooed the silver-footed lady, and won her love, and\nshe promised to be his bride.  Then the immortals were glad; and they\nfitted up the great cavern on Mount Pelion for a banquet hall, and made\ntherein a wedding feast, such as was never seen before.  The vaulted\nroof of the cavern was decked with gems which shone like the stars of\nheaven; a thousand torches, held by lovely mountain nymphs, flamed from\nthe niches in the high walls; and upon the floor of polished marble,\ntables for a thousand guests were ranged.\n\n\"When the wedding feast was ready, all those who live on high Olympus,\nand all the immortals who dwell upon the earth, came to rejoice with\nKing Peleus and his matchless bride; and they brought rich presents for\nthe bridegroom, such as were never given to another man.  One gave him\na suit of armor, rich and fair, a wonder to behold, which lame Vulcan\nwith rare skill had wrought and fashioned.  One bestowed on him the\npeerless horses, Ballos and Xanthos, and a deftly wrought chariot with\ntrimmings of gold.  And I, one of the least of the guests, gave him an\nashen spear which I had cut on the mountain top and fashioned with my\nown hands.\n\n\"At the tables sat Zeus, the father of gods and men; and his wife, the\nwhite-armed Hera; and smile-loving Aphrodite; and gray-eyed Athena; and\nall the wisest and the fairest of the immortals.  The nymphs of the sea\ndanced in honor of Thetis their sister; and the Muses sang their\nsweetest songs; and Apollo played upon the lyre.  The Fates, too, were\nthere: sad Clotho, twirling her spindle; unloving Lachesis, with\nwrinkled lips ready to speak the fatal word; and pitiless Atropos,\nholding in her hand the unsparing shears.  And around the table passed\nthe youthful and joy-giving Hebe, pouring out rich draughts of nectar\nfor the guests.\n\n\"But there was one among all the immortals who had not been invited to\nthe wedding; it was Eris, the daughter of War and Hate.  Her scowling\nfeatures, and her hot and hasty manners, were ill suited to grace a\nfeast where all should be mirth and gladness; yet in her evil heart she\nplanned to be avenged for the slight which had been put upon her.\nWhile the merry-making was at its height, and the company were\nlistening to the music from Apollo's lyre, she came unseen into the\nhall, and threw a golden apple upon the table.  No one knew whence the\napple came; but on it were written these words, 'FOR THE FAIREST.'\n\n\"'To whom does it belong?' asked Zeus, stroking his brows in sad\nperplexity.\n\n\"The music ceased, and mirth and jollity fled at once from the banquet.\nThe torches, which lit up the scene, flickered and smoked; the lustre\nof the gems in the vaulted roof was dimmed; dark clouds canopied the\ngreat hall: for Eris had taken her place at the table, uninvited and\nunwelcome though she was.\n\n\"'The apple belongs to me,' said Hera, trying to snatch it; 'for I am\nthe queen, and gods and men honor me as having no peer on earth.'\n\n\"'Not so!' cried red-lipped Aphrodite.  'With me dwell Love and Joy;\nand not only do gods and men sing my praises, but all nature rejoices\nin my presence.  The apple is mine, and I will have it!'\n\n\"Then Athena joined in the quarrel.  'What is it to be a queen,' said\nshe, 'if at the same time one lacks that good temper which sweetens\nlife?  What is it to have a handsome form and face, while the mind is\nuncouth and ill-looking?  Beauty of mind is better than beauty of face;\nfor the former is immortal, while the latter fades and dies.  Hence no\none has a better right than I to be called the fairest.'\n\n\"Then the strife spread among the guests in the hall, each taking sides\nwith the one he loved best; and, where peace and merriment had reigned,\nnow hot words and bitter wrangling were heard.  And had not Zeus bidden\nthem keep silence, thus putting an end to the quarrel, all Pelion would\nhave been rent, and the earth shaken to its centre in the mellay that\nwould have followed.\n\n\"'Let us waste no words over this matter,' he said.  'It is not for the\nimmortals to say who of their number is most beautiful.  But on the\nslopes of Mount Ida, far across the sea, the fairest of the sons of\nmen--Paris, a prince of Troy--keeps his flocks; let him judge who is\nfairest, and let the apple be hers to whom he gives it.'\n\n\"Then Hermes, the swift-footed messenger, arose, and led the three\ngoddesses over sea and land to distant Mount Ida, where Paris, with no\nthought of the wonderful life which lay before him, piped on his\nshepherd's reeds, and tended his flock of sheep.\"\n\n\n\n[1]Cheiron the Centaur lived in a cavern on Mount Pelion and was\nreputed to be the wisest of mortals.  All the young heroes of the time,\nJason, Achilles, and others, were his pupils and spent their boyhood\nwith him.  He is sometimes represented as having the head of a man and\nthe body of a horse; but it is probable that he was only one of a race\nof men noted for their skill in horsemanship.  This story is supposed\nto have been related by him to young Odysseus (Ulysses), who visited\nhim in his cavern.\n\n\n\n\nPARIS AND CENONE\n\nRELATED BY CHEIRON THE CENTAUR\n\n\"On the other side of the sea there stands a city, rich and mighty, the\nlike of which there is none in Greece.  The name of this city is Troy,\nalthough its inhabitants call it Ilios.  There an old man, named Priam,\nrules over a happy and peace-loving people.  He dwells in a great\npalace of polished marble, on a hill overlooking the plain; and his\ngranaries are stored with corn, and his flocks and herds are pastured\non the hills and mountain slopes behind the city.\n\n\"Many sons has King Priam; and they are brave and noble youths, well\nworthy of such a father.  The eldest of these sons is Hector, who, the\nTrojans hope, will live to bring great honor to his native land.\n\n\"Just before the second son was born, a strange thing troubled the\nfamily of old Priam.  The queen dreamed that her babe had turned into a\nfirebrand, which burned up the walls and the high towers of Troy, and\nleft but smouldering ashes where once the proud city stood.  She told\nthe king her dream; and when the child was born, they called a\nsoothsayer, who could foresee the mysteries of the future, and they\nasked him what the vision meant.\n\n\"'It means,' said he, 'that this babe, if he lives, shall be a\nfirebrand in Troy, and shall turn its walls and its high towers into\nheaps of smouldering ashes.'\n\n\"'But what shall be done with the child, that he may not do this\nterrible thing?' asked Priam, greatly sorrowing, for the babe was very\nbeautiful.\n\n\"'Do not suffer that he shall live,' answered the soothsayer.\n\n\"Priam, the gentlest and most kind-hearted of men, could not bear to\nharm the babe.  So he called his master shepherd, and bade him take the\nhelpless child into the thick woods, which grow high up on the slopes\nof Mount Ida, behind the city, and there to leave him alone.  The wild\nbeasts that roam among those woods, he thought, would doubtless find\nhim, or, in any case, he could not live long without care and\nnourishment; and thus the dangerous brand would be quenched while yet\nit was scarcely a spark.\n\n\"The shepherd did as he was bidden, although it cost his heart many a\nsharp pang thus to deal barbarously with the innocent.  He laid the\nsmiling infant, wrapped in its broidered tunic, close by the foot of an\noak, and then hurried away that he might not hear its cries.\n\n\"But the nymphs who haunt the woods and groves, saw the babe, and\npitied its helplessness, and cared for it so that it did not die.  Some\nbrought it yellow honey from the stores of the wild bees; some fed it\nwith milk from the white goats that pastured on the mountain side; and\nothers stood as sentinels around it, guarding it from the wolves and\nbears.\n\n\"Thus five days passed, and then the shepherd, who could not forget the\nbabe, came cautiously to the spot to see if, mayhap, even its broidered\ncloak had been spared by the beasts.  Sorrowful and shuddering he\nglanced toward the foot of the tree.  To his surprise, the babe was\nstill there; it looked up and smiled, and stretched its fat hands\ntoward him.  The shepherd's heart would not let him turn away the\nsecond time.  He took the child in his arms, and carried it to his own\nhumble home in the valley, where he cared for it and brought it up as\nhis own son.\n\n\"The boy grew to be very tall and very handsome; and he was so brave,\nand so helpful to the shepherds around Mount Ida, that they called him\nAlexandros, or the helper of men; but his foster-father named him\nParis.  As he tended his sheep in the mountain dells, he met Oenone,\nthe fairest of the river maidens, guileless and pure as the waters of\nthe stream by whose banks she loved to wander.  Day after day he sat\nwith her in the shadow of her woodland home, and talked of innocence\nand beauty, and of a life of sweet contentment, and of love; and the\nmaiden listened to him with wide-open eyes and a heart full of\ntrustfulness and faith.\n\n\"By and by, Paris and Oenone were wedded; and their little cottage in\nthe mountain glen was the fairest and happiest spot in Ilios.  The days\nsped swiftly by, and neither of them dreamed that any sorrow was in\nstore for them; and to Oenone her shepherd husband was all the world,\nbecause he was so noble and brave and handsome and gentle.\n\n\"One warm summer afternoon, Paris sat in the shade of a tree at the\nfoot of Mount Ida, while his flocks were pasturing upon the hillside\nbefore him.  The bees were humming lazily among the flowers; the\ncicadas were chirping among the leaves above his head; and now and then\na bird twittered softly among the bushes behind him.  All else was\nstill, as if enjoying to the full the delicious calm of that pleasant\nday.\n\n\"Paris was fashioning a slender reed into a shepherd's flute; while\nOenone, sitting in the deeper shadows of some clustering vines, was\nbusy with some simple piece of needlework.\n\n\"A sound as of sweet music caused the young shepherd to raise his eyes.\nBefore him stood the four immortals, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, and\nHermes the messenger; their faces shone with a dazzling radiance, and\nthey were fairer than any tongue can describe.  At their feet rare\nflowers sprang up, crocuses and asphodels and white lilies; and the air\nwas filled with the odor of orange blossoms.  Paris, scarce knowing\nwhat he did, arose to greet them.  No handsomer youth ever stood in the\npresence of beauty.  Straight as a mountain pine was he; a leopard-skin\nhung carelessly upon his shoulders; his head was bare, but his locks\nclustered round his temples in sunny curls, and formed fit framework\nfor his fair brows.\n\n\"Hermes spoke first: 'Paris, we have come to seek thy help; there is\nstrife among the folk who dwell on Mount Olympus.  Here are Hera,\nAthena, and Aphrodite, each claiming to be the fairest, and each\nclamoring for this prize, this golden apple.  Now we pray that you will\njudge this matter, and give the apple to the one whom you may deem most\nbeautiful.'\n\n\"Then Hera began her plea at once: 'I know that I am fairest,' she\nsaid, 'for I am queen, and mine it is to rule among gods and men.  Give\nme the prize, and you shall have wealth, and a kingdom, and great\nglory; and men in aftertimes shall sing your praises.'\n\n\"And Paris was half tempted to give the apple, without further ado, to\nHera, the proud queen.  But gray-eyed Athena spoke: 'There is that,\nfair youth, which is better than riches or honor or great glory.\nListen to me, and I will give thee wisdom and a pure heart; and thy\nlife shall be crowned with peace, and sweetened with love, and made\nstrong by knowledge.  And though men may not sing of thee in\nafter-times, thou shall find lasting happiness in the answer of a good\nconscience towards all things.\"\n\n\"Then Oenone whispered from her place among the leaves, 'Give the prize\nto Athena; she is the fairest.'  And Paris would have placed the golden\napple in her hand, had not Aphrodite stepped quickly forward, and in\nthe sweetest, merriest tones, addressed him.\n\n\"'You may look at my face, and judge for yourself as to whether I am\nfair,' said she laughing, and tossing her curls.  'All I shall say is\nthis: Give me the prize, and you shall have for your wife the most\nbeautiful woman in the world.'\n\n\"The heart of Oenone stood still as Paris placed the apple in\nAphrodite's hand; and a nameless dread came over her, as if the earth\nwere sinking beneath her feet.  But the next moment the blood came back\nto her cheeks, and she breathed free and strong again; for she heard\nParis say, 'I have a wife, Oenone, who to me is the loveliest of\nmortals, and I care not for your offer; yet I give to you the apple,\nfor I know that you are the fairest among the deathless ones who live\non high Olympus.'\"\n\n\n\"On the very next day it happened that King Priam sat thoughtfully in\nhis palace, and all his boys and girls--nearly fifty in number--were\nabout him.  His mind turned sadly to the little babe whom he had sent\naway, many years ago, to die alone on wooded Ida.  And he said to\nhimself, 'The child has been long dead, and yet no feast has been given\nto the gods that they may make his little spirit glad in the shadowy\nland of Hades.  This must not be neglected longer.  Within three days a\nfeast must be made, and we will hold games in his honor.'\n\n\"Then he called his servants, and bade them go to the pastures on Mount\nIda, and choose from the herds that were there the fattest and\nhandsomest bull, to be given as a prize to the winner in the games.\nAnd he proclaimed through all Ilios, that on the third day there would\nbe a great feast in his palace, and games would be held in honor of the\nlittle babe who had died twenty years before.\n\n\"Now, when the servants came to Mount Ida, they chose a bull for which\nParis had long cared, and which he loved more than any other.  He\nprotested and would not let the beast be driven from the pasture until\nit was agreed that he might go to the city with it and contend in the\ngames for the prize.  But Oenone, the river nymph, wept and prayed him\nnot to go.\n\n\"'Leave not the pleasant pasture lands of Ida, even for a day,' said\nshe; 'for my heart tells me that you will not return.'\n\n\"'Think not so, my fair one,' said Paris.  'Did not Aphrodite promise\nthat the most beautiful woman in the world shall be my wife?  And who\nis more beautiful than my own Oenone?  Dry now your tears; for when I\nhave won the prizes in the games I will come back to you, and never\nleave you again.'\n\n\"Then the grief of Oenone waxed still greater.  'If you will go,' she\ncried, 'then hear my warning!  Long years shall pass ere you shall come\nagain to wooded Ida, and the hearts which now are young shall grow old\nand feeble by reason of much sorrow.  Cruel war and many dire disasters\nshall overtake you, and death shall be nigh unto you; and then Oenone,\nalthough long forgotten by you, will hasten to your side, to help and\nto heal and to forgive, that so the old love may live again.  Farewell!'\n\n\"Then Paris kissed his wife, and hastened, light of heart, to Troy.\nHow could it be otherwise but that, in the games which followed, the\nhandsome young shepherd should carry off all the prizes?\n\n\"'Who are you?' asked the king.\n\n\"'My name is Paris,' answered the shepherd, 'and I feed the flocks and\nherds on wooded Ida.'\n\n\"Then Hector, full of wrath because of his own failure to win a prize,\ncame forward to dispute with Paris.\n\n\"'Stand there, Hector,' cried old Priam; 'stand close to the young\nshepherd, and let us look at you!'  Then turning to the queen, he\nasked, 'Did you ever see two so nearly alike?  The shepherd is fairer\nand of slighter build, it is true; but they have the same eye, the same\nfrown, the same smile, the same motion of the shoulders, the same walk.\nAh, what if the young babe did not die after all?'\n\n\"Then Priam's daughter, Cassandra, who had the gift of prophecy, cried\nout, 'Oh, blind of eye and heart, that you cannot see in this young\nshepherd the child whom you sent to sleep the sleep of death on Ida's\nwooded slopes!'\n\n\"And so it came about, that Paris was taken into his father's house,\nand given the place of honor which was his by right.  And he forgot\nOenone, his fair young wife, and left her to pine in loneliness among\nthe woods and in the narrow dells of sunny Ida.\"\n\n\n\n\nHESIONE\n\nRELATED BY MENELAUS[1]\n\nWith troubled brow and anxious heart, Menelaus sat in Nestor's halls,\nand told the story of his wrongs.  Behind him stood his brother,\nAgamemnon, tall and strong, and with eye and forehead like mighty Zeus.\nBefore him, seated on a fair embroidered couch, was the aged Nestor,\nlistening with eager ears.  Close by his feet two heroes sat: on this\nside, Antilochus, the valiant son of Nestor; and on that, sage\nPalamedes, prince of Euboea's distant shores.  The last had just\narrived, and had not learned the errand that had brought Menelaus\nhither.\n\n\"Tell again the story of your visit to Troy,\" said Nestor.  \"Our guest,\ngood Palamedes, would fain hear it; and I doubt not that he may be of\nservice in your cause.  Tell us the whole story, for we would all know\nmore about the famous city and its kingly rulers.\"\n\nThen Menelaus began once more at the beginning.\n\n\nTHE STORY\n\nThere is no need that I should speak of my long voyage to Troy, or of\nthe causes which persuaded me to undertake it.  When I drew near the\nlofty walls of the city, and through the gate, which is called Scaean,\ncould see the rows of stately dwellings and the busy market-place and\nthe crowds of people, I stopped there in wonder, hesitating to venture\nfarther.\n\nThen I sent a herald to the gate, who should make known my name and\nlineage and the errand upon which I had come; but I waited without in\nthe shade of a spreading beech, not far from the towering wall.  Before\nme stood the mighty city; behind me the fertile plain sloped gently to\nthe sea; on my right hand flowed the sparkling waters of the river\nScamander; while much farther, and on the other side, the wooded peak\nof Ida lifted itself toward the clouds.\n\nBut I had not long to view this scene; for a noble company of men led\nby Paris himself, handsome as Apollo, came out of the gate to welcome\nme.  With words of greeting from the king, they bade me enter within\nthe walls.  They led me through the Scaean gate and along the\nwell-paved streets, until we came, at last, to King Priam's hall.\n\nIt was a splendid house with broad doorways and polished porticos, and\nmarble columns richly carved.  Within were fifty chambers, joining one\nanother, all walled with polished stone; in these abode the fifty sons\nof Priam with their wedded wives.  On the other side, and opening into\nthe court, were twelve chambers built for his daughters; while over all\nwere the sleeping-rooms for that noble household, and around were\ngalleries and stairways leading to the king's great hall below.\n\nKing Priam received me kindly, and, when he understood my errand, left\nnaught undone to help me forward with my wishes.  Ten days I abode as a\nguest in his halls, and when I would return to Greece he pressed me to\ntarry yet a month in Troy.  But the winds were fair, and the oracles\npromised a pleasant voyage, and I begged that on the twelfth day he\nwould let me depart.  So he and his sons brought many gifts, rich and\nbeautiful, and laid them at my feet--a fair mantle, and a doublet, and\na talent of fine gold, and a sword with a silver-studded hilt, and a\ndrinking-cup richly engraved that I might remember them when I pour\nlibations to the gods.\n\n\"Take these gifts,\" said Priam, \"as tokens of our friendship for you,\nand not only for you, but for all who dwell in distant Greece.  For we\ntoo are the children of the immortals.   Our mighty ancestor, Dardanus,\nwas the son of Zeus.  He it was who built Dardania on the slopes of\nIda, where the waters gush in many silvery streams from underneath the\nrocky earth.\n\n\"A grandson of Dardanus was Ilus, famous in song and story, and to him\nwas born Laomedon, who in his old age became my father.  He, though my\nsire, did many unwise things, and brought sore distress upon the people\nof this land.\n\n\"One day Apollo and Poseidon came to Troy, disguised as humble\nwayfarers seeking some employment.  This they did because so ordered by\nmighty Zeus.\n\n\"'What can you do?' asked my father, when the two had told their wishes.\n\n\"Poseidon answered, 'I am a builder of walls.'\n\n\"And Apollo answered, 'I am a shepherd, and a tender of herds.'\n\n\"'It is well,' answered Laomedon.  'The wall-builder shall build a wall\naround this Troy so high and strong that no enemy can pass it.  The\nshepherd shall tend my herds of crook-horned kine on the wooded slopes\nof Ida.  If at the end of a twelvemonth, the wall be built, and if the\ncattle thrive without loss of one, then I will pay you your hire: a\ntalent of gold, two tripods of silver, rich robes, and armor such as\nheroes wear.'\n\n\"So the two served my father through the year for the hire which he had\npromised.  Poseidon built a wall, high and fair, around the city; and\nApollo tended the shambling kine, and lost not one.  But when they\nclaimed their hire, Laomedon drove them away with threats, telling them\nthat he would bind their feet and hands together, and sell them as\nslaves into some distant land, having first sheared off their ears with\nhis sharp sword.  And they went away with angry hearts, planning in\ntheir minds how they might avenge themselves.\n\n\"Back to his watery kingdom, and his golden palace beneath the sea,\nwent great Poseidon.  He harnessed his steeds to his chariot, and rode\nforth upon the waves.  He loosed the winds from their prison house, and\nsent them raging over the sea.  The angry waters rushed in upon the\nland; they covered the pastures and the rich plain of Troy, and\nthreatened even to beat down the walls which their king had built.\n\n\"Then little by little, the flood shrank back again; and the people\nwent out of the city to see the waste of slime and black mud which\ncovered their meadows.  While they were gazing upon the scene, a\nfearful monster, sent by angry Poseidon, came up out of the sea, and\nfell upon them, and drove them with hideous slaughter back to the city\ngates; neither would he allow any one to come outside of the walls.\n\n\"Then my father, in his great distress, clad himself in mourning, and\nwent in deep humility to the temple of Athena.  In much distress, he\ncalled unto the goddess, and besought to know the means whereby the\nanger of Poseidon might be assuaged.  And in solemn tones a voice\nreplied, saying:\n\n\"'Every day one of the maidens of Troy must be fed to the monster\noutside of the walls.  The shaker of the earth has spoken.  Disobey him\nnot, lest more cruel punishments befall thee.'\n\n\"Then in every house of Troy there was sore dismay and lamentation, for\nno one knew upon whom the doom would soonest fall.  And every day a\nhapless maiden, young and fair, was chained to the great rock by the\nshore, and left there to be the food of the pitiless monster.  And the\npeople cried aloud in their distress, and cursed the mighty walls and\nthe high towers which had been reared by the unpaid labors of Poseidon;\nand my father sat upon his high seat, and trembled because of the\ncalamities which his own deeds had brought upon his people.\n\n\"At last, after many humbler victims had perished, the lot fell upon\nthe fairest of my sisters, Hesione, my father's best-loved daughter.\nIn sorrow we arrayed her in garments befitting one doomed to an\nuntimely death; and when we had bidden her a last farewell, we gave her\nto the heralds and the priests to lead forth to the place of sacrifice.\n\n\"Just then, however, a noble stranger, taller and more stately than any\nman in Troy, came down the street.  Fair-haired and blue-eyed, handsome\nand strong, he seemed a very god to all who looked upon him.  Over his\nshoulder he wore the tawny skin of a lion, while in his hand he carried\na club most wonderful to behold.  And the people, as he passed, prayed\nhim that he would free our city from the monster that was robbing us of\nour loved ones.\n\n\"'I know that thou art a god!' cried my father, when he saw the\nstranger.  'I pray thee, save my daughter, who even now is being led\nforth to a cruel death!'\n\n\"'You make mistake,' answered the fair stranger.  'I am not one of the\ngods.  My name is Hercules, and like you I am mortal.  Yet I may help\nyou in this your time of need.'\n\n\"Now, in my father's stables there were twelve fair steeds, the best\nthat the earth ever knew.  So light of foot were they, that when they\nbounded over the land, they might run upon the topmost ears of ripened\ncorn, and break them not; and when they bounded over the sea, not even\nPoseidon's steeds could glide so lightly upon the crests of the waves.\nSome say they were the steeds of North Wind given to my grandfather by\nthe powers above.  These steeds, my father promised to give to Hercules\nif he would save Hesione.\n\n\"Then the heralds led my fair sister to the shore, and chained her to\nthe rock, there to wait for the coming of the monster.  But Hercules\nstood near her, fearless in his strength.  Soon the waves began to\nrise; the waters were disturbed, and the beast, with hoarse bellowings,\nlifted his head above the breakers, and rushed forward to seize his\nprey.  Then the hero sprang to meet him.  With blow upon blow from his\nmighty club, he felled the monster; the waters of the sea were reddened\nwith blood; Hesione was saved, and Troy was freed from the dreadful\ncurse.\n\n\"'Behold thy daughter!' said Hercules, leading her gently back to the\ncity, and giving her to her father.  'I have saved her from the jaws of\ndeath, and delivered your country from the dread scourge.  Give me now\nmy hire.'\n\n\"Shame fills my heart as I tell this story, for thanklessness was the\nbane of my father's life.  Ungrateful to the hero who had risked so\nmuch and done so much that our homes and our country might be saved\nfrom ruin, he turned coldly away from Hercules; then he shut the great\ngates in his face, and barred him out of the city, and taunted him from\nthe walls, saying, 'I owe thee no hire!  Begone from our coasts, ere I\nscourge thee hence!'\n\n\"Full of wrath, the hero turned away.  'I go, but I will come again,'\nhe said.\n\n\"Then peace and plenty blessed once more the city of Troy, and men\nforgot the perils from which they had been delivered.  But ere long,\ngreat Hercules returned, as he had promised; and with him came a fleet\nof white-sailed ships and many warriors.  Neither gates nor strong\nwalls could stand against him.  Into the city he marched, and straight\nto my father's palace.  All fled before him, and the strongest warriors\nquailed beneath his glance.  Here, in this very court, he slew my\nfather and my brothers with his terrible arrows.  I myself would have\nfallen before his wrath, had not my sister, fair Hesione, pleaded for\nmy life.\n\n\"'I spare his life,' said Hercules, in answer to her prayers, 'for he\nis but a lad.  Yet he must be my slave until you have paid a price for\nhim, and thus redeemed him.'\n\n\"Then Hesione took the golden veil from her head, and gave it to the\nhero as my purchase price.  And thenceforward I was called Priam, or\nthe purchased; for the name which my mother gave me was Podarkes, or\nthe fleet-footed.\n\n\"After this Hercules and his heroes went on board their ships and\nsailed back across the sea, leaving me alone in my father's halls.  For\nthey took fair Hesione with them, and carried her to Salamis, to be the\nwife of Telamon, the father of mighty Ajax.  There, through these long\nyears she has lived in sorrow, far removed from home and friends and\nthe scenes of her happy childhood.  And now that the hero Telamon, to\nwhom she was wedded, lives no longer, I ween that her life is indeed a\ncheerless one.\"\n\n\"When Priam had finished his tale, he drew his seat still nearer mine,\nand looked into my face with anxious, beseeching eyes.  Then he said,\n'I have long wished to send a ship across the sea to bring my sister\nback to Troy.  A dark-prowed vessel, built for speed and safety, lies\nnow at anchor in the harbor, and a picked crew is ready to embark at\nany moment.  And here is my son Paris, handsome and brave, who is\nanxious to make voyage to Salamis, to seek unhappy Hesione.  Yet our\nseamen have never ventured far from home, and they know nothing of the\ndangers of the deep, nor do they feel sure they can find their way to\nGreece.  And so we have a favor to ask of you; and that is, that when\nyour ship sails to-morrow, ours may follow in its wake across the sea.\"\n\n\nHere Menelaus paused as if in deep thought, and not until his listeners\nbegged him to go on, did he resume his story.\n\n\n[1]Menelaus, king of Lacedaemon, was the husband of Helen, the most\nbeautiful woman in the world.  At the time of his marriage to Helen all\nthe princes of Greece had vowed to support him against any enemy who\nshould attempt to defraud him of his rights.  This and the following\nstory tell of his visit to Troy and its results.\n\n\n\n\nPARIS AND HELEN\n\nMENELAUS CONTINUES HIS STORY\n\n\"I was glad when King Priam made this request,\" continued Menelaus,\n\"for, in truth, I was loath to part with Paris; and I arranged at once\nthat he should bear me company in my own ship while his vessel with its\ncrew followed not far behind.\n\n\"And so, being blessed with favoring winds, we made a quick voyage back\nto my own country.  What followed is too sad for lengthy mention, and\nis in part already known to you.  Need I tell you how I opened my halls\nto Paris, and left no act of courtesy undone that I might make him\nhappy?  Need I tell you how he was welcomed by fair Helen, and how the\nsummer days fled by on golden wings; and how in the delights of\nLacedaemon he forgot his errand to Salamis, and cared only to remain\nwith me, my honored guest and trusted friend?\n\n\"One day a message came to me from my old friend Idomeneus.  He had\nplanned a hunt among the mountains and woods of Crete, and he invited\nme to join him in the sport.  I had not seen Idomeneus since the time\nthat we together, in friendly contention, sought the hand of Helen.  I\ncould not do otherwise than accept his invitation, for he had sent his\nown ship to carry me over to Crete.\n\n\"So I bade farewell to Helen, saying, 'Let not our noble guest lack\nentertainment while I am gone; and may the golden hours glide happily\nuntil I come again.'  And to Paris I said, 'Tarry another moon in\nLacedasmon; and when I return from Crete, I will go with you to\nSalamis, and aid you in your search for Hesione.'\n\n\"Then I went on board the waiting ship, and prospering breezes carried\nus without delays to Crete.\n\n\"Idomeneus received me joyfully, and entertained me most royally in his\npalace; and for nine days we feasted and made all things ready for the\nhunt.  But, lo! on the evening of the last day, a vision came to me.\nGold-winged Iris, the fleet-footed messenger of the gods, stood before\nme.  'Hasten back to Lacedaemon,' she cried, for thou art robbed of thy\ndearest treasure!'  And even while she spoke, one of my own ships, came\nsailing into the harbor, bringing trusted heralds whom the elders of\nLacedaemon had sent to me.\n\n\"They told me the fatal news.  'No sooner were you well on your way,'\nthey said, 'than Paris began to put his ship in readiness to depart.\nHelen prayed him to tarry until your return, but he would not hearken,\n\"I will stay no longer,\" he said.  \"My seamen rest upon their oars; the\nsails of my ship are spread; the breeze will soon spring up that will\ncarry me across the sea.  But you, beauteous Helen, shall go with me;\nfor the deathless gods have spoken it.  Aphrodite, long ago, promised\nthat the most beautiful woman in the world should be my wife.  And who\nis that most beautiful woman if it be not yourself?  Come! fly over the\nsea, and be my queen.  It is the will of the gods.\"'\n\n\"It was thus that the perfidious Trojan wrought the ruin of all that\nwas dear to me.\n\n\"At first, Helen refused.  But Paris is a handsome prince, and day\nafter day he renewed his suit.  Then on the sixth day she yielded.  In\nthe darkness of the night they went on board his waiting vessel,\ncarrying with them the gold and jewels of my treasure house; and in the\nmorning, when the sun arose on Lacedaemon, they were far out at sea.\n\n\"You know the rest: how in wrath and great sorrow I hurried home; how I\nfirst counselled with my own elders, and then with my brother\nAgamemnon.  And now, O noble Nestor, we have come to Pylos, seeking thy\nadvice.  On these two things my mind is set: Helen must be mine again,\nand Paris must suffer the punishment due to traitors.\"\n\nWhen Menelaus had ended, sage Nestor answered with many words of\ncounsel.  \"Keep the thought of vengeance ever before you,\" he said.\n\"Yet act not rashly.  The power of Troy is very great; and, in case of\nwar, all the tribes of Asia will make common cause with her.  But an\ninsult to Lacedaemon is an insult to all Greece, and every loyal Greek\nwill hasten to avenge it.  More than this, the chiefs of almost every\nstate have already sworn to aid you.  We have but to call upon them,\nand remind them of their oaths, and the mightiest warriors of our land\nwill take up arms against the power of Troy.\"\n\n\n\n\nIPHIGENIA\n\nAfter nearly ten years of preparation, the princes and warriors of\nGreece gathered their ships and men together at Aulis, ready to make\nwar upon Troy.  A thousand dark-hulled vessels were moored in the\nharbor; and a hundred thousand brave men were on board, ready to follow\ntheir leaders whithersoever they should order.\n\nChief of all that host was mighty Agamemnon, king of men.  He was clad\nin flashing armor, and his mind was filled with overweening pride when\nhe thought how high he stood among the warriors, and that his men were\nthe goodliest and bravest of all that host.\n\nNext to him was Menelaus, silent and discreet, by no means skilled\nabove his fellows, and yet, by reason of his noble heart, beloved and\nhonored by all the Greeks; and it was to avenge his wrongs that this\nmighty array of men and ships had been gathered together.\n\nOdysseus came next, shrewd in counsels, earnest and active.  He moved\namong the men and ships, inspiring all with zeal and courage.\n\nThere, also, was young Achilles, tall and handsome, and swift of foot.\nHis long hair fell about his shoulders like a shower of gold, and his\ngray eyes gleamed like those of the mountain eagle.  By the shore lay\nhis trim ships--fifty in all--with thousands of gallant warriors on\nboard.\n\nOne day it chanced that Agamemnon, while hunting, started a fine stag,\nand gave it a long chase among the hills and through the wooded dells,\nuntil it sought safety in a grove sacred to Artemis, the huntress\nqueen.  The proud king knew that this was a holy place, where beasts\nand birds might rest secure from harm; yet he cared naught for what\nArtemis had ordained, and with his swift arrows he slew the panting\ndeer.\n\nThen was the huntress queen moved with anger, and she declared that the\nships of the Greeks should not sail from Aulis until the king had\natoned for his crime.  A great calm rested upon the sea, and not a\nbreath of air stirred the sails at the mast-heads of the ships.\n\nDay after day and week after week went by, and not a speck of cloud was\nseen in the sky above, and not a ripple on the glassy face of the deep.\nAll the ships had been put in order, new vessels had been built, the\nwarriors had burnished their armor and overhauled their arms a thousand\ntimes; and yet no breeze arose to waft them across the sea.  And they\nbegan to murmur, and to talk bitterly against Agamemnon and the chiefs.\n\nAt last Agamemnon sent for Calchas, the soothsayer, and asked him in\nsecret how the anger of the huntress queen might be appeased.  And the\nsoothsayer with tears and lamentations answered that in no wise could\nit be done save by the sacrifice to Artemis of the king's daughter,\nIphigenia.\n\nThen the king cried aloud in his grief, and declared that though Troy\nmight stand forever, he would not do that thing; and he bade a herald\ngo through the camp, and among the ships by the shore, and bid every\nman depart as he chose to his own country.  But before the herald had\ngone from his tent, behold, his brother, Menelaus, stood before him\nwith downcast eyes and saddest of hearts.\n\n\"After ten years of labor and hope,\" said he to Agamemnon, \"wouldst\nthou give up this enterprise, and lose all?\"\n\nThen Odysseus came also into the tent, and added his persuasions to\nthose of Menelaus.  The king hearkened to him, for no man was more\ncrafty in counsel; and the three recalled the herald, and formed a plan\nwhereby they might please Artemis by doing as she desired.  Agamemnon,\nin his weakness, wrote a letter to Clytemnestra his queen, telling her\nto bring the maiden, Iphigenia, to Aulis, there to be wedded to the\nbravest of all the Greeks.\n\n\"_Fail not in this_,\" added he, \"_for the godlike hero will not sail\nwith us unless my daughter be given to him in marriage_.\"\n\nAnd when he had written the letter, he sealed it, and sent it by a\nswift messenger to Clytemnestra at Mycenas.\n\nNevertheless the king's heart was full of sorrow, and when he was alone\nhe planned how he might yet save his daughter.  Night came, but he\ncould not sleep; he walked the floor of his tent; he wept and lamented\nlike one bereft of reason.  At length he sat down, and wrote another\nletter:\n\n\"_Daughter of Leda, send not thy child to Aulis, for I will give her in\nmarriage at another time_.\"\n\nThen he called another messenger, an old and trusted servant of the\nhousehold, and put this letter into his hands.\n\n\"Take this with all haste to my queen, who, perchance, is even now on\nher way to Aulis.  Stop not by any cool spring in the groves, and let\nnot thine eyes close for sleep.  And see that the chariot bearing the\nqueen and Iphigenia pass thee not unnoticed.\"\n\nThe messenger took the letter and hastened away.  But hardly had he\npassed the line of the tents when Menelaus saw him, and took the letter\naway from him.  And when he had read it, he went before his brother,\nand reproached him| with bitter words.\n\n\"Before you were chosen captain of the host,\" said he, \"you were kind\nand gentle, and the friend of every man.  There was nothing that you\nwould not do to aid your fellows.  Now you are puffed up with pride and\nvain conceit, and care nothing even for those who are your equals in\npower.  Yet, for all, you are not rid of your well-known cowardice; and\nwhen you saw that your leadership was likely to be taken away from you\nunless you obeyed the commands of Artemis, you agreed to do this thing.\nNow you are trying to break your word, sending secretly to your wife,\nand bidding her not to bring her daughter to Aulis.\"\n\nThen Agamemnon answered, \"Why should I destroy my daughter in order to\nwin back thy wife?  Let those who wish go with thee to Troy.  In no way\nam I bound to serve thee.\"\n\n\"Do as you will,\" said Menelaus, going away in wrath.\n\nSoon after this, there came a herald to the king, saying, \"Behold, your\ndaughter Iphigenia has come as you directed, and with her mother and\nher little brother Orestes she rests by the spring close to the outer\nline of tents.  The warriors have gathered around them, and are\npraising her loveliness, and asking many questions; and some say, 'The\nking is sick to see his daughter, whom he loves so deeply, and he has\nmade up some excuse to bring her to the camp.'  But I know why you have\nbrought her here; for I have been told about the wedding, and the noble\ngroom who is to lead her in marriage; and we will rejoice and be glad,\nbecause this is a happy day for the maiden.\"\n\nThen the king was sorely distressed, and knew not what to do.  \"Sad,\nsad, indeed,\" said he, \"is the wedding to which the maiden cometh.  For\nthe name of the bridegroom is Death.\"\n\nAt the same time Menelaus came back, sorrowful and repentant.  \"You\nwere right, my brother,\" said he.  \"What, indeed, has Iphigenia to do\nwith this enterprise, and why should the maiden die for me?  Send the\nGreeks to their homes, and let not this great wrong be done.\"\n\n\"But how can I do that now?\" asked Agamemnon.  \"The warriors, urged on\nby Odysseus and Calchas, will force me to do the deed.  Or, if I flee\nto Mycenae, they will follow me, and slay me, and destroy my city.  Oh,\nwoe am I, that such a day should ever dawn upon my sight!\"\n\nEven while they spoke together, the queen's chariot drove up to the\ntent door, and the queen and Iphigenia and the little Orestes alighted\nquickly, and merrily greeted the king.\n\n\"It is well that you have sent for me, my father,\" said Iphigenia,\ncaressing him.\n\n\"It may be well, and yet it may not,\" said Agamemnon.  \"I am exceeding\nglad to see thee alive and happy.\"\n\n\"If you are glad, why then do you weep?\"\n\n\"I am sad because thou wilt be so long time away from me.\"\n\n\"Are you going on a very long voyage, father?\"\n\n\"A long voyage and a sad one, my child.  And thou, also, hast a journey\nto make.\"\n\n\"Must I make it alone, or will my mother go with me?\"\n\n\"Thou must make it alone.  Neither father nor mother nor any friend can\ngo with thee, my child.\"\n\n\"But when shall it be?  I pray that you will hasten this matter with\nTroy, and return home ere then.\"\n\n\"It may be so.  But I must offer a sacrifice to the gods before we sail\nfrom Aulis.\"\n\n\"That is well.  And may I be present?\"\n\n\"Yes, and thou shalt be very close to the altar.\"\n\n\"Shall I lead in the dances, father?\"\n\nThen the king could say no more, for reason of the great sorrow within\nhim; and he kissed the maiden, and sent her into the tent.  A little\nwhile afterward, the queen came and spoke to him and asked him about\nthe man to whom their daughter was to be wedded; and Agamemnon, still\ndissembling, told her that the hero's name was Achilles, and that he\nwas the son of old Peleus and the sea-nymph Thetis.\n\n\"And when and where is the marriage to be?\" asked the queen.\n\n\"On the first lucky day in the present moon, and here in our camp at\nAulis,\" answered Agamemnon.\n\n\"Shall I stay here with thee until then?\"\n\n\"Nay, thou must go back to Mycenae without delay.\"\n\n\"But may I not come again?  If I am not here, who will hold up the\ntorch for the bride?\"\n\n\"I will attend to all such matters,\" answered Agamemnon.\n\nBut Clytemnestra was not well pleased, neither could the king persuade\nher at all that she should return to Mycenae.  While yet they were\ntalking, Achilles himself came to the tent door, and said aloud to the\nservant who kept it, \"Tell thy master that Achilles, the son of Peleus,\nwould be pleased to see him.\"\n\nWhen Clytemnestra overheard these words, she hastened to the door, and\noffered the hero her hand.  But he was abashed and drew back, for it\nwas deemed an unseemly thing for men to speak thus with women.  Then\nClytemnestra said, \"Why, indeed, should you, who are about to marry my\ndaughter, be ashamed to give me your hand?\"\n\nAchilles was struck with wonder, and asked her what she meant; and when\nshe had explained the matter, he said:\n\n\"Truly I have never been a suitor for thy daughter, neither has\nAgamemnon or Menelaus spoken a word to me regarding her.\"\n\nAnd now the queen was astonished in her turn, and cried out with shame\nthat she had been so cruelly deceived.  Then the keeper of the door,\nwho was the same that had been sent with the letter, came forward and\ntold the truth regarding the whole matter.  And Clytemnestra cried to\nAchilles, \"O son of silver-footed Thetis!  Help me and help my daughter\nIphigenia, in this time of sorest need!  For we have no friend in all\nthis host, and none in whom we can confide but thee.\"\n\nAchilles answered, \"Long time ago I was a pupil of old Cheiron, the\nmost righteous of men, and from him I learned to be honest and true.\nIf Agamemnon rule according to right, then I will obey him; but not\notherwise.  And now, since thy daughter was brought to this place under\npretence of giving her to me as my bride, I will see that she shall not\nbe slain, neither shall any one dare take her from me.\"\n\nOn the following day, while Agamemnon sat grief-stricken in his tent,\nthe maiden came before him carrying the child Orestes in her arms; and\nshe cast herself upon her knees at his feet, and caressing his hands,\nshe thus besought him:\n\n\"Would, dear father, that I had the voice of Orpheus, to whom even the\nrocks did listen! then I would persuade thee.  O father! I am thy\nchild.  I was the first to call thee 'Father,' and the first to whom\nthou saidst 'My child.'\"\n\nThe father turned his face away, and wept; he could not speak for\nsadness.  Then the maiden went on: \"O father, hear me! thou to whom my\nvoice was once so sweet that thou wouldst waken me to hear my prattle.\nAnd when I was older grown, then thou wouldst say to me, 'Some day, my\nbirdling, thou shalt have a nest of thy own, a home of which thou shalt\nbe the mistress.'  And I did answer, 'Yes, dear father, and when thou\nart old I will care for thee, and pay thee with all my heart for the\nkindness thou dost show me.'  But now thou hast forgotten it all, and\nart ready to slay my young life.\"\n\nA deep groan burst from the lips of the mighty king, but he spoke not a\nword.  Then, after a deathlike silence broken only by the deep\nbreathings of father and child, Iphigenia spoke again: \"My father, can\nthere be any prayer more pure and more persuasive than that of a maiden\nfor her father's welfare?  And when, the cruel knife shall strike me\ndown, thou wilt have one daughter less to pray for thee.\"  A shudder\nshook the frame of Agamemnon, but he answered not a word.\n\nAt that moment Achilles entered.  He had come in haste from the tents\nbeside the shore, and he spoke in hurried, anxious accents.\n\n\"Behold,\" said he, \"a great tumult has arisen in the camp; for Calchas\nhas given out among the men that you refuse to do what Artemis has\nbidden, and that hence these delays and troubles have arisen.  And the\nrude soldiers are crying out against you, and declaring that the maiden\nmust die.  When I would have stayed their anger, they took up stones to\nstone me--my own warriors among the rest.  And now they are making\nready to move upon your tent, threatening to sacrifice you also with\nyour daughter.  But I will fight for you to the utmost, and the maiden\nshall not die.\"\n\nAs he was speaking, Calchas entered, and, grasping the wrist of the\npleading maiden, lifted her to her feet.  She looked up, and saw his\nstony face and hard cold eyes; and turning again to Agamemnon, she\nsaid, \"O father, the ships shall sail, for I will die for thee.\"\n\nThen Achilles said to her, \"Fair maiden, thou art by far the noblest\nand most lovely of thy sex.  Fain would I save thee from this fate,\neven though every man in Greece be against me.  Fly with me quickly to\nmy long-oared ship, and I will carry thee safely away from this\naccursed place.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" answered Iphigenia: \"I will give up my life for my father and\nthis land of the Greeks, and no man shall suffer for me.\"\n\nThen the pitiless priest led her through the throng of rude soldiers to\nthe grove of Artemis, wherein an altar had been built.  But Achilles\nand Agamemnon covered their faces with their mantles, and stayed inside\nthe tent.\n\nAs the maiden took her place upon the altar, the king's herald stood\nup, and bade the warriors keep silence; and Calchas put a garland of\nsweet-smelling flowers about the victim's head.\n\n\"Let no man touch me,\" said the maiden, \"for I offer my neck to the\nsword with right good will, that so my father may live and prosper.\"\n\nIn silence and great awe, the warriors stood around, while Calchas drew\na sharp knife from its scabbard.  But, lo! as he struck, the maiden was\nnot there; and in her stead, a noble deer lay dying on the altar.  Then\nthe old soothsayer cried out in triumphant tones, \"See, now, ye men of\nGreece, how the gods have provided for you a sacrifice, and saved the\ninnocent daughter of the king!\"  And all the people shouted with joy;\nand in that self-same hour, a strong breeze came down the bay, and\nfilled the idle sails of the waiting ships.\n\n\"To Troy! to Troy!\" cried the Greeks; and every man hastened aboard his\nvessel.\n\nHow it was that fair Iphigenia escaped the knife; by whom she was\nsaved, or whither she went--no one knew.  Some say that Artemis carried\nher away to the land of the Taurians, where she had a temple and an\naltar; and there is a story that, long years afterward, her brother\nOrestes found her there, and led her back to her girlhood's home, even\nto Mycenae.  But whether this be true or not, I know that there have\nbeen maidens as noble, as loving, as innocent as she, who have given up\ntheir lives in order to make this world a purer and happier place in\nwhich to live; and these are not dead, but live in the grateful\nmemories of those whom they loved and saved.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOARD OF THE ELVES\n\nREGIN'S STORY[1]\n\nWhen the earth was still very young, and men were feeble and few, and\nthe Dwarfs were many and strong, the Asa-folk were wont oft-times to\nleave their halls in heaven-towering Asgard in order to visit the\nnew-formed mid-world, and to see what the short-lived sons of men were\ndoing.  Sometimes they came in their own god-like splendor and might;\nsometimes they came disguised as feeble men folk, with all man's\nweaknesses and all his passions.  Sometimes Odin, as a beggar, wandered\nfrom one country to another, craving charity; sometimes, as a warrior\nclad in coat of mail, he rode forth to battle for the cause of right;\nor as a minstrel he sang from door to door, and played sweet music in\nthe halls of the great; or as a huntsman he dashed through brakes and\nfens, and into dark forests, and climbed steep mountains in search of\ngame; or as a sailor he embarked upon the sea, and sought new scenes in\nunknown lands.  And many times did men folk entertain him unawares.\n\nOnce on a time he came to the mid-world in company with Hoenir and\nLoki; and the three wandered through many lands and in many climes,\neach giving gifts wherever they went.  Odin gave knowledge and\nstrength, and taught men how to read the mystic runes; Hoenir gave\ngladness and good cheer, and lightened many hearts with the glow of his\ncomforting presence; but Loki had naught to give but cunning deceit and\nbase thoughts, and he left behind him bitter strife and many aching\nbreasts.\n\nAt last, growing tired of the fellowship of men, the three Asas sought\nthe solitude of the forest, and as huntsmen wandered long among the\nhills and over the wooded heights of Hunaland.  Late one afternoon they\ncame to a mountain stream at a place where it poured over a ledge of\nrocks and fell in clouds of spray into a rocky gorge below.  As they\nstood, and with pleased eyes gazed upon the waterfall, they saw near\nthe bank an otter lazily making ready to eat a salmon which he had\ncaught.  Then Loki, ever bent on doing mischief, hurled a stone at the\nharmless beast, and killed it.  And he boasted loudly that he had done\na worthy deed.  He took both the otter and the fish which it had\ncaught, and carried them with him as trophies of the day's success.\n\nJust at nightfall the three huntsmen came to a lone farmhouse in the\nvalley, and asked for food, and for shelter during the night.\n\n\"Shelter you shall have,\" said the farmer, whose name was Hreidmar,\n\"for the rising clouds foretell a storm.  But food I have none to give\nyou.  Surely huntsmen of skill should not want for food, since the\nforest teems with game, and the streams are full of fish.\"\n\nThen Loki threw upon the ground the otter and the fish, and said, \"We\nhave sought in both forest and stream, and we have taken from them at\none blow both flesh and fish.  Give us but the shelter you promise, and\nwe will not trouble you for food.\"\n\nThe farmer gazed with horror upon the lifeless body of the otter and\ncried out, \"This creature which you mistook for an otter, and which you\nhave robbed and killed, is my son, Oddar, who for mere pastime had\ntaken the form of the furry beast.  You are but thieves and murderers!\"\n\nThen he called loudly for help: and his two sons, Fafnir and Regin,\nsturdy and valiant kin of the dwarf-folk, rushed in, and seized upon\nthe huntsmen, and bound them hand and foot; for the three Asas, having\ntaken upon themselves the forms of men, had no more than human\nstrength, and were unable to withstand them.\n\nThen Odin and his fellows bemoaned their ill fate.  And Loki said,\n\"Wherefore did we foolishly take upon ourselves the likenesses of puny\nmen?  Had I my own power once more, I would never part with it in\nexchange for man's weaknesses.\"\n\nAnd Hoenir sighed, and said, \"Now, indeed, will darkness win: and the\nfrosty breath of the Northern giants will blast the fair handiwork of\nthe sunlight and the heat; for the givers of life and light and warmth\nare helpless prisoners in the hands of these cunning and unforgiving\njailers.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said Odin, \"not even the highest are free from obedience to\nheaven's behests and the laws of right.  I, whom men call the Preserver\nof Life, have debased myself by being found in evil company; and,\nalthough I have done no other wrong, I suffer rightly for the doings of\nthis mischief-maker with whom I have stooped to have fellowship.  For\nall are known, not so much by what they are as by what they seem to be,\nand they bear the bad name which their comrades bear.  Now I am fallen\nfrom my high estate.  Eternal right is higher than I.\"\n\nThen the Asas asked Hreidmar, their jailer, what ransom they should pay\nfor their freedom; and he, not knowing who they were, said, \"I must\nfirst know what ransom you are able to give.\"\n\n\"We will give you anything you may ask,\" hastily answered Loki.\n\nHreidmar then called his sons, and bade them strip the skin from the\notter's body.  When this was done, they brought the furry hide and\nspread it upon the ground; and Hreidmar said, \"Bring shining gold and\nprecious stones enough to cover every part of this otter skin.  When\nyou have paid so much ransom, you shall have your freedom.\"\n\n\"That we will do,\" answered Odin.  \"But one of us must have leave to go\nand fetch it: the other two will stay fast bound until the morning\ndawns.  If, by that time, the gold is not here, you may do with us as\nyou please.\"\n\nHreidmar and the two young men agreed to Odin's offer; and, lots being\ncast, it fell to Loki to go and fetch the treasure.  When he had been\nloosed from the cords which bound him, Loki donned his magic shoes,\nwhich had carried him over land and sea from the farthest bounds of the\nmid-world, and hastened away upon his errand.  And he sped with the\nswiftness of light, over the hills and the wooded slopes, and the deep\ndark valleys, and the fields and forests and sleeping hamlets, until he\ncame to the place where dwelt the swarthy elves and the cunning dwarf\nAndvari.  There the River Rhine, no larger than a meadow brook, breaks\nforth from beneath a mountain of ice, which the Frost giants and the\nWinter-king had built long years before; for they had vainly hoped that\nthey might imprison the river at its fountain head.  But the baby brook\nhad eaten its way beneath the frozen mass, and had sprung out from its\nprison, and gone on, leaping and smiling, and kissing the sunlight, in\nits ever-widening course toward the distant sea.\n\nLoki came to this place, because he knew that here was the home of the\nelves who had laid up the greatest hoard of treasures ever known in the\nmid-world.  He scanned with careful eyes the mountain side, and the\ndeep, rocky caverns, and the dark gorge through which the little river\nrushed; but in the dim moonlight not a living being could he see, save\na lazy salmon swimming in the quieter eddies of the stream.  Anyone but\nLoki would have lost all hope of finding treasure there, at least\nbefore the dawn of day; but his wits were quick and his eyes were very\nsharp.\n\n\"One salmon has brought us into this trouble, and another shall help us\nout of it!\" he cried.\n\nThen, swift as thought, he sprang again into the air; and the magic\nshoes carried him with greater speed than before down the Rhine valley,\nand through Burgundyland and the low meadows, until he came to the\nshores of the great North Sea.  He sought the halls of old Aegir, the\nOcean-king; but he wist not which way to go--whether across the North\nSea towards Isenland, or whether along the narrow channel between\nBritain land and the main.  While he paused, uncertain where to turn,\nhe saw the pale-haired daughters of old Aegir, the white-veiled Waves,\nplaying in the moonlight near the shore.  Of them he asked the way to\nAegir's hall.\n\n\"Seven days' journey westward,\" said they, \"beyond the green Isle of\nErin, is our father's hall.  Seven days' journey northward, on the\nbleak Norwegian shore, is our father's hall.  Seek it not.\"\n\nAnd they stopped not once in their play, but rippled and danced on the\nshelving beach, or dashed with force against the shore.\n\n\"Where is your mother, Ran, the Queen of the Ocean?\" asked Loki.\n\nAnd they answered:\n\n    \"In the deep sea-caves\n      By the sounding shore,\n    In the dashing waves\n      When the wild storms roar,\n    In her cold green bowers\n      In the northern fiords,\n    She lurks and she glowers,\n      She grasps and she hoards,\n  And she spreads her strong net for her prey.\"\n\nLoki waited to hear no more; but he sprang into the air, and the magic\nshoes carried him onwards over the water In search of the Ocean-queen.\nHe had not gone far when his sharp eyes espied her, lurking near a\nrocky shore against which the breakers dashed with frightful fury.\nHalf hidden in the deep dark water, she lay waiting and watching; and\nshe spread her cunning net upon the waves, and reached out with her\nlong greedy fingers to seize whatever booty might come near her.\n\nWhen the wary queen saw Loki, she hastily drew in her net, and tried to\nhide herself in the shadows of an overhanging rock.  But Loki called\nher by name, and said:\n\n\"Sister Ran, fear not!  I am your friend Loki, whom once you served as\na guest in Aegir's gold-lit halls.\"\n\nThen the Ocean-queen came out into the bright moonlight, and welcomed\nLoki to her domain, and asked, \"Why does Loki thus wander so far over\nthe trackless waters?\"\n\nAnd Loki answered, \"I have heard of the net which you spread upon the\nwaves, and from which no creature once caught in its meshes can ever\nescape.  I have found a salmon where the Rhine spring gushes from\nbeneath the mountains, and a very cunning salmon he is, for no common\nskill can catch him.  Come, I pray, with your wondrous net, and cast it\ninto the stream where he lies.  Do but take the wary fish for me, and\nyou shall have more gold than you have taken in a year from the wrecks\nof stranded vessels.\"\n\n\"I dare not go,\" cried Ran.  \"A bound is set, beyond which I may not\nventure.  If all the gold of earth were offered me, I could not go.\"\n\n\"Then lend me your net,\" entreated Loki.  \"Lend me your net, and I will\nbring it back tomorrow filled with gold.\"\n\n\"Much I would like your gold,\" answered Ran; \"but I cannot lend my net.\nShould I do so, I might lose the richest prize that has ever come into\nmy husband's kingdom.  For three days, now, a gold-rigged ship, bearing\na princely crew with rich armor and abundant wealth, has been sailing\ncarelessly over these seas.  Tomorrow I shall send my daughters and the\nbewitching mermaids to decoy the vessel among the rocks.  And into my\nnet the ship, and the brave warriors, and all their armor and gold,\nshall fall.  A rich prize it will be.  No: I cannot part with my net,\neven for a single hour.\"\n\nBut Loki knew the power of flattering words.\n\n\"Beautiful queen,\" said he, \"there is no one on earth, nor even in\nAsgard, who can equal you in wisdom and foresight.  Yet I promise you\nthat, if you will but lend me your net until the morning dawns, the\nship and the crew of which you speak shall be yours, and all their\ngolden treasures shall deck your azure halls in the deep sea.\"\n\nThen Ran carefully folded the net, and gave it to Loki.\n\n\"Remember your promise,\" was all that she said.\n\n\"An Asa never forgets,\" he answered.\n\nAnd he turned his face again towards Rhineland; and the magic shoes\nbore him aloft and carried him in a moment back to the ice mountain and\nthe gorge and the infant river, which he had so lately left.  The\nsalmon still rested in his place, and had not moved during Loki's short\nabsence.\n\nLoki unfolded the net, and cast it into the stream.  The cunning fish\ntried hard to avoid being caught in its meshes; but, dart which way he\nwould, he met the skilfully woven cords, and these drew themselves\naround him, and held him fast.  Then Loki pulled the net up out of the\nwater, and grasped the helpless fish in his right hand.  But, lo! as he\nheld the struggling creature high in the air, it was no longer a fish,\nbut the cunning dwarf Andvari.\n\n\"Thou King of the Elves,\" cried Loki, \"thy cunning has not saved thee.\nTell me, on thy life, where thy hidden treasures lie!\"\n\nThe wise dwarf knew who it was that thus held him as in a vise; and he\nanswered frankly, for it was his only hope of escape, \"Turn over the\nstone upon which you stand.  Beneath it you will find the treasure you\nseek.\"\n\nThen Loki put his shoulder to the rock, and pushed with all his might.\nBut it seemed as firm as the mountain, and would not be moved.\n\n\"Help us, thou cunning dwarf,\" he cried--\"help us, and thou shalt have\nthy life!\"\n\nThe dwarf put his shoulder to the rock, and it turned over as if by\nmagic, and underneath was disclosed a wondrous chamber, whose walls\nshone brighter than the sun, and on whose floor lay treasures of gold\nand glittering gem stones such as no man had ever seen.  And Loki, in\ngreat haste, seized upon the hoard, and placed it in the magic net\nwhich he had borrowed from the Ocean-queen.  Then he came out of the\nchamber; and Andvari again put his shoulder to the rock which lay at\nthe entrance, and it swung back noiselessly to its place.\n\n\"What is that upon thy finger?\" suddenly cried Loki.  \"Wouldst keep\nback a part of the treasure?  Give me the ring thou hast!\"\n\nBut the dwarf shook his head, and made answer, \"I have given thee all\nthe riches that the elves of the mountain have gathered since the world\nbegan.  This ring I cannot give thee, for without its help we shall\nnever be able to gather more treasures together.\"\n\nLoki grew very angry at these words of the dwarf; and he seized the\nring, and tore it by force from Andvari's finger.  It was a wondrous\nlittle piece of mechanism shaped like a serpent, coiled, with its tail\nin its mouth; and its scaly sides glittered with many a tiny diamond,\nand its ruby eyes shone with an evil light.  When the dwarf knew that\nLoki really meant to rob him of the ring, he cursed it and all who\nshould ever possess it, saying:\n\n\"May the ill-gotten treasure that you have seized to-night be your\nbane, and the bane of all to whom it may come, whether by fair means or\nby foul!  And the ring which you have torn from my hand, may it entail\nupon the one who wears it sorrow and untold ills, the loss of friends,\nand a violent death!\"\n\nLoki was pleased with these words, and with the dark curses which the\ndwarf pronounced upon the gold; for he loved wrong-doing for\nwrong-doing's sake, and he knew that no curses could ever make his own\nlife more cheerless than it always had been.  So he thanked Andvari for\nhis curses and his treasures; then, throwing the magic net upon his\nshoulder, he sprang again into the air, and was carried swiftly back to\nHunaland; and, just before the dawn appeared in the east, he alighted\nat the door of the farmhouse where Odin and Hoenir still lay bound with\nthongs, and guarded by the watchful Fafnir and Regin.\n\nThen the farmer, Hreidmar, brought the otter's skin, and spread it upon\nthe ground; and, lo! it grew, and spread out on all sides, until it\ncovered an acre of ground.  And he cried out, \"Fulfil now your promise!\nCover every hair of this hide with gold or with precious stones.  If\nyou fail to do this, then your lives, by your own agreement, are\nforfeited, and we shall do with you as we list.\"\n\nOdin took the magic net from Loki's shoulder; and, opening it, he\npoured the treasures of the mountain elves upon the otter skin.  And\nLoki and Hoenir spread the yellow pieces carefully and evenly over\nevery part of the furry hide.  But, after every piece had been laid in\nits place, Hreidmar saw near the otter's mouth a single hair uncovered;\nand he declared, that unless this hair, too, were covered, the bargain\nwould be unfulfilled, and the treasures and lives of his prisoners\nwould be forfeited.\n\nThe Asas were filled with dismay; for not another piece of gold, and\nnot another precious stone, could they find in the net, although they\nsearched with the greatest care.  At last Odin took from his bosom the\nring which Loki had stolen from the dwarf; for he had been so highly\npleased with its form and workmanship, that he had hidden it, hoping\nthat it would not be needed to complete the payment of the ransom.  And\nthey laid the ring upon the uncovered hair; and now no portion of the\notter's skin could be seen.  And Fafnir and Regin, the ransom being\npaid, loosed the shackles of Odin and Hoenir, and bade the three\nhuntsmen go on their way.\n\nOdin and Hoenir at once shook off their human disguises, and, taking\ntheir own forms again, hastened with all speed home to Asgard.  But\nLoki tarried a little while, and said to Hreidmar and his sons:\n\n\"By your greediness and falsehood you have won for yourselves the Curse\nof the Earth, which lies before you.  It shall be your bane.  It shall\nbe the bane of everyone who holds it.  It shall kindle strife between\nfather and son, between brother and brother.  It shall make you mean,\nselfish, beastly.  It shall transform you into monsters.  The noblest\nking among men folk shall feel its curse.  Such is gold, and such it\nshall ever be to its worshippers.  And the ring which you have gotten\nshall impart to its possessor its own nature.  Grasping, snaky, cold,\nunfeeling, shall he live; and death through treachery shall be his\ndoom.\"\n\nThen he turned away, delighted that he had thus left the curse of\nAndvari with Hreidmar and his sons, and hastened northward toward the\nsea; for he wished to redeem the promise that he had made to the\nOcean-queen, to bring back her magic net, and to decoy the richly laden\nship into her clutches.\n\nNo sooner were the strange huntsmen well out of sight than Fafnir and\nRegin began to ask their father to divide the glittering hoard with\nthem.\n\n\"By our strength and through our advice,\" said they, \"this great store\nhas come into your hands.  Let us place it in three equal heaps, and\nthen let each take his share and go his way.\"\n\nAt this the farmer waxed very angry; and he loudly declared that he\nwould keep all the treasure for himself, and that his sons should not\nhave any portion of it whatever.  So Fafnir and Regin, nursing their\ndisappointment, went to the fields to watch their sheep; but their\nfather sat down to guard his new-gotten treasure.  He took in his hand\nthe glittering serpent ring, and gazed into its cold ruby eyes; and, as\nhe gazed, all his thoughts were fixed upon his gold; and there was no\nroom in his heart for love toward his fellows, nor for deeds of\nkindness, nor for the worship of the All-Father.  And behold, as he\ncontinued to look at the snaky ring, a dreadful change came over him.\nThe warm red blood, which until that time had leaped through his veins,\nand given him life and strength and human feelings, became purple and\ncold and sluggish; and selfishness, like serpent's poison, took hold of\nhis heart.  Then, as he kept on gazing at the hoard which lay before\nhim, he began to lose his human shape; his body lengthened into many\nscaly folds, and he coiled himself around his loved treasures,--the\nvery likeness of the ring upon which he had looked so long.\n\nWhen the day drew near its close, Fafnir came back from the fields with\nhis herd of sheep, and thought to find his father guarding the\ntreasure, as he had left him in the morning; but instead he saw a\nglittering snake, fast asleep, encircling the hoard like a huge scaly\nring of gold.  His first thought was that the monster had devoured his\nfather; and, hastily drawing his sword, with one blow he severed the\nserpent's head from its body.  And, while yet the creature writhed in\nthe death agony, he gathered up the hoard, and fled with it beyond the\nhills of Hunaland, until on the seventh day he came to a barren heath\nfar from the homes or men.  There he placed the treasures in one\nglittering heap; and he clothed himself in a wondrous mail-coat of gold\nthat was found among them, and he put on the Helmet of Dread, which had\nonce been the terror of the mid-world, and the like of which no man had\never seen; and then he gazed with greedy eyes upon the fateful ring,\nuntil he, too, was changed into a cold and slimy reptile,--a monster\ndragon.  He coiled himself about the hoard; and, with his restless eyes\nforever open, he gloated day after day upon his loved gold, and watched\nwith ceaseless care that no one should come near to despoil him of it.\nThis was ages and ages ago; and still he wallows among his treasures on\nthe Glittering Heath, and guards as of yore the garnered wealth of\nAndvari.\n\n\n[1]Regin, one of the last of the race of Dwarfs, was a master smith and\nby some said to be the teacher of Siegfried.  The story is supposed to\nhave been related to Siegfried in the dusky smithy of the dwarf.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FORGING OF BALMUNG\n\nWhile Siegfried was still a young lad, his father sent him to live with\na smith called Mimer, whose smithy was among the hills not far from the\ngreat forest.  For in those early times the work of the smith was\nlooked upon as the most worthy of all trades,--a trade which the gods\nthemselves were not ashamed to follow.  And this smith Mimer was a\nwonderful master,--the wisest and most cunning that the world had ever\nseen.  Men said that he was akin to the dwarf-folk who had ruled the\nearth in the early days, and who were learned in every lore, and\nskilled in every craft; and they said that he was so exceeding old that\nno one could remember the day when he came to dwell in the land of\nSiegfried's people.  Some said, too, that he was the keeper of a\nwonderful well, or flowing spring, the waters of which imparted wisdom\nand far-seeing knowledge to all who drank of them.\n\nTo Mimer's school, then, where he would be taught to work skilfully and\nto think wisely, Siegfried was sent, to be in all respects like the\nother pupils there.  A coarse blue blouse and heavy leggings and a\nleathern apron took the place of the costly clothing which he had worn\nin his father's dwelling.  On his feet were awkward wooden sandals, and\nhis head was covered with a wolfskin cap.  The dainty bed, with its\ndowny pillows, wherein every night his mother had been wont, with\ngentle care, to see him safely covered, was given up for a rude heap of\nstraw in a corner of the smithy.  And the rich food to which he had\nbeen used gave place to the coarsest and humblest fare.  But the lad\ndid not complain.  The days which he passed in the smithy were mirthful\nand happy; and the sound of his hammer rang cheerfully, and the sparks\nfrom his forge flew briskly, from morning till night.\n\nAnd a wonderful smith he became.  No one could do more work than he,\nand none wrought with greater skill.  The heaviest chains and the\nstrongest bolts, for prison or for treasure house, were but as toys in\nhis stout hands, so easily and quickly did he beat them into shape.\nCunning also was he in work of the most delicate and brittle kind.\nOrnaments of gold and silver studded with the rarest jewels, were\nfashioned into beautiful forms by his deft fingers.  And among all of\nMimer's apprentices none learned the master's lore so readily, or\ngained the master's favor more.\n\nOne morning the master, Mimer, came to the smithy with a troubled look\nupon his face.  It was clear that something had gone amiss; and what it\nwas the apprentices soon learned from the smith himself.  Never, until\nlately, had any one questioned Mimer's right to be called the foremost\nsmith in all the world; but now a rival had come forward.  An unknown\nupstart---one Amilias, a giant of Burgundy--had made a suit of armor,\nwhich, he boasted, no stroke of sword could dint, and no blow of spear\ncould scratch; and he had sent a challenge to all other smiths, both in\nthe Rhine country and elsewhere, to equal that piece of workmanship, or\nelse acknowledge themselves his underlings and vassals.  For many days\nhad Mimer himself toiled, alone and vainly, trying to forge a sword\nwhose edge the boasted armor of Amilias could not foil; and now, in\ndespair, he came to ask the help of his pupils and apprentices.\n\n\"Who among you is skilful enough to forge such a sword?\" he asked,\n\nOne after another, the pupils shook their heads.  And the foreman of\nthe apprentices said, \"I have heard much about that wonderful armor,\nand its extreme hardness, and I doubt if any skill can make a sword\nwith edge so sharp and true as to cut into it.  The best that can be\ndone is to try to make another war coat whose temper shall equal that\nof Amilias's armor.\"\n\nThen the lad Siegfried quickly said, \"I will make such a sword as you\nwant,--a blade that no war coat can foil.  Give me but leave to try!\"\n\nThe other pupils laughed in scorn, but Mimer checked them.  \"You hear\nhow this boy can talk: we will see what he can do.  He is the king's\nson, and we know that he has uncommon talent.  He shall make the sword;\nbut if, upon trial, it fail, I will make him rue the day.\"\n\nThen Siegfried went to his task.  And for seven days and seven nights\nthe sparks never stopped flying from his forge; and the ringing of his\nanvil, and the hissing of the hot metal as he tempered it, were heard\ncontinuously.  On the eighth day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfried\nbrought it to Mimer.\n\nThe smith felt the razor edge of the bright weapon, and said, \"This\nseems, indeed, a fair fire edge.  Let us make a trial of its keenness.\"\n\nThen a thread of wool as light as thistle-down was thrown upon water,\nand, as it floated there, Mimer struck it with the sword.  The\nglittering blade cleft the thread in twain, and the pieces floated\nundisturbed upon the surface of the liquid.\n\n\"Well done!\" cried the delighted smith.  \"Never have I seen a keener\nedge.  If its temper is as true as its sharpness would lead us to\nbelieve, it will indeed serve me well.\"\n\nBut Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into many pieces; and\nfor three days he welded it in a white-hot fire, and tempered it with\nmilk and oatmeal.  Then, in sight of the sneering apprentices, a light\nball of fine-spun wool was cast upon the flowing water of the brook;\nand it was caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whirled about\nuntil it met the bared blade of the sword, which was held in\nSiegfried's hands.  And the ball was parted as easily and clean as the\nrippling water, and not the smallest thread was moved out of its place.\n\nThen back to the smithy Siegfried went again; and his forge glowed with\na brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the anvil with a cheerier\nsound, than ever before.  He suffered none to come near, and no one\never knew what witchery he used.  But some of his fellow pupils\nafterwards told how, in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyed\nman, long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gray kirtle, and wearing a\nsky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at the smithy door.  And they\nsaid that the stranger's face was at once pleasant and fearful to look\nupon, and that his one eye shone in the gloaming like the evening star,\nand that, when he had placed in Siegfried's hands bright shards, like\npieces of a broken sword, he faded suddenly from their sight, and was\nseen no more.\n\nFor seven weeks the lad wrought day and night at his forge; and then,\npale and haggard, but with a pleased smile upon his face, he stood\nbefore Mimer, with the sword in his hands.  \"It is finished,\" he said.\n\"Behold the glittering terror!--the blade Balmung.  Let us try its edge\nand prove its temper once again, that so we may know whether you can\nplace your trust in it.\"\n\nMimer looked long at the ruddy hilt of the weapon, and at the mystic\nrunes that were scored upon its sides, and at the keen edge, which\nlooked like a ray of sunlight in the gathering gloom of the evening.\nBut no word came from his lips, and his eyes were dim and dazed; and he\nseemed as one lost in thoughts of days long past and gone.\n\nSiegfried raised the blade high over his head; and the gleaming edge\nflashed hither and thither, like the lightning's play when Thor rides\nover the storm clouds.  Then suddenly it fell upon the master's anvil,\nand the solid block of iron was cleft in two; but the blade was no whit\ndulled by the stroke, and the line of light which marked the edge was\nbrighter than before.\n\nThen to the brook they went; and a great pack of wool, the fleeces of\nten sheep, was brought, and thrown upon the swirling water.  As the\nstream bore the bundle downwards, Mimer held the sword in its way.  And\nthe whole was divided as easily and as clean as the woollen ball or the\nslender woollen thread had been cleft before.\n\n\"Now, indeed,\" cried Mimer, \"I no longer fear to meet that upstart,\nAmilias.  If his war coat can withstand the stroke of such a sword as\nBalmung, then I shall not be ashamed to be his underling.  But, if this\ngood blade is what it seems to be, it will not fail me; and I, Mimer\nthe Old, shall still be called the wisest and greatest of smiths.\"\n\nHe sent word at once to Amilias, in Burgundyland, to meet him on a day,\nand settle forever the question as to which of the two should be the\nmaster, and which the underling.  And heralds proclaimed it in every\ntown and dwelling.  When the time which had been set drew near, Mimer,\nbearing the sword Balmung, and followed by all his pupils and\napprentices, wended his way toward the place of meeting.  Through the\nforest they went, and then along the banks of the sluggish river, for\nmany a league, to the height of land which marked the line between\nSiegfried's country and the country of the Burgundians.  It was in this\nplace, midway between the shops of Mimer and Amilias, that the great\ntrial of metal and of skill was to be made.  And here were already\ngathered great numbers of people from the Lowlands and from Burgundy,\nanxiously waiting for the coming of the champions.\n\nWhen everything was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his\nboasted war coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a rock,\nand waited for Mimer's coming.  As he sat there, he looked, to the\npeople below, like some great castle tower; for he was a giant in size,\nand his coat of mail was so huge that twenty men of common mould might\nhave found shelter, or hidden themselves, within it.  As the smith\nMimer, so dwarfish in stature, tolled up the steep hillside, Amilias\nsmiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade\nthat was to try the metal of his war coat.  And already a shout or\nexpectant triumph went up from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so\nsure were they of their champion's success.\n\nBut Mimer's friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet\nfearing.  Only Siegfried's father, the king, whispered to his queen,\nand said, \"Knowledge is stronger than brute force.  The smallest dwarf\nwho has drunk from the well of the Knowing One may safely meet the\nstoutest giant in battle.\"\n\nWhen Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms,\nand smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him,\nand that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall.  The\nsmith paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of\nhis foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a\nsteel-gray castle tower.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" asked the smith.\n\n\"Ready,\" answered Amilias.  \"Strike!\"\n\nMimer raised the blade in the air, and for a moment the lightning\nseemed to play around his head.  The muscles on his short, brawny arms,\nstood out like ropes; and then Balmung, descending, cleft the air from\nright to left.  The waiting lookers-on in the plain below thought to\nhear the noise of clashing steel; but they listened in vain, for no\nsound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss like that which red hot\niron gives when plunged into a tank of cold water.  The huge Amilias\nsat unmoved, with his arms still folded upon his breast; but the smile\nhad faded from his face.\n\n\"How do you feel now?\" asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone.\n\n\"Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me,\" faintly answered\nthe giant.\n\n\"Shake thyself!\" cried Mimer.\n\nAmilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the sword had cut\nsheer through the vaunted war coat, and cleft in twain the great body\nincased within.  Down tumbled the giant's head and his still folded\narms; and they rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill,\nand fell with a fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and\nthere, fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is\nclear, lying like gray rocks among the sand and gravel below.  The rest\nof the body, with the armor which incased it, still sat upright in its\nplace; and to this day travellers sailing down the river are shown on\nmoonlit evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hilltop.  In\nthe dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy-covered\nruins of some old castle of feudal times.\n\nThe master, Mimer, sheathed his sword, and walked slowly down the\nhillside to the plain, where his friends welcomed him with cheers and\nshouts of joy.  But the Burgundians, baffled, and feeling vexed, turned\nsilently homeward, nor cast a single look back to the scene of their\ndisappointment and their ill-fated champion's defeat.\n\nSiegfried went again with the master and his fellows to the smoky\nsmithy, to his roaring bellows and ringing anvil, and to his coarse\nfare, and rude, hard bed, and to a life of labor.  And while all men\npraised Mimer and his knowing skill, and the fiery edge of the sunbeam\nblade, no one knew that it was the boy Siegfried who had wrought that\npiece of workmanship.\n\n\n\n\nIDUN AND HER APPLES\n\nTHE STORY TOLD IN AEGIR'S HALL\n\nIdun is Bragi's wife.  Very handsome is she; but the beauty of her face\nis by no means greater than the goodness of her heart.  Right attentive\nis she to every duty, and her words and thoughts are always worthy and\nwise.  A long time ago the good Asa-folk who dwell in heaven-towering\nAsgard, knowing how trustworthy Idun was, gave into her keeping a\ntreasure which they would not have placed in the hands of any other\nperson.  This treasure was a box of apples, and Idun kept the golden\nkey safely fastened to her girdle.  You ask me why these folk should\nprize a box of apples so highly?  I will tell you.\n\nOld age, you know, spares none, not even Odin and his Asa-folk.  They\nall grow old and gray; and, if there were no cure for age, they would\nbecome feeble, and toothless and blind, deaf, tottering, and\nweak-minded.  The apples which Idun guarded so carefully were the\npriceless boon of youth.  Whenever the Asas felt old age coming on,\nthey went to her, and she gave them of her fruit; and, when they had\ntasted, they grew young and strong and handsome again.  Once, however,\nthey came near losing the apples,--or losing rather Idun and her golden\nkey, without which no one could ever open the box.\n\nIn those early days Odin delighted to come down now and then from his\nhigh home above the clouds, and to wander, disguised, among the woods\nand mountains, and by the seashore, and in wild desert places.  For\nnothing pleases him more than to commune with Nature as she is found in\nthe loneliness of vast solitudes, or in the boisterous uproar of the\nelements.  Once on a time he took with him his friends Hoenir and Loki;\nand they rambled many days among the icy cliffs and along the barren\nshores of the great frozen sea.  In that country there was no game, and\nno fish were found in the cold waters; and the three wanderers, as they\nhad brought no food with them, became very hungry.  Late in the\nafternoon of the seventh day, they reached some pasture lands belonging\nto the giant Hymer, and saw a herd of the giants cattle browsing upon\nthe short grass which grew in the sheltered nooks among the hills.\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Loki; \"after fasting for a week we shall now have food in\nabundance.  Let us kill and eat.\"\n\nSo saying, he hurled a sharp stone at the fattest of Hymer's cows, and\nkilled her; and the three quickly dressed the choicest pieces of flesh\nfor their supper.  Then Loki gathered twigs and dry grass, and kindled\na blazing fire; Hoenir filled the pot with water from melted ice; and\nOdin threw into it the bits of tender meat.  But, make the fire as hot\nas they would, the water would not boil, and the flesh would not cook.\n\nAll night long the supperless three sat hungry around the fire; and,\nevery time they peeped into the kettle, the meat was as raw and\ngustless as before.  Morning came, but no breakfast.  And all day long\nLoki kept stirring the fire, and Odin and Hoenir waited hopefully but\nimpatiently.  When the sun again went down, the flesh was still\nuncooked, and their supper seemed no nearer ready than it was the night\nbefore.  As they were about yielding to despair, they heard a noise\noverhead; and, looking up, they saw a huge gray eagle sitting on the\ndead branch of an oak.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" cried the bird.  \"You are pretty fellows indeed!  To sit\nhungry by the fire a night and a day, rather than eat raw flesh,\nbecomes you well.  Do but give me my share of it as it is, and I\nwarrant you the rest shall boil, and you shall have a fat supper.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" answered Loki eagerly.  \"Come down and get your share.\"\n\nThe eagle waited for no second asking.  Down he swooped right over the\nblazing fire, and snatched not only the eagle's share, but also what\nthe Lybians call the lion's share; that is, he grasped in his strong\ntalons the kettle, with all the meat in it, and, flapping his huge\nwings, slowly rose into the air, carrying his booty with him.  The\nthree Asas were astonished.  Loki was filled with anger.  He seized a\nlong pole, upon the end of which a sharp hook was fixed, and struck at\nthe treacherous bird.  The hook stuck fast in the eagle's back, and\nLoki could not loose his hold of the other end of the pole.  The great\nbird soared high above the tree-tops, and over the hills, and carried\nthe astonished mischief-maker with him.\n\nBut it was no eagle.  It was no bird that had thus outwitted the hungry\nAsas: it was the giant Old Winter, clothed in his eagle plumage.  Over\nthe lonely woods, and the snow-crowned mountains, and the frozen sea,\nhe flew, dragging the helpless Loki through tree-tops, and over jagged\nrocks, scratching and bruising his body, and almost tearing his arms\nfrom his shoulders.  At last he alighted on the craggy top of an\niceberg, where the storm winds shrieked, and the air was filled with\ndriving snow.  As soon as Loki could speak, he begged the cunning giant\nto carry him back to his comrades,---Odin and Hoenir.\n\n\"On one condition only will I carry you back,\" answered Old Winter.\n\"Swear to me that you will betray into my hands Dame Idun and her\ngolden key.\"\n\nLoki asked no questions, but gladly gave the oath; and the giant flew\nback with him across the sea, and dropped him, torn and bleeding and\nlame, by the side of the fire, where Odin and Hoenir still lingered.\nAnd the three made all haste to leave that cheerless place, and\nreturned to Odin's glad home in Asgard.\n\nSome weeks after this, Loki, the Prince of Mischief-makers, went to\nBragi's house to see Idun.  He found her busied with her household\ncares, not thinking of a visit from anyone.\n\n\"I have come, good dame,\" said he, \"to taste your apples again; for I\nfeel old age coming on apace.\"\n\nIdun was astonished.\n\n\"You are not looking old,\" she answered.  \"There is not a single gray\nhair upon your head, and not a wrinkle on your brow.  If it were not\nfor that scar upon your cheek, and the arm which you carry in a sling,\nyou would look as stout and as well as I have ever seen you.  Besides,\nI remember that it was only a year ago when you last tasted of my\nfruit.  Is it possible that a single winter should make you old?\"\n\n\"A single winter has made me very lame and feeble at least,\" said Loki.\n\"I have been scarcely able to walk about since my return from the\nNorth.  Another winter without a taste of your apples will be the death\nof me.\"\n\nThen the kind-hearted Idun, when she saw that Loki was really lame,\nwent to the box, and opened it with her golden key, and gave him one of\nthe precious apples to taste.  He took the fruit in his hand, bit it,\nand gave it back to the good dame.  She put it in its place again,\nclosed the lid, and locked it with her usual care.\n\n\"Your apples are not so good as they used to be,\" said Loki, making a\nvery wry face.  \"Why don't you fill your box with fresh fruit?\"\n\nIdun was amazed.  Her apples were supposed to be always fresh,--fresher\nby far than any that grow nowadays.  None of the Asas had ever before\ncomplained about them; and she told Loki so.\n\n\"Very well,\" said he.  \"I see you do not believe me, and that you mean\nto feed us on your sour, withered apples, when we might as well have\ngolden fruit.  If you were not so bent on having your own way, I could\ntell you where you might fill your box with the choicest of apples,\nsuch as Odin loves.  I saw them in the forest over yonder, hanging ripe\non the trees.  But women will always have their own way; and you must\nhave yours, even though you do feed us on withered apples.\"\n\nSo saying, and without waiting to hear an answer, he limped out at the\ndoor, and was soon gone from sight.\n\nIdun thought long and anxiously upon the words which Loki had spoken;\nand, the more she thought, the more she felt troubled.  If her husband,\nthe wise Bragi, had been at home, what would she not have given?  He\nwould have understood the mischief-maker's cunning.  But he had gone on\na long journey to the South, singing in Nature's choir and painting\nNature's landscapes, and she would not see him again until the return\nof spring.  At length she opened the box, and looked at the fruit.  The\napples were certainly fair and round: she could not see a wrinkle or a\nblemish on any of them; their color was the same golden-red,--like the\nsky at dawn of a summer's day; yet she thought there must be something\nwrong about them.  She took up one of the apples, and tasted it.  She\nfancied that it really was sour, and she hastily put it back, and\nlocked the box again.\n\n\"He said that he had seen better apples than these growing in the\nwoods,\" said she to herself.  \"I half believe that he told the truth,\nalthough everybody knows that he is not always trustworthy.  I think I\nshall go to the forest and see for myself, at any rate.\"\n\nSo she donned her cloak and hood, and, with a basket on her arm, left\nthe house, and walked rapidly away, along the road which led to the\nforest.  It was much farther than she had thought, and the sun was\nalmost down when she reached the edge of the wood.  But no apple trees\nwere there.  Tall oaks stretched their bare arms up toward the sky, as\nif praying for help.  There were thorn trees and brambles everywhere;\nbut there was no fruit, neither were there any flowers, nor even green\nleaves.  The Frost-giants had been there.\n\nIdun was about to turn her footsteps homeward, when she heard a wild\nshriek in the tree-tops over her head; and, before she could look up,\nshe felt herself seized in the eagle talons of Old Winter.  Struggle as\nshe would, she could not free herself.  High up, over wood and stream,\nthe giant carried her; and then he flew swiftly away with her, toward\nhis home in the chill Northland; and, when morning came, poor Idun\nfound herself in an ice-walled castle in the cheerless country of the\ngiants.  But she was glad to know that the precious box was safely\nlocked at home, and that the golden key was still at her girdle.\n\nTime passed; and I fear that Idun would have been forgotten by all,\nsave her husband Bragi, had not the Asas begun to feel the need of her\napples.  Day after day they came to Idun's house, hoping to find the\ngood dame and her golden key at home; and each day they went away some\nhours older than when they had come.  No one had seen the missing Idun\nsince the day when Loki had visited her, and none could guess what had\nbecome of her.  The heads of all the folk grew white with age; deep\nfurrows were ploughed in their faces; their eyes grew dim, and their\nhearing failed; their hands trembled; their limbs became palsied; their\nfeet tottered; and all feared that Old Age would bring Death in his\ntrain.\n\nThen Bragi and Thor questioned Loki very sharply; and when he felt that\nhe, too, was growing old and feeble, he regretted the mischief he had\ndone, and told them how he had decoyed Idun into Old Winter's clutches.\nThe Asas were very angry; and Thor threatened to crush Loki with his\nhammer, if he did not at once bring Idun safe home again.\n\nSo Loki borrowed the falcon plumage of Freyja, the queen of love, and\nwith it flew to the country of the giants.  When he reached Old\nWinter's castle, he found the good dame Idun shut up in the prison\ntower and bound with fetters of ice; but the giant himself was on the\nfrozen sea, herding Old Hymer's cows, the cold icebergs.  Loki quickly\nbroke the bonds that held Idun, and led her out of her prison house;\nand then he shut her up in a magic nut-shell which he held between his\nclaws, and flew with the speed of the wind back toward the Southland\nand the home of the Asas.  But Old Winter coming home, and learning\nwhat had been done, donned his eagle plumage and followed swiftly in\npursuit.\n\nBragi and Thor, anxiously gazing into the sky, saw Loki, in Freyja's\nfalcon plumage, speeding homeward, with the nut-shell in his talons,\nand Old Winter, in his eagle plumage, dashing after in sharp pursuit.\nQuickly they gathered chips and slender twigs, and placed them high\nupon the castle wall; and, when Loki with his precious burden had flown\npast, they touched fire to the dry heap, and the flames blazed up to\nthe sky, and caught Old Winter's plumage, as, close behind the falcon,\nhe blindly pressed.  And his wings were scorched in the flames; and he\nfell helpless to the ground, and was slain within the castle gates.\nLoki slackened his speed; and, when he reached Bragi's house, he\ndropped the nut-shell softly before the door.  As it touched the\nground, it gently opened, and Idun, radiant with smiles, and clothed in\ngay attire, stepped forth, and greeted her husband and his waiting\nfriends.  The heavenly music of Bragi's long-silent harp welcomed her\nhome; and she took the golden key from her girdle, and unlocked the\nbox, and gave of her apples to the aged company; and, when they had\ntasted, their youth was renewed.\n\nIt is thus with the seasons and their varied changes.  The gifts of\nSpring are youth and jollity, and renewed strength; and the music or\nair and water and all things, living and lifeless, follow in her train.\nThe desolating Winter plots to steal her from the earth, and the\nSummer-heat deserts and betrays her.  Then the music of Nature is\nhushed, and all creatures pine in sorrow for her absence, and the world\nseems dying of white Old Age.  But at length the Summer-heat repents,\nand frees her from her prison house; the icy fetters with which Old\nWinter bound her are melted in the beams of the returning sun, and the\nearth is young again.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOOM OF THE MISCHIEF-MAKER.\n\nYou have heard of the feast that old Aegir once made for the Asa-folk\nin his gold-lit dwelling in the deep sea, and how the feast was\nhindered, through the loss of his great brewing kettle, until Thor had\nobtained a still larger vessel from Hymer the giant.  It is very likely\nthat the thief who stole King Aegir's kettle was none other than Loki\nthe Mischief-maker; but, if this was so, he was not long unpunished for\nhis meanness.\n\nThere was great joy in the Ocean-king's hall, when at last the banquet\nwas ready, and the foaming mead began to pass itself around to the\nguests.  But Thor, who had done so much to help matters along, could\nnot stay to the merry-making: for he had heard that the Storm-giants\nwere marshalling their forces for a raid upon some unguarded corner of\nthe mid-world; and so, grasping his hammer, he bade his kind host\ngood-by, and leaped into his iron car.\n\n\"Business always before pleasure!\" he cried, as he hastened away at a\nwonderful rate through the air.\n\nIn old Aegir's hall glad music resounded on every side; and the gleeful\nWaves danced merrily as the Asa-folk sat around the festal board, and\npartook of the Ocean-king's good fare.  Aegir's two thralls, the\nfaithful Funfeng and the trusty Elder, waited upon the guests and\ncarefully supplied their wants.  Never in all the world had two more\nthoughtful servants been seen; and every one spoke in praise of their\nquickness, and their skill, and their ready obedience.\n\nThen Loki, unable to keep his hands from mischief, waxed very angry,\nbecause every one seemed happy and free from trouble, and no one\nnoticed or cared for him.  So, while good Funfeng was serving him to\nmeat, he struck the faithful thrall with a carving-knife, and killed\nhim.  Then arose a great uproar in the Ocean-king's feast hall.  The\nAsa-folk rose up from the table, and drove the Mischief-maker out from\namong them; and in their wrath they chased him across the waters, and\nforced him to hide in the thick greenwood.  After this they went back\nto Aegir's hall, and sat down again to the feast.  But they had\nscarcely begun to eat, when Loki came quietly out of his hiding place,\nand stole slyly around to Aegir's kitchen, where he found Elder, the\nother thrall, grieving sadly because of his brother's death.\n\n\"I hear a great chattering and clattering over there in the feast\nhall,\" said Loki.   \"The greedy, silly Asa-folk seem to be very busy\nindeed, both with their teeth and their tongues.  Tell me, now, good\nElder, what they talk about while they sit over their meat.\"\n\n\"They talk of noble deeds,\" answered Elder.  \"They speak of gallant\nheroes, and brave men, and fair women, and strong hearts, and willing\nhands, and gentle manners, and kind friends.  And for all these they\nhave words of praise and songs of beauty; but none of them speak well\nof Loki, the thief and the vile traitor.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Loki wrathfully, twisting himself into a dozen different\nshapes, \"no one could ask so great a kindness from such folk.  I must\ngo into the feast hall, and take a look at this fine company, and\nlisten to their noisy merry-making.  I have a fine scolding laid up for\nthose good fellows; and, unless they are careful with their tongues,\nthey will find many hard words mixed with their mead.\"\n\nThen he went boldly into the great hall, and stood up before the\nwonder-stricken guests at the table.  When the Asa-folk saw who it was\nthat had darkened the doorway, and was now in their midst, a painful\nsilence fell upon them, and all their merriment was at an end.  And\nLoki stretched himself up to his full height, and said to them:\n\n\"Hungry and thirsty came I to Aegir's gold-lit hall.  Long and rough\nwas the road I trod, and wearisome was the way.  Will no one bid me\nwelcome?  Will none give me a seat at the feast?  Will none offer me a\ndrink of the precious mead?  Why are you all so dumb?  Why so sulky and\nstiff-necked, when your best friend stands before you?  Give me a seat\namong you,--yes, one of the high seats,--or else drive me from your\nhall!  In either case, the world will never forget me.  I am Loki.\"\n\nThen one among the Asa-folk spoke up, and said, \"Let him sit with us.\nHe is mad; and when he slew Funfeng, he was not in his right mind.  He\nis not answerable for his rash act.\"\n\nBut Bragi the Wise, who sat on the innermost seat, arose, and said,\n\"Nay, we will not give him a seat among us.  Nevermore shall he feast\nor sup with us, or share our good-fellowship.  Thieves and murderers we\nknow, and we will shun them.\"\n\nThis speech enraged Loki all the more; and he spared not vile words,\nbut heaped abuse without stint upon all the folk before him.  By main\nforce he seized hold of the silent Vidar, who had come from the forest\nsolitudes to be present at the feast, and dragged him away from the\ntable, and seated himself in his place.  Then, as he quaffed the\nfoaming mead, he flung out taunts and jeers and hard words to all who\nsat around, but chiefly to Bragi the Wise and Sif, the beautiful wife\nof Thor.\n\nSuddenly a great tumult was heard outside.  The mountains shook and\ntrembled; the bottom of the sea seemed moved; and the waves, affrighted\nand angry, rushed hither and thither in confusion.  All the guests\nlooked up in eager expectation, and some of them fled in alarm from the\nhall.  Then the mighty Thor strode in at the door, and up to the table,\nswinging his hammer, and casting wrathful glances at the\nMischief-maker.  Loki trembled; he dropped his goblet, and sank down\nupon his knees before the terrible Asa.\n\n\"I yield me!\" he cried.  \"Spare my life, I pray you, and I will be your\nthrall forever!\"\n\n\"I want no such thrall,\" answered Thor.  \"And I spare your life on one\ncondition only,--that you go at once from hence, and nevermore presume\nto come into the company of Asa-folk.\"\n\n\"I promise all that you ask,\" said Loki, trembling more than ever.\n\"Let me go.\"\n\nThor stepped aside; and the frightened culprit fled from the hall, and\nwas soon out of sight.  The feast was broken up.  The Asas bade Aegir a\nkind farewell, and favoring winds wafted them swiftly home to Asgard.\n\nLoki fled to the dark mountain gorges of Mist Land, and sought for a\nwhile to hide himself from the sight of both gods and men.  In a deep\nravine by the side of a roaring torrent, he built himself a house of\niron and stone, and placed a door on each of its four sides, so that he\ncould see whatever passed around him.  There, for many winters, he\nlived in lonely solitude, planning with himself how he might baffle his\nenemies and regain his old place in Asgard.  Now and then he slipped\nslyly away from his hiding-place, and wrought much mischief for a time\namong the abodes of men.  But when Thor heard of his evil-doings, and\nsought to catch him, and punish him for his evil deeds, he was nowhere\nto be found.  At last the Asa-folk determined, that, if he could ever\nbe captured, the safety of the world required that he should be bound\nhand and foot, and kept forever in prison.\n\nLoki often amused himself in his mountain home by taking upon him his\nfavorite form of a salmon and lying listlessly beneath the waters of\nthe great Fanander Cataract, which fell from the shelving rocks a\nthousand feet above him.  One day while thus lying, he bethought\nhimself of former days, when he walked the glad young earth in company\nwith great Odin.  And among other things he remembered how he had once\nborrowed the magic net of Ran, the Ocean-queen, and had caught with it\nthe dwarf Andvari, disguised, as he himself now was, in the form of a\nslippery salmon.\n\n\"I will make me such a net!\" he cried.  \"I will make it strong and\ngood; and I, too, will fish for men.\"\n\nSo he took again his proper shape, and went back to his cheerless home\nin the ravine.  There he gathered flax and wool and long hemp, and spun\nyarn and strong cords, and wove them into meshes, after the pattern of\nQueen Ran's magic net; for men had not, at that time, learned how to\nmake or use nets for fishing.  And the first fisherman who caught fish\nin that way is said to have taken-Loki's net as a model.\n\nOdin sat, on the morrow, in his high hall at Asgard, and looked out\nover all the world, even to the uttermost corners.  With his sharp eye\nhe saw what men-folk were everywhere doing.  When his gaze rested upon\nthe dark line which marked the mountain land of the Mist Country, he\nstarted up in quick surprise, and cried out:\n\n\"Who is that who sits by the Fanander Falls, and ties strong cords\ntogether?\"\n\nBut none of those who stood around could tell, for their eyes were not\nstrong enough and clear enough to see so far.\n\n\"Bring Heimdal!\" then cried Odin.\n\nNow, Heimdal the White dwells among the blue mountains where the\nrainbow spans the space betwixt heaven and earth.  He is the son of\nOdin, golden-toothed, pure-faced, and clean-hearted; and he ever keeps\nwatch and ward over the mid-world and the homes of frail men-folk, lest\nthe giants shall break in, and destroy and slay.  He rides upon a\nshining steed named Goldtop; and he holds in his hand a horn with\nwhich, in the last twilight, he shall summon the world to battle with\nthe sons of Loki.  This watchful guardian of the mid-world is as\nwakeful as the birds.  And his hearing is so keen, that no sound on\nearth escapes him,--not even that of the rippling waves upon the\nseashore, nor of the quiet sprouting of the grass in the meadows, nor\neven of the growth of the soft wool on the backs of the sheep.  His\neyesight, too, is wondrous clear and sharp; for he can see by night as\nwell as by day, and the smallest thing, although a hundred leagues\naway, cannot be hidden from him.\n\nTo Heimdal, then, the heralds hastened, bearing the words which Odin\nhad spoken, and the watchful warder of the mid-world came at once to\nthe call of the All-Father.\n\n\"Turn your eyes to the sombre mountains that guard the shadowy Mist\nLand from the sea,\" said Odin.  \"Now look far down into the rocky gorge\nin which the Fanander Cataract pours, and tell me what you see.\"\n\nHeimdal did as he was bidden.\n\n\"I see a shape,\" said he, \"sitting by the torrent's side.  It is Loki's\nshape, and he seems strangely busy with strong strings and cords.\"\n\n\"Call all our folk together!\" commanded Odin.  \"The wily Mischief-maker\nplots our hurt.  He must be driven from his hiding place, and put where\nhe can do no further harm.\"\n\nGreat stir was there then in Asgard.  Every one hastened to answer\nOdin's call, and to join in the quest for the Mischief-maker.  Thor\ncame on foot, with his hammer tightly grasped in his hands, and\nlightning flashing from beneath his red brows.  Tyr, the one-handed,\ncame with his sword.  Then followed Bragi the Wise, with his harp and\nhis sage counsels; then Hermod the Nimble, with his quick wit and ready\nhands; and lastly, a great company of elves and wood-sprites and\ntrolls.  Then a whirlwind caught them up in its swirling arms, and\ncarried them through the air, over the hilltops and the countryside,\nand the meadows and the mountains, and set them down in the gorge of\nthe Fanander Force.\n\nBut Loki was not caught napping.  His wakeful ears had heard the tumult\nin the air, and he guessed who it was that was coming.  He threw the\nnet, which he had just finished, into the fire, and jumped quickly into\nthe swift torrent, where, changing himself into a salmon, he lay hidden\nbeneath the foaming water.\n\nWhen the eager Asa-folk reached Loki's dwelling, they found that he\nwhom they sought had fled; and although they searched high and low,\namong the rocks and the caves and the snowy crags, they could see no\nsigns of the cunning fugitive.  Then they went back to his house again\nto consult what next to do.  And, while standing by the hearth, Kwaser,\na sharp-sighted elf, whose eyes were quicker than the sunbeam, saw the\nwhite ashes of the burned net lying undisturbed in the still hot\nembers, the woven meshes unbroken and whole.\n\n\"See what the cunning fellow has been making!\" cried the elf.  \"It must\nhave been a trap for catching fish.\"\n\n\"Or rather for catching men,\" said Bragi; \"for it is strangely like the\nSea-queen's net.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said Hermod the Nimble, \"he has made a trap for\nhimself; for, no doubt, he has changed himself, as is his wont, to a\nslippery salmon, and lies at this moment hidden beneath the Fanander\ntorrent.  Here are plenty of cords of flax and hemp and wool, with\nwhich he intended to make other nets.  Let us take them, and weave one\nlike the pattern which lies there in the embers; and then, if I mistake\nnot, we shall catch the too cunning fellow.\"\n\nAll saw the wisdom of these words, and all set quickly to work.  In a\nshort time they had made a net strong and large, and full of fine\nmeshes, like the model among the coals.  Then they threw it into the\nroaring stream, Thor holding to one end, and all the other folk pulling\nit the other.  With great toil, they dragged it forward, against the\ncurrent, even to the foot of the waterfall.  But the cunning Loki crept\nclose down between two sharp stones, and lay there quietly while the\nnet passed harmlessly over him.\n\n\"Let us try again!\" cried Thor.  \"I am sure that something besides dead\nrocks lies at the bottom of the stream.\"\n\nSo they hung heavy weights to the net, and began to drag it again, this\ntime going down stream.  Loki looked out from his hiding place, and saw\nthat he would not be able to escape now by lying between the rocks, and\nthat his only chance for safety was either to leap over the net, and\nhide himself behind the rushing cataract itself, or to swim with the\ncurrent out to the sea.  But the way to the sea was long, and there\nwere many shallow places; and Loki had doubts as to how old Aegir would\nreceive him in his kingdom.  He feared greatly to undertake so\ndangerous and uncertain a course.  So, turning upon his foes, and\ncalling up all his strength, he made a tremendous leap high into the\nair and clean over the net.  But Thor was too quick for him.  As he\nfell toward the water, the Thunderer quickly threw out his hand, and\ncaught the slippery salmon, holding him firmly by the tail.\n\nWhen Loki found that he was surely caught, and could not by any means\nescape, he took again his proper shape.  Fiercely did he struggle with\nmighty Thor, and bitter were the curses which he poured down upon his\nenemies.  But he could not get free.  Into the deep, dark cavern,\nbeneath the smoking mountain, where daylight never comes, nor the\nwarmth of the sun, nor the sound of Nature's music, the fallen\nMischief-maker was carried.  The Asas bound him firmly to the sharp\nrocks, with his face turned upwards toward the dripping roof; for they\nsaid that nevermore, until the last dread twilight, should he be free\nto vex the world with his wickedness.  Skade, the giant daughter of Old\nWinter, took a hideous snake, and hung it up above Loki, so that its\nvenom would drop into his upturned face.  But Sigyn, the loving wife of\nthe suffering wretch, left her home in the pleasant halls of Asgard,\nand came to his horrible prison house to soothe and comfort him; and\nevermore she holds a basin above his head, and catches in it the\npoisonous drops as they fall.  When the basin is filled, and she turns\nto empty it in the tar-black river that flows through that home of\nhorrors, the terrible venom falls upon his unprotected face, and Loki\nwrithes and shrieks in fearful agony, until the earth around him shakes\nand trembles, and the mountains spit forth fire, and fumes of sulphur\nsmoke.\n\nAnd there the Mischief-maker, the spirit of evil, shall lie in torment\nuntil the last great day and the dread twilight of all mid-world things.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNT IN THE WOOD OF PUELLE\n\nRELATED BY THE MINSTREL OF LORRAINE[1]\n\nCharles the Hammer was dead, and his young son Pepin was king of\nFrance.  Bego of Belin was his dearest friend, and to him he had given\nall Gascony in fief.  You would have far to go to find the peer of the\nvaliant Bego.  None of King Pepin's nobles dared gainsay him.  Rude in\nspeech and rough in war, though he was, he was a true knight, gentle\nand loving to his friends, very tender to his wife and children, kind\nto his vassals, just and upright in all his doings.  The very flower of\nknighthood was Bego.\n\nBitter feuds had there been between the family of Bego and that of\nFromont of Bordeaux.  Long time had these quarrels continued, and on\nboth sides much blood had been spilled.  But now there had been peace\nbetween them for ten years and more, and the old hatred was being\nforgotten.\n\nOne day Bego sat in his lordly castle at Belin; and beside him was his\nwife, the fair Beatrice.  In all France there was not a happier man.\nFrom the windows the duke looked out upon his broad lands and the rich\nfarms of his tenants.  As far as a bird could fly in a day, all was\nhis; and his vassals and serving-men were numbered by the tens of\nthousands.  \"What more,\" thought Bego, \"could the heart of man wish or\npray for?\"\n\nHis two young sons came bounding into the hall,--Gerin, the elder born,\nfair-haired and tall, brave and gentle as his father; and Hernaudin,\nthe younger, a child of six summers, his mother's pet, and the joy of\nthe household.  With them were six other lads, sons of noblemen; and\nall together laughed and played, and had their boyish pleasure.\n\nWhen the duke saw them, he remembered his own boyhood days and the\ncompanions who had shared his sports, and he sighed.  The fair Beatrice\nheard him, and she said, \"My lord, what ails you, that you are so\nthoughtful to-day?  Why should a rich duke like you sigh and seem sad?\nGreat plenty of gold and silver have you in your coffers; you have\nenough of the vair and the gray,[2] of hawks on their perches, of mules\nand palfreys and war steeds; you have overcome all your foes, and none\ndare rise up against you.  All within six days' journey are your\nvassals.  What more would you desire to make you happy?\"\n\n\"Sweet lady,\" answered Bego, \"you have spoken truly.  I am rich, as the\nworld goes; but my wealth is not happiness.  True wealth is not of\nmoney, of the vair and the gray, of mules, or of horses.  It is of\nkinsfolk and friends.  The heart of a man is worth more than all the\ngold of a country.  Had it not been for my friends, I would have been\nput to shame long ago.  The king has given me this fief, far from my\nboyhood's home, where I see but few of my old comrades and helpers.  I\nhave not seen my brother Garin, the Lorrainer, these seven years, and\nmy heart yearns to behold him.  Now, methinks, I will go to him, and I\nwill see his son, the child Girbert, whom I have never seen.\"\n\nThe Lady Beatrice said not a word, but the tears began to well up sadly\nin her eyes.\n\n\"In the wood of Puelle,\" said Bego, after a pause, \"there is said to be\na wild boar, the largest and fiercest ever seen.  He outruns the\nfleetest horses.  No man can slay him.  Methinks, that if it please\nGod, and I live, I will hunt in that wood, and I will carry the head of\nthe great beast to my brother the Lorrainer.\"\n\nThen Beatrice, forcing back her tears, spoke:\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"what is it thou sayest?  The wood of Puelle is in the\nmarch of Fromont the chief, and he owes thee a great grudge.  He would\nbe too glad to do thee harm.  I pray thee do not undertake this hunt.\nMy heart tells me,--I will not hide the truth from thee,--my heart\ntells me, that if thou goest thither thou shalt never come back alive.\"\n\nBut the duke laughed at her fears; and the more she tried to dissuade\nhim, the more he set his mind on seeing his brother the Lorrainer, and\non carrying to him the head of the great wild boar of Puelle.  Neither\nprayers nor tears could turn him from his purpose.  All the gold in the\nworld, he said, would not tempt him to give up the adventure.\n\nSo on the morrow morning, before the sun had fairly risen, Bego made\nready to go.  As this was no warlike enterprise, he dressed himself in\nthe richest garb of knightly hero,--with mantle of ermine, and spurs of\ngold.  With him he took three dozen huntsmen, all skilled in the lore\nof the woods, and ten packs of hunting hounds.  He had, also, ten\nhorses loaded with gold and silver and costly presents, and more than a\nscore of squires and serving-men.  Tenderly he bade fair Beatrice and\nhis two young sons good-by.  Ah, what grief!  Never was he to see them\nmore.\n\nGoing by way of Orleans, Bego stopped a day with his sister, the lovely\nHelois.  Three days he tarried at Paris, the honored guest of the king\nand queen.  Then pushing on to Valenciennes, which was on the borders\nof the great forest, he took up lodging with a rich burgher called\nBerenger the Gray.\n\n\"Thou hast many foes in these parts,\" said the burgher, \"and thou\nwouldst do well to ware of them.\"\n\nBego only laughed at the warning.  \"Didst thou ever know a Gascon to\nshun danger?\" he asked.  \"I have heard of the famed wild boar of\nPuelle, and I mean to hunt him in this wood, and slay him.  Neither\nfriends nor foes shall hinder me.\"\n\nOn the morrow Berenger led the duke and his party into the wood, and\nshowed them the lair of the beast.  Out rushed the monster upon his\nfoes; then swiftly he fled, crashing through brush and brake, keeping\nwell out of the reach of the huntsmen, turning every now and then to\nrend some too venturesome hound.  For fifteen leagues across the\ncountry he led the chase.  One by one the huntsmen lost sight of him.\nToward evening a cold rain came up; and they turned, and rode back\ntoward Valenciennes.  They had not seen the duke since noon.  They\nsupposed that he had gone back with Berenger.  But Bego was still\nriding through the forest in close pursuit of the wild boar.  Only\nthree hounds kept him company.\n\nThe boar was well-nigh wearied out, and the duke knew that he could not\ngo much farther.  He rode up close behind him; and the fierce animal,\nhis mouth foaming with rage, turned furiously upon him.  But the duke,\nwith a well-aimed thrust of his sword, pierced the great beast through\nhis heart.\n\nBy this time, night was falling.  The duke knew that he was very far\nfrom any town or castle, but he hoped that some of his men might be\nwithin call.  He took his horn, and blew it twice full loudly.  But his\nhuntsmen were now riding into Valenciennes; nor did they think that\nthey had left their master behind them in the wood.  With his flint the\nduke kindled a fire; beneath an aspen tree, and made ready to spend the\nnight near the place where the slain wild  boar lay.\n\nThe forester who kept the wood heard the sound of Bego's horn, and saw\nthe light of the fire gleaming through the trees.  Cautiously he drew\nnearer.  He was surprised to see a knight so richly clad, with his\nsilken hose and his golden spurs, his ivory horn hanging from his neck\nby a blue ribbon.  He noticed the great sword that hung at Bego's side.\nIt was the fairest and fearfulest weapon he had ever seen.  He hastened\nas fast as he could ride to Lens, where Duke Fromont dwelt; but he\nspoke not a word to Fromont.  He took the steward of the castle aside,\nand told him of what he had seen in the wood.\n\n\"He is no common huntsman,\" said the forester; \"and you should see how\nrichly clad he is.  No king was ever arrayed more gorgeously while\nhunting.  And his horse--I never saw a better.\"\n\n\"But what is all this to me?\" asked the steward.  \"If he is trespassing\nin the forest, it is your duty to bring him before the duke.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is hard for you to understand,\" answered the forester.\n\"Methinks that if our master had the boar, the sword, and the horn, he\nwould let me keep the clothing, and you the horse, and would trouble us\nwith but few questions.\"\n\n\"Thou art indeed wise,\" answered the steward.  And he at once called\nsix men, whom he knew he could trust to any evil deed, and told them to\ngo with the forester.\n\n\"And, if you find any man trespassing in Duke Fromont's wood, spare him\nnot,\" he added.\n\nIn the morning the ruffians came to the place where Duke Bego had spent\nthe night.  They found him sitting not far from the great beast which\nhe had slain, while his horse stood before him and neighed with\nimpatience and struck his hoofs upon the ground.  They asked him who\ngave him leave to hunt in the wood of Puelle.\n\n\"I ask no man's leave to hunt where it pleases me,\" he answered.\n\nThey told him then that the lordship of the wood was with Fromont and\nthat he must go with them, as their prisoner, to Lens.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Bego.  \"I will go with you.  If I have done aught of\nwrong to Fromont the old, I am willing to make it right with him.  My\nbrother Garin, the Lorrainer, and King Pepin, will go my surety.\"\n\nThen, looking around upon the villainous faces of the men who had come\nto make prisoner of him, he bethought himself for a moment.\n\n\"No, no!\" he cried.  \"Never will I yield me to six such rascals.\nBefore I die, I will sell myself full dear.  Yesterday six and thirty\nknights were with me, and master huntsmen, skilled in all the lore of\nthe wood.  Noble men were they all; for not one of them but held in\nfief some town or castle or rich countryside.  They will join me ere\nlong.\"\n\n\"He speaks thus, either to excuse himself or to frighten us,\" said one\nof the men; and he went boldly forward, and tried to snatch the horn\nfrom Bego's neck.  The duke raised his fist, and knocked him senseless\nto the ground.\n\n\"Never shall ye take horn from count's neck!\" he cried.\n\nThen all set upon him at once, hoping that by their numbers they might\noverpower him.  But Bego drew his sword, and struck valiantly to the\nright and to the left of him.  Three of the villains were slain\noutright; and the rest took to their heels and fled, glad to escape\nsuch fury.\n\nAnd now all might have been well with Duke Bego.  But a churl, armed\nwith a bow, and arrows of steel, was hidden among the trees.  When he\nsaw his fellows put to flight, he drew a great steel bolt and aimed it\nat the duke.  Swiftly sped the arrow toward the noble targe: too truly\nwas it aimed.  The duke's sword fell from his hands: the master-vein of\nhis heart had been cut in twain.  He lifted his hands toward heaven,\nand prayed:--\n\n\"Almighty Father, who always wert and art, have pity on my soul.--Ah,\nBeatrice! thou sweet, gentle wife, never more shalt thou see me under\nheaven.--Fair brother Garin of Lorraine, never shall I be with thee to\nserve thee.--My two noble boys, if I had lived, you should have been\nthe worthiest of knights: now, may Heaven defend you!\"\n\nAfter a while the churl and the three villains came near him, and found\nhim dead.  It was no common huntsman whom they had killed, but a good\nknight,--the loyalest and the best that ever God's sun shone upon.\nThey took the sword and the horn and the good steed; they loaded the\nboar upon a horse; and all returned to Lens.  But they left Bego in the\nforest, and with him his three dogs, who sat around him, and howled\nmost mournfully, as if they knew they had lost their best friend.\n\nThe men carried the great boar into the castle of Lens, and threw it\ndown upon the kitchen hearth.  A wonderful beast he was: his sharp,\ncurved tusks stuck out full a foot from his mouth.  The serving-men and\nthe squires crowded around to see the huge animal; then, as the news\nwas told through the castle, many fair ladies and knights, and the\npriests from the chapel, came in to view the sight.  Old Duke Fromont\nheard the uproar, and came in slippers and gown to ask what it all\nmeant.\n\n\"Whence came this boar, this ivory horn, this sword?\" he inquired.\n\"This horn never belonged to a mere huntsman.  It looks like the\nwondrous horn that King Charles the Hammer had in the days of my\nfather.  There is but one knight now living that can blow it; and he is\nfar away in Gascony.  Tell me where you got these things.\"\n\nThen the forester told him all that had happened in the wood, coloring\nthe story, of course, so as to excuse himself from wrong-doing.\n\n\"And left ye the slain man in the wood?\" asked the old duke.  \"A more\nshameful sin I have never known than to leave him there for the wolves\nto eat.  Go ye back at once, and fetch him hither.  To-night he shall\nbe watched in the chapel, and to-morrow he shall be buried with all due\nhonor.  Men should have pity of one another.\"\n\nThe body of the noble Duke Bego was brought, and laid upon a table in\nthe great hall.  His dogs were still with him, howling pitifully, and\nlicking his face.  Knights and noblemen came in to see him.\n\n\"A gentle man this was,\" said they; \"for even his dogs loved him.\"\n\n\"Shame on the rascals who slew him!\" said others.  \"No freeman would\nhave touched so noble a knight.\"\n\nOld Duke Fromont came in.  He started back at sight of him who lay\nthere lifeless.  Well he knew Duke Bego, by a scar that he himself had\ngiven him at the battle of St. Quentin ten years before.  He fell\nfainting into the arms of his knights.  Then afterward he upbraided his\nmen for their dastardly deed, and bewailed their wicked folly.\n\n\"This is no poaching huntsman whom you have slain,\" said he, \"but a\nmost worthy knight,--the kindest, the best taught, that ever wore\nspurs.  And ye have dragged me this day into such a war that I shall\nnot be out of it so long as I live.  I shall see my lands overrun and\nwasted, my great castles thrown down and destroyed, and my people\ndistressed and slain; and as for myself I shall have to die--and all\nthis for a fault which is none of mine, and for a deed which I have\nneither wished nor sanctioned.\"\n\nAnd the words of Duke Fromont were true.  The death of Bego of Belin\nwas fearfully avenged by his brother the Lorrainer and by his young\nsons Gerin and Hernaud.  Never was realm so impoverished as was\nFromont's dukedom.  The Lorrainers and the Gascons overran and laid\nwaste the whole country.  A pilgrim might go six days' journey without\nfinding bread, or meat, or wine.  The crucifixes lay prone upon the\nground; the grass grew upon the altars; and no man stopped to plead\nwith his neighbor.  Where had been fields and houses, and fair towns\nand lordly castles, now there was naught but woods and underbrush and\nthorns.  And old Duke Fromont, thus ruined through no fault of his own,\nbewailed his misfortunes, and said to his friends, \"I have not land\nenough to rest upon alive, or to lie upon dead.\"\n\n\n[1]The original of this tale is found in \"The Song of the Lorrainers,\"\na famous poem written by Jehan de Flagy, a minstrel of the twelfth\ncentury.  In the \"Story of Roland\" it is supposed to have been related\nat the court of Charlemagne by a minstrel of Lorraine.\n\n[2]_The vair and the gray_,--furs used for garments, and in heraldry.\nVair is the skin of the squirrel, and was arranged in shields of blue\nand white alternating.\n\n\n\n\nOGIER THE DANE AND THE FAIRIES\n\nWhen Ogier the Dane was but a babe in his mother's arms, there was\nheard one day, in his father's castle, the sweetest music that mortals\never listened to.  Nobody knew whence the bewitching sounds came; for\nthey seemed to be now here, now there: yet every one was charmed with\nthe delightful melody, and declared that only angels could make music\nso heavenly.  Then suddenly there came into the chamber where Ogier lay\nsix fairies, whose beauty was so wonderful and awful, that none but a\nbabe might gaze upon them without fear.  And each of the lovely\ncreatures bore in her hands a garland of the rarest flowers, and rich\ngifts of gold and gems.  And the first fairy took the child in her\narms, and kissed him, and said,--\n\n\"Better than kingly crown, or lands, or rich heritage, fair babe, I\ngive thee a brave, strong heart.  Be fearless as the eagle, and bold as\nthe lion; be the bravest knight among men.\"\n\nThen the second fairy took the child, and dandled him fondly on her\nknees, and looked long and lovingly into his clear gray eyes.\n\n\"What is genius without opportunity?\" said she.  \"What is a brave heart\nwithout the ability to do brave deeds?  I give to thee many an\nopportunity for manly action.\"\n\nThe third fairy laid the dimpled hands of the babe in her own white\npalm, and stroked softly his golden hair.\n\n\"Strong-hearted boy, for whom so many noble deeds are waiting, I, too,\nwill give thee a boon.  My gift is skill and strength such as shall\nnever fail thee in fight, nor allow thee to be beaten by a foe.\nSuccess to thee, fair Ogier!\"\n\nThe fourth fairy touched tenderly the mouth and the eyes and the noble\nbrow of the babe.\n\n\"Be fair of speech,\" said she, \"be noble in action, be courteous, be\nkind: these are the gifts I bring thee.  For what will a strong heart,\nor a bold undertaking, or success in every enterprise, avail, unless\none has the respect and the love of one's fellow-men?\"\n\nThen the fifth fairy came forward, and clasped Ogier in her arms, and\nheld him a long time quietly, without speaking a word.  At last she\nsaid,--\n\n\"The gifts which my sisters have given thee will scarcely bring thee\nhappiness; for, while they add to thy honor, they may make thee\ndangerous to others.  They may lead thee into the practice of\nselfishness and base acts of tyranny.  That man is little to be envied\nwho loves not his fellow-men.  The boon, therefore, that I bring thee\nis the power and the will to esteem others as frail mortals equally\ndeserving with thyself.\"\n\nAnd then the sixth fairy, the youngest and the most beautiful of all,\nwho was none other than Morgan le Fay, the Queen of Avalon, caught up\nthe child, and danced about the room in rapturous joy.  And, in tones\nmore musical than mortals often hear, she sang a sweet lullaby, a song\nof fairyland and of the island vale of Avalon, where the souls of\nheroes dwell.\n\nAnd, when she had finished singing, Morgan le Fay crowned the babe with\na wreath of laurel and gold, and lighted a fairy torch that she held in\nher hand.  \"This torch,\" said she, \"is the measure of thy earthly days;\nand it shall not cease to burn until thou hast visited me in Avalon,\nand sat at table with King Arthur and the heroes who dwell there in\nthat eternal summer-land.\"\n\nThen the fairies gave the babe gently back into his mother's arms, and\nthey strewed the floor of the chamber with many a rich gem and lovely\nflower; the odor of roses and the sweetest perfumes filled the air, and\nthe music of angels' voices was heard above; and the fairies vanished\nin a burst of sunbeams, and were seen no more.  And when the queen's\nmaidens came soon afterward into the chamber, they found the child\nsmiling in his mother's arms.  But she was cold and lifeless: her\nspirit had flown away to fairyland.\n\n\n\n\nHOW CHARLEMAGNE CROSSED THE ALPS\n\nIt was near the time of the solemn festival of Easter,--the time when\nNature seems to rise from the grave, and the Earth puts on anew her\ngarb of youth and beauty.  King Charlemagne was at St. Omer; for there\nthe good Archbishop Turpin was making ready to celebrate the great\nfeast with more than ordinary grandeur.  Thither, too, had come the\nmembers of the king's household, and a great number of lords and\nladies, the noblest in France.\n\nScarcely had the good archbishop pronounced a blessing upon the devout\nmultitude assembled at the Easter service, when two messengers came in\nhot haste, and demanded to speak with the king.  They had come from\nRome, and they bore letters from Pope Leo.  Sad was the news which\nthese letters brought, but it was news which would fire the heart of\nevery Christian knight.  The Saracens had landed in Italy, and had\ntaken Rome by assault.  \"The pope and the cardinals and the legates\nhave fled,\" said the letters; \"the churches are torn down; the holy\nrelics are lost; and the Christians are put to the sword.  Wherefore\nthe Holy Father charges you as a Christian king to march at once to the\nhelp of the Church.\"\n\nIt needed no word of Charlemagne to arouse the ardor of his warriors.\nEvery other undertaking must be laid aside, so long as Rome and the\nChurch were in danger.  And the heralds proclaimed that on the morrow,\nat break of day, the army would move southward toward Italy.\n\nThe morning after Easter dawned, and the great army waited for the\nsignal to march.  The bugles sounded, and the long line of steel-clad\nknights and warriors began to move.  Charlemagne rode in the front\nranks, ready, like a true knight, to brave every difficulty, and to be\nthe first in every post of danger.  Never did a better king wear spur.\n\nGreat was the haste with which the army moved, and very impatient were\nthe warriors; for the whole of France lay between them and fair Italy,\nand they knew that weeks of weary marching must be endured, ere they\ncould meet their Pagan foe in battle, and drive him out of the\nChristians' land.\n\nMany days they rode among the rich fields and between the blooming\norchards of the Seine valley; many days they toiled over unbroken\nforest roads, and among marshes and bogs, and across untrodden\nmoorlands.  They climbed steep hills, and swam broad rivers, and\nendured the rain and the wind and the fierce heat of the noonday sun,\nand sometimes even the pangs of hunger and thirst.  But they carried\nbrave hearts within them; and they comforted themselves with the\nthought that all their suffering was for the glory of God and the honor\nof the king, for their country's safety and the security of their homes.\n\nEvery day, as they advanced, the army increased in numbers and in\nstrength: for the news had been carried all over the land, that the\nSaracens had taken Rome, and that Charlemagne with his host was\nhastening to the rescue; and knights and noblemen from every city and\ntown and countryside came to join his standard, sometimes alone and\nsingly, and sometimes with a great retinue of fighting men and\nservitors.  When at last they had passed the boundaries of France, and\nonly the great mountains lay between them and Italy, Charlemagne could\nlook behind him, and see an army of a hundred thousand men.  And now\nmessengers came to him again, urging him to hasten with all speed to\nthe succor of the pope.\n\nBut the Alps Mountains lifted themselves up in his pathway, and their\nsnowy crags frowned threateningly upon him; their steep, rocky sides\narose like walls before him, and seemed to forbid his going farther;\nand there appeared to be no way of reaching Italy, save by a long and\ncircuitous route through the southern passes.\n\nIn the hope that he might find some shorter and easier passage,\nCharlemagne now sent out scouts and mountaineers to explore every\nvalley and gorge, and every seeming mountain pass.  But all came back\nwith the same story: there was not even so much as a path up which the\nmountain goats could clamber, much less a road broad enough for an\narmy, with horses and baggage, to traverse.  The king was in despair,\nand he called together his counsellors and wise men to consider what\nshould be done.  Duke Namon urged that they should march around by way\nof the southern passes; for, although a full month would thus be lost,\nyet there was no other safe and well-known land-route to Italy.\nGanelon advised that they should turn back, and, marching to\nMarseilles, embark from thence on ships, and undertake to reach Rome by\nway of the sea.\n\nThen the dwarf Malagis came before Charlemagne, bearing in his hand a\nbook, from which he read many spells and weird enchantments.  Upon the\nground he drew with his wand a magic ring, and he laid therein the\nhammer of Thor and the sword of Mahomet.  In a loud, commanding voice,\nhe called upon the sprites, the trolls, and the goblins, with whom he\nwas familiar, to come at once into his presence.  Forthwith the\nlightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, and smoke and fire burst\nforth from the mountain peaks, and the rocks and great ice-fields were\nloosened among the crags, and came tumbling down into the valley.\nDwarfs and elves, and many an uncanny thing, danced and shouted in the\nmountain caves; grinning ogres peeped out from the deep clefts and\ngorges; and the very air seemed full of ghost-like creatures.  Then the\nwizard called by name a wise but wicked goblin, known among the\nSaracens as Ashtaroth; and the goblin came at once, riding in a\nwhirlwind, and feeling very angry because he was obliged to obey.\n\n\"Tell me now,\" said Malagis, \"and tell me truly, whether there is here\nso much as a pathway by which Charlemagne may lead his army through the\nmountains.\"\n\nThe goblin was silent for a moment; a dark cloud rested upon his face,\nand his look was terrible.  But the wizard, in no wise daunted,\nreturned his glance, and in the tones of a master bade him clear up\nthat clouded look, and answer the question he had asked.  Then\nAshtaroth curbed his anger, and spoke:\n\n\"On what errand would the French king cross the Alps?\" he asked.\n\"Seeks he not to harm my friends the Saracens?\"\n\n\"That is, indeed, his errand,\" answered Malagis.\n\n\"Then, why should I do aught to help him?\" asked the goblin.  \"Why do\nyou call me from my rest, and bid me betray my friends?\"\n\n\"That is not for thee to ask,\" said Malagis.  \"I have called thee as a\nmaster calls his slave.  Tell me now, and tell me truly, is there here\nany pass across the mountains into Italy?\"\n\n\"There is such a pass,\" answered the goblin gravely; \"but it is hidden\nto eyes like mine.  I cannot guide you to it, nor can any of my kind\nshow you how to find it.  It is a pathway which only the pure can\ntread.\"\n\n\"Tell me one thing more,\" said Malagis.  \"Tell me one thing, and I will\nlet thee go.  How prosper thy friends the Saracens at Rome?\"\n\n\"They have taken all but the Capitol,\" was the answer.  \"They have\nslain many Christians, and burned many buildings.  The pope and the\ncardinals have fled.  If Charlemagne reach not Italy within a month,\nill will it fare with his friends.\"\n\nThen Malagis, satisfied with what he had heard, unwound the spell of\nhis enchantments; and amid a cloud of fire and smoke the goblin flew\nback into the mountains.\n\nNext the good Turpin came forward, with a crosier in his hand, and a\nbishop's mitre on his head, and a long white robe thrown over his\nshoulders, scarcely hiding the steel armor which he wore beneath.  He\nlifted up his eyes to heaven and prayed.  And the sound of his voice\narose among the cliffs, and resounded among the rocks, and was echoed\nfrom valley to valley, and re-echoed among the peaks and crags, and\ncarried over the mountain tops, even to the blue sky above.  The king\nand those who stood about him fancied that they heard sweet strains of\nmusic issuing from the mountain caves; the most bewitching sounds arose\namong the rocks and gorges; the air was filled with a heavenly perfume\nand the songs of birds; and a holy calm settled over mountain and\nvalley, and fell like a blessing upon the earth.  Then the Alps no\nlonger seemed obstacles in their way.  The steep cliffs, which had been\nlike mighty walls barring their progress, seemed now mere gentle\nslopes, rising little by little toward heaven, and affording a pleasant\nand easy highway to the fair fields of Italy beyond.\n\nWhile Charlemagne and his peers gazed in rapt delight upon this vision,\nthere came down from the mountain crags a beautiful creature such as\nnone of them had ever before seen.  It was a noble stag, white as the\ndrifted snow, his head crowned with wide-branching antlers, from every\npoint of which bright sunbeams seemed to flash.\n\n\"Behold our leader and our hope!\" cried Turpin.  \"Behold the\nsure-footed guide which the Wonder-king has sent to lead us through\nnarrow ways, and over dangerous steeps, to the smiling valleys and\nfields of Italy!  Be only strong and trustful and believing, and a safe\nway shall open for us, even where there seemed to be no way.\"\n\nThen the vision faded slowly away from the sight of the peers; and the\nmountain walls rose up before them as grim and steep as ever; and the\nsnow-crowned crags looked down upon them even more angrily than before,\nand there seemed no road nor pathway which the foot of man could\nfollow.  But the wondrous white stag, which had filled their minds with\na new-born hope, still stood in plain sight on the lowermost slopes of\nthe mountain.\n\nThe king, without once taking his eyes from the Heaven-sent creature,\nmounted his war-steed, and sounded the bugle which hung at his girdle;\nand the great army, confiding in the wisdom of their leader, began to\nmove.  The white stag went first, steadily following a narrow pathway,\nwhich led upward by many steep ascents, seemingly to the very clouds;\nand behind him rode Charlemagne, keeping ever in view his radiant,\nhopeful guide, and followed by the long line of knights and warriors,\nwho, cheered by his earnest faith, never once feared the end.\n\nHigher and higher they climbed, and more and more difficult became the\nway.  On one side of them arose a steep wall, shutting out from their\nsight more than half of the sky; on the other side, dark gorges and\nyawning gulfs descended, threatening to bury the whole army in their\nbottomless depths.  And by and by they came to the region of snow and\nice, where the Storm-king holds his court, and reigns in ever-lasting\nsolitude.  Looking back, they could see sweet France, lying spread out\nas a map beneath them, its pleasant fields and its busy towns seeming\nonly as specks in the dim distance.  But when they looked forward,\nhoping there to see a like map of fair Italy, only the rocks and the\nice, and the narrow pathway, and the desolate mountain crags, met their\nsight.\n\nThey would have become disheartened by the difficulties before them,\nand have turned back in utter despair, had not the bright form of their\nguide, and the cheerful countenance of Charlemagne, inspired them with\never-renewed hope.  For seven days they toiled among the dangerous\nsteeps; and on the eighth a glorious vision burst upon their view--the\nsmiling plains of Italy lay before them.\n\nAt this sight a great shout of joy went up from the throats of the\ntoil-worn heroes, and the good archbishop returned thanks to Heaven for\ntheir deliverance from peril.  And, a few hours later, the whole army\nemerged into the pleasant valleys of Piedmont, and encamped not far\nfrom Aosta.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT HAPPENED AT RONCEVAUX\n\nIn all the world there was not such another king as Charlemagne.\nWherever his arms were carried, there victory followed; and neither\nPagan nor haughty Christian foe dared lift up hands any more against\nhim.  His kingdom stretched from the Baltic Sea to the Italian shores,\nand from beyond the Rhine to the great Western Ocean.  Princes were his\nservants; kings were his vassals; and even the Pope of Rome did him\nhomage.  And now he had crossed the Pyrenees, and was carrying fire and\nsword into the fair fields and rich towns of the Spanish Moors; for he\nhad vowed to punish Marsilius, king of Spain, for the injuries he had\ndone the French in former years.  He had overrun the whole of that\nhaughty land, and had left neither castle, nor city, nor wall,\nunbroken, save only the town of Saragossa.\n\nOne day Charlemagne sat beneath the blossoming trees of an orchard near\nCordova.  White was his beard, and flowered was his head; yet still\nhandsome was his body, and proud his form.  Around him were the noblest\nof knights, Roland and Oliver and old Duke Namon, and fifteen thousand\nof the choicest men of France.  It was a gala-day for the French, and\nthe warriors amused themselves with field sports, and many pleasant\ngames.  Then a party of Moorish messengers were brought before the\nking.  They came from Marsilius at Saragossa, who had sent to beg peace\nof Charlemagne.\n\n\"What will Marsilius give for peace?\" asked the king.\n\n\"If you will go back to your own country, and cease this unhappy war,\"\nanswered they, \"then Marsilius binds himself to do this: he will go to\nAix at Michaelmas, and be baptized; he will do homage then for Spain,\nand will faithfully hold it in fief from you; he will give you great\nstore of treasures,--four hundred mules loaded with gold, and fifty\ncart-loads of silver, besides numbers of bears and lions and tame\ngreyhounds, and seven hundred camels, and a thousand moulted falcons.\nToo long has this cruel war been waging.  Marsilius would fain have\npeace.\"\n\nCharlemagne listened to the words of the messengers, but he was not\nquick to answer.  He called together his peers, and laid the matter\nbefore them.\n\n\"What think you of the Moor's offers of peace?\" asked he.\n\n\"Put no trust in Marsilius!\" cried Roland.  \"He is the most faithless\nof Pagans, and speaks only lies.  Carry on the war as you have begun,\nand talk not of peace until Saragossa is ours.\"\n\nCharlemagne's face grew dark, yet he said not a word.  It was plain\nthat he coveted the treasures which Marsilius had promised.  Then\nGanelon arose, and with curling lip, thus answered,--\n\n\"If Marsilius offers to do fealty for Spain, and to hold it as a gift\nfrom you, wherefore should we refuse his plea?  He who would advise you\notherwise cares not what manner of death we die.\"\n\nAnd Namon of Bavaria added, \"If the Moor is beaten, and cries for\nmercy, it would be an unknightly act to continue warring against him.\nMy voice is for peace.\"\n\nAnd all the peers, save Roland and Oliver, cried out, \"The duke hath\nspoken wisely.  Let us have peace!\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered Charlemagne, \"and so it shall be.  But whom\nshall we send to Saragossa to treat with Marsilius, and to receive the\npledges of good faith which he shall give?\"\n\nThen arose a great dispute among the peers as to which should undertake\nthis dangerous errand.  Duke Namon, who was never known to shirk a\nduty, offered to go; but the king would not consent.  He liked not to\npart with his wise old friend, even for a single day.\n\n\"I will carry the message,\" said Roland.\n\n\"Not so, my brother,\" interrupted Oliver.  \"Thy pride will get the\nbetter of thy judgment, and thou wilt act rashly.  Let me undertake the\nerrand.\"\n\nBut Charlemagne refused them both.  \"Neither of you shall go,\" said he.\n\"But you may choose one from among these other barons to be the\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"Then send Ganelon of Mayence,\" said Roland.  \"He is in favor of this\npeace, and he is most fit to carry the message.\"\n\n\"Yes, send Ganelon of Mayence!\" cried all the peers.\n\nGanelon rose from his seat in rage.  Fire flashed from his hazel eyes;\nhis lips quivered; he tore the sable border from his crimson tunic, and\nstood proudly before Roland.  \"Fool!\" cried he.  \"Who art thou who\nwouldst send me to Marsilius?  If I but live to come again from\nSaragossa, I will deal thee such a blow as thou shalt never forget.\"\n\n\"Speak softly, Sir Ganelon,\" said Roland.  \"Men know that I care not\nfor threats.  If thou art afraid of the danger, mayhap the king will\nallow me to go in thy place.\"\n\nHotter than before was Ganelon's wrath; but he held his tongue, and\nturned humbly toward the king.\n\n\"My lord,\" said he, \"since you will that I bear this message to\nMarsilius, I go.  But I know too well the false-hearted Moor to hope\nthat I shall ever return.  I pray you, care for my fair son Baldwin, to\nwhom I leave my lands and all my fiefs.  Keep him well, for these eyes\nof mine shall never see him again.\"\n\n\"Thou art too fearful, and too tender of heart,\" said the king, as he\noffered to Ganelon the staff and the glove which messengers were wont\nto carry as signs of their office.  \"Go now, and doubt not the issue of\nthine errand.\"\n\nGanelon took the staff; but his hand trembled, and the glove fell to\nthe ground.\n\n\"An evil omen is that,\" whispered the peers who saw it.  \"It is a sign\nof no good fortune, either to him or to us.\"\n\nThen Ganelon bade the king good-by, and went on his way.  But he said\nto himself, \"This is Roland's doings, and I shall hate him all my life\nlong: neither shall I love Oliver his brother, nor any other of the\ntwelve peers.\"\n\nWhen he reached Saragossa, Ganelon was led into the presence of\nMarsilius.  The Moorish king sat under a pine tree, and twenty thousand\nwarriors stood around him.\n\n\"What answer bring you from your liege-lord Charlemagne?\" asked he.\n\nGanelon had studied well what he should say; and he answered, like one\nlong used to cunning guile, \"If thou wilt be baptized and become a\nChristian, Charlemagne will give thee the half of Spain to hold in\nfief.  If thou wilt not accept this offer, then he will besiege thee in\nSaragossa, and take thee prisoner; and he will send thee bound upon the\nback of a sumter horse to Aix, and there he will have thee put to\ndeath.  This is the message which Charlemagne sends thee.\"\n\nGreat was the anger of the Moorish king, and he raised his javelin to\nstrike the messenger dead.  But Ganelon, no whit daunted, set his back\nagainst the trunk of a tree, and drew his sword part way from its\nscabbard.\n\n\"Good sword,\" said he, \"thou art fair and bright, and thou hast done me\nmany a service.  Never shall it be said that Ganelon died alone in a\nstrange land.\"\n\nBut the courtiers of King Marsilius stepped in between them.  \"It were\nbetter,\" said they, \"to treat with this man than to slay him.  If his\nface slander him not, he is a man who may be persuaded to help us.  Try\nhim.\"\n\nThen Marsilius called Ganelon to his side, and offered him five hundred\npounds of gold for his friendship.  And the two sat long together, and\nplotted bloodshed and treason.\n\n\"Indeed, what think you of this Charlemagne?\" asked the Moor.  \"Through\nhow many lands has he carried that old body of his?  How many scars are\nthere on his shield?  How many kingdoms has he stolen, and how many\nkings impoverished?  Methinks that his days are well-nigh spent.  He\nmust be more than two hundred years old.\"\n\nBut Ganelon, although a traitor, would say naught against the king.\n\n\"None can see him,\" said he, \"but will say that he is a man.  None can\nso praise or honor him, but that there shall yet be in him more worth\nand goodness.\"\n\n\"Yet, methinks,\" said the Moor, \"that he is very old.  His beard is\nwhite; his hair is flowered.  It is strange that he grows not tired of\nfighting.\"\n\n\"That he will never do so long as Roland, his nephew, lives,\" answered\nGanelon.  \"There, too, is Oliver; and there are the other peers of the\nrealm, all of whom the king holds most dear.  They alone are worth\ntwenty thousand men.\"\n\n\"I have heard much of Roland,\" said the Moor; \"and I would fain put him\nout of the way.  Tell me how it can be done, and thou shalt have three\nbaggage-horse loads of gold, three of silver, and three of fine silk\nand red wine and jewels.\"\n\nNow Ganelon desired, above all things, the death of Roland; and he\neagerly made known his plans to Marsilius.\n\n\"Send to Charlemagne,\" said he, \"great store of rich gifts, so that\nevery Frenchman shall wonder at your wealth.  Send also hostages, and\npromise him that on next Michaelmas you will be baptized at Aix and do\nhim homage for Spain.  Pleased with your promises, he will return to\nFrance.  But his rear-guard, with Roland and Oliver, and twenty\nthousand Frenchmen, will be long among the passes of the Pyrenees.  A\nhundred thousand Moors could well cope with them there.\"\n\nThen the two traitors exchanged promises and pledges; and Ganelon,\ntaking with him the keys of Saragossa, and rich presents for\nCharlemagne, went back to Cordova.\n\nRight glad was Charlemagne to hear the message which the lying traitor\nbrought.  He was tired of warring, and he longed to return in peace to\nhis own sweet France.  The next day the trumpets sounded throughout the\ncamp.  The tents were struck; the baggage was packed on the sumter\nhorses; the knights mounted their steeds; banners and pennons waved\nthick in the air; the great army began its glad march homeward.  Joyful\nwas the beginning of that march; but, ah, how sad the ending!  The\nFrench did not see the crafty Moors following them through the upper\nvalleys, their banners furled, their helmets closed, their lances in\nrest.\n\nThat first night the king was troubled with sad dreams.  He thought\nthat Ganelon seized his lance and shook it, and that it fell in pieces.\nHe thought that he hunted in the forest of Ardennes, and that both a\nboar and a leopard attacked him.  A thousand fearful fancies vexed him.\nMountains fell upon him and crushed him; the earth yawned and swallowed\nhim; perils beset him on every side: but amid them all, the face of\nGanelon was ever to be seen.\n\nBy and by the army came to the Pyrenees, and the great land of France\nlay just beyond the mountains.\n\n\"To whom now,\" said the king to his peers, \"shall we intrust our\nrear-guard while we pass safely through the mountain gates?\"\n\n\"Give It to Roland, your nephew,\" said Ganelon.  \"There is none more\nworthy than he.\"\n\n\"And who shall lead the vanguard?\"\n\n\"Ogier, the Dane.  Next to Roland, he is the bravest of your barons.\"\n\nRight willingly did Roland accept the dangerous trust.\n\n\"I will see to it,\" said he, \"that no harm come to the French while\npassing through the gates.  Neither pack-horse, nor mule, nor palfrey,\nnor charger, nor man shall we lose, that shall not be paid for by the\nblood of our foes.\"\n\nThen he mounted his steed, and rode back to the rear.  And with him\nwent Oliver and Turpin the archbishop, and twenty thousand valiant\nfighting-men.\n\nHigh were the mountains, and gloomy the valleys; dark were the rocks,\nand fearful were the glens.  But the day was fair, and the sky was\nclear; and the bright shields of the warriors glittered in the sunlight\nlike flashes of fire.  All at once a sound, as of a thousand trumpets\nblowing, was heard in the valley below them.  The French knights\nhearkened.\n\n\"Comrades,\" said Oliver, \"methinks that we are followed by the Moors.\"\n\n\"And may God grant us battle and victory!\" said Roland earnestly.\n\"Well is it that we are here to defend the king.  For one should never\nmurmur that he suffers distress for his friends: for them, he should\nlose, if need be, both blood and flesh and even life itself.\"\n\nThen Oliver climbed a high pine tree, and looked down into the grassy\nvalley behind them.  There he beheld such troops of Pagan folk as he\nhad never seen before.\n\n\"Comrades,\" cried he, \"we shall have such a battle as no man has known.\nThe passes are full of armed Moors: their hauberks and glittering\nhelmets fill the lower valleys.  Great mischief is in store for us, but\nmay we stand to the field like men!\"\n\n\"Shame be to him that flees!\" said the warriors who heard him.\n\nBewildered and amazed at sight of so terrible an array of Pagans,\nOliver descended from the tree.\n\n\"Brother Roland,\" said he, \"I pray thee blow thy horn.  The king will\nhear it, and he will turn him about and come to our succor.\"\n\n\"To do so would be to act as a craven,\" answered Roland.  \"Never shall\nit be said that I feared a foe.  I will strike strong strokes with my\nsword, Durandal.  Ill shall it fare with the Pagan traitors.\"\n\n\"Comrade Roland,\" again said Oliver, \"now blow thy horn.  Charlemagne\nwill hear it, and he will make his host return.\"\n\n\"Never,\" answered Roland, \"shall my kinsmen upbraid me, or be blamed\nfor me.  But I will strike with Durandal.  The brand which the king\ngave me when he knighted me, that shall be our succor.\"\n\nThen Oliver prayed him the third time, \"Comrade Roland, sound now thine\nivory horn.  Charlemagne, who is passing the gates, will hear us and\ncome to our aid.\"\n\n\"No man shall ever say,\" answered Roland, \"that I have blown my horn\nfor Pagans.  My kinsmen shall not bear that reproach.  But when the\ngreat battle is joined, then you shall see the lightning flashes of\nDurandal in the thickest of the fight.  A thousand and seven hundred\ntimes shall the blade be dyed in the blood of the Moors.  Better would\nit be to perish than suffer shame.\"\n\nBut Oliver was not yet satisfied.  \"I have seen the Moorish host,\" said\nhe.  \"The mountains and the plains, the valleys and the groves, are\nfull of them.  Never have we fought against such great odds.\"\n\n\"Friend and brother,\" answered Roland, \"say not another word.  The king\nhas left us here, with a rear-guard of twenty thousand men, and he\nesteems every one of us a hero.  Do thou strike with thy lance and thy\ngood blade Haultclear.  As for me, Durandal shall serve me well.  And,\nif I die, men shall say, 'This sword belonged to a noble knight.'\"\n\nThen the good Archbishop Turpin rode down the ranks, holding a sword in\none hand and a crucifix in the other.  \"Comrades,\" cried he, \"the king\nhas left us here.  He trusts in us, and for him we shall die.  Cry now\nyour sins to Heaven.  Pray God's mercy, and ask His blessing.\"\n\nIn a moment every knight among those twenty thousand horsemen had\ndismounted.  Humbly and reverently every knee was bent, and every head\nwas bowed.  And the good archbishop blessed the company in God's name.\n\n\"If ye die,\" said he, \"ye shall have places in paradise.\"\n\nThen the warriors arose, light-hearted and hopeful.  They rode into the\nplace which is called Roncevaux, the Vale of Thorns, and there they put\nthemselves in battle array, and waited the onset of their foes.  Roland\nsat astride of his good war steed, and proudly faced the Moorish host.\nIn his hand he held the bared blade Durandal, pointing toward heaven.\nNever was seen a more comely knight.  Courteously he spoke to the\nwarriors about him.  Then, putting spurs to his steed, he cried,--\n\n\"Comrades, ride onward!  The day shall be ours!\"\n\n\"Forget not the war cry of Charlemagne,\" said Oliver.\n\nAt these words the rocks and valleys rang with the cry, \"Monjoie!\nMonjoie!\"  And every warrior dashed forward to meet the foe.\n\nLong and fierce was the fight, and terrible was the slaughter.  With\nheart and strength the French knights struck.  The Moors were slain by\nhundreds and by thousands.  For a time victory seemed to be with the\nFrench.  Many and valiant were the deeds achieved by Roland and Oliver\nand the archbishop and the peers that were with them.  But at length\nMarsilius came down upon them with a fresh troop of seven thousand\nMoors.  They hemmed the French heroes in on every side.  Roland saw his\nknights falling one by one around him.  All were slain save sixty men.\n\n\"Oliver, my fair dear comrade,\" said he, \"behold how many brave vassals\nhave fallen!  The battle goes hard with us.  If, now, we only knew how\nto send news to Charlemagne, he would return and succor us.\"\n\n\"It is too late,\" answered Oliver.  \"Better would we die than suffer\nshame.\"\n\nThen said Roland, \"I will sound my ivory horn.  Mayhap Charlemagne, who\nis passing the gates of Spain, will hear it and return.\"\n\n\"Do no such thing,\" answered Oliver.  \"Great shame would be upon you\nand your kinsmen forever.  You would not blow your horn when I advised\nit, and now you shall not do so because the day is lost.\"\n\nThen the archbishop rode up, and said, \"The day is indeed lost, and to\nblow the horn would now no more avail us.  But, should the king hear\nit, he will come back through the passes.  He will find us dead: his\nmen will lift us in biers and carry us home to be buried in minsters,\nand we shall not be left as food for wolves and dogs.\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well,\" said Roland.  And he placed the horn to his lips.\nHigh were the hills, deep and dark were the gorges, narrow were the\nways among the mountains.  Yet the sound of that horn was heard for\nthirty leagues.  Charlemagne and Duke Namon heard it while yet they\nwere between the gates.\n\n\"Hark!\" said the king.  \"I hear Roland's horn.  The felon Moors have\nattacked him: he is hard pressed in battle.\"\n\n\"You are foolishly mistaken,\" said Ganelon.  \"There is no battle.  You\nare old, your beard is white, your head is flowery, you are growing\nchildish.  You love your silly nephew, Roland, too well.  He is only\nhunting among the mountains.  He would blow his horn all day for a\nsingle hare, and then he would boast before you of his valor.  Ride on.\nYour own France is not far ahead.\"\n\nBut the king was not to be deceived.  He ordered Ganelon to be seized\nand bound and given in charge of his cooks, who were to hold him a\nclose prisoner.  They bound him with a great chain, and laid him across\nthe back of a sumter horse; they pulled his beard; they struck him with\ntheir fists; they beat him with sticks.  Sorry indeed was the traitor's\nplight, but his punishment was just.  As for Charlemagne, he turned and\nwith all his host hastened back to the succor of Roland and the valiant\nrear-guard.  High were the mountain walls, and darkly did they overhang\nthe way; deep were the mountain gorges; swift and strong were the\ntorrents; narrow and steep was the road.  The trumpets sounded:\nanxiously and with haste the king and his horsemen retraced their steps.\n\nFiercely still the battle raged in the fated Vale of Thorns.  One by\none the French knights fell; but for every one that was slain ten\nPagans bit the dust.  At length Oliver was wounded unto death; but\nstill he sat on his horse and struck valiantly about him with his good\nHaultclear.  His eyes lost their strength: he could not see.  He met\nRoland, and struck him a blow which split his helmet down to the\nnose-piece, but luckily wounded him not.\n\n\"Brother,\" said Roland softly and gently, \"thou hast not done this\nwillingly.  I am Roland, he who has loved thee so long and so well.\"\n\n\"Ah, comrade!\" said Oliver, \"I hear thee; but I cannot see thee.  Pray\nforgive me if I have harmed thee.\"\n\n\"I am none the worse,\" answered Roland; \"and there is naught to\nforgive.\"\n\nThen the two brothers bent over from their steeds, and embraced each\nother; and amid much love and many hasty words of farewell, they parted.\n\nAnd now all the French were slain, save only Roland and the archbishop.\nThe hero was wounded in a dozen places: he felt his life-blood oozing\naway.  Again he drew his ivory horn, and feebly sounded it.  He would\nfain know whether Charlemagne were coming.  The king was in the pass,\nnot far away, and he heard the failing blast.\n\n\"Ah, Roland!\" said he, \"the battle goes ill with thee.\"  Then he turned\nto his host, and said, \"Blow loud your trumpets, that the hero may know\nthat succor comes.\"\n\nAt once sixty thousand bugles were blown so loudly that the valley and\nthe caves resounded, and the rocks themselves trembled.  Roland heard\nit and thanked God.  The Pagans heard it and knew that it boded no good\nto them.  They rushed in a body upon Roland and the archbishop.\nRoland's horse was slain beneath him; his shield was split in twain;\nhis hauberk was broken.  The archbishop was mortally wounded, and\nstretched upon the ground.  Again the trumpets of Charlemagne's host\nwere heard, and the Pagans fled in great haste toward Spain.\n\nThen Roland knelt by the side of the dying archbishop.  \"Kind friend,\nso good and true,\" said he, \"now the end has come.  Our comrades whom\nwe held so dear are all dead.  Give me leave to bring them and lay them\nin order by thee, that we may all have thy blessing.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" answered the good Turpin.  \"Do as thou wilt.  The field\nis thine and mine.\"\n\nSo Roland, weak and faint, went all alone through that field of blood,\nseeking his friends.  He found Berenger and Otho and Anseis and Samson,\nand proud Gerard of Roussillon; and one by one he brought them and laid\nthem on the grass before the archbishop.  And lastly he brought back\nOliver, pressed gently against his bosom, and placed him on a shield by\nthe others.  The archbishop wept; and he lifted up his feeble hands and\nblessed them: \"Sad has it been with you, comrades.  May God, the\nglorious King, receive your souls in His paradise!\"\n\nThen Roland, faint with loss of blood, and overcome with grief, swooned\nand fell to the ground.  The good archbishop felt such distress as he\nhad never known before.  He staggered to his feet; he took the ivory\nhorn in his hands, and went to fetch water from the brook which flows\nthrough the Vale of Thorns.  Slowly and feebly he tottered onward, but\nnot far: his strength failed and he fell to the ground.  Soon Roland\nrecovered from his swoon and looked about him.  On the green grass this\nside of the rivulet, he saw the archbishop lying.  The good Turpin was\ndead.\n\nAnd now Roland felt that he, too, was nigh death's door.  He took the\nivory horn in one hand, and Durandal in the other, and went up a little\nhill that lies toward Spain.  He sat down beneath a pine tree where\nwere four great blocks of marble.  He looked at the blade Durandal.\n\"Ha, Durandal,\" he said, \"how bright and white thou art!  Thou shinest\nand flamest against the sun!  Many countries have I conquered with\nthee, and now for thee I have great grief.  Better would it be to\ndestroy thee than to have thee fall into the hands of the Pagan folk.\"\n\nWith great effort he raised himself on his feet again.  Ten times he\nsmote with Durandal the great rock before him.  But the sword was\nbright and whole as ever, while the rock was split in pieces.  Then the\nhero lay down upon the grass, with his face toward the foe.  He put the\nsword and the horn under him.  He stretched his right glove toward\nheaven, and an unseen hand came and took it away.  Dead was the\nmatchless hero.\n\nNot long after this King Charlemagne with his host came to the\ndeath-strewn Vale of Thorns.  Great was the grief of the king and of\nall the French, when they found that they had come too late to save\neven a single life.  Roland was found lying on the grass, his face\nturned toward Spain.  Charlemagne took him up tenderly in his arms, and\nwept.\n\n\"Friend Roland,\" said he, \"worthiest of men, bravest of warriors,\nnoblest of all my knights, what shall I, say when they in France shall\nask news of thee?  I shall tell them that thou art dead in Spain.  With\ngreat sorrow shall I hold my realm from this time on.  Every day I\nshall weep and bewail thee, and wish that my life, too, were ended.\"\n\nThen the French buried their dead on the field where they had fallen.\nBut the king brought Roland and Oliver and the archbishop to Blaye in\nFrance, and laid them in white marble tombs; and there they lie until\nthis day in the beautiful little chapel of St. Roman's.  And he took\nthe ivory horn to Bordeaux, and filled it with fine gold, and laid it\non the altar of the church in that city; and there it is still seen by\nthe pious pilgrims who visit that place.\n\n\n\n\nVOCABULARY OF PROPER NAMES\n\n _Ac ar na' ni a_, the most western province of ancient Greece.\n _A chil' les_ (\u00e1 kil' lez), the ideal hero of the Greeks.\n _Ae' gir_ (a' jir), in Norse legends, the ruler of the sea.\n _Ag a me' des_ (-dez), one of the architects of the temple at Delphi.\n _Ag a mem' non_, king of Mycenae and leader of the Greeks.\n _Aix_ (aks), a city of France, favorite residence of Charlemagne.\n _A' jax_, a Greek hero second only to Achilles.\n _Al ex an' dros_, a name applied to Paris, prince of Troy.\n _Al phe' us_, a hunter transformed into a river of Greece.\n _Al the' a_, queen of Calydon, mother of Meleager.\n _A mil' i as_, a mythical smith of Burgundy.\n _And' v\u00e4 r\u00ef_, a dwarf, the keeper of the Rhine treasure.\n _An til' o chus_ (-kus), a Greek prince and friend of Achilles.\n _A os' t\u00e4_, a town in northern Italy.\n _Aph ro di' te_, in Greek mythology, the goddess of love.\n _A pol' lo_, in Greek mythology, the god of music, poetry, and healing.\n _Ar ca' di a_, a mountainous country in Greece.\n _Ardennes_ (\u00e4r den'), a forest in northern France.\n _Ar e thu' sa_, a nymph loved by Alpheus.\n _Ar' go_, the ship that carried Jason and his companions.\n _Ar' te nis_, twin sister of Apollo; goddess of the woods.\n _Ar' thur_, a heroic legendary king of Britain.\n _As' as_ (\u00e4s \u00e5z), the gods of the North.\n _As' g\u00e4rd_, in Norse mythology, the home of the gods or Asas.\n _Ash' ta roth_, an evil spirit.\n _At a lan' ta_, an Arcadian princess and swift-footed huntress.\n _A the' na_, the goddess of knowledge, arts, and sciences.\n _At' ro pos_, one of the three Fates.\n _Au' lis_, a town on the east coast of Greece.\n _Au tol' y cus_, a famous Greek chieftain, grandfather of Odysseus.\n _Av' a lon_, fairyland (in mediaeval legends).\n\n _Bal' i os_, \"Swift,\" one of the horses given to Peleus.\n _B\u00e4l' mung_, the sword of Siegfried.\n _Be' a trice_, the wife of Eego of Belin.\n _Be go'_ (ba go'), duke of Belin and feudal chief of Gascony.\n _Ber en ger'_ (-\u00e4n zha'), a friend of Bego.\n _Blaye_ (bla), a seaport of France, 21 miles from Bordeaux.\n _Bo' re as_, the North Wind.\n _Bor deaux'_ (-do'), a city on west coast of France.\n _Bur' gun dy_, a duchy including a part of northeastern France.\n\n _Cal' chas_ (kal' kal), a soothsayer of Mycense.\n _Cal' y don_, a city in ancient Greece.\n _Cas san' dra_, a prophetess, the daughter of Priam.\n _Cas tor_, twin brother of Pollux and brother of Helen.\n _Cen' taur_, one of an ancient race inhabiting the country near\n      Mount Pelion, said to have the bodies of horses.\n _Charlemagne_ (sh\u00e4r' le man), king of the Franks, 742-814.\n _Cheiron_ (ki' ron), a Centaur famed for his wisdom.\n _Cle o pa' tra_, the wife of Meleager.\n _Clo' tho_, one of the three Fates.\n _Clyt' em nes tra_, the wife of Agamemnon.\n _Crete (kret)_, an island southeast of Greece.\n _Cris' sa_, a gulf in Greece, now called Gulf of Corinth.\n\n _D\u00e4r' da nus_, ancestor of the people of Troy.\n _De' los_, a small island east of Greece.\n _Del' phi_, a town at the foot of Mount Parnassus, the seat\n      of the oracle of Apollo.\n _Du ran' dal_, the sword of Roland.\n\n _E' lis_, a country in southern Greece.\n _E' rin_, the ancient name for Ireland.\n _E' ris_, the goddess of discord.\n _Euboea_ (u be' a), a large island east of Greece.\n\n _F\u00e4f' n\u00efr_, a dragon that guarded the Rhine treasure.\n _Fa nan' der_, a cataract referred to in Norse mythology.\n _Fro mont'_, duke of Bordeaux.\n\n _G\u00e4' ne lon_, a duke of Mayence noted for his treachery.\n _G\u00e4 rin'_ (-ranh), one of the sons of Bego of Belia.\n _Gas' co ny_, an ancient duchy of France.\n _Gerin_ (zhe ranh'), a brother of Bego of Belio.\n\n _Ha' des_, the land of the shades, or of the dead.\n _Hault'_ clear, the sword of Oliver.\n _He' be_, the goddess of youth and spring.\n _Hec' tor_, a prince of Troy, son of Priam.\n _Hel' en_, the wife of Menelaus, celebrated for her beauty.\n _He lo \u00efse'_ (ha lo ez'), the sister of Bego of Belin.\n _He' ra_, the wife of Zeus; often called Juno.\n _Her' cu les_ (-lez), a mighty hero of the Golden Age of Greece.\n _Her' mes_ (-mez), the messenger of the gods; same as Mercury.\n _Her nau din_ (her no danh'), a son of Bego.\n _He si' o ne_, a princess of Troy, sister of Priam.\n _Haenir_ (he' n\u00efr), a companion of Odio.\n _Hreidmar_ (hrid' mar), the father of Regin.\n _Hu' na land_, a country mentioned in Norse mythology.\n _Hy per bo' re ans_, the people who lived beyond the North Wind.\n\n _I \u00e4' sus_, a king of Arcadia, father of Atalanta.\n _I' das_, the father of Cleopatra.\n _I dom' e neus_, a king of Crete, friend of Menelaus.\n _Il' i os_, the same as Troy; Ilium.\n _I' lus_, the founder of Ilios or Troy.\n _Iph i ge ni' a_, a princess, the daughter of Agamemnon.\n _I' ris_, a messenger of the gods, personification of the rainbow.\n\n _Ja' son_, a Greek hero, the leader of the Argonauts.\n\n _Kw\u00e4' ser_, in Norse mythology, a being noted for his wisdom.\n\n _Lac e dae' mon_ (las-), an ancient Greek city, same as Sparta.\n _Lach' e sis_ (lak-), one of the three Fates.\n _La om' e don_, a king of Troy, father of Priam.\n _Lo' ki_, in Norse mythology, the spirit of mischief.\n _Lor raine'_, a region on the border between France and Germany.\n\n _Ma hom' et_, an Arab, the founder of Mohammedanism.\n _Mai' a gis_ (-zhe), a dwarf enchanter and magician.\n _M\u00e4r seilles'_ (-salz), a city of France on the Mediterranean.\n\n _M\u00e4r s\u00efl' i us_, a Moorish king of Spain.\n _Mayence_ (m\u00e4 yons'), a city on the Rhine River.\n _Mel e a' ger_ (-jer), a Greek hero, prince of Calydon.\n _M\u00ef' mer_, in Norse mythology, the possessor of the well of wisdom.\n _M\u00f4r' gan le Fay_, the queen of the fairies.\n _My ce' nae_, a city of ancient Greece.\n\n _N\u00e4' mon_, Charlemagne's most trusted counsellor.\n _Ne' reus_, \"the old man of the sea,\" father of the sea nymphs.\n _Nes' tor_, king of Pylos, oldest of the Greek heroes at Troy.\n\n _O' din_, in Norse mythology the chief of the gods.\n _O dys' seus_, the wisest of the Greek heroes; same as Ulysses.\n _Oenone_ (e no' ne), a river nymph, the wife of Paris.\n _Ogier_ (o zha), a Danish hero under Charlemagne.\n _Oi' neus_, a king of Calydon, father of Meleager.\n _Ol' i ver_, one of Charlemagne's paladins, comrade of Roland,\n _O lym' pus_, a mountain in Greece, the home of the gods.\n _O res' tes_, the son of Agamemnon.\n _Orleans_ (or la on'), an important city in France.\n _Or sil' o chus_, a king of the ancient city of Pherae.\n\n _Pal a me' des_, a Greek hero in the war with Troy.\n _Par' is_, a prince of Troy, second son of Priam.\n _P\u00e4r nas' sus_, a mountain in Greece near Delphi.\n _Pe' leus_, the father of Achilles.\n _Pe' li on_, a mountain on the east coast of Greece.\n _Pep' in_, a king of the Franks, father of Charlemagne.\n _Phoe' bus_, another name for Apollo.\n _Pied' mont_, a district in northern Italy.\n _Pol' lux_, the twin brother of Castor, and brother of Helen.\n _Po sei' don_, supreme lord of the sea; same as Neptune.\n _Pri' am_, the last king of Troy.\n _Pu elle'_, an ancient forest in France.\n _Py' los_, an ancient town in the south part of Greece.\n _Pyr' e nees_, the mountains between France and Spain.\n _Py' thon_, the serpent slain by Apollo.\n\n _R\u00e4n_, in Norse mythology, the goddess of the sea.\n _Re' gin_ (-jin), a dwarf, the instructor of Siegfried.\n _Ro' land_, the most famous of Charlemagne's paladins.\n _Ronce vaux'_ (-vo), a valley in Navarre, Spain, in the Pyrenees.\n _Roussillon_ (roo se' y\u00f4n'), an ancient district of France.\n\n _St. Omer_ (sen to m\u00e2r'), a famous city in northern France.\n _St. Quentin_ (s\u00e2an kon tan'), a city in northeastern France.\n _Sal a mis_, an island of ancient Greece.\n _Sar' a cens_, the Arab followers of Mohammed.\n _Scae' an_ (ske' an), the principal gate of Troy.\n _Sca man' der_, a river near Troy.\n _Seine_ (san), one of the principal rivers of France.\n _Sieg' fried_, a mythical hero of the Rhine country.\n _S\u00ef' gyn_, the wife of Loki.\n _Sk\u00e4 de_, in Norse mythology, the goddess of the snow.\n\n _Tel' a mon_, a Greek hero, the father of Ajax.\n _Thes sa' li an_, belonging to Thessaly in northern Greece.\n _The' tis_, a sea nymph, the mother of Achilles.\n _Tro pho' ni us_, one of the architects of the temple at Delphi.\n _T\u00fbr' pin_, archbishop of Rheims, and paladin of Charlemagne.\n\n _Valenciennes_ (v\u00e4 lon syen'), a city in northeastern France.\n _Vul' can_, the blacksmith of the gods.\n\n _Xanthos_ (zan' thus), \"Old Gold,\" one of the horses of Peleus.\n\n _Zeus_, the king of the gods; same as Jupiter.","title":"Hero Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":39345}