{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41765/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41765","id":"gutenberg_41765","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41765","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Mythology, Classical -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"[Illustration: HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES]\n\n\n\n\n HALF A HUNDRED\n HERO TALES\n\n OF ULYSSES AND THE MEN OF OLD\n\n EDITED BY\n\n FRANCIS STORR\n EDITOR OF \"THE JOURNAL OF EDUCATION,\" LONDON\n\n WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY\n FRANK C. PAP\u00c9\n\n [Illustration]\n\n NEW YORK\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n 1913\n\n\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1911,\n BY\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n\n _Published January, 1911_\n\n THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS\n RAHWAY, N. J.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe apology offered for adding yet another book of Classical Stories\nto the endless existing versions, ancient and modern, in verse and in\nprose, is the plea that Vivien offers to Merlin for her \"tender\nrhyme\":\n\n \"It lives dispersedly in many hands,\n And every minstrel sings it differently.\"\n\n\"You Greeks,\" said the Egyptian priest to Herodotus, \"are always\nchildren,\" and Greece will never lose the secret of eternal youth. The\ntale of Troy divine, of Thebes and Pelops' line, the song of sweet\nColonus, the most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby, Dido with a\nwillow in her hand--these old stories of Homer and Sophocles, of\nVirgil and Ovid, have not lost their gloss and freshness. \"The\ninnocent brightness of a new-born day is lovely yet.\" They have been\nsung or said by Wace and Caxton, by Chaucer and Wordsworth, by Keats\nand William Morris; they have been adapted for young readers by\nF\u00e9nelon, by Niebuhr, by Kingsley, by Hawthorne, and yet the last word\nhas not been said. Each new editor makes his own selection, chooses\nsome new facet, or displays the jewel in a new light. As Sainte-Beuve\nremarks of \"Don Quixote\" and other world classics, \"One can discover\nthere something more than the author first of all tried to see there,\nand certainly more than he dreamed of putting there.\"\n\nThe present collection of Fifty Stories (there might well have been\nfive hundred) makes no pretense either of completeness or of\nuniformity. Some of the contributors have followed closely the texts,\nothers have given free play to their fancy, but in every case the\nmyths have been treated simply as stories and no attempt has been made\neither to trace their origin or to indicate their religious or ethical\nsignificance. Most of the stories point their own moral, and need no\nmore commentary than Jack the Giant-killer or the Sleeping Beauty.\nYoung readers of to-day resent the sermons even of a Kingsley. From\n\"Tanglewood Tales,\" a book that was the joy of our childhood, we have\nborrowed ten stories, and have taken the liberty of dividing into\nchapters and slightly abridging the longest of Hawthorne's Tales. All\nbut one of the remaining forty are original versions.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n PLUTO AND PROSERPINE 1\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n PAN AND SYRINX 5\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n THE STORY OF PHAETON 13\n By M. M. Bird\n\n ARETHUSA 19\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n THE STORY OF DAPHNE 24\n By M. M. Bird\n\n DEUCALION AND PYRRHA 28\n By M. M. Bird\n\n EPIMETHEUS AND PANDORA 33\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n EUROPA AND THE GOD-BULL 50\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n CADMUS AND THE DRAGON'S TEETH 65\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE 83\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES 89\n I. HERCULES AND THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES 98\n II. HERCULES AND ATLAS\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n HERCULES AND NESSUS 107\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE 111\n By M. M. Bird\n\n HOW THESEUS FOUND HIS FATHER 124\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n THESEUS AND THE WITCH MEDEA 131\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR 138\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n THESEUS AND ARIADNE 144\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n PARIS AND OENONE 154\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n IPHIGENIA 161\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n PROTESILAUS 166\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n THE DEATH OF HECTOR 173\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n THE WOODEN HORSE 180\n By F. Storr\n\n THE SACK OF TROY 185\n By F. Storr\n\n THE DEATH OF AJAX 191\n By F. Storr\n\n THE FLIGHT OF \u00c6NEAS FROM TROY 196\n By F. Storr\n\n \u00c6NEAS AND DIDO 201\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n \u00c6NEAS IN HADES 209\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n NISUS AND EURYALUS 217\n By F. Storr\n\n ULYSSES IN HADES 224\n By M. M. Bird\n\n CIRCE'S PALACE 232\n By Nathaniel Hawthorne\n\n ULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS 262\n By Hope Moncrieff\n\n THE SIRENS 271\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n THE STORY OF NAUSICAA 275\n By M. M. Bird\n\n THE HOMECOMING OF ULYSSES 283\n By M. M. Bird\n\n BAUCIS AND PHILEMON 292\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n HYPERMNESTRA 296\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n OEDIPUS AT COLONOS 302\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n MIDAS 308\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 313\n By V. C. Turnbull\n\n MELEAGER AND ATALANTA 320\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n THE STORY OF D\u00c6DALUS AND ICARUS 326\n By M. M. Bird\n\n SCYLLA, THE DAUGHTER OF NISUS 330\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n THE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE 340\n By M. M. Bird\n\n HERO AND LEANDER 344\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE 352\n By F. Storr\n\n CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS 359\n By H. P. Maskell\n\n ECHO AND NARCISSUS 364\n By Thomas Bulfinch\n\n THE RING OF POLYCRATES 369\n By M. M. Bird\n\n ROMULUS AND REMUS 375\n By Mrs. Guy E. Lloyd\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n HERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES _Frontispiece_\n\n FACING PAGE\n THE STORY OF DAPHNE 26\n\n HERCULES AND NESSUS 108\n\n THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR 138\n\n \u00c6NEAS IN HADES 212\n\n ULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS 266\n\n PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 316\n\n ROMULUS AND REMUS 380\n\n\n\n\nHALF A HUNDRED HERO TALES\n\n\n\n\nPLUTO AND PROSERPINE\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nIn the very heart of Sicily are the groves of Enna--a land of flowers\nand rippling streams, where the spring-tide lasts all through the\nyear. Thither Proserpine, daughter of Ceres, betook herself with her\nmaidens to gather nosegays of violets and lilies. Eager to secure the\nchoicest posy, she had wandered far from her companions, when Pluto,\nissuing, as was his wont, from his realm of shadows to visit the\nearth, beheld her, and was smitten by her childlike beauty. Dropping\nher flowers in alarm, the maiden screamed for her mother and\nattendants. 'Twas in vain; the lover seized her and bore her away in\nhis chariot of coal-black steeds. Faster and faster sped the team as\ntheir swart master called to each by name and shook the reins on their\nnecks. Through deep lakes they sped, by dark pools steaming with\nvolcanic heat, and on past the twin harbors of Syracuse.\n\nWhen they came to the abode of Cyane, the nymph rose up from her\ncrystal pool and perceived Pluto. \"No farther shalt thou go!\" she\ncried. \"A maiden must be asked of her parents, not stolen away against\nher mother's will!\" For answer the wrathful son of Saturn lashed his\nfoam-flecked steeds. He hurled his royal scepter into the very bed of\nthe stream. Forthwith the earth opened, making a way down into\nTartarus; and the chariot vanished through the yawning cave, leaving\nCyane dissolved in tears of grief for the ravished maiden and her own\nslighted domain.\n\nMeanwhile Ceres, anxious mother, had heard her daughter's cry for\nhelp. Through every clime and every sea she sought and sought in vain.\nFrom dawn to dewy eve she sought, and by night she pursued the quest\nwith torches kindled by the flames of \u00c6tna. Then, by Enna's lake, she\nfound the scattered flowers and shreds of the torn robe, but further\ntraces there were none.\n\nWeary and overcome with thirst, she chanced on a humble cottage and\nbegged at the door for a cup of water. The goodwife brought out a\npitcher of home-made barley wine, which she drained at a draught. An\nimpudent boy jeered at the goddess, and called her \"toss-pot.\" Dire\nand swift was the punishment that overtook him. Ceres sprinkled over\nhim the few drops that remained; and, changed into a speckled newt, he\ncrept away into a cranny.\n\nToo long would be the tale of all the lands and seas where the goddess\nsought for her child. When she had visited every quarter of the world\nshe returned once more to Sicily. Cyane, had she not melted away in\nher grief, might have told all. Still, however, on Cyane's pool the\ngirdle of Proserpine was found floating, and thus the mother knew that\nher daughter had been carried off by force. When this was brought home\nto her, she tore her hair and beat her breast. Not as yet did she know\nthe whole truth, but she vowed vengeance against all the earth, and on\nSicily most of all, the land of her bereavement. No longer, she\ncomplained, was ungrateful man worthy of her gifts of golden grain.\n\nA famine spread through all the land. Plowshares broke while they were\nturning the clods, the oxen died of pestilence, and blight befell the\ngreen corn. An army of birds picked up the seed as fast as it was\nsown; thistles, charlock, and tares sprang up in myriads and choked\nthe fields before the ear could show itself.\n\nThen Arethusa, the river nymph, who had traveled far beneath the ocean\nto meet in Sicily her lover Alpheus, raised her head in pity for the\nstarving land, and cried to Ceres: \"O mourning mother, cease thy\nuseless quest, and be not angered with a land which is faithful to\nthee. While I was wandering by the river Styx I beheld thy Proserpine.\nHer looks were grave, yet not as of one forlorn. Take comfort! She is\na queen, and chiefest of those who dwell in the world of darkness. She\nis the bride of the infernal king.\"\n\nCeres was but half consoled, and her wrath was turned from Sicily to\nthe bold ravisher of her daughter. She hastened to Olympus, and laid\nher plaint before Jupiter. She urged that her daughter must be\nrestored to her. If only Pluto would resign possession of Proserpine,\nshe would forgive the ravisher.\n\nJupiter answered mildly: \"This rape of the god lover can scarce be\ncalled an injury. Pluto is my brother, and like me a king, except that\nhe reigns below, whereas I reign above. Give your consent, and he will\nbe no disgrace as a son-in-law.\"\n\nStill Ceres was resolved to fetch her daughter back, and Jupiter at\nlength agreed that it should be so on condition that Proserpine,\nduring her sojourn in the shades, had allowed no food to pass her\nlips.\n\nIn joy the mother hurried down to Tartarus and demanded her daughter.\nBut the fates were against her. The damsel had broken her fast. As\nshe wandered in the fair gardens of Elysium she had picked a\npomegranate from the bending tree, and had eaten seven of the sweet\npurple seeds. Only one witness had seen her in the fatal act. This was\nAscalaphus, a courtier of Pluto, who some say had first put it into\nthe mind of the king to carry off Proserpine. In revenge for this\nbetrayal, Ceres changed him into an owl, and doomed him ever after to\nbe a bird of ill-omen who cannot bear the light of day, and whose\nnightly hooting portends ill tidings to mortals.\n\nBut Ceres was not doomed to lose Proserpine utterly. Jupiter decreed\nthat for six months of each year her daughter was to reign in dark\nTartarus by Pluto's side; for the other six months she was to return\nto earth and dwell with her mother. Joy returned to the mother's\nsaddened heart; the barren earth at her bidding once more brought\nforth its increase. Soon the fields were smiling with golden corn, and\nthe mellow grapes hung heavy on the vines, and once again that favored\nland became the garden of the world.\n\n\n\n\nPAN AND SYRINX\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nLong ages ago in the pleasant land of Arcadia, where the kindly\nshepherds fed their flocks on the green hills, there lived a fair\nmaiden named Syrinx. Even as a tiny child she loved to toddle forth\nfrom her father's house and lose herself in the quiet woods. Often\nwere they forced to seek long and far before they found her, when the\ndew was falling and the stars coming out in the dark blue sky; but\nhowever late it was, they never found her afraid nor eager to be safe\nat home. Sometimes she was curled up on the soft moss under the\nshelter of a spreading tree, fast asleep; sometimes she was lying by\nthe side of a stream listening to the merry laughter of the water;\nsometimes, sitting over the stones upon the hillside, she would be\nwatching with wonder and delight the lady moon, with her bright train\nof clouds, racing across the sky as if in hot chase.\n\nYears passed on, and Syrinx grew into a tall and slender maiden, with\nlong fair hair and great gray eyes, with a look in them that made her\nseem to be always listening. Out in the woods there are so many sounds\nfor any one who has ears to hear--the different notes of the birds,\nthe hum of the insects, the swift, light rustle as some furry\nfour-legged hunter creeps through the underwood. Then there is the\npleasant, happy murmur of the breeze among the leaves, with a\ndifferent sound in it for every different tree, or the wild shriek of\nthe gale that rends the straining branches, or the bubbling of the\nspring, or the prattle of the running stream, or the plash of the\nwaterfall. Many are the sounds of the woods, and Syrinx knew and loved\nthem all until\n\n \"Beauty born of murmuring sound,\n Had passed into her face.\"\n\n\"Have a care, Syrinx,\" her playfellows would say sometimes. \"If you\nwander alone in the woods, some day you will see the terrible god\nPan.\"\n\n\"I should like well to see him,\" the maiden made answer one day to an\nold crone who thus warned her. \"The great god Pan loves the woods and\neverything that lives in them, and so do I. We must needs be friends\nif we meet.\"\n\nThe old woman looked at her in horror and amaze. \"You know not what\nyou say, child,\" she made answer. \"Some aver that none can look upon\nPan and live, but of that I am none so sure, for I have heard of\nshepherds to whom he has spoken graciously, and they never the worse\nfor it. But of this there is no doubt--whoever hears the shout of Pan\nruns mad with the sound of it. So be not too venturesome, or evil will\ncome of it.\"\n\nNow Syrinx might have taken warning from these wise and kindly words.\nAs it was, she treasured them, and only wondered what this god could\nbe like, the sound of whose shout made men run mad. She feared to see\nhim, and would have run swiftly away if she had caught a glimpse of\nhim, and yet she went continually to the far and silent groves\nwhither, so the shepherds said, Pan was most wont to resort.\n\nIt chanced one day that Syrinx had wandered farther than was her wont;\nshe had been in the woods since daybreak, and now it was high noon.\nShe was tired and hot, and lay down to rest on a bank beneath a tall\nash tree that was all covered with ivy, and resting there she soon\nfell fast asleep. While she slept the wild things of the woods came to\nlook upon her with wonder. A doe that was passing with her fawn stood\nfor a moment gazing mildly upon the maiden, and the fawn stooped and\nlicked her fingers, but at the touch Syrinx stirred in her sleep and\nboth doe and fawn bounded away among the bushes. A little squirrel\ndropped lightly from a tree and sat up close beside her, his tail\ncurled jauntily over his back, his bright eyes fixed upon her face.\nThe little furry rabbits first peeped at her out of their holes, and\nthen growing bolder came quite close and sat with their soft paws\ntucked down and their ears cocked very stiffly, listening to her quiet\nbreathing. And last of all, stepping noiselessly over the grass, came\nthe lord of all the wild things, the great god Pan himself.\n\nHis legs and feet were like those of a goat, so that he could move\nmore quickly and lightly than the wild gazelle, and his ears were long\nand pointed--ears like those of a squirrel, so that he could hear the\nstirring of a nestling not yet out of its egg. Softly he drew nigh to\nthe maiden, and there was a wicked smile in his bright dark eyes. But\nas he bent to look into her face she stirred, and he leapt lightly\nback and sat himself down a little space from her, leaning on his arm\namong the brushwood till he was half hidden from her. Beside him lay a\ngreat bough torn from the tree by some winter storm; Pan drew this to\nhim and began to cut from it a piece of wood whereof to fashion a\ndainty little drinking-cup. And lying there, cutting at the wood, Pan\nbegan to whistle low and sweetly to himself, just as though he had\nbeen some shepherd or huntsman resting in the shade.\n\nAt first the soft notes made for the half-awakened maiden a dream of\nsinging birds and rippling water; then her drowsy eyes unclosed and\nshe became aware of a bearded face turned half away from her and bent\nover some sort of work. For a time she lay still, and Pan forebore to\nglance at her, but cut away at the piece of wood he was fashioning,\nand whistled to himself as though he had not marked the maiden.\n\nPresently, broad awake, Syrinx raised herself upon her elbow and gazed\nfull upon the stranger, who glanced round at her in a careless,\nfriendly way, and nodded to her with a kindly smile.\n\n\"Thou hast slept well, fair maiden,\" said Pan, in a low, gentle voice,\nthat sounded like the far-off murmur of a winter torrent.\n\nAnd Syrinx, reassured by the gleam of the merry dark eyes, made\nanswer: \"Yea, fair sir, for I had wandered far, and was aweary.\"\n\n\"How hast thou dared to wander so far from the haunts of men?\" asked\nthe sylvan god, \"Art thou not afeard of all that might meet thee here\nin the deep forest?\"\n\n\"I fear none of the wild things of the wood,\" answered Syrinx simply,\n\"for none has ever done me hurt. If thou art, as I judge thee, a\nhunter, thou knowest that it is through fear alone that the beasts of\nthe forest do harm to man. But I move ever quietly among them, and do\nnot startle them, and they go on their ways and leave me in peace.\"\n\n\"Thou art passing wise,\" said Pan; \"there are few indeed of thy years\nwho have attained to thy knowledge. When a man perceives a rustling\nin the brushwood he flings his spear at the place; while women, for\nthe most part, scream and flee. But the fearless may walk quiet and\nunharmed through the depths of the forest.\"\n\n\"There is one fear in my heart, kind stranger,\" said Syrinx earnestly.\n\"There be shepherds who say that in these forest paths they have seen\nand spoken with the great god Pan himself. But some say that it is\ndeath to see him, and all say that men run mad at the sound of his\nshout. How thinkest thou? Hast thou ever caught a glimpse of him?\"\n\nThere was a merry twinkle in those dancing eyes as the stranger made\nanswer: \"Nay, maiden, I have never seen him of whom thou speakest; but\ncast away thy last fear, for sure I am that the sight of him is not\ndeath to any living thing. He loves and cares for all that hath life;\nand as for his shout, that is only heard in battle, for he never cries\naloud save in wrath, and then indeed it brings confusion to his\nenemies or to those who withstand him, but to his friends it brings\ncourage and triumph.\"\n\nSyrinx heaved a sigh of relief, and lay back again, one arm under her\nhead, her long fair hair rippling over her shoulder, and her beautiful\ngray eyes fixed upon the face of the stranger.\n\nPan gazed upon her, and crept a little nearer through the brushwood.\n\n\"Sure I am that thou art as wise as thou art kind, fair stranger,\"\nsaid the innocent maiden. \"There has ever been within me a secret\nthought that Pan, the lord of all the wild things of the wood, could\nnot be fierce and cruel as men said, and ever have I been assured that\ncould I meet and speak with him I should love him well.\"\n\n\"Love, love, love, love,\" said the deep soft voice of the great god\nPan. \"Every tree, every flower, every bird, every beast lives for\nnothing else. Dost thou indeed understand what thou sayest, fair\nmaiden?\"\n\nAnd the girl nodded her pretty head wisely, for she quite thought she\ndid. \"Yea, kind stranger,\" she answered, \"for when I look into the\neyes of one to whom I have never yet spoken a word, I know at once\nwhether his speech and company are like to be pleasant to me, or\nwhether I would have him pass on and speak no word. When I lay half\nasleep but now, and listened to your merry whistling, I could feel\nwithin me that it was a sweet and a friendly sound, and good to hear.\nIt was like the speech of the forest, which I have loved since I was a\nbaby.\"\n\nPan laughed gently to himself as he fashioned his wooden cup; but\nthere was a new gleam in his downcast eyes, and when next he glanced\nat her Syrinx saw the change, and a vague uneasiness awoke in her. She\nlooked at the sky, already beginning to glow with the radiance of the\nsetting sun.\n\n\"It grows late,\" she said; \"I must away, for I have far to go ere\nnight-fall. Farewell, gentle stranger.\"\n\n\"Nay, but stay a little longer,\" said Pan gently. \"I know every path\nof the forest, and if the darkness falls upon thee I can guide thee\nsafely, never fear.\"\n\nBut the maiden feared the more, as she sprang to her feet.\n\n\"Nay, I must tarry no longer,\" she said hastily; \"it is already\nover-late.\" Tossing her hair back from her flushed face she sprang\naway down the slope like a frightened fawn.\n\nForgetting all but his wish to stay her Pan leapt up to follow her,\nand glancing back over her shoulder Syrinx saw his goat feet, and\nknew with whom she had been speaking. With a sudden start she plunged\ninto the brushwood, and as she disappeared from his sight Pan, anxious\nonly to bring her back, uttered a mighty cry.\n\nThe sound smote upon the ear of the terrified maiden, and her brain\nreeled. With one wild shriek of terror she turned and fled, and before\neven those swift goat's feet could overtake her she had plunged into\nthe river, and was gone--a reed lost among the river-reeds.\n\nAnd the great god Pan sat down upon the river bank sorrowful and\nbaffled; and as he gazed upon the water, flushed with the light of the\nsetting sun, he saw the very bank of water-reeds where Syrinx had\ndisappeared. Slender and graceful they were, as the maiden who was\ngone, and they trembled as she had done when she looked behind and saw\nwho was her pursuer, and their tufted heads, golden in the evening\nlight, reminded Pan of the golden hair of Syrinx. He stepped forward\nto the edge of the water, and stooping, plucked a handful of the\nreeds. They snapped with a sharp crack in his strong fingers, and as\nhe looked down at them he sighed deeply. His sigh came back to him\nwith a low musical note, and Pan went back to the bank, and sitting\nhimself down he scanned and fingered tenderly the hollow stalks. Long\ndid he sit there with his newly found treasure; the sun went down, the\ncrimson clouds turned to dark lines across the pale saffron sky, the\nfull moon rose slowly from behind the hill, and still Pan bent over\nhis handful of water-reeds, and breathed upon them this way and that,\nand cut and fashioned them with care.\n\nNext day the shepherds were all abroad in the woods searching for\nSyrinx, but of her they found no trace; only, as they moved hither and\nthither, they heard sweet and strange and far-off music. It was as if\nall the sounds of the forest had been modulated and harmonized; now it\nswelled and grew loud and joyous, and now it died away in pitiful\nlamenting. It was Pan, playing upon the sevenfold pipe that he had\nmade, and when at length he gave it to the sons of men, and taught\nthem to play upon it too, he gave it the name of Syrinx, the beautiful\nand hapless maiden whom he had loved and lost.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF PHAETON\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nA fiery and high-spirited youth, Phaeton could not brook the taunts of\nhis playmate Epaphus, who claimed divine descent from Isis. When\nPhaeton boasted that his father was Phoebus the Sun-god, Epaphus only\nlaughed and called him a base-born pretender. So one day Phaeton,\nstung to madness by these taunts, went boldly to his mother Clymen\u00e9\nand demanded that she should give him some clear proof that he was\nindeed, as she averred, the very son of Phoebus. Clymen\u00e9 lifted her\nbeautiful hands to the Sun, who rode gorgeous in the Heavens, and\nswore by him that none other than Phoebus was the father of the boy.\n\"Nevertheless,\" said she, \"if this doth suffice you not, and you seek\nother proof, travel yourself to his Eastern Mansion, which lies not so\nfar remote from here, and ask him whether you are not his son.\"\n\nThe ambitious youth hastened to follow her counsel; he longed to see\nhis father, and to visit the Eastern Mansion where he abode. Through\nIndia he traveled in haste, never resting till afar off he saw the\nwondrous light that shimmered perpetually over the Palace of the Sun.\n\nHigh it stood on columns of burnished gold ablaze with jewels. The\nfolding doors were of silver, the walls of ivory, and Vulcan had\nwrought the precious metals in designs of wonderful beauty. The seas,\nthe earth, the fair forms of the immortal gods, all graced the carven\nportals.\n\nPhaeton, toiling up the steep ascent, saw at a great distance the\ndazzling god, seated high on an imperial throne, all sparkling with\ngems. The Hours, Days, Months, and Years, were ranged on either hand.\nHe saw Spring decked in flowers, Summer with her garner of grain,\nAutumn bowed beneath his burden of grapes and fruits, and hoary Winter\nshivering behind them. The all-beholding eye of the god perceived him\nfrom afar, and before he had spoken a word, a voice from the throne\nbade him welcome: \"What wants my son? For my son thou art.\" Thus\nencouraged, the youth, though dazzled by the exceeding brightness,\npoured out his tale and proffered his petition.\n\nThe god was touched by his tale of wrong. Flinging aside the awful\nglories that surrounded him, he bade his son advance, and embraced him\nwith tenderness.\n\n\"Make of me some request,\" he said, \"and to convince thee that I am\nthy father, I swear by Styx to grant it, whate'er it be.\"\n\nThe youth was transported with delight, and asked at once to be\npermitted to guide the Sun's bright chariot for one day.\n\nPhoebus was grieved beyond measure at the young man's rash ambition,\nand bitterly repented of his oath; but even a god, when he has sworn\nby Styx, cannot take back or annul that awful oath.\n\n\"Ask of me some other proof,\" he begged. \"Too vast and hazardous this\ntask for thy strength and years. Not one of all the gods--not Jupiter\nhimself, ruler of the sky--dares mount that burning chariot, save I\nalone!\" He told him how with pain and labor the wild steeds climb up\nthe arc of the sky--how from the topmost pinnacles of Heaven the Earth\nand Ocean lie so far beneath that even he himself is sometimes seized\nwith giddiness and his brain reels. And when down the steep descent of\nthe western sky the horses plunge headlong, it needs a strong and\nsteady hand to check them in their course. He told him how, through\nall his daily task, the brave Sun has to front the opposing forces of\nthe Bear, the Scorpion, and the Dog Star, and guide his steeds among\ntheir influences. Through a thousand snares his progress lies, with\nforms of starry monsters ready to devour him if he strays by a hair's\nbreadth from the appointed way. And the very horses themselves, when\ntheir mettle is up, are a team that only a god may control. \"My son,\"\nhe besought him, \"do not require of me a fatal gift.\"\n\nBut the fond father pleaded in vain. The bold youth was unaffrighted,\nand the oath was binding.\n\nThe time had come: Aurora heralded the new day. The golden chariot\nmade by Vulcan was drawn forth; the spokes of the wheels were of\nsilver, its seat was starred with gems.\n\nThe nimble Hours brought forth from their stalls the fiery steeds.\n\nWith last words of warning and advice, the father bade his son\nfarewell, and watched him wend forth on his perilous journey. The\nyouth leaped into the seat, he gathered up the reins, and gave his\nfather such praise and thanks for his indulgence as cut him to the\nheart.\n\nThe horses neighed and pranced, breathing fire from their distended\nnostrils. They sprang out through the gates of Dawn and flew over the\nclouds, leaving the light breezes of Morn far behind them.\n\nThe youth was light; he could not poise or weight the chariot as did\nits accustomed rider. The bounding car was tossed to and fro, the\nsport of winds and currents. Wildly they hurtled headlong up the sky.\nThe steeds perceived the lighter weight, the weaker hands. They\nplunged, and plunging, left the stated course.\n\nThe youth became confused; he looked around him, but could no longer\nrecognize the track. He did not know which way to steer, nor would the\nhorses have obeyed his hand. Wildly they careered and brought the heat\nof midday into far regions of the Heavens that were unused to its\nuntempered rays. All around him monstrous threatening shades awoke and\nstirred in the Heavens as he vexed them with the heat. Far, far below\nthe affrighted youth could see Earth and Ocean spread out. But as his\nchariot raced madly down the heights, the clouds were dispersed by his\nfierce rays, the high mountains began to smoke, the forests to burn;\nripened harvests were devoured by fire, whole cities were turned to\nashes. Pindus and Parnassus were steaming, the fountains of Mount Ida\nwere dried up, and \u00c6tna raged with redoubled heat. Even the towering\nApennines and Caucasus lost their snows, and the huge Alps were one\nrange of living flame.\n\nThe horrified youth beheld the universe burn around him, and he could\nscarce endure the sultry vapors that rose about him as from a furnace.\nLost in clouds of whirling smoke and ashes, the steeds careered madly\nto and fro, he knew not whither. It is said that in that day the Moor\nbegan to change his hue and turn black, and Libya and all the deserts\nof Africa were then first drained of their moisture and left in great\ntracts of parching sandy waste. The great rivers, the Ganges,\nEuphrates, and the Danube, rose up in clouds of hissing steam, and\nthe frightened Nile ran off and hid his head in the sands, and there\nfor centuries and centuries it has lain hid.\n\nStern Neptune, in amazement and anger, thrice reared his head above\nthe shrinking waves where his fishes all were dying, and thrice the\nfierce flames drove him back.\n\nAt length Earth, wrapped in her scalding seas, uplifting her scorching\nbrows, appealed to Jupiter.\n\n\"See how fierce vapors choke my breath; see my singed hair, my\nwithered face, the heaps of cinders that defile my fair body.... Have\npity.\"\n\nJupiter heard her prayer. He mounted his high ethereal throne, called\nall powers, even the god whose son drove the chariot, to witness that\nwhat he did he was compelled to do, and launched a thunderbolt at the\nhead of the despairing Phaeton.\n\nThus with fire the god of gods suppressed the raging fire. Lifeless\nfrom the chariot the boy fell like a falling star, and his charred\nbody dropped to the earth far from his own land, far in the western\nworld, beside the river Po.\n\nThe horses broke loose from their harness, the chariot was splintered\ninto a thousand shining fragments and scattered far over the steaming\nearth.\n\nAnd the story goes, that for the space of one whole day, from morn\ntill eve, the world existed without a sun, lighted only by the lurid\nglare of the burning ruins.\n\nBeside the waters of the river the Latian nymphs came round and gazed\nwith awe upon the dead youth. His charred body they inclosed in a\nmarble urn and wrote on it an epitaph:\n\n \"Here lies a youth as beautiful as brave,\n Who through the heavens his father's chariot drave.\"\n\nHis mother Clymen\u00e9, frantic with grief, ceased not to roam the world,\nfollowed by her weeping daughters, until at last she came to the banks\nof Po, and found there the sculptured urn. She hung above it, bedewing\nthe marble with her tears, crying aloud the name so dear to her. Her\ndaughters stood around, weeping and lamenting with her. All night long\nthey kept their watch, and returning day found them still calling on\ntheir brother's name. Four days and nights they kept their stand, till\nat length, when for their weariness they would have sought rest, they\nfound they could not move. Phaethusa's arms were covered with\nhardening bark and branching boughs; Lampetia stood rooted to the\nground; \u00c6gl\u00e9, as she tore her hair, only filled her hands with leaves.\nWhile their faces were yet untransformed, they cried to their mother\nfor help. But, alas! she was powerless. She tore the bark from their\nfair bodies, she stripped the leaves from their sprouting fingers, she\nclung to their hardening limbs in vain. Only blood came trickling\nwhere she tore away the leaves and bark, and in faint voices the\nmaidens cried that she only wounded her daughters when she tore their\ntrees.\n\nThen the bark covered their fair faces, and they stood for ever dumb,\nwaving green boughs in the sun, while tears of amber rolled slowly\ndown the encrusting bark.\n\n\n\n\nARETHUSA\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nLord of all waters was Oceanus, the ancient Titan god, whose beard,\nlike a foaming cataract, swept to his girdle. Many fair daughters had\nhe, of whom poets sing, yet the fairest of all was the nymph Arethusa.\nShe had not lacked for wooers, but she shunned the haunts of men and\nabode on the Acroceraunian heights whence she had sprung, or when she\ndescended to the plain hid herself in tangled bushes and overhanging\nalders. She loved the quiet woodland ways, and had vowed herself to\nthe chaste huntress Diana, and in her train loved to fleet through the\nwoods and over the plains of Achaia, chasing the flying deer.\n\nNow it happened one day that Arethusa, wearied with hunting and with\nthe great heat, wandered alone among the woods and meadows, seeking a\nplace of rest. Presently she heard the ripple of waters, and soon she\ncame to a river flowing between straight poplars and hoary willows.\nSwiftly and quietly it ran, making no eddies, and so pure were its\nwaters that she could count the pebbles lying in its deep bed like\njewels in an open casket.\n\nJoyfully then the tired maiden unbound her sandals, and, sitting down\nupon the bank, dipped her white feet in the cool water. For a while\nshe sat there undisturbed, and idly watched the growing ripples as she\ndabbled in the stream. But while she thus rested and played, a\nstrange commotion drew her eyes to the middle of the stream, and a\nfear fell upon her, for she knew that it could be none other than\nAlpheus, the god of that river. Quickly she sprang to her feet, and\nwhile yet she stood trembling and irresolute, a hollow voice cried to\nher from mid-stream. And (oh marvel!) the voice was not terrible like\nthat of a god, but tender and full of pleading love.\n\n\"Whither dost thou hasten, Arethusa?\" it said. And again: \"Whither\ndost thou hasten?\"\n\nBut Arethusa, a maiden who cared nothing for love, would be wooed by\nneither god nor man.\n\nSwiftly she fled from the enchanted spot, even before the young\nriver-god had sprung from the stream with love and longing in his\neyes. And now began that long chase of which the end was even stranger\nthan the beginning. Arethusa, weary no longer, darted like a fawn from\nthe river, and Alpheus, more ardent still as the maid was coy, swiftly\nfollowed her flying steps. Through woods and meadows, over hills and\nacross valleys--yes, and past more than one city, fled pursuer and\npursued. But now, as the day drew towards sunsetting, Arethusa's\nstrong limbs wearied, her strength flagged, and her pace slackened,\nand in her sick heart she knew how vain a thing it is for a mortal to\nstrive against a god. For no weariness weighed down the feet of\nAlpheus; straight and swift he ran as his own river. Now so near was\nhe to the maiden that his long shadow fell across her feet; but no\nfaster could she go, for the sun smote fiercely upon her, and her\nstrength was failing. Louder and louder sounded the footsteps of the\ngod. Now she could feel his hard breathing in her long hair; was there\nno escape? With her last strength she cried to her sovereign\nmistress: \"Help, O Huntress, thy huntress maiden! Aid her who so\noften carried thy bow and thine arrows in the chase!\"\n\nAnd the goddess answered her votary.\n\nFor at once Arethusa was wrapped in a dense cloud, so dense indeed\nthat even the burning eyes of her pursuer could not pierce it. There,\nthen, she crouched, like a hare on its form, while outside she heard\nthe footsteps of Alpheus pacing round her hiding-place, searching and\nbaffled. But he, having come so near his prize, would not now give it\nup, and she knew that he would watch the cloud till she came forth. At\nthe thought, beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and ran down to\nher feet. Faster and faster it poured; she was as ice that melts in\nthe sun; and she realized with joy that the goddess was opening for\nher another way of escape. All her weariness and terror slid from her\nstraightway; her tired limbs melted into a liquid ease, and it was no\nmaiden but a laughing stream that shot from under the cloud and fled\nsinging towards the western sea.\n\nBut Alpheus, noting the guile of the goddess, laughed aloud, for could\nhe not at will become even as his own river? He changed even as he\nconceived the thought; and now the chase began once more, only this\ntime river pursued stream, leaping from crag to crag, and rushing\nacross wide wastes of marshy country.\n\nAnd again Arethusa, finding herself in straits, cried aloud to her\nsovereign mistress Diana. And, behold, in answer to her prayer, the\nearth was suddenly rent asunder and a vast black chasm yawned in her\npath. Into it she plunged, and down, down, down she fell. And into it\nin pursuit plunged also Alpheus, who loved her so well that he was\nready to follow her to the depths of the earth.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe darkness passed, and overhead was a beautiful green light, and on\nall sides a profound and solemn silence. Arethusa had left the land\nbehind, and was pushing across the floor of the ocean. And behind her\ncame the waters of Alpheus. Then into the maiden heart, which as yet\nhad known not love, came something better than fear. From the lover\nwho could follow her even hither why should she fly? On he came,\nundeterred and unpolluted by the brackish sea, his waters as fresh and\npure as when they had first run laughing through the sunlit meadows of\nArcadia.... Arethusa sought no more to fly. Love had conquered--Love,\nthe lord of gods and men, who mocks at maidens' vows and melts the\ncoldest breast. So there, amid the alien waters of the sea, the two\nmet in loving embrace, never again to part. And after this the gods\nbrought them once again to the light of the sun. For, finding at\nlength a way of escape through a fissure of the rocks, they rushed\nforth as that Arethusan Fount which springs up in the Sicilian island\nof Ortygia.\n\n \"And now from their fountains\n In Enna's mountains,\n Down one dale where the morning basks\n Like friends once parted\n Grown single-hearted,\n They ply their watery tasks.\n At sunrise they leap\n From their cradles steep\n In the cave of the shelving hill;\n At noontide they flow\n Through the woods below\n And the meadows of Asphodel;\n And at night they sleep\n In the rocking deep\n Beneath the Ortygian shore;--\n Like spirits that lie\n In the azure sky\n When they love but live no more.\"\n\n SHELLEY\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF DAPHNE\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nPhoebus Apollo, the Sun-god, a hunter unmatched in the chase, had\nslain the awful Python with his shafts. To commemorate such a doughty\ndeed, he instituted the Pythian Games wherein noble youths should\nstrive for mastery. The prize was a simple green wreath, the symbol of\nvictory. The laurel was not yet the leaf dedicated to the wreaths the\ngods bestowed upon the happy victors, but every kind of green was worn\nwith promiscuous grace upon the flowing locks of Phoebus.\n\nFlushed with pride in his new success against the Python, Phoebus saw\nCupid, Venus' immortal son, bending his bow and aiming his feathered\nshafts at unwary mortals. A heart once pricked by one of those tiny\ndarts felt all the bitter-sweet of love, and never recovered from the\nwound. Him Phoebus taunted. \"Are such as these fit weapons for chits?\"\nhe cried. \"Know that such archery is my proper business. My shafts fly\nresistless. See how the Python has met his just doom at my hands. Take\nup thy torch, and, with that only, singe the feeble souls of lovers.\"\n\nCupid returned him answer that though on all beside Apollo's shafts\nmight be resistless, to Cupid would justly be the fame when he himself\nwas conquered. The mischievous boy flew away to the heights of\nParnassus, and thence winged one of his sharpest arrows against the\nbreast of the bold deity. Another and different shaft he took, blunt\nand tipped with lead, and this he aimed at the heart of a certain\nnymph of surpassing fairness, a shaft designed to provoke disdain of\nlove in her chaste bosom. Her name was Daphne, the young daughter of\nPeneus. She was a follower of Diana, the divine huntress. All her days\nshe spent in the woods among the wild creatures, or scoured the open\nplains with swift feet. All her love was given to the free life of the\nforest: she roamed in fearless pursuit of beasts of prey, her quiver\nat her side, her bow in hand, her lovely hair bound in many a fillet\nabout her head. Her father often blamed her. \"Thou owest it,\" he said,\n\"to thyself and me to take a husband.\"\n\nBut she, casting her young arms about his neck, begged him to leave\nher free to pursue the life she loved, and not set the yoke of\nmarriage on her unwilling shoulders. \"No more I beg of thee,\" she\nsaid, \"than Diana's fond parent granted her.\"\n\nHer soft-hearted father consented to respect her whim, but warned her\nthat she would soon rue her unnatural wish.\n\nAs Daphne was one day hunting in the forest, Apollo perceived her. The\narrow winged by Cupid had not failed of its effect, and the poison of\nlove ran like fever through his veins. He saw the polished argent of\nher bared shoulder; he saw the disheveled hair that the wind had\nloosened from its snood; he saw the eyes, limpid and innocent as a\nfawn's, the beauty and speed of her feet as she fled down the forest\nglade, her taper fingers as they fitted an arrow to the bow-string. He\nsaw and burned.\n\nSwift as the wind the startled damsel had fled as she espied him, nor\nwhen he overtook her would she stay to hearken to his flattering\nwords.\n\n\"Stay, nymph!\" he cried. \"It is no foe who follows you. Why should\nyou flee as the trembling doe from the lion, the lamb from the hungry\nwolf, the dove from the pursuing falcon? It is a god who loves and\nfollows. It is a god you flee from, a god who loves, and will not be\ndenied.\"\n\nStill she fled and still he followed; he the loving, she the loath, he\npleading and she deaf to his prayers. As a hare doubles to elude the\ngreyhound that is gaining on her, the flying maid turned back and\nsought thus to elude her pursuer. In vain she strove against a god.\nTerror winged her feet, but there is no escape from Love. He gained\nground upon her, and now she felt his hot breath on her hair; his arm\nwas just outstretched to clasp her.\n\nThe nymph grew pale with mortal terror. Spent with her long, hard race\nfor freedom, she cast a despairing look around her. No help was to be\nseen, but near by ran the waters of a little brook. \"Oh, help!\" she\ncried, \"if water gods are deities indeed. Earth, I adjure you, gape\nand entomb this unhappy wretch; or change my form, the cause of all my\nfear!\"\n\nThe kind earth heard her frenzied prayer. The frightened nymph found\nher feet benumbed with cold and rooted to the ground. As Apollo's arms\nwere flung about her a filmy rind grew over her body, her outflung\narms were changed to leafy boughs, her hair, her fingers, all were\nturned to shuddering leaves; only the smoothness of her skin remained.\n\n\"Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!\" For a maiden he clasped a\nlaurel tree, and his hot lips were pressed upon the cold and senseless\nbark.\n\n[Illustration: THE STORY OF DAPHNE]\n\nYet Apollo is a gracious god, and presently, when his passion had\ncooled, he repented him of his mad pursuit and its desperate ending.\nThe idea of the coy maiden, roaming the forest fancy-free, crept into\nhis imagination, more delicate and lovely than when she lived in deed.\nSo he vowed that the laurel should be his peculiar tree. Her leaves\nshould be bound for poet's brow, should crown the victor in the\nchariot race, and the conqueror as he marched in the great triumph.\n\nSecure from thunder should she stand, unfading as the immortal gods;\nand as the locks of Apollo are unshorn, her boughs should be decked in\nperpetual green through all the changing seasons.\n\nAnd the grateful tree could only bend her fair boughs above him and\nwave the leafy burden of her head.\n\n\n\n\nDEUCALION AND PYRRHA\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nTo the golden age of innocence, when the world was young and men a\nrace of happy children, succeeded an age of silver, and then an age of\nbrass. Last came an age of iron, when every man's hand was against his\nneighbor, and Justice fled affrighted to the sky. Then the sons of\nearth, the giants, no longer curbed by law or fear of the gods, waxed\nbold and wanton. Piling mountain upon mountain they essayed to scale\nthe heavens and hurl its monarch from his throne. These Jupiter\nblasted with his red lightnings and transfixed with his winged bolts.\nBut from their blood, as from seed that the sower scatters, there\narose a race of men, a feeble folk, but no less godless and lawless\nthan their sires. Then Jupiter, beholding the ways of men that they\nwere evil and that none was righteous in his eyes, determined to\ndestroy this world and people it with a new race unlike the first. He\nwas minded at first to destroy it by fire, and made ready his\nartillery of thunderbolts, but then he bethought him that the vast\nconflagration might blaze up to heaven itself and scorch the gods on\ntheir golden thrones. So he dropped the bolts from his hand.\n\n\"Water,\" he cried, \"as my poet has sung 'is the best of all elements';\nby water I will drown the world.\"\n\nFirst he bound the North Wind that freezes floods by its icy breath,\nthen loosed the South Wind that brings fog and darkness and horror on\nits wings. From his beard and eyebrows he rained showers, from his\nrobe and mantle the unceasing floods streamed down and wreathing mists\nencircled his frowning brow.\n\nHe swept above the earth, wringing the waters from the high clouds,\nwhile peal on peal of thunder rolled about him.\n\nThe bearded corn bent before the driving rain, and the farmers\nlamented their ruined crops. But not alone in the skies was Jupiter\ncontent to open the watergates. He summoned to his aid the powers of\nNeptune. The ocean, the natural enemy of the fruitful earth, swelled\nwith pride at this request, and rushed inland to meet the swollen\ntorrents that gushed from the hills across the sodden plains. The\nfloods gathered deep over the lowlands, the fields were drowned, the\nruined grain was submerged. Sheep and cattle, peasants and their\nplows, trees and wild beasts, were all borne out upon the resistless\nwaters. Even the houses, sapped by the water, fell into the angry\nflood, and all the household goods were swallowed up. Some climbed\nhigh cliffs to escape the general doom, other launched out in little\nboats and floated above the submerged chimneys of their homes or cast\nanchor among their vines. Hills and valleys were alike engulfed by the\nheaving waters; those who had sought safety on the hilltops died of\nstarvation, and those in boats were swamped.\n\nJupiter, looking down from his starry heights, saw nothing but a lake\nof troubled waters where the blooming earth had been. The destruction\nwas complete. Then he unloosed the North Wind, and set fierce Boreas\nto drive away the clouds. Neptune he commanded to lay his trident on\nthe rough waves and smooth out their furrows. And he bade Triton, who\nappeared above the waves, give the signal for the waters to retire\nwithin their proper bounds. Triton blew a blast on his shell, and the\nnote was borne from wave to wave, from marge to marge. The waters,\nobedient to the summons, ran off the shores. The streams shrank by\nslow degrees to their accustomed level, and the green shoulders of the\nearth rose up from out their watery shroud. The tops of the drooping\ntrees emerged all matted with mud, the houses lay in heaps of reeking\nruin, the whole world lay desolate and wore a sickly hue.\n\nI have said that all men were evil, yet among this sinful race were\ntwo righteous found, and though they could not save others from\ndestruction, they themselves were saved. In a far vale of Thessaly\nthere lived an aged couple, who had fled there to escape from the\nwickedness of men, Deucalion and Pyrrha his wife. When the flood came\nthey had seen a little skiff floating by their cottage door and had\nembarked in it. For many days the skiff had floated like a cork above\nthe surging flood, and when the flood abated they found themselves\nstranded on the heights of Parnassus.\n\nThey were the sole survivors, and they blessed the gods for their\ndeliverance, but as they looked upon the scene of desolation they were\nsad at heart. It was a silent world. No human voice to greet them, no\nsound of beast or bird. They were childless and without hope of\nchildren, and if one of them were to die, how could the other live on?\n\nYet in their misery they forgot not to pay their reverent vows to\nJupiter, the God of Deliverance, and then together made their way down\nfrom Parnassus and sought the now ruined shrine of Themis. The roofs\nwere green with moss and slime; no fire burned on the deserted altar.\n\nThey fell prostrate and implored the goddess: \"O righteous Themis, if\nthe gods can be moved to love or pity by our prayers; if the miseries\nof men can touch them; if there is forgiveness and renewed favor to be\nfound in them, tell how we may restore mankind, and by a miracle\nrepeople all the world!\"\n\nThe gracious goddess bowed to them and said: \"Depart! Veil your heads\nand cast each behind you the bones of your mighty mother.\"\n\nThe pair stood amazed and dumb with wonder.\n\nPyrrha could not bring herself to obey the dire and seemingly impious\ncommand.\n\n\"Forbid it, Heaven,\" she cried, \"that I should tear those sacred\nrelics from their sepulcher!\"\n\nBut Deucalion pondered in his heart the word of the goddess, ever\nseeking in it some hidden meaning not at first made clear. At length\nhis eye brightened; he called Pyrrha to him and said: \"If I understand\nit right, there is an answer to the dark enigma that will free the\ngoddess's word from taint of sacrilege. Our mighty mother is the\nearth; the stones are her bones. These we must cast behind us.\"\n\nWith renewed hope and gladness Pyrrha heard his words, and though\ndoubting still resolved to try.\n\nDescending from the mountain to the plain that was strewn with stones,\nreverently they veiled their heads, and, taking up one stone after\nanother, they flung them over their shoulders.\n\nAnd as the stones fell to the ground a miracle was wrought. As each\nstone fell it visibly changed. At first but the imperfect rudiments of\na form appeared, such as is seen in marble where the chisel has begun\nto chip it out, and the sculptor has not yet lavished on it his\nfinished art. Then by degrees the stones seemed to swell and soften\nlike ripening fruit, till at last the life-blood ran through the blue\nveins, while the bones kept their hardness and supported the\nnew-formed frame.\n\nBy divine power each stone thrown by Deucalion turned into a man;\nwhile each that Pyrrha threw bloomed into a fair woman. Thus was the\nearth repeopled.\n\n'Tis a marvelous tale, but if you doubt its truth go question the\nEgyptian rustics. They will tell you that when the Nile subsides they\nfind in the slime rude stones shaped like a man's body, with a knob\nlike a head and bosses like the beginnings of arms and legs. These are\nstones that Deucalion and Pyrrha threw, but such as fell at their feet\ninstead of behind them, and only began to turn into men and women.\n\n\n\n\nEPIMETHEUS AND PANDORA\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nLong, long ago, when this old world was in its tender infancy, there\nwas a child, named Epimetheus, who never had either father or mother;\nand that he might not be lonely, another child, fatherless and\nmotherless like himself, was sent from a far country to live with him,\nand be his playfellow and helpmate. Her name was Pandora.\n\nThe first thing that Pandora saw, when she entered the cottage where\nEpimetheus dwelt, was a great box. And almost the first question which\nshe put to him, after crossing the threshold, was this: \"Epimetheus,\nwhat have you in that box?\"\n\n\"My dear little Pandora,\" answered Epimetheus, \"that is a secret, and\nyou must be kind enough not to ask any questions about it. The box was\nleft here to be kept safely, and I do not myself know what it\ncontains.\"\n\n\"But who gave it to you?\" asked Pandora. \"And where did it come from?\"\n\n\"That is a secret, too,\" replied Epimetheus.\n\n\"How provoking!\" exclaimed Pandora, pouting her lip. \"I wish the great\nugly box were out of the way!\"\n\n\"Oh, come, don't think of it any more!\" cried Epimetheus. \"Let us run\nout of doors, and have some nice play with the other children.\"\n\nIt is thousands of years since Epimetheus and Pandora were alive; and\nthe world, nowadays, is a very different sort of thing from what it\nwas in their time. Then, everybody was a child. There needed no\nfathers and mothers to take care of the children, because there was no\ndanger or trouble of any kind, and no clothes to be mended, and there\nwas always plenty to eat and drink. Whenever a child wanted his\ndinner, he found it growing on a tree; and if he looked at the tree in\nthe morning, he could see the expanding blossom of that night's\nsupper; or, at eventide, he saw the tender bud of to-morrow's\nbreakfast. It was a very pleasant life indeed. No labor to be done, no\ntasks to be studied; nothing but sports and dances, and sweet voices\nof children talking, or caroling like birds, or gushing out in merry\nlaughter throughout the livelong day.\n\nIt is probable that the very greatest disquietude which a child had\never experienced was Pandora's vexation at not being able to discover\nthe secret of the mysterious box.\n\nThis was at first only the faint shadow of a Trouble; but every day it\ngrew more and more substantial, until before a great while the cottage\nof Epimetheus and Pandora was less sunshiny than those of the other\nchildren.\n\n\"Whence can the box have come?\" Pandora continually kept saying to\nherself and to Epimetheus. \"And what on earth can be inside of it?\"\n\n\"Always talking about this box!\" said Epimetheus at last; for he had\ngrown extremely tired of the subject. \"I wish, dear Pandora, you would\ntry to talk of something else. Come, let us go and gather some ripe\nfigs, and eat them under the trees for our supper. And I know a vine\nthat has the sweetest and juiciest grapes you ever tasted.\"\n\n\"Always talking about grapes and figs!\" cried Pandora pettishly.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Epimetheus, who was a good-tempered child, \"let us\nrun out and have a merry time with our playmates.\"\n\n\"I am tired of merry times, and don't care if I never have any more!\"\nanswered our pettish little Pandora. \"And besides, I never do have\nany. This ugly box! I am so taken up with thinking about it all the\ntime. I insist upon you telling me what is inside of it.\"\n\n\"As I have already said, fifty times over, I do not know!\" replied\nEpimetheus, getting a little vexed. \"How, then, can I tell you what is\ninside?\"\n\n\"You might open it,\" said Pandora, looking sideways at Epimetheus,\n\"and then we could see for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Pandora, what are you thinking of?\" exclaimed Epimetheus.\n\nAnd his face expressed so much horror at the idea of looking into a\nbox which had been confided to him on the condition of his never\nopening it, that Pandora thought it best not to suggest it any more.\nStill, she could not help thinking and talking about the box.\n\n\"At least,\" said she, \"you can tell me how it came here.\"\n\n\"It was left at the door,\" replied Epimetheus, \"just before you came,\nby a person who looked very smiling and intelligent, and who could\nhardly forbear laughing as he put it down. He was dressed in an odd\nkind of a cloak, and had on a cap that seemed to be made partly of\nfeathers, so that it looked almost as if it had wings.\"\n\n\"What sort of a staff had he?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Oh, the most curious staff you ever saw!\" cried Epimetheus. \"It was\nlike two serpents twisting around a stick, and was carved so\nnaturally that I, at first, thought the serpents were alive.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" said Pandora thoughtfully. \"Nobody else has such a\nstaff. It was Quicksilver; and he brought me hither, as well as the\nbox. No doubt he intended it for me; and most probably it contains\npretty dresses for me to wear, or toys for you and me to play with, or\nsomething very nice for us both to eat!\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" answered Epimetheus, turning away. \"But until\nQuicksilver comes back and tells us so, we have neither of us any\nright to lift the lid of the box.\"\n\n\"What a dull boy it is!\" muttered Pandora, as Epimetheus left the\ncottage. \"I do wish he had a little more enterprise!\"\n\nFor the first time since her arrival, Epimetheus had gone out without\nasking Pandora to accompany him. He was tired to death of hearing\nabout the box, and heartily wished that Quicksilver, or whatever was\nthe messenger's name, had left it at some other child's door, where\nPandora would never have set eyes on it. So perseveringly as she did\nbabble about this one thing! The box, the box, and nothing but the\nbox! It seemed as if the box were bewitched, and as if the cottage\nwere not big enough to hold it, without Pandora's continually\nstumbling over it and making Epimetheus stumble over it likewise, and\nbruising all four of their shins.\n\nWell, it was really hard that poor Epimetheus should have a box in his\nears from morning to night, especially as the little people of the\nearth were so unaccustomed to vexations, in those happy days, that\nthey knew not how to deal with them. Thus a small vexation made as\nmuch disturbance then as a far bigger one would in our own times.\n\nAfter Epimetheus was gone Pandora stood gazing at the box. She had\ncalled it ugly above a hundred times; but in spite of all that she had\nsaid against it, it was in truth a very handsome article of furniture.\nIt was made of a beautiful kind of wood, with dark and rich veins\nspreading over its surface, which was so highly polished that little\nPandora could see her face in it. As the child had no other\nlooking-glass, it is odd that she did not value the box, merely on\nthis account.\n\nThe edges and corners of the box were carved with wonderful skill.\nAround the margin there were figures of graceful men and women, and\nthe prettiest children ever seen, reclining or sporting amid a\nprofusion of flowers and foliage; and these various objects were so\nexquisitely represented, and were wrought together in such harmony,\nthat flowers, foliage, and human beings seemed to combine into a\nwreath of mingled beauty.\n\nBut here and there, peeping forth from behind the carved foliage,\nPandora once or twice fancied that she saw a face not so lovely, which\nstole the beauty out of all the rest. Nevertheless, on looking more\nclosely, she could discover nothing of the kind. Some face, that was\nreally beautiful, had been made to look ugly by her catching a sideway\nglimpse at it.\n\nThe most beautiful face of all was done in what is called high relief,\nin the center of the lid. There was nothing else save the dark, smooth\nrichness of the polished wood, and this one face in the center, with a\ngarland of flowers about its brow. Pandora had looked at this face a\ngreat many times, and imagined that the mouth could smile if it liked,\nor be grave when it chose, the same as any living mouth. The features,\nindeed, all wore a very lively and rather mischievous expression,\nwhich looked almost as if it needs must burst out of the carved lips\nand utter itself in words.\n\nHad the mouth spoken, it would probably have been something like this:\n\"Do not be afraid, Pandora! What harm can there be in opening the box?\nNever mind that poor, simple Epimetheus! You are wiser than he, and\nhave ten times as much spirit. Open the box, and see if you do not\nfind something very pretty!\"\n\nThe box was fastened; not by a lock, nor by any other such\ncontrivance, but by a very intricate knot of gold cord. There appeared\nto be no end to this knot, and no beginning. Never was a knot so\ncunningly twisted, nor with so many ins and outs, which roguishly\ndefied the skilfullest fingers to disentangle them. And yet, by the\nvery difficulty that there was in it, Pandora was the more tempted to\nexamine the knot, and just see how it was made. Two or three times\nalready she had stooped over the box, and taken the knot between her\nthumb and forefinger, but without positively trying to undo it.\n\n\"I really believe,\" said she to herself, \"that I begin to see how it\nwas done. Nay, perhaps I could tie it up again after undoing it. There\ncould be no harm in that, surely. Even Epimetheus would not blame me\nfor that. I need not open the box, and should not, of course, without\nthe foolish boy's consent, even if the knot were untied.\"\n\nFirst she tried to lift it. It was heavy; much too heavy for the\nslender strength of a child like Pandora. She raised one end of the\nbox a few inches from the floor, and let it fall again with a pretty\nloud thump. A moment afterwards she almost fancied that she heard\nsomething stir inside of the box. She applied her ear as closely as\npossible and listened. Positively there did seem to be a kind of\nstifled murmur within. Or was it merely the singing in Pandora's ears?\nOr could it be the beating of her heart? The child could not quite\nsatisfy herself whether she had heard anything or no. But, at all\nevents, her curiosity was stronger than ever.\n\nAs she drew back her head her eyes fell upon the knot of gold cord.\n\n\"It must have been a very ingenious person who tied this knot,\" said\nPandora to herself. \"But I think I could untie it, nevertheless. I am\nresolved, at least, to find the two ends of the cord.\"\n\nSo she took the golden knot in her fingers, and pried into its\nintricacies as sharply as she could. Almost without intending it, or\nquite knowing what she was about, she was soon busily engaged in\nattempting to undo it. Meanwhile the bright sunshine came through the\nopen window, as did likewise the merry voices of the children playing\nat a distance; and, perhaps, the voice of Epimetheus among them.\nPandora stopped to listen. What a beautiful day it was! Would it not\nbe wiser if she were to let the troublesome knot alone, and think no\nmore about the box, but run and join her little playfellows and be\nhappy?\n\nAll this time, however, her fingers were half unconsciously busy with\nthe knot; and, happening to glance at the flower-wreathed face on the\nlid of the enchanted box, she seemed to perceive it slyly grinning at\nher.\n\n\"That face looks very mischievous,\" thought Pandora. \"I wonder whether\nit smiles because I am doing wrong! I have the greatest mind in the\nworld to run away!\"\n\nBut just then, by the merest accident, she gave the knot a kind of a\ntwist, which produced a wonderful result. The gold cord untwined\nitself as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.\n\n\"This is the strangest thing I ever knew!\" said Pandora. \"What will\nEpimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?\"\n\nShe made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it\nquite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that\nshe could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled\ninto one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and\nappearance of the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her\nmind. Nothing was to be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as\nit was until Epimetheus should come in.\n\n\"But,\" said Pandora, \"when he finds the knot untied, he will know that\nI have done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked\ninto the box?\"\n\nAnd then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since\nshe would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just\nas well do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You\nshould have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving\nundone what was wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus\nwould have said or believed. And so perhaps she might, if the\nenchanted face on the lid of the box had not looked so bewitchingly\npersuasive at her, and if she had not seemed to hear, more distinctly\nthan before, the murmur of small voices within. She could not tell\nwhether it was fancy or no; but there was quite a little tumult of\nwhispers in her ear--or else it was her curiosity that whispered:\n\n\"Let us out, dear Pandora; pray let us out! We will be such nice\npretty playfellows for you! Only let us out!\"\n\n\"What can it be?\" thought Pandora. \"Is there something alive in the\nbox? Well!--yes!--I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep;\nand then the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot\npossibly be any harm in just one little peep!\"\n\nBut it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.\n\nThis was the first time since his little playmate had come to dwell\nwith him that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did\nnot partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on\nother days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if\nEpimetheus had a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs);\nor, if ripe at all, they were over-ripe, and so sweet as to be\ncloying. In short, he grew so uneasy and discontented, that the other\nchildren could not imagine what was the matter with Epimetheus.\nNeither did he himself know what ailed him any better than they did.\n\nAt length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all\nthe play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in\na humor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her\npleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which\nhe meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely--roses and\nlilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a trail\nof fragrance behind as Epimetheus carried them along; and the wreath\nwas put together with as much skill as could reasonably be expected of\na boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always appeared to me, are\nthe fittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it in those\ndays rather better than they can now.\n\nMeanwhile a great black cloud had been gathering in the sky for some\ntime past, although it had not yet overspread the sun. But just as\nEpimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to intercept the\nsunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.\n\nHe entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora\nand fling the wreath of flowers over her head before she should be\naware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his\ntreading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he pleased\nwithout much probability of Pandora's hearing his footsteps. She was\ntoo intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his entering the cottage\nthe naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and was on the point of\nopening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld her. If he had cried out\nPandora would probably have withdrawn her hand, and the fatal mystery\nof the box might never have been known.\n\nBut Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his\nown share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that\nPandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his\nplayfellow should not be the only wise person in the cottage. And if\nthere were anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take\nhalf of it to himself. Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora\nabout restraining her curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as\nfoolish, and nearly as much in fault, as she. So, whenever we blame\nPandora for what happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at\nEpimetheus likewise.\n\nAs Pandora raised the lid the cottage grew very dark and dismal, for\nthe black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have\nburied it alive. There had, for a little while past, been a low\ngrowling and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of\nthunder. But Pandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid\nnearly upright and looked inside. It seemed as if a sudden swarm of\nwinged creatures brushed past her, taking flight out of the box,\nwhile, at the same instant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a\nlamentable tone, as if he were in pain.\n\n\"Oh, I am stung!\" cried he. \"I am stung! Naughty Pandora! why have you\nopened this wicked box?\"\n\nPandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see\nwhat had befallen Epimetheus. The thunder-cloud had so darkened the\nroom that she could not very clearly discern what was in it. But she\nheard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or\ngigantic mosquitoes, were darting about. And, as her eyes grew more\naccustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little\nshapes, with bats' wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with\nterribly long stings in their tails. It was one of these that had\nstung Epimetheus. Nor was it a great while before Pandora herself\nbegan to scream, in no less pain and affright than her playfellow, and\nmaking a vast deal more hubbub about it. An odious little monster had\nsettled on her forehead, and would have stung her I know not how\ndeeply if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.\n\nNow, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be which had\nmade their escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the\nwhole family of earthly Troubles. There were evil Passions; there were\na great many species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and\nfifty Sorrows; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and\npainful shapes; there were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be\nof any use to talk about. In short, everything that has since\nafflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the\nmysterious box, and given to Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely,\nin order that the happy children of the world might never be molested\nby them. Had they been faithful to their trust, all would have gone\nwell. No grown person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had\ncause to shed a single tear, from that hour until this moment.\n\nBut--and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a\ncalamity to the whole world--by Pandora's lifting the lid of that\nmiserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing\nher, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem\nvery likely to be driven away in a hurry. For it was impossible, as\nyou will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly\nswarm in their own little cottage. On the contrary, the first thing\nthey did was to fling open the doors and windows in hope of getting\nrid of them; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all\nabroad, and so pestered and tormented the small people everywhere\nabout that none of them so much as smiled for many days afterwards.\nAnd, what was very singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on\nearth, not one of which had hitherto faded, now began to droop and\nshed their leaves, after a day or two. The children, moreover, who\nbefore seemed immortal in their childhood, now grew older, day by day,\nand came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women by and by,\nand aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing.\n\nMeanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus,\nremained in their cottage. Both of them had been grievously stung,\nand were in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to\nthem, because it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since\nthe world began. Besides all this, they were in exceedingly bad humor,\nboth with themselves and with one another. In order to indulge it to\nthe utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back\ntowards Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested\nher head on the fatal and abominable box. She was crying bitterly, and\nsobbing as if her heart would break.\n\nSuddenly there was a gentle tap on the inside of the lid.\n\n\"What can that be?\" cried Pandora, lifting her head.\n\nBut either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of\nhumor to notice it. At any rate, he made no answer.\n\n\"You are very unkind,\" said Pandora, sobbing anew, \"not to speak to\nme!\"\n\nAgain the tap! It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy's hand,\nknocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.\n\"Who are you, inside of this naughty box?\"\n\nA sweet little voice spoke from within: \"Only lift the lid, and you\nshall see.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, \"I have had enough\nof lifting the lid! You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and\nthere you shall stay! There are plenty of your ugly brothers and\nsisters already flying about the world. You need never think that I\nshall be so foolish as to let you out!\"\n\nShe looked towards Epimetheus as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he\nwould commend her for her wisdom. But the sullen boy only muttered\nthat she was wise a little too late.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the sweet little voice again, \"you had much better let me\nout. I am not like those naughty creatures that have stings in their\ntails. They are no brothers and sisters of mine, as you would see at\nonce, if you were only to get a glimpse of me. Come, come, my pretty\nPandora! I am sure you will let me out!\"\n\nAnd, indeed, there was a kind of cheerful witchery in the tone, that\nmade it almost impossible to refuse anything which this little voice\nasked. Pandora's heart had insensibly grown lighter at every word that\ncame from within the box. Epimetheus, too, though still in the corner,\nhad turned half round, and seemed to be in rather better spirits than\nbefore.\n\n\"My dear Epimetheus,\" cried Pandora, \"have you heard this little\nvoice?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure I have,\" answered he, but in no very good humor as\nyet. \"And what of it?\"\n\n\"Shall I lift the lid again?\" asked Pandora.\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said Epimetheus. \"You have done so much mischief\nalready, that perhaps you may as well do a little more. One other\nTrouble, in such a swarm as you have set adrift about the world, can\nmake no very great difference.\"\n\n\"You might speak a little more kindly!\" murmured Pandora, wiping her\neyes.\n\n\"Ah, naughty boy!\" cried the little voice within the box, in an arch\nand laughing tone. \"He knows he is longing to see me. Come, my dear\nPandora, lift up the lid. I am in a great hurry to comfort you. Only\nlet me have some fresh air, and you shall soon see that matters are\nnot quite so dismal as you think them!\"\n\n\"Epimetheus,\" exclaimed Pandora, \"come what may, I am resolved to open\nthe box!\"\n\n\"And, as the lid seems very heavy,\" cried Epimetheus, running across\nthe room, \"I will help you!\"\n\nSo, with one consent, the two children again lifted the lid. Out flew\na sunny and smiling little personage, and hovered about the room,\nthrowing a light wherever she went. Have you never made the sunshine\ndance into dark corners by reflecting it from a bit of looking-glass?\nWell, so looked the winged cheerfulness of this fairy-like stranger\namid the gloom of the cottage. She flew to Epimetheus, and laid the\nleast touch of her finger on the inflamed spot where the Trouble had\nstung him, and immediately the anguish of it was gone. Then she kissed\nPandora on the forehead, and her hurt was cured likewise.\n\nAfter performing these good offices, the bright stranger fluttered\nsportively over the children's heads, and looked so sweetly at them\nthat they both began to think it not so very much amiss to have opened\nthe box, since, otherwise, their cheery guest must have been kept a\nprisoner among those naughty imps with stings in their tails.\n\n\"Pray, who are you, beautiful creature?\" inquired Pandora.\n\n\"I am to be called Hope!\" answered the sunshiny figure. \"And because I\nam such a cheery little body, I was packed into the box to make amends\nto the human race for that swarm of ugly Troubles, which was destined\nto be let loose among them. Never fear! we shall do pretty well in\nspite of them all.\"\n\n\"Your wings are colored like the rainbow!\" exclaimed Pandora. \"How\nvery beautiful!\"\n\n\"Yes, they are like the rainbow,\" said Hope, \"because, glad as my\nnature is, I am partly made of tears as well as smiles.\"\n\n\"And you will stay with us,\" asked Epimetheus, \"for ever and ever?\"\n\n\"As long as you need me,\" said Hope, with her pleasant smile, \"and\nthat will be as long as you live in the world--I promise never to\ndesert you. There may be times and seasons, now and then, when you\nwill think that I have utterly vanished. But again, and again, and\nagain, when perhaps you least dream of it, you shall see the glimmer\nof my wings on the ceiling of your cottage. Yes, my dear children, and\nI know something very good and beautiful that is to be given you,\nhereafter!\"\n\n\"Oh, tell us,\" they exclaimed; \"tell us what it is!\"\n\n\"Do not ask me,\" replied Hope, putting her finger on her rosy mouth.\n\"But do not despair, even if it should never happen while you live on\nthis earth. Trust in my promise, for it is true.\"\n\n\"We do trust you!\" cried Epimetheus and Pandora, both in one breath.\n\nAnd so they did; and not only they, but so has everybody trusted Hope,\nthat has since been alive. And, to tell you the truth, I cannot help\nbeing glad (though, to be sure, it was an uncommonly naughty thing for\nher to do)--but I cannot help being glad that our foolish Pandora\npeeped into the box. No doubt--no doubt--the Troubles are still flying\nabout the world, and have increased in multitude, rather than\nlessened, and are a very ugly set of imps, and carry most venomous\nstings in their tails. I have felt them already, and expect to feel\nthem more as I grow older. But then that lovely and lightsome figure\nof Hope! What in the world could we do without her? Hope spiritualizes\nthe earth; Hope makes it always new; and, even in the earth's best and\nbrightest aspect, Hope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite\nbliss hereafter.\n\n\n\n\nEUROPA AND THE GOD-BULL\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nCadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, the three sons of King Agenor, and their\nlittle sister Europa (who was a very beautiful child), were at play\ntogether near the sea-shore in their father's kingdom of Phoenicia.\nThey had rambled to some distance from the palace where their parents\ndwelt, and were now in a verdant meadow, on one side of which lay the\nsea, all sparkling and dimpling in the sunshine, and murmuring gently\nagainst the beach. The three boys were very happy gathering flowers\nand twining them into garlands, with which they adorned the little\nEuropa. Seated on the grass, the child was almost hidden under an\nabundance of buds and blossoms, whence her rosy face peeped merrily\nout, and, as Cadmus said, was the prettiest of all the flowers.\n\nJust then there came a splendid butterfly fluttering along the meadow,\nand Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix set off in pursuit of it, crying out\nthat it was a flower with wings. Europa, who was a little wearied with\nplaying all day long, did not chase the butterfly with her brothers,\nbut sat still where they had left her, and closed her eyes. For a\nwhile she listened to the pleasant murmur of the sea, which was like a\nvoice saying \"Hush!\" and bidding her go to sleep. But the pretty\nchild, if she slept at all, could not have slept more than a moment,\nwhen she heard something trample on the grass not far from her, and\npeeping out from the heap of flowers, beheld a snow-white bull.\n\nAnd whence could this bull have come? Europa and her brothers had been\na long time playing in the meadow, and had seen no cattle, nor other\nliving thing, either there or on the neighboring hills.\n\n\"Brother Cadmus!\" cried Europa, starting up out of the midst of the\nroses and lilies. \"Phoenix! Cilix! Where are you all? Help! Help! Come\nand drive away this bull!\"\n\nBut her brothers were too far off to hear, especially as the fright\ntook away Europa's voice and hindered her from calling very loudly. So\nthere she stood, with her pretty mouth wide open, as pale as the white\nlilies that were twisted among the other flowers in her garlands.\n\nNevertheless, it was the suddenness with which she had perceived the\nbull, rather than anything frightful in its appearance, that caused\nEuropa so much alarm. On looking at him more attentively, she began to\nsee that he was a beautiful animal, and even fancied a particularly\namiable expression in his face. As for his breath--the breath of\ncattle, you know, is always sweet--it was as fragrant as if he had\nbeen grazing on no other food than rosebuds, or, at least, the most\ndelicate of clover blossoms. Never before did a bull have such bright\nand tender eyes, and such smooth horns of ivory, as this one. And the\nbull ran little races, and capered sportively around the child; so\nthat she quite forgot how big and strong he was, and, from the\ngentleness and playfulness of his actions, soon came to consider him\nas innocent a creature as a pet lamb.\n\nThus, frightened as she at first was, you might by and by have seen\nEuropa stroking the bull's forehead with her small white hand, and\ntaking the garlands off her own head to hang them on his neck and\nivory horns. Then she pulled up some blades of grass, and he ate them\nout of her hand, not as if he were hungry, but because he wanted to be\nfriends with the child, and took pleasure in eating what she had\ntouched. Well, my stars! was there ever such a gentle, sweet, pretty,\nand amiable creature as this bull, and ever such a nice playmate for a\nlittle girl?\n\nWhen the animal saw (for the bull had so much intelligence that it is\nreally wonderful to think of), when he saw that Europa was no longer\nafraid of him, he grew overjoyed, and could hardly contain himself for\ndelight. He frisked about the meadow, now here, now there, making\nsprightly leaps, with as little effort as a bird expends in hopping\nfrom twig to twig. Indeed, his motion was as light as if he were\nflying through the air, and his hoofs seemed hardly to leave their\nprint in the grassy soil over which he trod. With his spotless hue, he\nresembled a snow-drift wafted along by the wind. Once he galloped so\nfar away that Europa feared lest she might never see him again; so,\nsetting up her childish voice, she called him back.\n\n\"Come back, pretty creature!\" she cried. \"Here is a nice clover\nblossom.\"\n\nAnd then it was delightful to witness the gratitude of this amiable\nbull, and how he was so full of joy and thankfulness that he capered\nhigher than ever. He came running and bowed his head before Europa, as\nif he knew her to be a king's daughter, or else recognized the\nimportant truth that a little girl is everybody's queen. And not only\ndid the bull bend his neck, he absolutely knelt down at her feet, and\nmade such intelligent nods, and other inviting gestures, that Europa\nunderstood what he meant just as well as if he had put it in so many\nwords.\n\n\"Come, dear child,\" was what he wanted to say, \"let me give you a ride\non my back.\"\n\nAt the first thought of such a thing Europa drew back. But then she\nconsidered in her wise little head that there could be no possible\nharm in taking just one gallop on the back of this docile and friendly\nanimal, who would certainly set her down the very instant she desired\nit. And how it would surprise her brothers to see her riding across\nthe green meadow! And what merry times they might have, either taking\nturns for a gallop, or clambering on the gentle creature, all four\nchildren together, and careering round the field with shouts of\nlaughter that would be heard as far off as King Agenor's palace!\n\n\"I think I will do it,\" said the child to herself.\n\nAnd, indeed, why not? She cast a glance around, and caught a glimpse\nof Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, who were still in pursuit of the\nbutterfly, almost at the other end of the meadow. It would be the\nquickest way of rejoining them, to get upon the white bull's back. She\ncame a step nearer to him, therefore; and--sociable creature that he\nwas--he showed so much joy at this mark of her confidence, that the\nchild could not find it in her heart to hesitate any longer. Making\none bound (for this little princess was as active as a squirrel),\nthere sat Europa on the beautiful bull, holding an ivory horn in each\nhand lest she should fall off.\n\n\"Softly, pretty bull, softly!\" she said, rather frightened at what she\nhad done. \"Do not gallop too fast.\"\n\nHaving got the child on his back, the animal gave a leap into the air,\nand came down so like a feather that Europa did not know when his\nhoofs touched the ground. He then began to race to that part of the\nflowery plain where her three brothers were, and where they had just\ncaught their splendid butterfly. Europa screamed with delight; and\nPhoenix, Cilix, and Cadmus stood gaping at the spectacle of their\nsister mounted on a white bull, not knowing whether to be frightened,\nor to wish the same good luck for themselves. The gentle and innocent\ncreature (for who could possibly doubt that he was so?) pranced round\namong the children as sportively as a kitten. Europa all the while\nlooked down upon her brothers, nodding and laughing, but yet with a\nsort of stateliness in her rosy little face. As the bull wheeled about\nto take another gallop across the meadow, the child waved her hand and\nsaid \"Good-by,\" playfully pretending that she was now bound on a\ndistant journey, and might not see her brothers again for nobody could\ntell how long.\n\n\"Good-by,\" shouted Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix, all in one breath.\n\nBut, together with her enjoyment of the sport, there was still a\nlittle remnant of fear in the child's heart; so that her last look at\nthe three boys was a troubled one, and made them feel as if their dear\nsister were really leaving them forever. And what do you think the\nsnowy bull did next? Why, he set off, as swift as the wind, straight\ndown to the sea-shore, scampered across the sand, took an airy leap,\nand plunged right in among the foaming billows. The white spray rose\nin a shower over him and little Europa, and fell spattering down upon\nthe water.\n\nThen what a scream of terror did the poor child send forth! The three\nbrothers screamed manfully, likewise, and ran to the shore as fast as\ntheir legs would carry them, with Cadmus at their head. But it was too\nlate. When they reached the margin of the sand, the treacherous animal\nwas already away in the wide blue sea, with only his snowy head and\ntail emerging, and poor little Europa between them, stretching out one\nhand towards her dear brothers, while she grasped the bull's ivory\nhorn with the other. And there stood Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix,\ngazing at this sad spectacle through their tears, until they could no\nlonger distinguish the bull's snowy head from the white-capped billows\nthat seemed to boil up out of the sea's depth around him. Nothing more\nwas ever seen of the white bull--nothing more of the beautiful child.\n\nThis was a mournful story, as you may well think, for the three boys\nto carry home to their parents. King Agenor, their father, was the\nruler of the whole country; but he loved his little daughter Europa\nbetter than his kingdom, or than all his other children, or than\nanything else in the world. Therefore, when Cadmus and his two\nbrothers came crying home, and told him how that a white bull had\ncarried off their sister, and swam with her over the sea, the king was\nquite beside himself with grief and rage. Although it was now\ntwilight, and fast growing dark, he bade them set out instantly in\nsearch of her.\n\n\"Never shall you see my face again,\" he cried, \"unless you bring me\nback my little Europa to gladden me with her smiles and her pretty\nways. Begone, and enter my presence no more, till you come leading her\nby the hand.\"\n\nAs King Agenor said this his eyes flashed fire (for he was a very\npassionate king), and he looked so terribly angry that the poor boys\ndid not even venture to ask for their suppers, but slunk away out of\nthe palace, and only paused on the steps a moment to consult whither\nthey should go first. While they were standing there, all in dismay,\ntheir mother, Queen Telephassa (who happened not to be by when they\ntold the story to the king), came hurrying after them, and said that\nshe too would go in quest of her daughter.\n\n\"Oh, no, mother!\" cried the boys. \"The night is dark, and there is no\nknowing what troubles and perils we may meet with.\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear children,\" answered poor Queen Telephassa, weeping\nbitterly, \"that is only another reason why I should go with you. If I\nshould lose you too, as well as my little Europa, what would become of\nme?\"\n\nIn this manner they went down the palace steps, and began a journey\nwhich turned out to be a great deal longer than they dreamed of. The\nlast that they saw of King Agenor, he came to the door, with a servant\nholding a torch beside him, and called after them into the gathering\ndarkness:\n\n\"Remember! Never ascend these steps again without the child!\"\n\n\"Never!\" sobbed Queen Telephassa; and the three brothers answered,\n\"Never! Never! Never! Never!\"\n\nAnd they kept their word. Year after year King Agenor sat in the\nsolitude of his beautiful palace, listening in vain for their\nreturning footsteps, hoping to hear the familiar voice of the queen\nand the cheerful talk of his sons entering the door together, and the\nsweet, childish accents of little Europa in the midst of them. But so\nlong a time went by that, at last, if they had really come, the king\nwould not have known that this was the voice of Telephassa, and these\nthe younger voices that used to make such joyful echoes when the\nchildren were playing about the palace. We must now leave King Agenor\nto sit on his throne, and must go along with Queen Telephassa and her\nthree youthful companions.\n\nThey went on and on, and traveled a long way, and passed over\nmountains and rivers and sailed over seas. Here and there, and\neverywhere, they made continual inquiry if any person could tell them\nwhat had become of Europa. The rustic people, of whom they asked this\nquestion, paused a little while from their labors in the field, and\nlooked very much surprised. They thought it strange to behold a woman\nin the garb of a queen (for Telephassa, in her haste, had forgotten to\ntake off her crown and her royal robes) roaming about the country,\nwith three lads around her, on such an errand as this seemed to be.\nBut nobody could give them any tidings of Europa--nobody had seen a\nlittle girl dressed like a princess, and mounted on a snow-white bull,\nwhich galloped as swiftly as the wind.\n\nI cannot tell you how long Queen Telephassa, and Cadmus, and Phoenix,\nand Cilix, her three sons, went wandering along the highways and\nby-paths, or through the pathless wildernesses of the earth, in this\nmanner. But certain it is that, before they reached any place of rest,\ntheir splendid garments were quite worn out. They all looked very much\ntravel-stained, and would have had the dust of many countries on their\nshoes, if the streams, through which they waded, had not washed it all\naway. When they had been gone a year, Telephassa threw away her crown,\nbecause it chafed her forehead.\n\n\"It has given me many a headache,\" said the poor queen, \"and it cannot\ncure my heartache.\"\n\nAs fast as their princely robes got torn and tattered, they exchanged\nthem for such mean attire as ordinary people wore. By and by they\ncame to have a wild and homeless aspect; so that you would much sooner\nhave taken them for a gipsy family than a queen and three princes, who\nhad once a palace for their home, and a train of servants to do their\nbidding. The three boys grew up to be tall young men, with sunburnt\nfaces. Each of them girded a sword to defend himself against the\nperils of the way. When the husbandmen at whose farmhouses they sought\nhospitality, needed their assistance in the harvest-field, they gave\nit willingly; and Queen Telephassa (who had done no work in her\npalace, save to braid silk threads with golden ones) came behind them\nto bind the sheaves. If payment was offered, they shook their heads,\nand only asked for tidings of Europa.\n\n\"There are bulls enough in my pasture,\" the old farmers would reply;\n\"but I never heard of one like this you tell me of. A snow-white bull\nwith a little princess on his back! Ho! ho! I ask your pardon, good\nfolks; but there never was such a sight seen hereabouts.\"\n\nAt last, when his upper lip began to have the down on it, Phoenix grew\nweary of rambling hither and thither to no purpose. So one day, when\nthey happened to be passing through a pleasant and solitary tract of\ncountry, he sat himself down on a heap of moss.\n\n\"I can go no farther,\" said Phoenix, \"it is a mere foolish waste of\nlife to spend it, as we do, in always wandering up and down, and never\ncoming to any home at nightfall. Our sister is lost, and never will be\nfound. She probably perished in the sea, or to whatever shore the\nwhite bull may have carried her. It is now so many years ago that\nthere would be neither love nor acquaintance between us, should we\nmeet again. My father has forbidden us to return to his palace, so I\nshall build me a hut of branches and dwell here.\"\n\n\"Well, son Phoenix,\" said Telephassa sorrowfully, \"you have grown to\nbe a man, and must do as you judge best. But, for my part, I will\nstill go in quest of my poor child.\"\n\n\"And we two will go along with you!\" cried Cadmus and Cilix.\n\nBut before setting out they all helped Phoenix to build a habitation.\nWhen completed it was a sweet rural bower, roofed overhead with an\narch of living boughs. Inside there were two pleasant rooms, one of\nwhich had a soft heap of moss for a bed, while the other was furnished\nwith a rustic seat or two, curiously fashioned out of the crooked\nroots of trees. So comfortable and homelike did it seem, that\nTelephassa and her two companions could not help sighing to think that\nthey must still roam about the world instead of spending the remainder\nof their lives in some such cheerful abode as they had there built for\nPhoenix. But, when they bade him farewell, Phoenix shed tears, and\nprobably regretted that he was no longer to keep them company.\n\nHowever, he had fixed upon an admirable place to dwell in. And by and\nby there came other people, who chanced to have no home; and seeing\nhow pleasant a spot it was, they built themselves huts in the\nneighborhood of Phoenix's habitation. Thus, before many years went by,\na city had grown up there, in the center of which was seen a stately\npalace of marble, wherein dwelt Phoenix, clothed in a purple robe, and\nwearing a golden crown upon his head. For the inhabitants of the new\ncity, finding that he had royal blood in his veins, had chosen him to\nbe their king. The very first decree of state which King Phoenix\nissued was, that if a maiden happened to arrive in the kingdom,\nmounted on a snow-white bull and calling herself Europa, his subjects\nshould treat her with the greatest kindness and respect, and\nimmediately bring her to the palace. You may see by this that\nPhoenix's conscience never quite ceased to trouble him for giving up\nthe quest of his dear sister, and sitting himself down to be\ncomfortable, while his mother and her companions went onward.\n\nBut often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did\nTelephassa, Cadmus, and Cilix remember the pleasant spot in which they\nhad left Phoenix. It was a sorrowful prospect for these wanderers,\nthat on the morrow they must again set forth; and that, after many\nnightfalls, they would, perhaps, be no nearer the close of their\ntoilsome pilgrimage than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy\nat times, but appeared to torment Cilix more than the rest of the\nparty. At length, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in\nhand to set out, he thus addressed them:\n\n\"My dear mother, and you, good brother Cadmus, methinks we are like\npeople in a dream. There is no substance in the life which we are\nleading. It is such a dreary length of time since the white bull\ncarried off my sister Europa, that I have quite forgotten how she\nlooked, and the tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt whether\nsuch a little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once lived\nor no, I am convinced that she no longer survives, and that therefore\nit is the merest folly to waste our own lives and happiness in seeking\nher. Were we to find her, she would now be a woman grown, and would\nlook upon us all as strangers. So, to tell you the truth, I have\nresolved to take up my abode here; and I entreat you, mother, and\nyou, brother, to follow my example.\"\n\n\"Not I, for one,\" said Telephassa; although the poor queen, firmly as\nshe spoke, was so travel-worn that she could hardly put her foot to\nthe ground. \"Not I, for one! In the depths of my heart little Europa\nis still the rosy child who ran to gather flowers so many years ago.\nShe has not grown to womanhood, nor forgotten me. At noon, at night,\njourneying onward, sitting down to rest, her childish voice is always\nin my ears, calling, 'Mother! mother!' Stop here who may, there is no\nrepose for me.\"\n\n\"Nor for me,\" said Cadmus, \"while my dear mother pleases to go\nonward.\"\n\nThey remained with Cilix a few days, however, and helped him to build\na rustic bower, resembling the one which they had formerly built for\nPhoenix.\n\nWhen they were bidding him farewell, Cilix burst into tears, and told\nhis mother that it seemed just as melancholy a dream to stay there in\nsolitude as to go onward. If she really believed that they would ever\nfind Europa, he was willing to continue the search with them even now.\nBut Telephassa bade him remain there, and be happy, if his own heart\nwould let him. So the pilgrims took their leave of him and departed,\nand were hardly out of sight before some other wandering people came\nalong that way and saw Cilix's habitation, and were greatly delighted\nwith the appearance of the place. There being abundance of unoccupied\nground in the neighborhood, these strangers built huts for themselves,\nand were soon joined by a multitude of new settlers, who quickly\nformed a city. In the middle of it was seen a magnificent palace of\ncolored marble, on the balcony of which, every noontide, appeared\nCilix, in a long purple robe, and with a jeweled crown upon his head;\nfor the inhabitants, when they found out that he was a king's son, had\nconsidered him the fittest of all men to be a king himself.\n\nOne of the first acts of King Cilix's government was to send out an\nexpedition, consisting of a grave ambassador and an escort of bold and\nhardy young men, with orders to visit the principal kingdoms of the\nearth, and inquire whether a young maiden had passed through those\nregions, galloping swiftly on a white bull. It is therefore plain to\nmy mind, that Cilix secretly blamed himself for giving up the search\nfor Europa, as long as he was able to put one foot before the other.\n\nTelephassa and Cadmus were now pursuing their weary way, with no\ncompanion but each other. The queen leaned heavily upon her son's arm,\nand could walk only a few miles a day. But for all her weakness and\nweariness, she would not be persuaded to give up the search. It was\nenough to bring tears into the eyes of bearded men to hear the\nmelancholy tone with which she inquired of every stranger whether he\ncould tell her any news of the lost child.\n\n\"Have you seen a little girl--no, no, I mean a young maiden of full\ngrowth--passing by this way, mounted on a snow-white bull, which\ngallops as swiftly as the wind?\"\n\n\"We have seen no such wondrous sight,\" the people would reply; and\nvery often, taking Cadmus aside, they whispered to him, \"Is this\nstately and sad-looking woman your mother? Surely she is not in her\nright mind; and you ought to take her home, and make her comfortable,\nand do your best to get this dream out of her fancy.\"\n\n\"It is no dream,\" said Cadmus. \"Everything else is a dream, save\nthat.\"\n\nBut one day Telephassa seemed feebler than usual, and leaned almost\nher whole weight on the arm of Cadmus, and walked more slowly than\never before. At last they reached a solitary spot, where she told her\nson that she must needs lie down, and take a good long rest.\n\n\"A good long rest!\" she repeated, looking Cadmus tenderly in the face.\n\"A good long rest, thou dearest one!\"\n\n\"As long as you please, dear mother,\" answered Cadmus.\n\nTelephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then she took\nhis hand.\n\n\"My son,\" said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him, \"this\nrest that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must not wait till\nit is finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not comprehend me. You must make a\ngrave here, and lay your mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage\nis over.\"\n\nCadmus burst into tears, and for a long time refused to believe that\nhis dear mother was now to be taken from him. But Telephassa reasoned\nwith him, and kissed him, and at length made him discern that it was\nbetter for her spirit to pass away out of the toil, the weariness, the\ngrief, and disappointment which had burdened her on earth, ever since\nthe child was lost. He therefore repressed his sorrow, and listened to\nher last words.\n\n\"Dearest Cadmus,\" said she, \"thou hast been the truest son that ever\nmother had, and faithful to the very last. Who else would have borne\nwith my infirmities as thou hast? It is owing to thy care, thou\ntenderest child, that my grave was not dug long years ago, in some\nvalley or on some hillside, that lies far, far behind us. It is\nenough. Thou shalt wander no more on this hopeless search. But when\nthou hast laid thy mother in the earth, then go, my son, to Delphi,\nand inquire of the oracle what thou shalt do next.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother, mother,\" cried Cadmus, \"couldst thou but have seen my\nsister before this hour!\"\n\n\"It matters little now,\" answered Telephassa, and there was a smile\nupon her face. \"I go now to the better world, and sooner or later,\nshall find my daughter there.\"\n\nI will not sadden you with telling how Telephassa died and was buried,\nbut will only say, that her dying smile grew brighter, instead of\nvanishing from her dead face; so that Cadmus felt convinced that, at\nher very first step into the better world, she had caught Europa in\nher arms. He planted some flowers on his mother's grave, and left them\nto grow there and make the place beautiful when he should be far\naway.\n\n\n\n\nCADMUS AND THE DRAGON'S TEETH\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nAfter performing this last sorrowful duty, he set forth alone, and\ntook the road towards the famous oracle of Delphi, as Telephassa had\nadvised him. On his way thither he still inquired of most people whom\nhe met whether they had seen Europa; for, to say the truth, Cadmus had\ngrown so accustomed to ask the question, that it came to his lips as\nreadily as a remark about the weather. He received various answers.\nSome told him one thing, and some another. Among the rest, a mariner\naffirmed that, many years before, in a distant country, he had heard a\nrumor about a white bull, which came swimming across the sea with a\nchild on his back, dressed up in flowers that were blighted by the sea\nwater. He did not know what had become of the child or the bull; and\nCadmus suspected, indeed, by a queer twinkle in the mariner's eyes,\nthat he was putting a joke upon him, and had never really heard\nanything about the matter.\n\nPoor Cadmus found it more wearisome to travel alone than to bear all\nhis dear mother's weight, while she had kept him company. His heart,\nyou will understand, was now so heavy that it seemed impossible,\nsometimes, to carry it any farther. But his limbs were strong and\nactive, and well accustomed to exercise. He walked swiftly along,\nthinking of King Agenor and Queen Telephassa, and his brothers, all of\nwhom he had left behind him, at one point of his pilgrimage or\nanother, and never expected to see them any more. Full of these\nremembrances, he came within sight of a lofty mountain, which the\npeople thereabouts told him was called Parnassus. On the slope of\nMount Parnassus was the famous Delphi whither Cadmus was going.\n\nThis Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole\nworld. The place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the\nmountain-side, over which, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude\nbower of branches. It reminded him of those which he had helped to\nbuild for Phoenix and Cilix. In later times, when multitudes of people\ncame from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a spacious\ntemple of marble was erected over the spot. But in the days of Cadmus,\nas I have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its\nabundance of green foliage and a tuft of shrubbery that ran wild over\nthe mysterious hole in the hillside.\n\nWhen Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made\nhis way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden\ncavity. But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with\nso much force that it shook the ringlets on his cheeks. Pulling away\nthe shrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward and spoke\nin a distinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen\npersonage inside of the mountain.\n\n\"Sacred oracle of Delphi,\" said he, \"whither shall I go next in quest\nof my dear sister Europa?\"\n\nThere was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a\nnoise like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth.\nThis cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of\ntruth, which sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the\nmost part, these words were such a riddle that they might as well have\nstayed at the bottom of the hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than\nmany others who went to Delphi in search of truth. By and by the\nrushing noise began to sound like articulate language. It repeated,\nover and over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so\nlike the vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not\nquite know whether it meant anything or not: \"Seek her no more! Seek\nher no more! Seek her no more!\"\n\n\"What, then, shall I do?\" asked Cadmus.\n\nFor ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object\nof his life to find his sister. From the very hour that he left\nfollowing the butterfly in the meadow, near his father's palace, he\nhad done his best to follow Europa, over land and sea. And now, if he\nmust give up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the\nworld.\n\nBut again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse\nvoice.\n\n\"Follow the cow!\" it said. \"Follow the cow! Follow the cow!\"\n\nAnd when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of\nhearing them (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or\nwhy he was to follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another\nsentence.\n\n\"Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home.\"\n\nThese words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a\nwhisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the\nmeaning. He put other questions but received no answer; only the gust\nof wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered\nleaves rustling along the ground before it.\n\n\"Did there really come any words out of the hole?\" thought Cadmus; \"or\nhave I been dreaming all this while?\"\n\nHe turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser than when\nhe came thither. Caring little what might happen to him, he took the\nfirst path that offered itself, and went along at a sluggish pace;\nfor, having no object in view, nor any reason to go one way more than\nanother, it would certainly have been foolish to make haste. Whenever\nhe met anybody, the old question was at his tongue's end: \"Have you\nseen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's daughter, and mounted\non a snow-white bull, that gallops as swiftly as the wind?\"\n\nBut, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered the\nwords, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his confusion,\npeople must have imagined that this handsome young man had lost his\nwits.\n\nI know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have told\nyou, when, at no great distance before him, he beheld a brindled cow.\nShe was lying down by the wayside, and quietly chewing her cud; nor\ndid she take any notice of the young man until he had approached\npretty nigh. Then getting leisurely upon her feet, and giving her head\na gentle toss, she began to move along at a moderate pace, often\npausing just long enough to crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered\nbehind, whistling idly to himself, and scarcely noticing the cow,\nuntil the thought occurred to him, whether this could possibly be the\nanimal which, according to the oracle's response, was to serve him for\na guide. But he smiled at himself for fancying such a thing. He could\nnot seriously think that this was the cow, because she went along so\nquietly, behaving just like any other cow. Evidently she neither knew\nnor cared so much as a wisp of hay about Cadmus, and was only thinking\nhow to get her living along the wayside, where the herbage was green\nand fresh. Perhaps she was going home to be milked.\n\n\"Cow, cow, cow!\" cried Cadmus. \"Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my good cow.\"\n\nHe wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and see if\nshe would appear to know him, or whether there were any peculiarities\nto distinguish her from a thousand other cows, whose only business is\nto fill the milk-pail, and sometimes kick it over. But still the\nbrindled cow trudged on, whisking her tail to keep the flies away, and\ntaking as little notice of Cadmus as she well could. If he walked\nslowly, so did the cow, and seized the opportunity to graze. If he\nquickened his pace, the cow went just so much faster; and once, when\nCadmus tried to catch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck\nher tail straight on end, and set off at a gallop, looking as queerly\nas cows generally do while putting themselves to their speed.\n\nWhen Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he walked\non moderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely on, without\nlooking behind. Wherever the grass was greenest, there she nibbled a\nmouthful or two. Where a brook glistened brightly across the path,\nthere the cow drank, and breathed a comfortable sigh, and drank again,\nand trudged onward at the pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.\n\n\"I do believe,\" thought Cadmus, \"that this may be the cow that was\nforetold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down somewhere\nhereabouts.\"\n\nWhether it was the oracular cow or some other one, it did not seem\nreasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So, whenever\nthey reached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy hillside, or in\na sheltered vale, or flowery meadow, on the shore of a calm lake, or\nalong the bank of a clear stream, Cadmus looked eagerly around to see\nif the situation would suit him for a home. But still, whether he\nliked the place or no, the brindle cow never offered to lie down. On\nshe went at the quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn-yard;\nand every moment Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a\npail, or a herdsman running to head the stray animal and turn her back\ntowards the pasture. But no milkmaid came; no herdsman drove her back;\nand Cadmus followed the stray brindle till he was almost ready to drop\ndown with fatigue.\n\n\"Oh, brindled cow,\" cried he, in a tone of despair, \"do you never mean\nto stop?\"\n\nHe had now grown too intent on following her to think of lagging\nbehind, however long the way and whatever might be his fatigue.\nIndeed, it seemed as if there were something about the animal that\nbewitched people. Several persons who happened to see the brindled\ncow, and Cadmus following behind, began to trudge after her, precisely\nas he did. Cadmus was glad of somebody to converse with, and therefore\ntalked very freely to these good people. He told them all his\nadventures, and how he had left King Agenor in his palace, and Phoenix\nat one place, and Cilix at another, and his dear mother, Queen\nTelephassa, under a flowery sod; so that now he was quite alone, both\nfriendless and homeless. He mentioned likewise, that the oracle had\nbidden him be guided by a cow, and inquired of the strangers whether\nthey supposed that this brindled animal could be the one.\n\n\"Why, 'tis a very wonderful affair,\" answered one of his new\ncompanions. \"I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of cattle, and\nI never knew a cow, of her own accord, go so far without stopping. If\nmy legs will let me, I'll never leave following the beast till she\nlies down.\"\n\n\"Nor I!\" said a second.\n\n\"Nor I!\" cried a third. \"If she goes a hundred miles farther, I'm\ndetermined to see the end of it.\"\n\nThe secret of it was, you must know, that the cow was an enchanted\ncow, and that, without their being conscious of it, she threw some of\nher enchantment over everybody that took so much as half-a-dozen steps\nbehind her. They could not possibly help following her, though all the\ntime they fancied themselves doing it of their own accord. The cow was\nby no means very nice in choosing her path, so that sometimes they had\nto scramble over rocks, or wade through mud and mire, and were all in\na terribly bedraggled condition, and tired to death, and very hungry,\ninto the bargain. What a weary business it was!\n\nBut still they kept trudging stoutly forward, and talking as they\nwent. The strangers grew very fond of Cadmus, and resolved never to\nleave him, but to help him build a city wherever the cow might lie\ndown. In the center of it there should be a noble palace, in which\nCadmus might dwell and be their king, with a throne, a crown and\nscepter, a purple robe, and everything else that a king ought to have;\nfor in him there were the royal blood, and the royal heart, and the\nhead that knew how to rule.\n\nWhile they were talking of these schemes, and beguiling the\ntediousness of the way with laying out the plan of the new city, one\nof the company happened to look at the cow.\n\n\"Joy! joy!\" cried he, clapping his hands. \"Brindle is going to lie\ndown.\"\n\nThey all looked; and, sure enough, the cow had stopped and was staring\nleisurely about her, as other cows do when on the point of lying down.\nAnd slowly, slowly did she recline herself on the soft grass, first\nbending her fore-legs, and then crouching her hind ones. When Cadmus\nand his companions came up with her, there was the brindled cow taking\nher ease, chewing her cud, and looking them quietly in the face; as if\nthis was just the spot she had been seeking for, and as if it were all\na matter of course.\n\n\"This, then,\" said Cadmus, gazing around him, \"this is to be my home.\"\n\nIt was a fertile and lovely plain, with great trees flinging their\nsun-speckled shadows over it, and hills fencing it in from the rough\nweather. At no great distance they beheld a river gleaming in the\nsunshine. A home feeling stole into the heart of poor Cadmus. He was\nvery glad to know that here he might awake in the morning without the\nnecessity of putting on his dusty sandals to travel farther and\nfarther. The days and the years would pass over him, and find him\nstill in this pleasant spot. If he could have had his brothers with\nhim, and could have seen his dear mother under a roof of his own, he\nmight here have been happy, after all their disappointments. Some day\nor other, too, his sister Europa might have come quietly to the door\nof his home, and smiled round upon the familiar faces. But, indeed,\nsince there was no hope of regaining the friends of his boyhood, or\never seeing his dear sister again, Cadmus resolved to make himself\nhappy with these new companions who had grown so fond of him while\nfollowing the cow.\n\n\"Yes, my friends,\" said he to them, \"this is to be our home. Here we\nwill build our habitations. The brindled cow which has led us hither\nwill supply us with milk. We will cultivate the neighboring soil, and\nlead an innocent and happy life.\"\n\nHis companions joyfully assented to this plan; and, in the first\nplace, being very hungry and thirsty, they looked about them for the\nmeans of providing a comfortable meal. Not far off they saw a tuft of\ntrees, which appeared as if there might be a spring of water beneath\nthem. They went thither to fetch some, leaving Cadmus stretched on the\nground along with the brindled cow; for, now that he had found a place\nof rest, it seemed as if all the weariness of his pilgrimage, ever\nsince he left King Agenor's palace, had fallen upon him at once. But\nhis new friends had not long been gone when he was suddenly startled\nby cries, shouts, and screams, and the noise of a most terrible\nstruggle, and in the midst of it all a most awful hissing, which went\nright through his ears like a rough saw.\n\nRunning towards the tuft of trees, he beheld the head and fiery eyes\nof an immense serpent or dragon, with the widest jaws that ever a\ndragon had, and a vast many rows of horribly sharp teeth. Before\nCadmus could reach the spot, this pitiless reptile had killed his poor\ncompanions, and was busily devouring them, making but a mouthful of\neach man.\n\nIt appears that the fountain of water was enchanted, and that the\ndragon had been set to guard it, so that no mortal might ever quench\nhis thirst there. As the neighboring inhabitants carefully avoided the\nspot, it was now a long time (not less than a hundred years, or\nthereabouts) since the monster had broken his fast; and, as was\nnatural enough, his appetite had grown to be enormous, and was not\nhalf satisfied by the poor people whom he had just eaten up. When he\ncaught sight of Cadmus, therefore, he set up another abominable hiss,\nand flung back his immense jaws, until his mouth looked like a great\nred cavern, at the farther end of which were seen the legs of his last\nvictim, whom he had hardly had time to swallow.\n\nBut Cadmus was so enraged at the destruction of his friends, that he\ncared neither for the size of the dragon's jaws nor for his hundreds\nof sharp teeth. Drawing his sword he rushed at the monster, and flung\nhimself right into his cavernous mouth. This bold method of attacking\nhim took the dragon by surprise; for, in fact, Cadmus had leaped so\nfar down into his throat, that the rows of terrible teeth could not\nclose upon him, nor do him the least harm in the world. Thus, though\nthe struggle was a tremendous one, and though the dragon shattered the\ntuft of trees into small splinters by the lashing of his tail, yet, as\nCadmus was all the while slashing and stabbing at his very vitals, it\nwas not long before the scaly wretch bethought himself of slipping\naway. He had not gone his length, however, when the brave Cadmus gave\nhim a sword thrust that finished the battle; and, creeping out of the\ngateway of the creature's jaws, there he beheld him still wriggling\nhis vast bulk, although there was no longer life enough in him to harm\na little child.\n\nBut do not you suppose that it made Cadmus sorrowful to think of the\nmelancholy fate which had befallen those poor, friendly people, who\nhad followed the cow along with him? It seemed as if he were doomed to\nlose everybody whom he loved, or to see them perish in one way or\nanother. And here he was, after all his toils and troubles, in a\nsolitary place, with not a single human being to help him build a hut.\n\n\"What shall I do?\" cried he aloud. \"It were better for me to have been\ndevoured by the dragon, as my poor companions were.\"\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said a voice--but whether it came from above or below him,\nor whether it spoke within his own breast, the young man could not\ntell--\"Cadmus, pluck out the dragon's teeth, and plant them in the\nearth.\"\n\nThis was a strange thing to do; nor was it very easy, I should\nimagine, to dig out all those deep-rooted fangs from the dead dragon's\njaws. But Cadmus toiled and tugged, and after pounding the monstrous\nhead almost to pieces with a great stone, he at last collected as many\nteeth as might have filled a bushel or two. The next thing was to\nplant them. This, likewise, was a tedious piece of work, especially as\nCadmus was already exhausted with killing the dragon and knocking his\nhead to pieces, and had nothing to dig the earth with, that I know of,\nunless it were his sword-blade. Finally, however, a sufficiently large\ntract of ground was turned up, and sown with this new kind of seed;\nalthough half of the dragon's teeth still remained to be planted some\nother day.\n\nCadmus, quite out of breath, stood leaning upon his sword, and\nwondering what was to happen next. He had waited but a few moments\nwhen he began to see a sight which was as great a marvel as the most\nmarvelous thing I ever told you about.\n\nThe sun was shining slantwise over the field, and showed all the\nmoist, dark soil, just like any other newly planted piece of ground.\nAll at once, Cadmus fancied he saw something glisten very brightly,\nfirst at one spot, then at another, and then at a hundred and a\nthousand spots together. Soon he perceived them to be the steel heads\nof spears, sprouting up everywhere like so many stalks of grain, and\ncontinually growing taller and taller. Next appeared a vast number of\nbright sword-blades, thrusting themselves up in the same way. A moment\nafterwards, the whole surface of the ground was broken by a multitude\nof polished brass helmets, coming up like a crop of enormous beans. So\nrapidly did they grow, that Cadmus now discerned the fierce\ncountenance of a man beneath every one. In short, before he had time\nto think what a wonderful affair it was, he beheld an abundant harvest\nof what looked like human beings, armed with helmets and breastplates,\nshields, swords, and spears; and before they were well out of the\nearth, they brandished their weapons, and clashed them one against\nanother, seeming to think, little while as they had yet lived, that\nthey had wasted too much of life without battle. Every tooth of the\ndragon had produced one of these sons of deadly mischief.\n\nUp sprouted, also, a great many trumpeters; and with the first breath\nthat they drew, they put their brazen trumpets to their lips, and\nsounded a tremendous and ear-shattering blast; so that the whole\nspace, just now so quiet and solitary, reverberated with the clash and\nclang of arms, the bray of warlike music, and the shouts of angry men.\nSo enraged did they all look, that Cadmus fully expected them to put\nthe whole world to the sword. How fortunate would it be for a great\nconqueror, if he could get a bushel of the dragon's teeth to sow!\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the same voice which he had before heard, \"throw a\nstone into the midst of the armed men.\"\n\nSo Cadmus seized a large stone, and, flinging it into the middle of\nthe army, saw it strike the breastplate of a gigantic and\nfierce-looking warrior. Immediately on feeling the blow, he seemed to\ntake it for granted that somebody had struck him; and, uplifting his\nweapon, he smote his next neighbor a blow that cleft his helmet\nasunder and stretched him on the ground. In an instant those nearest\nthe fallen warrior began to strike at one another with their swords,\nand stab with their spears. The confusion spread wider and wider. Each\nman smote down his brother, and was himself smitten down before he had\ntime to exult in his victory. The trumpeters, all the while, blew\ntheir blasts shriller and shriller; each soldier shouted a battle-cry,\nand often fell with it on his lips. It was the strangest spectacle of\ncauseless wrath, and of mischief for no good end, that had ever been\nwitnessed; but, after all, it was neither more foolish nor more wicked\nthan a thousand battles that have since been fought, in which men have\nslain their brothers with just as little reason as these children of\nthe dragon's teeth. It ought to be considered, too, that the dragon\npeople were made for nothing else; whereas other mortals were born to\nlove and help one another.\n\nWell, this memorable battle continued to rage until the ground was\nstrewn with helmeted heads that had been cut off. Of all the thousands\nthat began the fight, there were only five left standing. These now\nrushed from different parts of the field, and, meeting in the middle\nof it, clashed their swords and struck at each other's hearts as\nfiercely as ever.\n\n\"Cadmus,\" said the voice again, \"bid those five warriors sheathe their\nswords. They will help you to build the city.\"\n\nWithout hesitating an instant, Cadmus stepped forward, with the aspect\nof a king and a leader, and extending his drawn sword amongst them,\nspoke to the warriors in a stern and commanding voice.\n\n\"Sheathe your weapons!\" said he.\n\nAnd forthwith, feeling themselves bound to obey him, the five\nremaining sons of the dragon's teeth made him a military salute with\ntheir swords, returned them to the scabbards, and stood before Cadmus\nin a rank, eying him as soldiers eye their captain while awaiting the\nword of command.\n\nThese five men had probably sprung from the biggest of the dragon's\nteeth, and were the boldest and strongest of the whole army. They were\nalmost giants, indeed, and had good need to be so, else they never\ncould have lived through so terrible a fight. They still had a very\nfurious look, and, if Cadmus happened to glance aside, would glare at\none another with fire flashing out of their eyes. It was strange, too,\nto observe how the earth, out of which they had so lately grown, was\nincrusted here and there on their bright breastplates, and even\nbegrimed their faces; just as you may have seen it clinging to beets\nand carrots when pulled out of their native soil. Cadmus hardly knew\nwhether to consider them as men, or some odd kind of vegetable;\nalthough, on the whole, he concluded that there was human nature in\nthem, because they were so fond of trumpets and weapons, and so ready\nto shed blood.\n\nThey looked him earnestly in the face, waiting for his next order, and\nevidently desiring no other employment than to follow him from one\nbattlefield to another, all over the wide world. But Cadmus was wiser\nthan these earth-born creatures, with the dragon's fierceness in them,\nand knew better how to use their strength and hardihood.\n\n\"Come!\" said he. \"You are sturdy fellows. Make yourselves useful!\nQuarry some stones with those great swords of yours, and help me to\nbuild a city.\"\n\nThe five soldiers grumbled a little, and muttered that it was their\nbusiness to overthrow cities, not to build them up. But Cadmus looked\nat them with a stern eye, and spoke to them in a tone of authority, so\nthat they knew him for their master, and never again thought of\ndisobeying his commands. They set to work in good earnest, and toiled\nso diligently, that, in a very short time, a city began to make its\nappearance. At first, to be sure, the workmen showed a quarrelsome\ndisposition. Like savage beasts, they would doubtless have done one\nanother mischief, if Cadmus had not kept watch over them and quelled\nthe fierce old serpent that lurked in their hearts when he saw it\ngleaming out of their wild eyes. But, in course of time, they got\naccustomed to honest labor, and had sense enough to feel that there\nwas more true enjoyment in living at peace, and doing good to one's\nneighbor, than in striking at him with a two-edged sword. It may not\nbe too much to hope that the rest of mankind will by and by grow as\nwise and peaceable as these five earth-begrimed warriors who sprang\nfrom the dragon's teeth.\n\nAnd now the city was built, and there was a home in it for each of the\nworkmen. But the palace of Cadmus was not yet erected, because they\nhad left it till the last, meaning to introduce all the new\nimprovements of architecture, and make it very commodious, as well as\nstately and beautiful. After finishing the rest of their labors, they\nall went to bed betimes, in order to rise in the gray of the morning,\nand to get at least the foundation of the edifice laid before\nnightfall. But, when Cadmus arose and took his way towards the site\nwhere the palace was to be built, followed by his five sturdy workmen\nmarching all in a row, what do you think he saw?\n\nWhat should it be but the most magnificent palace that had ever been\nseen in the world? It was built of marble and other beautiful kinds of\nstone, and rose high into the air, with a splendid dome and a portico\nalong the front, and carved pillars, and everything else that befitted\nthe habitation of a mighty king. It had grown up out of the earth in\nalmost as short a time as it had taken the armed host to spring from\nthe dragon's teeth; and what made the matter more strange, no seed of\nthe stately edifice had ever been planted.\n\nWhen the five workmen beheld the dome, with the morning sunshine\nmaking it look golden and glorious, they gave a great shout.\n\n\"Long live King Cadmus,\" they cried, \"in his beautiful palace!\"\n\nAnd the new king, with his five faithful followers at his heels,\nshouldering their pickaxes and marching in a rank (for they still had\na soldier-like sort of behavior, as their nature was), ascended the\npalace steps. Halting at the entrance, they gazed through a long vista\nof lofty pillars that were ranged from end to end of a great hall. At\nthe farther extremity of this hall, approaching slowly towards him,\nCadmus beheld a female figure, wonderfully beautiful, and adorned with\na royal robe, and a crown of diamonds over her golden ringlets, and\nthe richest necklace that ever a queen wore. His heart thrilled with\ndelight. He fancied it his long-lost sister Europa, now grown to\nwomanhood, coming to make him happy, and to repay him, with her sweet\nsisterly affection, for all those weary wanderings in quest of her\nsince he left King Agenor's palace--for the tears that he had shed, on\nparting with Phoenix and Cilix--for the heartbreakings that had made\nthe whole world seem dismal to him over his dear mother's grave.\n\nBut, as Cadmus advanced to meet the beautiful stranger, he saw that\nher features were unknown to him, although, in the little time that it\nrequired to tread along the hall, he had already felt a sympathy\nbetwixt himself and her.\n\n\"No, Cadmus,\" said the same voice that had spoken to him in the field\nof the armed men, \"this is not that dear sister Europa whom you have\nsought so faithfully all over the wide world. This is Harmonia, a\ndaughter of the sky, who is given you instead of sister, and brothers,\nand mother. You will find all those dear ones in her alone.\"\n\nSo King Cadmus dwelt in the palace, with his new friend Harmonia, and\nfound a great deal of comfort in his magnificent abode, but would\ndoubtless have found as much, if not more, in the humblest cottage by\nthe wayside. Before many years went by, there was a group of rosy\nlittle children (but how they came thither has always been a mystery\nto me) sporting in the great hall, and on the marble steps of the\npalace, and running joyfully to meet King Cadmus when affairs of state\nleft him at leisure to play with them. They called him father, and\nQueen Harmonia mother. The five old soldiers of the dragon's teeth\ngrew very fond of these small urchins, and were never weary of\nshowing them how to shoulder sticks, flourish wooden swords, and march\nin military order, blowing a penny trumpet, or beating an abominable\nrub-a-dub upon a little drum.\n\nBut King Cadmus, lest there should be too much of the dragon's tooth\nin his children's disposition, used to find time from his kingly\nduties to teach them their A B C--which he invented for their benefit,\nand for which many little people, I am afraid, are not half so\ngrateful to him as they ought to be.\n\n\n\n\nORPHEUS AND EURYDICE\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\n \"Orpheus with his lute made trees,\n And the mountain-tops that freeze,\n Bow themselves when he did sing;\n To his music plants and flowers\n Ever sprung; as sun and showers\n There had made a lasting spring.\n\n \"Everything that heard him play,\n Even the billows of the sea,\n Hung their heads, and then lay by.\n In sweet music is such art,\n Killing-care and grief-of-heart\n Fall asleep, or hearing, die.\"\n\n SHAKESPEARE.\n\nNever was musician like Orpheus, who sang songs, inspired by the\nMuses, to a lyre that was given to him by Apollo. So mighty indeed was\nthe magic of his music, that Nature herself owned his sway. Not only\ndid rocks and rills repeat his lays, but the very trees uprooted\nthemselves to follow in his train, and the savage beasts of the forest\nwere tamed and fawned upon him as he played and sang.\n\nBut of all who hearkened enchanted to those matchless strains, none\ndrew deeper delight therefrom than the singer's newly wed wife, the\nyoung and lovely Eurydice. Hour by hour she sat at his feet hearkening\nto the music of his voice and lyre, and the gods themselves might\nhave envied the happy pair.\n\nAnd surely some god did look with envious eye upon those two. For on\nan evil day, Eurydice, strolling with her maidens through a flowery\nmeadow, was bitten on her foot by a viper and perished in all her\nbeauty ere the sun went down.\n\nThen Orpheus, terrible in his anguish, swore that death itself should\nnot forever rob him of his love. His song, which could tame wild\nbeasts and drag the ancient trees from their roots, should quell the\npowers of hell and snatch back Eurydice from their grasp.\n\nThus he swore, calling on the gods to help him; and taking his lyre in\nhis hand he set forth on that fearful pilgrimage from which never\nman--unless, like Hercules, he was a hero, half man and half god--had\nreturned alive.\n\nAnd now he reaches the downward path, the end whereof is lost in\ngloom. Deeper and deeper he descended till the light of day was quite\nshut out, and with it all the sounds of the pleasant earth. Downward\nthrough the silence as of the grave, downward through darkness deeper\nthan that of any earthly night. Then out of the darkness, faint at\nfirst, but louder as he went on, came sounds that chilled his\nblood--shrieks and groans of more than mortal anguish, and the\nterrible voices of the Furies, speaking words that cannot be uttered\nin any human tongue.\n\nWhen Orpheus heard these things his knees shook and his feet paused as\nif rooted to the ground. But remembering once more his love and all\nhis grief, he struck his lyre and sang, till his dirge, reverberating\nlike a coronach or funeral march, drowned all the sounds of hell. And\nCharon, the old ferryman, subdued by the melody, ferried him over the\nninefold Styx which none save the dead might cross; and when Orpheus\nreached the other side great companies of pale ghosts flocked round\nhim on that drear shore; for the singer was no shadowy ghost like\nthemselves, but a mortal, beautiful though woebegone, and his song\nspoke to them as with a thousand voices of the sunlight and the\nfamiliar earth, and of those who were left behind in their well-loved\nhomes.\n\nBut Orpheus, not finding Eurydice among these, made no tarrying.\nOnward he passed, over the flaming flood of Phlegethon, through the\ncloud-hung and adamantine portals of Tartarus. Here Pluto, lord of the\nunder-world, sits enthroned, and round him sinners do penance for the\nevil that they wrought upon earth. There Ixion, murderer of his\nfather-in-law, is racked upon the ever-turning wheel, and Tantalus,\nwho slew his son, endures eternal hunger in sight of food and eternal\nfear from the stone ever ready to fall. There the daughters of Dana\u00fcs\ncease not to pour water into bottomless urns. There Sisyphus, who\nbroke faith with the gods when they permitted him to return a little\nwhile to the upper world, evermore rolls up a steep hill a great stone\nthat, falling back from the summit, crushes the wretch in its downward\nrush.\n\nBut now a great marvel was seen in hell. For as Orpheus entered\nsinging, his melodies, the first that had ever sounded in that dread\nabode, caused all its terrors for a moment to cease. Tantalus caught\nno more at the fruits that slipped through his fingers, Ixion's wheel\nceased to turn, the daughters of Dana\u00fcs paused at their urns, and\nSisyphus rested on his rock. Nay, the very Furies themselves ceased to\nscourge their victims, and the snakes that mingled with their locks\nhung down, forgetting to hiss.\n\nSo came Orpheus to the throne of great Pluto, by whose side sat\nProserpine, his Queen. And the king of the infernal gods asked: \"What\nwouldst thou, mortal, who darest to enter unbidden this our realm of\ndeath?\"\n\nOrpheus answered, touching his lyre the while: \"Not as a spy or a foe\nhave I come where no living wight hath ventured before, but I seek my\nwife, slain untimely by the fangs of a serpent. Such love as mine for\na maiden such as she must melt the stoniest heart. Thy heart is not\nall of stone, and thou too didst once love an earthly maiden. By these\nplaces filled with horrors, and by the silence of these boundless\nrealms, I entreat thee restore Eurydice to life.\"\n\nHe paused, and all Tartarus waited with him for a reply. The terrible\neyes of Pluto were cast down, and to Proserpine came a memory of the\nfar-off days when she too was a maid upon earth sporting in the\nflowery meads of Enna. Then Orpheus struck again his magic strings and\nsang: \"To thee we all belong; to thee soon or late we all must come.\nIt is but for a little space that I crave my Eurydice. Nay, without\nher I will not return. Grant, therefore, my prayer, O Pluto, or slay\nme here and now.\"\n\nThen Pluto raised his head and spoke: \"Bring hither Eurydice.\"\n\nAnd Eurydice, still pale and limping from her mortal wound, was\nbrought from among the shades of the newly dead.\n\nAnd Pluto said: \"Take back, Orpheus, thy wife Eurydice, and lead her\nto the upper world again. But go thou before and leave her to follow\nafter. Look not once back till thou hast passed my borders and canst\nsee the sun, for in the moment when thou turnest thy head, thy wife is\nlost to thee again and forever.\"\n\nThen with great joy Orpheus turned and led Eurydice from thence. They\nleft behind the tortured dead and the gibbering ghosts; they crossed\nthe flaming Phlegethon, and Charon rowed them once more over the\nninefold Styx; and up the dark path they went, the cries of Tartarus\nsounding ever fainter in their ears; and anon the light of the sun\nshone faint and far where the path returned to earth, and as they\npressed forward the song of the little birds made answer to the lyre\nof Orpheus.\n\nBut the cup of happiness was dashed from the lips that touched its\nbrim. For even as they stood upon the uttermost verge of the dark\nplace, the light of the sun just dawning upon their faces and their\nfeet within a pace of earthly soil, Eurydice stumbled and cried out in\npain.\n\nWithout a thought Orpheus turned to see what ailed her, and in that\nmoment was she caught from him. Far down the path he saw her, a ghost\nonce more, fading from his sight like smoke as her faint form was lost\nin the gloom; only for a moment could he see her white arms stretched\ntowards him in vain; only once could he hear her last heart-broken\nfarewell.\n\nDown the path rushed Orpheus, clamoring for his Eurydice lost a second\ntime; but vain was all his grief, for not again would Charon row him\nacross the Styx. So the singer returned to earth, his heart broken,\nand all joy gone from his life. Thenceforth his one consolation was to\nsit upon Mount Rhodope singing his love and his loss. And the Thracian\nwomen, worshipers of Bacchus, kindling at his strains, called to him\nto join in their wild rites. But when he turned from them with\nloathing, they fell upon him, tearing him limb from limb. And his head\nthey cast into the river Hebrus, whose banks bore to the \u00c6gean Sea\nthat long-drawn wail: \"Eurydice, Eurydice!\" And still as we hear the\nmusic of that sweet name we think of \"infinite passion, and the pain\nof finite hearts that yearn.\"\n\nBut the gods, first punishing the Thracian women by turning them into\ntrees, took the lyre of Orpheus and set it among the stars. And\nOrpheus himself, once more entering by the gate of death the regions\nof the dead, seeks and finds his beloved Eurydice. Now may they walk\nside by side, now Orpheus, if he goes before, may look back in safety\nupon the face of his loved one. For the sorrows of life are over and\nthe pangs of death are past, and no shadow of parting can come between\nthe singer and his love in the Elysium of the Blessed.\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES\n\nPART I. HERCULES AND THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nDid you ever hear of the golden apples that grew in the garden of the\nHesperides? Ah, those were such apples as would bring a great price by\nthe bushel, if any of them could be found growing in the orchards of\nnowadays! But there is not, I suppose, a graft of that wonderful fruit\non a single tree in the wide world. Not so much as a seed of those\napples exists any longer.\n\nAnd even in the old, old, half-forgotten times, before the garden of\nthe Hesperides was overrun with weeds, many doubted whether there\ncould be real trees that bore apples of solid gold upon their\nbranches. All had heard of them, but nobody remembered to have seen\nany. Children, nevertheless, used to listen, open-mouthed, to stories\nof the golden apple tree, and resolved to discover it when they should\nbe big enough. Adventurous young men, who desired to do a braver thing\nthan any of their fellows, set out in quest of this fruit. Many of\nthem returned no more; none of them brought back the apples. No wonder\nthat they found it impossible to gather them! It is said that there\nwas a dragon beneath the tree, with a hundred terrible heads, fifty of\nwhich were always on the watch while the other fifty slept.\n\nBut it was quite a common thing with youths, when tired of too much\npeace and rest, to go in search of the garden of the Hesperides. And\nonce the adventure was undertaken by a hero who had enjoyed very\nlittle peace or rest since he came into the world. At the time of\nwhich I am going to speak, he was wandering through the pleasant land\nof Italy, with a mighty club in his hand and a bow and quiver slung\nacross his shoulders. He was wrapped in the skin of the biggest and\nfiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he himself had\nkilled; and though, on the whole, he was kind and generous and noble,\nthere was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart. As he\nwent on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the right\nroad to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew\nanything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have\nlaughed at the question, if the stranger had not carried so big a\nclub.\n\nSo he journeyed on, still making the same inquiry, until at last he\ncame to the brink of a river, where some beautiful girls sat twining\nwreaths of flowers.\n\n\"Can you tell me, pretty maidens,\" asked the stranger, \"whether this\nis the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nThe girls had been having a fine time together, weaving the flowers\ninto wreaths, and crowning one another's heads. But, on hearing the\nstranger's question, they dropped all their flowers on the grass and\ngazed at him with astonishment.\n\n\"The garden of the Hesperides!\" cried one. \"We thought mortals had\nbeen weary of seeking it, after so many disappointments. And pray,\nbold stranger, what do you want there?\"\n\n\"A certain king, who is my cousin,\" replied he, \"has ordered me to get\nhim three of the golden apples.\"\n\n\"Most of the young men who go in quest of these apples,\" observed\nanother of the damsels, \"desire to obtain them for themselves, or to\npresent to some fair maiden whom they love. Do you, then, love this\nking, your cousin, so very much?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" replied the stranger, sighing. \"He has often been\nsevere and cruel to me. But it is my destiny to obey him.\"\n\n\"And do you know,\" asked the damsel who had first spoken, \"that a\nterrible dragon, with a hundred heads, keeps watch under the golden\napple tree?\"\n\n\"I know it well,\" answered the stranger calmly. \"But from my cradle\nupwards, it has been my business, and almost my pastime, to deal with\nserpents and dragons.\"\n\nThe maidens looked at his massive club, and at the shaggy lion's skin\nwhich he wore, and likewise at his heroic limbs and figure; and they\nwhispered to each other that the stranger appeared to be one who might\nreasonably expect to perform deeds far beyond the might of other men.\nBut then, the dragon with a hundred heads! What mortal, even if he\npossessed a hundred lives, could hope to escape the fangs of such a\nmonster? So kind-hearted were the maidens, that they could not bear to\nsee this brave and handsome traveler attempt what was so very\ndangerous, and devote himself, most probably, to become a meal for the\ndragon's hundred ravenous mouths.\n\n\"Go back,\" cried they all; \"go back to your own home! Your mother,\nbeholding you safe and sound, will shed tears of joy; and what can she\ndo more, should you win ever so great a victory? No matter for the\ngolden apples! No matter for the king, your cruel cousin! We do not\nwish the dragon with the hundred heads to eat you up!\"\n\nThe stranger seemed to grow impatient at these remonstrances. He\ncarelessly lifted his mighty club, and let it fall upon a rock that\nlay half buried in the earth near by. With the force of that idle\nblow, the great rock was shattered all to pieces. It cost the stranger\nno more effort to achieve this feat of strength than for one of the\nyoung maidens to touch her sister's rosy cheek with a flower.\n\n\"Do you not believe,\" said he, looking at the damsels with a smile,\n\"that such a blow would have crushed one of the dragon's hundred\nheads?\"\n\nThen he sat down on the grass and told them the story of his life, or\nas much of it as he could remember, from the day when he was first\ncradled in a warrior's brazen shield.\n\nWhen the stranger had finished the story of his adventures, he looked\naround at the attentive faces of the maidens.\n\n\"Perhaps you may have heard of me before,\" said he, modestly. \"My name\nis Hercules.\"\n\n\"We had already guessed it,\" replied the maidens; \"for your wonderful\ndeeds are known all over the world. We do not think it strange any\nlonger that you should set out in quest of the golden apples of the\nHesperides. Come, sisters, let us crown the hero with flowers!\"\n\nThen they flung beautiful wreaths over his stately head and mighty\nshoulders, so that the lion's skin was almost entirely covered with\nroses. They took possession of his ponderous club, and so entwined it\nabout with the brightest, softest, and most fragrant blossoms that\nnot a finger's breadth of its oaken substance could be seen. It\nlooked all like a huge bunch of flowers. Lastly, they joined hands,\nand danced around him, chanting words which became poetry of their own\naccord, and grew into a choral song in honor of the illustrious\nHercules.\n\nAnd Hercules was rejoiced, as any other hero would have been, to know\nthat these fair young girls had heard of the valiant deeds which it\nhad cost him so much toil and danger to achieve. But still he was not\nsatisfied. He could not think that what he had already done was worthy\nof so much honor, while there remained any bold adventure to be\nundertaken.\n\n\"Dear maidens,\" said he, when they paused to take breath, \"now that\nyou know my name, will you not tell me how I am to reach the garden of\nthe Hesperides?\"\n\n\"Ah! must you go so soon?\" they exclaimed. \"You that have performed so\nmany wonders, and spent such a toilsome life--cannot you content\nyourself to repose a little while on the margin of this peaceful\nriver?\"\n\nHercules shook his head.\n\n\"I must depart now,\" said he.\n\n\"We will then give you the best directions we can,\" replied the\ndamsels. \"You must go to the sea-shore, and find out the Old One, and\ncompel him to inform you where the golden apples are to be found.\"\n\n\"The Old One!\" repeated Hercules, laughing at this odd name. \"And pray\nwho may the Old One be?\"\n\n\"Why, the Old Man of the Sea, to be sure!\" answered one of the\ndamsels. \"He has fifty daughters, whom some people call very\nbeautiful; but we do not think it proper to be acquainted with them,\nbecause they have sea-green hair, and taper away like fishes. You must\ntalk to this Old Man of the Sea. He is a seafaring person, and knows\nall about the garden of the Hesperides, for it is situated in an\nisland which he is often in the habit of visiting.\"\n\nHercules then asked whereabouts the Old One was most likely to be met\nwith. When the damsels had informed him, he thanked them for all their\nkindness; most of all for telling him the right way; and immediately\nset forth upon his journey.\n\nBut, before he was out of hearing, one of the maidens called after\nhim.\n\n\"Keep fast hold of the Old One when you catch him!\" cried she,\nsmiling, and lifting her finger to make the caution more impressive.\n\"Do not be astonished at anything that may happen. Only hold him fast,\nand he will tell you what you wish to know.\"\n\nHercules again thanked her, and pursued his way, while the maidens\nresumed their pleasant labor of making flower-wreaths. They talked\nabout the hero long after he was gone.\n\n\"We will crown him with the loveliest of our garlands,\" said they,\n\"when he returns hither with the three golden apples, after slaying\nthe dragon with a hundred heads.\"\n\nMeanwhile Hercules traveled constantly onward, over hill and dale, and\nthrough the solitary woods.\n\nHastening forward, without ever pausing or looking behind, he by and\nby heard the sea roaring at a distance. At this sound he increased his\nspeed, and soon came to a beach, where the great surf-waves tumbled\nthemselves upon the hard sand, in a long line of snowy foam. At one\nend of the beach, however, there was a pleasant spot, where some green\nshrubbery clambered up a cliff, making its rocky face look soft and\nbeautiful. A carpet of verdant grass, largely intermixed with\nsweet-smelling clover, covered the narrow space between the bottom of\nthe cliff and the sea. And what should Hercules espy there but an old\nman, fast asleep!\n\nBut was it really and truly an old man? Certainly, at first sight, it\nlooked very like one; but on closer inspection it rather seemed to be\nsome kind of a creature that lived in the sea. For on his legs and\narms there were scales such as fishes have; he was web-footed and\nweb-fingered, after the fashion of a duck; and his long beard, being\nof a greenish tinge, had more the appearance of a tuft of seaweed than\nof an ordinary beard. Have you never seen a stick of timber that has\nlong been tossed about by the waves, and has got all overgrown with\nbarnacles, and at last, drifting ashore, seems to have been thrown up\nfrom the very deepest bottom of the sea? Well, the old man would have\nput you in mind of just such a wave-tossed spar! But Hercules, the\ninstant he set his eyes on this strange figure, was convinced that it\ncould be no other than the Old One, who was to direct him on his way.\n\nYes; it was the self-same Old Man of the Sea whom the hospitable\nmaidens had talked to him about. Thanking his stars for the lucky\naccident of finding the old fellow asleep, Hercules stole on tiptoe\ntowards him and caught him by the arm and leg.\n\n\"Tell me,\" cried he, before the Old One was well awake, \"which is the\nway to the garden of the Hesperides?\"\n\nAs you may imagine, the Old Man of the Sea awoke in a fright. But his\nastonishment could hardly have been greater than was that of Hercules\nthe next moment. For, all of a sudden, the Old One seemed to disappear\nout of his grasp, and he found himself holding a stag by the fore and\nhind leg! But still he kept fast hold. Then the stag disappeared, and\nin its stead there was a sea-bird, fluttering and screaming, while\nHercules clutched it by the wing and claw! But the bird could not get\naway. Immediately afterwards, there was an ugly three-headed dog,\nwhich growled and barked at Hercules, and snapped fiercely at the\nhands by which he held him! But Hercules would not let him go. In\nanother minute, instead of the three-headed dog, what should appear\nbut Geryon, the six-legged man-monster, kicking at Hercules with five\nof his legs in order to get the remaining one at liberty! But Hercules\nheld on. By and by no Geryon was there, but a huge snake, like one of\nthose which Hercules had strangled in his babyhood, only a hundred\ntimes as big; and it twisted and twined about the hero's neck and\nbody, and threw its tail high in the air, and opened its deadly jaws\nas if to devour him outright; but Hercules was no whit disheartened,\nand squeezed the great snake so tightly that he soon began to hiss\nwith pain.\n\nBut, as Hercules held on so stubbornly and only squeezed the Old One\nso much the tighter at every change of shape, and really put him to no\nsmall torture, he finally thought it best to reappear in his own\nfigure. So there he was again, a fishy, scaly, web-footed sort of\npersonage, with something like a tuft of seaweed at his chin.\n\n\"Pray, what do you want with me?\" cried the Old One, as soon as he\ncould take his breath; for it was quite a tiresome affair to go\nthrough so many false shapes. \"Why do you squeeze me so hard? Let me\ngo this moment, or I shall begin to consider you an extremely uncivil\nperson!\"\n\n\"My name is Hercules!\" roared the mighty stranger. \"And you will never\nget out of my clutch until you tell me the nearest way to the garden\nof the Hesperides!\"\n\nWhen the old fellow heard who it was that had caught him, he saw with\nhalf an eye that it would be necessary to tell him everything that he\nwanted to know. He had often heard of the fame of Hercules, and of the\nwonderful things that he was constantly performing in various parts of\nthe earth, and how determined he always was to accomplish whatever he\nundertook. He therefore made no more attempts to escape, but told the\nhero how to find the garden of the Hesperides, and likewise warned him\nof many difficulties which must be overcome before he could arrive\nthither.\n\n\"You must go on, thus and thus,\" said the Old Man of the Sea, after\ntaking the points of the compass, \"till you come in sight of a very\ntall giant, who holds the sky on his shoulders. And the giant, if he\nhappens to be in the humor, will tell you exactly where the garden of\nthe Hesperides lies.\"\n\n\"And if the giant happens not to be in the humor,\" remarked Hercules,\nbalancing his club on the tip of his finger, \"perhaps I shall find\nmeans to persuade him!\"\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES AND THE GOLDEN APPLES\n\nPART II. HERCULES AND ATLAS\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nThanking the Old Man of the Sea, and begging his pardon for having\nsqueezed him so roughly, the hero resumed his journey.\n\nNothing was before him save the foaming, dashing, measureless ocean.\nBut suddenly, as he looked towards the horizon, he saw something, a\ngreat way off, which he had not seen the moment before. It gleamed\nvery brightly, almost as you may have beheld the round, golden disk of\nthe sun when it rises or sets over the edge of the world. It evidently\ndrew nearer; for at every instant this wonderful object became larger\nand more lustrous. At length it had come so nigh that Hercules\ndiscovered it to be an immense cup or bowl, made either of gold or\nburnished brass. How it had got afloat upon the sea is more than I can\ntell you. There it was, at all events, rolling on the tumultuous\nbillows, which tossed it up and down and heaved their foamy tops\nagainst its sides, but without ever throwing their spray over the\nbrim.\n\n\"I have seen many giants in my time,\" thought Hercules, \"but never one\nthat would need to drink his wine out of a cup like this!\"\n\nAnd, true enough, what a cup it must have been! It was as large--as\nlarge--but, in short, I am afraid to say how immeasurably large it\nwas. To speak within bounds, it was ten times larger than a great\nmill-wheel; and, all of metal as it was, it floated over the heaving\nsurges more lightly than an acorn-cup adown the brook. The waves\ntumbled it onward until it grazed against the shore within a short\ndistance of the spot where Hercules was standing.\n\nAs soon as this happened, he knew what was to be done; for he had not\ngone through so many remarkable adventures without learning pretty\nwell how to conduct himself whenever anything came to pass a little\nout of the common rule. It was just as clear as daylight that this\nmarvelous cup had been set adrift by some unseen power, and guided\nhitherward, in order to carry Hercules across the sea on his way to\nthe garden of the Hesperides. Accordingly, without a moment's delay,\nhe clambered over the brim and slid down on the inside, where,\nspreading out his lion's skin, he proceeded to take a little repose.\nHe had scarcely rested until now, since he bade farewell to the\ndamsels on the margin of the river. The waves dashed there with a\npleasant and ringing sound against the sides of the hollow cup; it\nrocked lightly to and fro, and the motion was so soothing that it\nspeedily rocked Hercules into an agreeable slumber.\n\nHis nap had probably lasted a good while, when the cup chanced to\ngraze against a rock, and resounded and reverberated through its metal\nsubstance a hundred times as loudly as ever you heard a church-bell.\nThe noise awoke Hercules, who instantly started up and gazed around\nhim, wondering whereabouts he was. He was not long in discovering that\nthe cup had floated across a great part of the sea, and was\napproaching the shore of what seemed to be an island. And on that\nisland, what do you think he saw? It was a giant!\n\nBut such an intolerably big giant! A giant as tall as a mountain; so\nvast a giant, that the clouds rested about his midst like a girdle,\nand hung like a hoary beard from his chin, and flitted before his huge\neyes, so that he could neither see Hercules nor the golden cup in\nwhich he was voyaging. And, most wonderful of all, the giant held up\nhis great hands and appeared to support the sky, which, so far as\nHercules could discern through the clouds, was resting upon his head!\n\nMeanwhile the bright cup continued to float onward, and finally\ntouched the strand. Just then a breeze wafted away the clouds from\nbefore the giant's visage, and Hercules beheld it, with all its\nenormous features: eyes, each of them as big as yonder lake, a nose a\nmile long, and a mouth of the same width.\n\nPoor fellow! He had evidently stood there a long while. An ancient\nforest had been growing and decaying round his feet; and oak trees, of\nsix or seven centuries old, had sprung from the acorn, and forced\nthemselves between his toes.\n\nThe giant now looked down from the far height of his great eyes, and\nperceiving Hercules, roared out in a voice that resembled thunder\nproceeding out of the cloud that had just flitted away from his face:\n\n\"Who are you down at my feet there? And whence do you come in that\nlittle cup?\"\n\n\"I am Hercules!\" thundered back the hero, in a voice pretty nearly or\nquite as loud as the giant's own. \"And I am seeking the garden of the\nHesperides!\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" roared the giant, in a fit of immense laughter. \"That is\na wise adventure, truly!\"\n\n\"And why not?\" cried Hercules, getting a little angry at the giant's\nmirth. \"Do you think I am afraid of the dragon with a hundred heads!\"\n\nJust at this time, while they talking together, some black clouds\ngathered about the giant's middle and burst into a tremendous storm of\nthunder and lightning, causing such a pother that Hercules found it\nimpossible to distinguish a word. Only the giant's immeasurable legs\nwere to be seen, standing up into the obscurity of the tempest; and\nnow and then a momentary glimpse of his whole figure mantled in a\nvolume of mist. He seemed to be speaking most of the time; but his\nbig, deep, rough voice chimed in with the reverberations of the\nthunder-claps, and rolled away over the hills, like them.\n\nAt last the storm swept over as suddenly as it had come. And there\nagain was the clear sky, and the weary giant holding it up, and the\npleasant sunshine beaming over his vast height, and illuminating it\nagainst the background of the sullen thunder-clouds. So far above the\nshower had been his head, that not a hair of it was moistened by the\nraindrops!\n\nWhen the giant could see Hercules still standing on the sea-shore, he\nroared out to him anew.\n\n\"I am Atlas, the mightiest giant in the world! And I hold up the sky\nupon my head!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" answered Hercules. \"But can you show me the way to the\ngarden of the Hesperides?\"\n\n\"What do you want there?\" asked the giant.\n\n\"I want three of the golden apples,\" shouted Hercules, \"for my cousin,\nthe king.\"\n\n\"There is nobody but myself,\" quoth the giant, \"that can go to the\ngarden of the Hesperides and gather the golden apples. If it were not\nfor this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a\ndozen steps across the sea and get them for you.\"\n\n\"You are very kind,\" replied Hercules. \"And cannot you rest the sky\nupon a mountain?\"\n\n\"None of them are quite high enough,\" said Atlas, shaking his head,\n\"But if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest me,\nyour head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be\na fellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your\nshoulders while I do your errand for you?\"\n\nHercules, as you must be careful to remember, was a remarkably strong\nman; and though it certainly requires a great deal of muscular power\nto uphold the sky, yet, if any mortal could be supposed capable of\nsuch an exploit, he was the one. Nevertheless, it seemed so difficult\nan undertaking that, for the first time in his life, he hesitated.\n\n\"Is the sky very heavy?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Why, not particularly so, at first,\" answered the giant, shrugging\nhis shoulders. \"But it gets to be a little burthensome after a\nthousand years!\"\n\n\"And how long a time,\" asked the hero, \"will it take you to get the\ngolden apples?\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be done in a few moments,\" cried Atlas. \"I shall take\nten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again\nbefore your shoulders begin to ache.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" answered Hercules, \"I will climb the mountain behind you\nthere and relieve you of your burden.\"\n\nThe truth is, Hercules had a kind heart of his own, and considered\nthat he should be doing the giant a favor by allowing him this\nopportunity for a ramble. And besides, he thought that it would be\nstill more for his own glory, if he could boast of upholding the sky,\nthan merely to do so ordinary a thing as to conquer a dragon with a\nhundred heads. Accordingly, without more words, the sky was shifted\nfrom the shoulders of Atlas and placed upon those of Hercules.\n\nWhen this was safely accomplished, the first thing that the giant did\nwas to stretch himself; and you may imagine what a prodigious\nspectacle he was then. Next, he slowly lifted one of his feet out of\nthe forest that had grown up around it; then the other. Then, all at\nonce he began to caper, and leap, and dance for joy at his freedom;\nflinging himself nobody knows how high into the air, and floundering\ndown again with a shock that made the earth tremble. Then he\nlaughed--Ho! ho! ho!--with a thunderous roar that was echoed from the\nmountains, far and near, as if they and the giant had been so many\nrejoicing brothers. When his joy had a little subsided, he stepped\ninto the sea; ten miles at the first stride, which brought him mid-leg\ndeep; and ten miles at the second, when the water came just above his\nknees; and ten miles more at the third, by which he was immersed\nnearly to his waist. This was the greatest depth of the sea.\n\nHercules watched the giant, as he still went onward; for it was really\na wonderful sight, this immense human form, more than thirty miles\noff, half hidden in the ocean, but with his upper half as tall, and\nmisty, and blue, as a distant mountain. At last the gigantic shape\nfaded entirely out of view. And now Hercules began to consider what he\nshould do, in case Atlas should be drowned in the sea, or if he were\nto be stung to death by the dragon with the hundred heads which\nguarded the golden apples of the Hesperides. If any such misfortune\nwere to happen, how could he ever get rid of the sky? And, by the by,\nits weight began already to be a little irksome to his head and\nshoulders.\n\n\"I really pity the poor giant,\" thought Hercules. \"If it wearies me so\nmuch in ten minutes, how must it have wearied him in a thousand\nyears?\"\n\nI know not how long it was before, to his unspeakable joy, he beheld\nthe huge shape of the giant, like a cloud, on the far-off edge of the\nsea. At his nearer approach, Atlas held up his hand, in which Hercules\ncould perceive three magnificent golden apples, as big as pumpkins,\nall hanging from one branch.\n\n\"I am glad to see you again,\" shouted Hercules, when the giant was\nwithin hearing. \"So you have got the golden apples?\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" answered Atlas; \"and very fair apples they\nare. I took the finest that grew on the tree, I assure you. Ah! it is\na beautiful spot, that garden of the Hesperides. Yes; and the dragon\nwith a hundred heads is a sight worth any man's seeing. After all, you\nhad better have gone for the apples yourself.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied Hercules. \"You have had a pleasant ramble, and\nhave done the business as well as I could. I heartily thank you for\nyour trouble. And now, as I have a long way to go and am rather in\nhaste--and as the king, my cousin, is anxious to receive the golden\napples--will you be kind enough to take the sky off my shoulders\nagain?\"\n\n\"Why, as to that,\" said the giant, chucking the golden apples into the\nair twenty miles high, or thereabouts, and catching them as they came\ndown--\"as to that, my good friend, I consider you a little\nunreasonable. Cannot I carry the golden apples to the king, your\ncousin, much quicker than you could? As his majesty is in such a hurry\nto get them, I promise you to take my longest strides. And besides, I\nhave no fancy for burdening myself with the sky just now.\"\n\nHere Hercules grew impatient, and gave a great shrug of his shoulders.\nIt being now twilight, you might have seen two or three stars tumble\nout of their places. Everybody on earth looked upward in affright,\nthinking that the sky might be going to fall next.\n\n\"Oh, that will never do!\" cried Giant Atlas, with a great roar of\nlaughter. \"I have not let fall so many stars within the last five\ncenturies. By the time you have stood there as long as I did, you will\nbegin to learn patience!\"\n\n\"What!\" shouted Hercules very wrathfully, \"do you intend to make me\nbear this burden for ever?\"\n\n\"We will see about that, one of these days,\" answered the giant. \"At\nall events, you ought not to complain, if you have to bear it the next\nhundred years, or perhaps the next thousand. I bore it a good while\nlonger, in spite of the back-ache. Well, then, after a thousand years,\nif I happen to feel in the mood, we may possibly shift about again.\nYou are certainly a very strong man, and can never have a better\nopportunity to prove it. Posterity will talk of you, I warrant it!\"\n\n\"Pish! a fig for its talk!\" cried Hercules, with another hitch of his\nshoulders. \"Just take the sky upon your head one instant, will you? I\nwant to make a cushion of my lion's skin for the weight to rest upon.\nIt really chafes me, and will cause unnecessary inconvenience in so\nmany centuries as I am to stand here.\"\n\n\"That's no more than fair, and I'll do it!\" quoth the giant; for he\nhad no unkind feeling toward Hercules, and was merely acting with a\ntoo selfish consideration of his own ease. \"For just five minutes,\nthen, I'll take back the sky. Only for five minutes, recollect! I have\nno idea of spending another thousand years as I spent the last.\nVariety is the spice of life, say I.\"\n\nAh, the thick-witted old rogue of a giant! He threw down the golden\napples, and received back the sky from the head and shoulders of\nHercules upon his own, where it rightly belonged. And Hercules picked\nup the three golden apples, that were as big or bigger than pumpkins,\nand straightway set out on his journey homeward, without paying the\nslightest heed to the thundering tones of the giant, who bellowed\nafter him to come back. Another forest sprang up around his feet, and\ngrew ancient there; and again might be seen oak trees of six or seven\ncenturies old, that had waxed thus aged betwixt his enormous toes.\n\nAnd there stands the giant to this day; or, at any rate, there stands\na mountain as tall as he, and which bears his name; and when the\nthunder rumbles about its summit, we may imagine it to be the voice of\nGiant Atlas bellowing after Hercules!\n\n\n\n\nHERCULES AND NESSUS\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nFairest among the maidens of \u00c6tolia was Deianira, daughter of Oeneus,\nKing of Calydon. From far and wide came suitors seeking her hand in\nmarriage, but her father promised to give her only to him who could\nprove his strength and courage above all others. What lover, however\nardent his desire, dare venture to try his skill against Hercules? And\nwhen the hero came to court only Achelous the river-god would enter\nthe lists against him.\n\nLong and fierce was the battle between these two as they rushed\ntogether, grasping each other foot to foot, fingers pressed upon\nfingers, and forehead to forehead. For some time they seemed equal in\nstrength, but Hercules pressed harder, and seizing his enemy by the\nshoulders threw him to the earth. In vain Achelous changed himself\ninto a serpent; his throat was grasped with a grip that would strangle\nhim in spite of all his lithe, winding folds, and the hissing as he\ndarted forth his forked tongue. In vain, too, he sought to change the\nissue of the fight in the form of a wild bull. The hero took him by\nthe horns, and held him to the ground. One of the horns he tore off by\nmain force. The Naiads took this horn, filled it with fruit and\nflowers, and offered it to the goddess of Plenty.\n\nSo Hercules was victor in the lists of love, and won for prize the\nking's fair daughter. Many years the happy pair abode in Calydon, and\nchildren were born to them. Deianira was a happy wife, and her only\ngrief was that her lord was so often absent from home, for Hercules\nwould never rest from his toils. On one of these adventures he had\nbeen persuaded by his wife to take her with him, and on their way home\nthey came to a broad and rapid river. The stream was swollen with\nwinter rains, and the eddies were deep and dangerous. Nessus the\nCentaur, who lived in a cavern close by, offered to carry Deianira\nover on his back. He knew the fords, and his strength was as the\nstrength of ten. So Hercules trusted his wife to the Centaur, although\nshe was almost as much afraid of Nessus as she was of the dark roaring\ntorrent. He himself threw his club and crooked bow across, and plunged\nboldly into the stream.\n\nJust as he reached the farther bank and was taking up his bow he heard\na scream. Nessus had betrayed his trust, and was about to carry off\nDeianira in the very sight of her husband. Swiftly flew an arrow from\nthe bow, which pierced the traitor's back. It was tinged with poison\nfrom the hydra, and the wound was mortal. Nessus, as he drew the\nbarbed steel from his body, muttered to himself, \"I will not die\nunavenged.\" Then handing his blood-stained tunic to Deianira, he\ncried, \"I have sinned, and am justly punished. Pardon a dying man, and\nin token of forgiveness accept from me a dying gift. Keep this tunic\nas a talisman. If ever thy lord's love should wax cold, or he should\nlook upon another woman to love her more than thee, give him this\ncharmed tunic to wear, and it will rekindle his old passion.\"\n\n[Illustration: HERCULES AND NESSUS]\n\nTime passed by, and the feats of the mighty Hercules were known all\nover the world. Returning victorious from battle he was preparing a\nsacrifice vowed to Jupiter on Mount Oeta, when he found he lacked the\nproper dress, and sent a messenger to Deianira for a robe. Meanwhile\nrumor had been busy, and a tale had reached the ears of Deianira that\nHercules was in love with Iole, daughter of Eurytus, whom he had\nlately vanquished and slain. As she loved him, she believed it, and\nalarmed with the story burst into a torrent of grief. But soon she\ntook comfort. \"Why these tears? They will only flatter my rival. I\nmust seek some means to keep my husband for myself.\" And then she\nbethought herself of the tunic that Nessus had given her. What if she\ngave this tunic to the messenger, so that Hercules should wear it, and\nso by its virtue her husband be restored to her again?\n\nThe fatal gift was sent. Hercules, not knowing whose it had been, put\nit on as he went to sacrifice. As he was pouring wine on the altars\nthe venom from the garment began to work. He tried to tear the tunic\nfrom him, but it clung to him like a coat of pitch. He rolled in agony\non the ground, he tore away his very flesh, he roared in agony like a\nwounded bull, and the hollows of Oeta reverberated his groans. At last\nhe fell exhausted, and his comrades bore him on a litter to the ships.\nThen Hercules knew that his end was come, and, preparing himself to\ndie as a hero should, he gave his last injunctions to his son.\n\nA pile was built with trees at the top of the mountain. To his friend\nPhiloctetes he gave the famous bow and quiver. Then, when the fire had\nbeen kindled, he spread over all the skin of the Nem\u00e6an lion, and laid\nhimself down upon it, with his head resting on his club, as calmly as\na guest resting after the banquet.\n\nJupiter, looking down from heaven, saw the hero thus peaceful amid\nthe flames of the burning pile. \"He who has conquered all men,\" he\ncried, \"shall conquer also these fires. Only that which is mortal and\nwhich he received from his mother can perish there. His immortal part\nI will receive into the realms above.\" And the other gods assented.\nEven Juno, who had pursued the hero so cruelly during his life, had no\nword to urge against their decision. The burning pile was shrouded in\na mist of dark smoke; and while the mortal body of Hercules fell into\nashes, him the great father, taking up among circling clouds, bore\naloft to the glittering stars in his chariot drawn by four fiery\nsteeds.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nThe great hall was decked for a banquet. Revelers sat round the laden\nboard and feasted and sang and quaffed rich wines from silver goblets.\nThe king on his da\u00efs toyed with his jeweled wine-cup and gazed down\nthe length of the hall at the flushed faces of the feasters, and heard\ntheir gay laughter peal up to the vaulted roof. Yet the eyes of\nPelias, the king, were dark, and a settled scowl was on his brow.\nTerror of Heaven's vengeance still haunted him. He had commanded this\nfestival in honor of Neptune, and yet he knew that the anger of\nJupiter was unappeased while the Golden Fleece still hung in the wood\nat Colchis.\n\nFor Phrixus, son of \u00c6olus, had fled on the Sacred Ram with the Fleece\nof Gold, to \u00c6etes, King of Colchis, who had protected him and given\nhim his daughter Chalciope to wife. Though Phrixus was now dead, \u00c6etes\nstill held the Fleece in Colchis, and the line of \u00c6olus languished\nunder the wrath of Jupiter till such time as it was restored to\nGreece.\n\nThis was the subject of the king's meditations as he looked down on\nthe gay company assembled at his feast. And of a sudden his eyes\nlighted on a travel-stained figure making his way up the long hall to\nthe steps of his throne, in spite of the soiled and tattered weeds. He\nrecognized his royal kinsman. It was Jason son of \u00c6son, his own\nnephew, who, determined to have speech with his uncle the king, had\nnow dared the crossing of the river Anaurus, although swollen by\nwinter rains, and had hardly won through. Till he entered the palace\nhe did not know of the great feast that was being held, but he stood\nnot on ceremony, and made his way to the foot of the throne, just as\nhe was. One of his sandals had stuck in the mire and been left in the\nriver bed.\n\nNow an oracle had come to the king but a short time before, warning\nhim to beware of a man coming in from the field with one sandal\nlacking. And King Pelias shrank from the sight of the innocent youth\nwho stood before him; and in the dark depths of his heart devised a\ncruel plot for his destruction, whereby he might rid himself of the\nmenace and, at the same time, be restored to the favor of Jupiter.\n\nUndaunted by the tyrant's frown, Jason stood before him and asserted\nhis claim to the throne. \"I, Jason, son of \u00c6son, of the line of \u00c6olus,\nlive as a peasant among peasants on the banks of Anaurus,\" he cried,\nin his brave young voice. \"Restore me to my rightful place as son of\nthe late king.\"\n\nThe king dared not openly dispute the claim, but with a feigned smile\nhe answered: \"Fetch hither the Golden Fleece held by \u00c6etes in Colchis,\nthat you may thus prove worthy to boast yourself of the proud line of\n\u00c6olus. Deliver your father's house from the wrath of Jupiter, and then\ncome to claim your birthright!\"\n\nHe devised this task, thinking that even could Jason perchance\novercome the Colchians, he must assuredly be slain by enemies or lost\nin the sea ere ever he won home again. For it was well known that\n\u00c6etes had hung the Golden Fleece in an enchanted wood, and set a\nsleepless serpent to guard the treasure against any who should pass\nhis men-at-arms.\n\nAt first Jason was cast into despair at the greatness of this task,\nbut strong in his own innocence and determined to vindicate his\nrights, he took up the challenge. \"I go,\" he cried, \"at the ruthless\nbehest of a tyrannous king and the doom of a god! Who will go in my\ncompany--who?\"\n\nAnd from east and west and south the heroes of a hundred deeds came\nhasting to join him on his quest, for all had heard of the Golden\nFleece and its theft by the Colchian men.\n\nAnd the fame of its quest was noised abroad so that all who loved a\nbold venture came to proffer Jason their aid; and with others it was\nthe lust of gold that drew them; and with others, again, love of\njustice and pity for the youth robbed of his birthright by an unjust\nking. Thus there came to Iolcus the mighty Hercules, and the twin sons\nof Jupiter, Castor and Pollux, Orpheus with his magic lute, Idmon the\nseer, and Tiphys the steersman, and others all famous for their\nprowess in war, the sons of gods and heroes, too many to name.\n\nThen Jason set himself to prepare for his great enterprise, gathering\nstores and arms, and eagerly seeking information of those who had\ntraveled afar off of the Colchians and their king \u00c6etes, and the famed\nFleece of Gold, while the good ship _Argo_ was daily growing under the\nfashioning hands of Argus and his men, who, instructed by Minerva,\nbuilt so gallant a ship as had never before sailed the seas. And daily\nthere were added to Jason's company valiant warriors and men of\nrenown, young and old, till at last the day came when the _Argo_ was\nlaunched for her great enterprise, and the last sacrifices were paid\nto the protecting gods, and the last feast was eaten on the Pagas\u00e6an\nshore. Then the heroes cast lots for their places at the oars--for all\nbut the place of honor at the middle thwart, which was given to\nHercules and his companion Anc\u00e6us. Tiphys, by common consent, was set\nat the helm, while Jason was proclaimed captain and chief, in peace\nand in war, of all the goodly band.\n\nAnd thus it came that such a company of heroes as had never before\nbeen gathered together on one quest sailed forth from Iolcus in the\n_Argo_ in search of the Golden Fleece.\n\nFor many days they pursued their way, braving the storms of those\ndangerous seas, landing on strange coasts where sometimes they found\nshelter and kindness, but oftener had to fight for life and honor. But\never the glorious quest inspired them, the Golden Fleece brightened\ntheir dreams, and they strove loyally together to win through all\ntemptations and dangers. But not all of them survived to reach their\ngoal. Great Hercules was left on the Mysian hills seeking his lost\narmor-bearer Hylas; and Idmon the seer, faring across a marshy plain,\nwas suddenly attacked by a wild boar and so wounded that he died. For\nthree whole days the heroes mourned his loss; and while they mourned,\nTiphys the steersman fell sick, and his sickness was unto death. For\ngrief then the band had gone no farther on the quest had not Anc\u00e6us\nrekindled their courage with brave words and offered himself as their\nsteersman. And by general acclamation he was elected to the post, and\nthey set forth on their way with renewed faith.\n\nBut at last the gallant _Argo_ won through the Pontus Sea and the\ndreadful Dark Blue Crags, and the voyagers knew themselves to be near\nto Colchis and the end of their journeying. Picture to yourselves the\nstorm-tossed _Argo_ flying over the seas, and great eagles swooping\nand wheeling overhead, by which Jason, the captain, knew that they\napproached the island of Mars, where those winged messengers of the\ngods were wont to attack any who dared effect a landing. But by his\ncommand the heroes armed themselves, and the oarsmen were protected by\nthe shields of their comrades from the feathered darts rained down\nupon them by the furious birds. And with loud clashing and clanging of\ntheir harness the creatures were scared away. So the heroes reached\nthe shore and rested there in peace after their battling with the\nstorm. And as they lay on the shore they saw in the waves a great\nspar, and four young men clinging to it, tossed hither and thither,\ntill at length it was cast up on to the beach. These proved to be the\nfour sons of Phrixus, who had been thrust out of Colchis by their\nstern grandsire \u00c6etes, and sent away in a little boat. Their skiff had\nbeen too frail to withstand the storm that the good ship _Argo_ had\noutlived.\n\nWhen these heard of the quest, they offered Jason their allegiance,\nand begged him to accept their aid in his perilous venture, which he\ngladly did. So, in calm weather, they sailed gaily on to Colchis,\nelated to have thus escaped all the perils and to be within sight of\ntheir goal.\n\nThe Golden Fleece burned ever brighter before the longing eyes of that\nhero band; courage and loyalty inspired each heart and nerved each\narm; they were ready to give life itself, if need be, to achieve their\ntask and bring again the miraculous Fleece to Greece--and such a\nspirit is unconquerable.\n\nNow \u00c6etes, King of Colchis, dwelt in his city by the sea. He had but\ntwo daughters, the elder, Chalciope, was the widow of that Phrixus who\nhad come hither riding on the Golden Ram, while the younger was Medea,\na sorceress. She was a priestess of Hecate, and served the dreadful\nmysteries of the goddess. She was versed in all poisons and philters,\nand would wander out into wild places beyond the city to gather herbs\nfor the brewing of her mystic potions. She lived with her brothers,\nthe sons of \u00c6etes, and Chalciope her sister, in a palace in the city,\nand beside it stood a temple to Hecate.\n\nIt happened on a certain day that Medea, as was her wont, went into\nthe hall of the temple, and as she stood there she saw a crowd\napproaching up the street. Foremost in the throng she saw her sister's\nfour sons, who had been mourned as lost for ever. She cried aloud, and\nthe waiting-women in the palace heard her cry and dropped their\nbroideries, and with Chalciope her sister came running to learn the\ncause of her fear. And Chalciope saw her sons and clasped them to her\nwith tears of joy. But Medea stood gazing at the splendid strangers\nwho came with them--Jason and his two friends, Telamon and Augias. And\nas she gazed, Cupid let fly one of his burning shafts, and it pierced\nthe maiden's bosom and there burned with a dull flame. And her eyes\nwere fastened on Jason's comely face, and the conscious blushes flamed\nin the whiteness of her cheeks, and she stood as if bound by one of\nher own spells.\n\nHearing the commotion, the king and queen inquired the cause; and when\nthey saw the handsome strangers they gave them fair welcome, and\ninvited them to join their banquet. Though \u00c6etes looked sourly on the\nsons of Phrixus, of whom he had thought to have rid himself for ever,\nhe was constrained to receive them also with their rescuers.\n\nWhen seated at the banquet, Argus, one of Phrixus' sons, explained to\nthe king all the circumstances of Jason's coming, and the quest on\nwhich he came. \"Not to take the Fleece by force he comes,\" pleaded\nArgus, \"but is minded to pay a fair price for thy gift. He has heard\nof the bitter enmity of the Sauromat\u00e6: these rebels he will subdue for\nthee, and put them under thy sway.\"\n\nThe king's wrath waxed hot, and chiefly with his daughter's sons, for\nhe deemed that they had stirred up Jason to this quest. \"Not for the\nFleece come ye!\" he cried; \"but my scepter and my kingly honor ye come\nto steal! Now, if ye had not broken bread at my table before ye spoke,\nyour tongues had I surely cut out, and had hewn your hands from your\nwrists, and had sent you forth with naught but your feet to fare\nthrough the land! So should ye refrain hereafter from coming on such\nlike quest.\"\n\nBut Jason made gentle answer to the angry king, assuring him that no\nsuch wild dream had brought him to this land, but the ruthless behest\nof a tyrannous king and the doom of a god.\n\nThen the king inly pondered whether to fall on the heroes and do them\nto death or put their might to the test. And this he decided to be the\nbetter way, for they were mighty men and renowned for valor, and he\nsaw that he should have to overcome them by subtlety. So he set Jason\nthis impossible task: On the plain of Mars were two brazen-hoofed\nbulls, breathing flames of fire; these Jason must yoke, and by them\ndrive four plowshares across the plain from dawn to dusk. And in the\nfurrows sow the teeth of a dragon, from which out of the earth armed\nwarriors should spring, and these he must smite and conquer!\n\nThe hero sat speechless in his despair, for he deemed no man\nsufficient for so terrible a task. But Argus went out with him, and\nknowing his own and his brothers' fate to hang on him, implored him to\nconsult his mother's sister, Medea, the sorceress. Jason, for\nkindness, consented, but with little hope of the issue.\n\nSo Argus returned to his mother, to beg her to intercede with Medea.\n\nMedea, torn with love for Jason, spent the night in mourning over his\ncertain fate unless he craved her aid in his gigantic task, and was\nlonging, yet ashamed, to proffer it. It was, therefore, to the relief\nof her indecision that her sister Chalciope came to her at length, and\nbegged her to interfere to save her four sons from the doom that\nthreatened them. Medea was glad, for she was thus enabled to save her\ndignity, and in obeying the dictates of her heart seem only to be\nconcerned with the safety of her sister's sons.\n\nNext morning, therefore, she called her maidens and went out in her\nchariot to the fane of Hecate on the plain beyond the city, a place\nwhere she was often wont to go to gather herbs. There Jason met her,\nand he sacrificed his pride to beg her assistance. She was torn\nbetween love for him and a sense of duty to her father; but yet love\nwas the stronger, and she promised him her aid. Long they talked\ntogether in that wilderness till the shades of evening fell and her\nattendants became uneasy at her long tarrying. She gave him a magic\ndrug that would render his body and arms invulnerable against all\nattack, and gave him also minute directions for his guidance in his\ndreadful conflict. And Jason saw how beautiful and tender she was,\nand love for her awoke in his heart, and he wooed her with gentle\nwords, and vowed that if she would go with him to Greece she should\nthere be made his honored wife.\n\nEvening drew on, and Medea went sadly back to her night of anguished\nvigil in her palace in the city, while Jason prepared himself for his\ndoubtful conflict. At midnight he bathed alone in the sacred river.\nThen he digged a pit in the plain as Medea had directed him, and\noffered a lamb by the pit's brink, and kindled a pyre and burned the\ncarcase. Mingled libations he also poured, and then, calling on\nHecate, drew back and strode from the place, and looked not once\nbehind him at the awful queen he had invoked, nor the shapes of fear\nthat accompanied her, nor turned at the wild baying of the hounds of\nhell.\n\nThen he sprinkled his corslet, his helm, and his arms with the drug\nMedea gave him, and his comrades proved his harness with all their\nmight and main, whose ringing blows fell harmless upon it. Then he\nsprinkled his own limbs with the magic drug and fared forth\ninvincible.\n\nAt dawn, the heroes sailed in the _Argo_ up the river till they came\nnear to the plain of Mars, and there anchored. King \u00c6etes came out\nfrom the city in procession to the lists, and all the men of Colchis\nwere gathered on the one hand and the heroes on the other to watch the\noutcome of this terrible strife.\n\nSo Jason set to his task. Bearing with him his helm full of the\ndragon's teeth he crossed the field, and there saw the brazen yoke\nlying, and the plow of massive stone. Suddenly, from their lair, the\nbulls rushed out together and bore down upon him. Jason, setting his\nfeet wide, caught their charge on his shield and withstood the shock.\nMightily he seized the horn of one of the monsters, haled with all his\nstrength, and striking its hoof with his foot cast it down on its\nknees. And, to the amazement of all, he did likewise to its fellow.\nThen he cast away his shield, and holding them down set the brazen\nyoke on their necks. All marveled at his superhuman strength. The brow\nof \u00c6etes was black, but the heroes rejoiced and cheered their leader\nright lustily.\n\nThen he took with him the helm full of dragon's teeth, and his spear\nfor a goad, and forced those frantic beasts to draw the massive plow\nacross the plain, and sowed his baneful seed as he went. All day long\nhe drove his resisting team across the stony plain; and as the granite\nplowshare tore its way through the earth he cast the dragon's teeth\namong the upturned clods.\n\nAnd at length the evening fell, and he unloosed the yoke, and with\nsmiting and shouting scared the bulls across the plain to their caves.\nThen he gladly returned to the _Argo_, plunged his helm into the river,\nand was about to slake his terrible thirst, when he turned to see the\nwhole earth bristling with armed warriors, row on row of shields and\nspears and helms. The words of Medea came to his remembrance then, and\nere he fell upon them he took up from the earth a great round boulder\nsuch as four strong men of to-day scarce could move, and flung it in\ntheir midst.\n\nLoudly the Colchians shouted, but speechless fear seized on their king\nwhen he saw the flight of that massive crag and beheld the earthborn\nslaying each other. And among them stood Jason, beautiful as a god,\nhewing them down with his sword, till not one was left alive.\n\nThen the night fell and Jason slept, for he knew that his task was\naccomplished. \u00c6etes and his princes went silently back to their city,\nfor the superhuman power of the hero inspired them with nameless\nfears.\n\nAnd in the palace Medea was smitten with terror, for she knew that it\nmust come to the ears of the king her father, that by her arts Jason\nhad been helped to victory, and she dreaded his vengeance. She knew\nnot where to turn for aid but to Jason himself; so she veiled herself,\nand thrusting her secret drugs and poisons into her bosom, she fled in\nthe darkness from her palace. Through the night she hastened, weeping\npiteously, torn between love and duty to her parents and her passion\nfor the man her spells had helped, till she saw the gleam of the fire\nwhere the heroes were feasting on the river bank. And through the\nnoise of their revelry and the ringing of their gay laughter a bitter\ncry was heard--a woman's cry. And the sons of Phrixus, her nephews,\nand Jason, her lover, knew her voice, and they hastily thrust out from\nthe bank and rowed to the place where she stood, and Jason leaped to\nthe bank beside her.\n\nThen Medea clung to his knees and besought him to carry her away lest\nher father's vengeance should fall heavy upon her. Therefore, before\nthem all, he swore to take her to Greece and wed her there.\n\nThen she adjured them to go in haste, wasting no more precious hours\nin revelry, to fetch the Golden Fleece before \u00c6etes came in pursuit of\nthem. \"Speed,\" she cried, \"while darkness covers your deeds!\"\n\nSo they went in all haste, till they came to the enchanted wood where\nthe Fleece was hanging on an oak tree. And Medea landed there with\nJason, and together they sped through the wood till they saw the\nFleece shining like flame through the dusk, while before it, in coil\non coil, loathsome, with open, watchful eyes, the awful serpent reared\nits head.\n\nThen Medea called the magic of sleep to her aid. She anointed the\nserpent's head with her drugs, and rained her spells on its unsleeping\neyes, and it sank down upon the earth in lazily undulating folds,\nuntil at length it slept.\n\nThen Jason cast the great Fleece across his shoulder, and it fell down\nall his height and trailed upon the ground. And he caught it up about\nhim and hastened from the spot. The Argonauts, watching anxiously, saw\nit come flaming through the trees. They greeted the achieving of their\nquest with shouts of joy, and strove among themselves to touch the\nglorious Fleece. But Jason was seized with fear lest some god or man\nshould arrive to wrest his treasure from him, so he covered the\nshimmering Fleece with a mantle, and it lay in the stern of the\n_Argo_, with the maiden beside it, and Jason stood above them with his\nharness on his back and his great sword in his hand.\n\nAnd the rowers bent to their oars, and the strong blades beat the\nwaves, and swifter than a flying bird the good ship sped down the\ntide.\n\nBy this King \u00c6etes and the Colchians knew of Medea's love and her\ndeeds of rebellion. They swarmed on the river banks, and \u00c6etes on his\nwhite charger pursued the flying boat. But he could not reach his\ndisobedient daughter nor stay the flight of the hero band who had\nescaped the death he plotted, by the aid of love. And in his wrath the\nking sent ships after them and charged his captains: \"Except ye lay\nhands on the maiden and bring her so that I may pour the fury with\nwhich I burn upon her, on your heads shall all these things light,\nand ye shall learn the full measure of my wrath.\"\n\nBut far across the seas the good ship _Argo_ flew, and though the\nColchians pursued, Medea was never taken, but after all adventure\nreached Iolcus with Jason, her lover and her lord.\n\nFor it was ordained of the high gods that the Golden Fleece should be\nbrought back to Greece by the might of Jason and his brotherhood of\nheroes, that the wrath of Jupiter might be appeased. For the heroes\nwent on the quest armed with the strength of innocence, and love\nfought on their side that they might prove mightier than a ruthless\nking or the doom of an offended god.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THESEUS FOUND HIS FATHER\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nIn the old city of Troezene, at the foot of a lofty mountain, there\nlived, a very long time ago, a little boy named Theseus. His\ngrandfather, King Pittheus, was the sovereign of that country, and was\nreckoned a very wise man; so that Theseus, being brought up in the\nroyal palace, and being naturally a bright lad, could hardly fail of\nprofiting by the old king's instructions. His mother's name was \u00c6thra.\nAs for his father, the boy had never seen him. But, from his earliest\nremembrance, \u00c6thra used to go with little Theseus into a wood, and sit\ndown upon a moss-grown rock, which was deeply sunken into the earth.\nHere she often talked with her son about his father, and said that he\nwas called \u00c6geus, and that he was a great king, and ruled over Attica,\nand dwelt at Athens, which was as famous a city as any in the world.\nTheseus was very fond of hearing about King \u00c6geus, and often asked his\ngood mother \u00c6thra why he did not come and live with them at Troezene.\n\n\"Ah, my dear son,\" answered \u00c6thra, with a sigh, \"a monarch has his\npeople to take care of. The men and women over whom he rules are in\nthe place of children to him; and he can seldom spare time to love his\nown children as other parents do. Your father will never be able to\nleave his kingdom for the sake of seeing his little boy.\"\n\n\"Well, but, dear mother,\" asked the boy, \"why cannot I go to this\nfamous city of Athens, and tell King \u00c6geus that I am his son?\"\n\n\"That may happen by and by,\" said \u00c6thra. \"Be patient, and we shall\nsee. You are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an\nerrand.\"\n\n\"And how soon shall I be strong enough?\" Theseus persisted in\ninquiring.\n\n\"You are but a tiny boy as yet,\" replied his mother. \"See if you can\nlift this rock on which we are sitting.\"\n\nThe little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So,\ngrasping the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled\namain, and got himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir\nthe heavy stone. It seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he\ncould not move it; for it would have taken all the force of a very\nstrong man to lift it out of its earthy bed.\n\nHis mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips\nand in her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little\nboy. She could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so\nimpatient to begin his adventures in the world.\n\n\"You see how it is, my dear Theseus,\" said she. \"You must possess far\nmore strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and\ntell King \u00c6geus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock,\nand show me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to\ndepart.\"\n\nOften and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother whether it was\nyet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the\nrock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong\nenough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and\ncurly-headed boy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone,\nstriving, child as he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done\nwithout taking both of his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock\nseemed to be sinking farther and farther into the ground. The moss\ngrew over it thicker and thicker, until at last it looked almost like\na soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of granite peeping out.\nThe overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often\nas the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some\nof which crept quite over its surface. To all appearance the rock was\nas firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth's substance.\n\nBut difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be\nsuch a vigorous youth that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly\ncome when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump\nof stone.\n\n\"Mother, I do believe it has started!\" cried he, after one of his\nattempts. \"The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!\"\n\n\"No, no, child!\" his mother hastily answered. \"It is not possible that\nyou can have moved it, such a boy as you still are!\"\n\nNor would she be convinced, although Theseus showed her the place\nwhere he fancied that the stem of a flower had been partly uprooted by\nthe movement of the rock. But \u00c6thra sighed and looked disquieted; for,\nno doubt, she began to be conscious that her son was no longer a\nchild, and that, in a little while hence, she must send him forth\namong the perils and troubles of the world.\n\nIt was not more than a year afterwards when they were again sitting\non the moss-covered stone. \u00c6thra had once more told him the\noft-repeated story of his father, and how gladly he would receive\nTheseus at his stately palace, and how he would present him to his\ncourtiers and the people, and tell them that here was the heir of his\ndominions. The eyes of Theseus glowed with enthusiasm, and he would\nhardly sit still to hear his mother speak.\n\n\"Dear mother \u00c6thra,\" he exclaimed, \"I never felt half so strong as\nnow! I am no longer a child, nor a boy, nor a mere youth! I feel\nmyself a man! It is now time to make one earnest trial to remove the\nstone.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dearest Theseus,\" replied his mother, \"not yet! not yet!\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" he said resolutely, \"the time has come!\"\n\nThen Theseus bent himself in good earnest to the task, and strained\nevery sinew, with manly strength and resolution. He put his whole\nbrave heart into the effort. He wrestled with the big and sluggish\nstone, as if it had been a living enemy. He heaved, he lifted, he\nresolved now to succeed, or else to perish there and let the rock be\nhis monument forever! \u00c6thra stood gazing at him, and clasped her\nhands, partly with a mother's pride and partly with a mother's sorrow.\nThe great rock stirred! Yes; it was raised slowly from the bedded moss\nand earth, uprooting the shrubs and flowers along with it, and was\nturned upon its side. Theseus had conquered!\n\nWhile taking breath he looked joyfully at his mother, and she smiled\nupon him through her tears.\n\n\"Yes, Theseus,\" she said, \"the time has come, and you must stay no\nlonger at my side! See what King \u00c6geus, your royal father, left for\nyou, beneath the stone, when he lifted it in his mighty arms and laid\nit on the spot whence you have now removed it.\"\n\nTheseus looked, and saw that the rock had been placed over another\nslab of stone, containing a cavity within it; so that it somewhat\nresembled a roughly made chest or coffer, of which the upper mass had\nserved as the lid. Within the cavity lay a sword, with a golden hilt,\nand a pair of sandals.\n\n\"That was your father's sword,\" said \u00c6thra, \"and those were his\nsandals. When he went to be King of Athens, he bade me treat you as a\nchild until you should prove yourself a man by lifting this heavy\nstone. That task being accomplished, you are to put on his sandals, in\norder to follow in your father's footsteps, and to gird on his sword,\nso that you may fight giants and dragons, as King \u00c6geus did in his\nyouth.\"\n\n\"I will set out for Athens this very day!\" cried Theseus.\n\nBut his mother persuaded him to stay a day or two longer, while she\ngot ready some necessary articles for his journey. When his\ngrandfather, the wise King Pittheus, heard that Theseus intended to\npresent himself at his father's palace, he earnestly advised him to\nget on board of a vessel, and go by sea; because he might thus arrive\nwithin fifteen miles of Athens, without either fatigue or danger.\n\n\"The roads are very bad by land,\" quoth the venerable king; \"and they\nare terribly infested with robbers and monsters. A mere lad like\nTheseus is not fit to be trusted on such a perilous journey all by\nhimself. No, no; let him go by sea!\"\n\nBut when Theseus heard of robbers and monsters, he pricked up his ears\nand was so much the more eager to take the road along which they were\nto be met with. On the third day, therefore, he bade a respectful\nfarewell to his grandfather, thanking him for all his kindness; and,\nafter affectionately embracing his mother, he set forth, with a good\nmany of her tears glistening on his cheeks, and some, if the truth\nmust be told, that had gushed out of his own eyes. But he let the sun\nand wind dry them, and walked stoutly on, playing with the golden hilt\nof his sword and taking very manly strides in his father's sandals.\n\nI cannot stop to tell you hardly any of the adventures that befell\nTheseus on the road to Athens. It is enough to say that he quite\ncleared that part of the country of the robbers about whom King\nPittheus had been so much alarmed. One of these bad people was named\nProcrustes, and he was indeed a terrible fellow, and had an ugly way\nof making fun of the poor travelers who happened to fall into his\nclutches. In his cavern he had a bed, on which, with great pretense of\nhospitality, he invited his guests to lie down; but if they happened\nto be shorter than the bed, this wicked villain stretched them out by\nmain force; or, if they were too tall, he lopped off their heads or\nfeet, and laughed at what he had done as an excellent joke. Thus,\nhowever weary a man might be, he never liked to lie in the bed of\nProcrustes. Another of these robbers, named Sinis, must likewise have\nbeen a very great scoundrel. He was in the habit of flinging his\nvictims off a high cliff into the sea; and in order to give him\nexactly his deserts, Theseus tossed him off the very same place. But\nif you will believe me, the sea would not pollute itself by receiving\nsuch a bad person into its bosom, neither would the earth, having once\ngot rid of him, consent to take him back; so that, between the cliff\nand the sea, Sinis stuck fast in the air, which was forced to bear the\nburden of his naughtiness.\n\nThus, by the time he reached his journey's end, Theseus had done many\nvaliant feats with his father's golden-hilted sword, and had gained\nthe renown of being one of the bravest young men of the day. His fame\ntraveled faster than he did, and reached Athens before him. As he\nentered the city, he heard the inhabitants talking at the street\ncorners and saying that Hercules was brave, and Jason too, and Castor\nand Pollux likewise, but that Theseus, the son of their own king,\nwould turn out as great a hero as the best of them. Theseus took\nlonger strides on hearing this, and fancied himself sure of a\nmagnificent reception at his father's court, since he came thither\nwith Fame to blow her trumpet before him, and cry to King \u00c6geus,\n\"Behold your son!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHESEUS AND THE WITCH MEDEA\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nTheseus little suspected, innocent youth that he was, that here in\nthis very Athens, where his father reigned, a greater danger awaited\nhim than any which he had encountered on the road. Yet this was the\ntruth. You must understand that the father of Theseus, though not very\nold in years, was almost worn out with the cares of government, and\nhad thus grown aged before his time. His nephews, not expecting him to\nlive a very great while, intended to get all the power of the kingdom\ninto their own hands. But when they heard that Theseus had arrived in\nAthens, and learned what a gallant young man he was, they saw that he\nwould not be at all the kind of person to let them steal away his\nfather's crown and scepter, which ought to be his own by right of\ninheritance. Thus these bad-hearted nephews of King \u00c6geus, who were\nthe own cousins of Theseus, at once became his enemies. A still more\ndangerous enemy was Medea, the wicked enchantress; for she was now the\nking's wife, and wanted to give the kingdom to her son Medus, instead\nof letting it be given to the son of \u00c6thra, whom she hated.\n\nIt so happened that the king's nephews met Theseus, and found out who\nhe was, just as he reached the entrance of the royal palace. With all\ntheir evil designs against him, they pretended to be their cousin's\nbest friends, and expressed great joy at making his acquaintance.\nThey proposed to him that he should come into the king's presence as a\nstranger, in order to try whether \u00c6geus would discover in the young\nman's features any likeness either to himself or his mother \u00c6thra, and\nthus recognize him for a son. Theseus consented, for he fancied that\nhis father would know him in a moment, by the love that was in his\nheart. But while he waited at the door, the nephews ran and told King\n\u00c6geus that a young man had arrived in Athens, who, to their certain\nknowledge, intended to put him to death and get possession of his\nroyal crown.\n\n\"And he is now waiting for admission to your Majesty's presence,\"\nadded they.\n\n\"Aha!\" cried the old king, on hearing this. \"Why, he must be a very\nwicked young fellow, indeed! Pray, what would you advise me to do with\nhim?\"\n\nIn reply to this question, the wicked Medea put in her word. You have\nheard already of this enchantress, and the wicked arts that she\npractised upon men. Amongst a thousand other bad things, she knew how\nto prepare a poison, that was instantly fatal to whomsoever might so\nmuch as touch it with his lips.\n\nSo when the king asked what he should do with Theseus, this naughty\nwoman had an answer ready at her tongue's end.\n\n\"Leave that to me, please your Majesty,\" she replied. \"Only admit this\nevil-minded young man to your presence, treat him civilly, and invite\nhim to drink a goblet of wine. Your Majesty is well aware that I\nsometimes amuse myself with distilling very powerful medicines. Here\nis one of them in this small phial. As to what it is made of, that is\none of my secrets of state. Do but let me put a single drop into the\ngoblet, and let the young man taste it, and I will answer for it, he\nshall quite lay aside the bad designs with which he comes hither.\"\n\nAs she said this, Medea smiled; but, for all her smiling face, she\nmeant nothing less than to poison the poor innocent Theseus before his\nfather's eyes. And King \u00c6geus, like most other kings, thought any\npunishment mild enough for a person who was accused of plotting\nagainst his life. He therefore made little or no objection to Medea's\nscheme, and as soon as the poisonous wine was ready, gave orders that\nthe young stranger should be admitted into his presence. The goblet\nwas set on a table beside the king's throne, and a fly, meaning just\nto sip a little from the brim, immediately tumbled into it, dead.\nObserving this, Medea looked round at the nephews and smiled again.\n\nWhen Theseus was ushered into the royal apartment, the only object\nthat he seemed to behold was the white-bearded old king. There he sat\non his magnificent throne, a dazzling crown on his head, and a scepter\nin his hand. His aspect was stately and majestic, although his years\nand infirmities weighed heavily upon him, as if each year were a lump\nof lead and each infirmity a ponderous stone, and all were bundled up\ntogether and laid upon his weary shoulders. The tears, both of joy and\nsorrow, sprang into the young man's eyes; for he thought how sad it\nwas to see his dear father so infirm, and how sweet it would be to\nsupport him with his own youthful strength, and to cheer him up with\nthe alacrity of his loving spirit. When a son takes his father into\nhis warm heart, it renews the old man's youth in a better way than by\nthe heat of Medea's magic caldron. And this was what Theseus resolved\nto do. He could scarcely wait to see whether King \u00c6geus would\nrecognize him, so eager was he to throw himself into his arms.\n\nAdvancing to the foot of the throne, he attempted to make a little\nspeech, which he had been thinking about as he came up the stairs. But\nhe was almost choked by a great many tender feelings that gushed out\nof his heart and swelled into his throat, all struggling to find\nutterance together. And therefore, unless he could have laid his full,\nover-brimming heart into the king's hand, poor Theseus knew not what\nto do or say. The cunning Medea observed what was passing in the young\nman's mind. She was more wicked at that moment than ever she had been\nbefore; for (and it makes me tremble to tell you of it) she did her\nworst to turn all this unspeakable love with which Theseus was\nagitated to his own ruin and destruction.\n\n\"Does your Majesty see his confusion?\" she whispered in the king's\near. \"He is so conscious of guilt that he trembles and cannot speak.\nThe wretch lives too long! Quick; Offer him the wine!\"\n\nNow King \u00c6geus had been gazing earnestly at the young stranger as he\ndrew near the throne. There was something, he knew not what, either in\nhis white brow, or in the fine expression of his mouth, or in his\nbeautiful and tender eyes, that made him indistinctly feel as if he\nhad seen this youth before; as if, indeed, he had trotted him on his\nknee when a baby, and had beheld him growing to be a stalwart man,\nwhile he himself grew old. But Medea guessed how the king felt, and\nwould not suffer him to yield to these natural sensibilities, although\nthey were the voice of his deepest heart, telling him, as plainly as\nit could speak, that here was his dear son, and \u00c6thra's son, coming to\nclaim him for a father. The enchantress again whispered in the king's\near, and compelled him, by her witchcraft, to see everything under a\nfalse aspect.\n\nHe made up his mind therefore to let Theseus drink off the poisoned\nwine.\n\n\"Young man,\" said he, \"you are welcome! I am proud to show hospitality\nto so heroic a youth. Do me the favor to drink the contents of this\ngoblet. It is brimming over, as you see, with delicious wine, such as\nI bestow only on those who are worthy of it! None is more worthy to\nquaff it than yourself!\"\n\nSo saying, King \u00c6geus took the golden goblet from the table and was\nabout to offer it to Theseus. But, partly through his infirmities and\npartly because it seemed so sad a thing to take away this young man's\nlife, however wicked he might be, and partly, no doubt, because his\nheart was wiser than his head, and quaked within him at the thought of\nwhat he was going to do--for all these reasons the king's hand\ntrembled so much that a great deal of the wine slopped over.\n\nIn order to strengthen his purpose, and fearing lest the whole of the\nprecious poison should be wasted, one of his nephews now whispered to\nhim: \"Has your Majesty any doubt of this stranger's guilt? There is\nthe very sword with which he meant to slay you. How sharp, and bright,\nand terrible it is! Quick!--let him taste the wine, or perhaps he may\ndo the deed even yet.\"\n\nAt these words \u00c6geus drove every thought and feeling out of his\nbreast, except the one idea of how justly the young man deserved to be\nput to death. He sat erect on his throne, and held out the goblet of\nwine with a steady hand, and bent on Theseus a frown of kingly\nseverity; for, after all, he had too noble a spirit to murder even a\ntreacherous enemy with a deceitful smile upon his face.\n\n\"Drink!\" said he, in the stern tone with which he was wont to condemn\na criminal to be beheaded. \"You have well deserved of me such wine as\nthis!\"\n\nTheseus held out his hand to take the wine. But before he touched it,\nKing \u00c6geus trembled again. His eyes had fallen on the gold-hilted\nsword that hung at the young man's side. He drew back the goblet.\n\n\"That sword!\" he cried. \"How came you by it?\"\n\n\"It was my father's sword,\" replied Theseus, with a tremulous voice.\n\"These were his sandals. My dear mother (her name is \u00c6thra) told me\nhis story while I was yet a little child. But it is only a month since\nI grew strong enough to lift the heavy stone and take the sword and\nsandals from beneath it and come to Athens to seek my father.\"\n\n\"My son! my son!\" cried King \u00c6geus, flinging away the fatal goblet and\ntottering down from the throne, to fall into the arms of Theseus.\n\"Yes, these are \u00c6thra's eyes; it is my son.\"\n\nI have quite forgotten what became of the king's nephews. But when the\nwicked Medea saw this new turn of affairs she hurried out of the room,\nand going to her private chamber, lost no time in setting her\nenchantments at work. In a few moments she heard a great noise of\nhissing snakes outside of the chamber window; and behold! there was\nher fiery chariot and four huge winged serpents, wriggling and\ntwisting in the air, flourishing their tails higher than the top of\nthe palace, and all ready to set off on an a\u00ebrial journey. Medea\nstayed only long enough to take her son with her, and to steal the\ncrown jewels, together with the king's best robes and whatever other\nvaluable things she could lay hands on; and getting into the chariot,\nshe whipped up the snakes and ascended high over the city.\n\nThe king, hearing the hiss of the serpents, scrambled as fast as he\ncould to the window and bawled out to the abominable enchantress never\nto come back. The whole people of Athens too, who had run out of doors\nto see this wonderful spectacle, set up a shout of joy at the prospect\nof getting rid of her. Medea, almost bursting with rage, uttered\nprecisely such a hiss as one of her own snakes, only ten times more\nvenomous and spiteful; and glaring fiercely out of the blaze of the\nchariot, she shook her hands over the multitude below, as if she were\nscattering a million of curses among them. In so doing, however, she\nunintentionally let fall about five hundred diamonds of the first\nwater, together with a thousand great pearls and two thousand\nemeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and topazes, to which she had\nhelped herself out of the king's strong-box. All these came pelting\ndown, like a shower of many-colored hailstones, upon the heads of\ngrown people and children, who forthwith gathered them up and carried\nthem back to the palace. But King \u00c6geus told them that they were\nwelcome to the whole, and to twice as many more, if he had them, for\nthe sake of his delight at finding his son and losing the wicked\nMedea. And, indeed, if you had seen how hateful was her last look, as\nthe flaming chariot flew upward, you would not have wondered that both\nking and people should think her departure a good riddance.\n\n\n\n\nTHESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nAnd now Prince Theseus was taken into great favor by his royal father.\nThe old king was never weary of having him sit beside him on his\nthrone (which was quite wide enough for two), and of hearing him tell\nabout his dear mother, and his childhood, and his many boyish efforts\nto lift the ponderous stone. Theseus, however, was much too brave and\nactive a young man to be willing to spend all his time in relating\nthings which had already happened. His ambition was to perform other\nand more heroic deeds, which should be better worth telling in prose\nand verse. Nor had he been long in Athens before he caught and chained\na terrible mad bull, and made a public show of him, greatly to the\nwonder and admiration of good King \u00c6geus and his subjects. But pretty\nsoon he undertook an affair that made all his foregone adventures seem\nlike mere boy's play. The occasion of it was as follows:\n\nOne morning, when Prince Theseus awoke, he fancied that he must have\nhad a very sorrowful dream, and that it was still running in his mind,\neven now that his eyes were open. For it appeared as if the air was\nfull of a melancholy wail; and when he listened more attentively, he\ncould hear sobs, and groans, and screams of woe, mingled with deep,\nquiet sighs, which came from the king's palace, and from the streets,\nand from the temples, and from every habitation in the city. And all\nthese mournful noises, issuing out of thousands of separate hearts,\nunited themselves into the one great sound of affliction which had\nstartled Theseus from slumber. He put on his clothes as quickly as he\ncould (not forgetting his sandals and gold-hilted sword), and\nhastening to the king, inquired what it all meant.\n\n[Illustration: THESEUS GOES TO SLAY THE MINOTAUR]\n\n\"Alas! my son,\" quoth King \u00c6geus, heaving a long sigh, \"here is a very\nlamentable matter in hand! This is the woefullest anniversary in the\nwhole year. It is the day when we annually draw lots to see which of\nthe youths and maidens of Athens shall go to be devoured by the\nhorrible Minotaur!\"\n\n\"The Minotaur!\" exclaimed Prince Theseus; and, like a brave young\nprince as he was, he put his hand to the hilt of his sword. \"What kind\nof a monster may that be? Is it not possible, at the risk of one's\nlife, to slay him?\"\n\nBut King \u00c6geus shook his venerable head, and to convince Theseus that\nit was quite a hopeless case, he gave him an explanation of the whole\naffair. It seems that in the island of Crete there lived a certain\ndreadful monster, called a Minotaur, which was shaped partly like a\nman and partly like a bull, and was altogether such a hideous sort of\na creature that it is really disagreeable to think of him. If he were\nsuffered to exist at all, it should have been on some desert island,\nor in the duskiness of some deep cavern, where nobody would ever be\ntormented by his abominable aspect. But King Minos, who reigned over\nCrete, laid out a vast deal of money in building a habitation for the\nMinotaur, and took great care of his health and comfort, merely for\nmischief's sake. A few years before this time there had been a war\nbetween the city of Athens and the island of Crete, in which the\nAthenians were beaten, and compelled to beg for peace. No peace could\nthey obtain, however, except on condition that they should send seven\nyoung men and seven maidens, every year, to be devoured by the pet\nmonster of the cruel King Minos. For three years past this grievous\ncalamity had been borne. And the sobs, and groans, and shrieks with\nwhich the city was now filled were caused by the people's woe, because\nthe fatal day had come again when the fourteen victims were to be\nchosen by lot; and the old people feared lest their sons or daughters\nmight be taken, and the youths and damsels dreaded lest they\nthemselves might be destined to glut the ravenous maw of that\ndetestable man-brute.\n\nBut when Theseus heard the story, he straightened himself up, so that\nhe seemed taller than ever before; and as for his face, it was\nindignant, despiteful, bold, tender, and compassionate, all in one\nlook.\n\n\"Let the people of Athens this year draw lots for only six young men,\ninstead of seven,\" said he. \"I will myself be the seventh; and let the\nMinotaur devour me if he can!\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear son!\" cried King \u00c6geus, \"why should you expose yourself\nto this horrible fate? You are a royal prince, and have a right to\nhold yourself above the destinies of common men.\"\n\n\"It is because I am a prince, your son, and the rightful heir to your\nkingdom, that I freely take upon me the calamity of your subjects,\"\nanswered Theseus. \"And you, my father, being king over this people,\nand answerable to Heaven for their welfare, are bound to sacrifice\nwhat is dearest to you, rather than that the son or daughter of the\npoorest citizen should come to any harm.\"\n\nThe old king shed tears, and besought Theseus not to leave him\ndesolate in his old age, more especially as he had but just begun to\nknow the happiness of possessing a good and valiant son. Theseus,\nhowever, felt that he was in the right, and therefore would not give\nup his resolution. But he assured his father that he did not intend to\nbe eaten up unresistingly, like a sheep, and that, if the Minotaur\ndevoured him, it should not be without a battle for his dinner. And\nfinally, since he could not help it, King \u00c6geus consented to let him\ngo. So a vessel was got ready, and rigged with black sails; and\nTheseus, with six other young men and seven tender and beautiful\ndamsels, came down to the harbor to embark. A sorrowful multitude\naccompanied them to the shore. There was the poor old king, too,\nleaning on his son's arm, and looking as if his single heart held all\nthe grief of Athens.\n\nJust as Prince Theseus was going on board his father bethought himself\nof one last word to say.\n\n\"My beloved son,\" said he, grasping the prince's hand, \"you observe\nthat the sails of this vessel are black, as indeed they ought to be,\nsince it goes upon a voyage of sorrow and despair. Now, being weighed\ndown with infirmities, I know not whether I can survive till the\nvessel shall return. But as long as I do live, I shall creep daily to\nthe top of yonder cliff, to watch if there be a sail upon the sea.\nAnd, dearest Theseus, if by some happy chance you should escape the\njaws of the Minotaur, then tear down those dismal sails, and hoist\nothers that shall be bright as the sunshine. Beholding them on the\nhorizon, myself and all the people will know that you are coming back\nvictorious, and will welcome you with such a festal uproar as Athens\nnever heard before.\"\n\nTheseus promised that he would do so. Then, going on board, the\nmariners trimmed the vessel's black sails to the wind, which blew\nfaintly off the shore, being pretty much made up of the sighs that\neverybody kept pouring forth on this melancholy occasion. But by and\nby, when they got fairly out to sea, there came a stiff breeze from\nthe north-west, and drove them along as merrily over the white-capped\nwaves as if they had been going on the most delightful errand\nimaginable. And though it was a sad business enough, I rather question\nwhether fourteen young people, without any old persons to keep them in\norder, could continue to spend the whole time of the voyage in being\nmiserable. There had been some few dances upon the undulating deck, I\nsuspect, and some hearty bursts of laughter, and other such\nunseasonable merriment among the victims, before the high, blue\nmountains of Crete began to show themselves among the far-off clouds.\nThat sight, to be sure, made them all very grave again.\n\nNo sooner had they entered the harbor than a party of the guards of\nKing Minos came down to the waterside and took charge of the fourteen\nyoung men and damsels. Surrounded by these armed warriors, Prince\nTheseus and his companions were led to the king's palace and ushered\ninto his presence. Now Minos was a stern and pitiless king. He bent\nhis shaggy brows upon the poor Athenian victims. Any other mortal,\nbeholding their fresh and tender beauty and their innocent looks,\nwould have felt himself sitting on thorns until he had made every soul\nof them happy by bidding them go free as the summer wind. But this\nimmitigable Minos cared only to examine whether they were plump\nenough to satisfy the Minotaur's appetite. For my part, I wish he\nhimself had been the only victim; and the monster would have found him\na pretty tough one.\n\nOne after another, King Minos called these pale, frightened youths and\nsobbing maidens to his footstool, gave them each a poke in the ribs\nwith his scepter (to try whether they were in good flesh or no), and\ndismissed them with a nod to his guards. But when his eyes rested on\nTheseus, the king looked at him more attentively, because his face was\ncalm and grave.\n\n\"Young man,\" asked he, with his stern voice, \"are you not appalled at\nthe certainty of being devoured by this terrible Minotaur?\"\n\n\"I have offered my life in a good cause,\" answered Theseus, \"and\ntherefore I give it freely and gladly. But thou, King Minos, art thou\nnot thyself appalled, who, year after year, hast perpetrated this\ndreadful wrong, by giving seven innocent youths and as many maidens to\nbe devoured by a monster? Dost thou not tremble, wicked king, to turn\nthine eyes inward on thine own heart? Sitting there on thy golden\nthrone and in thy robes of majesty, I tell thee to thy face, King\nMinos, thou art a more hideous monster than the Minotaur himself!\"\n\n\"Aha! do you think me so?\" cried the king, laughing in his cruel way.\n\"To-morrow, at breakfast time, you shall have an opportunity of\njudging which is the greater monster, the Minotaur or the king! Take\nthem away, guards; and let this free-spoken youth be the Minotaur's\nfirst morsel!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHESEUS AND ARIADNE\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nNear the king's throne stood his daughter Ariadne. She was a beautiful\nand tender-hearted maiden, and looked at these poor doomed captives\nwith very different feelings from those of the iron-breasted King\nMinos. She really wept, indeed, at the idea of how much human\nhappiness would be needlessly thrown away by giving so many young\npeople, in the first bloom and rose-blossom of their lives, to be\neaten up by a creature who, no doubt, would have preferred a fat ox,\nor even a large pig, to the plumpest of them. And when she beheld the\nbrave-spirited figure of Prince Theseus bearing himself so calmly in\nhis terrible peril, she grew a hundred times more pitiful than before.\nAs the guards were taking him away, she flung herself at the king's\nfeet and besought him to set all the captives free, and especially\nthis one young man.\n\n\"Peace, foolish girl!\" answered King Minos. \"What hast thou to do with\nan affair like this? It is a matter of state policy, and therefore\nquite beyond thy weak comprehension. Go water thy flowers, and think\nno more of these Athenian caitiffs, whom the Minotaur shall as\ncertainly eat up for breakfast as I will eat a partridge for my\nsupper.\"\n\nSo saying, the king looked cruel enough to devour Theseus and all the\nrest of the captives himself, had there been no Minotaur to save him\nthe trouble. As he would not hear another word in their favor, the\nprisoners were now led away and clapped into a dungeon, where the\njailer advised them to go to sleep as soon as possible, because the\nMinotaur was in the habit of calling for breakfast early. The seven\nmaidens and six young men soon sobbed themselves to slumber. But\nTheseus was not like them. He felt conscious that he was wiser and\nbraver and stronger than his companions, and that therefore he had the\nresponsibility of all their lives upon him, and must consider whether\nthere was no way to save them, even in this last extremity. So he kept\nhimself awake, and paced to and fro across the gloomy dungeon in which\nthey were shut up.\n\nJust before midnight the door was softly unbarred, and the gentle\nAriadne showed herself, with a torch in her hand.\n\n\"Are you awake, Prince Theseus?\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Theseus. \"With so little time to live, I do not choose\nto waste any of it in sleep.\"\n\n\"Then follow me,\" said Ariadne, \"and tread softly.\"\n\nWhat had become of the jailer and the guards Theseus never knew. But\nhowever that might be, Ariadne opened all the doors and led him forth\nfrom the darksome prison into the pleasant moonlight.\n\n\"Theseus,\" said the maiden, \"you can now get on board your vessel and\nsail away for Athens.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the young man; \"I will never leave Crete unless I can\nfirst slay the Minotaur, and save my poor companions, and deliver\nAthens from this cruel tribute.\"\n\n\"I knew that this would be your resolution,\" said Ariadne. \"Come,\nthen, with me, brave Theseus. Here is your own sword which the guards\ndeprived you of. You will need it; and pray Heaven you may use it\nwell.\"\n\nThen she led Theseus along by the hand until they came to a dark,\nshadowy grove, where the moonlight wasted itself on the tops of the\ntrees, without shedding hardly so much as a glimmering beam upon their\npathway. After going a good way through this obscurity, they reached a\nhigh marble wall, which was overgrown with creeping plants, that made\nit shaggy with their verdure. The wall seemed to have no door, nor any\nwindows, but rose up, lofty and massive and mysterious, and was\nneither to be clambered over nor, so far as Theseus could perceive, to\nbe passed through. Nevertheless, Ariadne did but press one of her soft\nlittle fingers against a particular block of marble and, though it\nlooked as solid as any other part of the wall, it yielded to her\ntouch, disclosing an entrance just wide enough to admit them. They\ncrept through, and the marble stone swung back into its place.\n\n\"We are now,\" said Ariadne, \"in the famous labyrinth which D\u00e6dalus\nbuilt before he made himself a pair of wings and flew away from our\nisland like a bird. That D\u00e6dalus was a very cunning workman, but of\nall his artful contrivances this labyrinth is the most wondrous. Were\nwe to take but a few steps from the doorway, we might wander about all\nour lifetime and never find it again. Yet in the very center of this\nlabyrinth is the Minotaur, and, Theseus, you must go thither to seek\nhim.\"\n\n\"But how shall I ever find him?\" asked Theseus, \"if the labyrinth so\nbewilders me, as you say it will?\"\n\nJust as he spoke they heard a rough and very disagreeable roar, which\ngreatly resembled the lowing of a fierce bull, but yet had some sort\nof sound like the human voice. Theseus even fancied a rude\narticulation in it, as if the creature that uttered it were trying to\nshape his hoarse breath into words. It was at some distance, however,\nand he really could not tell whether it sounded most like a bull's\nroar or a man's harsh voice.\n\n\"That is the Minotaur's noise,\" whispered Ariadne, closely grasping\nthe hand of Theseus, and pressing one of her own hands to her heart,\nwhich was all in a tremble. \"You must follow that sound through the\nwindings of the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him. Stay!\ntake the end of this silken string; I will hold the other end; and\nthen, if you win the victory, it will lead you again to this spot.\nFarewell, brave Theseus.\"\n\nSo the young man took the end of the silken string in his left hand,\nand his gold-hilted sword, ready drawn from its scabbard, in the\nother, and trod boldly into the inscrutable labyrinth. How this\nlabyrinth was built is more than I can tell you, but so cunningly\ncontrived a mizmaze was never seen in the world before nor since.\nTheseus had not taken five steps before he lost sight of Ariadne; and\nin five more his head was growing dizzy. But he still went on, now\ncreeping through a low arch, now ascending a flight of steps, now in\none crooked passage, and now in another, with here a door opening\nbefore him, and there one banging behind, until it really seemed as if\nthe walls spun round and whirled him along with them. And all the\nwhile, through these hollow avenues, now nearer, now farther off\nagain, resounded the cry of the Minotaur; and the sound was so fierce,\nso cruel, so ugly, so like a bull's roar, and withal so like a human\nvoice, and yet like neither of them, that the brave heart of Theseus\ngrew sterner and angrier at every step; for he felt it an insult to\nthe moon and sky, and to our affectionate and simple Mother Earth,\nthat such a monster should have the audacity to exist.\n\nAs he passed onward, the clouds gathered over the moon, and the\nlabyrinth grew so dusky that Theseus could no longer discern the\nbewilderment through which he was passing. He would have felt quite\nlost, and utterly hopeless of ever again walking in a straight path,\nif every little while he had not been conscious of a gentle twitch at\nthe silken cord. Then he knew that the tender-hearted Ariadne was\nstill holding the other end, and that she was fearing for him, and\nhoping for him, and giving him just as much of her sympathy as if she\nwere close by his side. But still he followed the dreadful roar of the\nMinotaur, which now grew louder and louder, and finally so very loud\nthat Theseus fully expected to come close upon him, at every new\nzigzag and wriggle of the path. And at last, in an open space, in the\nvery center of the labyrinth, he did discern the hideous creature.\n\nSure enough, what an ugly monster it was! Only his horned head\nbelonged to a bull; and yet, somehow or other, he looked like a bull\nall over, preposterously waddling on his hind legs; or, if you\nhappened to view him in another way, he seemed wholly a man, and all\nthe more monstrous for being so. And there he was, the wretched thing,\nwith no society, no companion, no kind of a mate, living only to do\nmischief, and incapable of knowing what affection means. Theseus hated\nhim, and shuddered at him, and yet could not but be sensible of some\nsort of pity; and all the more, the uglier and more detestable the\ncreature was. For he kept striding to and fro in a solitary frenzy of\nrage, continually emitting a hoarse roar, which was oddly mixed up\nwith half-shaped words; and, after listening awhile, Theseus\nunderstood that the Minotaur was saying to himself how miserable he\nwas, and how hungry, and how he hated everybody, and how he longed to\neat up the human race alive.\n\nWas Theseus afraid? By no means, my dear auditors. What! a hero like\nTheseus afraid! Not had the Minotaur had twenty bull heads instead of\none. Bold as he was, however, I fancy that it strengthened his valiant\nheart, just at this crisis, to feel a tremulous twitch at the silken\ncord, which he was still holding in his left hand. It was as if\nAriadne were giving him all her might and courage; and, much as he\nalready had, and little as she had to give, it made his own seem twice\nas much. And to confess the honest truth, he needed the whole; for now\nthe Minotaur, turning suddenly about, caught sight of Theseus, and\ninstantly lowered his horribly sharp horns, exactly as a mad bull does\nwhen he means to rush against an enemy. At the same time he belched\nforth a tremendous roar, in which there was something like the words\nof human language, but all disjointed and shaken to pieces by passing\nthrough the gullet of a miserably enraged brute.\n\nTheseus could only guess what the creature intended to say, and that\nrather by his gestures than his words; for the Minotaur's horns were\nsharper than his wits, and of a great deal more service to him than\nhis tongue. But probably this was the sense of what he uttered:\n\n\"Ah, wretch of a human being! I'll stick my horns through you, and\ntoss you fifty feet high, and eat you up the moment you come down.\"\n\n\"Come on, then, and try it!\" was all that Theseus deigned to reply;\nfor he was far too magnanimous to assault his enemy with insolent\nlanguage.\n\nWithout more words on either side, there ensued the most awful fight\nbetween Theseus and the Minotaur that ever happened beneath the sun or\nmoon. I really know not how it might have turned out, if the monster,\nin his first headlong rush against Theseus, had not missed him, by a\nhair's-breadth, and broken one of his horns short off against the\nstone wall. On this mishap he bellowed so intolerably that a part of\nthe labyrinth tumbled down, and all the inhabitants of Crete mistook\nthe noise for an uncommonly heavy thunder-storm. Smarting with the\npain, he galloped around the open space in so ridiculous a way that\nTheseus laughed at it long afterwards, though not precisely at the\nmoment. After this the two antagonists stood valiantly up to one\nanother, and fought sword to horn, for a long while. At last, the\nMinotaur made a run at Theseus, grazed his left side with his horn,\nand flung him down; and thinking that he had stabbed him to the heart,\nhe cut a great caper in the air, opened his bull mouth from ear to\near, and prepared to snap his head off. But Theseus by this time had\nleaped up, and caught the monster off his guard. Fetching a\nsword-stroke at him with all his force, he hit him fair upon the neck,\nand made his bull head skip six yards from his human body, which fell\ndown flat upon the ground.\n\nSo now the battle was ended. Immediately the moon shone out as\nbrightly as if all the troubles of the world, and all the wickedness\nand the ugliness that infest human life, were past and gone forever.\nAnd Theseus, as he leaned on his sword, taking breath, felt another\ntwitch of the silken cord; for all through the terrible encounter he\nhad held it fast in his left hand. Eager to let Ariadne know of his\nsuccess, he followed the guidance of the thread, and soon found\nhimself at the entrance of the labyrinth.\n\n\"Thou hast slain the monster,\" cried Ariadne, clasping her hands.\n\n\"Thanks to thee, dear Ariadne,\" answered Theseus, \"I return\nvictorious.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Ariadne, \"we must quickly summon thy friends, and get\nthem and thyself on board the vessel before dawn. If morning finds\nthee here, my father will avenge the Minotaur.\"\n\nTo make my story short, the poor captives were awakened, and hardly\nknowing whether it was not a joyful dream, were told of what Theseus\nhad done, and that they must set sail for Athens before daybreak.\nHastening down to the vessel, they all clambered on board, except\nPrince Theseus, who lingered behind them, on the strand, holding\nAriadne's hand clasped in his own.\n\n\"Dear maiden,\" said he, \"thou wilt surely go with us. Thou art too\ngentle and sweet a child for such an iron-hearted father as King\nMinos. He cares no more for thee than a granite rock cares for the\nlittle flower that grows in one of its crevices. But my father, King\n\u00c6geus, and my dear mother, \u00c6thra, and all the fathers and mothers in\nAthens, and all the sons and daughters too, will love and honor thee\nas their benefactress. Come with us, then; for King Minos will be very\nangry when he knows what thou hast done.\"\n\nNow, some low-minded people, who pretend to tell the story of Theseus\nand Ariadne, have the face to say that this royal and honorable maiden\ndid really flee away, under cover of the night, with the young\nstranger whose life she had preserved. They say, too, that Prince\nTheseus (who would have died sooner than wrong the meanest creature in\nthe world) ungratefully deserted Ariadne on a solitary island, where\nthe vessel touched on its voyage to Athens. But had the noble Theseus\nheard these falsehoods, he would have served their slanderous authors\nas he served the Minotaur! Here is what Ariadne answered, when the\nbrave Prince of Athens besought her to accompany him:\n\n\"No, Theseus,\" the maiden said, pressing his hand and then drawing\nback a step or two, \"I cannot go with you. My father is old, and has\nnobody but myself to love him. Hard as you think his heart is, it\nwould break to lose me. At first King Minos will be angry; but he will\nsoon forgive his only child; and, by and by, he will rejoice, I know,\nthat no more youths and maidens must come from Athens to be devoured\nby the Minotaur. I have saved you, Theseus, as much for my father's\nsake as for your own. Farewell! Heaven bless you!\"\n\nAll this was so true, and so maiden-like, and was spoken with so sweet\na dignity, that Theseus would have blushed to urge her any longer.\nNothing remained for him, therefore, but to bid Ariadne an\naffectionate farewell, and go on board the vessel and set sail.\n\nIn a few moments the white foam was boiling up before their prow, as\nPrince Theseus and his companions sailed out of the harbor, with a\nwhistling breeze behind them.\n\nOn the homeward voyage the fourteen youths and damsels were in\nexcellent spirits, as you will easily suppose. They spent most of\ntheir time in dancing, unless when the sidelong breeze made the deck\nslope too much. In due season they came within sight of the coast of\nAttica, which was their native country. But here, I am grieved to tell\nyou, happened a sad misfortune.\n\nYou will remember (what Theseus unfortunately forgot) that his father,\nKing \u00c6geus, had enjoined it upon him to hoist sunshiny sails, instead\nof black ones, in case he should overcome the Minotaur, and return\nvictorious. In the joy of their success, however, and amidst the\nsports, dancing, and other merriment with which these young folks wore\naway the time, they never once thought whether their sails were black,\nwhite, or rainbow colored, and, indeed, left it entirely to the\nmariners whether they had any sails at all. Thus the vessel returned,\nlike a raven, with the same sable wings that had wafted her away. But\npoor King \u00c6geus, day after day, infirm as he was, had clambered to the\nsummit of a cliff that overhung the sea, and there sat watching for\nPrince Theseus, homeward bound; and no sooner did he behold the fatal\nblackness of the sails, than he concluded that his dear son, whom he\nloved so much, and felt so proud of, had been eaten by the Minotaur.\nHe could not bear the thought of living any longer; so, first flinging\nhis crown and scepter into the sea (useless baubles that they were to\nhim now!) King \u00c6geus, merely stooped forward, and fell headlong over\nthe cliff, and was drowned, poor soul, in the waves that foamed at its\nbase!\n\nThis was melancholy news for Prince Theseus, who, when he stepped\nashore, found himself king of all the country, whether he would or no;\nand such a turn of fortune was enough to make any young man feel very\nmuch out of spirits. However, he sent for his dear mother to Athens,\nand, by taking her advice in matters of state, became a very excellent\nmonarch, and was greatly beloved by his people.\n\n\n\n\nPARIS AND OENONE\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\n \"Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn\n Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.\"\n\n TENNYSON: _Oenone_.\n\nQueen Hecuba, wife of Priam, King of Troy, dreamed an evil dream. For\nin her sleep she thought one came to her and said: \"Behold, thou shalt\nbring forth a torch which shall set thy palace afire.\"\n\nNot many days afterwards, therefore, when the Queen bore a son, Priam,\nto whom she had told her dream, ordered his slaves to destroy the\nchild. But before his cruel order could be carried out, Hecuba\ncontrived to steal away the babe and place it with certain\nshepherds--kindly folk, who cared for it as their own child--on Mount\nIda, over against the city of Troy. And they called the child Paris.\n\nNow Paris, though reared among rude shepherd folk, soon showed that\nroyal blood ran in his veins, and he won great praise from the\nshepherds for his skill in tending the sheep upon the mountain, and\nfor the daring with which he pursued and slew the wild beasts who\nsought to devour them.\n\nSo Paris grew to man's estate, and in all the land was none fairer\nthan he, or more gracious withal. No marvel, then, that the mountain\nmaid Oenone, whose home was in the vale of Ida, should be smitten by\nhis beauty; and he loving her with equal warmth, they were wedded and\nlived together in that pleasant land with the happiness of simple\nfolk.\n\nTogether they shared the pleasures of the chase, and Oenone was not\nless skilled than Paris in cheering on the hounds and in spreading the\nnets. In quieter moods they would wander together by the river or in\nthe woods, and Paris would carve their names upon the gray boles of\nthe beeches. And on one poplar that grew on the banks of the river\nXanthus, he carved these words:\n\n \"Back to its source thy stream shall start,\n Ere Paris from Oenone part.\"\n\nBut even then the gods were preparing a bitter sorrow for Paris, for\nOenone, and for countless generations of mortals otherwhere.\n\nAcross the sea, in Thessaly, a great feast was being held to celebrate\nthe wedding of Peleus and Thetis. And because the bride was no maiden\nborn of woman, but an immortal Nereid, all the gods and goddesses were\nbidden to the banquet. All were bidden save one, Eris by name, the\nGoddess of Strife, most hateful of the immortals. So she, full of rage\nat the slight, cast on the board where all the guests were feasting a\ngolden apple bearing the legend _To the Fairest_.\n\nThen ensued, as Eris had intended, great strife among the goddesses,\nand, in especial, Juno, Minerva, and Venus claimed each the golden\nfruit. So the gods, not willing themselves to settle the dispute, bade\nthe three goddesses betake themselves to Mount Ida, there to seek the\njudgment of Paris and to abide by his decision.\n\nSo on a day before the lowly bower of Paris and Oenone stood the three\ngreat goddesses. Naked they came, clad in celestial radiance, as with\na garment, and at their feet violets and crocuses pushed upward\nthrough the grass, and hovering round them were the peacock of Juno,\nthe owl of Minerva, and the doves of Venus.\n\nThen when Paris faltered, not knowing which to choose when all were so\nfair, Juno, Queen of Heaven, said: \"Choose me, and I will give thee\nthe kingdoms of the world.\"\n\nThen Minerva, the wise Virgin goddess, said: \"Choose me, and I will\ngive thee wisdom.\"\n\nLast of all, Venus, the sea-born Goddess of Love, whispered: \"Choose\nme, and I will give thee to wife the fairest woman in Greece.\"\n\nSmiling, she stretched forth her hand and the golden apple was hers,\nand the three goddesses vanished in a cloud, and with them vanished\nall happiness from the heart of Oenone.\n\nNot long after this, Priam, King of Troy, proposed a contest in arms\namong his sons and other princes, promising to the winner the finest\nbull on the pastures of Mount Ida. And Paris, grieving to see the bull\ndriven off by the messengers of Priam, determined that he too would\nstrive with the sons of Priam, whom as yet he knew not for his\nbrothers.\n\nSo on the day fixed for the contests, Paris strove with Priam's sons\nPolites, Helenus, and Deiphobus, and with other princes, and worsted\nthem all. Yea, and he strove also with the strongest of the king's\nsons, great Hector himself, and for him too was he a match. But\nHector, enraged, turned and pursued Paris as he would kill him, so\nthat Paris fled to the temple of Jupiter for refuge. In this temple he\nwas met by Cassandra, the daughter of Priam, to whom Apollo had\ngranted knowledge of things to come. And marking in Paris the very\nmold and features of her own brothers, she drew from him all he knew\nof his story. So, adding thereto of her own knowledge, Cassandra knew\nthat this was indeed her brother who was put away while a baby, and\ntaking him by the hand she led him back to the household of Priam and\nHecuba, bidding all embrace their brother and son. Then Priam and\nHecuba and all their sons very gladly took Paris to their hearts, for\nthey forgot the dismal prophecy of his birth, noting only his modest\ncourtesy, his beauty, and his strength.\n\nParis, therefore, remained a while in the royal household, and all\nmade him great cheer. Yet was he not wholly happy in the palace of\nPriam. Not, alas! that his thoughts turned often to Oenone whom he had\nleft on Mount Ida, but evermore there sounded in his ears the low\nvoice of Venus, saying: \"The fairest woman in Greece shall be thy\nwife.\"\n\nAnd Paris would muse, saying to himself: \"Helen, wife of Menelaus,\nKing of Sparta, is the fairest of all the daughters of men. All the\nprinces of Greece sought her hand in marriage, and when those who have\nseen her try to tell of her beauty, speech fails them, for she is more\nfair than man can tell or poet can sing.\"\n\nThen, pursuing his thought, he would ponder: \"Am not I, Paris, no more\na shepherd on Mount Ida, but now a prince in a royal palace and son of\nthe King of Troy? Surely the word that Venus spake will yet be\nfulfilled!\"\n\nNow Priam's sister, Hesione, had been carried off and wedded against\nher will, and this thing was a bitterness to Priam. So Paris,\nperceiving this, set himself and his fellows to build and man a fleet,\ndeclaring that he would bring back Hesione, but thinking in his heart\nnot of Hesione, but of Helen. To obtain wood for his ships he\nreturned to Mount Ida to cut down the tallest pines that crowned the\ncraggy ledges where the winds of the sea sighed through the branches,\nas it were, indeed, the soughing of another sea through the melancholy\ntree-tops.\n\nOenone received her lord with gladness on his return; but when she\nknew that his thought was but to fashion ships for a voyage, the\nspirit of prophecy came upon her, and she cried to him, as one\ninspired: \"A bitter thing is this that thou doest, O Paris, my\nhusband! For behold, thou farest to Greece to fetch hither the ruin of\nthy country and thy kindred. Yea, and to me shalt thou come at the\nlast, stricken unto death, beseeching the aid of my leechcraft....\" At\nthis place the gift failed her as suddenly as it had come, and she\nfell to weeping.\n\nBut Paris, kissing her, bade her put away her fears and look out over\nthe sea for his return. And when he had fashioned his ships and rigged\nthem with tall masts and calked them with pitch, he set sail across\nthe seas, leaving Oenone to watch for his homeward sails.\n\nMany days did she sit upon a cliff that overlooked the blue waters,\nwatching for the ship's return. One night, as in a vision, she saw, or\nseemed to see, a white sail on the marge, and it sped before the wind\nand passed close beneath the cliff where she stood at gaze. And as she\nlooked down, her heart turned sick within her; for on the deck stood a\nlady. A daughter of the gods she seemed, divinely fair, and her arms\nwere round the neck of Paris, while her head lay upon his breast. And\nOenone saw Paris spring to shore bearing this lady in his arms; she\nsaw him lead her to the city of Troy; she saw the gates flung open\nand all the people come forth to meet the pair; and she knew that this\nwas Helen, the fairest of women, who had fled with Paris from\nMenelaus, her husband. She knew, too, that she, Oenone, would be left\nlonely till she died.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNow followed that great siege of Troy of which poets will sing till\nthe end of time. For Menelaus, the husband of Helen, and his brother\nAgamemnon, the great general, stirred up all the princes of Greece who\nhad been the suitors of Helen and, on her marriage with Menelaus, had\nbound themselves in a solemn league to protect her from all manner of\nviolence. So all the princes and captains of Greece came with a great\nhost and many ships, and laid siege to Troy; and many battles were\nfought upon the plains outside the city walls. And to Oenone,\nwandering widowed upon Mount Ida, the sound of the strife rolled up,\nand from afar she perceived the confused struggle of chariots and\nhorses and men; but she heard and saw these things as one who marked\nthem not, for it was as if her heart had died, and her life had ended.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNow when the war had lasted for a space of years, Paris, although\nconstantly protected by the goddess Venus, received a wound from the\npoisoned arrow of one Philoctetes. Then in his anguish he remembered\nhis deserted Oenone, and her great skill at leechcraft, and he said to\nhis attendants: \"Carry me out of the city to Mount Ida, that I may\nlook once more on the face of my wife Oenone, and beseech her pardon\nfor the great wrong she has endured at my hands. And haply, when she\nseeth my grievous state, her pitiful heart will be moved with\ncompassion, and she will heal me with her leechcraft, for naught else\nmay avail.\"\n\nSo they carried Paris in a litter up the slopes of Mount Ida. And\nOenone, seeing them approach, went down swiftly to meet them. And\nParis, when he saw her coming, stretched out his arms a little and let\nthem fall, for they were very weak; and Oenone, uttering a lamentable\ncry, like a bird who sees her nestling slain, flew to meet his\nembrace. But in that moment Paris had breathed his last. The eyes,\nonce so bright, were fixed in a stony stare, and the dews of death\nwere on that marble brow. Then Oenone, forgetting all the wrongs she\nhad suffered, remembering only the morning light of happy marriage and\nthat he had come back to her at the last, fell down upon his breast\nembracing him and bathing him with her tears. Then, crying aloud with\na great and exceeding bitter cry, she plucked a dagger from her girdle\nand plunged it into her heart, falling dead upon the breast which had\npillowed her head in other years. So died Oenone, faithful to the\nfaithless, the most innocent of all who perished for the sin of Paris,\nthe son of Priam.\n\n\n\n\nIPHIGENIA\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nMenelaus, brother of the King of Mycen\u00e6, had for his wife the most\nbeautiful woman in the world, whose name was Helen; but she was stolen\nfrom him by a treacherous guest, Paris, the son of Priam, King of\nTroy, who carried her away with him to his home far over the sea.\n\nThen Menelaus, in his anger and sorrow, asked all his friends to help\nhim to bring back his wife, and to punish his treacherous guest, and\nall the chieftains of Greece came to his aid, for Troy was a wondrous\nstrong city, and its walls had been built by Neptune, the god of the\nsea.\n\nForemost of all the chieftains was Agamemnon, King of Mycen\u00e6, the\nelder brother of Menelaus; he was chosen to be the head of the whole\narray, and under him served Ulysses, the wise king of Ithaca, and\nAchilles, chief of the Myrmidons, whom no weapon could wound save in\nthe heel; and many more of fame throughout the whole world.\n\nThe fleet came together at Aulis in the land of Boeotia; all were\nready and eager to fare forth over the sea and fight against Troy; and\na goodly sight it was to see the brass-beaked vessels and the brave\nwarriors who crowded thick upon them.\n\nBut day after day passed by and the fleet lay still in harbor, for no\nbreeze came to fill the sails. And all the chieftains were\ndumfounded, for their valor was of no avail, and their hearts were\nheavy within them; for they knew not wherefore their ships lay thus\nbecalmed, and they feared lest the immortal gods did not will that\nTroy should fall.\n\nAt last they sent for Calchas, the wise seer, and asked if he could\ntell them the will of the gods.\n\nAnd Calchas made answer: \"The winds are withheld from you, O\nchieftains, by the will of Diana, the huntress of the woods. For King\nAgamemnon, once on a day, slew a stag within her sacred grove, and\never since she has hated him sore, and therefore she will not let you\nsail till her anger is appeased by rich offerings.\"\n\nThen said King Agamemnon; \"Since mine is the blame, let the expiation\nbe mine also. Speak, Calchas: what offering will content the goddess,\nthat the winds may come forth from their prison-house and our ships\nspread their sails and fare over the sea to Troy?\"\n\nAll hearkened eagerly, for the face of Calchas was dark and terrible,\nso that every man feared to hear his answer.\n\n\"The goddess asks of thee the best and most beautiful of all that is\nthine,\" said the stern seer; \"she asks the life of thy daughter\nIphigenia.\"\n\nA shudder ran through all who heard the fearful words. Menelaus, with\na cry of sorrow and terror, came close to his brother and laid his\nhand on his arm, and Agamemnon the king stood in a tumult of agony,\nspeaking no word for some little space.\n\nAt length the chieftain looked round upon his comrades, saying: \"A\nhard fate is upon me, ye leaders of the Greeks. For either I must shed\nblood that is dearer to me than my own, or else our great array must\nlie here idle till the ships are rotten or the captains desert and\nleave us stranded.\"\n\nThen said Menelaus to Calchas: \"Is there no other way? Cannot the\ngreat goddess be appeased without this innocent victim?\"\n\nAnd Calchas made answer: \"There is no other way.\"\n\nAgamemnon, with bowed head, climbed slowly to his tent upon the\nhillside, and the rumor ran quickly through the camp that the wrath of\nDiana could only be turned away by the death of the fair and innocent\nmaiden Iphigenia, the daughter of the king.\n\nThen Agamemnon despatched a guileful message to his wife Clytemnestra,\npraying her to send their daughter Iphigenia quickly to Aulis, since\nAchilles, the noble chief of the Myrmidons, had asked leave to wed the\nmaiden, and it must be done in haste, for the fleet was on the point\nof sailing.\n\nWhen Clytemnestra heard her husband's message she was glad at heart,\nfor the fame of Achilles was great, and he was brave and strong and\nbeautiful as the immortal gods.\n\nIn haste was the maiden decked for her wedding and sent with the\nmessengers of Agamemnon to the camp at Aulis.\n\nAnd as Iphigenia was led into the camp she marveled greatly, for all\nwho looked upon her were filled with pity, and cold fear touched the\nheart of the maiden as she passed through the silent and sorrowful\nhost. The warriors were moved at the sight of her youth and innocence;\nbut no man strove to save her from her fate, for without her death all\ntheir gathering together would be for naught. Within the tent of\nAgamemnon the stern seer Calchas awaited the destined victim. All was\nprepared for the sacrifice, and Agamemnon and Menelaus already stood\nby the altar. In haste was the maiden decked out--not for her bridal,\nbut for her death.\n\nThen they led her forth into the sunshine again, and she looked round\nupon the hillside and the blue sea where lay the idle ships; and when\nshe saw her father standing by the altar she would have cried out to\nhim and begged for mercy, but those who led her laid their hands upon\nher mouth. The poor child tried to win from her father one pitying\nglance, but Agamemnon hid his face in his mantle; he could not look\nupon the face of the child who was to be slain to expiate his sin. So\nthere was no help for the beautiful and innocent maiden, and she was\nled to her death. But so great was the ruth of the Greeks that no man\nsave the stern Calchas dared witness the terrible deed; and because\nthey could not bear to believe afterwards that the maiden had indeed\nbeen slain there upon the altar, the tale went forth that at the last\nmoment Diana had laid a hart upon the altar and had borne the maiden\nsafely away to Tauris.\n\nBut in truth the cruel sacrifice was completed, and even as the flame\nleapt up on the altar the tree-tops swung and swayed, and ripples\ncoursed over the glassy surface of the sea; the breeze for which the\nhost had waited so long had been set free, and the warriors joyfully\nhoisted their sails and stood out of the harbor of Aulis on their way\nto the siege of Troy.\n\nBut now was Diana well avenged for Agamemnon's profanation of her\ngrove. For, from the innocent blood of Iphigenia, uprose an avenger,\ndestined to follow King Agamemnon and all his family till the dark\ndeed had been expiated.\n\nLong and grievous was the warfare before the walls of Troy; and it\nwas not till the tenth year after his setting forth that tidings came\nthat King Agamemnon was on his way home. All through those years his\nwife had nourished the hope of vengeance in her heart, both for the\ndeath of Iphigenia and for the falsehood that had made her send the\nmaiden to the camp. So the king came home only to his grave. His wife\nreceived him with gracious words and with every sign of rejoicing; but\nere night fell Agamemnon lay slain in his bath, where the dagger of\nClytemnestra had smitten him down.\n\nNext the Avenger of Blood put into the heart of Orestes, son of\nAgamemnon and Clytemnestra, a great hatred for the mother who had\nslain his father. He was far from home when the cruel deed was done,\nand it was long ere he returned; but when at last he came he smote his\nown mother and slew her.\n\nAfter this deed of awe and terror the Avenger of Blood pursued\nOrestes, and drove him, a branded outlaw, from land to land. At length\nhe fled to the sanctuary of the great goddess Minerva, and was at last\npermitted to expiate his guilt.\n\nHe had to seek a piece of land that was not made when he killed his\nmother, so he went to the mouth of a river where fresh soil was being\nformed by the sand that was brought down by the rushing flood. And\nhere he was allowed to purify himself, and the Avenger of Blood left\nhim, at last, at peace.\n\n\n\n\nPROTESILAUS\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nProtesilaus, King of Thessaly, was a happy and a fortunate man. A\nbeautiful and fertile kingdom was his, left to him by his father, the\nfleet-footed Iphicles, and his wife Laodamia, a fair and gracious\nqueen, was very dear to his heart.\n\nBut the call of honor came, and all Greece was arming to revenge upon\nthe false Paris the wrong he had done to his host Menelaus in carrying\noff his wife, the beauteous Helen. Then Protesilaus donned his armor\nwith the rest, and forty goodly vessels sailed from the coast of\nThessaly, and joined the assembled fleet of the Greeks at Aulis in\nBoeotia.\n\nSad was the parting with the fair Queen Laodamia, and many bitter\ntears she wept when her husband's ships had sailed away and she was\nleft alone. Her whole life was bound up in him, and when he was gone\neverything that was left to her seemed empty and worthless. Often\nwould she climb the rocks and look forth over the sun-lit waters for\nhours dreaming and dreaming of the day when Protesilaus should come\nback to her again to reign over his people in peace and safety.\n\nFor many days the Greek ships lay wind-bound at Aulis, because their\nleader, King Agamemnon, had offended the great goddess Diana. At\nlength (as the preceding story told) he was forced to expiate his\nguilt by the sacrifice of his innocent daughter Iphigenia. As soon as\nthe offering was completed the goddess, appeased, let loose the\nimprisoned winds, and the great fleet set sail for Troy.\n\nMost of the warriors on those bounding ships were eager and happy;\ntheir waiting was over, the delight of battle was close before them.\n\nBut Protesilaus was silent and thoughtful; he would stand for hours on\nthe deck of his vessel looking down upon the lines of foam that it\nleft in its wake, and ever his thoughts were the same.\n\nHe was not mourning for his beloved wife, nor for the happy home he\nhad left. He was not sad to think of all the perils and hardships that\nawaited the Greeks at Troy. He was thinking and thinking of the words\nspoken by the oracle of Apollo at Delphi. The first man to leap\nashore, so the oracle had said, should be slain; and even as he had\nfirst heard the stern sentence the heart of Protesilaus had beat high\nwith the determination that he himself would be that man. He would\ncrowd all sail on his swift ship, and waiting on the prow would spring\non shore through the breakers, and so fulfil the will of the gods.\n\nAll through the voyage this one thought filled the mind of\nProtesilaus. He grieved, it is true, that he should never again see\nhis dearly loved wife, Laodamia, nor the beautiful palace they had\nbeen building for themselves, wherein they had hoped to be happy\ntogether for many years, after the war was over. And sometimes a\npassionate regret would overcome the warrior when he remembered that\nthe war must all be fought out without his having any share in the\nfamous battles that were before his comrades. His brother would lead\nthe men of Thessaly to the strife, and would return with them in\ntriumph to their homes when, as Calchas had foretold, in the tenth\nyear the city of King Priam should fall.\n\nSo, undaunted in courage, steadfast in resolution though sad at heart,\nProtesilaus sailed on to his chosen fate, and even the immortal gods\nwere stirred with wonder and admiration when they saw his ship shoot\nforth before all the rest as soon as the land of Troy came in sight.\nTall and stately on the prow stood the figure of Protesilaus, clad in\nglittering armor, and with sword and spear and shield all ready for\nthe combat. The helmsman steered straight for a little sandy spit that\nrose from the water's edge, and Protesilaus sprang ashore long before\nthe rest of the Greek array had neared the Trojan strand. Then the\nwords of the oracle were fulfilled. Some say it was the spear of\nHector, some that of \u00c6neas that struck the hero down. Foremost of all\nthe mighty army of King Agamemnon he fell, honored and mourned by all\nhis comrades.\n\nQueen Laodamia waited impatiently in the peaceful land of Thessaly,\nlonging for tidings from her lord. She had heard of the long waiting\nat Aulis, she shuddered when the words of Calchas were repeated to\nher; in sight of all the host a serpent devoured first nine sucklings\nand then the mother sow, and when Calchas saw it he said that this was\na sign that in the tenth year the city of Priam should fall before the\nattacks of the Greeks.\n\nTen years seemed a long, long time to the eager queen before she\nshould see her dear lord home again. She would wake up suddenly in the\nnight, and stare into the darkness, thinking with terror of the months\nand months of hopeless waiting that lay before her.\n\nThen tidings came to Thessaly of the sailing of the fleet, and as men\ntold over the names of the mighty heroes who had gone forth to fight\nwith Agamemnon, they forgot the words of the wise seer Calchas, and\nhoped that this brave array must soon return in triumph.\n\nNot many weeks later Laodamia was seated at her loom weaving a robe\nfor her warrior to wear on his return in triumph when there came to\nher, white and trembling, her favorite of all her maidens.\n\nThe queen looked up in alarm. \"What ails thee, child?\" she asked. \"Why\ndost thou stand there pale and silent? Is aught amiss?\"\n\nThe maiden tried in vain to frame words to answer. Covering her face\nwith her hands she sank upon her knees and burst into tears.\n\nAnd the queen, with a great terror at her heart, went forth into a\nhouse full of tears and lamentations, for the tidings had come, over\nthe sea, of the death of the noble Protesilaus.\n\nThen Laodamia went back into her inner chamber, and covering her head\nshe flung herself prone upon the ground, and lay there all through the\nday, while her maidens wept and wailed without the door, and none\ndared enter or attempt to comfort her.\n\nBut at nightfall the queen arose, and passing from her chamber to the\ntemple, she begged the priest to instruct her what sacrifice to offer\nto the gods of the world of spirits, that they might allow her but\nonce more to look upon her lord.\n\nThen the priest prepared in haste the sevenfold offering due to the\ngreat gods of the under-world, and told her the vows and prayers that\nshe must offer, and then left her alone in the temple.\n\nThen, standing erect and stretching her suppliant hands towards the\nheavens, the queen flung her whole soul into the impassioned entreaty\nthat she might see her dear lord once again.\n\nNo door opened, no curtain was lifted, but on a sudden two forms\nappeared before the startled suppliant. One she saw at once, by his\nwinged helmet and his rod encircled by snakes, must be the swift\nmessenger of the gods, Mercury; the other, she recognized with a\nthrill of terror and joy, was the husband for a sight of whom she had\njust been praying so earnestly.\n\nThen Mercury touched Laodamia with his rod, and at the touch all her\nfear fell from her at once.\n\n\"Great Jupiter has heard thy prayer,\" said Mercury. \"Behold, thy\nhusband is with thee once more, and he shall tarry with thee for the\nspace of three hours.\"\n\nHaving thus spoken Mercury vanished from sight, and Protesilaus and\nLaodamia stood alone together.\n\nThen the queen sprang forward and tried to fling her arms round her\ndear husband; but though he stood there before her in form and\nfeatures unchanged, it was but the ghost of her lost lord. Thrice she\nessayed to embrace him, and thrice her arms clasped nothing but the\nempty air.\n\nThen she cried out in anguish: \"Alas! have the gods mocked me after\nall? Is this not Protesilaus, then, who seems to stand before me?\"\n\nThen the shade of the warrior made answer: \"Nay, dear wife, the gods\ndo not mock thee, and it is indeed Protesilaus who stands before thee.\nYet am I no living man; for the oracle had foretold that the first of\nthe Greek host to leap ashore should be slain; therefore, seeing that\nthe immortal gods asked a life, I gave them mine, and steering to the\nshore before all the other ships, I sprang on land the first of all\nthe host, and fell, slain by the spear of the enemy.\"\n\nThen the queen made answer: \"Noblest and best of warriors! even the\ngods are filled with admiration for thy courage, for they have allowed\nthee to come back to thy wife and to thy home. Surely they will go on\nto give thee even a greater gift. As I look upon thee I see no change\nin thee; thou art fair and young as when we said farewell. Doubtless\nthe gods will give thee back to me wholly again, and naught shall ever\nmore divide us.\"\n\nBut even as she spoke the queen shrank back in dread, for the face of\nthe vision changed and became like that of a dead man, while\nProtesilaus made answer: \"Short is my sojourn upon earth, soon must I\nleave thee again. But be brave and wise, dear love; give not thy whole\nlife over unto mourning, but be patient; and though I must pass from\nthee now, some day we shall meet once more; and though our earthly\nlove is ended, yet may we joy for ever in faithful companionship one\nwith another.\"\n\n\"Ah! wherefore shouldst thou leave me?\" cried the queen; \"the gods\nhave already wrought wonders, why should they not give thee back thy\nlife? If thou goest from me again, I will follow thee, for I cannot\nstay alone.\"\n\nThen Protesilaus tried to soothe and calm his wife, that she might\ngive up the vain hope of living again together as they once had done,\nand might look forward instead to a pure and happy life beyond the\ngrave. The gods had already given her much, he said, and she ought to\nstrive to be worthy of their mercy, and by her courage and\nself-control win for herself eternal peace.\n\nWhile her husband was speaking his face lost its ghastly look, and he\nseemed even more beautiful and gracious than when he was alive. And\nLaodamia watched him, and was calmed and cheered at the sight; but she\nhardly marked his words, so sure was she that the gods would relent\nwhen the end of the three hours was come, and would allow him to stay\nwith her once more a living man.\n\nBut even while the hero urged his wife to be patient and courageous,\neven while she looked for the gods to restore him to her, lo! the\nthree hours were past, and Mercury stood once more within the temple.\n\nThen, Laodamia understood that her hopes were vain, and that\nProtesilaus was doomed to leave her. She tried to hold that dear form\nfast, but she grasped a shadow; her empty fingers closed helplessly as\nProtesilaus vanished from her sight.\n\nWith a shriek she fell prone on the temple floor, and the priests who\nhurried to their queen's assistance raised a lifeless corpse.\n\nTrue to her lord, if ever yet was wife, she had followed him to the\nShades; yet alas! in death they were not reunited. The gods are just,\nand Laodamia had not yet learnt the lesson of Protesilaus, that there\nis a higher and nobler thing even than human love--self-sacrifice and\nduty. Therefore she is doomed for a set time to wander in the Mourning\nFields apart from happy ghosts, till her spirit raised and solemnized\nby suffering is worthy to meet her lord who walks with the heroes of\nold in the dwellings of the blest.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF HECTOR\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nOf all the Trojan warriors none could be compared with their leader,\nHector, the son of Priam. Terrible was he in battle, as the Greeks had\nknown to their cost; but within the walls of Troy none was more loved\nthan he; for towards all he was gracious and kindly. To Priam and\nHecuba a dutiful son; aye, even to Paris and Helen, the guilty cause\nof unnumbered woes, he showed a brother's spirit. But none knew the\ndepth of his love and gentleness as did his wife, Andromache, and\ntheir little son, Astyanax. These, in the pauses of the strife around\nthe walls of Troy, he would seek out, comforting his wife with tender\nwords and dandling the young child in his strong hands. Such was\nHector, greatest of the Trojans.\n\nOf the Greeks, the greatest in strength and terrible might of battle\nwas Achilles, son of Peleus and the divine Thetis. A mightier warrior\nwas he even than Hector himself, and no man unaided of the gods might\nfight against him and live.\n\nAnd when Troy had been besieged for nine long years, and countless\nbrave warriors had fallen on either side, these two champions of the\nGreek and Trojan hosts met face to face. And this is how they came to\nfight and how they fared.\n\nAchilles, in high dudgeon with King Agamemnon over what he deemed an\nunfair division of spoil, had suddenly withdrawn to his tent and left\nthe rest to fight on without his aid. But his young comrade in arms\nand dearest friend, Patroclus, the son of Menoetius, he at length\npermitted to return to the fight, arming him with his own armor. But\nhim Hector slew, stripping off from his body the armor of Achilles and\ndonning it himself.\n\nNow, when Achilles heard that Patroclus was dead, his grief was so\nterrible that he could scarce be held from laying hands on himself.\nBut his wrath was stronger than his grief, and he swore to slay the\nslayer of his friend. Therefore, forgetting his old quarrel, he\nhastened to make peace with Agamemnon. And since his own armor had\nbeen taken by Hector, his mother, Thetis, prevailed upon Vulcan, the\ngod-smith, to fashion him a corslet, a helmet, and a mighty shield\nwrought all round with strange devices. Armed in this panoply of the\ngod and towering over the heads of all the Greeks, he strode shouting\ninto the fray.\n\nAnd indeed the Greeks needed all the help that he could bring; for\nHector had driven them down to their very ships, and scarcely had they\nbeen able to rescue the body of Patroclus. And now Hector, seeing\nAchilles, would have rushed to meet him, had not Apollo forbade. But\nthe youngest and dearest of Priam's fifty sons, dying to flesh his\nmaiden sword (for the fond father had forbidden him to fight), sprang\nforward in his brother's place, and fell transfixed at the first\nencounter; no match, rash boy, for the divine Achilles. At this sight,\nnot Apollo himself could restrain the wrath of Hector, who bounded\nover the plain and, bestriding his brother's corpse, hurled his spear.\nBut though his aim was true, Minerva turned the spear aside, and when\nAchilles charged, Hector too was snatched away by his guardian\nApollo.\n\nBut upon the other Trojans Achilles fell with terrible fury. Many he\ndrove into the river Scamander that flowed by the walls of Troy,\nslaying them, as a great dolphin of the sea might devour the small\nfishes; and twelve Trojans he took alive that he might sacrifice them\nat the funeral of his friend Patroclus. None indeed could stand before\nhim, and those who escaped his fury fled back to the city, where Priam\nhad ordered the gate to be opened to receive the fugitives.\n\nAt last all were within the walls save only Hector, who stood by the\nSc\u00e6an gate alone. Achilles, afar on the plain, was hotly pursuing one\nwhom he believed to be the Trojan Agenor, whose shape, however, Apollo\nhad taken to draw Achilles from the walls. Now, however, the son of\nPeleus discovered his mistake, and, turning, he came raging across the\nplain in his glittering armor towards the Sc\u00e6an gate. And Hector stood\nand waited for him there.\n\nWhile he waited, King Priam, his old father, many of whose sons\nAchilles had already slain, came out and entreated him to enter the\ncity. And his mother Hecuba implored him, in pity for her gray hairs\nnot to give battle to Achilles, but to enter while there was yet time.\n\nBut Hector was deaf to all prayers. It was foolhardiness in not\nordering an earlier retreat that had brought dire misery upon the\nTrojans, and should he enter the city to meet the reproaches of all?\nNo; better stay there single-handed, either to slay Achilles or by him\nbe honorably slain.\n\nWhile he thus pondered Achilles was upon him, brandishing a great\nspear, his armor flashing like fire. And so terrible was the aspect\nof this warrior, larger than mortal and clad in the mail of Vulcan,\nthat, for the first time, the heart of even Hector failed, and he\nturned and fled. Fast he fled, and, as a hawk chases a dove, Achilles\npursued. Past the watch-tower they ran, along the wagon-road about the\nwalls, and on to the twofold spring of Scamander. Thrice they ran\nround the city, and in Olympus the high gods looked down, and the\nheart of Jupiter himself was moved to pity, and he cried to the other\ngods: \"Shall we save Hector, or let him fall by the hand of Achilles?\"\n\nThen Minerva answered: \"Wilt thou, great sire, rescue a man whom Fate\nhas appointed to die? This thing is not well pleasing in our eyes.\"\n\nJupiter answered: \"Fain would I have it otherwise, but it shall be as\nthou wilt.\"\n\nThen Minerva came down swiftly from Olympus to aid Achilles.\nNevertheless, Apollo was already with the two putting strength and\nswiftness into the limbs of Hector, who sought always the shelter of\nthe towers, hoping that those who stood upon them might defend him\nwith their spears; but always Achilles would force him outward,\ndriving him towards the plain.\n\nNow, for the fourth time, Achilles the pursuer and Hector the pursued\nhad reached the springs of Scamander, and Jupiter held out the scales\nof doom, weighing the fates of the two men. And the scale of Hector\nsank, and Apollo left him.\n\nThen Minerva, cruelly deceiving, bethought her by evil guile to end\nthe fray, and took on the shape of Hector's brother Deiphobus, saying,\n\"Come, my brother, let us make a stand against Achilles and flee from\nhim no more.\"\n\nAnd Hector, suspecting no guile, answered gratefully: \"O, ever\ndearest of all my brothers, dearer still art thou now to me, for thou\nalone hast ventured to stand by my side in this perilous hour.\"\n\nThen, as Achilles came upon them, Hector cried with a strong voice:\n\"Great Achilles, I fear thee now no more. Only let this be agreed\nbetween us: that whichever of us shall fall, his body shall not be\ndishonored, but shall be given back for burial rites.\"\n\nBut Achilles scowled and answered: \"No covenant be there between thee\nand me. Fight! for the time is come to pay the penalty for all my\ncomrades whom thou hast slain.\"\n\nThus speaking, he hurled his spear, but Hector bowed his head and the\nweapon passed, and touched him not. And Hector wot not that Minerva\nhad caught it as it flew and restored it to Achilles' hand. Confident\nof victory, he hurled his spear, striking the very middle of Achilles'\nshield. But the handiwork of Vulcan was proof even against the spear\nof Hector. And Hector, perceiving this, turned to Deiphobus for\nanother spear. But no Deiphobus was there. Then, indeed, Hector knew\nthat Minerva had deceived him, and that he stood there godforsaken, a\ndoomed man. He knew he must perish; but he resolved to perish\ngloriously.\n\nDrawing, therefore, his great sword, he rushed upon Achilles. But ere\nhe could strike a blow the spear of Achilles pierced him where the\nneck joins the shoulder, and Hector fell.\n\nAnd Achilles, triumphing over him, cried aloud: \"Slayer of Patroclus,\ndespoiler of his arms, the dogs and vultures shall devour thy\ncarcase!\"\n\nBut the dying Hector answered: \"Nay, great Achilles, let not this\nshame be. Take rather the ransom that my parents shall bring thee,\nand suffer me to be buried in Troy.\"\n\nFor he knew that while his body remained unburied his spirit would\nknow no rest in the lower world.\n\nBut Achilles, savage as a wild beast, cried to him: \"No ransom shall\nbuy back thy body; no, nor shall thy weight in gold save thy flesh\nfrom the dogs.\"\n\nHector answered with his last breath: \"Oh, heart of iron! But on thee,\ntoo, shall fall vengeance, in that day when Paris and Apollo shall\nslay thee by the Sc\u00e6an gate.\"\n\nWith this dying curse the spirit of Hector fled.\n\nThen Achilles, stripping off the armor of Patroclus, pierced the ankle\nbones of the dead man, binding them with thongs to the chariot, and\nletting the head that was once so fair drag in the dust. Thus dragged\nhe Hector to the ships. And Andromache, beholding this from the city\nwall, swooned as one dead.\n\nAnd on each following day Achilles dragged the body of Hector round\nthe bier of Patroclus. Yet was it not in any way defiled, for Venus\nand Apollo preserved it in all its beauty as when Hector was alive.\n\nAt last Priam rose up, and, taking with him a great ransom, drove\nunscathed to the Grecian camp (for Mercury was his guide), and,\nfalling on his knees and kissing the murderous hands of Achilles,\nbesought him to restore the body of Hector. And Achilles, touched with\nruth by the old man's tears and prayers, consented, and himself lifted\nthe body into the litter.\n\nSo Priam bore back his dead son to Troy. And they who so often had\ngone forth to hail Hector returning victorious from the field, now\nflocked round to greet him with tears. The first to wail over him was\nAndromache, his wife. Then came Hecuba, his mother. Last of all came\nHelen, who cried: \"Never did I hear thee utter one bitter word. And if\nany spake harshly to me, thou would'st check them with thy kind and\ngentle words. Therefore I weep for thee, I, friendless now in all\nTroy.\"\n\nOn the tenth day after this the Trojans burned the body of Hector on a\ngreat pile, quenching the embers with wine. And the ashes they laid in\na golden chest and wrapped it in purple robes and laid it in mother\nearth, and over it they raised a mighty cairn.\n\nThus did men bury Hector, captain of the hosts of Troy.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOODEN HORSE\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\nThrice three years had passed, and it seemed to the Greek leaders that\nthey were no nearer the capture of Troy than when they had first\nlanded in the Troad, a gallant company, fired with hope and the\npromise of an easy victory. Since then the tide of battle had ebbed\nand flowed with alternate fortunes. Many a Trojan chieftain had\nfallen, but no breach had been made in the walls, and they seemed to\nhave gained no painful inch. There was mutiny in the Grecian host, and\nthey clamored to be led home again.\n\nBut the crafty Ulysses summoned the mutineers to an assembly, and\naddressed them in honeyed words: \"My friends,\" he said, \"we have all\nendured hardships, I no less than you. Have patience yet a while. Have\nwe labored for nothing these nine weary years? Will ye leave your\nquarry when it is at the last gasp? Know ye not the prophecy of\nCalchas, that in the tenth year, and not before, Troy was destined to\nfall? Trust to me, for to me the gods have revealed a cunning\nstratagem whereby of a surety ye shall take and sack the city.\" Thus\nUlysses persuaded them to stay on, for not only was he the most\npersuasive of orators, but none had ever known his wisdom at fault.\n\nNor had they long to wait for the fulfilment of his promise. The very\nnext day came an order that all should strike their tents and embark\nforthwith. Before night-fall the whole host had gathered on the\nshore; the beached ships had been hauled down, and away they sailed.\nWestward they sailed, but not to Greece. No sooner were they to the\nleeward of a small rocky island in the offing then they tacked, and\ncame to anchor in a sandy cove well hidden from the mainland by\njutting cliffs.\n\nGreat was the rejoicing in Troy town at their departure. The gates\nwere flung wide open, and the townsfolk, so long pent up within the\nwalls, streamed out as for a holiday, to visit the battlefield and\nview the spots where so many famous forays and single combats had\ntaken place. But of all the sights that attracted the crowd, the most\npopular was a strange object that no one had observed before. It was a\nWooden Horse on rollers, in build and shape not unlike one of those\ntoys that children love to drag about by a string; but this horse was\nhuge as a mountain, and ribbed with solid beams of fir. Long and\neagerly they debated for what purpose it had been built, and why the\nGreeks had left it behind them. Some were for burning it as an uncanny\nthing that could bode them no good. Others cried: \"'Tis a votive\noffering to Minerva; let us drag it within the walls and set it up in\nthe citadel as a memorial of our deliverance.\"\n\nWhile this dispute was hotly raging, Laoco\u00f6n, in his priestly robes,\nrushed into the throng. \"Fools,\" he cried, \"will ye let yourselves be\ncheated? Are ye so slow of heart as not to detect Greek subtlety or\nthe guile of Ulysses? The Greeks, I tell you, have not gone, and\neither this Horse is an engine of war to overtop our battlements, or\nGreek warriors are hidden in its womb.\" And as he spoke he hurled a\nmighty spear against the Horse, and the cavernous depths reverberated\nwith the shock, and from within there came a rattle as of clashing\narms. But the multitude heeded not the warning, for fate had sealed\ntheir ears.\n\nWhile this was going on outside the walls, there was scarcely less\nexcitement in the city. Certain shepherds had surprised a young Greek,\nand were dragging their captive before King Priam, with a hooting and\njeering crowd at their heels. \"Woe is me!\" cried the youth as he came\ninto the king's presence; \"have I escaped from the Greeks, my bitter\nfoes who sought my life, only to fall among Trojans from whom I can\nexpect no mercy?\" But the king bade him fear nothing, and tell his\ntale.\n\nIt was an artful tale concocted for him by Ulysses, how to the Greeks,\ndesirous of sailing home and detained by contrary winds, an oracle had\ncome--\n\n \"To speed you here a virgin maid was slain,\n Blood must be spilt to speed you home again\"--\n\nhow _he_ had been pointed out by Calchas as the destined victim, and\nhad escaped even as he was being led in bonds to the altar.\n\nHis tattered dress and bleeding wrists bore out this plausible tale.\nThe king ordered his captors to free him from his manacles, and\nassuring the prisoner that he need fear nothing, begged him to tell\nthem what was the design of the Greeks in building and leaving behind\nthem the Wooden Horse.\n\nSinon (for that was the name that the pretended deserter took) first\ninvoked on his head the direst curses if he failed to reveal to his\ndeliverers the whole truth, and then repeated the lesson in which his\ncunning master Ulysses had drilled him. \"You must know,\" he said,\n\"that all the hopes of Greece lay in the favor and protection of their\npatron goddess, Minerva. But the wrath of the goddess was kindled\nagainst the host, for the son of Tydeus, at the prompting of\nUlysses--that godless knave who sticks at no crime--had invaded her\nshrine, slain her custodians, and snatched therefrom the Palladium,\nthe sacred image of the goddess, deeming it a charm that would bring\nthem certain victory. And the goddess showed by visible signs her\ndispleasure. In each encounter our forces were routed; around the\ncarven image now set up in the camp lightnings played, and thrice amid\nthe lightning and thunder the goddess herself was seen with spear at\nrest and flashing targe. And Calchas, of whom we sought counsel in our\nterror, bade us sail back to Argos, and when in her great temple we\nhad shriven us, with happier auspices renew the fray; but first in her\nhonor we must erect a Wooden Horse, so huge that it could not pass\nyour gates or be brought within your walls. Moreover, Calchas told us\nthat if any man were rash enough to lay sacrilegious hands on the\nvotive Horse, he would straightway be smitten by the vengeful\ngoddess!\"\n\nAnd lo! even as he spoke a strange portent was seen to confirm his\nwords. Laoco\u00f6n, the high priest of Neptune--he who had hurled his\nspear at the Wooden Horse--was sacrificing to the sea god a mighty\nbull at the altar, when far away in the offing two leviathans of the\ndeep were seen approaching from Tenedos. They looked like battleships\nas they plowed the waves, but as they drew nearer you could mark the\nblood-beclotted mane and ravenous jaws of the sea-serpent, while\nbehind lay floating many a rood coil upon coil like some huge\nboa-constrictor's.\n\nThe crowd fled in terror, but the sea-serpents passed through the\nmidst and made straight for the altar of Neptune. First they coiled\nthemselves round the two sons of Laoco\u00f6n, who were ministering to\ntheir father as he sacrificed, and squeezed the life out of the\nmiserable boys. Then, as Laoco\u00f6n rushed to release his sons and sought\nto pierce the scaly monsters with his sacrificial knife, they wound\ntheir folds twice about his middle and twice about his neck, and high\nabove his head they towered with blood-shot eyes and triple-forked\ntongues. And Laoco\u00f6n, like the bull he had immolated at the altar,\nbellowed aloud in his dying agony. But the sea-serpents slowly unwound\nthemselves and glided out of sight beneath the pediment of Diana's\nstatue.\n\nThis seemed to all a sign from heaven to confirm what Sinon had told\nthem. No more doubt was possible, and a universal clamor arose: \"To\nthe Horse! to the Horse!\" Out rushed the crowd; ropes were fastened to\nits neck and legs, and soon half the city was tugging at them might\nand main, while the sappers made a breach in the walls to let it in,\nand by help of levers and pulleys it mounted the steep escarpment, and\nas it passed down the street a joyous troop of boys and girls\nfollowed, struggling to take hold of the taut ropes and chanting\nsnatches of p\u00e6ans and songs of victory.\n\nThus did the gods send on the Trojans a strong delusion that they\nshould believe a lying tale; and what ten long campaigns and a\nthousand brass-beaked ships, what all the might of Agamemnon, king of\nmen, and the prowess of Achilles, goddess-born, had failed to\naccomplish, was brought to pass by the guile and craft of one man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SACK OF TROY\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\nThe Wooden Horse was set up in the citadel, and after a night of\nfeasting and carousal, the Trojan warriors had all retired to rest\nfrom their labors, and deep slumber sealed their weary eyes, for now\nthey feared no nightly alarms, no r\u00e9veill\u00e9 before break of day.\n\nBut with night-fall the Greek fleet at Tenedos had loosed their\nmoorings, and were making full sail for the Trojan shore.\n\nWhen all slept the traitor Sinon slipped out from the turret of the\npalace where the king had assigned him a lodging, and crouching in the\nshadow climbed the hill of the citadel. There stood the Wooden Horse,\nweird and ghostly in the moonlight, not a sentinel to guard it.\nLeaning on the parapet he watched the white sails of the fleet as it\nsped landward, and soon he saw the preconcerted signal--a flaming\ntorch at the masthead of the admiral ship. Then by the ropes still\nleft hanging from the Horse's neck, he swarmed up and opened a secret\npanel in the side. One by one the mailed warriors let themselves down:\nfirst Ulysses, the arch-plotter, then Neoptolemus, Achilles' son,\nMenelaus, Epeos, the architect of the Horse, and other chieftains too\nmany to name. They made straight for the city gates, and despatching\nthe sentinels before any had time to give the alarm, let in the\nserried battalions who were waiting outside.\n\nLike the rest of the Trojan warriors \u00c6neas slept, but his sleep was\ndisturbed by a vision of the night. At his bedside stood a ghostly\nform. His visage was marred, his locks and beard were clotted with\ngouts of blood, his breast was slashed and scarred, and his feet were\npierced and livid with the marks of cords. Yet, though thus defaced\nand maimed, \u00c6neas knew at once the godlike Hector, and cried to him,\n\"Light of Troy, our country's hope and stay, thou com'st much looked\nfor. Where hast thou tarried this long, long while? Why is thy visage\nthus marred? What mean those hideous scars?\"\n\nThe ghost answered nothing but gazed down on \u00c6neas with sad,\nlack-luster eyes. Only as it vanished it spoke. \"Fly, goddess-born;\nsave thyself from the flames. The foe is within the gates. Troy\ntopples to its fall. Could faith and courage have availed, this right\nhand had saved it. To thee Troy now commends her household gods. Take\nthem with thee in thy flight, and with them to guide and guard thee\nfound beyond the seas a new and mightier Troy.\"\n\nThe ghost had vanished; but when \u00c6neas woke he found at his bedside\nthe household gods and the fillets of Vesta and her fire that is never\nquenched.\n\nFrom without there came a confused sound of hurrying feet, the tramp\nof armed men, the clash of arms, and mingled shouts and groans. He\nclimbed to the roof to see what it all meant. Volumes of smoke like a\nmountain torrent were rolling over the city, and from the murk there\nleapt tongues of flame. In desperate haste he donned his arms and went\nforth, bewildered and not knowing which way to turn. At his threshold\nhe met Panthus, high priest of Apollo and custodian of the citadel,\nand asked him what was happening.\n\n\"All is over,\" cried the priest; \"the gods have deserted us; Greece\nhas triumphed; Troy is no more--a name, a city of the past.\"\n\nHorror-stricken but undeterred, \u00c6neas hurried on to where the fray\nseemed the hottest, and gathering round him some score of trusty\ncomrades, he thus addressed them: \"Friends and brothers in arms, all\nis not lost; let us take courage from despair, and at worst die like\nmen with our breasts to the foe.\"\n\nThey all rushed into the mellay, and at first fortune favored the\nbrave. Androgeus, the captain of a picked corps of Greeks, hailed\nthem; and mistaking them in the darkness for fellow-countrymen,\ntwitted them on their tardiness, and bade them hurry on to share in\nthe loot. Too late he perceived his mistake. Before they had time to\nunsheath a sword or unbuckle a shield, \u00c6neas and his comrades were on\nthem and not one escaped.\n\nFlushed with their first success, Coroebus, one of the forlorn hope,\ncried: \"Hark ye, comrades, I have bethought me of a glorious\nstratagem; let us exchange arms and scutcheons with our dead foemen.\nAll is fair in war.\" No sooner said than done; and great was the havoc\nthey wrought at the first by this disguise, but in the end it cost\nthem dear.\n\nAs they passed by the temple of Minerva they were arrested by a\npiteous spectacle. Cassandra, the prophetic maid, was being dragged\nfrom the altar by the rude soldiery, her hair disheveled, her arms\npinioned, and her eyes upturned to heaven. Coroebus' high spirit could\nnot brook the sight, and he hurled himself on the ruffians, the rest\nfollowing his lead. Though outnumbered they held, and more than held,\ntheir own, till from the pinnacles of the temple a whole battery of\nrocks and missiles rained down on their devoted heads. Their disguise\nhad too well deceived the defenders of the temple, and soon the\nassailants were reinforced by the main body of the Greeks, with Ajax\nand the two Atrid\u00e6 at their head, who soon penetrated their disguise.\nCoroebus was the first to fall; then Ripeus, the justest ruler in all\nTroy; nor did his gray hairs and the fillet of Apollo that he wore\nsave Panthus from the common fate.\n\n\u00c6neas, with two wounded comrades, all that was left of that devoted\nband, made his way to the palace of Priam, where it looked as if the\nwhole Greek force had gathered. Part were working battering-rams\nagainst the solid masonry, others planting scaling ladders against the\nwalls, up which the boldest, with shields held high above their heads,\nwere already swarming, while the garrison hurled down on them stones,\ntiles, whatever came to hand; even the gilded beams of the royal\nchambers.\n\nAt the rear of the palace was a postern gate leading to a covered\npassage that connected the house of Hector and Andromache with the\npalace. By this \u00c6neas entered and climbed to a watch-tower that\ncommanded the whole city, the plain with the Greek encampments, and\nbeyond, the sea, now studded with ships. At his bidding the guards set\nto work, and soon, with axes and crow-bars, they had loosened the\nfoundations of the turret. It tottered, it toppled, and fell with a\nmighty crash, burying hundreds of the besiegers beneath its ruins. But\nwhat were they among so many?\n\nAt the main entrance of the palace stood Neoptolemus in his glittering\narmor, like a snake who has lost its winter weeds, and snatching a\ndouble-headed ax from a common soldier, he battered in the panels and\nwrenched the massive door from its brass hinges. Through the long\ncorridors and gilded ante-chambers, like a river that has burst its\ndam, the flood of armed Greeks swept on, and from the inner chambers\nthere came a long-drawn wail of women's voices that shivered to the\ngolden stars. On came Neoptolemus, sweeping before him the feeble\npalace guards. The cedarn doors gave way like match-wood, and there,\nhuddled on the floor or clinging to the pillars of the tapestried\nchamber, he beheld, like sheep led to the slaughter, the queen and the\nprincesses, the fifty daughters and fifty daughters-in-law of King\nPriam. But where was Priam the while?\n\nIn the center of the palace was a court open to the sky, and in the\ncenter of the court was a great altar over-shadowed by an immemorial\nbay-tree. Hither Hecuba and her kinswomen had fled for refuge when the\nrabble of soldiers burst in on them, and in the court she espied her\naged husband girt in armor that ill-fitted his shrunken limbs, and she\ncalled to him, \"What madness hath seized thee thus to rush to certain\ndeath? Hector himself could not save us now; what can thy feeble arms\navail? Take sanctuary with us. Either this altar shall protect us or\nhere we shall all perish together!\"\n\nThe feeble old king yielded to his wife's entreaties, but hardly had\nhe reached the altar when he beheld Polites, the child of his old age,\nwhom he loved most now Hector was dead, limping towards them like a\nwounded hare, and close behind him in hot pursuit Neoptolemus with\noutstretched lance; and a moment after the son fell transfixed at his\nfather's feet. \"Wretch,\" he cried, beside himself with righteous\nwrath, \"more fell than dire Achilles! _He_ gave me back my son's\ncorpse, but thou hast stained my gray hairs and god's altar with a\nson's blood.\" He spake, and hurled at Neoptolemus with nerveless arm\na spear that scarce had force to pierce the outmost fold of the targe.\n\nWith a scornful laugh Neoptolemus turned on him, and dragged him by\nhis long white beard from the altar. \"Die, old dotard,\" he cried, \"and\nin the shades be sure thou tell my sire Achilles what a degenerate son\nis his.\" So saying, he drove his sword to the old king's heart.\n\n \"Such was the end of Priam, such his fate,\n To see in death his house all desolate,\n And Troy, whom erst a hundred states obeyed,\n A heap of blackened stones in ruin laid.\n A headless corpse washed by the salt sea tide,\n Not e'en a stone to show where Priam died.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF AJAX\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\nOf all the Greek knights who fought against Troy the boldest and most\nchivalrous was Ajax, son of Telamon. But his fiery temper oft proved\nhis bane, and in the end it led him to ruin and death.\n\nWhen Achilles died he left his arms to be awarded by the captains of\nthe host to him whom they should pronounce the bravest of the Greeks,\nand the prize fell to Ulysses.\n\nAjax took this award in high dudgeon, and, knowing himself the better\nman, affirmed that this judgment could have been procured only by\nfraud and corruption, and swore that he would be avenged of his crafty\nrival. He challenged his enemy to single combat, but Ulysses was too\nwary to risk his life against such a swordsman, and the chiefs who\nheard of the quarrel interfered, saying that Greek must not take the\nblood of Greek. Thus balked, Ajax raged more furiously, and swore that\nif Ulysses would not fight he would slay him in his tent.\n\nSo Ulysses went about in fear of his life, and he appealed to his\npatron goddess to defend him. Minerva heard his prayer, and promised\nher favorite warrior that he should suffer no harm. She kept her word\nby sending on Ajax a strong delusion, whereby in his frenzy he mistook\nbeasts for men.\n\nThe Greeks found the herds and flocks that had been taken in raids,\nand were kept in pound as a common stock to feed the army, hacked and\nhewn in the night, as though a mountain lion had been ravaging them;\nand they suspected Ajax, whose strange behavior none could fail to\nnotice, as the offender, but they had no certain proof, and Ulysses,\nthe man of many wiles, was by common consent deputed to search into\nthe matter.\n\nSo the next night he stole forth from the camp alone, and in the early\nlight of dawn he espied a solitary figure hurrying over the plain, and\nhe followed the trail like a bloodhound till it led him to the tent of\nAjax.\n\nHe paused uncertain, for he dared not venture farther, and was about\nto return and report to the commanders what he had seen, when he heard\na voice saying, \"Ulysses, what dost thou here?\" and he knew it could\nbe none other than the voice of his own goddess Minerva.\n\nHe told her the case and craved her aid in his perplexity, and the\ngoddess gently upbraided him. \"Thou wert no coward soul, Ulysses, when\nI chose thee as my favored knight, and now dost thou fear a single\nunarmed man, and one by me bereft of his wits?\" And Ulysses answered,\n\"Goddess, I am no coward, but the bravest may quail before a raving\nmadman.\" But Minerva replied, \"Be of good heart, and trust as ever to\nme. Lo, I will show thee a sight whereon thou mayst glut thine eyes.\"\nThereupon she opened the flap of the tent, and within stood Ajax, wild\nand haggard, his hands dripping with gore, and all around him were\nsheep and oxen, some beheaded, some ripped up, and some horribly\nmutilated--a very shambles. At the moment Ajax was belaboring a huge\nram that he had strapped up to a pillar of the tent, and, as each blow\nof the double thong descended he shouted, \"Take that, Ulysses; that's\nfor thy knavery, that for thy villainy, that for thy lies, thou\nwhite-livered rogue.\" Ulysses could not but smile as he saw himself\nscourged and cursed in effigy, but he was touched by a thought of\nhuman infirmity and the ruin of a noble soul, and he prayed the\ngoddess to avert from him such a calamity.\n\nIn the women's tent hard by sat Tecmessa, the captive wife of Ajax,\nweeping and wringing her hands. His tender love had made her forget\nher desolate home and slaughtered brethren, and she had borne him a\nson, the pride and joy of both parents. But ever since he had lost the\nprize for bravery she had noted a growing estrangement. He avoided\nher, meeting her advances with cold looks, and the night before, when\nshe asked him why he was girding on his armor at that hour, he had\nanswered her, \"Silence, woman; women should be seen, not heard.\" And\nthen he had gone forth and returned with these beeves and sheep that\nhe was now hacking to pieces like a madman. Their boy she had sent\naway with his nurse to be out of harm's way, and she sat cowering in\nher tent.\n\nAs she sat, half dazed with grief and watching, she heard her name\ncalled. Trembling she arose and met her lord at the tent door. Again\nhe called her, but now his voice was tender and low, and he gazed at\nher with a look of mingled pity and love. And her heart rejoiced, for\nshe saw that his madness had passed, that her old Ajax was restored to\nher. \"Tecmessa,\" he asked, \"where is our boy?\" And Tecmessa hastened\nand brought back their child Eurysaces. Ajax took him from his nurse's\narms, and he kissed the innocent brow and spoke: \"My boy, may thy lot\nin life be happier than thy father's; but in all else be like unto me,\nand thou shalt prove no base man.\" Then he passed with Tecmessa into\nher tent, and flung himself down on the bed and lay there as a sick\nman who has scarce recovered from a grievous illness. She would fain\nhave ministered to him, but he refused all meat and drink, and lay for\nlong hours holding her hand. Ever and anon he would ask, \"Where is\nTeucer? Is not Teucer returned? I would fain speak with my brother.\"\n\nAs the sun was setting he rose from his bed and took his sword,\ntelling his wife that he must leave her for a while, but would soon\nreturn. She, fearing another fit of madness, sought with tears to\ndetain him, but he gently put her aside and told her what his errand\nwas. He must needs go to the sea-baths, and with pure ablution wash\naway his stains and make him clean. And he gently unwound her clinging\narms, closed her lips with a kiss, and went on his way.\n\nWhen he reached the river, he drew his sword from the scabbard and\nplanted it firm in earth. \"Fatal blade,\" he cried, \"once the sword of\nHector, then a foeman's gift to his arch-enemy, a bane to each who\nowned thee; but to me, thy last master, a friend at need. I have had\nmy day, and for me there is living none. My sword, go with me to the\nshades.\" Therewith he hurled himself upon the naked steel and gave up\nthe ghost.\n\nFishermen dragging their nets at dawn found the body, and brought it\nback to camp. Teucer, warned by the seer Calchas that unless his\nbrother could be kept within doors for that day some dread calamity\nawaited him, had hurried to warn and save him from his doom; but as he\nreached the tent he was met by the bearers bringing home his brother's\ncorpse.\n\nThere was mourning in the Grecian camp. A great man had fallen that\nday; for his brief madness the gods alone were to blame; and his long\nyears of service, his gallant deeds, his fearless courage, his noble\ngenerosity, were alone remembered. So they decreed for him a public\nfuneral with all the pomp and ceremony that befitted a great\nchieftain.\n\nAlready they had begun to raise a huge funeral pile and to deck the\nsacrificial altar, when Menelaus, who shared with Agamemnon the chief\ncommand, rode up in hot haste to forbid the public burial. \"No man,\"\nhe declared, \"who had defied his authority and done such injury to the\ncommon cause should be honored.\" But Ulysses with a soft answer turned\naway his wrath: \"True, he hath sinned against thee, O king, and in\nlife he hated me, but death is the great atoner. Honor the fearless\nknight. Let his ashes rest in peace.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE FLIGHT OF \u00c6NEAS FROM TROY\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\n\u00c6neas, standing on the battlements of the palace, had beheld the\nheartrending scene of Troy's destruction, horror-stricken and unable\nto help. All his comrades were dead or had fled, and he alone was\nleft. As he looked on Priam's bleeding corse the face of his own\nfather Anchises, as old and as defenseless, flashed across his fancy,\nand he saw in vision his desolate home, his wife Creusa, and Iulus\nclinging to his mother's knees.\n\nHe stole out of the palace by the same covered way that had let him\nin, and was hurrying home when he passed the shrine of Vesta, and\ncowering behind the altar, by the glare of the conflagration that\nstill raged, he espied Helen, the prime cause of all their woes. His\nsoul burned with righteous indignation. \"What,\" he cried to himself,\n\"shall this cursed woman, the bane both of Greece and of Troy, shall\nshe alone escape scot-free; shall she return to Greece a crowned queen\nwith our captive sons and daughters in her train? No,\" he cried, as he\ndrew his sword; \"to slay a woman is no knightly deed, but men will\napprove me as the minister of God's vengeance.\"\n\nBut of a sudden, effulgent in the heavens like her own star, he beheld\nhis goddess-mother, and she laid a hand on his outstretched arm in act\nto strike, and whispered in his ear: \"My son, why this empty rage?\nDost thou forget thy mother and all her care for thee and thine?\nThink of thine aged sire, thy loving wife, thy little son. But for me\nthey had all perished by the sword and flames. 'Tis not Paris, 'tis\nnot that Spartan woman who hath wrought this ruin, but the gods who\nwere leagued against Troy. Lo, I will take the scales from thine eyes,\nand for a moment thou shalt behold as one of themselves the immortals\nat work. Look yonder, where walls and watch-towers are crashing down,\nas though upheaved by an earthquake, Neptune is up-prizing with his\ndread trident the walls that he helped to build. There at the Sc\u00e6an\ngates stands Juno in full mail crying Havoc! and hounding on the\nlaggard Greeks. Look backward at the citadel; above it towers Minerva,\nwrapt in a storm-cloud, and flashing her Gorgon shield. Nay more, on\nfar Olympus (but this thou canst not see) the Almighty Father is\nheartening those gods who are banded for the ruin of Troy. Save\nthyself, my son, while yet there is time. Let adverse gods rage; I,\nthy mother, will never leave thee nor forsake thee.\"\n\nThe goddess vanished, and as by a flash of lightning he beheld for an\ninstant the grim visages of the Powers of Darkness.\n\nUnder the tutelage of Venus, \u00c6neas reached his home without adventure\nand found all safe, as she had promised. He was preparing for his\nflight to the neighboring hills when an unforeseen impediment arose.\nNo persuasions would induce Anchises to accompany him. \"Ye are young\nand lusty,\" cried his sire, \"fly for your lives and leave me, a poor\nold man tottering on the brink of the grave. All I ask is that ye\nrepeat over me the ritual for the dead. The Greeks, when they find me,\nwill grant me sepulture.\"\n\nNo prayers or arguments could move the old man from his obstinate\nresolution, and \u00c6neas, in desperation, was again girding on his armor,\nchoosing to perish with wife and child in single-handed fight rather\nthan desert his aged parent, when a sign from heaven was given that\nfirst amazed and then filled all hearts with joy. On the head of the\nchild Iulus there appeared a tongue of fire that spread among his\ncurly locks, and played round his smooth brow, crowning him like the\naureole of a saint. In horror his mother sought to extinguish the\nflames, but the water she poured made them only burn the brighter. But\nAnchises knew the heavenly sign, and with uplifted palms he prayed\nthat Jupiter would confirm his good will by some more certain augury.\nAnd straightway on the left (the lucky side) a clap of thunder was\nheard, and from the zenith there fell a meteor that left a long trail\nof light as it fell to earth on the pine-clad slopes of Mount Ida.\n\nThen at last Anchises yielded, and \u00c6neas, stooping down, lifted the\nold man on his shoulder. By his side, holding his right hand, was\nIulus, bravely trying to keep pace with his father's long strides, and\nlast came Creusa, with a train of household slaves. As trysting-place,\nin case they should get separated in the crowd and confusion, \u00c6neas\nassigned to them a deserted shrine of Vesta, near to a solitary\ncypress tree which would serve them as a landmark. They were well on\ntheir way, and had escaped the worst perils, when Anchises cried out,\n\"Hist! I hear the tramp of armed men, and see the glint of armor.\" And\n\u00c6neas, who never before had quailed in the storm of battle, now\ntrembled like an aspen leaf, and snatching up the boy he ran for his\nlife, and never drew breath till he had reached the deserted shrine.\nThen he looked back, and to his horror Creusa was nowhere to be seen.\nHad she missed the road, or had she fainted on the way? He questioned\nhis household who had by now arrived, but none had seen their mistress\nsince they left the city. Again he donned his arms and rushed back by\nthe way he had come. Not a trace of his wife could he find. He\nre-entered the city by the same gate, and rethreaded the same dark\nalleys. He sought his home, but it was now a mass of smoldering ruins.\nAs a last desperate hope he sought the Royal Treasure House, if haply\nshe might there have found a hiding-place, but at the entrance stood\nPhoenix and Ulysses, the captains told off to guard the loot. There\nlay, piled in a confused heap, all the wealth of Troy that the flames\nhad not consumed--purple robes, coverlets and tapestries, armlets and\nanklets of wrought gold, jeweled drinking-bowls, and the sacred\nvessels from the temples.\n\nReckless of the risks he ran he shouted from street to street,\n\"Creusa! Creusa!\" when at last a familiar voice replied, and before\nhim he saw, not, alas! Creusa, but her ghost, larger than human,\ngazing down on him with eyes of infinite pity. \"Why,\" it whispered,\n\"this wild grief? Nothing, dear lord, is here for tears. 'Twas not the\nwill of heaven that I should share thy wanderings and toils. Be of\ngood heart. In the far west, so fate ordains, where Tiber rolls his\nyellow tide, thou shalt found a new empire and espouse a princess of\nthe land. Nor need'st thou pity my less fortunate lot. I have known\nall the joys of married bliss, and my body shall rest in the soil that\ngave me birth. No proud Greek will boast that he bears home in his\ncaptive train her who was the wife of \u00c6neas, the daughter-in-law of\nVenus. And now, fare thee well. Forget not our sweet child, and her\nwho bore him.\"\n\n \"Thrice he essayed with arms outstretched to clasp\n Her shade, and thrice it slipped from his fond grasp,\n Like frolic airs that o'er a still lake play,\n Or dreams that vanish at the break of day.\"\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS AND DIDO\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nHardly less renowned than the wanderings of crafty Ulysses, after the\nfall of Troy, are those of pious \u00c6neas, the Trojan. Many were his\nadventures and heavy his losses, for he was pursued evermore by the\nhatred of Juno, who detested all Trojans, and but for the protecting\ncare of his mother Venus he must have perished.\n\nOn the Sicilian shore he had lost his aged father, Anchises, and \u00c6neas\nmourned his good old sire, whom he had carried on his shoulders from\nburning Troy.\n\nThence he set sail with his son Iulus to Italy. But when they had put\nforth to sea, Juno smote them with a terrible storm, so that \u00c6neas\nlost all but seven ships of his fleet and not a few of his comrades\nperished. He himself, with his son Iulus and his friend Achates, was\ndriven out of his course and carried to the shores of Libya. Here the\nTrojans disembarked and thankfully rested their brine-drenched limbs\non the beach. And when they had feasted off the grain brought from\ntheir ships, and the venison procured for them by their captain's bow,\n\u00c6neas, taking with him only Achates, set forth to survey this\nunexplored country.\n\nOn their way through a forest they met a fair maid in the garb of a\nhuntress, and of her they inquired what land this might be and who\ndwelt therein. She told them they had come to the land and city of\nCarthage, over which ruled the Tyrian Queen Dido. She told them,\nmoreover, that the Queen had once ruled in Tyre, the consort of\nSich\u00e6us, a Phoenician prince, and that when her lord had been murdered\nby his cruel brother Pygmalion, she had fled to Libya, where even now\nshe was rearing the stately city of Carthage. And she bade them seek\nthe Queen and throw themselves on her protection. \u00c6neas had gazed in\nwonder and admiration at the maiden, deeming her some nymph of Dian's\ntrain, and he was about, on bended knee, to give her thanks when she\nturned on him a parting glance. And lo! the goddess stood revealed,\nradiant in celestial beauty; and as he recognized his mother, she had\nvanished from his sight.\n\nCheered by this vision, \u00c6neas and Achates pressed forward, and, that\nnone might molest them, Venus wrapped them in a thick mist. Emerging\nfrom the forest they climbed a hill overlooking the city of Carthage,\nwhere skilled workmen were on all sides busied rearing stately\nbuildings. In the midst of the city, with a flight of marble stairs\nand surrounded by a grove of trees, stood a temple to Juno, its gates\nof brass glittering in the morning sun. And \u00c6neas, drawing near,\nmarveled to find the walls of this temple painted with pictures of the\nTrojan War--aye, and himself he saw portrayed fighting against the\nGrecian leaders.\n\nWhilst \u00c6neas and Achates were still gazing, Queen Dido drew near with\na great retinue of maidens and youths. She seated herself on a throne\nunder the dome of the temple, for here it was her custom to deal\njustice and apportion work to her subjects, urging forward with\ncheerful words the building of her city. Among the first to appear\nbefore the Queen, \u00c6neas and Achates saw with astonishment certain of\ntheir own friends--Ilioneus, Antheus, Sergestus, and Cloanthus, whom\nthey had supposed to have been drowned in the storm. These, coming\nbefore Dido, told her of their sufferings and entreated her protection\nin that strange country.\n\n\"We had for our king \u00c6neas,\" said Ilioneus, the spokesman, \"than whom\nnone was more pious and brave. If he yet lives we shall not despair,\nneither shalt thou, O Queen, repent thee of thy hospitality.\"\n\nQueen Dido answered the Trojans graciously, promising them all they\nasked and more.\n\n\"And would,\" she added, \"that your prince \u00c6neas too were here! But my\nmessengers shall search the Libyan coasts, and if he has been cast\nashore he shall be found.\"\n\nEven as she spoke, the mist that hid \u00c6neas and Achates suddenly\nparted, and \u00c6neas stood forth in the bright light like a god; and,\njoyfully embracing his friends, poured out his gratitude to Dido.\n\nThe voice of the Queen was even gentler than before as she replied: \"I\ntoo have been tossed by fortune on the high seas; I too came to these\nshores a stranger. What sorrow was myself have known, and learnt to\nmelt at others' woe.\"\n\nThen Dido bade \u00c6neas and Achates to a feast in her palace, and to\ntheir followers on the shore she sent bulls, lambs, and wine to\nprovide a banquet. \u00c6neas also despatched Achates to the beach to bring\ntherefrom the young Iulus, and with him presents for the Queen--a\nmantle stiff with gold, a scepter, a necklace of pearls, and a crown\nset with double rows of gems and gold.\n\nThe gifts made and his son embraced, \u00c6neas was led into the great hall\nof the palace, where the guests reclined on purple couches. In the\nmidst Queen Dido reclined on a golden couch under a rich canopy, and\nbeside her lay the boy Iulus. So they feasted and were merry, and\nafter the banquet Dido pledged her guest in a loving cup and invited\nhim to tell her all that had befallen him since the fall of Troy.\n\nAnd he told her the long tale of his perils by land and sea, and of\nthe shipwreck which had landed him upon the hospitable shores of\nCarthage.\n\nAnd, as Queen Dido listened, the memory of her dead husband Sich\u00e6us\nwas no longer first in her thoughts, for a great love sprang up for\nthis princely stranger who had endured so much and had followed his\nstar, true to his country and his country's gods. Far into the night\nthe Queen sat listening to the tale, and in the night watches the\nimage of the hero haunted her fevered sleep. At the first dawn she\nsought her sister Anna, and poured into sympathetic ears the trouble\nof her heart, confessing with shame her fears lest she should prove\nfaithless to the memory of her dead lord.\n\nBut Anna bade her mourn no more for the unheeding dead, wasting her\nyouth and beauty.\n\n\"Surely,\" said she, \"it was Juno who sent the Trojans to this shore.\nThink, sister, how your city will flourish, how your kingdom will wax\ngreat from such an alliance! How will the Carthaginian glory be\nadvanced by Trojan arms!\"\n\nThat day she invited her guest to view all the wonders of Carthage.\nShe showed him her rising quays and forts, her palace and its\ntreasures; but even as they conversed her voice would falter, and her\nsilence and blushes were tell-tales and betrayed her growing love.\nWhen the evening feast was ended she asked again to hear the tale of\nTroy, and hung again on his lips.\n\nFor the next day, to divert her guest, the Queen ordered a great hunt,\nand an army of beaters was sent to scour the hills and drive in the\ngame. At dawn a gallant company--all the proud lords of Carthage and\nthe comrades of \u00c6neas--gathered at the palace gates and waited for the\nQueen. At length she descended from her chamber, robed in gold and\npurple, and the long cavalcade rode forth headed by Dido and \u00c6neas.\nWhen they reached the hills they scattered far and wide in the ardor\nof the chase, and the royal pair found themselves alone. On a sudden\nthe heavens were darkened and the rain descended in torrents, and Dido\nand \u00c6neas betook themselves for shelter to a mountain cave. Thus had\nJuno planned it, for she hated the Trojans and would have kept \u00c6neas\nin Carthage. There, in the dark cavern, the Trojan plighted his troth\nto the Carthaginian Queen. That day the tide of death set in. The\nheavens thundered and the mountain nymphs wailed over their bridal.\n\nBut the triumph of Juno was short-lived, for Jupiter, from his throne\non Olympus, beheld the founder of the Roman race forgetful of his\ndestiny and sunk in soft dalliance. He called to him his son Mercury,\nand bade him bind on his winged sandals, and bear to Carthage this\nstern reproof: \"Shame on thee, degenerate hero, false to thy mother\nand thy son, thus sunk in luxury and ease! Set sail and leave this\nfatal shore.\"\n\nThe heart of the hero, when he heard this message, was torn in twain.\nHow could he disobey the voice of the god? How could he bring himself\nto desert the Queen whose heart he had won, and break his troth?\n\nBut what were the closest of human ties when the god had spoken? So he\ncalled to him his comrades and bade them in secret make ready the\nships for departure. But lovers' ears are keen, and rumors of the\npreparation reached the Queen in her palace. She raved like a\nmadwoman, and called down curses on the perjured traitor. Grown\ncalmer, she sought \u00c6neas and, with mingled reproaches and appeals to\nhis pity, besought him at least to delay his departure. The lover's\nheart was touched, but the hero was unmoved; and with the gentlest\nwords he could frame, he told the Queen that he had no choice but to\nfollow his weird as Heaven ordained. He could never forget her\nlovingkindness, and would cherish her memory to his dying day.\n\nThen the Queen knew that she was betrayed, and flatteries and soft\nwords served but to rekindle her rage. She bade the perjured wretch\nbegone; she cursed his false gods and their lying message, and swore\nthat she would pursue him with black flames, and that after death her\nghost would haunt him in every place. This said, she turned and left\nhim, and he saw her nevermore.\n\n\u00c6neas would fain have stayed to calm her grief and soothe her rage,\nbut duty bade him go, and he urged on his men to equip the fleet for\ndeparture. They, nothing loath, set to, and the harbor was like an\nant-hill, with the sailors shaping new oars and loading the beached\nvessels. Soon the black keels rode the waters all along the shore.\nDido, perceiving this from her tower, sent her sister Anna with a last\nmessage imploring \u00c6neas yet a little to delay. But \u00c6neas, steadfast as\na rock, turned to her a deaf ear, and into the heart of the unhappy\nDido came despair and thoughts of death.\n\nTo death, indeed, dark omens turned her mind. For when she offered\nsacrifice, the wine which she poured upon the smoking incense turned\nto blood; and at night, when kneeling before the shrine of her dead\nhusband, she heard his voice bidding her arise and come to him.\n\nSo the Queen, interpreting these dark signs as her sick heart\ndictated, made ready to die.\n\nCalling her sister Anna, she declared that she would now make use of a\nmagic charm given to her by a priestess to bring back faithless lovers\nor make the love-sick whole. To work this spell it was necessary to\ncollect and burn all tokens of the light of love.\n\n\"Do you, therefore,\" said Dido to Anna, \"gather together the arms and\ngarments which \u00c6neas in his haste to be gone has left behind him, and\nlay these upon a vast funeral pile, which I beseech you to erect\nsecretly in the inner court of the palace, under the open sky.\"\n\nAs she spoke, a deadly pallor overspread the face of Dido. But her\nsister Anna, suspecting nothing, made haste to obey the Queen. The\ngreat pile was quickly erected, with torches and fagots of oak, and\ncrowned with funeral boughs. On it were placed the weapons and raiment\nof \u00c6neas, while the Queen offered sacrifices, and herbs cut by\nmoonlight with brazen sickles.\n\nNext morning, before daybreak, \u00c6neas called upon his comrades to set\nsail. With his own sword he cut the hawsers, and his men, pushing off,\nsmote the sounding waves with their oars, and the wind filling their\nunfurled sails, they swept out into the open sea as the sun rose over\nthe waters.\n\nFrom the tower of her palace Queen Dido saw them depart. And lifting\nup her voice she laid a curse upon them, prophesying that for ages to\ncome dire enmity should rage between the race of \u00c6neas and the\nCarthaginian people.\n\nThen, very pale, she entered the inner court and mounted the funeral\npile. A little while she paused, musing and shedding her last tears.\n\nAnon she spoke, and bade farewell to the light of the sun: \"I have\nlived my life; I have finished the course ordained to me by Fate. I\nhave raised a glorious city. I descend illustrious to the shades\nbelow.\"\n\nShe paused, and her voice fell to a low wail as she added: \"Happy, ah,\ntoo happy, my lot had the Trojan ships never touched my shores!\"\n\nThen, unsheathing the sword, she plunged it into her bosom and fell\ndown upon the pyre.\n\nHer handmaidens, seeing her fall, rent the air with their cries. And\nAnna, rushing in, raised her dying sister in her arms, striving in\nvain to stanch the flowing blood, and crying with tears: \"Oh, sister,\nwas it for this that you bade me raise the pyre? Ah, would that you\nhad let me be your companion in death!\"\n\nBut the last words of Dido, Queen of Carthage, had been spoken.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFar out at sea, \u00c6neas saw a great smoke rising from Carthage, as it\nwere from a funeral pyre. And a sore pang smote him, and bitterly he\ndivined what had passed. But he held upon his destined way, nor looked\nhe back again, but turned his eyes towards the promised land of\nLatium.\n\n\n\n\n\u00c6NEAS IN HADES\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\n \"The journey down to the abyss\n Is prosperous and light;\n The palace gates of gloomy Dis\n Stand open day and night;\n But upward to retrace the way,\n And pass into the light of day,--\n There comes the stress of labor--this\n May task a hero's might.\"\n\n VIRGIL.--_Conington's Translation._\n\n\u00c6neas, in the course of his wanderings, landed on the shores of Cum\u00e6\nin Italy. Here he sought out the Sibyl, the inspired prophetess who\ndwelt in a cave behind the temple of Apollo, and gave forth to\ninquirers the answers of the god. High destinies she promised \u00c6neas,\nbut not without many further trials.\n\n\u00c6neas, undismayed, besought the Sibyl to guide him on his way: \"O\nPriestess, it has been told that here are the gates of the lower\nworld. Open for me, I beg of you, that portal, for I long greatly to\nspeak once more with my dear father. I bore him on my shoulders from\nflaming Troy, and in all my voyages he accompanied me, facing, though\ninfirm, the terrors of sea and sky. Nay, more, it was at his bidding\nthat I came a suppliant to thy temple. Have pity upon us both, O\nSybil, and enable us to meet once more.\"\n\nThen the Sibyl, in reply, warned \u00c6neas that though many went down\nwith ease into the Abode of the Dead, few--very few, and they the\nspecially favored of the gods--returned therefrom. \"But if,\" she went\non, \"you are determined to dare the desperate enterprise, seek out in\nthis dark wood a tree that hides one branch all golden. This bough is\nsacred to Proserpine, Queen of the Lower World, and to her must you\nbear it as a gift. Without it no living being may enter the Lower\nWorld. Pluck it, and if the Fates have willed it so, it will yield at\na touch, else no mortal force can wrest it from its parent stem.\"\n\nSo \u00c6neas and Achates plunged into the primeval forest near which the\nSibyl dwelt. They had not gone far when two doves alighted on the\nsward hard by. Then \u00c6neas was glad, for he knew them to be the birds\nof his mother Venus, and he besought his mother that her messengers\nmight guide him on his way. And the doves flitted on before them till\nthey lighted at last on a lofty tree, amid the boughs of which \u00c6neas\ndiscerned the gleam of gold. This was the Golden Bough, growing like\nmistletoe from the oak, and there was a tinkle in the air as the\nbreeze rustled the golden foil. Joyfully \u00c6neas broke it from the\ntrunk, and bore it back to the dwelling of the Sibyl.\n\nThen the priestess led the way back into the gloomy wood, halting\nbefore a cavern, vast and hideous with its yawning black mouth, from\nwhich exhaled so poisonous a breath that no bird could cross it\nunhurt. Here \u00c6neas and the Sibyl offered sacrifices to the Gods of the\nLower World. At sunrise the ground began to rumble beneath their feet,\nand a baying of hell-dogs rolled up from the chasm.\n\n\"Avaunt, ye profane!\" cried the priestess, \"and, \u00c6neas, do thou draw\nthy sword and march boldly forward; now is the hour to try thy\nmettle.\"\n\nSo saying, she plunged into the dark cavern, and \u00c6neas, following,\nentered the world of the dead.\n\nIn a desolate country on the outskirts of the spirit-world they saw\nthe forms of Grief and vengeful Cares; here dwelt disconsolate Old\nAge, Fear, Famine, Death, and Toil. Murderous War was here, and\nfrantic Discord, whose viperous locks are bound with bloody fillets.\n\nAll these they passed, coming to the turbid flood Acheron, on which\nthe ferryman Charon, a grisly, unkempt graybeard, with eyes of flame,\nplied to and fro.\n\nOn the banks of the river stood a great company of ghosts, matrons and\nmen, boys and maidens, numerous as swallows flying south, or leaves\nbefore the autumn wind. They stood praying to be taken into the boat,\nand stretching their hands towards the farther shore; but the sullen\nboatman would take only a few, choosing whom he would. Then, in reply\nto his questions, the priestess told \u00c6neas that the bodies of those\nwhom the boatman refused had been left unburied upon earth, wherefore\nthese ghosts were doomed to flutter for a hundred years along the\nshores of Acheron before Charon would consent to ferry them across.\n\nBy this time they had reached the landing-stage, and the priestess\nbeckoned to Charon; he refusing at first to carry a mortal across that\nriver till she showed him the Golden Bough. At the sight of this\nCharon came at once with his boat, pushing out the ghosts that sat\ntherein to make room for \u00c6neas. Groaning beneath the weight of a\nmortal the boat was well-nigh swamped, but at length the priestess\nand the hero were safely landed on the farther shore.\n\nBut now at the gate stood Cerberus, the three-headed dog, making those\nrealms resound with his barking. To him the priestess threw an opiate\nof honey-cakes, and he, snatching at it with his three mouths, lay\ndown to sleep, thus permitting them to pass.\n\nNow to their ears came the wails of infants, ghosts of those who had\nbeen bereft of sweet life even at their mother's breast. Next came\nthose who had been condemned to death unheard or falsely charged. Full\njustice they now received; Minos the judge metes out to each his\nproper sentence.\n\nAfter these \u00c6neas came upon a group of those unhappy ones who with\ntheir own hands had destroyed their lives. Ah, gladly now would they\nendure poverty and toil could they but revisit the kindly light of the\nsun!\n\nNow \u00c6neas entered a region named the Fields of Mourning, inhabited by\nthe ghosts of those who had died for love. And among them, in a wood,\n\u00c6neas saw, or deemed he saw, dim as the new moon in a cloudy sky, the\nform of Dido, still pale from her death-wound. Tears in his eyes, he\naddressed her sad ghost with loving words as of old: \"So, as I feared,\nit was true, the message of those funeral fires. And was I, alas! the\ncause of your death? O Queen, believe that it was against my will that\nI left thy coasts! Unwilling, I swear, by the behest of the gods did I\nleave thee, even as now, by the same behest, I tread the land of\ndarkness and despair. Ah, tarry but a little! 'Tis our last\nfarewell.\"\n\n[Illustration: \u00c6NEAS IN HADES]\n\nSo he spoke, seeking to soothe the injured shade. But she, with\naverted eyes, stood still as a statue of stone. Then in silent scorn\nshe fled to seek her first lord, Sich\u00e6us, who answers sorrow with\nsorrow.\n\nThence to the farthest fields they passed the haunts of heroes slain\nin battle; and here \u00c6neas greeted many comrades of early days. But\nwhen the ghosts of Agamemnon's Greek army beheld the mighty hero, his\narms gleaming through the shades, they quaked, and many fled as\nerstwhile before to their ships, while others, trying to raise the\nwar-cry, could utter only \"the bat-like shrilling of the dead.\"\n\nA pitiful shade, with marred visage and mangled body, approached them,\nand \u00c6neas recognized the ghost of Deiphobus, son of Priam, and asked\nof his cruel fate; and Deiphobus poured forth the long tale of his\nwife's treachery, and how he had been foully slaughtered in his sleep.\nLong had they thus conversed, but the Sibyl plucked \u00c6neas by the robe\nand warned him: \"Night falls apace; 'tis time to go. Thou hast come to\nthe parting of the ways. Here lie Elysium and the fields of the\nblessed, and there, to the left, Tartarus and the tortures of the\ndamned.\" And even now \u00c6neas descried vast prisons inclosed with a\ntriple wall, round which the river Phlegethon rolled its threefold\nfloods of flame, while rocks whirled roaring down the stream. Over\nagainst the stream stood a massive gateway, whose adamantine columns\ndefied all force of men or gods, and above the gate rose a tower of\niron. Here sat the Fury Tisiphone, watching all who entered. And from\nwithin the gate came groans and the whistling of scourges and the\nclanking of chains.\n\n\u00c6neas asked what meant this woful wailing, and the Sibyl replied:\n\"None innocent may cross that threshold. There Rhadamanthus judges\nthe dead, and avenging Tisiphone scourges the guilty. Within the gate\nrages the Hydra with fifty gaping mouths. Downward sinks the pit,\ntwice as deep as the heavens are high. In it groan the Titans, hurled\ndown with thunderbolts, and the giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who strove\nto overturn the throne of Jupiter himself. There lies Tityus, o'er\nnine roods outstretched, and eternally does a vulture tear his liver\nwith her beak. Over some hangs a rock threatening ever to fall; before\nothers a bounteous banquet is continually spread, but the hands that\nthey stretch to take the food are evermore struck back by the Furies.\nSome roll a huge stone, others are bound to the revolving wheel. Here\nlie they who heaped up riches for themselves, an unnumbered multitude;\nhere also they who hated their brothers or lifted cruel hands against\ntheir parents. Take warning by their fate, and ask no further\nconcerning their awful doom.\"\n\nThus warned, \u00c6neas went forward in silence, and at the direction of\nthe Sibyl he offered the Golden Bough at the gate.\n\nNow came they at length to the regions of joy, the green retreats and\nhappy groves of Elysium. An ampler ether and a purer light invest\nthese fields, for the blessed have their own sun and stars. In jousts\nand races, in dance and song, they fleet the golden hours, a blessed\ncompany of bards and patriots, paladins and victors in the races.\nAmong them \u00c6neas marked Ilus, a former king of Troy, and Dardanus,\nthat city's founder. Their chariots were empty, their spears stood\nfixed in the ground, their horses fed at large throughout the plain,\nfor the ruling purpose in life survives the grave.\n\nThere, in a sequestered dale, stood Anchises surveying the souls that\nwere to revisit earth once more, among them his own offspring yet\nunborn. But when he saw \u00c6neas moving to meet him, with outstretched\narms and tearful eyes he cried: \"O my son, my son, hast thou come to\nme indeed? Am I permitted to see thy face and hear thy well-known\nvoice once more?\" And \u00c6neas answered, weeping also: \"Give me thy hand,\nmy father, and take me to thy breast.\" Thrice he strove to throw his\narm round his father, thrice the phantom slipped from his embrace,\nthin as the fluttering breeze or like a dream of the night. Gazing\naround him he saw in a wooded glade numberless peoples and tribes,\nhovering above the brakes like bees in summer-time, and he inquired of\nhis sire what these might be.\n\nThen Anchises taught \u00c6neas many wonderful things concerning the state\nof departed souls in Elysium and the future of the Trojan race. And\ntouching the first, he said that after suffering many things the evil\nof their natures was washed or burned away, and they passed to\nElysium, there to dwell for a thousand years. \"All these,\" he\ncontinued, \"are then summoned forth by the gods in a great body to the\nriver Lethe, wherein they leave all memory of the past and again\nbecome willing to return into mortal bodies.\"\n\nSaying this, he led \u00c6neas to the summit of a hill from which they who\nwere to be born could be seen passing in an endless file before them.\n\n\"See you,\" he said, \"that youth leaning on a pointless spear? He shall\nbe Silvius, the child of thy old age, and shall reign over Alba Longa.\nBehold there Romulus, the founder of Rome, the city of the seven\nhills, he shall rule the world. The graybeard behind him is Numa, the\nlawgiver, and next comes Tullus, the warrior. Those that follow are\nthe proud Tarquins. There, too, is Brutus, unhappy man, who shall give\nliberty to Rome; and, unhappy father! whose inflexible justice shall\ndoom to death his guilty sons.\"\n\nAll these and many others who sprang from \u00c6neas' loins, did Anchises\npoint out, crying as he ended: \"To you, O Romans, be it given to rule\nthe nations, to dictate terms of peace, to spare the humbled, and to\ncrush the proud.\"\n\nLast they watched the great Marcellus, the terror of the Gauls, the\nconqueror of Carthage.\n\nThen \u00c6neas asked: \"What youth is he, O father, who walks by his side\nin shining armor; but his countenance is sad, his eyes fixed upon the\nground? Is he a son, or haply a grandson?\"\n\nAnd Anchises wept as he replied: \"Alas, my son, for the sorrows of thy\nkindred! Dear child of pity! could'st thou but burst thy fate's\ninvidious bar, our own Marcellus thou! Ah! woful shall be the day of\nhis death! Could he but live none had faced his onset. Bring\nlilies--lilies in handfuls; let me heap bright flowers on the shade\nunborn, and pay at least this empty tribute.\"[1]\n\nThus they passed through Elysium, Anchises showing and explaining all\nto \u00c6neas, firing him with the thoughts of future fame, and instructing\nhim how to act throughout the struggles of his remaining life. Then,\nwhen all had been shown and said, Father Anchises sent back his son\n\u00c6neas and the Sibyl to the mortal world by that shining Ivory Gate\nwhere through pass the dreams that visit the slumbers of men.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] The reference is to Marcellus, nephew and son-in-law of Augustus,\nand his destined heir. He died at the early age of eighteen.\n\n\n\n\nNISUS AND EURYALUS\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\n\u00c6neas was absent from the camp. Warned by Father Tiber he had gone\nwith a picked band of followers to seek the alliance of his kinsman,\nKing Evander, who with his Arcadians had settled themselves on the\nseven hills which now are Rome.\n\nWhilst he was away, the camp was left in charge of his son Iulus, and\nas adjutant and counselor to the young prince he appointed his most\nexperienced general, old Aletes.\n\nBut Juno, the implacable foe of Troy, had despatched to Turnus, the\nRutulian Prince, her messenger Iris to tell him of \u00c6neas' absence and\nbid him seize the occasion to storm the Trojan camp. So all day long\nthe garrison, reduced in numbers and without its great captain, saw\nthe tide of horse and foot, Latins, Rutulians, and Etruscans,\ngathering in the plain and sweeping onward to overwhelm them, like the\nNile in full flood. As \u00c6neas had bid them, they retired within their\nintrenchments, too strong to be carried at the first assault.\n\nAt nightfall the enemy withdrew, and the weary defenders lay down to\nsleep, but in fear of a night attack they ventured not to unbuckle\ntheir armor, and at each camp-gate was posted a strong guard of\nsentinels.\n\nConspicuous among the captains of the guard was Nisus, whom his\nmother, Ida, the world-famed huntress, had sent as squire to \u00c6neas, no\nless skilled than his mother with javelin or with bow. With him as\nhis lieutenant was Euryalus, the fairest youth, save Iulus alone, in\nall the Trojan host, the down of manhood just showing on his cheek,\nelsewise as round and smooth as a girl's.\n\nThe two were more than brothers-in-arms, inseparable as twin cherries\non a single stalk; the one followed the other as his shadow, and their\nlove was more than the love of man and maid.\n\nAnd now as they kept watch together they thus conversed:\n\nNISUS. I know not what ails me, brother, but to-night I feel a wild\nunrest, a strange prompting to be up and doing some doughty deed. What\nthink you, brother? Is it an inspiration of heaven or only my own\nfiery spirit, pent up within these walls and fretting for the fray?\nMark you, brother. The enemy's camp is silent as the tomb. Not a\nsentinel is stirring, and the rare watch-fires burn low. 'Tis plain to\nme that the captains, having driven us back to our trenches, have been\ncelebrating their victory and are now buried in drunken slumber. Now I\nwill expound to thee the plan that is working in my brain. At all\nhazards \u00c6neas must be summoned back from the city of Evander--so our\ngenerals and men are all agreed. If only my proposal is accepted,\nmethinks I have discovered a way to bear the message and work our\ndeliverance.\n\nEURYALUS. Verily 'tis a glorious venture and well worth the risk, but\nthou speakest as if the venture were thine. Can I have heard thee\naright? Truly, brother, the plan is _thine_, but the execution is\n_ours_. Thinkest thou, brother, alone to put thy head into the lion's\nmouth? Shall I not share thy triumph or thy death? In life we have\nbeen one, and in death we shall not be divided.\n\nNISUS. Nay, brother, I never doubted thy courage or thy love. This\nthought alone, perhaps a selfish thought, was mine: if perchance I\nshould fall--and sanguine as I am of success I know 'tis a perilous\nhazard--I would fain one sure friend survived to lay my body in mother\nearth, or if that grace is denied, at least to perform due rites at my\ncenotaph. I thought, moreover, that thou art the younger man and thy\nmother's only son.\n\nEURYALUS. Out on thy vain excuses! Only if thou takest me with thee\nwill I forgive them. My mind is set. Let us to work.\n\nSo they called to the nearest sentinels to relieve them of their guard\nand hurried to seek Iulus. They found him in his tent presiding over a\ncouncil of war, but the sentries let them pass on business that would\nnot wait. It chanced that the captains were at that moment debating\nhow possibly to convey a message to \u00c6neas informing him of their\npressing need, and when Nisus expounded to them his plan, assuring\nthem that as a young hunter he had explored every inch of the ground\nand knew a secret forest path that would lead them to the rear of the\nenemy's camp, he was welcomed as a messenger sent from heaven. Old\nAletes laid his hands on their heads and with tears in his eyes\nblessed the gods for sending such deliverers. \"Young heroes!\" he\ncried, \"your virtue is its own reward, but \u00c6neas, when he returns,\nwill know how to recompense you.\" Iulus, with boyish generosity,\npromised them his choicest treasures, embossed tankards and two\ntalents of gold, aye and the charger and arms of Turnus, whose fall\nwas certain when \u00c6neas returned; and he put his arms round Euryalus'\nneck (the youth was scarce older than himself) and called him his\nbrother-in-arms.\n\nBoldened by this signal favor of the prince, Euryalus, on bended knee,\nbesought one parting boon. \"Prince,\" he cried, \"I have an aged mother\nwho for my sake left her native home and the court of King Acestes to\naccompany me to the wars. I may not stay to bid her farewell and\nreceive her blessing, nor could I dare confide to her our perilous\nerrand. Thou hast deigned to call me brother: O prince, be to her a\nson. To know that thou wilt be here to solace and comfort her will\ngive me fresh confidence.\" The prince swore to love and cherish her no\nless than his own lost mother, Creusa, and wishing him Godspeed he\ngirt on his shoulder the sword of that famous Cretan swordsman,\nLycaon, with hilt of wrought gold and scabbard of ivory. To Nisus,\nAchates gave his own helmet, that had borne the brunt of many a shrewd\nblow.\n\nThus armed and charged with many messages from Iulus to his father\nthey left the camp, and the captains sent after them a parting cheer.\n\nThe night was dark, but Nisus could almost have found his way\nblindfolded through the familiar forest. In a short hour they had\nreached the camp unperceived, and then, as Nisus had anticipated, they\nfound a scene of barbarous revelry. Amongst tilted war-chariots,\ntethered horses, and empty wine-jars men lay stretched in drunken\nslumber.\n\n\"Follow me,\" whispered Nisus, \"and keep an open eye lest any attack me\nfrom behind. I will hew thee anon a path of blood by which we can both\npass to our goal.\"\n\nWith drawn sword he rushed on Rhamnes, who lay snoring on a pile of\nbroidered coverlets: an augur was he of royal blood, but little did\nhis augury avail him that day. His three attendants soon followed\ntheir master to the shades. Like a ravening wolf who has leapt into\nthe sheepfold he dealt havoc right and left, and all that Nisus spared\nthe sword of Euryalus despatched.\n\n\"Enough,\" cried Nisus, at length sated with carnage; \"our way through\nthe enemy is clear, and the tell-tale morn is nigh at hand.\" Much rich\nspoil they left behind--flagons of gold and silver, gemmed goblets and\nbroideries; but Euryalus cast longing eyes on a huge baldrick with\nbosses of gold, an heirloom of the dead augur, and he strapped it\nround his shoulder; nor could he resist (proud youth) the temptation\nto try on a bright helmet with flaming crest of Messapus, the Tamer of\nSteeds. With these spoils to attest their glorious raid, the pair left\nthe camp and gained in safety the open.\n\nTheir task seemed well-nigh accomplished, but it chanced that a troop\nof three hundred horse, despatched from the Latin capital as an\nadvanced guard for Turnus, were just then approaching the camp from\nthe opposite direction, and espying in the twilight the glint of the\nhelmet they challenged the pair. No answer was returned, and Nisus,\nwho was leading, quickened his pace to gain the shelter of the forest.\nThe horsemen wheeled round and sought to cut off their retreat, but\nthey were too late, and Nisus was already speeding down a winding\nbypath that he knew full well, when he looked back, and to his horror\nperceived that Euryalus was not following. \"Euryalus!\" he shouted, but\nno answer came. He turned and painfully retraced his steps. Soon he\nheard the tramp of horses among the brushwood and broken branches,\nand guided by the sound in a clearing of the forest he saw Euryalus,\nhis back against an oak, like a stag at bay, facing a ring of\nhorsemen. What was he to do? To save himself by flight was\nunthinkable, but should he rush at once on certain death? In\ndesperation he breathed a prayer to his patron goddess Diana. \"Queen\nof the woods,\" he cried, \"by the gifts I have offered on thine altar,\nby the vows I have daily paid, help me now in my utmost need and guide\nmy aim!\" So praying, he hurled with all his might a spear, and so\nstraight and swift it flew that Sulmo was transfixed from back to\nbreast, and the shaft snapped off short as the barbed head quivered in\nthe wound. A second spear buried itself in Tagus's brain, and he too\nbit the dust. Volscens, the captain of the troop, saw his two comrades\nstruck down as by a bolt from the blue, and with drawn sword he turned\non Euryalus crying, \"If I cannot reach the fiend who hurled those\nspears, thy blood at least shall atone the bloody deed.\"\n\nAt this Nisus could no longer restrain himself, and leaping from the\ncovert he shouted, \"I, none but I, am the guilty cause. Oh, spare this\ninnocent boy and turn your swords on me! To love his friend too well,\nthis was his only crime!\" But his words were vain; while yet he spoke\nthe sword of Volscens had pierced the boy's heart and stained with\ngore his white side, and he drooped his head like a poppy drenched\nwith rain, or a harebell upturned by the plowshare.\n\nAt the sight Nisus hurled himself into the thick of his foes,\nscattering them right and left with the lightnings of his glaive, till\nhe forced his way to Volscens, and with a dying effort smote the\nmurderer of his sweet friend. Pierced with a hundred wounds he fell\nupon Euryalus' prostrate corpse, and a smile was on his lips, for in\ndeath they were not divided.\n\nSuch was the tale that Virgil sang, and the prophecy that he uttered\nnigh upon two thousand years ago has been fulfilled:\n\n \"O happy pair, if aught my verse avail,\n Your memory through the ages shall not fail,\n While on the Capitol Rome's flag is seen\n And Rome holds sway, Italia's Empress Queen.\"\n\n\n\n\nULYSSES IN HADES\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nBefore he left fair Circe's isle Ulysses reminded the goddess of her\npromise to speed them on their homeward way. This, she assured him,\nnot she but the Fates refused. Nor could they hope to breathe their\nnative air till a long and toilsome journey had been taken, a journey\nthat would lead them down even to the dread realms of Death. \"But\nthere,\" she said, \"you shall seek out blind Tiresias, the Theban bard;\nthough his eyes be blind his mind is filled with prophetic light. He\nwill tell you all you seek to know of your future and the fate of\nthose you love.\"\n\nBrave as he was, Ulysses shuddered at the awful road he had to tread,\nand appealed to Circe for further aid in this adventure. So she told\nhim the landmarks to guide him on his way, and instructed him what to\ndo when he reached the realms of Tartarus. And when morn broke he\nsummoned his companions to set forth. They came in haste and joy.\n\nBut one was missing. Elpenor, the youngest of the band, a wild and\nsenseless youth, had climbed to the housetop to breathe the cold air\nafter a debauch lasting far into the night. At the sudden tumult of\ndeparture he was roused, and hastening down he missed the ladder and\nfell headlong from the roof and broke his neck.\n\nIgnorant of his fate, the rest crowded eagerly round their leader,\ntill his few and sober words told them that not yet the joys of\nhomecoming awaited them, but it was decreed that first they should\nseek the awful shade of Tiresias in the dark and dreary realms of\nDeath. Sadly then upon that shore they made their sacrifices to the\nimmortal gods, and sadly embarked in the waiting ship and spread their\nsails to the freshening breeze.\n\nAs the sun sank, and all the ways were darkened, they reached the\nutmost bounds of Ocean, a lonely land, where the sun never shines,\nwhere darkness broods perpetually over bare and rocky crags, the abode\nof the Cimmerians. Off their desolate shore Ulysses cast anchor, and\nleaping from his ship, descried the awful chasm that leads to the\nrealms of the dead.\n\nHis two companions bore with them the black sheep as Circe had bidden,\nand Ulysses drew his shining sword and carved a great trench, a cubit\nlong and wide, in the black earth. This was filled with wine, milk,\nand honey, and the blood of the newly offered sacrifices. Thus, with\nsolemn rites and holy vows, they invoked the nations of the dead. And\nlo! among the frowning caverns and all along the dusky shores appeared\nthe phantom shapes of unsubstantial ghosts. Old and young, warriors\nghastly with wounds, matrons and maids, rich and poor, they crowded\nabout the trench filled with the reeking blood of sacrifice. But\nUlysses in terror brandished his sword above the flowing blood, and\nthe pale throngs started back and stood silently about him.\n\nThen he saw Elpenor, new to the realms of Death. Astonished, he\ndemanded of the shade how it was that he had outrun their swift sail,\nand was found wandering with the dead. To which the youth replied that\nhis feet, unsteady through excess of wine, had betrayed him and sent\nhim headlong from the tower, and as he fell his neck was broken and\nhis soul plunged in Hell.\n\nBut he implored Ulysses, by all he held most dear, to give his\nunburied limbs a peaceful grave, and set up a barrow, and on it plant\nhis oar to show that he had been one of Ulysses' crew. And Ulysses\ngranted the boon, and the spirit of Elpenor departed content.\n\nThen, as Ulysses sat watching the trench, he saw the shade of his\nroyal mother, Anticlea, approach; but though the tears bedewed his\ncheek at the sight, the pale shade stood regardless of her son.\n\nNext came the mighty Theban, Tiresias, bearing a scepter of gold; and\nhe knew him and spake: \"Why, son of Laertes, wanderest thou from\ncheerful day to tread this sorrowful path? What angry gods have led\nthee, alive, to be companion of the dead? If thou wilt sheathe thy\nsword I will relate thy future and the high purposes of Heaven towards\nthee.\"\n\nUlysses sheathed his glittering blade, and the seer bent down and\ndrank of the dark blood. Then he foretold all the strange disasters\nthat would threaten and detain Ulysses on his homeward way. He told\nhow at length he alone of all his crew would survive to reach his\ncountry--there to find his labors not yet at an end, with foes in\npower at his court, lordly suitors besieging his wife, and wasting his\nsubstance in riot and debauch. But a peaceful end to his long and\ntoilsome life should come at last, and see him sink to the grave\nblessed by all his people. \"This is thy life to come, and this is\nFate,\" said the seer.\n\nTo whom Ulysses, unmoved, made answer: \"All that the gods ordain the\nwise endure.\"\n\nSo the prophet went his way, and Ulysses waited on for his mother to\ncome. And anon, Anticlea came and stooped and drank of the dark blood,\nand straightway all the mother in her soul awoke, and she addressed\nher son, asking whence he came and why.\n\n\"To seek Tiresias, and learn my doom,\" Ulysses answered, \"for I have\nbeen a roamer and an exile from home ever since the fall of Troy.\"\nThen he asked her how her own death had happened, whether his good\nfather Laertes still lived, if Telemachus his son ruled in Ithaca, and\nif Penelope yet waited and watched for her absent lord, or if she had\ntaken a new mate.\n\nTo all his questions Anticlea made answer with tender pity. Penelope,\nhis faithful wife, still mourned for him uncomforted; Telemachus, now\nalmost grown to manhood, ruled his realm; and old Laertes, bowed with\ngrief, only waited in sorrow for the release of the tomb, since his\nson Ulysses returned no more. She herself, his mother, had died of a\nbroken heart; for him she lived, and when he came not, for love of him\nshe died.\n\nUlysses, deeply moved, strove thrice to clasp her in his arms, and\nthrice she slipped from his embrace, like a shadow or a dream. In vain\nhe begged that his fond arms might enfold the parent so tenderly\nloved, that he might know it was she herself and no empty image sent\nby Hell's queen to mock his sorrow. But the pensive ghost admonished\nhim that such were all spirits when they had quit their mortal bodies.\nNo substance of the man remained, said she: all had been devoured by\nthe funeral flames and scattered by the winds to the empty air. It was\nbut the soul that flew, like a dream, to the infernal regions. \"But\ngo,\" she adjured him; \"haste to climb the steep ascent; regain the day\nand seek your bride, to recount to her the horrors and the laws of\nHell.\"\n\nAs she ceased and disappeared, a cloud of phantoms, wives and\ndaughters of kings and heroes, flitted round the visitant of earth.\nDauntless he waved his sword; the ghostly crew shrank away and dared\nnot drink of the wine in the trench at his feet. They passed, and to\neach other Ulysses heard them recount their names and needs. There he\nsaw Alcmena, mother of Alcides; Megara, wife of Hercules, who was\nslain by him in his madness; the beautiful Chloris, Antiope, and Leda,\nmother of the deathless twins Castor and Pollux, who live and die\nalternately, the one in Heaven and the other in Hell, the favored sons\nof Jove.\n\nThere walked Ph\u00e6dra, shedding unceasing tears of remorse for her slain\nlove, and near her mournful Ariadne. All these, and many more, Ulysses\nrecognized in that pale procession of departed spirits. When they had\nbeen summoned back to the black halls of Proserpine, the forms of the\nheroes slain by the foul \u00c6gisthus came in sight. High above them all\ntowered great Agamemnon. He drank the wine and knew his friend; with\ntears Ulysses greeted him and inquired what relentless doom, what fate\nof war, or mischance upon the ocean, had thrust his spirit into Hell?\nAnd Agamemnon told him all the dreadful story of his return from Troy,\nand the treachery of his wife Clytemnestra and her lover, who slew him\nas he feasted, and with him all his friends; most pitiful of all, the\nvoice of the dying Cassandra, slain at his side as he himself lay\ndying, still rang in his ears.\n\nAnd Ulysses answered him: \"What ills hath Jupiter wreaked on the house\nof Atreus through the counsels of women!\"\n\n\"Be warned,\" replied Agamemnon, \"and tell no woman all that is in thy\nheart; not even Penelope, though she is discreet and true above all\nother women and will not plot thy death.\" And he grieved for his own\nson Orestes, on whom he had never looked, envying his friend an heir\nso wise and brave as the young Telemachus.\n\nThen he saw Achilles and Patroclus, approaching through the gloom.\nAchilles knew his friend and hastened to his side. \"Oh mortal,\noverbold,\" he asked, \"how durst thou come down living to the realms of\nthe dead?\" Ulysses told him how he had come, though living, to seek\ncounsel of the dead.\n\nBut Achilles made answer:\n\n \"Rather would I, in the sun's warmth divine,\n Moil as a churl, who drags his days in grief,\n Than the whole lordship of the dead were mine.\"\n\nThen, like Agamemnon, he demanded news of his son, and Ulysses charmed\nthe father's heart by telling of the gallant deeds of Neoptolemus at\nTroy town, and how he had escaped unscathed from the fight.\n\nAchilles glowed with pride and delight; and as he joined the\nillustrious shades of the warriors about him, Ulysses sought the side\nof Ajax, whom he perceived standing apart in gloom and sullenness. His\nlost honors perpetually stung his mind, though the fight had been fair\nand Ulysses had been judged the victor by the Trojans. Ulysses seeing\nhim stand thus mournfully aloof, addressed him with tender sorrow.\n\"Still burns thy rage? Can brave souls bear malice e'en after death?\"\nhe asked him sadly. But for all his appeals the resentful shade turned\nfrom him with disdain, and silently stalked away. Touched to the\ndepths of a generous heart Ulysses started in pursuit through the\nblack and winding ways of Death, to find and force him to reply to his\nearnest questioning, but on the way such strange and awful scenes met\nhis astonished eyes as caused him to pause and turn aside.\n\nThere was huge Orion, whirling aloft his ponderous mace of brass to\ncrush his savage prey.\n\nThere was Tityus, the son of Earth, who for offering violence to the\ngoddess Latona was shot dead by her children, and lay for ever in Hell\nin fetters while vultures gnawed at his liver.\n\nAgain he looked, and beheld Tantalus, whose awful groans echoed\nthrough the roofless caverns. When to the stream that rippled past him\nhe applied his parched lips, it fled before he could taste of it.\nFruit of all kinds hung round him--pomegranates, figs, and ripening\napples; but if he strove to seize the fruit, the baffling wind would\ntoss the branch high out of his reach.\n\nWhen in horror at the sight of these torments, Ulysses turned aside,\nhe saw a laboring figure, Sisyphus, who with weary steps up a high\nhill was heaving a huge round stone. When, with infinite straining, he\nreached at length the summit, the boulder, poising but an instant,\nbounded down the steep again with a wild impetuous rush, and dragged\nwith it Sisyphus into the depths of an awful cavern. Thence once\nagain, with sweat and agony, he must renew his toil and creep with\npainful labor up the slope, thrusting the rock before him. This the\npunishment for a life of avaricious greed, devoted to a pitiless\nunassuageable lust for gold and power.\n\nAnd farther on great Hercules was seen, a towering specter of gigantic\nform. Gloomy as night he stood, in act to shoot an arrow from his\nmonstrous bow. With grim visage and terrible look he lamented his\nwrongs and woes, and then abruptly turning, strode away.\n\nWhen Ulysses, curious to view the kings of ancient days and all the\nendless ranks of the mighty dead, would have stood strong in this\nresolve to watch them, a great swarm of specters rose from deepest\nHell. With hideous yells they flew at him; they gaped at him and\ngibbered in such menacing tones that his blood froze in his veins. In\nfear lest the Gorgon, rising from the depths of the infernal lake,\nwith her crown of hissing snakes about her brow, should transfix him\nto stone, he turned and fled.\n\nHe climbed the steep ascent and joined his waiting shipmates. They set\nsail with all haste to leave the dread Cimmerian shore, and a fair\nwind sped them on their backward way.\n\n\n\n\nCIRCE'S PALACE\n\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\n\n\nAfter escaping from the Cyclopes, and enduring many other perils by\nland and sea in the course of his weary voyage to Ithaca, Ulysses\narrived at a green island, the name of which was unknown to him, and\nwas glad to moor his tempest-beaten bark in a quiet cove. But he had\nencountered so many dangers from giants, and one-eyed Cyclopes, and\nmonsters of the sea and land, that he could not help dreading some\nmischief, even in this pleasant and seemingly solitary spot. For two\ndays, therefore, the poor weather-worn voyagers kept quiet, and either\nstayed on board of their vessel, or merely crept along under the\ncliffs that bordered the shore; and to keep themselves alive, they dug\nshell-fish out of the sand, and sought for any little rill of fresh\nwater that might be running towards the sea.\n\nBefore the two days were spent, they grew very weary of this kind of\nlife; for the followers of King Ulysses were terrible gormandizers,\nand pretty sure to grumble if they missed their regular meals, and\ntheir irregular ones besides. Their stock of provisions was quite\nexhausted, and even the shell-fish began to get scarce, so that they\nhad now to choose between starving to death or venturing into the\ninterior of the island, where perhaps some huge three-headed dragon,\nor other horrible monster, had his den.\n\nBut King Ulysses was a bold man as well as a prudent one; and on the\nthird morning he determined to discover what sort of a place the\nisland was, and whether it were possible to obtain a supply of food\nfor the hungry mouths of his companions. So, taking a spear in his\nhand, he clambered to the summit of a cliff and gazed round about him.\nAt a distance, towards the center of the island, he beheld the stately\ntowers of what seemed to be a palace, built of snow-white marble, and\nrising in the midst of a grove of lofty trees. The thick branches of\nthese trees stretched across the front of the edifice, and more than\nhalf concealed it, although, from the portion which he saw, Ulysses\njudged it to be spacious and exceedingly beautiful, and probably the\nresidence of some great nobleman or prince. A blue smoke went curling\nup from the chimney, and was almost the pleasantest part of the\nspectacle to Ulysses. For, from the abundance of this smoke, it was\nreasonable to conclude that there was a good fire in the kitchen, and\nthat, at dinner-time, a plentiful banquet would be served up to the\ninhabitants of the palace, and to whatever guests might happen to drop\nin.\n\nWith so agreeable a prospect before him, Ulysses fancied that he could\nnot do better than to go straight to the palace gate, and tell the\nmaster of it that there was a crew of poor shipwrecked mariners, not\nfar off, who had eaten nothing for a day or two save a few clams and\noysters, and would therefore be thankful for a little food. And the\nprince or nobleman must be a very stingy curmudgeon, to be sure, if,\nat least, when his own dinner was over, he would not bid them welcome\nto the broken victuals from the table.\n\nPleasing himself with this idea, King Ulysses had made a few steps in\nthe direction of the palace, when there was a great twittering and\nchirping from the branch of a neighboring tree. A moment afterwards a\nbird came flying towards him, and hovered in the air, so as almost to\nbrush his face with its wings. It was a very pretty little bird, with\npurple wings and body, and yellow legs, and a circle of golden\nfeathers round its neck, and on its head a golden tuft, which looked\nlike a king's crown in miniature. Ulysses tried to catch the bird. But\nit fluttered nimbly out of his reach, still chirping in a piteous\ntone, as if it could have told a lamentable story, had it only been\ngifted with human language. And when he attempted to drive it away,\nthe bird flew no farther than the bough of the next tree, and again\ncame fluttering about his head, with its doleful chirp, as soon as he\nshowed a purpose of going forward.\n\n\"Have you anything to tell me, little bird?\" asked Ulysses.\n\n\"Peep!\" said the bird, \"peep, peep, pe--weep!\" And nothing else would\nit say, but only, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" in a melancholy cadence, and\nover and over and over again. As often as Ulysses moved forward,\nhowever, the bird showed the greatest alarm, and did its best to drive\nhim back with the anxious flutter of its purple wings. Its\nunaccountable behavior made him conclude, at last, that the bird knew\nof some danger that awaited him, and which must needs be very\nterrible, beyond all question, since it moved even a little fowl to\nfeel compassion for a human being. So he resolved, for the present, to\nreturn to the vessel, and tell his companions what he had seen.\n\nThis appeared to satisfy the bird. As soon as Ulysses turned back, it\nran up the trunk of a tree, and began to pick insects out of the bark\nwith its long, sharp bill; for it was a kind of woodpecker, you must\nknow, and had to get its living in the same manner as other birds of\nthat species. But every little while, as it pecked at the bark of the\ntree, the purple bird bethought itself of some secret sorrow, and\nrepeated its plaintive note of \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\"\n\nOn his way to the shore, Ulysses had the good luck to kill a large\nstag. Taking it on his shoulders he lugged it along with him, and\nflung it down before his hungry companions.\n\nBut the next morning their appetites were as sharp as ever. They\nlooked at Ulysses, as if they expected him to clamber up the cliff\nagain and come back with another fat deer upon his shoulders. Instead\nof setting out, however, he summoned the whole crew together, and told\nthem it was in vain to hope that he could kill a stag every day for\ntheir dinner, and therefore it was advisable to think of some other\nmode of satisfying their hunger.\n\n\"Now,\" said he, \"when I was on the cliff yesterday, I discovered that\nthis island is inhabited. At a considerable distance from the shore\nstood a marble palace, which appeared to be very spacious, and had a\ngreat deal of smoke curling out of one of its chimneys.\"\n\n\"Aha!\" muttered some of his companions, smacking their lips. \"That\nsmoke must have come from the kitchen fire. There was a good dinner on\nthe spit; and no doubt there will be as good a one to-day.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the wise Ulysses, \"you must remember, my good\nfriends, our misadventure in the cavern of one-eyed Polyphemus, the\nCyclops! To tell you the truth, if we go to yonder palace, there can\nbe no question that we shall make our appearance at the dinner-table;\nbut whether seated as guests, or served up as food, is a point to be\nseriously considered.\"\n\n\"Either way,\" murmured some of the hungriest of the crew, \"it will be\nbetter than starvation; particularly if one could be sure of being\nwell fattened beforehand, and daintily cooked afterwards.\"\n\n\"That is a matter of taste,\" said King Ulysses, \"and, for my own part,\nneither the most careful fattening nor the daintiest of cookery would\nreconcile me to being dished at last. My proposal is, therefore, that\nwe divide ourselves into two equal parties, and ascertain, by drawing\nlots, which of the two shall go to the palace and beg for food and\nassistance. If these can be obtained, all is well. If not, and if the\ninhabitants prove as inhospitable as Polyphemus, or the L\u00e6strygons,\nthen there will but half of us perish, and the remainder may set sail\nand escape.\"\n\nAs nobody objected to this scheme, Ulysses proceeded to count the\nwhole band, and found that there were forty-six men including himself.\nHe then numbered off twenty-two of them, and put Eurylochus (who was\none of his chief officers, and second only to himself in sagacity) at\ntheir head. Ulysses took command of the remaining twenty-two men in\nperson. Then, taking off his helmet, he put two shells into it, on one\nof which was written, \"Go,\" and on the other, \"Stay.\" Another person\nnow held the helmet, while Ulysses and Eurylochus drew out each a\nshell; and the word \"Go\" was found written on that which Eurylochus\nhad drawn. In this manner it was decided that Ulysses and his\ntwenty-two men were to remain at the seaside until the other party\nshould have found out what sort of treatment they might expect at the\nmysterious palace. As there was no help for it, Eurylochus\nimmediately set forth at the head of his twenty-two followers, who\nwent off in a very melancholy state of mind, leaving their friends in\nhardly better spirits than themselves.\n\nNo sooner had they clambered up the cliff than they discerned the tall\nmarble towers of the palace, ascending, as white as snow, out of the\nlovely green shadow of the trees which surrounded it. A gush of smoke\ncame from a chimney in the rear of the edifice. The vapor rose high in\nthe air, and, meeting with a breeze, was wafted seaward, and made to\npass over the heads of the hungry mariners. When people's appetites\nare keen, they have a very quick scent for anything savory in the\nwind.\n\n\"That smoke comes from the kitchen!\" cried one of them, turning up his\nnose as high as he could, and snuffing eagerly. \"And, as sure as I'm a\nhalf-starved vagabond, I smell roast meat in it.\"\n\n\"Pig, roast pig!\" said another. \"Ah, the dainty little porker! My\nmouth waters for him.\"\n\n\"Let us make haste,\" cried the others, \"or we shall be too late for\nthe good cheer!\"\n\nBut scarcely had they made half a dozen steps from the edge of the\ncliff, when a bird came fluttering to meet them. It was the same\npretty little bird, with the purple wings and body, the yellow legs,\nthe golden collar round its neck, and the crown-like tuft upon its\nhead, whose behavior had so much surprised Ulysses. It hovered about\nEurylochus, and almost brushed his face with its wings.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" chirped the bird.\n\nSo plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if the\nlittle creature were going to break its heart with some mighty secret\nthat it had to tell, and only this one poor note to tell it with.\n\n\"My pretty bird,\" said Eurylochus--for he was a wary person, and let\nno token of harm escape his notice--\"my pretty bird, who sent you\nhither? And what is the message which you bring?\"\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" replied the bird, very sorrowfully.\n\nThen it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked round at them,\nas if exceedingly anxious that they should return whence they came.\nEurylochus and a few others were inclined to turn back. They could not\nhelp suspecting that the purple bird must be aware of something\nmischievous that would befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of\nwhich affected its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow. But\nthe rest of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace\nkitchen, ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of them\n(more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious gormandizer in\nthe whole crew) said such a cruel and wicked thing, that I wonder the\nmere thought did not turn him into a wild beast, in shape, as he\nalready was in his nature.\n\n\"This troublesome and impertinent little fowl,\" said he, \"would make a\ndelicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump morsel, melting\naway between the teeth. If he comes within my reach, I'll catch him,\nand give him to the palace cook to be roasted on a skewer.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth, before the purple bird flew\naway, crying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" more dolorously than ever.\n\n\"That bird,\" remarked Eurylochus, \"knows more than we do about what\nawaits us at the palace.\"\n\n\"Come on, then,\" cried his comrades, \"and we'll soon know as much as\nhe does.\"\n\nThe party, accordingly, went onward through the green and pleasant\nwood. Every little while they caught new glimpses of the marble\npalace, which looked more and more beautiful the nearer they\napproached it.\n\nAt one place they came to a crystal spring, and paused to drink at it\nfor want of liquor which they liked better. Looking into its bosom,\nthey beheld their own faces dimly reflected, but so extravagantly\ndistorted by the gush and motion of the water, that each one of them\nappeared to be laughing at himself and all his companions. So\nridiculous were these images of themselves, indeed, that they did\nreally laugh aloud, and could hardly be grave again as soon as they\nwished. And after they had drank, they grew still merrier than before.\n\n\"It has a twang of the wine-cask in it,\" said one, smacking his lips.\n\n\"Make haste!\" cried his fellows; \"we'll find the wine-cask itself at\nthe palace; and that will be better than a hundred crystal fountains.\"\n\nThen they quickened their pace, and capered for joy at the thought of\nthe savory banquet at which they hoped to be guests. But Eurylochus\ntold them that he felt as if he were walking in a dream.\n\n\"If I am really awake,\" continued he, \"then, in my opinion, we are on\nthe point of meeting with some stranger adventure than any that befell\nus in the cave of Polyphemus, or among the gigantic man-eating\nL\u00e6strygons, or in the windy palace of King \u00c6olus, which stands on a\nbrazen-walled island. This kind of dreamy feeling always comes over me\nbefore any wonderful occurrence. If you take my advice, you will turn\nback.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered his comrades, snuffing the air, in which the scent\nfrom the palace kitchen was now very perceptible. \"We would not turn\nback, though we were certain that the king of the L\u00e6strygons, as big\nas a mountain, would sit at the head of the table, and huge\nPolyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops, at its foot.\"\n\nAt length they came within full sight of the palace, which proved to\nbe very large and lofty, with a great number of airy pinnacles upon\nits roof. Though it was now midday, and the sun shone brightly over\nthe marble front, yet its snowy whiteness, and its fantastic style of\narchitecture, made it look unreal, like the frostwork on a window\npane, or like the shapes of castles which one sees among the clouds by\nmoonlight. But, just then, a puff of wind brought down the smoke of\nthe kitchen chimney among them, and caused each man to smell the odor\nof the dish that he liked best and, after scenting it, they thought\neverything else moonshine, and nothing real save this palace, and save\nthe banquet that was evidently ready to be served up in it.\n\nSo they hastened their steps towards the portal, but had not got\nhalfway across the wide lawn, when a pack of lions, tigers, and wolves\ncame bounding to meet them. The terrified mariners started back,\nexpecting no better fate than to be torn to pieces and devoured. To\ntheir surprise and joy, however, these wild beasts merely capered\naround them, wagging their tails, offering their heads to be stroked\nand patted, and behaving just like so many well-bred house-dogs, when\nthey wish to express their delight at meeting their master or their\nmaster's friends. The biggest lion licked the feet of Eurylochus; and\nevery other lion, and every wolf and tiger, singled out one of his\ntwo-and-twenty followers, whom the beast fondled as if he loved him\nbetter than a beef-bone.\n\nBut, for all that, Eurylochus imagined that he saw something fierce\nand savage in their eyes; nor would he have been surprised, at any\nmoment, to feel the big lion's terrible claws, or to see each of the\ntigers make a deadly spring, or each wolf leap at the throat of the\nman whom he had fondled. Their mildness seemed unreal, and a mere\nfreak; but their savage nature was as true as their teeth and claws.\n\nNevertheless, the men went safely across the lawn with the wild beasts\nfrisking about them, and doing no manner of harm; although, as they\nmounted the steps of the palace, you might possibly have heard a low\ngrowl, particularly from the wolves, as if they thought it a pity,\nafter all, to let the strangers pass without so much as tasting what\nthey were made of.\n\nEurylochus and his followers now passed under a lofty portal, and\nlooked through the open doorway into the interior of the palace. The\nfirst thing that they saw was a spacious hall, and a fountain in the\nmiddle of it, gushing up towards the ceiling out of a marble basin,\nand falling back into it with a continual plash. The water of this\nfountain, as it spouted upward, was constantly taking new shapes, not\nvery distinctly, but plainly enough for a nimble fancy to recognize\nwhat they were. Now it was the shape of a man in a long robe, the\nfleecy whiteness of which was made out of the fountain's spray; now it\nwas a lion, or a tiger, or a wolf, or an ass, or, as often as anything\nelse, a hog, wallowing in the marble basin as if it were his sty. But,\nbefore the strangers had time to look closely at this wonderful sight,\ntheir attention was drawn off by a very sweet and agreeable sound. A\nwoman's voice was singing melodiously in another room of the palace,\nand with her voice was mingled the noise of a loom, at which she was\nprobably seated, weaving a rich texture of cloth, and intertwining the\nhigh and low sweetness of her voice into a rich tissue of harmony.\n\nBy and by the song came to an end; and then, all at once, there were\nseveral feminine voices, talking airily and cheerfully, with now and\nthen a merry burst of laughter, such as you may always hear when three\nor four young women sit at work together.\n\n\"What a sweet song that was!\" exclaimed one of the voyagers.\n\n\"Too sweet, indeed,\" answered Eurylochus, shaking his head. \"Yet it\nwas not so sweet as the song of the Sirens, those bird-like damsels\nwho wanted to tempt us on the rocks so that our vessel might be\nwrecked, and our bones left whitening along the shore.\"\n\n\"But just listen to the pleasant voices of those maidens, and that\nbuzz of the loom as the shuttle passes to and fro,\" said another\ncomrade. \"What a domestic, household, homelike sound it is! Ah, before\nthat weary siege of Troy, I used to hear the buzzing loom and the\nwomen's voices under my own roof. Shall I never hear them again? nor\ntaste those nice little savory dishes which my dearest wife knew how\nto serve up?\"\n\n\"Tush! we shall fare better here,\" said another. \"But how innocently\nthose women are babbling together, without guessing that we overhear\nthem! And mark that richest voice of all, so pleasant and familiar,\nbut which yet seems to have the authority of a mistress among them.\nLet us show ourselves at once. What harm can the lady of the palace\nand her maidens do to mariners and warriors like us?\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said Eurylochus, \"that it was a young maiden who beguiled\nthree of our friends into the palace of the king of the L\u00e6strygons,\nwho ate up one of them in the twinkling of an eye.\"\n\nNo warning or persuasion, however, had any effect on his companions.\nThey went up to a pair of folding doors at the farther end of the\nhall, and throwing them wide open, passed into the next room.\nEurylochus, meanwhile, had stepped behind a pillar. In the short\nmoment, while the folding doors opened and closed again, he caught a\nglimpse of a very beautiful woman rising from the loom, and coming to\nmeet the poor weather-beaten wanderers, with a hospitable smile, and\nher hand stretched out in welcome. There were four other young women,\nwho joined their hands and danced merrily forward, making gestures of\nobeisance to the strangers. They were only less beautiful than the\nlady who seemed to be their mistress. Yet Eurylochus fancied that one\nof them had sea-green hair, and that the close-fitting bodice of a\nsecond looked like the bark of a tree, and that both the others had\nsomething odd in their aspect, although he could not quite determine\nwhat it was, in the little while that he had to examine them.\n\nThe folding doors swung quickly back, and left him standing behind the\npillar, in the solitude of the outer hall. There Eurylochus waited\nuntil he was quite weary, and listened eagerly to every sound, but\nwithout hearing anything that could help him to guess what had become\nof his friends. Footsteps, it is true, seemed to be passing and\nrepassing in other parts of the palace. Then there was a clatter of\nsilver dishes, or golden ones, which made him imagine a rich feast in\na splendid banqueting hall. But by and by he heard a tremendous\ngrunting and squealing, and then a sudden scampering, like that of\nsmall, hard hoofs over a marble floor, while the voices of the\nmistress and her four handmaidens were screaming all together, in\ntones of anger and derision. Eurylochus could not conceive what had\nhappened, unless a drove of swine had broken into the palace,\nattracted by the smell of the feast. Chancing to cast his eyes at the\nfountain, he saw that it did not shift its shape as formerly, nor\nlooked either like a long-robed man, or a lion, a tiger, a wolf, or an\nass. It looked like nothing but a hog, which lay wallowing in the\nmarble basin, and filled it from brim to brim.\n\nBut we must leave the prudent Eurylochus waiting in the outer hall,\nand follow his friends into the inner secrecy of the palace. As soon\nas the beautiful woman saw them, she arose from the loom, as I have\ntold you, and came forward smiling, and stretching out her hand. She\ntook the hand of the foremost among them, and bade him and the whole\nparty welcome.\n\n\"You have been long expected, my good friends,\" said she. \"I and my\nmaidens are well acquainted with you, although you do not appear to\nrecognize us. Look at this piece of tapestry, and judge if your faces\nmust not have been familiar to us.\"\n\nSo the voyagers examined the web of cloth which the beautiful woman\nhad been weaving in her loom; and, to their vast astonishment, they\nsaw their own figures perfectly represented in different colored\nthreads. It was a life-like picture of their recent adventures,\nshowing them in the cave of Polyphemus, and how they had put out his\none great moony eye; while in another part of the tapestry they were\nuntying the leathern bags, puffed out with contrary winds; and farther\non they beheld themselves scampering away from the gigantic king of\nthe L\u00e6strygons, who had caught one of them by the leg. Lastly, there\nthey were, sitting on the desolate shore of this very island, hungry\nand downcast, and looking ruefully at the bare bones of the stag which\nthey devoured yesterday. This was as far as the work had yet\nproceeded; but when the beautiful woman should again sit down at her\nloom, she would probably make a picture of what had since happened to\nthe strangers, and of what was now going to happen.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"that I know all about your troubles; and you\ncannot doubt that I desire to make you happy for as long a time as you\nmay remain with me. For this purpose, my honored guests, I have\nordered a banquet to be prepared. Fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted and\nin luscious stews, and seasoned, I trust, to all your tastes, are\nready to be served up. If your appetites tell you it is dinner-time,\nthen come with me to the festal saloon.\"\n\nAt this kind invitation the hungry mariners were quite overjoyed; and\none of them, taking upon himself to be spokesman, assured their\nhospitable hostess that any hour of the day was dinner-time with them,\nwhenever they could get flesh to put in the pot, and fire to boil it\nwith. So the beautiful woman led the way; and the four maidens (one of\nthem had sea-green hair, another a bodice of oak bark, a third\nsprinkled a shower of water drops from her fingers' ends, and the\nfourth had some other oddity, which I have forgotten), all these\nfollowed behind, and hurried the guests along until they entered a\nmagnificent saloon. It was built in a perfect oval, and lighted from\na crystal dome above. Around the walls were ranged two-and-twenty\nthrones, overhung by canopies of crimson and gold, and provided with\nthe softest of cushions, which were tasseled and fringed with gold\ncord. Each of the strangers was invited to sit down; and there they\nwere, two-and-twenty storm-beaten mariners, in worn and tattered garb,\nsitting on two-and-twenty cushioned and canopied thrones, so rich and\ngorgeous that the proudest monarch had nothing more splendid in his\nstateliest hall.\n\nThen you might have seen the guests nodding, winking with one eye, and\nleaning from one throne to another, to communicate their satisfaction\nin hoarse whispers.\n\n\"Our good hostess has made kings of us all,\" said one. \"Ha! do you\nsmell the feast? I'll engage it will be fit to set before\ntwo-and-twenty kings.\"\n\nBut the beautiful woman now clapped her hands; and immediately there\nentered a train of two-and-twenty serving-men, bringing dishes of the\nrichest food, all hot from the kitchen fire, and sending up such a\nsteam that it hung like a cloud below the crystal dome of the saloon.\nAn equal number of attendants brought great flagons of wine of various\nkinds, some of which sparkled as it was poured out, and went bubbling\ndown the throat; while of other sorts, the purple liquor was so clear\nthat you could see the wrought figures at the bottom of the goblet.\nWhile the servants supplied the two-and-twenty guests with food and\ndrink, the hostess and her four maidens went from one throne to\nanother, exhorting them to eat their fill, and to quaff wine\nabundantly, and thus to recompense themselves at this one banquet for\nthe many days when they had gone without a dinner. But, whenever the\nmariners were not looking at them (which was pretty often, as they\nlooked chiefly into the basins and platters), the beautiful woman and\nher damsels turned aside and laughed. Even the servants, as they knelt\ndown to present the dishes, might be seen to grin and sneer while the\nguests were helping themselves to the offered dainties.\n\nAnd once in a while the strangers seemed to taste something that they\ndid not like.\n\n\"Here is an odd kind of a spice in this dish,\" said one. \"I can't say\nit quite suits my palate. Down it goes, however.\"\n\n\"Send a good draught of wine down your throat,\" said his comrade on\nthe next throne; \"that is the stuff to make this sort of cookery\nrelish well. Though I must needs say, the wine has a queer taste, too.\nBut the more I drink of it the better I like the flavor.\"\n\nWhatever little fault they might find with the dishes, they sat at\ndinner a prodigiously long while. They forgot all about their homes,\nand their wives and children, and all about Ulysses, and everything\nelse, except this banquet, at which they wanted to keep feasting\nforever. But at length they began to give over, from mere incapacity\nto hold any more.\n\n\"That last bit of fat is too much for me,\" said one.\n\n\"And I have not room for another morsel,\" said his next neighbor,\nheaving a sigh. \"What a pity! My appetite is as sharp as ever.\"\n\nIn short, they all left off eating, and leaned back on their thrones,\nwith such a stupid and helpless aspect as made them ridiculous to\nbehold. When their hostess saw this, she laughed aloud; so did her\nfour damsels; so did the two-and-twenty serving-men that bore the\ndishes, and their two-and-twenty fellows that poured out the wine.\nAnd the louder they all laughed, the more stupid and helpless did the\ntwo-and-twenty gormandizers look. Then the beautiful woman took her\nstand in the middle of the saloon, and stretching out a slender rod\n(it had been all the while in her hand, although they never noticed it\ntill this moment), she turned it from one guest to another, until each\nhad felt it pointed at himself. Beautiful as her face was, and though\nthere was a smile on it, it looked just as wicked and mischievous as\nthe ugliest serpent that ever was seen; and fat-witted as the voyagers\nhad made themselves, they began to suspect that they had fallen into\nthe power of an evil-minded enchantress.\n\n\"Wretches,\" cried she, \"you have abused a lady's hospitality; and in\nthis princely saloon your behavior has been suited to a hog-pen. You\nare already swine in everything but the human form, which you\ndisgrace, and which I myself should be ashamed to keep a moment\nlonger, were you to share it with me. But it will require only the\nslightest exercise of magic to make the exterior conform to the\nhoggish disposition. Assume your proper shapes, gormandizers, and\nbegone to the sty!\"\n\nUttering these last words, she waved her wand; and stamping her foot\nimperiously, each of the guests was struck aghast at beholding,\ninstead of his comrades in human shape, one-and-twenty hogs sitting on\nthe same number of golden thrones. Each man (as he still supposed\nhimself to be) essayed to give a cry of surprise, but found that he\ncould merely grunt, and that, in a word, he was just such another\nbeast as his companions. It looked so intolerably absurd to see hogs\non cushioned thrones, that they made haste to wallow down upon all\nfours, like other swine. They tried to groan and beg for mercy, but\nforthwith emitted the most awful grunting and squealing that ever came\nout of swinish throats. They would have wrung their hands in despair,\nbut, attempting to do so, grew all the more desperate for seeing\nthemselves squatted on their hams, and pawing the air with their\nfore-trotters. Dear me! what pendulous ears they had! what little red\neyes, half buried in fat! and what long snouts, instead of Grecian\nnoses!\n\n\"Begone to your sty!\" cried the enchantress, giving them some smart\nstrokes with her wand; and then she turned to the serving-men--\"Drive\nout these swine, and throw down some acorns for them to eat.\"\n\nMeantime Eurylochus had waited, and waited, and waited in the entrance\nhall of the palace, without being able to comprehend what had befallen\nhis friends. At last, when the swinish uproar sounded through the\npalace, and when he saw the image of a hog in the marble basin, he\nthought it best to hasten back to the vessel and inform the wise\nUlysses of these marvelous occurrences. So he ran as fast as he could\ndown the steps, and never stopped to draw breath till he reached the\nshore.\n\n\"Why do you come alone?\" asked King Ulysses, as soon as he saw him.\n\"Where are your two-and-twenty comrades?\"\n\nAt these questions Eurylochus burst into tears.\n\n\"Alas!\" cried he, \"I greatly fear we shall never see one of their\nfaces again.\"\n\nThen he told Ulysses all that had happened, as far as he knew it; and\nadded that he suspected the beautiful woman to be a vile enchantress,\nand the marble palace, magnificent as it looked, to be only a dismal\ncavern in reality. As for his companions, he could not imagine what\nhad become of them, unless they had been given to the swine to be\ndevoured alive. At this intelligence all the voyagers were greatly\naffrighted. But Ulysses lost no time in girding on his sword, and\nhanging his bow and quiver over his shoulders, and taking a spear in\nhis right hand. When his followers saw their wise leader making these\npreparations, they inquired whither he was going, and earnestly\nbesought him not to leave them.\n\n\"You are our king,\" cried they; \"and what is more, you are the wisest\nman in the whole world, and nothing but your wisdom and courage can\nget us out of this danger. If you desert us, and go to the enchanted\npalace, you will suffer the same fate as our poor companions, and not\na soul of us will ever see our dear Ithaca again.\"\n\n\"As I am your king,\" answered Ulysses, \"and wiser than any of you, it\nis therefore the more my duty to see what has befallen our comrades,\nand whether anything can yet be done to rescue them. Wait for me here\nuntil to-morrow. If I do not then return, you must hoist sail and\nendeavor to find your way to our native land. For my part, I am\nanswerable for the fate of these poor mariners, who have stood by my\nside in battle, and been so often drenched to the skin, along with me,\nby the same tempestuous surges. I will either bring them back with me\nor perish.\"\n\nHad his followers dared, they would have detained him by force. But\nKing Ulysses frowned sternly on them, and shook his spear, and bade\nthem stop him at their peril. Seeing him so determined they let him\ngo, and sat down on the sand, as disconsolate a set of people as could\nbe, waiting and praying for his return.\n\nIt happened to Ulysses, just as before, that, when he had gone a few\nsteps from the edge of the cliff, the purple bird came fluttering\ntowards him, crying, \"Peep, peep, pe--weep!\" and using all the art it\ncould to persuade him to go no farther.\n\n\"What mean you, little bird?\" cried Ulysses. \"You are arrayed like a\nking in purple and gold, and wear a golden crown upon your head. Is it\nbecause I too am a king, that you desire so earnestly to speak with\nme? If you can talk in human language, say what you would have me do.\"\n\n\"Peep!\" answered the purple bird, very dolorously. \"Peep, peep,\npe--we--ep!\"\n\nCertainly there lay some heavy anguish at the little bird's heart; and\nit was a sorrowful predicament that he could not at least have the\nconsolation of telling what it was. But Ulysses had no time to waste\nin trying to get at the mystery. He therefore quickened his pace, and\nhad gone a good way along the pleasant wood-path, when there met him a\nyoung man of very brisk and intelligent aspect, and clad in a rather\nsingular garb. He wore a short cloak, and a sort of cap that seemed to\nbe furnished with a pair of wings; and from the lightness of his step,\nyou would have supposed that there might likewise be wings on his\nfeet. To enable him to walk still better (for he was always on one\njourney or another), he carried a winged staff, around which two\nserpents were wriggling and twisting. In short, I have said enough to\nmake you guess that it was Quicksilver[2]; and Ulysses (who knew him\nof old, and had learned a great deal of his wisdom from him)\nrecognized him in a moment.\n\n\"Whither are you going in such a hurry, wise Ulysses?\" asked\nQuicksilver. \"Do you not know that this island is enchanted? The\nwicked enchantress (whose name is Circe, the sister of King \u00c6etes)\ndwells in the marble palace which you see yonder among the trees. By\nher magic arts she changes every human being into the brute beast or\nfowl whom he happens most to resemble.\"\n\n\"That little bird, which met me at the edge of the cliff,\" exclaimed\nUlysses; \"was he a human being once?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Quicksilver. \"He was once a king, named Picus, and a\npretty good sort of a king too, only rather too proud of his purple\nrobe, and his crown, and the golden chain about his neck; so he was\nforced to take the shape of a gaudy-feathered bird. The lions, and\nwolves, and tigers, who will come running to meet you, in front of the\npalace, were formerly fierce and cruel men, resembling in their\ndispositions the wild beasts whose forms they now rightfully wear.\"\n\n\"And my poor companions,\" said Ulysses, \"have they undergone a similar\nchange through the arts of this wicked Circe?\"\n\n\"You well know what gormandizers they were,\" replied Quicksilver; and,\nrogue that he was, he could not help laughing at the joke. \"So you\nwill not be surprised to hear that they have all taken the shapes of\nswine! If Circe had never done anything worse, I really should not\nthink her so very much to blame.\"\n\n\"But can I do nothing to help them?\" inquired Ulysses.\n\n\"It will require all your wisdom,\" said Quicksilver, \"and a little of\nmy own into the bargain, to keep your royal and sagacious self from\nbeing transformed into a fox. But do as I bid you, and the matter may\nend better than it has begun.\"\n\nWhile he was speaking, Quicksilver seemed to be in search of\nsomething; he went stooping along the ground, and soon laid his hand\non a little plant with a snow-white flower, which he plucked and\nsmelt. Ulysses had been looking at that very spot only just before;\nand it appeared to him that the plant had burst into full flower the\ninstant when Quicksilver touched it with his fingers.\n\n\"Take this flower, King Ulysses,\" said he. \"Guard it as you do your\neyesight; for I can assure you it is exceedingly rare and precious,\nand you might seek the whole earth over without ever finding another\nlike it. Keep it in your hand, and smell of it frequently after you\nenter the palace, and while you are talking with the enchantress.\nEspecially when she offers you food or a draught of wine out of her\ngoblet, be careful to fill your nostrils with the flower's fragrance.\nFollow these directions, and you may defy her magic arts to change you\ninto a fox.\"\n\nWhen Ulysses reached the lawn in front of the palace, the lions and\nother savage animals came bounding to meet him, and would have fawned\nupon him and licked his feet. But the wise king struck at them with\nhis long spear, and sternly bade them begone out of his path; for he\nknew that they had once been bloodthirsty men, and would now tear him\nlimb from limb, instead of fawning upon him, could they do the\nmischief that was in their hearts. The wild beasts yelped and glared\nat him, and stood at a distance while he ascended the palace steps.\n\nOn entering the hall, Ulysses saw the magic fountain in the center of\nit. The up-gushing water had now again taken the shape of a man in a\nlong, white, fleecy robe, who appeared to be making gestures of\nwelcome. The king likewise heard the noise of the shuttle in the loom,\nand the sweet melody of the beautiful woman's song, and then the\npleasant voices of herself and the four maidens talking together, with\npeals of merry laughter intermixed. But Ulysses did not waste much\ntime in listening to the laughter or the song. He leaned his spear\nagainst one of the pillars of the hall, and then, after loosening his\nsword in the scabbard, stepped boldly forward and threw the folding\ndoors wide open. The moment she beheld his stately figure standing in\nthe doorway, the beautiful woman rose from the loom and ran to meet\nhim, with a glad smile throwing its sunshine over her face and both\nher hands extended.\n\n\"Welcome, brave stranger!\" cried she. \"We were expecting you. Your\ncompanions have already been received into my palace, and have enjoyed\nthe hospitable treatment to which the propriety of their behavior so\nwell entitles them. If such be your pleasure, you shall first take\nsome refreshment, and then join them in the elegant apartments which\nthey now occupy. See, I and my maidens have been weaving their figures\ninto this piece of tapestry.\"\n\nShe pointed to the web of beautifully woven cloth in the loom. Circe\nand the four nymphs must have been very diligently at work since the\narrival of the mariners; for a great many yards of tapestry had now\nbeen wrought, in addition to what I before described. In this new part\nUlysses saw his two-and-twenty friends represented as sitting on\ncushioned and canopied thrones, greedily devouring dainties and\nquaffing deep draughts of wine. The work had not yet gone any farther.\nOh, no, indeed. The enchantress was far too cunning to let Ulysses\nsee the mischief which her magic arts had since brought upon the\ngormandizers.\n\n\"As for yourself, valiant sir,\" said Circe, \"judging by the dignity of\nyour aspect, I take you to be nothing less than a king. Deign to\nfollow me, and you shall be treated as befits your rank.\"\n\nSo Ulysses followed her into the oval saloon where his two-and-twenty\ncomrades had devoured the banquet which ended so disastrously for\nthemselves, but all this while he had held the snow-white flower in\nhis hand, and had constantly smelt of it while Circe was speaking; and\nas he crossed the threshold of the saloon, he took good care to inhale\nseveral long and deep snuffs of its fragrance. Instead of\ntwo-and-twenty thrones, which had before been ranged around the wall,\nthere was now only a single throne in the center of the apartment. But\nthis was surely the most magnificent seat that ever a king or an\nemperor reposed himself upon, all made of chased gold, studded with\nprecious stones, with a cushion that looked like a soft heap of living\nroses, and overhung by a canopy of sunlight which Circe knew how to\nweave into drapery. The enchantress took Ulysses by the hand, and made\nhim sit down upon this dazzling throne. Then, clapping her hands, she\nsummoned the chief butler.\n\n\"Bring hither,\" said she, \"the goblet that is set apart for kings to\ndrink out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal\nbrother, King \u00c6etes, praised so highly when he last visited me with my\nfair daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here,\nit would delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored\nguest.\"\n\nBut Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the\nsnow-white flower to his nose.\n\n\"Is it a wholesome wine?\" he asked.\n\nAt this the four maidens tittered; whereupon the enchantress looked\nround at them with an aspect of severity.\n\n\"It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,\"\nsaid she; \"for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to\ndo, it brings him to his true self and shows him as he ought to be.\"\n\nThe chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into\nswine, or making any kind of beast of themselves; so he made haste to\nbring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and\nwhich kept sparkling upward and throwing a sunny spray over the brim.\nBut, delightful as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most\npotent enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of\nthe pure grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and\nthe danger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the\nbetter. The mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim,\nwas enough to turn a man's beard into pig's bristles, or make a lion's\nclaws grow out of his fingers, or a fox's brush behind him.\n\n\"Drink, my noble guest,\" said Circe, smiling as she presented him with\nthe goblet. \"You will find in this draught a solace for all your\ntroubles.\"\n\nKing Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left\nhe held the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a\nbreath that his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple\nfragrance. Then, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress\ncalmly in the face.\n\n\"Wretch,\" cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, \"how\ndare you keep your human shape a moment longer? Take the form of the\nbrute whom you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in\nthe sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on\nthe lawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou\nhast quaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer.\"\n\nBut such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing\ndown from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal\nform, Ulysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He\ngave the magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble\nfloor to the farthest end of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he\nseized the enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture\nas if he meant to strike off her head at one blow.\n\n\"Wicked Circe,\" cried he, in a terrible voice, \"this sword shall put\nan end to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile wretch, and do no\nmore mischief in the world by tempting human beings into the vices\nwhich make beasts of them.\"\n\nThe tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword\ngleamed so brightly and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge,\nthat Circe was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a\nblow. The chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the\ngolden goblet as he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens\nfell on their knees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.\n\n\"Spare me!\" cried Circe. \"Spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now I\nknow that thou art he of whom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most\nprudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou\nonly couldst have conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will\nshow thee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and\nthis magnificent palace to be henceforth thy home.\"\n\nThe four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and\nespecially the ocean nymph, with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal\nof salt water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops\nfrom her fingers' ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses\nwould not be pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change\nback his companions, and as many others as he should direct, from\ntheir present forms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.\n\n\"On these conditions,\" said he, \"I consent to spare your life.\nOtherwise you must die upon the spot.\"\n\nWith a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily\nhave consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief,\nhowever little she might like such employment. She therefore led\nUlysses out of the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the\nswine in their sty. There were about fifty of these unclean beasts in\nthe whole herd; and though the greater part were hogs by birth and\neducation, there was wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt\nthem and their new brethren who had so recently worn the human shape.\n\nThe comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance\nof having formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty,\ntwo-and-twenty enormous swine separated themselves from the herd and\nscampered towards him with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made\nhim clap both hands to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know\nwhat they wanted, nor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable\nfrom some other cause. It was curious, in the midst of their\ndistress, to observe them thrusting their noses into the mire in\nquest of something to eat. The nymph with the bodice of oaken bark\n(she was the hamadryad of an oak) threw a handful of acorns among\nthem; and the two-and-twenty hogs scrambled and fought for the prize,\nas if they had tasted not so much as a noggin of sour milk for a\ntwelvemonth.\n\n\"These must certainly be my comrades,\" said Ulysses. \"I recognize\ntheir dispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them\ninto the human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest\ntheir bad example should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their\noriginal shapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the\ntask. It will require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine\nof them.\"\n\nSo Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the\nsound of which the two-and-twenty hogs pricked up their pendulous\nears. It was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and\nshorter, and their mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because\nthey could not gobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how\none and another began to stand upon his hind-legs, and scratch his\nnose with his fore-trotters. At first the spectators hardly knew\nwhether to call them hogs or men, but by and by they came to the\nconclusion that they rather resembled the latter. Finally, there stood\nthe twenty-two comrades of Ulysses, looking pretty much the same as\nwhen they left the vessel.\n\nYou must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely\ngone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person's\ncharacter, it is very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by\nthe hamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another\nhandful of acorns before the twenty-two newly restored people;\nwhereupon down they wallowed, in a moment, and gobbled them up in a\nvery shameful way. Then recollecting themselves, they scrambled to\ntheir feet, and looked more than commonly foolish.\n\n\"Thanks, noble Ulysses!\" they cried. \"From brute beasts you have\nrestored us to the condition of men again.\"\n\n\"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me,\" said the wise\nking. \"I fear I have done but little for you.\"\n\nTo say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their\nvoices, and for a long time afterwards they spoke gruffly, and were\napt to set up a squeal.\n\n\"It must depend upon your own future behavior,\" added Ulysses,\n\"whether you do not find your way back to the sty.\"\n\nAt this moment the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a\nneighboring tree.\n\n\"Peep, peep, pe--weep--ep!\"\n\nIt was the purple bird who, all this while, had been sitting over\ntheir heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses\nwould remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his\nfollowers out of harm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a\nking of this good little fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him.\nHardly were the words spoken, and before the bird had time to utter\nanother \"Pe--weep,\" King Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree,\nas majestic a sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple\nrobe and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar\nabout his neck and a golden crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses\nexchanged with one another the courtesies which belong to their\nelevated rank. But from that time forth, King Picus was no longer\nproud of his crown and his trappings of royalty, nor of the fact of\nhis being a king; he felt himself merely the upper servant of his\npeople, and that it must be his lifelong labor to make them better and\nhappier.\n\nAs for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored\nthem to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it\nadvisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give\nwarning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the\nguise of men and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts\nhad the blood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much\nas they liked, but never troubled his head about them. And when\neverything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon\nthe remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the sea-shore.\nThese being arrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they\nall made themselves comfortable in Circe's enchanted palace until\nquite rested and refreshed from the toils and hardships of their\nvoyage.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[2] The Romans called him Mercury, and the Greeks Hermes.\n\n\n\n\nULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS\n\nBY HOPE MONCRIEFF\n\n\nMany a year did the much-enduring Ulysses sail unknown seas, on his\nway back from Troy to Ithaca, his island home. Beset by such mishaps\nand enchantments that for long he seemed little like to see again his\nfaithful wife Penelope and his son Telemachus, he escaped from one\nperilous adventure after another, but none more fearsome than when he\ncame to the smoking mountain-land of the Cyclopes. So were named a\ncruel race of one-eyed giants, wild as the rocky heights on which they\nfed their flocks of sheep and goats, knowing not to plant corn or\nfruit, and holding no commerce with kindly men, nor reverencing the\nlords of heaven.\n\nThe very danger of venturing into such a land was lure enough for this\nhero, when from his ship he sighted a huge cave opening high above the\nbeach, its mouth half hidden by a tangle of dark wood. Here lived\nalone one of these monsters, Polyphemus by name, a savage so churlish\nof nature that he kept aloof even from his fierce fellows. Eager to\nexplore that gloomy lair, Ulysses picked out twelve of his boldest\nmen, with whom he landed, leaving the vessel moored by the shore to\nawait their return. On reaching the cave they found its master absent,\nbut that he would soon return they might guess from the flocks of\nbleating lambs and kids penned up within, along with great piles of\ncheeses, vats of curd, and rows of milking vessels, the giant's\nhousehold goods. The sailors, their hearts chilled by its damp\nshades, were not for staying long in this vast and deep-sunk hollow.\n\n\"Let us begone,\" they urged their leader, \"back to the ship with a\nload of cheeses and a drove of lambs and kids to mend our fare on the\nsalt waves! It were better to help ourselves behind the back of such a\nhost, who may soon come to catch us in his den.\"\n\nBut Ulysses let curiosity get the better of prudence. He had a mind at\nall risks to know what manner of creature this was that lived in so\nstrange an abode; and he kept his companions in the cave, with a\nventuresomeness that cost them dear. They even made bold to light a\nfire and to refresh themselves from the giant's store of milk and\ncheese; and thus were they caught, taking their ease, when Polyphemus\ncame home at evening, driving before him his full-uddered flock.\n\nAbove their bleating and scurrying was heard the heavy tramp of that\nmonster, and the earth shook as from his shoulders he flung down a\ncrashing stack of firewood, gathered in the forests through which he\nstalked like a moving mountain. The flock driven inside, he closed the\nentrance of the cave by dragging across it a mighty boulder that would\nhave made a load for twenty wagons. Having thus shut out the fading\nlight, he knelt down to milk his ewes and goats, as yet unaware what\nuninvited guests were straining their eyes at his black bulk from the\ndeepest and darkest recess into which they had shrunk before his\ncoming. But when he went on to light a fire, the flickering flames\nshowed them his hideous face with its one broad red eye, that glowed\nin sudden anger when it fell upon the strangers; and through the smoky\nvaults echoed the blood-curdling roar with which he greeted them.\n\n\"Who, and whence are ye?\" he thundered forth. \"Pirates, doubtless, who\nperil your own lives to rob other men!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered Ulysses, who of all the trembling band alone found\nvoice to speak. \"We are men of famous race, the Greeks who at last\novercame Troy, and now, sailing home, have been driven by winds and\nwaves upon this coast. As helpless suppliants we fall before thee,\nseeking the hospitality due to misfortune from all who fear the gods.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" bellowed Polyphemus, in gigantic laughter. \"Stranger, thou\nart strange indeed to this land, and a fool to boot, if thou think'st\na Cyclops owns any law but his own will. For gods we care not, nor yet\nfor men, whoever they boast themselves! But say, how and where came ye\non our shore?\"\n\nSo he asked cunningly, hoping to make prize of their ship if anchored\nnear at hand; but Ulysses was no less wily than bold, and took heed\nnot to tell the truth.\n\n\"Our vessel, alas! was dashed to pieces on the cliff, and, of all the\ncrew, we only have saved nothing but our lives.\"\n\nNow the men saw with what an inhuman monster they had to do. The\nsavage giant, wasting no more time in parley, caught up the first two\nthat came to his hands, dashed their brains out against the stony\nfloor, then greedily devoured their flesh before the eyes of the\nsurvivors, shuddering to think how soon they might meet the same fate.\nUlysses alone, undaunted and indignant, laid hands on his sword, but\nforebore to draw it. Even when, having ended his horrid meal and\nwashed it down with large draughts of milk, Polyphemus laid himself\ncarelessly to sleep among his flocks, the hero saw it was vain to\nstrike, for though he might slay their fearsome foe, he knew that the\nstrength of all together could not roll away that rocky barrier from\nthe cave mouth. There was nothing for it but to remain patient,\nwatching a chance to overcome the giant by craft rather than by force.\n\nThrough the night the poor sailors took such rest as they could, and\nthe glimmering dawn brought fresh terror. As soon as the giant had\nrisen and stretched his knotty limbs, he first set the lambs to the\newes, then snatched up two more of the hapless men, taken at random,\nto glut his taste for blood. When he turned out the flock to pasture,\nhe neglected not to roll back the great rock that sealed up the cave,\nthus turned into a prison for these rash strangers, and soon like to\nbe their tomb.\n\nBut through the day their shrewd captain set his wits to work on a\nplot for escape. By good chance they had brought on shore with them a\ngoat-skin full of strong wine, that now might serve to dull the\ngiant's senses. In the cave they found a tree trunk he had plucked up\nby the root to make a club such as only so huge a monster could wield,\nfor it was longer than the mast of their ship. This Ulysses had\nsharpened to a point and hardened in the fire before hiding it away\namong the dust and dirt that littered the cave. He explained to his\ncomrades how he meant to use this enormous weapon, bidding them draw\nlots who should bear a hand with himself in the attempt; and, to his\nsecret satisfaction, the lot fell on the very men he would have chosen\nfor a daring deed.\n\nPolyphemus duly returned at night-fall and again, when he had closed\nthe entrance and seen to his flocks, he caught up two more of the\nGreeks to make his supper. Half of his twelve men having thus been\ndevoured, Ulysses brought to the blood-stained monster a milk-pail\nfilled from the wine-skin.\n\n\"Deign, O Cyclops,\" he cried on bended knee, \"to taste this precious\nblood of the grape that rightly crowns a Greek banquet. It is well we\nhave saved from our wreck one skin to offer thee, that may move thy\nheart to send us on our way unhurt, and not without some friendly\nboon. Else thy thirst for human blood will scare all men from this\nhateful shore, and never again canst thou come by such noble drink.\nTaste and know!\"\n\nThe greedy giant snatched up the bowl and drained it to the bottom;\nthen, smacking his lips for delight, he held it out to be refilled.\n\n\"Truly, it is noble drink, such as was never known in our land! Speak,\nstranger. Who art thou that bringest the nectar of the gods? Thy\nname?\"\n\n\"My name is Noman,\" quoth the crafty Ulysses, as he refilled the bowl.\n\n\"Then, Noman, I grant thee a boon,\" hiccoughed the giant in boisterous\nglee, the fumes of the wine already mounting to his head. \"In reward\nfor the drink, I will eat up all thy companions before thee; and Noman\nshall be the last of all to die. So fill once more!\"\n\nAgain was poured the dark wine; and when Polyphemus had tossed off\nthree brimming bowls, his brain began to reel, while his limbs failed\nhim as well as his voice, with which he would have roared out brutal\njests mixed with praises of this magic liquor. Staggering here and\nthere, he stumbled and sprawled helplessly on the ground, and soon his\nsnoring re-echoed through the cave like rolling thunder, as he sank\ninto drunken slumber.\n\n[Illustration: ULYSSES AND THE CYCLOPS]\n\nWhen all else was still, Ulysses whispered the word to his wakeful\ncrew. From the litter they silently dragged out that huge stake he had\nmade ready: and blowing up the fire, heated its point till the green\nwood had almost burst into flame. It was all they could do to bear it\nalong to the side of the sleeping giant. When their leader gave the\nsignal, they plunged that red-hot spit into his eye, and, turning it\nlike an awl, they bored a hole so deep and so wide that a torrent of\nblood gushed out to quench the fiery brand.\n\nThe drunken giant started to his feet with a roar which sent them\nquailing backwards. But when he had torn the tormenting brand from his\nforehead, all he could do was to grope blindly around him, stamping\nand howling for pain and for rage against those puny enemies that in\nthe dim firelight could take heed to keep out of his reach. So furious\nwas the alarm he raised, that it woke his neighbor giants, who\npresently came hurrying along to the cave's mouth, and shouted to him:\n\n\"What ails thee, Polyphemus, that thus our rest is disturbed? Who\nbreaks upon thy sleep? Has any man found means to hurt thee? Or has\nsome one been robbing thee by force or fraud?\"\n\n\"Noman has hurt me!\" yelled back the blind giant. \"Noman is robbing my\nflock! Noman, I say, has played a cruel trick upon me!\"\n\n\"Then if no man does thee harm, why these complaints?\" grumbled his\nneighbors, while Ulysses chuckled over his sly device, all the more as\nhe heard the giants tramping away to their own lairs with a parting\nword of mockery for the victim of a nightmare, as they took it to be.\n\"If the gods send thee pain, take to prayer, and rouse us no more to\ngive help against no man in mortal flesh!\"\n\nThus left to himself, the blinded monster, pouring out his rage in\ntears of blood, found it hopeless to lay hands on the silently\nexulting foes, who all night long remained shut up with him in the\ncave; yet more fiercely his dark mind was bent on revenge against that\ninsolent Noman and the rest of his crew. Fumbling about till he\ntouched the rock that barred the entrance, he heaved it away; then\nthere sat down with his hands stretched out before him, to make sure\nthat none of the men should slip through among the flock when the rosy\ndawn called them forth to their pasture.\n\nBut again Ulysses was too wily for the thick-headed giant. Through the\nnight he had been busy lashing the biggest rams together, three and\nthree; and each midmost beast bore a man bound to it by osier twigs.\nThe largest of all he kept for himself, creeping beneath it, and\nclinging to the thick fleece below its belly. On this strange steed he\nwould come forth last of all.\n\nSo, when the sheep poured out into the dewy uplands, the Cyclops,\nhandling each as it slipped past him, felt nothing but their fleecy\nbacks. Blind as he was, he knew the tread of that big ram, the pride\nof the flock, under which lay Ulysses, holding his breath, as its\nmaster stopped the beast to growl out:\n\n\"Why com'st thou last who wert wont to lead the way, like a chief\namong thy fellows? Can it be that a dumb creature mourns for what\nNoman and his hateful band have done to its lord? Ah! could'st thou\nbut speak to tell me in what corner the wretch lurks within, trembling\nfor the moment when at last I shall dash out his brains and warm my\nheart with his blood!\"\n\nWith this he let the ram go, still sitting watchful at the entrance\nbarred by his huge hands. But as he sat muttering threats, to his\nstrained ears came a mocking cry from without, where now Ulysses had\nunbound his men, and the whole band were hurrying down to their ship,\ndriving before them the pick of the giant's flock.\n\nHeartily the crew hailed their captain's return, and eagerly they\nwould have known how it had fared with him. But this was no time for\nwords. Ulysses bid them push off in haste, taking to their oars as\nsoon as they had heaved the sheep on board. Scarcely indeed had they\nlaunched when the stumbling and shouting giant appeared upon the rocky\nheights above the shore.\n\n\"Ha, ungracious host!\" cried Ulysses; \"didst thou think to gorge\nthyself on me, whom the gods have made an instrument to punish thy\nchurlish manners?\"\n\nNo longer able to see his exultant enemies, the raging Cyclops plucked\nup a great rock to hurl after them, guided by the sound of that\nmocking voice. So near it fell that it had almost smashed the rudder,\nand raised such a wave as would have washed the galley back on shore\nhad not Ulysses pushed it off again with all his strength, while the\nrowers bent their backs as for their lives. Though they begged him to\nbe silent, their bold captain could not refrain from once more raising\nhis voice in boastful taunts of the baffled monster.\n\n\"Hear, Cyclops! Should men ask who blinded thee and made thy face more\nhideous than before, say not it was Noman, but Ulysses of Ithaca,\nvictor at the walls of Troy!\"\n\nAgain the giant hurled a mighty rock that, had it struck fair, would\nhave crushed their ship like an eggshell. Drenched by the splash, they\nrowed with might and main, and were soon out of reach; but so long as\nthey could hear his voice, the raging giant's curses drove them onward\nacross the bounding seas.\n\nThus did Ulysses, by his cunning, prevail over the brute force of the\nCyclops, for Minerva, goddess of Wisdom, inspired and guided him. Then\nsoon, with a hungry heart craving for more adventures, he sailed to\nfurther wondrous lands and gathered fresh knowledge year by year.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIRENS\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nCirce, when her spell was broken and she could no longer hope to keep\nUlysses in her toils, repented her of the mischief she had done to his\ncompanions, and in a sudden fit of generosity (for though fickle and\nfroward she was not wholly bad or heartless) determined to speed her\nparting guest. Not only did she know the power of herbs that could\nturn men into beasts, but as a goddess she could see into the future\nand foretell what should come to pass.\n\nSo on the day of his departure she made a great feast and bade Ulysses\nand his crew. And they ate and drank to their hearts' content, and had\nno fear that they should suffer the fate of their companions. But\nUlysses she took aside and revealed to him all that should befall him\non his homeward voyage, and instructed him how he should avoid the\nperils that would beset him on the way. And first of all she bade him\nbeware of the Sirens--sea maidens, whose song is more musical than is\nApollo's lute; no mortal can resist its ravishment, and he who listens\nis lost.\n\nBut Ulysses, whose soul still hungered for new adventures, said: \"To\nhear such music, a man might well choose to die. Let me at any risk\nhear the song of the Sirens!\"\n\nThen the goddess instructed him how, if he followed her precepts, he\nmight hear the song of the Sirens and yet live. What the instructions\nwere there is no need to tell, for Ulysses did all that the goddess\nhad bidden him, and all that she foretold came to pass.\n\nSo on the morrow the crew embarked, and Circe sending them a fair wind\nthey were carried swiftly upon their way. But the heart of Ulysses was\nheavy as he pondered the counsels of the goddess and thought on the\nSirens who had drawn so many men to their death. So he stood up and\nspoke to all his men, saying:\n\n\"Friends, it is well I should declare to you the oracles of Circe,\nthat with foreknowledge we may shun death--for she bade us shun the\nsound of the voices of the Sirens, and me only she bade listen to\ntheir song. Bind me, therefore, in a hard bond, that I may remain\nunmoved in my place, upright in the mast-stead, and from the mast let\nrope-ends be tied; and if I entreat and command you to set me free,\nthen do ye bind me with yet more bonds.\"\n\nThe men gave good heed, promising to obey in all things the commands\nof their wise leader.\n\nMeanwhile, land was spied ahead, and, Circe's wind still speeding the\nship, she was borne swiftly towards the shore. Suddenly the wind\nceased and there was a dead calm. No sea-bird cried, and the very\nwaves seemed spell-bound. Then Ulysses knew that they were approaching\nthe perilous Isle of the Sirens. So while his men were furling in the\nidle sails and plying the oars once more, he drew his sharp sword and,\ncutting in pieces a great cake of wax, kneaded it with his strong\nhands. Then, when the wax was soft, he anointed therewith the ears of\nhis men as they sat at their oars, that they might not hear the voices\nof the Sirens. And the men in their turn bound their leader hand and\nfoot upright in the mast-stead, and from the mast they fastened\nrope-ends. Having done this, they sat down to their oars and smote the\nlevel waters.\n\nFast sped the ship across the bay, and now they were within hailing\ndistance of the land. And there on the shore stood the Sirens, lovely\nas goddesses, singing and striking their golden lyres. Round about\nthem was a green meadow, very sweet to the eyes of those sea-worn\nwarriors, for the white bones with which it was strewn appeared but as\nlilies such as they remembered in their fields at home.\n\nNearer sped the ship, and now the Sirens, seeing the far-famed Ulysses\non board, sang yet more sweetly, in this fashion:\n\n \"O hither, come hither and furl your sails,\n Come hither to me and to me:\n Hither, come hither and frolic and play;\n Here it is only the mew that wails;\n We will sing to you all the day:\n Mariner, mariner, furl your sails;\n ... sweet shall your welcome be.\n O hither, come hither, and be our lords,\n For merry brides are we:\n * * * * *\n We will kiss sweet kisses and speak sweet words:\n O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten\n When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords\n Runs up the ridg\u00e8d sea.\n Who can light on as happy a shore\n All the world o'er, all the world o'er?\n Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no more.\"[3]\n\nSo they sang, waving their white arms, beckoning with smiles and\ntwanging their golden lyres. And their voice floating over the waters\nwas sweet in the ears of travel-worn Ulysses--so sweet indeed, that\nforgetting the wise counsels of Circe, he called to his company to\nunbind him. But they, having their ears stopped with wax, could hear\nneither him nor the Sirens, and rowed more swiftly than before. So\nUlysses made signs to them, nodding and frowning, whereupon two of\nthem, Perimedes and Eurylochus, remembering his former words, rose and\nbound him yet faster to the mast. And bending their backs the rowers\npulled their hardest, the curved keel shooting past the perilous\nshore. Fainter and fainter grew the song of the Sirens as now they\nwere left behind, and their white arms could hardly be seen beckoning.\nAnd anon a breeze broke once more upon the deadly calm, and the sails\nbeing hoisted the ship was swept out to sea and the Isle of the Sirens\nbecame but a speck upon the horizon and was lost to view.\n\nSo, by following the wise counsels of Circe of the braided tresses,\nthe much-experienced Ulysses and all his comrades escaped the wiles of\nthe Sirens who had enticed many to their death.\n\nBut when the Sirens saw themselves at last defeated, their song was\nturned into a wail and their white robes seemed like wind-swept foam\nas they plunged beneath the wave. But the Sirens are immortal, and\nthough no men can now behold their white bosoms pressing golden harps,\nyet their voices are still heard and still they sing the same song\nthat they sang to Ulysses:\n\n \"Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore\n Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;\n O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.\"[4]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] Tennyson, \"The Sea Fairies.\"\n\n[4] Tennyson, \"The Lotos-Eaters.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF NAUSICAA\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nOne night, Nausicaa, sole daughter of Alcinous, the Ph\u00e6acian King, had\na dream. She dreamt that the daughter of Dymas, her favorite playmate,\nstood at her bedside and gently chid her. \"Shame upon thee,\nlie-a-bed,\" she cried, \"to waste the shining hours. 'Twill soon be thy\nwedding-day, and thy bridal robe and the garments for thy bridesmaids\nhave still to be washed and bleached. Get up and ask thy father to\norder for thee the wain and mules to draw it, and we'll all go\na-washing, thou and I and our favorite playmates, to that clear pool\nwhere the river pauses before it plunges into the sea.\"\n\nAt dawn Nausicaa awoke, but daylight did not dispel the dream, for it\nwas Minerva herself who sent it. She waylaid her father as he went to\nthe Council of the Elders and cried to him: \"Father dear, may I have\nthe high wain and the mules to-day? There is much soiled raiment to be\nwashed--mine and thine and that of my three brothers who dwell with me\nin the palace.\" But of the bridal of her dream she said nothing, for\nshe was a bashful maiden.\n\nAnd her father, smiling at her strange eagerness, said, \"My darling\nchild may take the car; whate'er our daughter asks, we give.\"\n\nSwiftly her attendants prepared the wain and harnessed the mules. They\nloaded it with the soiled robes and dresses that the maiden brought\nfrom her bower, and the good mother put on top a basket filled with\ncates and dainties, and a wine-skin, and a cruse of olive oil\nwherewith to anoint the maidens after their bath.\n\nNausicaa climbed into the wain, and away they sped with laughter and\nwith song, this bright bevy of maidens. When they reached the spot\nwhere all the falling streams emptied their waters into a wide basin,\nthey unharnessed the mules and let them loose to graze on the plain,\nwhile all the girls set gayly to their task.\n\nAt length they had finished their toil; every garment had been steeped\nand trodden with their dainty feet, and rinsed and spread out to dry\non the hot sands, which sparkled in the sunlight. Then the maidens\nundressed and dabbled and splashed one another, and frolicked in the\ncrystal pool. Tired with work and play they anointed their dripping\nlimbs with the olive oil and sat down to rest in the shade. And\nNausicaa unpacked the basket, and they ate and drank of the good\nthings that the Queen had provided. This done, and while the clothes\nwere yet drying in the sun, they played ball in the meadow, tossing it\nfrom one to another; and all the while Nausicaa guided their\nmovements, keeping time with a rustic ballad measure.\n\nMeanwhile, all unknown to these merry maidens, deep in the shelter of\na low-branched tree, Ulysses lay asleep. A tempest had wrecked his\nship and robbed him of all his companions, and he had only the day\nbefore, by help of the goddess Leucothea, been saved, and hardly\nsaved, from the devouring sea. Clinging to a spar he had been cast\nupon the Ph\u00e6acian shore after many hours in the storm-tossed deep.\nWorn and bruised by battling with the breakers, he had sought shelter\nunder the drooping branches of two ancient olive trees. Beneath this\ncovert he made a great bed of fallen leaves, and heaping them above\nhim, soon fell into a deep slumber sent in mercy to restore him by the\never-watchful Minerva.\n\nIt chanced that in their game a girl missed the ball that Nausicaa\nthrew, and it fell into the rapid stream, and was lost. The girls all\nshrieked, and the piercing cry waked the sleeping Ulysses.\n\n\"Alas!\" he lamented, \"upon what inhospitable coast have I been cast?\nIs it possessed by fierce barbarians who will slay, or by men who will\nprove pitiful? Do I hear the voices of nymphs, or dryads, or of human\nmaids?\"\n\nThe hero rose straightway from his leafy bed, and tearing off a green\nbough to hide his nakedness, he stepped forth to discover his fate.\nWhen the affrighted maidens saw this wild and savage man advancing,\nthey fled and hid themselves among the rocks and caves of the broken\nshore. Not so Nausicaa. Inspired by Minerva with a boldness not her\nown, she stood and watched this strange interloper. He was now close\nto her, but he dared not clasp her knees, as suppliants are wont to\ndo, for fear of alarming her, but, keeping his distance, he told her\nof his perils by sea. For twenty nights he had been wrestling with the\nwaves, and had hardly reached this present haven. Now, famished and\nexhausted, he waited anxiously to learn where he stood, and only\nbegged some garment to clothe his nakedness.\n\n\"Lady,\" he added, with cunning flattery, \"I know not whether thou art\nmortal or divine, so fair a maiden I now behold. Only once in Delos I\nsaw so goodly a thing as thou--the sapling of a palm tree that sprung\nfrom the altar of Apollo.\"\n\nThe fair Nausicaa was touched by his courtly words and bearing, and,\nmarred as he was by the salt sea-foam, she marked his noble features.\nShe answered his questions with graceful sweetness, telling with whom\nhe had found refuge and assuring him of their hospitality. She called\nher girls and blamed them for their idle fears. Obedient to her\ndirections they led Ulysses to the secret pool where he might bathe,\nthey gave him of the oil to anoint himself, and laid ready for him one\nof the shining garments that they had just washed and dried in the\nsun.\n\nThe maidens surveyed with wonder the majestic figure of the stranger\nwhen he returned to them, bathed and anointed, and clad in the pomp of\nroyal vesture. And Nausicaa, gazing with admiration on him, whispered\na prayer to Heaven that some such noble spouse might fall to her happy\nlot.\n\nThey hastened then to serve him, setting before him food and wine, and\nhe ate and drank eagerly, for he was half starved. Then, as evening\napproached, Nausicaa's cares were directed to their return to her\nfather's palace. The mules were harnessed to the car, and she then\nturned to the stranger and gave him instructions how to reach the\npalace. For fear of slanderous tongues, she would not permit him to\naccompany her train, but caused him to follow at a seemly distance.\nShe promised to go to her royal father and intercede with him for the\nstranger, whom she directed to follow her to the palace with all\nreasonable haste. There she advised that he should seek the Queen,\nArete, whom he would find at that hour busied with her weaving. If he\ndisclosed his mournful tale to her sympathetic ear, he would be\nassured of assistance, and doubtless live to see his native land once\nagain.\n\nThereon she whipped up her team of mules, and they started at a\ncanter, but she was careful soon to rein them in that Ulysses might\nkeep pace with them. But when they neared the town he stayed awhile in\na sacred grove while Nausicaa went on her way through the crowded\nstreets, where all turned to gaze at the princess, and thought she had\nnever looked so beautiful. At the palace gates her brothers gathered\nround and received from her hands the garments she had washed for\nthem. Then she hastened to her mother's chamber.\n\nUlysses slowly approached the famous city of the Ph\u00e6acians. Lest the\nlordly mien and regal robes of the stranger should attract the\nattention of the low-born crowd, Minerva spread a mist about her hero\nwherein he could walk unperceived and unmolested. When he had passed\nthe walls of the city, he saw a girl carrying a pitcher (it was his\ngoddess in disguise). He accosted her and begged her to show him the\npalace of Alcinous. This she did, and only left him at the gates,\ntelling him that Arete was a gracious Queen, and if he won her favor,\nshe might speed him on his homeward way. She vanished, leaving the\nhero to admire the beauties of the royal gates. These were of massive\nbrass; a high cornice was reared above them, rich plates of gold\noverlaid the folding doors, and the pillars were of silver. Two rows\nof sculptured dogs in gold and silver, formed by Vulcan with divine\nart, stood guardian at Alcinous' gate, and within was a pleached\ngarden, planted with fruit trees of all kinds, whose fruit faileth\nnot, winter and summer alike. Pear ripens on pear, apple on apple, fig\nupon fig, and new grapes redden on the vine while the old grapes are\ntreading in the wine-press.\n\nLong while Ulysses gazed and wondered. Then he crossed the threshold,\nand passing unperceived through the banqueting hall, he sought the\ninner chamber where sat the royal pair. And he cast his hands about\nthe knees of Arete, and besought her pity, and that of the King, for a\nwretched exile worn with griefs and long toil. Then he sat him down\namong the ashes of their hearth.\n\nThe King was moved with compassion. He raised the suppliant to a seat\nbeside his own, and bade him share the feast. After pouring a due\nlibation to Jupiter, the god of suppliants, Alcinous summoned his\ncaptains and princes to meet in council the following day to debate\nthe cause of the stranger and devise proper means to transport him\nsafe to the distant shore he designed to reach.\n\nWhen all had taken their departure and Ulysses was left alone with the\nKing and Queen, Arete asked him who he was, whence he came, and who\nhad given him that robe? For well she knew the garments her own hands\nhad fashioned.\n\nUlysses answered with the tale of his shipwreck and the gentle\nministrations of her fair daughter, but his name he did not reveal.\nBut Alcinous answered: \"My daughter was much to blame in that she\nbrought thee not to our house. Gladly would I give her to a man so\ngoodly as thou, and I would bestow on thee lands and wealth if thou\nwould'st stay. But no man will I detain against his will; and if thou\nwould'st depart I will furnish thee with ships and an escort to speed\nthee on the way.\"\n\nNext day there was feasting in the hall to entertain the guest, and\nDemodocus the famous minstrel was there, and he sang the Song of Troy,\nof Agamemnon and Hector, aye, and of the feud 'twixt Achilles and\nUlysses. And Ulysses, as he listened, drew his cloak over his head to\nhide his tears.\n\nAfter the feast there were games--racing, wrestling, and throwing the\ndiscus; and when the stranger was invited to make trial of his\nstrength he hurled a huge rock that flew twice as far as the farthest\nquoit; and to this day the islanders point out to travelers Ulysses'\nstone.\n\nAgain at evening there was feasting in the hall. And Ulysses, as he\ncame from the bath, anointed with oil and clad in the royal mantle\nthat Alcinous had given him, on his way to join the feast, met the\nwhite-armed Nausicaa standing in the doorway. \"Farewell, stranger,\"\nshe whispered; \"depart in peace; and in thy far home think sometimes\non the little maid who saved thee from the sea.\"\n\nAnd Ulysses answered: \"Nausicaa, to thee I owe my life, and if God\ngrants me to reach my home, all my days I will do worship to thee, as\nto a god.\"\n\nThen he hastened to join the feasters, and set him in the seat\nassigned to him at Alcinous' right hand. Noticing Demodocus, the sweet\nminstrel, standing by a pillar alone, he called a henchman and said,\n\"Take from me this mess of wild boar, and when he has eaten thereof\nand drunk, bid him sing me, as he will, the lay of the Wooden Horse.\"\nAnd the inspired minstrel brought back to him so vividly that tale of\nfire and carnage that Ulysses was moved to tears; and Alcinous asked\nhim whether he had lost some kinsman in the fray, or some friend\ndearer than a brother. Then Ulysses disclosed his name, and gave the\nKing the full and true story of all his wanderings from the fall of\nTroy to the shipwreck that landed him on this friendly shore.\n\nWhen the long tale was ended Alcinous spake to his lordly company.\n\"Let us speed our parting guest, the bravest and the noblest that has\never visited our land. With raiment and gold have I myself furnished\nhim, but each of you give him a tripod or a caldron for a keepsake.\"\n\nAs the King said so was it done, and Alcinous himself saw all the\nprecious gifts safely stowed in the ship he had provided. Then they\npledged one another in a parting cup, and Ulysses bade farewell to his\ngenerous and great-hearted hosts. Worn out with the emotions of those\ncrowded hours he wrapped himself in his mantle and lay down to sleep\nin the stern, while the spread sails caught the freshening breeze and\nthe galley flew over the waters.\n\nWhen the morning star shone bright in the heavens, the hills of Ithaca\nappeared like a cloud upon the horizon, and as day broke the ship drew\ninto a little bay and grounded on the sands. Seeing that Ulysses was\nstill wrapped in unbroken slumber, the sailors took him gently upon\nhis couch and placed him on the rocky shore of his own Ithaca.\nAlcinous' royal gifts they placed beside him in the shade of a wild\nolive tree. Then they relaunched their bark and sped back across the\nmain.\n\nThus Ulysses reached once more his native land, but the end of his\nperils was not yet.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOMECOMING OF ULYSSES\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nAfter ten long years of fighting Troy had fallen and the kings and\ncaptains had sailed away bearing home to Greece the spoils of the\nsacked city. Among these chieftains was Ulysses, lord of the small and\nrocky island of Ithaca, and none more famous than he for prowess in\narms and yet more for the spirit of wisdom that the wise goddess\nMinerva put into the heart of her favored warrior.\n\nBut while the other leaders straightway sought their homes, Ulysses\nroamed the seas for another ten years. The goddess Juno loved him not,\nand often drove him from his course; and he, ever yearning to gain\nknowledge of lands and men, encountered the strangest adventures in\nhis wanderings, some of which you have already heard. But it is of his\nhomecoming that I have now to tell.\n\nHis perils and adventures were not ended yet, and without Minerva's\naid he must surely have perished.\n\nWhen he landed on the rocky coast of Ithaca he found himself a\ncomplete stranger in his own land after twenty years of absence, so by\nMinerva's advice he disguised himself as a beggar that he might\ndiscover something of the state of his kingdom before making himself\nknown. His queen, Penelope, had suffered great troubles and\nperplexities all these years. She had the care of all the lands and\nvast herds of cattle that made up the riches of the kingdom; many of\nher servants proved both dishonest and rebellious; and now a number\nof the neighboring princes had come seeking her hand in marriage. For\nall men held that Ulysses must have perished or he would surely have\nreturned ere this. Telemachus, her young son, had just reached\nmanhood, but was not yet strong enough unaided to drive out his\nmother's bold and shameless suitors and restore order to his realm. So\nthe suitors continued to live in the palace, feasting daily and\nwasting Ulysses' goods and cattle with their wanton extravagances,\nwhile they continually urged Penelope to marry one of their number and\ngive him the right to rule her kingdom for her. To this she would not\ngive consent, for she loved Ulysses, and wept in secret over his\nabsence and longed for his return, though she scarcely dared to hope\nfor it after so many years had passed without news of his safety.\n\nAt length Telemachus was inspired by Minerva to set out on a journey\nto seek his father. The goddess accompanied him in the guise of a wise\nold man named Mentor, to assist him in his search. After adventurous\nwanderings he reached the city of Sparta, where King Menelaus reigned,\nwho gave him news of Ulysses and counseled him to return at once to\nIthaca since his father was on his way thither. Telemachus hastened\nback, and, arriving before he was expected, went secretly to the house\nof Eumaeus, a faithful servant of the King, who for many years had\nfilled the post of chief herdsman and keeper of the royal swine. This\nwas an office of trust, for much of the wealth of the kingdom was in\nthese herds of swine, which were required as sacrifices to the gods as\nwell as for human food.\n\nUlysses by this time had reached the house of Eumaeus, who had\nreceived him with kindness, and fed him, although he did not\nrecognize his King in the aged beggar he found at his door. To this\nbeggar he made complaint of the King's wasted substance, and the\ninsufferable behavior of these suitors of the Queen. His tales of\ntheir doings made Ulysses' blood boil. He could hardly contain his\nindignation sufficiently to sustain the character of a wandering\nbeggar whom these things did not concern. But he succeeded so well\nthat Eumaeus had no suspicion who his strange guest could be.\n\nWhen Telemachus appeared, Eumaeus greeted him with the tenderness of a\nfather, for he loved the young man dearly, and at once hastened to\nannounce the joyful news of his safe return to his mother Penelope.\nWhen thus left alone, Ulysses threw off his disguise and declared\nhimself to his son. Long time they discussed how best to take\nvengeance on these wicked and insolent princes who were plotting to\ndeprive them of their kingdom; and they decided that as they were many\nand powerful it was needful to exercise caution and overcome them by\ncunning. Therefore Telemachus departed to the palace and disclosed to\nno one the news of Ulysses' return, not even to the Queen his mother.\n\nThe wicked suitors had planned an ambush to slay the young prince as\nhe made his way home from his journey in search of his father, but\nthanks to his secret and unexpected arrival, he had escaped their\nclutches.\n\nAccording to their daily custom they sat down to a feast in the hall\nof the palace, where Telemachus, putting on an appearance of great\nfriendliness, joined them. Thither Eumaeus persuaded his aged guest to\naccompany him. In fluttering rags and leaning on his staff as though\nweighed down by age and weakness, Ulysses passed along the road to the\npalace that was his own. Outside the gate they were met by\nMelanthius, the faithless steward, whose own ill deeds made him show\nspite and jealousy to the blameless Eumaeus. He rated the old beggar\nsoundly and ordered him away, and when he protested, cursed him and\nmuttered a prayer that some suitor's sword might pierce the heart of\nTelemachus and rid them of a son no better than his dead father.\nUlysses stood a moment in speechless rage, doubting whether to strike\nthe wretch to earth with one blow of his mighty arm; but wiser\ncounsels prevailed, and he curbed his anger and bore all affronts and\ninsults with a noble fortitude that steadfastly awaited the right\nmoment to strike.\n\nPassing the insolent Melanthius with disdain they approached the door.\nLying on a dunghill beside the way Ulysses beheld his aged hound\nArgus, the hero of many a gallant chase. Now neglected, starved,\nforlorn, he had crept forth to die. But at the sound of his master's\nvoice he strove in vain to raise the wasted body that was too weak to\nmove from the dunghill where it lay. But with tail and ears and eyes\nhe proclaimed his joy. A tear stole unperceived down Ulysses' cheek.\nHe questioned Eumaeus about the hound, and as he paused, the noble\ncreature, to whom fate had granted a sight of his master after twenty\nyears of patient waiting, took one last look and died.\n\nWhen Eumaeus introduced the old beggar into the banqueting hall, true\nto the character he had adopted Ulysses went round to each reveler in\nturn and begged for food. Some carelessly flung him a few scraps,\ngiving away readily what was not their own, but Antinous, the most\nlawless and violent of all the suitors, abused him and threw a\nfootstool at him, striking him on the shoulder. Telemachus indignantly\nprotested against this act of violence, and Ulysses was permitted to\nsit down by the door, with his scrip full of scraps from the princes'\nwell-filled table.\n\nPresently there entered another beggar, a surly vagrant of great\nstature, named Irus, well known at the tables of the rich. He was\nenraged to find that another had been before him, and attacked the old\nman with loud abuse, finally challenging him to a fight, thinking him\ntoo weak with age to defend himself.\n\nThe princes applauded him and urged on the fight between the two\nbeggars. Ulysses pretended to fear, but when he threw off his rags and\ndisplayed his well-knit limbs and great muscles, all gazed at him\nastonished, and Irus tried to escape. He was caught and dragged before\nUlysses and forced to engage in the combat he had provoked. Ulysses,\nknowing his own strength to be invincible, did not strike with more\nthan half his force, but the first blow broke the sturdy beggar's jaw\nand flung him to the ground, from whence he was unable to rise.\nUlysses was then given as the prize of victory a stew of savory meat.\n\nWhen the revelers were deep in their cups Ulysses and his son\nTelemachus stole away from the hall and conferred together in secret.\nThey gathered all the best of the weapons in the armory and hid them\nin a convenient chamber, to be at hand in case of need.\n\nTelemachus then introduced Ulysses to the chamber of his mother\nPenelope, who failed to pierce his disguise, but listened with\neagerness to the account the beggar gave of his wanderings and\nadventures. He claimed to have formerly entertained her husband in\nCrete, described his appearance exactly, and declared to her joy that\nhis return within a month was certain. She then sent him to the bath,\nand bade Euryclea wait upon him. It happened that Euryclea was his old\nnurse, and her heart went out to the stranger, for in his look and\nvoice there was something that reminded her of her absent lord. Gladly\nshe fetched water to refresh him and knelt before him to bathe his\nfeet. He remembered the long scar on his thigh, made by the tusk of a\nwild boar when as a youth he had hunted on Parnassus, and he strove to\nkeep it concealed. But the loving eyes of his faithful nurse pierced\nthe tattered rags that he wore, and she knew him for her lord and\nmaster. \"My son--my King!\" she cried. He laid his hand on her lips to\nstay the cry of joy that broke from her, and gravely warned her not to\nbetray his return.\n\nWhen he returned from his bath, the Queen, still more impressed by his\nnoble presence, though yet she knew him not, confided to him a design\nshe had planned to assist her choice among these suitors who were all\ndistasteful to her. She proposed to set them a superhuman task--to\nbend the great bow of Ulysses and perform the feat in which he used to\nexcel. Two rows of beams, six in each row, should be set at equal\ndistances apart, to support twelve silver ax rings, and through each\nline of six rings the archer must let fly his arrow straight and true.\nAnd the noble archer who should perform this feat should be rewarded\nby her hand.\n\nUlysses applauded this design, urging her not to fear to name herself\nthe prize, since Ulysses himself would enter the lists before the\ntrial was over, win the prize, and claim her for his own.\n\nThe following day another great feast was set, and the princes sat\ndown to their feasting. Ulysses by this had watched the behavior of\nhis people, and now understood who were faithful to him and who\ndeserved no trust. Into this scene of revelry Penelope entered with\nher maidens, bearing the great bow and arrows of Ulysses, and\nchallenged the princes to bend this bow and shoot the arrow through\nthe silver rings as her lord Ulysses had been used to do, promising\nthat he who could accomplish this should be her husband.\n\nThe beams were already set in place, and Telemachus claimed his right\nto try his skill first among the suitors, since victory meant to him\nthe safeguarding of a kingdom already his by right of descent. He set\nthe axes in line upon the beams, with the rings ready for the flight\nof his arrow. Three times his young arm tried to bend the bow, three\ntimes he failed.\n\nThen all the princes in order, from right to left, took up the bow in\nturn and tried their skill. In vain they strained their muscles; they\nrubbed the bow with fat; they warmed it at the flame to make it\nsupple; they tried every device to bend it. The tough bow bent not in\ntheir impious hands!\n\nWhile they strove Ulysses took aside Eumaeus, and Philaetus a herdsman\nand one who had remained faithful to him, and revealed himself to\nthem. He then ordered that every door of the palace should be guarded\nby a trusty matron, and the main gate secured by a cable, and bade\nthem then attend on him in the hall. Telemachus had sent his mother\nand her maids away to their own apartments, and asserting his\nauthority now directed Eumaeus to bear the bow to the disguised\nbeggar, that he might try his skill and strength. All the suitors were\nfurious at this strange favor shown to a common beggar, and it was\namidst a scene of tumult and confusion that Ulysses, without rising\nfrom his seat, bent the bow and sent his arrow straight and true\nthrough the silver rings. There was a moment of silent astonishment.\nTelemachus hastened to gird on his sword and, taking his javelin in\nhis hand, stood by his father's side. Ulysses cried aloud to the\nsuitors that he had won the first game he had tried to-day, and was\nready to play a second with them. And another arrow winged its way\nstraight at the throat of Antinous, who had raised a golden bowl and\nwas drinking deep of the wine. The arrow pierced his neck and he\ndropped the goblet and fell lifeless on the marble floor.\n\nThere was panic in the hall; the princes looked in vain for weapons or\na way of escape from the doom that menaced them. \"Aimest thou at\nprinces?\" they cried to Ulysses in their terror.\n\n\"Dogs! ye have had your day!\" cried he, and declared his name and\nestate to them. Some drew their swords and rushed on him, but the\nflying arrows pinned them, and they fell dead in heaps, while the\nsword and javelin of young Telemachus did good service. At length\nevery suitor lay dead. The hall was like a shambles.\n\nThen the unfaithful servants were made to purify the palace and\nafterwards paid with their lives for their misdeeds, while those who\nhad been true to their lord crowded around him with joy.\n\nEuryclea flew to summon the sleeping Penelope. She was unable to\nbelieve the glad news. \"Ulysses comes! The suitors are no more!\" She\ncould not think it true. At last she stood trembling before her lord,\nstill afraid to believe it was he, age and time seemed to have made\nhim so strange to her eyes.\n\nThen Minerva crowned her watchful care of the hero by restoring to him\nthe beauty of his youth; but still the Queen hesitated. Ulysses\ntherefore described to her the marvels of the bridal bed he had\ncontrived for her of the huge olive tree that grew in the courtyard.\n\nPenelope saw then that it was indeed the King, who alone could have\nknown the secret of the bed. She fell fainting into his arms in a\ntransport of joy, and Ulysses once more resumed his sway over the\nkingdom.\n\n\n\n\nBAUCIS AND PHILEMON\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nOn the slopes of the Phrygian hills there once dwelt a pious old\ncouple named Baucis and Philemon. They had lived all their lives in a\ntiny cottage of wattles thatched with straw, cheerful and contented in\nspite of their poverty. Servants never troubled them, because they\nwaited on themselves, and they never had to consider the whims of\nother people, because they were their own masters.\n\nAs this worthy old couple sat dozing by the fireside one evening in\nthe late autumn, two strangers came and begged a shelter for the\nnight. They had to stoop to enter the humble doorway, where the old\nman welcomed them heartily and bade them rest their weary limbs on the\nsettle. Meanwhile Baucis stirred the embers, blowing them into a flame\nwith dry leaves, and heaping on fagots and logs to boil the\nstewing-pot. Hanging from the blackened beams was a rusty side of\nbacon. Philemon cut off a rasher to roast; and while his guests\nrefreshed themselves with a wash at the rustic trough, he gathered\nwhat pot herbs could be culled from his patch of garden. Then the old\nwoman, her hands trembling with age, laid the cloth and spread the\nboard. It was a rickety old table. One leg was too short, and had to\nbe propped up with a potsherd.\n\nIt was but a frugal meal, but one that hungry wayfarers could relish.\nThe first course was a sort of omelet of curdled milk and eggs\ngarnished with radishes and candied cornel berries, served on rude\noaken platters. The cups of turned beechwood were filled with\nhome-made wine from an earthenware jug. With the second course there\nwere nuts, dried figs, and dates--plums too, and sweet-smelling\napples, grapes, and a piece of clear white honeycomb. What made it the\nmore grateful to the guests was the hearty spirit in which all was\noffered. Their hosts gave all they had to give without stint or\ngrudging.\n\nBut all at once something happened which startled and amazed Baucis\nand Philemon. They poured out wine for their guests, and lo! each time\nthe pitcher filled itself again to the brim! In alarm they knelt down\nand implored the pardon of their visitors, for they now saw that these\nwere not mere mortals. They were indeed none other than Jupiter and\nMercury, who had come down to earth in disguise. The old couple\nexcused themselves; by reason of their poverty and the lack of time,\nthey had not been able to provide them a better entertainment. And\nPhilemon hurried out and gave chase to their single goose, who served\nthem for a watch-dog, intending to kill it and roast it for their\nguests. However, these forbade him, saying: \"We are from above, and we\nhave come down to punish the impious dwellers of the plains. In mortal\nshape we came down, and at a hundred houses asked for lodging and for\nrest. For answer a hundred doors were locked and barred against us.\nYou alone, the poorest of all, have received us gladly, and given us\nof your best. Now it is for us to punish those who treat strangers so\nchurlishly, while you shall be spared. Only leave your cottage and\nfollow us to the mountain-top.\"\n\nSo saying, the deities led the way up the hill, and the two old folk\nhobbled after them on their crutches. Presently they stopped to take\nrest, and, looking round, saw all the country round sinking into a\nmarsh, their own hut alone left standing. And while they gazed, before\ntheir very eyes their cabin was changed into a temple. The stakes in\nthe porch turned into marble columns, and the door expanded into a\ngreat carved and inlaid gate of bronze. The thatch grew yellow, till\nat last they saw that it had become a roof of gold tiles. Then\nJupiter, regarding them with kindly eyes, inquired: \"Tell us, good old\nman, and you, good wife, well worthy of such a husband, what boon\nwould you crave of us?\"\n\nPhilemon whispered for a moment with Baucis, and she nodded her\napproval. \"We desire,\" he replied, \"to be your servants, and have the\ncare of this temple. One other favor only we would ask. From boyhood I\nhave loved only Baucis, and she has lived only for me. Let the same\nhour take us both away together. Let me never see the tomb of my wife,\nnor let her suffer the misery of mourning my death.\"\n\nThe gods willingly granted both these requests, and endowed them with\nyouth and strength as well. So long as their lives lasted Baucis and\nPhilemon were guardians of the temple. And when once more old age and\nfeebleness overtook them, they were standing, one day, in front of the\nsacred porch and relating to visitors the story of the temple. Baucis\nhappened to turn her gaze on her husband and saw him slowly changing\ninto a gnarled oak. And Philemon, as he felt himself rooted to the\nground, saw Baucis at the same time turning to a leafy linden; and as\ntheir faces disappeared behind the green foliage, each cried to the\nother, \"Farewell, dearest love\"; and again, \"Dearest love, farewell\";\nand trunks and branches took the place of their human forms.\n\nFor long years these two trees were pointed out to all who came to\nworship at the temple, and many loved to bring garlands and hang them\non the trees, in honor of two souls whose virtue the gods had so\nsignally rewarded.\n\nAnd still, if you visit the spot, you may see an oak and a linden with\nbranches intertwined. What more proof would you have that this tale is\ntrue?\n\n\n\n\nHYPERMNESTRA\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nDana\u00fcs and \u00c6gyptus, two brothers, ruled together over Egypt. And to\nDana\u00fcs fifty daughters were born, while \u00c6gyptus begot fifty sons. Yet\nwas not Dana\u00fcs happy; nay, he went all day in fear. For the mysterious\nvoice of the Theban oracle had sounded terribly in his ears:\n\n WHEN THY DAUGHTER MARRIETH,\n DANA\u00dcS, THOU ART DOOMED TO DEATH!\n\nNever could Dana\u00fcs put these words from his mind. Walking alone in the\ngardens of his palace, he started, thinking one whispered them in his\near; at the banquet they sounded like thunder above the singing of the\nminstrels; and at night he lay trembling on his bed, hearing the doom\nof the oracle spoken in low tones out of the darkness. So the life of\nDana\u00fcs became dark and bitter, and his heart grew hard and cruel with\nfear.\n\nNow the sons of \u00c6gyptus were grown into comely youths, and to their\nfather it seemed but fitting that they should marry their cousins, the\ndaughters of Dana\u00fcs, beautiful maidens all. But when he spoke thereon\nto his brother, a great terror fell on Dana\u00fcs. For casting his eyes on\nthe young men as they strove together in their sports, he thought with\nbitterness: \"Yea, and shall one of these be my murderer?\" Then, in\nfear and rage, he turned to his brother, and, snarling like a wolf,\ncried, \"Child of mine weds not child of thine!\" Whereat \u00c6gyptus raged\nmightily, swearing to fulfil his purpose, so that Dana\u00fcs, ever cunning\nrather than valiant, made amends for his hasty words and promised to\ntell his daughters of their uncle's pleasure.\n\nHowbeit, that night Dana\u00fcs gathering together his daughters, his\nslaves, and his goods, secretly left the palace, and flying northward\nto the coast of the Great Sea, there took ship and came at length to\nArgos in Greece. Gelanor, King of Argos, received Dana\u00fcs and his\ndaughters with kindness and feasted them with royal cheer. But the\nheart of Dana\u00fcs knew not gratitude, and having left the throne of\nEgypt, he sought how to take that of Argos. Nor was this difficult,\nfor Gelanor was at strife with his people, who were but too ready to\nseek a new ruler. Therefore, when Dana\u00fcs spoke to them fair words,\npromising them many things, they gave glad heed, and ere many days had\npassed Gelanor was driven forth and Dana\u00fcs ruled over Argos in his\nstead.\n\nBut not long was he left in peace. For his brother \u00c6gyptus, enraged to\nfind Dana\u00fcs forsworn, and hearing of his fortune in Argos, called his\nsons together and cried to them, saying: \"Sons, will ye suffer\nyourselves to be fooled? Shall this man snatch from you your brides\nand rule in peace on the throne which he hath stolen? Nay, if ye be\nsons of mine, go, gather to yourselves a mighty army and take from him\nhis daughters and his land, and the gods prosper you and protect your\nrights.\"\n\nThen the young men, kindling at their father's words, gathered quickly\na great host, and sailing in a fleet to Argos, they harried the\ncountry before Dana\u00fcs knew of their landing. And when one ran to tell\nhim of their coming, a great fear struck upon his heart, for louder\nthan ever in Egypt sounded in his ear:\n\n WHEN THY DAUGHTER MARRIETH,\n DANA\u00dcS, THOU ART DOOMED TO DEATH!\n\nSo with fear and hatred in his breast, but with smooth words upon his\nlips, he went forth to meet the young men and their followers, who\nwere even now at the palace gates. All that they demanded he promised.\n\n\"Take my daughters to wife,\" he cried; \"reign over Argos in my stead,\nfor I am old, and weary of ruling a strange people!\"\n\nSo the young men were admitted into the palace, and the maidens their\ncousins received them with mirth and feasting, and the day of their\nnuptials was appointed.\n\nBut before the day came, the crafty Dana\u00fcs called his daughters to him\nand commanded them on peril of their lives to slay their husbands so\nsoon as they should be wedded. And to each he gave a sharp dagger to\nconceal under her wedding robe. These, therefore, the daughters of\nDana\u00fcs took, purposing to obey their father. For many of them were\ncruel even as he, while others, caring nothing for their affianced\nhusbands, feared greatly to disobey Dana\u00fcs. So it was that as they\ntook counsel together in the women's chamber after leaving their\nfather's presence, there was but one voice among the maidens as to the\nwisdom of obeying his word.\n\nBut the youngest, Hypermnestra, was silent. For her heart was tender\nand pitiful, and Lynceus, her betrothed, youngest of the sons of\n\u00c6gyptus and the fairest, had moved her heart to love and tenderness.\nLike her sisters, she feared her father, and never before had she\ndisobeyed his orders; but love conquered fear, and pity was stronger\nthan filial duty.\n\nNow came the day of the weddings, and at night a great feast was\nspread. Golden lamps shed their radiance throughout the palace, and\nclouds of incense rolled up from the altar of Hymen, the god of happy\nnuptials. But Hypermnestra, heart-sick at the mockery, loathed the\nrich viands and the fumes of incense seemed to choke her.\n\nThe feast was over, and the young bridegrooms, crowned with chaplets\nof fresh flowers and dressed in wedding robes, had drunk deeply of\ndrugged wine, and were half asleep before they reached their bridal\nchambers--led like lambs to the slaughter!\n\n * * * * *\n\nHypermnestra sat up on her couch, listening with straining ears.\nSurely it was groaning she heard, on this side and on that. Her\nsisters were obeying their father's command, and dared she alone be\ndisobedient? By her side lay young Lynceus, flushed with wine and\nsleep, his head thrown back, his breast bare. Nearer and louder\nsounded the groans, and she knew that Dana\u00fcs would speedily be coming\nto count the dead. In her terror she raised her weapon, and would have\nstricken first her lover and then herself.\n\n\"On earth,\" she cried, \"there is no escape. I will die with my love,\nand we will go together to the realms of Tartarus, I the bride and he\nthe bridegroom of Death.\"\n\nBut as she bent over the sleeping Lynceus her hot tears awoke him, and\nhe stretched out his arms to embrace her. She started aside like a\nguilty thing and hid her dagger, and cried to Lynceus: \"Arise, fly\nhence! else will to-night be to thee an everlasting night!\"\n\n\"What sayest thou?\" he murmured, only half awake. \"Art mocking me? Is\nthat a dagger in thy left hand?\"\n\n\"Rise and fly, while there is yet time!\" she cried again. \"Thy\nbrothers are already dead, treacherously slain by their brides. The\ndawn is near; soon it will be too late. Leave me; fly! I cannot bear\nto see thee slain!\"\n\nThen Lynceus sprang up and fled, and scarcely had he gone when Dana\u00fcs,\ngloating over his victims, entered to see if Hypermnestra had been\nobedient as her sisters. But Hypermnestra, fearful no longer, rose and\nfaced him, holding out the bloodless dagger.\n\n\"Take back thy weapon, cruel father,\" she cried. \"Nay, and if thou\nwilt, smite me therewith, slaying me with the death I would not bring\nupon my husband. But not in death itself shalt thou hear me say, 'I\nrepent.'\"\n\nStrong and beautiful she stood there in the dawn, her eyes shining\nwith triumph. But her father, enraged at the escape of one victim,\nstruck her to the ground and ordered slaves to drag her by the hair to\nthe palace dungeon. And not many days after, seated in the city hall\nof justice, he caused her to be brought before him to be sentenced for\nher disobedience. So slaves dragged in Hypermnestra, and she stood\nthere before a great multitude, chains on her hands and feet, her\nwhite robe besmirched by the dungeon, but with the light of triumph\nstill shining in her eyes. And all the people, seeing her, cried with\none voice: \"Spare her, O king!\" and as his wrath burned yet fiercer as\na fire that meets the blast, the prayer became a threat: \"Spare her,\nthou cruel king!\" But Dana\u00fcs, remembering the oracle, gnashed upon\nthem with his teeth and rose as if to smite Hypermnestra with his own\nhand. But even as he rose a voice like thunder smote upon his ear:\n\"Hold, thou cursed king!\" and the crowd made way for a young warrior\nto pass. Like a young god, Lynceus rushed upon Dana\u00fcs and slew him at\na stroke, and all the people hailed him as King over Argos, and his\nwife Hypermnestra as Queen.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut the guilty sisters of Hypermnestra, seeing what had chanced, fled\nfrom Argos, whither none knew or cared. And poets tell that after\ndeath their shades in Tartarus were condemned evermore to draw water\nin bottomless urns, a warning to all false wives and traitors; but\nHypermnestra has won for herself a name that will live for all time as\na maiden tender and true, who loved greatly and dared greatly.\n\n\n\n\nOEDIPUS AT COLONOS\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nNot far from the beautiful city of Athens, and within sight of its\ntemple-crowned citadel, the Acropolis, lies the village of Colonos.\n\nHere, on the slope of the hill, once stood a sacred grove of laurel,\nwhose evergreen sprays adorn Apollo's hair; of olive, planted there by\nthe gray-eyed goddess, Minerva, protectress of Athens; and of vine,\nthe gift of Bacchus.\n\nTo this grove there came one day an old man, blind and meanly clad,\nbut for all that venerable and noble of aspect, the unfortunate King\nOedipus, led by his daughter Antigone, the sole prop and comfort of\nhis old age.\n\nSad indeed had been the fate of Oedipus. It had been decreed by the\nimmortal gods that he should slay his father, King La\u00efus, and while he\nwas still a babe in arms La\u00efus bade his servants take the child and\nleave him amongst the bare rocks of Cith\u00e6ron. Here the forsaken infant\nwas found by a shepherd, who bore him far away from his own city of\nThebes to Corinth. Merope the queen chanced to see the child, and\nstruck by the likeness to her own child whom she had just lost, she\nadopted him, and he was brought up in the palace, believing himself to\nbe truly the son of those with whom he dwelt. But having learnt from\nthe oracle of Apollo that he was doomed to slay his own father, he\nleft Corinth in order to escape that doom, and on the road it fell on\nhim without his being aware of it. For he met a choleric old man in a\nchariot, who tried to thrust him out of the path, and in defending\nhimself against the old man's goad he smote him with his staff and\nslew him, not knowing who he was. But this was his father, La\u00efus, King\nof Thebes.\n\nOedipus, journeying on, with no thought but to get far from Corinth\nand avoid all possibility of parricide, came by chance to his own\nunknown city, Thebes. Here he delivered the people from a monstrous\nplague, the Sphinx, and they chose him by acclamation for their king.\nThereafter he ruled them well and happily till the wrath of the gods\nfell upon them for the unavenged murder of their late king. Then did\nOedipus turn his mind to seek out the slayer of La\u00efus, and seeking\ndiligently he found, in the end, that he himself had slain the king,\nand that the king was his own father. In grief and horror at his own\nunwitting crime, he stabbed and lacerated his own eyes. To crown his\ncup of sorrows he was driven from his home by his wicked and ambitious\nsons, and he wandered out into the world a blind beggar, guided and\nsupported by his faithful daughter Antigone.\n\nFar had they wandered, and they were worn with toil and hunger when\nthey sank down to rest beside the sacred grove of Colonos. Antigone\nguessed that the tower-crowned hill she saw before her in the distance\nguarded Athens, but she did not know what place this might be where\nher father rested, and was about to seek some one from whom to\ninquire, when by chance a man passed by along the road. Oedipus was\nbeginning to ask this stranger to tell them somewhat of the place\nwhither his wanderings had brought him, but the man interrupted his\nhalf-spoken question by telling him instantly to leave his seat, for\nthis grove was the home of dread and mighty goddesses, and no man was\npermitted to set foot within the close, or even to approach the\nprecincts.\n\nThen Oedipus asked the name of these goddesses. The wayfarer himself\ncalled them Eumenides, the Gracious Ones; at Athens they were known as\nthe Semnai, or Dread Ladies; but their proper name was the Erinys, or\nAvengers of Blood.\n\nWhen Oedipus heard this he was glad, for the oracle had promised that\nthe end of all his woes should come when he reached the shrine of the\nDread Goddesses, and that as a sign that his troubles were over there\nshould come a clap of thunder from a cloudless sky. Moreover the\noracle foretold a blessing on the land that gave him burial. Therefore\nOedipus begged the stranger to go in all haste to summon to him\nTheseus, the great and just King of Athens. But meanwhile the Thebans\nalso had heard from the oracle that peace and prosperity should be to\nthe last resting-place of the toil-worn Oedipus, and they had sent out\nto seek him and bring him back to his own city.\n\nIt was beside the grove of the Dread Goddesses that the Thebans found\ntheir uncrowned king, but he refused to return to a land that had\ndriven him forth from its borders, choosing rather to die where he\nwas, in the land of his adoption, the hospitable state of Athens. But\nthe Thebans were angered at his refusal, and seized and bore off his\nfaithful daughter Antigone. And the old king was in sore distress; but\nwhen he appealed to Theseus to help him, Theseus stood his friend and\npursued the band that was bearing away Antigone, and brought her back\nto her father, safe and sound.\n\nThen came to Oedipus yet another to crave the blessing of the\nuncrowned king, never so powerful as in his last hours. This was\nPolynices, the elder son of Oedipus. His younger brother had driven\nhim out from Thebes and taken the throne himself, and now Polynices\nwas collecting an army to go back and drive his brother away and make\nhimself king again.\n\nBut Oedipus would not help his wicked son, but cursed him instead,\nforetelling how the two brothers, the last of an accursed house,\nshould fall by each other's hands, and neither of them should ever\nenjoy the kingdom for which they strove.\n\nAntigone entreated her brother to give up the fatal feud that could\nprofit neither brother, but Polynices said he could not now turn back\nand desert his sworn allies, and he departed very sorrowful to meet\nhis doom.\n\nAnd as he went, from the clear sky there came a sudden clap of\nthunder. Then Oedipus sent in haste for Theseus, for he knew that here\nwas the promised sign, and that his troublous life was all but over.\n\nTheseus came quickly to see what was amiss with his old friend, and\nfound him anxiously waiting, while the thunder roared louder and the\nforked lightning brought terror to all the beholders.\n\nThen said Oedipus: \"The gods are showing now that the time of my doom\nis come. Blind though I am, I myself will guide my own steps to the\nspot where I am doomed to die, but thou alone, O Theseus, shalt know\nwhere is my resting-place, and thou shalt tell it to none on earth\nsave when thy death-hour comes, and then shalt thou disclose it to thy\neldest born. He in like manner shall hand the secret on, and thus\nshall peace and prosperity forever dwell in this land. Touch me not.\nLet me find my hallowed grave myself. Think of me sometimes when I am\ngone, and thou and all thy state are prosperous.\"\n\nThen the old man allowed his weeping daughters to lave his limbs and\nput on him a garment meet for the grave.\n\nAnd when this was done, and Antigone still clung weeping to her\nfather, there came first a roll of thunder, and after the thunder a\nvoice that called: \"Ho, Oedipus, why tarriest thou?\"\n\nThen the old king arose and called on Theseus and begged him to care\nfor his daughters, and Theseus vowed to be a true friend to the\ndesolate maidens. And Oedipus kissed his daughters and sent them\nweeping away, and only Theseus saw the blessed end of a man in life\nmore sinned against than sinning, or knew the last resting-place of\nthe body of King Oedipus.\n\nAntigone craved leave to visit her father's sepulcher, but not even\nshe was allowed to know where was the secret burial-place; and when\nshe was told that her father had willed that no mortal save Theseus\nshould know the spot, she submitted, and only begged permission to go\nback to Thebes and try to save her brothers from their doom. But it\nwas in vain that the gentle maiden strove to bring peace where was\nnothing but hatred. The two brothers, fighting in single combat, slew\neach other, and because Polynices had brought a great host against his\nown city, the Thebans cast his body without their walls and forbade\nthat any man should sprinkle dust upon it, so should its soul never\nfind rest, as a punishment for all its misdeeds. But Antigone would\nnot leave her brother's corpse unburied. Her sister Ismene dared not\nhelp in such a deed, so the heroic maiden went alone, poured the\nthree libations due to the dead, and scattered dust upon her brother's\nbody, thus giving rest to his soul.\n\nThen Creon, King of the Thebans, was wroth with the maiden, and he\ncommanded that she should be taken to a cave, and the mouth be barred\nwith rocks. She should be given just enough food and water to prevent\nthe guilt of her death falling upon the city, and left to pine away in\nher rocky dungeon. And the guards led her away and did the king's\nbidding. But when Creon's only son heard what was done he forced his\nway into that tomb of the living, for he loved Antigone, and would\nhave delivered her at the price of his own life. For this he was too\nlate; the princess had not waited to die by slow starvation within the\nwalled-up cavern, she had strangled herself. The young prince, in his\ndespair, smote himself with his own sword and fell dead beside the\nbody of Antigone. So was the vengeance of the Erinys accomplished, and\nthe work of the Avengers of Blood ended.\n\n\n\n\nMIDAS\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was born to Gordius, King of Phrygia, a son\nwhom he named Midas. While this son was an infant in his cradle the\nants were seen to creep in and put grains of golden wheat into his\nmouth. From this the wise men foretold that he would be exceeding rich\nand miserly, and choked with riches.\n\nWhen Midas grew up to manhood and succeeded his father as king, it was\nsoon proved that the seers were true prophets. He loved wealth and\nriches for their own sake. Merchants were sent far and wide to trade\nin all kinds of produce, and brought back their gains to swell his\ncoffers. He caused mines to be dug for the precious metals. As fast as\nthe money came in he invested it again in new ventures, and everything\nhe undertook succeeded. Hence the saying arose: \"All that Midas\ntouches turns into gold.\"\n\nNow it happened that Silenus, the foster-father of Bacchus, had\nwandered into Phrygia, and being an old man and overcome with wine--he\nwas a terrible toper--the rustics used him roughly; and when he was\nsober they bound him with cords and took him as a prisoner to Midas.\nThe king had been taught the rites of Bacchus, and as soon as he\nrecognized Silenus, he rebuked the ignorant rustics and treated him\nwith great honor, ordaining a special festival of ten days and ten\nnights to celebrate the visit of his guest. Bacchus, meanwhile, had\nbeen mourning the loss of his tutor. In gratitude to Midas for\nrestoring his foster-father and preserving him from insult, he gave\nMidas the choice of any favor he desired.\n\n\"All I desire,\" replied Midas, \"is to be the richest king on earth.\nMake that a truth which men say about me, that everything I touch\nshall turn to gold.\"\n\n\"You might have asked for something better,\" murmured the god, with a\nsigh. \"But as you wish, so shall it be.\"\n\nScarcely able to believe it could be true, Midas hurried away to test\nthe reality of his good fortune. An oak grew by the roadside. He took\nhold of a small twig; it was a twig of gold. He picked up a clod of\nearth; it was no longer clay, but a huge nugget. Passing through a\ncornfield, all the ears that brushed against his hand became ears of\ngold. Plucking an apple from a tree, it was at once like to the golden\napple that Paris gave to Venus.\n\nWhen he reached his palace and put his hand upon the doorpost, the\nwood turned yellow and glistened at his touch. The basin in which he\nwashed his hands became a golden bowl, filled to the brim with\ngold-dust.\n\n\"Now, indeed,\" he cried with joy, \"wealth and power are mine. My\nriches will be endless. Thanks be given to the gods for this most\nwonderful and precious of all gifts. What in the world is better than\ngold?\"\n\nWhile he was thus rejoicing, his servants entered and spread the table\nfor a banquet. He seated himself and took a piece of bread in his\nhand. But it was no longer bread; it was hard, solid gold. He seized a\ngoblet of wine, but to no purpose; he could not quench his thirst with\na stream of gold! Too late he saw his folly. The richest man on\nearth, he was doomed to die of hunger and thirst. Nothing on earth was\nso useless to him as his gold!\n\nRaising his hands towards heaven, he implored the pardon of the gods.\n\"Have mercy on me, for I repent me of my greed; have pity and deliver\nme from this awful curse!\"\n\nBacchus, seeing that he was cured of his sordid folly, took pity on\nhim, and showed him how the baneful gift could be got rid of. \"Go to\nSardis,\" said he, \"and track the river to its well-head. Plunge thy\nhead beneath the bubbling spring, and purge thyself from the curse.\"\nThe king hastened to bathe in the spring, and so gained relief: the\ngolden virtue left the human body and entered into the water. And even\nnow the sands of Pactolus glitter with grains of gold-dust.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAfter this stern lesson, Midas no longer cared to go on amassing\nriches, but turned his attention to country sports and to music. Sad\nto tell, however, his folly and conceit led to trouble even in this,\nfor he was but a sorry musician, and yet he set up for being a\nvirtuoso. Some nymphs had listened with pleasure to Pan playing on his\nrustic reeds, and persuaded the minstrel to challenge Apollo, God of\nMusic, to a contest. Old Tmolus, the ruler of the mountain, agreed to\nact as umpire. Pan's music was rude and uncouth; but when Apollo\ntouched the strings of his lyre his very posture showed the master's\nskill, and so sweet were the notes that all present agreed with the\ndecision that to Apollo the prize must be given. Midas alone protested\nthat the judgment was unfair, and that Pan's music was superior. As a\nfit punishment for his crass stupidity Apollo caused his ears to grow\nlonger and longer, with gray hairs all over them, and twitching like\nthe ears of an ass. Midas fled away amid the laughter of the deities\nand nymphs, and as quickly as possible concealed his disgrace under a\nthick turban.\n\nNone of the people of Phrygia had been present at the musical contest,\nand for a long time Midas succeeded in hiding the shameful deformity\nfrom his subjects. However, the barber who trimmed his hair was\nobliged to know of it. He did not dare tell any one what he had seen;\nyet he found it harder every day to keep such a secret to himself. At\nlast, as the only way he could conceive to relieve his mind of the\nburden, he went into a distant field, dug a hole in the ground, and\nwhispered into it, \"Midas has ass's ears.\" Then he shoveled the earth\nback, having delivered himself, and yet, as he thought, buried the\nsecret quite safely.\n\nA year passed. A clump of reeds had grown on the spot where the fatal\nsecret lay buried. The reeds rustled gently as they were stirred by\nthe south wind, and the goatherds passing by with their flocks were\ndrawn to the place by the strange sounds that arose. The reeds seemed\nto be whispering the story one to another: \"Midas has ass's ears.\"\n\nAnd the wind carried the news to the reeds on the thatched sheds of\nthe farm, so that they were soon quivering to tell their tale--when\nthe farmer came in to supper, his goodwife called to him: \"Such a\nfunny saying has been running in my head all day--where it comes from\nis a mystery: 'Midas has ass's ears.'\"\n\nThe flowers told it to the trees, and the trees told it to the birds.\nMen and women learnt it they knew not how, but all who heard it found\nthemselves forced by some mysterious impulse to repeat it to their\nneighbors, till all through the land of Phrygia rang the strange\ntidings: \"Midas has ass's ears!\"\n\nThe hunger for gold may be cured, if taken in time; but not even a god\ncan cure one who has ass's ears and lets the secret out.\n\n\n\n\nPERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA\n\nBY V. C. TURNBULL\n\n\nOn the shores of the Great Sea there dwelt in ancient times a simple\nfolk of shepherds and tillers of the ground, who called themselves the\nBlameless \u00c6thiops. They were a pious race, and worshiped in particular\nAtergatis, Queen of the Fishes. Year by year they dwelt in peace among\ntheir flocks and herds, their fields of barley and flax, and their\nvines that bore purple grapes on the sunny hillsides.\n\nBut a great trouble fell upon this happy folk. For the earth heaved\nand yawned, and the dwellings of the people fell, and the sea poured\nin on the land, flooding and laying waste the golden harvest fields.\nThen a greater terror followed, for out of the sea rose a monster huge\nand terrible, such as never man had seen. Riding on the flood he came,\nbearing down upon the terrified people, and into his maw he swept\ntheir fattest sheep and kine, and also, alas! their fairest sons and\ndaughters. And thus he came night after night, till the people's\nhearts failed them, and in their utter misery they sought counsel of\ntheir king. And King Cepheus spoke unto them, and said: \"Surely, my\npeople, ye have sinned, and offended our great sea-god. Let us go to\nhis temple and offer gifts, and inquire of his priests, and learn\nwhich of you has sinned.\"\n\nSo they went with their King Cepheus to consult the priests of the\nsea-gods whom they worshiped. And when many sacrifices had been\noffered, the priests cast lots to find who it was who had angered the\ngods and caused them to plague the land. And the lot fell upon\nCassiopoeia, the queen.\n\nThen Cassiopoeia stood up before all the people, her ebon hair falling\nto her feet and her eyes shining with tears, as she cried, and said:\n\"O my friends, I have sinned in my pride, and brought this evil on\nyour homes. For not many days since my heart was lifted up and I\nboasted myself fairer than all the Nereids. And they, hearing, have\nrisen in their wrath to avenge the insult. Pardon me, O my friends,\nfor thus have I drawn desolation upon our land.\"\n\nAnd all the people were silent, but the priests made answer: \"Truly\nhast thou spoken, O Queen, and assuredly has thy boasting been our\ncurse. Now, therefore, take thy daughter Andromeda and bind her to a\nrock on the seashore, so that when the monster cometh again he shall\nsee that we have given him our best, even our king's daughter.\nPerchance he will have mercy and spare her when he sees our\nrepentance, but anywise he will depart whence he came and trouble us\nno more.\"\n\nThen King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopoeia rose up and went down to their\npalace in grief too great for tears. And they took Andromeda, their\nonly child, the fairest maiden in the land, and withal the tenderest\nand truest, and carried her down to the sea-shore. And all the people\nfollowed, weeping bitterly, for to many of them Andromeda had spoken\nkind words, and to not a few had she done gracious deeds. Yet when\nthey thought on their own desolate homes, where no children played,\nthey told themselves that the young princess must die for the people.\n\nSo they led Andromeda to the base of a sea-washed crag, and riveted\nher white arms with chains of brass to the black rock. And\nCassiopoeia, kissing her, cried: \"O child, forgive thy wretched\nmother!\"\n\nAnd Andromeda answered: \"It is not thou, mother, but the sea-god who\nhath done me to death.\"\n\nAnd the queen kissed her yet again, and departed weeping. All the\npeople followed, and night fell, and she was left alone. Out of the\nsky looked down the white moon behind the cloud rack, and not more\nfair was she than this maiden standing on the black rock like a white\nstatue, half hid by the streaming locks that rippled to her knee.\n\nSo all night she stood and waited for her doom, most time mute with\nterror, but at whiles lamenting, and calling on the gods for pity. But\nno answer came save the thunder of the sea upon the rocks and the\nscream of the sea-birds wheeling between earth and sky.\n\nMorning came, flinging roses from her car and scattering gold across\nthe waters, and as those in bitterest pain of heart take strange note\nof passing things, Andromeda's eyes, dull and despairing, watched the\nsea-birds at their play. Among them came one flying swifter and\ngreater than osprey or sea-eagle, and the gulls all dived at his\napproach. As the winged form drew nigh Andromeda was aware that this\nwas no sea-bird; and soon she perceived a youth, godlike and strong,\nwhose plumed sandals carried him over the deep as lightly as if he had\nbeen indeed a bird. Blue as the sea were his eyes, and his hair shone\nin the morning sun like spun gold. From his shoulder floated a\ngoat-skin, on his arm he carried a brazen shield, and on his thigh\nhung a sword that flashed like diamonds in the sun. Straight to\nAndromeda he flew, and putting back the hair that covered her face he\ngazed into her eyes with love and pity, as he cried: \"O maiden,\nbeautiful and pitiful, what cruelty hath brought thee to this pass?\"\n\nBut Andromeda, wan and weak after the terrors of the night, could only\nhang her head and weep. So Perseus drew his diamond sword and smote\nthrough her chains, and gathered her, set free, to his breast. But\nwhen she had wept there a little space Andromeda thrust him away with\na sharp cry.\n\n\"Oh, leave me!\" she wailed, \"for I am the accursed one, the victim\noffered to the angry gods. Come not between me and my doom, for I\nsuffer in the people's place.\"\n\n\"Never will I leave thee,\" answered Perseus, \"and never shalt thou\nsuffer while I have strength to draw sword in thy defense.\"\n\nBut Andromeda only wept the more and begged him again to be gone, and\nhe, thinking to calm her, again entreated to hear the story of her sad\nplight. So Andromeda told him why she was being offered up to the\nmonster, and as she finished speaking, her eyes, wandering seaward,\nwidened with horror, and she shrieked aloud: \"It comes! it comes! Oh,\nkind and godlike youth, fly ere it is too late! Leave me; let not\nthine eyes behold my shameful end!\"\n\nBut Perseus, kissing the tears from her face, laughed aloud and made a\nmock of the great fish-beast which even now, like a leviathan of the\ndeep, could be seen plowing its way towards them across the sea.\n\n[Illustration: PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA]\n\n\"Shall I flee from a beast of the deep?\" he asked. \"Maiden, my father\nwas Jupiter, king of the gods, and the great goddess Minerva hath me\nunder her protection. From her I received this shield, and from\nMercury, swiftest of the gods, a cap of darkness, these sandals, and\nthis sword. Then, at Minerva's bidding, I sped northward through\nregions where man nor beast hath trodden. There found I the Gray\nSisters, and snatched from them their one eye, keeping it till they\ntold me the way to the garden of the Hesperides. And from the maidens\nin that garden I learned the secret dwelling-place of the gorgon\nMedusa, the very sight of whose face turns all men to stone. Her, at\nthe bidding of Minerva, I slew, using the shield as a mirror and\nlooking not on the gorgon's face as I shore off her viper-crowned\nhead. Seven years have these adventures filled; very far have I\ntraveled and many perils known. And shall I now turn back from a beast\nof the sea?\"\n\nAnd he laughed again, and his laughter rang so joyously through the\nmorning air that some comfort stole even into the sad heart of\nAndromeda; but still she besought him to go.\n\n\"Many hath the sea-beast slain,\" she pleaded; \"and why should he slay\nthee? Shall two perish instead of one? Strong-limbed art thou and\nbrave; but what mortal shall stand against that strength? Never have I\nknown fairer or gentler man than thou, and why should'st thou die?\nSeven years hath thy mother awaited thy homecoming, and shall her eyes\nsee thee nevermore?\"\n\nAnd when she had said this, Andromeda hid her face in her hair,\nsobbing very bitterly as she added: \"Surely some maiden longeth for\nthee afar; and shall she go longing to her grave?\"\n\nBut ere Perseus could answer there came a roar from the sea, and\nlooking down they saw that the monster was at hand. His great snout,\npouring forth fountains of sea-water, lay already on the rocks, his\nvast scaly body, shells clinging to its scales and seaweeds dripping\ndown its sides, rolled like some water-logged hulk; his tail, curling,\ncoil upon coil, to the horizon, lashed the waters till they were white\nwith foam, and the sea-birds screamed as before him the fishes fled\nleaping.\n\nThen Perseus, pausing not an instant, drew forth from under his\ngoat-skin the fatal head of Medusa, the sight of which is death, and\ngripping it by its viper locks, he swooped like a hawk upon the\nmonster as it rose to clamber up the beach. And the monster's great\neyes rolled upward, blinking and wicked; but when they saw the Medusa\nthey became fixed in a ghastly stare. And a great spasm ran through\nthe sea-beast from snout to tail--a shiver, and then no motion or\nbreath or sign of life, for that which had been a monster was now\nnothing but a long black rock.\n\nThen Perseus went back to Andromeda and showed her that her enemy was\nindeed dead, and Andromeda, after all her sorrows, was now the\nhappiest maiden in the land. And all the people, hearing what had\nhappened, came down to the shore with laughter and dancing and\nsinging, and carried Andromeda and Perseus to the palace of the king\nand queen, who sat sorrowing for their daughter, deeming her already\ndead. And they, when they heard the glad tidings, rose up and embraced\ntheir daughter who had come back to them, as it were, from the grave,\nand gave her to Perseus to wife, begging him to stay with them for a\nwhile before he carried home his bride.\n\nSo Perseus stayed with Cepheus and Cassiopoeia and their dark-haired\n\u00c6thiopians for the space of a year, teaching them many things; and\nafter that he built himself a ship of cedar-wood, and in it he sailed\nwith Andromeda to Seriphos among the Isles of Greece, where his mother\nhad waited for him seven years. And after a little while Perseus\nbecame King of Argos in the place of his grandfather Acrisius. Long\nand glorious was his reign, and fair Andromeda bore him four sons and\nthree daughters. And when after many days Perseus died, the gods took\nhim up into the sky. Who has not seen on a starlight night Cassiopoeia\nseated on her golden throne? There, too, is Perseus, still holding the\nMedusa's head, and beside him is Andromeda, still stretching out her\nstarry arms to embrace her enstarred deliverer.\n\n\n\n\nMELEAGER AND ATALANTA\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nWhen Meleager, son of Oeneus, King of Calydon, was born, his mother\nAlth\u00e6a dreamed that she had brought forth a burning brand. The three\nFates were present at the moment of his birth, and foretold his future\ngreatness. Clotho promised that he should have bravery and courage,\nLachesis uncommon strength, and Atropos that he should live as long as\nthe fire-brand on the hearth remained whole and unburnt. Alth\u00e6a no\nsooner heard this than she snatched the brand from the fire and\nquenched it with water. Ever after she kept the brand in a safe place\nwith jealous care, knowing that on this depended the life of her dear\nson.\n\nGrown to manhood, Meleager soon became famous for his knightly\nprowess. He sailed with Jason in search of the Golden Fleece, and when\nrebellious tribes made war against his father, he fought against their\narmy and scattered it.\n\nA year came, long after famous as the harvest year. Never within the\nmemory of man had there been such plenteous crops in the land of\nCalydon, and Oeneus the king made grateful offerings of first-fruits\nto the gods: corn to Ceres, wine to Bacchus, and olive oil to Minerva.\nAll the gods received their tribute except Diana. Diana was forgotten,\nand the goddess was filled with jealousy. She resented the insult to\nher altars, and in revenge for the neglect sent a wild boar to ravage\nthe kingdom. This boar was huge as a full-grown ox, his eyes were\nflaming and bloodshot, and the bristles stood up on his neck and\nflanks like long spikes. It was terrible to see his foaming jaws and\nlarge tusks--like an elephant's; when he roared his breath seemed to\nburn up the very herbage. Wherever he went he destroyed the farmer's\nhopes, trampling down the young shoots, devouring the corn in the ear,\nbreaking the vines, and stripping the olive trees. Neither dogs nor\nshepherds could protect the sheep from being gored by his cruel tusks.\nThe country folk had to fly for their lives into the walled cities.\n\nSo Meleager invited a choice band of heroes to join him and help to\ndestroy the monster. Nearly all those who had joined in the quest for\nthe Golden Fleece came and brought others with them. But the foremost\nin Meleager's eyes was the fair huntress Atalanta, daughter of Iasius.\nHer robe flowed loose to the knee, held up over her left shoulder by\none golden brooch, and her hair was gathered into a single knot. At\nher side hung an ivory quiver. It had been hard to tell whether she\nwere youth or maid, so strong and stalwart were her limbs and so\nsmooth her face. Meleager saw her, and loved her at first sight.\n\"Here,\" he cried, \"is the one maid for me!\" But this was no time or\nplace for love-making. The mighty hunt was about to begin.\n\nThe monster had been tracked to a dense jungle, and the heroes got\nready their nets and slipped the dogs. At length the pack gave tongue,\nand the hunters raised a shout as the boar came crashing through the\nwood, scattering the dogs right and left, some barking, some bleeding\nfrom ugly wounds. Echion's spear only grazed a maple tree. Jason was\nnext to throw his swift lance, but it overshot the mark. The aim of\nAlastus was more true, but the iron head snapped off as it hit one of\nthe mighty tusks, and the shaft failed to wound the brute.\n\nLike a stone from a catapult the furious boar rushed madly on among\nthe youths; lightnings flashed from his eyes, and his breath was like\na furnace; two of the huntsmen were laid low, and a third received a\ndeadly wound; Nestor saved his life by catching in the nick of time\nthe branch of an oak tree. Having whetted his tusks on the trunk the\nmonster advanced once more, and gored another hero in the thigh.\nCastor and Pollux, on their white horses, rushed with lances poised to\ndespatch him; they were too late, for the boar had found safe cover in\nthe jungle, where neither horse nor weapon could reach him.\n\nTelamon, in his hot pursuit, was tripped up by a root. While Pelus was\nhelping him to rise, Atalanta fitted an arrow to her bow and let fly.\nDiana, who loved the maiden, guided her aim. The shaft grazed the ear\nof the beast, leaving the bristles streaked with red; and Meleager was\njust as pleased as she herself at her success in drawing the first\nblood. Pointing it out to his companions, he exclaimed, \"The maid is\npeerless in archery as in beauty! She puts us men to shame!\"\n\nStung to action by the taunt the heroes bestirred themselves, and\nshouted to encourage each other, but their very number confused their\naim. Anc\u00e6us, swinging his battle-ax, rushed madly to his fate, crying,\n\"Make way for me, and I will show you how much better a man's weapon\nis than a girl's arrow. Though he bear a charmed life, my right hand\nshall finish the brute!\" As he stood boasting the boar seized him and\ngored him through and through and through, so that the earth around\nwas soaked with his red life-blood. Theseus stayed his dear friend,\nPiritho\u00fcs, son of Ixion, who was making straight for the enemy just as\nrashly. Warning him that it was better to be valiant at a distance, he\nhurled his heavy lance of cornel-wood pointed with brass. It was well\npoised, but caught in a beech tree. Jason, too, hurled his javelin\nagain, but by an ill-chance struck an innocent hound and pinned him to\nthe earth.\n\nMeleager's turn had now come, and he used his opportunity to good\neffect. Of two spears the first only grazed the boar's flank, the\nsecond transfixed the beast in the middle of the back. While it was\nwrithing in agony, twisting about, covered with foam and blood, the\nconqueror lost no time. In a trice he had buried his gleaming blade\nbehind the shoulder. His comrades crowded around him with shouts of\njoy. They marveled at the huge size of the boar as the carcass lay at\nfull length, scarcely believing it safe even yet to touch, but each\ndipped his weapon in the blood. Meleager himself, placing his foot on\nthe monster's head, exclaimed, \"Receive, Arcadian nymph, the spoil\nthat is thy right, for thou didst draw first blood! Only let me share\nthy glory!\" So saying, he laid at her feet the skin, thick with\nstiffened bristles, and the head and monstrous tusks. The maiden was\ngraciously pleased to accept the offering, and the smile that she\nbestowed on the giver more than repaid him for all his pains and\nperils.\n\nBut his comrades were jealous of the favor bestowed on the young\nhunter. They murmured amongst themselves, and said, \"Who is this\nupstart youth who, without asking our leave, bestows on his lady-love\nthe spoils that belong to us all?\" And they snatched away the trophy.\n\nThis was more than the warlike prince could bear. Mad with anger and\nindignation, he plunged his sword into the breast of his uncle\nPlexippus (who had been the moving spirit in the protest), crying,\n\"This will teach thee not to snatch away another's honors.\" And before\nlong his blade was reeking with the blood of Toxeus, who seemed half\ndisposed to avenge his brother's death.\n\nMeanwhile, Queen Alth\u00e6a had heard of her son's victory over the\nmonster, and was on her way to the temples of the gods with\nthankofferings, when she beheld the dead bodies of her brothers being\nborne from the field. All her joy was turned to sorrow; with a shriek\nof horror she hastened back home to put on mourning. But when she\nlearnt who was the author of their death, grief vanished and gave\nplace to a thirst for vengeance.\n\nShe bethought herself of the brand which the Fates had given her, and\nwhich she had kept so carefully, knowing that her son's life depended\non it. Now this fatal wood was to be the means of punishing the son\nfor the murder of her brothers.\n\nAt her bidding a fire was kindled. Holding the fatal billet in her\nruthless hand, she moaned, \"Ye Fates, I both avenge and commit a\ncrime. With death must death be repaid. He deserves to die, and yet\nthe thought of his death appalls me. Oh, that thou hadst been burnt,\nunnatural son, when an infant, in that first fire!\" So saying, with\ntrembling hands, she threw the fatal brand into the midst of the fire.\nAnd the brand, as it was caught by the flames, seemed to utter a dying\ngroan.\n\nMeleager, far away, was seized with sudden pains. He felt his entrails\nscorched by secret fires; bravely he bore the torture. His one regret\nwas that he was doomed to die an inglorious death, and he envied the\nfate of Anc\u00e6us. With his last breath he invoked a blessing on his aged\nfather, his brother, and dear sisters--aye, and on his cruel mother.\nAs the blaze kindled by Alth\u00e6a rose and fell, so his torments waxed\nand waned. Both lives flickered out, and his spirit vanished into the\nlight air.\n\nIn Calydon, young and old, noble and serf, were all lamenting. The\nmatrons tore their hair as they bewailed the untimely end of their\nbrave young prince. Aged Oeneus abased himself on the ground, with\ndust on his white locks and wrinkled brow, bemoaning that he had lived\nto see that day. To the anguished mother, too, came tardy repentance.\nNatural affection had now gained the mastery over anger and revenge.\n\"Wretch that I am!\" she cried. \"To the loss of my dear brothers, by my\nown ruthless deed I have added the loss of my dearer son.\" Horrified\nat her act, she could no longer bear to see the sun, and with a sword\nput an end to her misery and shame.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF D\u00c6DALUS AND ICARUS\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\nAthens is the eye of Greece, the mother of science and the arts, and\nof all her world-famed artists none is more famous than D\u00e6dalus, the\nsculptor, the architect, the first of air-men. It was he who taught\nmen to carve in wood the human form divine, as the images prove that\nthe Greeks named after him _d\u00e6dala_. It was he who planned for Minos\nthe labyrinth of which you have read elsewhere; and it was he who\nfirst made wings that men might fly like birds. Of this, his best and\ngreatest invention, how he came to contrive it, and how disastrously\nit ended, you shall now hear.\n\nWhen Theseus had slain the Minotaur, King Minos was exceedingly wrath\nwith his architect for betraying the secret of the labyrinth--a secret\nthat none but the king and its contriver knew. So D\u00e6dalus, and with\nhim his young son Icarus, was cast into prison, and there they\nlanguished long. But Pasipha\u00eb the queen, who loved not her sovereign\nlord and loved her favorite artist, contrived their escape and hid\nthem in a sea-cave. Still the cave was little better than a prison. It\nwas dark and dank, and they dared only venture out at night for fear\ntheir hiding-place should be discovered.\n\nBut though the artist's hands were idle, his busy brain was ever\nplotting and scheming. One day, as he sat at the cave's mouth watching\nthe seagulls as they floated past on poised wings or mounted from the\nwaves and with a stroke of their pinions were high in air, there\nflashed upon his brain the splendor of a sudden thought--With the\nwings of a bird I too could fly!\n\nAt once the father and the son set to work to make themselves wings.\nThe osprey and the sea-eagle, whose aeries were on the rocky heights,\nthe father trapped with cunning snares, and from the combs of the wild\nbees on the hillside the son collected wax. So with infinite pains,\nand after endless failures, at last a pair of pinions were made. The\nupper row of quills were bound together by strong threads of twine on\na framework of bone, and to them the bottom feathers were joined by\nbeeswax. Like all great inventors, D\u00e6dalus had conquered Nature by\nimitating her.\n\nAt first young Icarus had watched his father with eager curiosity, but\nlike a boy, he had soon grown impatient, and, as D\u00e6dalus still\npersevered, he looked upon him as a harmless lunatic. What, then, were\nhis delight and surprise when, one morning as he awoke, he beheld his\nfather floating in mid-air before the cave's mouth.\n\n\"Father,\" he cried, embracing him as he alighted, \"what rapture! Let\nme too try if I can fly. Make me a pair of wings, and together we will\nescape from this island prison.\"\n\n\"My boy,\" the grave sire replied, \"thou shalt surely try, but flight\nis no easy matter, and thou must first learn thy lesson. Mark well my\nwords. Steer always a middle flight; there only safety lies. If you\nfly low the sea spray will wet your flagging feathers, if high the sun\nwill melt the wax. Keep me in sight, and swerve not to the north or\nsouth.\"\n\nIcarus promised to obey, but so fired was he with the thought of\nflying that he listened with half an ear, and soon forgot his father's\ndirections.\n\nThe second pair of wings were made and strapped with anxious care to\nthe son's shoulder-blades. And, as the parent birds eye their callow\nnestlings when they essay their first flight, so D\u00e6dalus, as he\nmounted upwards, oft looked back on the boy and again repeated his\nwarnings.\n\nThe people were stirring in the towns, the countrymen were out in the\nfields after their beasts, and all the folk stayed in their morning\ntasks to gaze at these two strange creatures that floated overhead.\n\"It is D\u00e6dalus and his son,\" they cried. \"They have become gods.\"\n\nMinos in his palace was told of the strange spectacle. From his\nterrace he watched in impotent wrath the two dark specks far out to\nsea, that thus escaped him.\n\nAt first Icarus kept close to his father, but soon he had lost all\nsense of danger, and with the reckless wantonness of youth, determined\nto go his own way. He reveled in the strong free strokes of his great\nwings; he mounted ever higher and higher, till the sea was spread\nbelow him like a blue plain, and the sandy islands showed like cloths\nof gold.\n\nD\u00e6dalus was winging his careful way lower down, below the scattered\nclouds, close above the golden islets, and shouted to his son to\nreturn. But Icarus, drunk with the delights of flight, mounted ever\nhigher, up into the fierce rays of Phoebus, the Sun-god, who held out\nburning arms to the adventurous youth, beckoning him to race his fiery\ncar across the heavens.\n\nThe horrified father, floating on outspread wings over the \u00c6gean Sea,\nlooked up to see his boy like a tiny speck in the sun's rays. He knew\nthe fierce heat of those rays; he knew that the wings were only\nfastened on by wax that could not hold against that scorching heat.\nAnd lo! as he looked, the speck grew larger and larger, and headlong\ndown the sky he beheld Icarus falling, falling, his limp wings sagging\nfrom his shoulders, his frantic arms struggling to spread them and\nstay his fall. The drooping wings could not uphold him; he came\nwhirling down the hissing air, and his agonized father watched his\nhelpless boy fall into the blue waves beneath. For a moment he saw him\nstruggle feebly, and then, like a bubble, he sank, and the unruffled\nwaters lay calm and smiling as before.\n\nBy the sad sea shore of the \u00c6gean, where he landed after that\ndisastrous flight, D\u00e6dalus raised a cenotaph to his lost son, and\nthereon he laid the wings, once the artist's pride, and now the\nfather's bane. \"Icarus, O my Icarus!\" he cried; and still those waters\necho the name of Icarus.\n\n\n\n\nSCYLLA, THE DAUGHTER OF NISUS\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nIn Crete, the greatest and most powerful of the isles of Greece and\nthe cradle of Jupiter, there once stood a splendid palace where lived\nthe wealthy King Minos. To this palace came as guests one day Nisus,\nKing of Megara, and his fair daughter Scylla; and there they abode\nmany days, with every day fresh delights sought out by King Minos to\ngive them pleasure. And Scylla, like a fond and foolish maiden, was\ndazzled by the pomp and by the flattery of King Minos, and he seemed\nto her the greatest and wisest of living men, and she would fain have\ntarried there forever, hearkening to his words and admiring all his\nriches.\n\nBut King Nisus would not longer stay, and they departed, bearing with\nthem rich gifts from the generous king, and returned to their own\ncastle at Megara. Very small and mean did her home seem to Scylla now,\nand often would she climb to the top of a turret that looked over the\nsea, and thence she would gaze and gaze towards the south, and her\nthoughts would fly back to the fair island of Crete with its cities\nand its palaces, and its strong and noble king, till she envied the\nbirds that skimmed past her turret on swift, light wings. They could\nfly to Crete whenever they would, and settle on the palace eaves; but\nthe princess must sit still in her high turret, and hide even her\nlonging away within her heart.\n\nThe days passed by, and Nisus went no more to Crete, but Androgeos,\nson of King Minos, came to Megara and abode there some little space,\nand the king and the princess welcomed him kindly for his father's\nsake. After his visit Androgeos would not sail back straight to his\nfather's halls; he was minded first to see the great city of Athens,\nthe eye of Greece. King Nisus warned him that the road across the\nmountains was difficult and dangerous, and that many robbers hid among\nthose hills; but the prince would not be warned. He went his way, and\nthe next news of him that came was that he had been set upon by\nbandits and murdered.\n\n\"He should have hearkened to the counsel of older and wiser men,\" said\nKing Nisus. \"I grieve for the youth, but he brought it on himself.\"\n\nBut when Minos the king heard that his son Androgeos was dead, he was\nstricken with a great grief, and he sent to King Nisus demanding\nblood-money, since the prince was slain in the lands of the Megarians.\nBut Nisus refused to pay.\n\n\"It was no fault of mine,\" he said; \"and I shall make no reparation\nfor the death of one whose blood is on his own head.\"\n\nThen was King Minos wroth, and threatened to make good in person his\nrightful claim.\n\nSo it chanced on a day when the Princess Scylla looked forth from her\nturret over the sea, as her custom was, she saw great ships, with\nbellying white sails, drawing near from the south; and as they rose\nupon the heaving billows, the sunbeams glinted back from many a shield\nand spear, for they carried the mailed warriors of King Minos coming\nto wrest from King Nisus blood-money for the death of Androgeos, son\nto King Minos, who had been slain by robbers on the lands of King\nNisus.\n\nThen stepped forth from one of the ships the herald of King Minos, and\nhe came into the palace of Megara and proclaimed his master's will to\nall that stood there.\n\nBut Nisus the king frowned upon the herald. \"I will pay no\nblood-money,\" he said. \"Go your ways to your master and tell him so.\nBetter were it for him to be satisfied with this answer of mine and to\nturn and hie him home. Little use is it for mortal men to strive\nagainst those who are protected by the undying gods. I care not for\nthe wrath of King Minos, and the spears of his warriors have no more\npower to hurt my people than the bulrushes that children gather in the\nfields and break in mimic warfare with each other.\"\n\n\"Thou speakest in riddles, King Nisus,\" replied the herald; \"but my\nmaster is of kin to the immortals, and it cannot be that they will let\nhim quail before a petty king like thee.\"\n\nSo the herald turned and went back to his ships; and when King Minos\nheard that King Nisus refused to pay the blood-money, he made him\nready for battle.\n\nThen the men of Crete fought stoutly against the men of Megara, and\nday after day the tide of battle surged around the walls of the town.\nBut strive as they might the men of Crete won no inch of ground, but\nthe men of Megara drove their foes before them like sheep.\n\nAt length the warriors of King Minos began to murmur among themselves\nand to repeat the words that King Nisus had spoken to the herald.\n\n\"If the city of Megara is indeed defended by the deathless gods,\" said\nthey, \"what avails it to fight and to strive?\"\n\nAnd Minos knew that his men murmured, and his heart was sore within\nhim.\n\nThe Princess Scylla looked forth one day upon the host that was\nbesieging the city of her home, and she chanced to see King Minos pass\nquite close to her casement. So near was he that she could see his\nface quite plainly. Pale and sorrowful he looked with grief at the\ndeath of his son and disappointment at the failure of his attack. He\nstood for a moment looking despairingly at the strong walls of his\nenemy's city, seeking and seeking as often before, and ever in vain,\nto find some way for his warriors to win passage into the town. At\nlength he passed on his way, sad and dejected, for he saw no way at\nall of gaining the mastery in the strife.\n\nBut the heart of the princess beat fast with love and sorrow. \"Alas!\"\nshe thought to herself, \"King Minos is fighting a hopeless battle, for\nnone may gain any advantage over my father, so long as he keeps safe\nthe purple lock of hair that the gods have placed upon his head as a\nspell against every evil. Vain is the strength of the warriors of\nCrete, vain the wisdom of their king. The bright lock of King Nisus\nwill hold him and his people safe through every attack.\"\n\nThe princess covered her face with her hands, and sat for a little\nspace silent and miserable. Then on a sudden she raised her head and a\nnew light was in her eyes. She was the only child of King Nisus, and\nwhen he died the city and the palace would be hers. The only man whom\nshe had ever wished to wed was the stately King Minos. If he would but\nwed her all would be well; he should reign, as her husband, over the\ncity against which he was leading his warriors in vain. And surely\nKing Minos would willingly wed her as a reward if she put within his\npower the victory he had striven in vain to wrest for himself from the\nmen of Megara.\n\nThere was feasting that night in the hall of King Nisus, and the\nprincess herself poured out her father's wine, and he was well pleased\nthat she should wait upon him, for of late she had moped in her\nchamber and refused to share his feasts. But when the banquet was over\na strange drowsiness weighed down the eyelids of King Nisus, for\nScylla had mingled the juice of poppy and mandragora with the wine.\nThen the king sought his bed and lay there as one in a swoon, and his\nguards, who had drunk of the poppied wine, slept also as they kept\nwatch before the door of Nisus. And when all was dark and still the\nprincess Scylla stole softly to her father's chamber, holding a pair\nof shears in her hand.\n\nShe drew back the heavy purple curtain that the moonlight might stream\ninto the room, and then, kneeling beside the couch, she sought the\nbright lock on which depended the fortune of Megara, and with her\nshears she shore it off. Then, drawing the curtain close again that\nthe moonlight might not awake the king, she hid the lock safely in the\ncorner of her veil, and glided silently from the room.\n\nThe moon was making a glittering path across the sea that murmured\nsoftly on the rocks, and all was still and dark within the city, when\nthe watchman of the Cretan host saw a woman drawing near. Her bent\nhead was shrouded in a dark veil, so that he could see naught of her\nface as she came, but she called to him in his own tongue, praying to\nbe led forthwith to King Minos.\n\n\"Nay, maiden, whosoever thou may'st be,\" replied the man. \"The king is\nasleep in his tent at this hour, and none may have speech with him.\"\n\n\"I will hold thee blameless, friend,\" said the princess; and the man\nwas awed by her imperial speech and manner, and turning he led her to\nthe tent of King Minos, passed within the curtains, roused the king,\nand brought him forth into the moonlight.\n\n\"Who art thou who would'st speak with me?\" asked the king, glancing\nkeenly at the veiled woman.\n\n\"I must speak with thee alone,\" she whispered, for she was now\novercome with shame, and her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth.\n\nBut the king recognized at once the voice, and bidding the sentinel go\nback to his post, he asked in amazement: \"What would'st thou with me,\nPrincess Scylla?\"\n\nThen the maiden flung back the veil from her head, and taking heart of\ncourage, looked straight into the eyes of King Minos. \"In the days\nthat are gone,\" she made answer, \"kind words were spoken between thee\nand me, O King. Remember now thy past affection, and look upon me\ngently, for through great peril come I to win happiness for both our\npeoples, and for thee and me, if thou wilt have it so.\"\n\nAnd King Minos read her love in the eyes of the maiden, but in his own\nheart was naught but bitterness for the unatoned death of his son and\nfor his many days of fruitless warfare. Nevertheless he spoke gentle\nwords, for he hoped that the love of Scylla might bring him profit.\n\nThen the princess took from her bosom her father's magic lock, and\nheld it out to the king. \"Behold the fortune of my father and of his\npeople,\" she said. \"This bright lock was placed on my father's head by\nthe undying gods, and as long as it was safe no evil could befall him\nor his people; but I have shorn it off and brought it to thee, for\npeace is better than war, love is stronger than hate; and surely thou\nwilt look kindly upon her who plucks victory from defeat, and holds it\nforth for thee and thy warriors to take.\"\n\nThen King Minos took the lock, and he smiled upon Scylla as he made\nanswer: \"I take thy gift, fair maiden; when the battle shall be ended\nwe will speak of the requital.\"\n\nSo, wrapping her veil once more around her head, Scylla passed forth\nfrom the tent of King Minos, and took her way, not back to the towers\nof her home, but down to the sea-shore. Here she found a hidden nook\namong the rocks where she flung herself down, fordone and distracted\nby her own fierce hopes and fears.\n\nShe had thought to be very happy when she looked once more upon the\nface of King Minos and heard him speak kindly to her; but there was no\njoy in her palpitating heart: only a vague dread as she remembered the\nsmile of the king and a vague hope as she repeated to herself his\nwords of promise.\n\nLulled by the sound of the lapping waves and murmuring over and over\nto herself, \"When the battle shall be ended we will speak of the\nrequital,\" the wearied princess sank at length to sleep.\n\nThe sky above her head flushed crimson with the rising of the sun; the\nwarriors of King Minos came forth from their tents and set themselves\nin battle array. All through that day the princess slept on, while the\nmen of Megara rushed to defend their crumbling walls, and King Nisus,\nroused from his heavy sleep, discovered his loss and flung himself\ninto the front of the battle, knowing that now he fought in vain,\nsince the magic lock was gone that had brought victory to him and his\npeople.\n\nSore amazed were the men of Megara to find that their foes were\ndriving them backwards. At first they fought desperately, hoping that\nthe Cretans were gaining the advantage only for a time, but presently\nit began to be whispered through the ranks that the favor of the\nimmortals had deserted Megara, and men flung down their arms and fled\nheadlong.\n\nThe sky was reddened again by the sunset when Scylla was roused from\nher long slumber of exhaustion by the tramp of armed men close to her\nhiding-place. Lifting herself up, she peered cautiously between the\nrocks, and saw the Cretan warriors, bearing the spoils of the\nplundered city, returning to their ships. For King Minos was in haste\nto journey on and make Athens share in the punishment of Megara, since\nit was on a journey from Megara to Athens that his son Androgeos had\nbeen slain, and both the cities shared in the guilt of the slayer.\nScylla watched the hurrying ranks, at first not understanding what\nthey did. Then, on a sudden, she saw approaching the stately form of\nKing Minos, and she came forth from among the rocks, and waited,\nhoping he might look upon her. But seeing that he made as though he\nwould pass by, the princess stood in his path.\n\nThen said King Minos coldly: \"What wilt thou with me, maiden?\"\n\nAnd a great fear caught at the heart of Scylla, and she clasped her\nhands to her bosom as though she were at her last gasp. Yet with a\nsupreme effort she made her last appeal: \"My home is desolate, my\nfather slain. 'Tis I, his daughter, who gave the battle to thy hands.\nI come, King Minos, to claim my promised guerdon.\"\n\nAnd King Minos made answer: \"There is no gift in the world precious\nenough to make requital to a maiden who by her own deed has slain her\nfather and laid her home in ruins and the pride of her people in the\ndust. I will not mock thee, princess, by striving to equal thy gift.\"\n\nAnd King Minos passed on his way to his ship; and as they followed him\nhis warriors gazed with horror upon the maiden who had given the life\nof her father into the hand of his enemy; for all men knew by now that\nthe safety of Nisus and his city had depended upon the magic lock, and\nthat his daughter had shorn it from him and given it to King Minos.\n\nBut Scylla stood on the rocky pathway where she had hearkened to the\nmocking words of King Minos, and the blue heavens seemed black above\nher head, and the silver sea black beneath her feet, and nowhere in\nthe world was there for her any help or comfort.\n\nThe troops of warriors passed her by and embarked in the ships that\nwaited for them there below the cliff. The sunlight faded and the moon\ncame out, and still the stricken maiden leant against the rock where\nMinos had dashed all her hopes to ruin.\n\nAt length the song of the mariners came up from the sea, telling that\nthe men were on board and the ships ready to sail, and with a cry of\nbitter anguish Scylla crept to the top of the rock that overlooked the\nsea. She saw the ship of King Minos moving slowly from the shore, and\nclasping her hands above her head, she leapt from the tall cliff.\n\nAnd men say that the gods had pity on her, and changed her into a\nsea-lark. But her father was wrath with her even in death, and he\ncraved of the infernal powers the boon of vengeance. Therefore he was\nturned into a sea-eagle, and still the father, with hooked hands and\nravenous beak, watches from his mountain walls to swoop upon his\nfeathered daughter, who flits along the shore and cowers in the\ncrannies of the rocks.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\n \"The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus\n and Thisby.\"--SHAKESPEARE.\n\nIn Babylon of old, where walls were first built of bricks, two houses\nhad been set so close together that they shared one roof. Two families\ncame to dwell in them, and young Pyramus of the one house soon made\nacquaintance with fair Thisbe of the other. Their friendship grew and\nripened into love. But alas! a deathless feud had arisen to separate\nthe two families, and the unhappy lovers were inexorably divided.\n\nStill, though angry parents could forbid their love and could prevent\nthem meeting, all this could not avail to kill their love. The\nthwarted pair could but gaze upon each other, could only look and\nsigh: yet that was enough to feed the flame of love. And at last they\nfound a way to reach each other's ears, as lovers will: a chink\nbetween two bricks in the wall that divided the two houses--a little\nchink where the cement had crumbled away, so small it had never been\nnoticed and filled in. Through this friendly chink young Pyramus\nbreathed his vows, and fair Thisbe answered him with tender words.\nTheir eager lips pressed the unresponsive brick, their hands that\nlonged to clasp each other were kept apart by the hard, unfeeling\nwall. Their sighs and softly spoken words of love alone could pierce\nthe barrier that divided them.\n\nAt last they resolved to defy the cruel parents who thus wronged their\nlove; to steal out one night in the concealing darkness, and fly\ntogether despite all opposition.\n\nOutside the town, beside a little brook and shaded by a widespread\nmulberry tree, stood the tomb of Ninus. Here they agreed to meet at\nnightfall.\n\nImpatiently they watched the sun sink slowly down the western sky and\nbathe in the western sea. Thisbe, with caution, unbarred her father's\ndoor and stole softly forth, veiling her face and hasting through the\ntown to the spot where the tomb stood on the open plain.\n\nBut in the darkness other creatures had come forth. A lioness,\nscouring the plain in search of prey, had slain an ox. Surfeited with\nflesh and all besmeared with blood, it came swiftly to the brook to\nslake its thirst. By the light of the moon Thisbe, approaching the\ntrysting-place, saw the fearful beast. She flew trembling across the\nplain to the neighboring rocks and hid within a cave. And as she fled\nher floating veil dropped from her shoulders and was left upon the\nground.\n\nWhen the queen of beasts had drunk her fill, she came bounding back\nacross the plain. She found the veil, and this she tore and mouthed\nwith jaws still wet with the blood of the slaughtered ox. And then\nwent on her way.\n\nYoung Pyramus, who could not elude his parents so soon, came hastening\nto the tryst. By the moonlight he noted the footprints of the savage\nbeast beside the brook, and farther on his anguished eyes beheld his\nloved Thisbe's torn and blood-stained veil. Convinced that the beast\nhad slain his love, he cried in his agony of grief that the fault was\nhis in that he had not been first at the tryst to protect her, and\ncursed the malevolence of fate that had caused him to fix the spot\nwhere she should meet her death. He kissed the veil so torn, so dear\nto him. And then, crying that Death should not divide two hearts so\nfond, he drew his sword and plunged it into his breast. The life-blood\nspurted from the grievous wound and besprinkled all the white clusters\nof the mulberry.\n\nCautiously the trembling Thisbe left her hiding-place among the rocks,\nfearing lest delay should make her lover think her untrue, and neared\nthe appointed spot. But though the tomb and the brook were there as of\nold, the tree she could not recognize with its new burden of crimson\nclusters.\n\nAs she gazed in doubt, her eyes fell on a form that lay stretched upon\nthe ground. She saw her lover bathed in his blood.\n\nShe shrieked and tore her hair; she raised him, clasped him, bathed\nwith her tears his gaping wound. She cried to him to wake and answer\nhis poor Thisbe. His dying eyes unclosed in one long look of love, and\nthen he died in her arms.\n\nShe gazed around, saw her torn veil, and saw his own sword lying,\nblood-stained and sheathless, by his side. She saw that by his own\nhand he had inflicted the fatal wound; that, believing her dead, he\nhad not chosen to survive.\n\nShould her love be weaker than his? She it was who had been the\ninnocent cause of his death, and she would share it. One prayer she\nbreathed that their cruel parents would grant them at last to be\njoined together, and in one urn confine their ashes. Of the drooping\nmulberry tree, beneath whose kindly shade she made her piteous lament,\nshe begged one boon--that by the purple color of its fruit it would\nbear perpetual witness to their love and their untimely death.\n\nThen in her bosom she plunged the sword, yet warm with the blood of\nits slaughtered lord, and fell dead beside him.\n\nThe prayer that dying Thisbe breathed was heard by compassionate gods\nand parents. Their ashes were mixed in one golden urn, and from that\nsad day the fruit of the mulberry tree has been stained a lustrous\npurple.\n\n\n\n\nHERO AND LEANDER\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nThe goddess Venus was the Queen of Love and Beauty, and her worship\nwas spread over all the world, for indeed she was one of the greatest\nof the immortals, and even the father of gods and of men himself had\nto own her power.\n\nShe had many great and noted temples, and one of these was at Sestos,\nclose by the side of the Hellespont, the sea in which Helle sank and\nwas drowned when the Golden Ram carried off her brother Phrixus and\nherself.\n\nWhen this tale begins the priestess of the temple of Venus at Sestos\nwas a very beautiful maiden called Hero. It was her duty to tend the\naltar of the goddess, to offer sacrifices, to hang up the votive\nofferings of worshipers round the walls, and to see that the slaves\nappointed to the work kept the marble steps and pillars always shining\nand polished.\n\nAnd many a youth came to worship at the temple, less for the sake of\nthe goddess than for the beautiful priestess; but Hero never gave a\nglance at any man but carefully fulfilled her daily task, and every\nnight retired to a tall tower on the cliff beside the sea, where she\nlived alone with an aged nurse who loved her dearly and was ready to\ndo anything for her.\n\nEvery year a great festival was held at Sestos, in honor of Adonis,\nthe beautiful boy whom Venus had loved, and who had been slain by a\nwild boar. To this festival flocked all the countryside. Large-eyed\noxen drew the creaking wagons all adorned with flowers and grasses,\nand crowded with rustics from the inland farms, and across the narrow\nstrait came gay barges, bringing worshipers from the villages along\nthe opposite shore. In the festal company there came one day from the\ntown of Abydos, a beautiful youth named Leander. He was tall and\nstraight as a young poplar, his bright eyes had a ready smile, his red\nlips a pleasant word for every one, but no maiden had ever yet won his\nlove.\n\nLeander only laughed at these reproaches, but hidden within his heart\nwas the dream of a maiden fairer and sweeter than any he yet had seen,\nto whom he would give his whole heart, and who, so he dreamt, would\ngive him love for love.\n\nSo it came about that when the yearly feast of Venus at Sestos\nreturned, Leander determined to go and sacrifice at the altar of the\ngoddess and pray to her that he might meet the maiden of his heart's\ndesire.\n\nWith the throng of worshipers Leander mounted the hill to the temple\nof Venus. White marble steps led up to a bright crystal pavement that\nwas called by the citizens of Sestos the glass of Venus. The walls\nwere of veined marble, and on the dome a cunning artist had painted a\nvine of vivid green, with Bacchus, the friend of Venus, gathering the\npurple grapes. On the wall behind was Proteus, the changeful god of\nthe changeful sea, whence Venus had arisen. Rich offerings of gold,\nsilver, precious stones, and gorgeous raiment hung on the walls\nbetween the carven figures. Leander gazed his fill at all these\nwonders, till his eyes were caught and held by the statue of the\ngoddess that stood on a pedestal in the middle of the temple. Beneath\nher feet was a great sea-shell, borne on a breaking wave; in her\nhands, held close against her breast, a pair of doves; her face,\nlooking out upon her worshipers, was such a miracle of loveliness that\nthe gazer caught his breath in awe and wonder.\n\nBefore the statue stood a little silver altar, and at this the\npriestess was kneeling when Leander came to the temple, for the\nsacrifice was just about to be consummated. For a while Leander saw\nnothing but the face of the marble goddess; then the kneeling\npriestess, robed in her gauzy veil, arose and faced for a moment the\ncongregation of worshipers. Leander's eyes turned from the marble\nimage to the living woman who stood before it, and the eyes of Hero\nmet his. As if fascinated they gazed at one another, while in both\ntheir hearts flamed up the sudden fire of love.\n\nThe worshipers all knelt, and Leander knelt with them, but his prayer\nwas not to Venus: his soul was full and overflowing with love for the\nfair priestess, and it was of her alone he thought.\n\nIt seemed as though Hero had read his thoughts, for as one who walks\nin his sleep she drew nearer to the young man.\n\nHe started to his feet, and bending forward grasped her hand. The\nsacrifice was over, the worshipers were dispersing, the two were left\nalone, and for a moment they stood motionless, both of them trembling\nand awed at their own emotion.\n\nBut when Hero, as if waking from a dream, strove to free her hand,\nLeander tightened his hold and whispered eagerly: \"Nay, leave me not,\nfair maiden, for I love thee. Never before have I cared aught for\nmortal maid, but now thou art more to me than everything in the world\nbeside.\"\n\nHero flushed a rosy red, and her long eyelashes veiled the light of\nher eyes.\n\n\"I know thee not, kind youth,\" she faltered, struggling betwixt love\nand maiden modesty, abashed at what she had done, and at the thought\nof how Leander's words had made her heart leap for joy. \"It is not\nfitting that I should speak with thee--here.\" And then, in a lower\nwhisper, turning half away and blushing more deeply than before, the\nmaiden added hastily: \"I dwell alone with my servant in yonder tower\nby the sea-shore, and when I leave the service of the goddess I ever\nput a light in the turret at the top, so that those on the sea may\nknow where the haven lies and steer safely home. But thou must not\nseek me there.\"\n\nAnd snatching her hand from Leander's grasp the affrighted maiden\nturned and fled, while the tears sprang to her eyes, and as she ran\nshe wept and smiled. As she mounted the slope that led to her tower on\nthe cliff she slackened her pace, and dashing the tears from her eyes,\nlooked back. Leander stood still where she had left him, gazing after\nher. Flinging her veil back over her shoulder she resumed her homeward\nway, slowly and with many a backward look.\n\nWhen she came to her tower Hero told her old servant to lay out all in\nreadiness for the evening meal, and then to retire to her chamber\nabove.\n\n\"Thou art overtired, my pretty one,\" said the old crone. \"These\ncrowded festivals and long days of sacrifice are too much for such a\ntender flower as thou. Never fear, I will leave thee here in\npeace--and see, I will light thy lamp in the turret above, even now\nin the daylight, then may I seek the couch whereof my old bones ever\nare full fain, and thou shalt not need to climb those weary stairs.\"\n\n\"As thou wilt, good nurse,\" answered Hero, turning aside to take off\nher veil and to hide her blush of pleasure. She had told Leander that\nthe light was the signal that her office was ended for the day--would\nhe notice it? Would he come?\n\nShe wandered out in the twilight and broke off branches of roses to\ndeck the room; she put on the table the candied fruits and honey-cakes\nand wine of Cyprus that the worshipers of Venus offer to her\npriestess. The heavy footsteps of the old dame sounded as she mounted\nthe stair and came back to her chamber and her wished-for bed. Then\nsilence fell on the tower, and Hero sat with beating heart and waited.\n\nLeander had climbed to the top of the cliff, and there had lain down\nwith his face to the sea, determined to keep his eyes from the tower\ntill there was a reasonable chance of seeing the light.\n\n\"When I see it glow,\" said Leander to himself, \"then shall I too know\nwhere the haven lies, and steer safely home.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes that he might see once more in fancy the sweet\naverted face under the fine veil.\n\nA noise below the cliff made him look up; the boat that had come from\nAbydos in the morning was starting back again. He watched it with a\nsmile. It seemed to him a lifetime since he stepped from its deck upon\nthe quay. Straight across to the other shore of this narrow arm of the\nsea was but a mile, but the slanting course to Abydos was full three\nmiles' distance. Leander watched the boat as she left the quay with\nall his friends on board; then he could wait no longer; he looked up\nat Hero's tower; and there, in the top of the turret, flamed the\nsignal light.\n\nSmall pause made Leander when once he had seen that.\n\nMeanwhile, from her casement, Hero too had seen the boat putting out\nfor Abydos, and believing Leander to be on board, gone from Sestos\nperhaps forever, the maiden sank down beside her open door, and\ncovering her face with her hands she wept sore.\n\n\"Alas,\" she murmured, \"he is gone, gone, gone! The boat has sailed\naway.\"\n\nLeander, as he mounted the rocky stairs that led to the turret,\noverheard the maiden's cry, and, rushing forward, he flung himself on\nhis knees beside her and softly kissed her fingers. Then, looking up\nwith a start, the maiden would fain have seemed wroth at the sight of\nhim, but it was too late. She had yielded at a touch, and Love was\nlord of all.\n\nBut on the morrow Leander must return to his home at Abydos. So he\ntook ship early in the morning, finding a vessel that was sailing\nthither, and came to his own home again. His father noticed at once\nthat the youth was wearing a sprig of myrtle and a scarf embroidered\nwith the doves of Venus, and he chid him sharply.\n\n\"There are plenty of fair maids here, in thy own land,\" said he;\n\"choose one of them and be happy with her, but woo not the priestess\nof Venus, or harm will come of it.\"\n\nLeander made no answer to his father's admonition, but in his heart he\nknew that no other maiden could ever after content him, and that he\nmust see Hero again, though he died for it.\n\nAfter his father's admonition he dared not be seen crossing the strait\nby day, but when night fell he wandered by the sea, looking longingly\nacross the dark water; then, far and faint, like a star through the\nclear night, he caught the glimmer of Hero's lamp.\n\n\"Alas!\" cried Leander, \"there lies the haven. Ah, would that I might\nsteer safely home.\"\n\nThen with sudden resolution he flung his outer garment from him and\nplunging into the water oared his way with mighty strokes towards the\nglimmer of the light, and Hero, combing her long locks in the\nmoonlight and thinking of her lover, was ware that he stood before\nher, and could hardly believe it was his very self.\n\nSo once more they had joy of one another's love until the daybreak\nappeared in the sky, and then Leander said farewell with many kisses\nand swam safely home again, and no man the wiser.\n\nThe days passed on and the youth's father was pleased at his restored\ncheerfulness, and thought that Hero must be forgotten, for he never\ncrossed as he had been wont to Sestos.\n\nThe summer passed, and one day there swept down from the hills the\nfirst of the autumn storms.\n\nPoor Hero, as she set her light in the turret, looked out across the\ntossing, white-capped waves and sighed as she thought that no swimmer\ncould cross a sea like that. But Leander flinched not, for he plunged,\nbuffeting the angry waves with a good heart, and ever as he rose upon\ntheir crests looking out for Hero's light. The fury of the sea could\nnot master him, but the autumn chill struck home to his bones. Long\nhe battled with the rising billows, but the storm waxed fiercer and\nthe farther shore seemed no nearer. Fainter and fainter grew the\nswimmer, but still he struggled on. When he looked from a crest of the\nwaves his lodestar was gone; a black cloud had hidden the turret lamp.\nThen at last his heart failed him, and flinging up his arms he sank to\nhis watery grave.\n\nLong did Hero wait that night, hoping and fearing by turns; and when\nher lover did not come she wept bitter tears. But far worse pain was\nto come. For on the next day came to her tower the father of Leander.\n\n\"Is my son here?\" he asked, briefly and sternly.\n\nHero trembling answered, \"No, fair sir.\"\n\n\"Is it true that he hath many times swum across the sea and visited\nthee?\"\n\nThe maiden hanging her head and blushing deeply answered, \"Yea.\"\n\n\"Then without doubt my son is drowned, and by thy fault,\" said the\ngrief-stricken father, \"for this morning were his garments found near\nthe water's edge, but of him there was no sign.\"\n\nEven while he spoke there came from the quay a cry of sorrow and\nlamentation, and clambering swiftly down the cliff those two saw, laid\nupon the shore by tender hands, the strong and beautiful body of the\ndead Leander, whom they both had loved beyond all other living things\nupon the earth.\n\n\n\n\nPYGMALION AND THE IMAGE\n\n(_After William Morris_)\n\nBY F. STORR\n\n\nIn ancient times there lived in Cyprus a sculptor named Pygmalion. He\nhad won for himself fame and wealth by his cunning as a worker in\nmarble, and his carven images of gods and goddesses, of heroes and\nheroines, were to be seen in every temple of the island and in all the\npalaces of the great. Many an island maiden cast on him admiring eyes,\nand would beseech him to immortalize her features in marble when he\nwas engaged in sculpturing a naiad for a public fountain, or an oread\nfor the shrine of the Great Huntress. Yet, though rich and famous and\nadmired of women, Pygmalion was sad and dissatisfied. The nobles\napplauded and feasted him, but regarded him as an artisan of low birth\nand would not admit him to their friendship. The fairest maidens of\nCrete seemed to him plain and common when he compared them with the\ngodlike forms that his chisel had wrought, and, still more, with the\nperfect woman whom his imagination pictured but even his hand had not\nthe skill to realize.\n\nSo it chanced one day that, after wandering listlessly about the\nstreets, watching the bales of Tyrian purple piled on the quays, and\nlistening to the chaffering of the dark-eyed merchants, he hied him\nhome heavy-hearted, and turned mechanically for relief to the daily\nwork by which he earned his bread.\n\nHe had begun rough-hewing a block of Parian marble, uncertain at\nstarting what he should make of it; but as he worked on, the veins in\nthe marble suggested to him a woman's form, and in careless mood he\nexclaimed, \"Grant, Lady Venus, that this statue may be a fulfilment of\nmy dream, an express image, a reflection on earth of thy celestial\nbeauty. Only grant my prayer and I vow that the maid shall be\ndedicated to thee, and serve thee in thy myrtle grove.\" So he prayed\ncarelessly, but the goddess was by and heard his prayer, and so guided\nhis hand that he wrought more surely and deftly than he had ever\nwrought before. As the white chips flew beneath his touch, a strange\njoy thrilled his heart, and withal, a dim sense of trouble, as though\nhe were pursuing his own shadow, a phantom of his brain that still\neluded his grasp.\n\nSo he worked on hour after hour through the day, and all night he\ndreamt of his work. So absorbed was he that for a whole month he\nforgot his morning plunge in the river, forgot his stroll through the\nwoods at sunset, forgot even to water the flowers in his garden close.\nAnd yet, so exquisitely delicate were the added touches and the\nsmoothing of the marble, that you could have covered with a\npenny-piece all that had fallen in the month from his chisel.\n\nAnd still he seemed no nearer to his goal; so one morning, after a\nrestless night, he arose and said to himself, \"Pygmalion, thou art\nmad; some witch hath laid her spell upon thee. Rouse thyself while it\nis yet time; break the wicked spell; live as thou didst before, and\nseek not to attain that perfect beauty that is laid up in the heavens\nbeyond mortal ken.\"\n\nWith that he took his bow and quiver, passed through the town and out\nof the gates to the high woodlands beyond, to see if he had quite\nforgotten his old woodcraft.\n\nIt was a fine summer morning, and the scent of the fields was wafted\nto him on the west wind. All around him as he passed was astir with\nlife. The tall poplars rippled and quivered in the sunlight; the bees\nwere busy in the clover; the swallows darted overhead, and the swish\nof the mower's scythe kept time with him as he strode on.\n\nAt last he sat him down fordone. \"The sun,\" he mused, \"like me, has\nalready passed his zenith and is hurrying to his rest. All nature is\nstirring, and each living thing is pursuing the daily round, its\nappointed task. Why am I alone a dreamer of dreams, the idler of an\nempty day?\"\n\nWith that he turned, and, goaded on by a wild desire, he knew not for\nwhat, found himself before he was aware at his own door.\n\nOne moment he lingered at the threshold and said, \"Ah! what should I\ndo if _she_ were gone?\" As he uttered the words he turned red at his\nown madness to dream that the goddess might have wrought a miracle and\nspirited her away to the myrtle grove, and yet again he turned deadly\npale at the very thought of such a marvel. So, sighing, he passed into\nthe house, but paused again before he summoned courage to enter his\nchamber where the statue stood.\n\nNothing was changed. He caught up his chisel and tenderly essayed to\nperfect the marvel of the face that he had wrought. But to touch it\nnow seemed to him a profanation, and flinging down the idle chisel he\ncried, \"Alas! why have I made thee that thou should'st mock me thus?\nI know that there are many like unto thee, whose beauty is a snare to\ndraw men into the net; but these the gods made to punish lust. Thee I\nmade with a pure heart to worship and adore, and thou wilt not speak\none little word to me.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew back and gazed on the image through his tears. In\ntruth it was of wondrous beauty, and could you have seen it, you would\nhave said that it lacked little to be a living maid. Her unbound hair\nhalf hid the tender curve of her breast; one hand was outstretched as\nif to greet a lover, and the other held a full-blown rose. There was\nno smile on the parted lips, and in the wistful eyes there was a look,\nnot of love, but as of one to whom love's mystery and magic were\nalready half revealed.\n\nThus he stood agaze, ashamed of his infatuate folly, yet with an\ninfinite longing, stronger and stranger than he had ever felt before.\n\nThere happened to be passing in the street some sturdy slaves who were\nbearing bales to the wharf. He hailed them and offered them a rich\nreward if they would help him to move the ponderous statue and set it\nin an empty niche beside his bed. When they had departed he searched\nhis coffers to find gems and jewels wherewith to deck his lady of\nmarble, but those he possessed seemed all too poor; so he took with\nhim all his store of gold and bought from the merchants a necklace of\npearls, and anklets and bracelets set with rare and precious stones.\nThese he hung upon the cold marble and cast him down like a pilgrim at\na shrine, praying his saint to accept his poor offering. So he prayed\non till, outworn with passion, he slept at her feet. With the first\ndawn he awoke and passed into his garden to pick fresh flowers to lay\nupon her shrine. Then he brought an altar that he had wrought of\nchased gold for a great lord's hearth, and lit thereon a fire of cedar\nand sandal-wood, and, as the smoke of cassia and frankincense arose,\nhe prayed and said, \"Thou cold and mute image, not till I die shall I\nknow whether the gods have sent a lying spirit to make me their sport,\nbut this I know, that in life I shall love none but thee alone.\nTherefore, if thou canst not give me love for love, in pity take my\nlife and let me rest at last.\"\n\nThus he prayed, and the image neither spake nor moved, but the sweet\ngrave eyes his hands had wrought gazed down, as if touched with ruth\nand tenderness, on his bended head. So all day he worshiped at the\nshrine; but on the morrow, as the incense-smoke was curling round her\nhead, he heard in the street the sound of minstrelsy, and as if\nfascinated by the sweet music, he left his prayer half said and went\nforth and beheld a gay train of men and maidens who bore on a car of\ngold an image of the Queen of Love that he himself had wrought in the\nold forgotten days, now draped for her solemn festival in a saffron\nrobe broidered with mystic characters of gold.\n\nSo he donned a festal chlamys and joined the glad procession, who led\nthe goddess back to her temple, stripped her reverently of her weeds,\nand laid at her shrine their offerings of golden grain and honeycomb.\nBy midday the crowd of worshipers had all departed, and he was left\nalone in the dim-lit temple. He drew near the shrine where stood his\nmasterpiece--how feeble and faulty now it seemed--and casting incense\non the altar flame, he prayed with stammering lips to his goddess:\n\n\"Queen of Heaven, who didst help me of yore, help me yet again. Have\nI not prayed, have I not wept, have I not done thee true service? I\nhave no words to tell thee my need, but thou knowest all my heart's\ndesire. Hear me, O Queen!\"\n\nAnd, as he prayed, suddenly the thin flame on the altar quivered like\na live thing, and leapt up till it almost touched the temple dome,\nsinking once more into a feeble flicker.\n\nAt this marvel his heart bounded wildly; but as the flame died down he\nsaid to himself, \"Is not this another brain-sick phantom?\" and with\nsad steps and slow he left the temple to seek his loveless home.\n\nAs he stood before the door in the broad light of day he seemed like\none awaking from a dream, yet the bliss it had brought still lingered\non, like the after-glow on an Alpine height, and he blessed the\ngoddess even for his dream. So he entered his chamber, wrapped in\nmemories both sad and sweet, and paused with downcast eyes before they\nsought again his marble maid. Then he looked up, and lo, the niche was\nbare! and he cried aloud, bewildered and amazed. A soft, low voice\nbreathed his name. He turned, and there between him and the setting\nsun stood his marble maid, clad in life and new beauty. The lineaments\nwere the same--the brow, the lips, the tresses unconfined; but she\ncame appareled in a more precious habit, for over all the goddess had\nshed the purple light of love, and had clothed her in the shining\ngarment that he had seen that morning laid up in her temple.\n\nSpeechless he stood in wonder and amazement, and once again her silver\nvoice rang out clear:\n\n \"Wilt thou not come to me,\n O dear companion of my new-found life,\n For I am called thy lover and thy wife.\"\n\nStill he moved not, and spake no word. Then she reached her hand to\nhim, and looked at him with pleading eyes. The spell that bound him\nwas broken; he caught the outstretched hands and drew her to him, felt\nthe sweet breath he had sought so long in vain, felt the warm life\nwithin her heaving breast, and clasped in his arms his living love.\n\nAnd, as they stood there, cheek touching cheek, he heard her say, \"Why\nart thou silent, O my love? Dost think, perchance, that this too is a\ndream? Nay, if thou lov'st me still, I will never leave thee nor\nforsake thee. Come with me into thy garden close, and there will I\ntell thee all the comfortable words that the Queen of Love spoke to\nme, and thou shalt tell me all thy hopes and fears, thy yearning for a\nbeauty not of earth, thy sleepless nights, and all thy pain.\"\n\nSo they passed into the garden close, and there beneath the whispering\ntrees, by the soft moonlight, those happy lovers told each other the\nstory of their love. What were the words they said I cannot tell\nagain. This happened long ago, when the world was young, and they\nspoke in a tongue that few if any now can understand. Yet a poet of\nour own age has understood and translated for us the last word that\nthe Queen of Heavenly Love spoke to her servant Pygmalion:\n\n \"Beauty is truth, truth beauty--that is all\n Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.\"\n\n\n\n\nCEPHALUS AND PROCRIS\n\nBY H. P. MASKELL\n\n\nIt was the banqueting-hall of the palace at \u00c6gina. The young prince\nPhocus had invited his comrades to join him in a hunting party, and\nnow, after dinner, they were gathered round the fire amusing\nthemselves with stories of the chase. Meanwhile Cephalus, gray-headed\nand stricken in years, more weary than the others, sat silent and\napart.\n\nThe prince, noticing his moody look, rose and made room for him to\njoin the circle. \"May I ask,\" he inquired, \"from what tree the javelin\nthou art holding was cut? I have been a hunter all my life, yet its\ntexture puzzles me. A wild oak would have been brown in color, a\ncornel-wood shaft would show the knots. Never yet have I seen so taper\nand shapely a javelin.\"\n\nOne of the youths interposed: \"Ah! but as a weapon it is even more\nwonderful than for its beauty. Whatever it is aimed at it strikes.\nChance does not guide its course when thrown; and it flies back of its\nown accord, stained with the blood of the quarry.\"\n\nThen Phocus became more curious still to know its history. Who was the\ngiver of so precious a present?\n\nCephalus at length consented to tell the story, tears starting to his\neyes at the sorrow revived in his heart by the memories it recalled.\n\"Long as I live,\" he exclaimed with a sigh, \"this weapon will cause me\nto weep, for it proved the ruin of myself and my dear wife Procris.\nFairer and sweeter was she than even her sister Orithyia, whom Boreas\ncarried off. Her father Erechtheus bestowed her upon me, and for love\nshe chose me for her own. I was considered a lucky man in possessing\nher, and so I was. In all Greece you could not have found a happier\npair of lovers, and the gods themselves were jealous of our bliss--too\ngreat for mortals. Before the second month was ended after our\nmarriage feast, Aurora, the goddess of the Dawn, beheld me in the\nearly morn as I was planting nets to trap the deer from the heights of\nHymettus, and I followed her against my will. She cast her spell on\nme, and held me by the witchery of her great eyes and rosy fingers.\nFair she is, with a beauty not of earth, but she seemed to me less\nfair than Procris. Procris was ever in my thoughts, and in my dreams I\nbreathed the name of Procris. Then the goddess cried angrily, 'You may\nkeep your Procris. The day will come when you will wish you had never\npossessed her!'\n\n\"Diana had bestowed on Procris, who loved the hunt, L\u00e6laps, the hound\nwhom no wild beast can outrun, and this javelin which nothing can\nescape, as a token of our reconciliation. These she gave to me.\n\n\"Would you like to know the fate of this other present--the dog? When\nOedipus had solved that riddle which none other could guess, and the\nSphinx who invented it lay a mangled corpse, Themis left her not\nunavenged. Another plague was sent against Thebes, and a savage\nmonster devoured both the peasants and their cattle. We, the youth of\nthe district, came together and inclosed the fields with nets, but the\nmonster with a light bound leaped over them and escaped. The dogs were\nloosed, and they followed, but it escaped them as easily as a winged\nbird. My dog L\u00e6laps--a tempest for speed--was straining at the leash.\nEagerly the bystanders begged me to unloose him. Scarcely had I done\nso when he was lost to our sight. A spear flies not more swiftly, nor\npellets from a sling, nor arrows from a Cretan bow. I watched from the\nhill-top this marvelous chase. At one time the wild beast seemed\ncaught, at another to have clean escaped as it dodged and doubled, so\nthat its enemy could not run full tilt at it. I was now thinking to\nuse my javelin; and while fitting my fingers to the thongs, turned my\neyes one moment from the quarry. When I looked again, I beheld a still\nmore wonderful sight. There were two marble statues in the middle of\nthe plain; you would fancy one was flying and the other barking in\npursuit. No doubt some god desired that both should remain unconquered\nin this test of speed.\"\n\n\"But why should you complain of the javelin?\" interrupted Phocus.\n\"What fault is there in it?\"\n\n\"O Son of \u00c6acus,\" replied Cephalus, \"my sorrows have yet to be told.\nFor years I was blest in my wife, and she was happy in her husband.\nNone, not even Jupiter himself, could have come between us, nor could\nVenus have drawn me from my love.\n\n\"When the sun was just gilding the hill-tops I was wont to go into the\nwoods to hunt. I wanted no servants, nor horses, nor even keen-scented\nhounds with me; my sure javelin was enough for me. When I was sated\nwith the slaughter of wild beasts I would betake myself to some cool\nshady spot, and enjoy the breeze coming gently over the cool valleys,\nand so refreshing in the noontide heat. While I awaited the rising of\nthe breeze, I would sing a sort of refrain: 'Come, gentle Aura, kindly\nAura; come to my breast; with thy cool sweetness refresh me, parched\nby the heat!' Perhaps, as cruel fate might have prompted me, I added\nother words, such as 'Sweet Aura, thou art my delight! Thou dost love\nand refresh me; thou makest me to seek woods and lonely haunts, and\nthy breath is pleasant on my face.' Some busybody must have heard me;\nand, imagining that I was in love with some nymph named Aura, carried\nthe story to my wife.\n\n\"Love is only too ready to believe the worst. When Procris heard the\ntale she fell down fainting with sudden grief. Then coming to, she\nbemoaned her wretched fate, and wept for my faithlessness. She\nbelieved that this Aura was a maiden and a rival. Yet, hoping she\nmight be deceived, she would not pass sentence unless she beheld my\ntreachery with her own eyes.\n\n\"Next morning, at sunrise, I went out as usual to the woods, and being\nsuccessful in the chase, lay down to rest myself, murmuring, 'Come to\nme, sweetest Aura.' Methought I heard a faint far-distant moan, but I\nheeded not and said again, 'Come, Aura, come!' A rustling of leaves\nstartled me, and, thinking it was a wild beast, I let fly my javelin.\n\n\"Alas! it was Procris. Crying, 'Ah, wretched me!' she received the\ndart in her breast. I ran to the sound of her voice. To my distraction\nI found her dying, her garments stained with blood, and drawing her\nown gift, that too-sure javelin, out of her wound. I lifted up her\nbody, dearer to me than my own, in my guilty arms, and bound up the\ncruel wounds with strips torn from my garments; and I tried vainly to\nstanch the blood, begging her not to die and leave me desolate.\n\n\"With gasping breath and broken utterance she whispered in my ear: 'I\nbeseech thee, by the gods above, and by our marriage vows, and by my\nlove even now enduring though I die, not to let that light-of-love,\nAura, possess the heart that once was mine!' Then, at last, I saw the\nmistake of the name, and that her fears were about a shadow. I\nreassured her. But what availed it? She was sinking, and her little\nstrength faded away with her life-blood. So long as she could look at\nanything, she gazed on me, and breathed out with a smile her unhappy\nlife. But I like to fancy she died free from care, and with a look of\ncontent.\n\n\"I still cherish her memory. No mortal maid has since possessed my\nheart. So have I grown old in the service of Diana, looking to the day\nwhich cannot now be long distant when we can meet and renew our love\nin the Elysian fields.\"\n\n\n\n\nECHO AND NARCISSUS\n\nBY THOMAS BULFINCH\n\n\nEcho was a beautiful nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she\ndevoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and\nattended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of\ntalking, and whether in chat or argument, would have the last word.\nOne day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had reason to fear, was\namusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain\nthe goddess till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered\nit, she passed sentence upon Echo in these words: \"You shall forfeit\nthe use of that tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that\none purpose you are so fond of--_reply_. You shall still have the last\nword, but no power to speak first.\"\n\nThis nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase\nupon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps. O, how\nshe longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to\nconverse! but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for\nhim to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being\nseparated from his companions, shouted aloud, \"Who's here?\" Echo\nreplied, \"Here.\" Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called\nout, \"Come.\" Echo answered, \"Come.\" As no one came, Narcissus called\nagain, \"Why do you shun me?\" Echo asked the same question. \"Let us\njoin one another,\" said the youth. The maid answered with all her\nheart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her\narms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, \"Hands off! I would\nrather die than you should have me!\" \"Have me,\" said she; but it was\nall in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her blushes in the\nrecesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and\namong the mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all\nher flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks, and there\nwas nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to\nreply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having\nthe last word.\n\nNarcissus' cruelty in this case was not the only instance. He shunned\nall the rest of the nymphs, as he had done poor Echo. One day a\nmaiden, who had in vain endeavored to attract him, uttered a prayer\nthat he might some time or other feel what it was to love and meet no\nreturn of affection. The avenging goddess heard and granted the\nprayer.\n\nThere was a clear fountain, with water like silver, to which the\nshepherds never drove their flocks, nor the mountain goats resorted,\nnor any of the beasts of the forest; neither was it defaced with\nfallen leaves or branches; but the grass grew fresh around it, and the\nrocks sheltered it from the sun. Hither came one day the youth\nfatigued with hunting, heated and thirsty. He stooped down to drink,\nand saw his own image in the water; he thought it was some beautiful\nwater-spirit living in the fountain. He stood gazing with admiration\nat those bright eyes, those locks curled like the locks of Bacchus or\nApollo, the rounded cheeks, the ivory neck, the parted lips, and the\nglow of health and exercise over all. He fell in love with himself.\nHe brought his lips near to take a kiss; he plunged his arms in to\nembrace the beloved object. It fled at the touch, but returned again\nafter a moment and renewed the fascination. He could not tear himself\naway; he lost all thought of food or rest, while he hovered over the\nbrink of the fountain gazing upon his own image. He talked with the\nsupposed spirit: \"Why, beautiful being, do you shun me? Surely, my\nface is not one to repel you. The nymphs love me, and you yourself\nlook not indifferent upon me. When I stretch forth my arms you do the\nsame; and you smile upon me and answer my beckonings with the like.\"\nHis tears fell into the water and disturbed the image. As he saw it\ndepart, he exclaimed, \"Stay, I entreat you! Let me at least gaze upon\nyou, if I may not touch you.\" With this, and much more of the same\nkind, he cherished the flame that consumed him, so that by degrees he\nlost his color, his vigor, and the beauty which formerly had so\ncharmed the nymph Echo. She kept near him, however, and when he\nexclaimed, \"Alas, alas!\" she answered him with the same words. He\npined away and died; and when his shade passed the Stygian river, it\nleaned over the boat to catch a look of itself in the waters. The\nnymphs mourned for him, especially the water-nymphs; and when they\nsmote their breasts, Echo smote hers also. They prepared a funeral\npile, and would have burned the body, but it was nowhere to be found;\nbut in its place a flower, purple within, and surrounded with white\nleaves, which bears the name and preserves the memory of Narcissus.\n\nMilton alludes to the story of Echo and Narcissus in the Lady's song\nin \"Comus.\" She is seeking her brothers in the forest, and sings to\nattract their attention:\n\n \"Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen\n Within thy a\u00ebry shell\n By slow Meander's margent green,\n And in the violet-embroidered vale,\n Where the love-lorn nightingale\n Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;\n Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair\n That likest thy Narcissus are?\n O, if thou have\n Hid them in some flowery cave,\n Tell me but where,\n Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere,\n So may'st thou be translated to the skies,\n And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies.\"\n\nMilton has imitated the story of Narcissus in the account which he\nmakes Eve give of the first sight of herself reflected in the\nfountain:--\n\n \"That day I oft remember when from sleep\n I first awaked, and found myself reposed\n Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where\n And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.\n Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound\n Of waters issued from a cave, and spread\n Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved\n Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went\n With unexperienced thought, and laid me down\n On the green bank, to look into the clear\n Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.\n As I bent down to look, just opposite\n A shape within the watery gleam appeared,\n Bending to look on me. I started back;\n It started back; but pleased I soon returned,\n Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks\n Of sympathy and love. There had I fixed\n Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,\n Had not a voice thus warned me: 'What thou seest,\n What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;'\" &c.\n\n \"Paradise Lost,\" Book IV.\n\nNo one of the fables of antiquity has been oftener alluded to by the\npoets than that of Narcissus. Here are two epigrams which treat it in\ndifferent ways. The first is by Goldsmith:--\n\n \"ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING\"\n\n \"Sure 'twas by Providence designed,\n Rather in pity than in hate,\n That he should be like Cupid blind,\n To save him from Narcissus' fate.\"\n\nThe other is by Cowper:--\n\n \"ON AN UGLY FELLOW\"\n\n \"Beware, my friend, of crystal brook\n Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,\n Thy nose, thou chance to see;\n Narcissus' fate would then be thine,\n And self-detested thou would'st pine,\n As self-enamored he.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE RING OF POLYCRATES\n\nBY M. M. BIRD\n\n\n \"Then, would'st thou keep thy happy place,\n Beseech the Immortals of their grace\n Some bitter with their sweet to blend;\n For when the gods on any pour\n Of happiness an unmixed store,\n Ruin full sure will be his end.\"--SCHILLER.\n\nOf all earth's monarchs, the lordliest and the proudest was\nPolycrates, Tyrant of Samos. Whatever he set his hand to had\nprospered. One by one he had conquered all the isles of Greece, and\nnever had his galleys by sea or his archers on land known defeat.\nAlone to be compared with him in power was his friend and ally,\nAmasis, King of Egypt, by whose side he had warred and shared the\nspoils of victory.\n\nThis Polycrates, in his palace on Samos, gazing out across the shining\nsea and meditating what new venture should occupy his arms, saw one\nday a single galley speeding swiftly from the south. It bore the\ncognizance of the King of Egypt, the watchmen said.\n\n\"What message can our good brother Amasis have for us?\" mused the\nKing. \"For what new exploit does he demand our aid, what deed does he\nnot dare to venture till he league our charmed fortune with his own?\"\n\nThe galley flew over the waters; it glided round the outflung arm of\nthe mole, and reached the quay. Messengers bore in haste to the\npalace a missive sealed with the great seal of Amasis.\n\nPolycrates searched the hieroglyphics in vain for some bold scheme,\nhis share in which shall be more slaves, more land, more gold, more\npower, and more hate from those he conquers.\n\nFor this is what Amasis wrote to his ally:\n\n\"It is pleasant to hear of the success of a friend and ally. But thy\nexcessive good fortune doth not please me, knowing as I do that the\ndivinity is jealous. As for me, I would rather choose that both I and\nmy friends should be partly successful in our undertakings, and partly\nsuffer reverses; and so pass life meeting with vicissitudes of fortune\nthan be prosperous in all things. For I cannot remember that I ever\nheard of any man who, having suffered no reverse, did not at last\nutterly perish. Be advised therefore by me, and act thus with regard\nto thy good fortune. Consider well what thou valuest most, and the\nloss of which would most pain thy soul; this treasure so cast away\nthat it may never more be seen of man.\"\n\nPolycrates put down the letter and meditated. He looked round the\ngorgeous hall wherein he sat, he looked out of the window at the\nmarble terraces, the vines and fruit trees of his palace gardens.\nBelow he saw the crowded streets of his busy town, his quays where\nships unloaded their merchandise for his pleasure. There was the\nharbor where his galleys lay, a hundred of them, each manned by fifty\nstrong oarsmen, slaves. Beyond the great mole that captives of war had\nbuilt for him lay the crowded islands of the Grecian seas, and they\ntoo were his vassals or allies. His power knew no check; the stream of\ngold flowed unbroken to his shores. He owned to himself with mingled\npride and alarm that such prosperity was a thing to provoke the\njealous envy of the immortals.\n\nAmasis had seen this danger, and had sent a kindly warning to his\nfriend. It was well done.\n\nWhat loss would he most mourn?\n\nTyrant as he was, Polycrates was a patron of the arts. It was at his\ncourt that Anacreon sung of wine and love as none had sung before.\nPainters and sculptors and musicians were entertained there, and he\ndelighted in their arts. Should he sacrifice his favorite singer, his\nmost gifted painter? Should he obliterate the world-famous fresco of\nhis banquet hall, or slay the most beautiful of his slaves? But a new\nsinger would soon replace the old, another artist would arise and\nwould paint a more enchanting scene, a lovelier slave would fall\ncaptive to his arms.\n\nHe despaired of selecting among his countless treasures what was most\nprecious, when his eye fell on the great gold signet on his\nfore-finger. There was the symbol of his power itself, the splendid\ngold ring, carved by Theodorus, son of Telecles the Samian. There was\nthe emerald engraved by Theodorus with his signet device. The impress\nof that signet on the pliant wax set the seal of the King's command on\nevery order. His eyes dwelt on the beautiful ring; he turned it on his\nfinger, he marked the cunning work of it, the elegant design. The gold\nglittered in the sunlight, the heart of the great emerald glowed with\ngreen fire.\n\n\"This ring,\" he cried, \"my dearest treasure, my most valued\npossession, I will cast into the sea!\"\n\nHis ministers and courtiers heard him astonished. They spoke among\nthemselves with bated breath of the thing the King proposed to do.\nHow could the business of the realm go on without the King's\nrecognized seal to set upon his ordinances? The news spread through\nthe palace, where astonishment was mingled with consternation, and\nconsternation with admiration of the King who would sacrifice so great\na treasure to propitiate the gods for the good of his realm. From the\npalace the news spread to the town, and men gathered in knots to\ndiscuss it, and women ran from house to house to tell and hear it.\nThen they saw the royal barge of fifty oars being swiftly prepared for\nsea. The crowds of workers left their toil in the workshops of the\ntown and clustered on the quay. They looked and saw the King coming in\nprocession from the palace, his ministers about him, his courtiers\nfollowing after. A frown was on his brow and a fierce resolve in his\neyes. And as he passed along the gangway they marked that his royal\nhand was bare; no green fire shone from it like a glow-worm at night.\n\nOut, far out into the sea the rowers drove the swift galley; the water\nboiled beneath the keel, and fled hissing from the stroke of those\nfifty oars. At last the silent King made a sign, and the oars flashed\nout of the water, scattering a silver fountain of spray.\n\nThrice the King raised his arm in act to throw, and thrice as he eyed\nthe priceless gem he clutched it in his open palm. But the fourth time\nhe closed his dazzled eyes and flung it far from him. And the great\nemerald, as it fell into the main, flashed like a streamer in the\nnorthern sky.\n\nNo sign that the gods accepted his sacrifice followed the deed. The\nsun shone bright overhead, and below was the innumerable laughter of\nthe waves.\n\nThe King made a sign with the hand, now so significantly bare, and the\ngalley sped back to the quay. And all the days that followed there was\nmourning in the palace, the King was wrapped in gloom, the business of\nthe state seemed to have been brought to a standstill.\n\nOn the sixth day a humble fisherman climbed to the palace gates,\nbearing as a gift a royal sturgeon. \"Accept, O King,\" he cried, \"an\noffering worthy of thee. For three-score years have I plied my humble\ntrade, yet never before have my nets brought to land so goodly a\nfish.\"\n\nPolycrates thanked the fisherman and bestowed on him a purse of gold,\nand the fish he ordered to be served for that night's banquet.\n\nThe King was in his chamber, deep in state affairs, when a scullion\ncame running demanding instant audience. In his hand was a jewel that\nflashed and glowed.\n\nPolycrates stared in amazement, and then stretched forth his hand to\nseize the ring that had been miraculously restored. For when the\nfisherman's gift had been cut open the ring had been found in its\nbelly.\n\nThe courtiers whispered together in fear: \"What can this mean? Have\nthe jealous gods rejected the sacrifice?\"\n\nBut Polycrates was beside himself with joy. He wrote in haste to\nAmasis, King of Egypt, to tell him what had befallen. \"Such good\nfortune as mine,\" he declared, \"is unassailable by gods or men.\"\n\nBut Amasis was of a different opinion. He felt that no power could\navail to save a man so unnaturally fortunate from the vengeance of the\njealous gods. He sent his herald to say that he renounced the\nfriendship between them lest, said he, if some dreadful and great\ncalamity befell Polycrates he might himself be involved in it!\n\nBlack anger at this desertion filled the heart of Polycrates. He heard\nthat Cambyses, son of Cyrus, King of Persia, was on the point of\ninvading Egypt with a great army, so he offered him help by sea.\nCambyses gladly accepted this alliance, and Polycrates despatched\nforty ships of war.\n\nBut in his heaven-sent blindness he manned them with malcontents and\nmen of conquered nations whom he suspected of disloyalty and wished to\nremove--sending with them secretly a message to Cambyses that he did\nnot wish a man of them to return.\n\nThese warriors mutinied before they reached the battle ground, and\nreturned in war array against Samos, but they, too, failed and\nPolycrates became more powerful than ever. And then it was that\nOroetes, the Persian satrap of Sardis, who had conceived a hatred of\nPolycrates, enticed the fortunate tyrant to visit him and seized upon\nhim treacherously and crucified him, so that men might see how the\njealous gods will not suffer a mortal to share immortal bliss, and\nthat soon or late pride has a fall.\n\n\n\n\nROMULUS AND REMUS\n\nBY MRS. GUY E. LLOYD\n\n\nEvery one has heard tell of Rome, that great city, already ancient\nwhen C\u00e6sar found on the shores of Britain woad-painted savages living\nin a swamp where now stands the mightiest city in the world. The story\nof Romulus and Remus tells of the founding of this ancient city, and\nhow it took its name from its first king.\n\nOlder even than Rome was a town built on a hill not far away by Iulus,\nson of \u00c6neas, of whose wanderings you have heard, and called Alba\nLonga, the Long White City.\n\nWhen my story begins it was ruled by King Amulius. He had no right to\nthe throne, but he had seized it by force from his elder brother,\nNumitor, who was a peace-abiding man, and no match for his ambitious\nbrother.\n\nAmulius had nothing to fear from the gentle Numitor, who abode with\nhis flocks and herds, but his guilty conscience would not let him\nrest, and he lived in terror lest one day the children of Numitor\nshould avenge their father's wrongs and take the throne that was\ntheirs by right of inheritance.\n\nSo he hired assassins to kill the boy, and the girl, Sylvia, he doomed\nto be a vestal virgin. These were maidens vowed to remain single all\ntheir lives, and to watch the ever-burning fire in the shrine of the\ngoddess Vesta; this could only be kept alive by spotless virgins, and\non its life depended the safety of the city--of Alba first, and\nafterwards of Rome.\n\nBut the god Mars, whom all Romans worship as the leader of their hosts\nand the founder of their race, looked with pity on the maid, and\nwilled not that the seed of Numitor should perish. So he visited her\nas she lay asleep in the temple of Vesta, and he sent her a wonderful\ndream.\n\nShe dreamt that as she sat and watched the sacred fire, she dozed, and\nthe fillet slipped from her brow, and from the fillet there sprang two\npalm trees that grew and spread till their tops reached the heavens,\nand their branches overspread all the earth. Seven times did she dream\nthe same dream, and she knew at last that it was a message of the god.\nAnd lo, in due time there were born to her twin sons of more than\nmortal beauty.\n\nWhen Amulius heard of the birth of these twins his wrath was kindled.\nHe commanded that Sylvia should forthwith be buried alive, for that is\nthe punishment appointed for virgins unfaithful to their vows; and\nhimself seizing the wicker cradle in which the babes lay asleep, he\nflung it into the yellow Tiber.\n\nBut Mars was mindful of his own. The mother, Sylvia, was nowhere to be\nfound, for the god had spirited her away in safety, and the helpless\nbabes, still sleeping quietly, floated upon the turbid waters as\nthough their cradle had been a boat, while Father Tiber quelled his\nraging flood to let them pass unharmed.\n\nOn drifted the frail bark down the river till it came to where, at the\nfoot of a hill, stood a great wild fig tree, its gnarled roots laid\nbare by the wash of the flood. The floating cradle was driven against\nthe roots of this tree and held fast there, for the water had reached\nits highest level and was beginning now to ebb.\n\nThrough all the roaring of the raging river the babes had slept, but\nnow, with a start, they awoke and looked up, expecting to see their\nmother bending over them and ready to take them to her breast. But\nover their heads they saw only a glimmer of twilight through the\nbranches of the fig tree, and there was no sound save the sough of the\nwind and the lapping of the waters, and now and again the distant howl\nof a wolf seeking its evening meal. Cold and hungry, they cried\npiteously. Presently, through the gathering darkness, two green eyes\nstared down at them. It was a great gray she-wolf, and the hungry\nbabes hushed their cry and gazed in wonder at those lamps of fire.\n\nThe wolf sniffed all round the cradle; then she pushed it with her\nforepaws till it fell right over on its side and the two infants\nrolled out of it. She licked them gently with her rough tongue, and\nthey cuddled to her warm flanks and clutched instinctively with their\ntiny fingers at her shaggy fell. She dragged them gently up the\nhillside, away from the water, to a mossy cavern where she had her\nlair, and there she gave them milk as though they had been her own\ncubs, and nestling close against her the babes fell asleep.\n\nIt chanced that Faustulus, the chief herdsman of King Amulius, went\nforth one morning to see if the floods were abated and the pastures\nonce more clear. As he wandered along at the foot of the Palatine hill\nhe saw a cradle lying on its side beneath a fig tree. He went towards\nit, and as he neared the place his eye was caught by something moving\nwithin the dark shadow of an overhanging rock. He bent his steps to\nthe cave to see what might be within it, when on a sudden a she-wolf\nsprang out and away among the bushes before he could aim a dart at\nher; and, to his amazement, a green woodpecker, with a piece of bread\nin its beak, came fluttering forth from the hollow. Both wolf and\nwoodpecker, you must know, are special servants of Mars, and these\nwere doing his pleasure and tending the helpless infants.\n\nFaustulus came to the cave and stooped to look in. There, scrambling\nover one another on a soft bed of moss and fern, were two beautiful\nboys; and he marveled greatly, and said to himself: \"These babes were\nnot born of common mortals, but of one of the immortal gods. A naiad,\nor haply a river-god, must have interposed to save them from the\nflood, and to feed them with ambrosia, the food of the gods.\"\n\nSo he took them home to his wife Laurentia, and told her the tale. And\nwhen she saw their innocent faces her motherly heart was stirred with\nlove and pity, and she tended them as though they had been her own\nsons, and called them Romulus and Remus.\n\nThe boys grew up brave and strong. When they were old enough they\nhelped the herdsmen of King Amulius; and, because they were ever\nforemost where there was danger, all the other lads came to look up to\nthem as leaders. It was a life that pleased the twins well. All day\nthey wandered on the slopes of the hills, guarding the grazing cattle\nfrom wild beasts or robbers, and at night all the herdsmen would join\ntogether and make a camp in some sheltered valley or beneath spreading\ntrees on the mountain side. And here they would build great fires to\nkeep off the wolves, and would lie beside them, singing songs or\ntelling tales to one another.\n\nSometimes the herdsmen of King Amulius had desperate fights with\nother herdsmen over good camping-grounds, or fertile pastures, or safe\nwatering-places, or over the ownership of strayed cattle. More\nespecially were their quarrels fierce and frequent with the herdsmen\nof Numitor, whose grazing-grounds marched with those of King Amulius.\nSometimes, after these fights, the herdsmen of Numitor would complain\nto their master of the two tall striplings who constantly led the\nherdsmen of Amulius to victory.\n\nAt length, one day they laid an ambush and caught Remus, and bore him\naway to Numitor. As soon as the deposed king saw the lad he was\nreminded of the face of his long-lost daughter Sylvia, and he eagerly\ndesired to see Romulus also.\n\nFaustulus and his foster-son were wondering what could have befallen\nRemus, and were preparing to set out in search of him, when they saw a\nband of youths approaching, with olive boughs in their hands, in token\nthat they came on a peaceful errand.\n\n\"Wherefore come you hither, friends?\" asked Romulus.\n\nThe leader of the band made answer: \"Our master, Numitor, has sent us,\nRomulus, to pray thee to hasten to his presence.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" answered Romulus, \"I cannot go with you, for I must seek my\nbrother Remus, who is lost.\"\n\nThen said the herdsman: \"Fear not for thy brother. He is already with\nour master Numitor.\"\n\nThen Faustulus, who long ago had guessed who the boys must be, said to\nRomulus: \"Do thou the bidding of Numitor, and go with these youths. I\nmyself will go with thee, and will tell thee on the way certain\nmatters that it much imports thee to know.\"\n\nSo on the way to the hall of Numitor, Faustulus told Romulus all the\ntale of the wicker cradle caught beneath the fig tree, and of the wolf\nand woodpecker that had tended the helpless babes.\n\nWhen the herd-lads saw Romulus pass by they followed him, armed with\nstaves and slings, to see that no harm should come to him; for they\nloved him and his brother well, and counted them their leaders.\n\nAs soon as Numitor saw the two lads together and heard the tale of\ntheir finding, he was sure that they must be the children of his\ndaughter Sylvia.\n\nAnd Romulus and Remus, when they knew of the evil deeds of their\ngreat-uncle Amulius, determined to take vengeance on him.\n\nAll the herdsmen were ready to follow wherever the twins might choose\nto lead, so they set forth at once for the hall of King Amulius, and\nthey overpowered his bodyguard and slew him, and made Numitor king in\nhis stead.\n\nKing Numitor was no ungrateful monarch, and he assigned to his\ngrandsons, while yet alive, all the lands beside the Tiber, and here\nthe brothers determined to build a city and to found a kingdom.\n\nAnd now there came a sharp division between Romulus and Remus. They\nwere of like age, strength, and courage, and of a like high spirit\nthat ill brooked any kind of control. Both wanted to rule, neither was\nwilling to obey; each of the twins was ambitious to be king in the new\ncity, and to call it after his own name.\n\n[Illustration: ROMULUS AND REMUS]\n\nThen said their grandfather, King Numitor: \"Strive not together over\nthis thing, but let the all-seeing gods decide. Go up, either of you,\nto the top of one of these mountains, and look abroad upon the earth\nand sky, and the gods shall send a sign whereby ye may know who is\nchosen king.\"\n\nSo Romulus and Remus went each to the top of one of the hills by the\nTiber, and they looked abroad upon the earth and sky, all fair and\nbright in the sunny April weather.\n\nRemus first came back to his grandfather, and he was flushed with\ntriumph.\n\n\"Victory!\" he cried. \"The gods have chosen me as king, for I have seen\nsix vultures flying in the sky.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" said King Numitor; \"do nothing rashly; let us hear what thy\nbrother hath seen.\"\n\nAs he spoke Romulus strode into the hall and bowed before his\ngrandfather.\n\n\"Speak,\" said King Numitor. \"What hast thou seen from thy\nmountain-top?\"\n\nAnd Romulus made answer: \"I looked abroad upon the earth, and saw no\nliving thing; but when I gazed upwards, lo, I saw twelve vultures\nflying in the sky.\"\n\nThen said Numitor: \"Verily the gods have spoken plainly; here can be\nno mistaking. Hail, King Romulus! Thy brother saw but six vultures.\"\n\nAnd all the herdsmen cried with a great shout: \"Hail, King Romulus!\"\n\nBut Remus muttered darkly: \"I saw mine first, and I should be the\nking.\" But no man heeded him.\n\nThen Romulus took a plow with a brazen share and yoked to it a bullock\nand a heifer, and plowed a deep furrow round the Palatine hill; and\nall the herdsmen followed after, turning the earth that the share\ndisplaced all to the side of the furrow where the city was to stand,\nso that good fortune might ever follow it and wealth be stored within\nits walls. But where the gates were to stand, the plow was lifted and\ncarried a little space, for that was the custom of those days, that\nthe gates might not be holy, but that all men might pass through.\n\nThe heart of Remus swelled with sullen anger, and he would not help\nhis brother, nor take any part in the building of the city. Romulus\nwould gladly have shared his lands and his wealth, but Remus would\ntake nothing at his hands; if he might not be king he cared for\nnothing else.\n\nDay by day he loitered about, gloomily watching Romulus and his men as\nthey toiled at the walls of their city. They wrought hard and long\neach day, for they wished to surround their chosen site with a rampart\nbefore any foe came to interrupt their work.\n\nTheir first fortification was but a ditch and a mound, neither high\nnor wide, but enough to serve as a defense while they built better\nwalls behind it at their leisure.\n\nOn the day the first wall of his new city was completed, Romulus was\nfilled with joy, and offered sacrifices to the gods, and gave thanks\nin the presence of all his men.\n\nBut Remus thrust rudely in among the throng and laughed aloud in\nscorn: \"What a wall to make such a pother about!\" he cried; and\nrunning forward he leaped the ditch and the rampart, and turning\nleaped back again. \"See how great a defense is your fine wall,\" he\ncried to Romulus, mocking him. \"If a wolf should push against it he\nwould knock it down, and I myself can leap within it whenever I\nchoose.\"\n\nAnd Romulus answered, pale with passion: \"Go thy ways, brother, and\nleave my wall alone, or I may do thee a mischief.\"\n\n\"Thy wall!\" retorted Remus. \"Scarce can I see where thy wall runs. I\nthought, verily, some mole must have been rootling here upon the\nhillside.\"\n\nNow it has always been the custom of soldiers to build first with the\nspade, and the wall that Romulus and his friends had thrown up as they\ndug their ditch was higher even now than most of the walls that were\nmade in those days.\n\nAnd Celer, the henchman of Romulus, the youth who had helped him most\nin his work, was sorely angered when Remus mocked; and when once more\nhe leaped the wall, crying, \"Even so will the enemy enter your city,\"\nCeler made answer fiercely: \"And even thus will we meet the enemy\";\nand he smote Remus suddenly with the spade that was in his hand, and\nRemus fell dead at his brother's feet.\n\nAnd when Celer saw that he had slain the brother of the King he flung\ndown his spade and fled quickly, and being swift of foot he escaped to\na far-off land.\n\nAnd Romulus wept sore for his brother, and they took the body of Remus\nto the summit of the hill, and there they burnt it upon a great\nfuneral pile.\n\nThe newly built city was called Rome; and here for many years Romulus\nreigned as king, terrible to his foes and just and kindly to all his\npeople.\n\nAnd when forty years had passed away it chanced that the King called\ntogether all his warriors to the Goat's Pool, that he might see and\nspeak with them. They were standing ranged in their ranks while\nRomulus sat upon a high throne to muster them, when on a sudden there\ncame a great darkness upon the whole assembly so that no man could see\nthe face of him who stood next to him. Then, in the midst of the\ndarkness, came a mighty storm of thunder and lightning. When the storm\npassed and the sun came out again all gazed in wonder and terror at\nthe throne of Romulus, for the King was gone--he had vanished from\ntheir sight. And there were those who said that they had seen amid the\nstorm a chariot of fire mounting to the heavens, and that the\ncharioteer was none other than Mars himself come to bear away his son\nRomulus to the abode of the immortal gods.\n\nAnd while all men doubted and wondered and talked of these things it\nfell on a day that a friend of Romulus, named Julius Proculus, had a\nwondrous vision. For it seemed to him as he traveled alone among the\nmountains, that the King stood before him, great and noble and clad in\nshining armor.\n\nAnd Julius cried out: \"Ah, my lord, wherefore hast thou left thy city\nin such sorrow? Hast thou indeed forsaken forever all those who love\nthee?\"\n\nThen the bright vision made answer: \"For a space have I dwelt with\nmen, and a great and glorious city have I founded. Know me\nhenceforward as Quirinus, one of the immortal gods. And now go back to\nmy people and tell them that if they will follow forever the law that\nI have given them, suffering neither cowardice nor license among them,\nbut being brave and just and honorable, then will I, Quirinus, ever be\nat hand to help them in their need, and they shall rule over all the\npeoples of the world.\"\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nBY CARROLL WATSON RANKIN\n\nSTORIES FOR GIRLS\n\n\nTHE CASTAWAYS OF PETE'S PATCH\n\n Illustrated by ADA C. WILLIAMSON. $1.25 net. (Just published.)\n\nA tale of five girls and two youthful grown-ups who enjoyed\nunpremeditated camping; of a picturesque Indian who sells his home in\norder to live in it; of a mysteriously shipwrecked boy who is unable\nto tell whence he came; of Mabel, who tumbled into all the water there\nwas, and of Mabel's friends, who sometimes tumbled in with her; of\nbroken game laws, of a baffled game-warden who proved to be somebody\nelse; and of many other things that _might_ have happened on the\nrugged shores of Lake Superior.\n\n\nDANDELION COTTAGE\n\n Illustrated by Mmes. SHINN and FINLEY. $1.50.\n\nFour young girls secure the use of a tumbledown cottage. They set up\nhousekeeping under numerous disadvantages, and have many amusements\nand queer experiences.\n\n \"A capital story. It is refreshing to come upon an author who\n can tell us about real little girls, with sensible ordinary\n parents, girls who are neither phenomenal nor\n silly.\"--_Outlook._\n\n\nTHE ADOPTING OF ROSA MARIE\n\n A sequel to \"Dandelion Cottage.\" Illustrated by Mrs. SHINN.\n $1.50.\n\nThe little girls, who played at keeping house in the earlier book,\nenlarge their activities to the extent of playing mother to a little\nIndian girl.\n\n \"Those who have read 'Dandelion Cottage' will need no urging\n to follow further.... A lovable group of four real children,\n happily not perfect, but full of girlish plans and pranks....\n A delightful sense of humor.\"--_Boston Transcript._\n\n\nTHE GIRLS OF GARDENVILLE\n\n Illustrated by MARY WELLMAN. 12mo. $1.50.\n\nInteresting, amusing, and natural stories of a girls' club--\"The Sweet\nSixteen\" of Gardenville.\n\n \"Will captivate as many adults as if it were written for\n them.... The secret of Mrs. Rankin's charm is her naturalness\n ... real girls ... not young ladies with 'pigtails,' but girls\n of sixteen who are not twenty-five ... as original as\n amusing.\"--_Boston Transcript._\n\n\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n 34 WEST 33D STREET NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nCOMPANION STORIES OF COUNTRY LIFE FOR BOYS _By CHARLES P. BURTON_\n\n\nTHE BOYS OF BOB'S HILL\n\n Illustrated by GEORGE A. WILLIAMS. 12mo. $1.25.\n\nA lively story of a party of boys in a small New England town.\n\n \"A first-rate juvenile ... a real story for the live human\n boy--any boy will read it eagerly to the end ... quite\n thrilling adventures.\"--_Chicago-Record-Herald._\n\n \"Tom Sawyer would have been a worthy member of the Bob's Hill\n crowd and shared their good times and thrilling adventures\n with uncommon relish.... A jolly group of youngsters as nearly\n true to the real thing in boy nature as one can ever expect to\n find between covers.\"--_Christian Register._\n\n\nTHE BOB'S CAVE BOYS\n\n Illustrated by VICTOR PERARD. $1.50.\n\n \"It would be hard to find anything better in the literature of\n New England boy life. Healthy, red-blooded, human boys, full\n of fun, into trouble and out again, but frank, honest, and\n clean.\"--_The Congregationalist._\n\n \"Even better than the first book, will interest every healthy\n youngster.\"--_Christian Register._\n\n \"A rousing story of wide-awake youngsters. A very delightful\n book. Told with much humor.\"--_Indianapolis News._\n\n\nTHE BOB'S HILL BRAVES\n\n Illustrated by H. S. DELAY. 12mo. $1.50.\n\nThe \"Bob's Hill\" band spend a vacation in Illinois, where they play at\nbeing Indians, hear thrilling tales of real Indians, and learn much\nfrontier history. A story of especial interest to \"Boy Scouts.\"\n\n \"Merry youngsters. Capital. Thrilling tales of the red men and\n explorers. These healthy, red-blooded, New England\n boys.\"--_Philadelphia Press._\n\n\nTHE BOY SCOUTS OF BOB'S HILL\n\n Illustrated by GORDON GRANT. 12mo. $1.25 net.\n\nThis, the fourth book in the popular Bob's Hill Series, gives good\npromise of being even more widely read. The publishers have been\nfortunate in the admirable illustrations by the official artist of the\nBoy Scout Movement.\n\nThe \"gang\" are just as human, humorous and clearly individualized as\never; and while the influence of the book is good, there is no\n\"preaching,\" and fun and adventure abound.\n\n\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n PUBLISHERS (VIII'12) NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nBY ALICE CALHOUN HAINES\n\n_For Young Folks from 9 to 16 Years old._\n\n\nPARTNERS FOR FAIR\n\n With illustrations by FAITH AVERY. $1.25 net.\n\nA story full of action, not untinged by pathos, of a boy and his\nfaithful dog and their wanderings after the poor-house burns down.\nThey have interesting experiences with a traveling circus; the boy is\nthrown from a moving train, and has a lively time with the Mexican\nInsurrectos, from whom he is rescued by our troops.\n\n\nTHE LUCK OF THE DUDLEY GRAHAMS\n\n Illustrated by FRANCIS DAY. 300 pp., 12mo. $1.50.\n\nA family story of city life. Lightened by humor and an airship.\n\n \"Among the very best of books for young folks. Appeals\n especially to girls.\"--_Wisconsin List for Township\n Libraries._\n\n \"Promises to be perennially popular. A family of happy,\n healthy, inventive, bright children make the best of\n restricted conditions and prove themselves masters of\n circumstances.\"--_Christian Register._\n\n \"Sparkles with cleverness and humor.\"--_Brooklyn Eagle._\n\n\nCOCK-A-DOODLE HILL\n\n A sequel to the above. Illustrated by FRANCIS DAY.\n\n 296 pp., 12mo. $1.50.\n\n\"Cockle-a-doodle Hill\" is where the Dudley Graham family went to live\nwhen they left New York, and here Ernie started her chicken-farm, with\none solitary fowl, \"Hennerietta.\" The pictures of country scenes and\nthe adventures and experiences of this household of young people are\nvery life-like.\n\n \"No better book for young people than 'The Luck of the Dudley\n Grahams' was offered last year. 'Cock-a-Doodle Hill' is\n another of similar qualities.\"--_Philadelphia Press._\n\n\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n PUBLISHERS (VIII'12) NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD CYCLOP\u00c6DIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLD\n\n\nCHAMPLIN'S\n\nYOUNG FOLKS' CYCLOP\u00c6DIAS\n\nBy JOHN D. CHAMPLIN\n\n_Late Associate Editor of the American Cyclop\u00e6dia_\n\n Bound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete in\n itself and sold separately. 12mo, $3.00 per volume, retail.\n\n\nCOMMON THINGS\n\n New, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated\n\n \"A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to\n whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile\n library, never, so far as I know, supplied before.\"--_Susan\n Coolidge._\n\n\nPERSONS AND PLACES\n\n New, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 375 Illustrations\n\n \"We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn\n instantly for information upon every theme about which they\n have questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of\n these copies are read daily, as well as consulted; that their\n owners turn the leaves as they might those of a fairy book,\n reading intently articles of which they had not thought before\n seeing them, and treating the book simply as one capable of\n furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless\n quantities.\"--_N. Y. Evening Post._\n\n\nLITERATURE AND ART\n\n 604 pp. 270 Illustrations\n\n \"Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious\n characters that children--or most of their parents--of our day\n are likely to inquire about will be missed here. Mr.\n Champlin's judgment seems unusually sound.\"--_The Nation._\n\n\nGAMES AND SPORTS\n\nBy JOHN D. CHAMPLIN and ARTHUR BOSTWICK\n\n Revised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations\n\n \"Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public\n or private.\"--_The Independent._\n\n\nNATURAL HISTORY\n\nBy JOHN D. CHAMPLIN, assisted by FREDERICK A. LUCAS\n\n 725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations\n\n \"Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and\n reliable information on every phase of natural history, on\n every item of interest to the student. Invaluable to the\n teacher and school, and should be on every teacher's desk for\n ready reference, and the children should be taught to go to\n this volume for information useful and interesting.\"--_Journal\n of Education._\n\n\n HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY\n NEW YORK CHICAGO\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious typographical errors have been repaired.\n\nPage placement keys in illustration tags--for example, \"page\n108]\"--have been removed.\n\nHyphenation inconsistencies retained.","title":"Half a Hundred Hero Tales of Ulysses and The Men of Old","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":110258}