{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45489/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45489","id":"gutenberg_45489","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45489","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Mythology, Greek -- Juvenile literature","Mythology, Roman -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"STORIES OF OLD GREECE AND ROME\n\n\n[Illustration: Reading from Homer]\n\n\n\n\n  STORIES OF\n  OLD GREECE AND ROME\n\n  BY\n  EMILIE KIP BAKER\n\n  AUTHOR OF\n  \"OUT OF THE NORTHLAND\"\n\n\n  New York\n  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n  1913\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1913,\n\n  BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n  Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1913.\n\n\n  Norwood Press\n  J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.\n  Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n  TO\n  FRANCES\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                                PAGE\n       I.  IN THE BEGINNING                                 1\n\n      II.  THE STORY OF PANDORA                             7\n\n     III.  THE DELUGE                                      16\n\n      IV.  MINERVA                                         22\n\n       V.  APOLLO AND KING ADMETUS                         30\n\n      VI.  APOLLO THE MUSICIAN                             36\n\n     VII.  THE LOVE OF APOLLO                              44\n\n    VIII.  DIANA                                           53\n\n      IX.  THE STORY OF ENDYMION                           60\n\n       X.  MERCURY                                         64\n\n      XI.  VENUS                                           73\n\n     XII.  THE STORY OF CUPID AND PSYCHE                   81\n\n    XIII.  FAMOUS LOVERS\n           1. Echo and Narcissus                           93\n           2. Pyramus and Thisbe                           97\n           3. Hero and Leander                            100\n           4. Pygmalion and Galatea                       104\n\n     XIV. THE STORY OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE               107\n\n      XV.  MARS AND VULCAN                                115\n\n     XVI.  THE STORY OF PROSERPINA                        127\n\n    XVII.  PLUTO AND THE UNDERWORLD                       137\n\n   XVIII.  NEPTUNE AND THE SEA-GODS                       152\n\n     XIX.  BACCHUS                                        167\n\n      XX.  PAN AND THE NYMPHS                             183\n\n     XXI.  THE VESTALS                                    193\n\n    XXII.  MINOR DEITIES\n           1. \u00c6olus                                       200\n           2. Janus                                       204\n           3. Iris and Aurora                             206\n           4. Vertumnus and Pomona                        209\n\n   XXIII.  HERCULES. Part I                               212\n\n    XXIV.  HERCULES. Part II                              223\n\n     XXV.  PERSEUS                                        235\n\n    XXVI.  BELLEROPHON                                    251\n\n   XXVII.  THE STORY OF JASON. Part I                     262\n\n  XXVIII.  THE STORY OF JASON. Part II                    270\n\n    XXIX.  THE CALYDONIAN HUNT                            278\n\n     XXX.  THESEUS. Part I                                287\n\n    XXXI.  THESEUS. Part II                               295\n\n   XXXII.  \u0152DIPUS                                         306\n\n  XXXIII.  THE APPLE OF DISCORD                           317\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  Reading from Homer                           _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                  FACING PAGE\n  Jupiter                                                   6\n  Apollo Belvedere                                         30\n  Apollo and Daphne                                        46\n  Niobe                                                    53\n  Diana of Versailles                                      56\n  Flying Mercury                                           64\n  Juno                                                     73\n  Venus de Milo                                            78\n  Psyche                                                   85\n  Charon and Psyche                                        91\n  Cupid and Psyche                                         92\n  Hero and Leander                                        104\n  Orpheus and Eurydice                                    112\n  The Abduction of Proserpina                             127\n  The Three Fates                                         142\n  Fountain of Neptune                                     152\n  Faun                                                    172\n  Vestals                                                 193\n  Tuccia                                                  196\n  Aurora                                                  206\n  The Infant Hercules                                     212\n  Hercules and the Centaur                                223\n  Hercules serving Omphale                                230\n  Fortuna                                                 232\n  Perseus                                                 242\n  Medea                                                   276\n  Cybele                                                  286\n  Theseus                                                 302\n  \u0152dipus and Antigone                                     312\n  Antigone and Ismene                                     315\n  Paris                                                   320\n\n\n\n\nGREEK AND ROMAN NAMES OF DEITIES\n\n\n  SATURN            (CRONOS).\n  RHEA              (CYBELE, OPS).\n  JUPITER           (JOVE, ZEUS).\n  JUNO              (HERA, HERE).\n  MINERVA           (PALLAS, ATHENE).\n  APOLLO            (PH\u0152BUS, SOL, HELIOS, PYTHEUS, CYNTHIUS).\n  DIANA             (SELENE, ARTEMIS, PH\u0152BE, CYNTHIA).\n  VENUS             (APHRODITE, DIONE, CYTHEREA).\n  MERCURY           (HERMES, PSYCHOPOMPUS, ONEICOPOMPUS).\n  CUPID             (EROS).\n  HEBE              (JUVENTAS).\n  MARS              (ARES).\n  VULCAN            (HEPH\u00c6STUS).\n  NEPTUNE           (POSEIDON).\n  PLUTO             (HADES, DIS, ORCUS, AIDONEUS).\n  BACCHUS           (DIONYSUS, LIBER).\n  CERES             (DEMETER).\n  PROSERPINA        (PERSEPHONE, CORA, PHEREPHATTA).\n  VESTA             (HESTIA).\n  SOMNUS            (HUPNOS).\n  MORS              (THANATOS).\n  AURORA            (EOS).\n  PAN               (CONSENTES).\n  HERCULES          (ALCIDES, HERACLES).\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES OF OLD GREECE AND ROME\n\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\nIn the Beginning\n\n\nIn the days of long, long ago when men built altars, and burned\nsacrifices, and worshiped their gods in temples of pure white marble,\nJupiter, the greatest of the gods, sat upon his throne on high Olympus\nand looked down upon the doings of men. The topmost peak of Mount\nOlympus was covered with clouds,--so high it was above all the hills of\nGreece,--and its slopes were thickly wooded. Just how high the mountain\nreally was could only be guessed, for no man had dared to climb even\nas high as the first cloud line; though the story goes that once upon\na time a wandering shepherd, looking for a strayed lamb, had ventured\nfar up the mountain side and had soon lost his way. He groped about\nblindly, as the mists began to thicken all around him, and the sound\nof his own footsteps terrified him in the dreadful silence that seemed\nto be suddenly creeping over him. Then a mighty tempest broke over\nhis head, and the mountain shook to its very base. From the hand of\nwrathful Jupiter fierce thunderbolts were hurled, while the lightning\nflashed and gleamed through the darkness of the forest, searching out\nthe guilty mortal who had dared to climb too high.\n\nNo human eye had ever seen the glories of Olympus, no human foot had\never stepped within its sacred halls, where the ceiling was of gold and\nthe pavement of pearl and the thrones of the gods shone with a thousand\nglittering jewels. Here\n\n                      \"the gods have made,\n      So saith tradition, their eternal seat;\n      The tempest shakes it not, nor is it drenched\n      By showers, and there the snow does never fall.\n      And in the golden light that lies on all\n      Day after day the blessed gods rejoice.\"\n\n                  --_Odyssey_, Book VI, line 53.\n\nOf the life that was lived among the dwellers on Olympus, not even the\npoets could claim to know; but sometimes a tired soldier dozing by his\ncamp fire dreamed dreams of this wonderful country where the immortal\ngods walked by night and day; and sometimes a lonely fisherman, looking\nacross the blue waters of the Mediterranean to the crimsoning sunset,\nsaw visions of youth and beauty and life that lasted for ever and ever\nand ever.\n\nIt was long before the memory of man that the gods first came to live\non Mount Olympus, and it was still longer ago that all the great\npowers of the universe fought with each other for the right to rule\nthe world. In this mighty war, which rent the very heavens with the\ncrash of battle, Jupiter at last conquered all his jealous enemies,\nand made himself ruler of the gods and of the world.[1] On that day\nhe established his dwelling place on Mount Olympus, and set the earth\nbelow him for a footstool. From his throne in the high heavens he\nlooked down upon the kingdoms that he had portioned out to each of his\nbrothers; and he saw Neptune, the god of the sea, driving through the\nwaves his chariot drawn by huge, misshapen sea-beasts that beat up\nthe thick white foam until it glistened on the sea-king's beard and\non his crown of shells and seaweed. The other kingdom was so far away\nthat even the all-seeing eyes of Jupiter were strained to catch any\nglimpse of the shapes that moved noiselessly there, for this was the\nrealm of Pluto, god of the underworld, that dread country of darkness\nand unending gloom, where no ray of sunlight ever came, and where the\nsad spirits of the dead wept for the lost world of love and light and\nlaughter.\n\nSometimes the great billows of clouds that rolled at the foot of the\nred-gold throne shut out for a moment all sight of the earth at his\nfeet; but however thickly the mists gathered, Jupiter could always see\nold Atlas standing on the shore of Africa with the heavens resting on\nhis bent shoulders. This giant had stood so long that forests of huge\ntrees had sprung up around his feet, and they had grown so tall during\nthe ages and ages that had passed, that their topmost branches reached\nto the giant's waist and almost hid him from the sight of men. No\none offered to relieve him of his burden, not even his two brothers,\nPrometheus and Epimetheus, to whom had been given the less difficult\ntask of creating man and placing him in the rich gardens of the earth.\nThere was every kind of plant and animal life in the gardens, and all\nthings were very beautiful in this morning of the world--so beautiful\nthat the gods, who must forever dwell in Olympus, felt sad that no eyes\nlike their own could look upon the green meadows and flower-covered\nhillsides. So they bade Prometheus and Epimetheus fashion a being\nwhich should be like and yet unlike themselves. There was nothing\nbut clay out of which to make this new creature called man, but the\nbrothers spent much time over their task, and, when it was finished,\nJupiter saw that the work was good, for they had given to man all the\nqualities that the gods themselves possessed--youth, beauty, health,\nstrength,--everything but immortality.\n\nThen Prometheus grew ambitious to add even more to the list of man's\nblessings; and one day, as he sat brooding by the seashore, he\nremembered that there was as yet no fire on the earth; for the only\nflame that burned in all the world was glowing in the sacred halls of\nJupiter. For a long time he sat on the seashore, and before night fell\nhe had formed the daring plan of stealing some of the divine fire that\nburned for always and always on Mount Olympus, and carrying it to the\nearth that men might revel in its warmth and light.\n\nIt was a bold thing to dream of doing, but Prometheus forgot the fear\nof Jupiter's wrath, so determined was he to carry out his plan; and one\nnight, when the gods were in council, seated around the great red-gold\nthrone, he crept softly into the hall, unseen and unheard. The sacred\nfire was burning brightly on a hearth of polished silver. Some of it\nPrometheus secreted in a hollow reed and hurried with it back to the\nearth. Then he waited, with terror at his heart, for he knew that\nsooner or later the vengeance of Jupiter would search him out, even\nthough he fled to the uttermost parts of the earth.\n\nWhen the council of the gods was over, Jupiter looked down through the\nclouds and saw a strange light on the earth. For a while he did not\nrealize that it was man, building himself a fire; but when he learned\nthe truth, his wrath became so terrible that even the gods trembled and\nturned away in fear. In a moment Prometheus was seized and carried off\nto the Caucasus Mountains, where he was securely chained to a rock,\nand a hungry vulture was sent to tear out his liver and devour it. At\nnight the vulture, having gorged itself, slept on the rocks above its\nvictim's head; and at night the liver of the wretched Prometheus grew\nagain, only to be torn out and eaten by the vulture as soon as the sun\nrose. This terrible punishment kept on for years and years; for though\nJupiter heard the cries of Prometheus, and many tales were told of his\nsufferings, the ruler of the gods never forgave the theft of the sacred\nfire, nor would he set Prometheus free. But the story tells us that at\nlast there came an end to this cruel vengeance, for Hercules, son of\nJupiter, went wandering one day among the mountains, found the tortured\nPrometheus, and broke his chains, after killing the vulture that had\nbeen enjoying this hateful feast.\n\nThough the gods were rejoiced at his freedom, the name of Prometheus\nwas never spoken on Mount Olympus for fear of Jupiter's all-hearing\nears; but on the earth men uttered his name in their prayers and taught\ntheir children to honor the Fire-giver as one of the greatest among\nheroes.[2]\n\n[Illustration: Jupiter]\n\n\n\n\nChapter II\n\nThe Story of Pandora\n\n\nIn the early days of man's life on the earth, when everything was\nbeautiful and new, there was no sickness anywhere, nor any pain, nor\nsorrow. Men lived to be very old and very wise, and everywhere was\nhappiness such as has never been since in all the world. Now Jupiter\nhad not forgotten about the stealing of the sacred fire, and it angered\nhim that man should light his own fires and kindle the cheerful blaze\nwhich should by right be glowing only in the halls of Olympus. The\nsuffering of Prometheus had not softened his wrath. He would not be\nsatisfied until punishment was visited upon those who had received the\nstolen fire. Accordingly he called a council of the gods and spoke to\nthem of his desire. Though none of the deities wished to see misfortune\nbrought upon the race of man, they did not dare to dispute the will of\nJupiter. So they agreed to carry out the plan that he unfolded, and\nbefore many days had passed they had fashioned, out of the same clay\nfrom which man was made, a creature that they called woman. To her\neach of the gods gave a gift such as softness, or grace, or wonderful\nfairness; but Jupiter added one other quality, curiosity, and he\ngave the woman the name of Pandora, which means \"the gift of all the\ngods.\"[3] Then he bade Mercury, who is the messenger of the gods, take\nthis new soft thing down to the earth and give her to Epimetheus for\nhis wife. Now Epimetheus had mourned apart from his fellows ever since\nhe learned of his brother's dreadful fate; and he sat day and night\nin the cool silence of the forest, brooding over his sorrow. But one\nday he saw some one coming toward him, led by the hand of Mercury, and\nall at once he forgot to be sad; for the sunlight was shining on the\nwoman's golden hair, and her white arm was stretched out to him in\ngreeting.\n\nFor some time Epimetheus and Pandora lived happily in the gardens of\nthe earth, and every day Epimetheus thanked the gods for their last\nand best gift to man. He never tired of watching Pandora chasing\nbutterflies through the tall meadow grass, or making cups out of\nbroad leaves, that she and Epimetheus might drink from the clear,\ncool spring. One day as they were resting under the trees and eating\ntheir simple meal of dates and wild honey, they saw a traveler coming\ntoward them. He was walking very slowly and seemed heavily burdened\nwith what appeared to be a large box. While he was yet some distance\noff, Pandora ran to meet him and asked him to come into the shade and\nrest. The stranger was old, and the chest that he carried bent his\nshoulders almost to the ground. He looked hungry and thirsty and tired,\nso Epimetheus urged him to stop and rest, and offered him some freshly\ngathered dates. But the traveler--who was none other than Mercury in\ndisguise--replied that he could not tarry with them, for he had a long\ndistance yet to go. He asked them, however, to take care of his great\noak chest, for with that burden off his shoulders he could hurry on and\nreach his journey's end before nightfall. He promised to come back for\nthe chest a few days later. Epimetheus and Pandora were delighted to be\nof service to a stranger, and promised to guard the chest with great\ncare. The traveler thanked them and turned away; but just as they were\nsaying good-by, he mysteriously disappeared, and whichever way they\nlooked there was no trace of him to be seen.\n\nEpimetheus was not at all eager to know what was in the mysterious\nchest; but as soon as they sat down again under the trees, Pandora\nbegan to ask a thousand questions as to who the traveler might be and\nwhat the chest contained. Epimetheus begged her not to think any more\nabout it, as nothing could be learned of the old man or his burden;\nbut Pandora refused to be silent, and talked still more of the\nprobable treasure that they were guarding for the stranger. At last\nEpimetheus got up angrily and walked away, wearied with her insistence.\nPandora then went over to the chest, and kneeling down beside it, she\nexamined the exquisitely carved figures that were on all its four\nsides. Then she studied the fine golden cord that bound the chest. It\nlooked soft enough, and yet it was very strong; for it was made of\nstrands of twisted gold and was tied at the end with a curious knot.\nThere was no lock to be seen, and apparently nothing hindered eager\nfingers from opening the lid when once the knot was unfastened and\nthe golden cord unwound. Pandora's fingers itched to try her skill on\nthe knot, and she felt sure that if she worked at it long enough, she\ncould finally loosen it. The figures carved on the lid were groups of\ndancing children, and in the very center was one figure whose face was\nso strange that Pandora sat for a long time staring at it. Now and\nthen she turned away, and when she looked at the face again, it had a\ndifferent expression from the one she had seen on it before. She knew\nthat this carved thing was not alive, and yet each time she gazed into\nthe strange eyes of the wooden face they were quite unlike the eyes\nthat had smiled or frowned or mocked at her before.\n\nShe went to see whether Epimetheus had come back, and finding that he\nwas still away, she returned to the chest again, but would not let\nherself be tempted into so much as touching the golden cord. As she\nstood wondering what to do, she thought that she heard some little\nvoices coming from inside the chest, and they seemed to say:--\n\n\"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out.\"\n\nPandora looked quickly around to see whether Epimetheus were in sight,\nthen she came a bit nearer to the chest and put one hand on the golden\ncord. Again she heard the small voices, this time very distinctly, and\nthey said:--\n\n\"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out.\"\n\nPandora's heart was now beating fast. What _could_ be in the chest?\nWhat poor imprisoned creatures were calling to her, begging her to\nset them free? She put both hands on the golden cord, then she looked\nguiltily around; but no one was in sight, no one was watching her\nexcept some inquisitive squirrels who were peering down at her from the\nbranches just above her head.\n\nSwiftly and deftly she untied the knot, which yielded easily to her\neager fingers; but even then she hesitated, fearing the anger of\nEpimetheus.\n\nThe little voices cried again:--\n\n\"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let us out;\" but still she\nhesitated, not daring to raise the lid. Just then she heard her\nhusband calling to her, and she knew that there would be no chance now\nto explore the contents of the mysterious chest. She must wait for that\npleasure until another time; meanwhile she would take just one peep\ninside to be sure that the voices were not mocking her. So she raised\nthe lid very gently, but no sooner had she made the smallest opening\nthan out poured a host of tiny creatures like brown-winged moths; and\nthey swarmed all around her, biting and pinching and blistering her\nsoft skin until she cried out in fear and pain.\n\nShe tried to fight them off, and rushed away to find Epimetheus; but\nthe tormenting little sprites followed her, buzzing about her ears and\nstinging her again and again. In vain she strove to brush them away,\nfor they clung to her dress, her hair, and her poor swollen skin. When\nshe reached Epimetheus she was crying bitterly, and it did not need any\nquestioning to find out the trouble, for the malicious little creatures\nwere so numerous that hundreds of them encircled Epimetheus, and bit\nand stung him, just as they had done to Pandora. In the unhappy hour\nthat followed, while husband and wife bound soothing herbs on their\nbruised skin, Pandora told Epimetheus how her fatal curiosity had led\nher to open the chest and set free the host of evil things.\n\nIt was not, however, until later that they realized the extent of\nPandora's folly, for the little brown-winged creatures were all the\nspirits of evil that had never before entered the world. Their names\nwere Sickness and Pain and Sorrow; Envy and Pride and Jealousy; Hunger,\nPoverty, and Death. All these ills had envious Jupiter put into the oak\nchest, and bound it with only a golden cord. He knew that sooner or\nlater Pandora would open the chest, and then man's life of untroubled\nhappiness would be forever at an end. Never again could the gardens of\nthe earth be places where man might hope to find peace. Evil things\nhad taken up their dwelling there, and they would stay for always and\nalways and always, as long as the world should last.\n\nWhen Epimetheus and Pandora saw the hateful winged creatures settling\ndown on the leaves and flowers so as to be near at hand to torment\nthem, they wept bitter tears and wished that the gods had never created\nthem. In the midst of her sobbing Pandora had not, however, forgotten\nabout the chest, and she was still wondering what else might be inside\nit, for she was sure that those mothlike things could never have wholly\nfilled it. Suddenly she heard a wee soft whisper coming from within\nthe chest, and it said: \"Open, Pandora, please, please open and let me\nout.\"\n\nPandora stared in surprise, for she had thought that all the evil\nsprites had rushed out in that moment when she raised the lid. Was\nthere, then, another host of tormenting things still there; and if so,\nshould she let them out to add to her misery and pain?\n\nAgain the little soft voice cried: \"Open, Pandora, please, please open\nand let me out.\"\n\nPandora now called to Epimetheus, and together they listened to the\npleading voice which was so very soft and sweet that they were sure\nit could not belong to any evil thing. Still Epimetheus was unwilling\nto risk bringing any more trouble into the world; but in spite of her\nremorse, Pandora was curious to see what it was that was begging so\nplaintively for freedom. So with Epimetheus's consent she opened the\nlid once more, and out fluttered a tiny little creature with beautiful\ngauzy wings. She flew straight to Pandora, then to Epimetheus, and at\nher touch all their hurts were healed and all their pain forgotten.\n\nThe name of this gentle messenger was Hope; and she had been hidden in\nthe chest secretly by one of the pitying gods, who grieved that Jupiter\nwas sending so many ills to fret mankind. The host of evil beings, once\nset free, could never again be shut up in their narrow prison; but\nwherever they flew--even to the remotest corner of the earth--Hope\nfollowed them and brought healing in her wings; and when the world grew\nwicked, as it did in the days that came after, so that men neglected\nthe altars of the gods, Hope was still remembered with votive offerings\nand her shrines kept garlanded with flowers.\n\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\nThe Deluge\n\n\nThe children of Epimetheus and Pandora wandered in the gardens of the\nearth just as their parents had done; and the generations that followed\nthem lived peacefully and were happy, in spite of the brown-winged\nsprites that went about doing mischief. Men helped each other to\ncultivate the fruitful soil, and offered sacrifices to the gods in\nreturn for a bountiful harvest.\n\nThis golden age of the world's history might have lasted forever if men\nhad continued to reverence the gods; but after a time they ceased to\noffer prayers for health and safety, and boasted proudly of their own\nstrength. They looked no more to high Olympus for help, but each man\ntrusted to his own right arm. Then strife and discord arose, and fierce\nwars were fought among all the peoples of the earth. Brother killed\nbrother, and fathers strove with their own sons. Every man's hand was\nagainst his fellow, and he knew no law but that of his own will. Seldom\nnow were the fires kindled on the neglected altars, and the smell of\nburnt offerings dear to the gods no longer mingled with the smoke that\nrose up to the white clouds around Olympus. The sacred vessels moldered\nin forsaken temples; around the shrines of the gods the snakes crawled\nlazily; and the bat and owl dwelt undisturbed among the pillars of the\ntemples.\n\nFor a time the gods sat patient, believing that this state of things\ncould not last; but seeing that mankind was growing worse instead of\nbetter, year by year, they determined to put an end to godlessness and\nto destroy the whole race of man. Then Jupiter called a council of the\ngods to decide on the most effective way of wiping out every vestige of\nhuman life so completely that not one soul would be left to tell to his\nchildren the story of those evil days, when men neglected to worship\nthe immortal gods and allowed their temples to decay.\n\nThe most terrible punishment to visit upon man would be to set the\nwhole world on fire, to make of it one great sacrificial altar on which\nhuman victims, and not the garlanded ox, would burn night and day, and\nfrom which the smoke would rise up into the heavens so thickly that\nit would shut out the sight of a blackened and smouldering earth. The\none objection to carrying out this plan was the fear lest the flames\nwould leap so high that they would reach even to lofty Olympus, and\nso endanger the sacred throne of Jupiter. Though the fire might not\nutterly destroy it, the gods could not bear to think of its burnished\nred-gold base being touched by any flame from earth's unholy fires.\n\nThe only other effective method of destruction was water, and this the\ngods decided to employ. So on a certain day when men were everywhere\nfeasting, and singing songs, and boasting of their victories in battle,\nJupiter rent the heavens with a mighty thunderbolt, whose crashing\ndrowned all sounds of merriment, and made men turn pale with fear. The\nskies opened, and the rain poured down in torrents; the rivers became\nswollen and flooded their banks; the waves of the sea, rising higher\nand higher, swept in great fury over the land, washing everything\nbefore them like so much chaff. \u00c6olus, god of the storm, opened the\ncave where he kept the winds securely bound, and let them loose to work\nhavoc on the earth. Soon all the lowland was covered with water; not a\ndry spot remained anywhere but on the hills, and thither the terrified\npeople rushed in the vain hope that the flood would subside before\nthe mountains were submerged. But the waves rose higher and higher;\nand the winds, rejoicing in their freedom, beat up the water until it\nalmost touched the clouds. The frail boats to which men had at first\ndesperately clung were shattered to pieces in the fury of the storm,\nand on the crest of the waves the bodies of the dead were tossed like\nplaythings. Higher and higher rose the water, until at length the\nmountain tops were covered, and all dry land had disappeared. So were\nthe gods avenged.\n\nThere was one spot, however, that was not yet hidden under the waters,\nand this was the top of Mount Parnassus, the highest hill of Greece.\nTo this place of refuge had fled Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha, two\nvirtuous souls who alone, of all the people on the earth, had lived\nuprightly and worshiped the gods. When Jupiter saw them standing on the\ntop of Mount Parnassus and weeping over the universal destruction, he\nremembered their piety and decreed that their lives should be spared.\nSo he gave commands that the rains and the floods and the winds should\ncease, and the dry land appear. Then \u00c6olus brought the winds back from\ntheir mad wanderings and bound them again in the cave. Neptune blew\nupon his conch-shell, and the angry waves returned again to the sea.\nLittle by little the tree-tops showed above the water, and the green\nearth smiled again under the warm rays of the sun.[4]\n\nBut it was upon a desolate and unpeopled world that the eyes of\nDeucalion and Pyrrha rested, and in their utter loneliness they almost\nwished that they had perished with their friends. They went slowly down\nthe mountain-side, not knowing where to go, being led blindly by the\nwill of the gods to the temple at Delphi[5]--the only building that was\nnot destroyed. To this sacred spot men had been wont to come in the\nold, god-fearing days to consult the wishes of the gods and to learn\ntheir own destinies. Here was the divine oracle that not even the most\ndaring mortal would refuse to obey.\n\nWhen Deucalion and Pyrrha found themselves at the temple of Delphi,\nthey made haste to consult the oracle, for they wished to repeople\nthe land before another morning's sun could look down upon a lifeless\nearth. To their surprise the oracle returned them this answer:--\n\n\"Depart from here with veiled heads and throw your mother's bones\nbehind you.\"\n\nThis command seemed impossible to obey; for they could never hope to\nfind any grave, when all landmarks had been washed away; and, even\ncould they do so, it was an unheard-of sacrilege to disturb the bones\nof the dead. Deucalion sought, therefore, to explain the strange words\nof the oracle in some other way; and at length he guessed the meaning\nof the god's answer. It was no human remains that he was commanded to\ndesecrate; the bones referred to were those of Mother Earth. So husband\nand wife left the temple with veiled heads; and as they went they\ngathered up the stones at their feet and threw these behind them. All\nthe stones that fell from the hands of Deucalion turned into men, and\nthose that Pyrrha dropped became women.\n\nThus it was that through the kindness and wisdom of the immortals\nthe earth was repeopled with a new race of men that feared evil, and\nreverenced piety, and walked humbly before the gods. Never again was\nJupiter forced to send a deluge on the earth, for men no longer let the\naltar-fires burn low, nor did they neglect to offer sacrifices because\nof forgotten prayers.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV\n\nMinerva\n\n\nI\n\nAlthough the brown-winged spirits of evil were kept busy flying up and\ndown the earth, their mischief-making never reached those immortal ones\nwho dwelt above the cloud-wrapped summit of Olympus. It was, therefore,\na most unheard-of happening when the Father of the gods complained one\nday of a terrible pain in his head. Some of the gods were skilled in\nthe art of healing; but no one could relieve Jupiter's suffering, nor\ntell what might be the cause of his pain. The trouble grew worse and\nworse until it was too severe for even a god to endure; so Jupiter\nbade his son Vulcan take an ax and split open his head. Not daring to\nthwart the divine will, Vulcan tremblingly obeyed; and at the first\nblow a marvelous thing occurred, for out of Jupiter's head sprang a\nmaiden clad in armor and bearing a spear in her hand. This was Minerva,\ngoddess of wisdom, so called because she came full-grown from the\nmighty brain of Jupiter. So wise did the Ruler of the gods find this\nchild of his to be, that he kept her constantly near him, and sought\nher counsel in dealing with the affairs of men, while Juno, his stately\nwife, stood jealously by, envying the warrior-maiden her place at\nJupiter's side.[6]\n\nBeing born equipped for battle, Minerva delighted in war, and had no\nfeminine shrinking from the noise of clashing steel or the cries of\nstruggling men. No Trojan hero gloried in the war more exultingly\nthan she, as she carried aloft the terrible shield of Jupiter--\"the\n\u00c6gis\"--and bore in her hand the mighty spear, \"heavy and huge and\nstrong.\" When armies met in battle, the goddess was never far away from\nthe fighting hosts; and ofttimes a dying soldier, turning his eyes for\na last look at his comrades, saw the glint of her spear or the flash of\nher shield as she led the favored ones on to victory.\n\nBut the azure-eyed Minerva was not always on the battle-field, for in\nspite of her warlike appearance she had many very feminine tastes, and\namong them was a love of weaving. Often would white-armed Juno taunt\nMinerva with her unwomanly fondness for warfare; but when the goddess\ntook up her weaving, even jealous Juno could not withhold her praise,\nfor the hand that could wield a spear like a man had also the delicate\ntouch of a woman.\n\nNow there lived on the earth a maiden named Arachne, who was very proud\nof her skill in weaving, and boasted that in the whole length and\nbreadth of the land there was no one to equal her in this art. Whenever\npeople spoke with her, she could talk of nothing else but her work;\nand if a stranger stopped to rest at her door, she would be sure to\nshow him her weaving and to ask him whether in all his wanderings he\nhad seen anything to surpass it. Soon she grew so conceited that she\ndared to compare herself with the goddess Minerva, and boasted that\nher own work was as beautiful as anything that hung in the halls of\nOlympus. Her friends grew frightened at her rash speech, and begged\nher not to let her foolish pride go too far, lest some whisper of her\nboasting should reach Minerva's ears. But Arachne only grew bolder, and\nsaid openly that she would not be afraid to challenge the goddess to a\ncontest. These words were overheard by Apollo's raven, who flew quickly\nback to Olympus to tell what he had seen and heard.\n\nMinerva had known for some time of Arachne's boasting, but she had not\ndeigned to notice it. Now, however, when she learned that a mortal\nmaiden had dared to claim superiority to a goddess, she grew very\nangry and determined to punish such presumption. So she cast off her\nglittering armor and laid aside her long spear, and went down to\nearth in the disguise of an old woman. She found Arachne seated on the\ndoorstep, weaving; and as she stopped to admire the girl's work, even\nMinerva was forced to admit that the weaving was beautifully done. Soon\nArachne began to boast proudly of her skill and told the pretended old\nwoman that she hoped some day to challenge the goddess Minerva to a\ncontest. The listener seemed shocked at these daring words, and begged\nthe maiden to be more humble and not to presume too far; but Arachne\nonly tossed her head and laughed, saying that she wished the goddess\nwould hear her and accept the challenge.\n\nAt these bold words Minerva's anger broke out, and throwing off her\ndisguise she commanded the astonished girl to fetch two looms and set\nthem up in the doorway. Then she bade Arachne make good her boast.\nFor hours they worked in silence, each weaving with practiced fingers\nan exquisite design in the tapestry; and neither one turning her head\nto watch her rival's progress. When the last thread was tied and the\nwork finished, Arachne looked anxiously at the goddess's loom, and one\nglance was sufficient to assure her of her own failure. Never in all\nher life had she seen work so faultlessly done, and the beauty of it\nwas like that of visions in a dream.\n\nHumiliated at her defeat, and too proud to endure the taunts that she\nfelt awaited her from those who had heard her boast, the unhappy\nmaiden tried to hang herself. But Minerva would not let the world so\neasily forget how a mortal had dared to challenge a goddess; so when\nshe saw Arachne's body hanging by a rope, she quickly changed her into\na spider, and bade her spin and spin as long as she lived. Thus when\nstrangers came from all the country round to see the maiden whose skill\nin weaving had been noised far and wide, there she hung--an ugly black\nspider in the midst of her dusty web--a warning to all mortals who\npresume.\n\n\nII\n\nMany, many years had passed since Epimetheus and Pandora wandered in\nthe gardens of the earth; and many, many generations of men had come\nand gone since the day when Deucalion and Pyrrha looked down from Mount\nParnassus upon an unpeopled land. Cities had been built, with marble\npalaces and costly temples. Towns had sprung up on river-banks and by\nthe sea. Everywhere man was making for himself a home, and journeying\ninto strange and distant lands. The gods, seated in the council-hall of\nJupiter, watched the changes taking place upon the earth; and as each\nnew city was built and the flames of its altar-fires rose up toward the\nwhite clouds around Olympus, they smiled upon the work of man's hand\nand made it prosper. Nowhere was the worship of the gods forgotten,\nbut in each undertaking the protection of some deity was sought and a\nsacrifice offered that success might be assured. Scattered throughout\nthe land, in town or by the wayside, were shrines where the farmer laid\nhis offering of doves in return for a rich harvest, or a soldier hung\nsome trophy of victory upon his safe return from the war or a sailor,\nstarting on some uncertain voyage, burned spices and incense that the\ngods might grant favoring winds to all those who go down to the sea in\nships.\n\nBut in every city there was one temple more beautiful than the rest,\nand this was dedicated to that particular deity who had named the\ncity and was its especial protector; and as city after city was built\nthroughout the fair land of Greece, each of the gods wished to have\nthe naming of it that he might thereby receive added worship and\nhonor. There was much jealousy among them on this score, and they\nwatched eagerly each thriving inland town or seaport, knowing that in\na few years it would become a great city, building costly temples and\nerecting statues to the god whom it delighted to honor.\n\nSo once, when a certain town on the coast of Greece began to grow into\na large and prosperous city, there was much dispute in the council\nhall of Jupiter as to who should have the privilege of naming it.\nPerhaps the gods were looking far into the future and saw what this\ncity was destined to become; but however that may be, the gods and\ngoddesses argued so fiercely over the matter that Jupiter was obliged\nto interfere, lest some murmur of this unusual discord should reach\nthe earth. Then one by one the various contestants withdrew until only\nNeptune and Minerva were left to dispute over their respective rights\nto the naming of the city. There being no ground for either's claim,\nJupiter at length decided to give the much-coveted honor to whichever\nof these two should present the most useful gift to the people of the\ncity.\n\nNeptune then struck the ground with his trident, and where the earth\nopened there sprang out a horse with snow-white mane and arching neck\nand a splendid body on which a king might be proud to ride. The gods\nand goddesses who had assembled to witness the contest were delighted\nwith Neptune's gift, and waited impatiently to see what better thing\nMinerva would be able to offer. Surprise, amusement, and contempt\nwere written on the faces of the spectators when the goddess stepped\nforward, holding in her hand an olive branch. But Jupiter, wisest of\nthem all, did not smile, for he was listening while Minerva told of\nthe great value her gift would have for the people of the new city.\nShe described all the uses to which its leaves, its fruit, and even\nits bark could be put, adding that the olive branch was to be a sign\nof peace among all nations, and was therefore of more true service\nto man than a war-horse, which would bring upon him only bloodshed\nand disaster. To these wise words the gods were forced to agree, so\nto Minerva was granted the privilege of naming the city; and as she\nwas called Athena, by the Greeks, she named the place Athens, which\nit is called to this very day. Before many years passed a splendid\nmarble temple was built on the hill just above the city, and this\nwas dedicated to Athena, whose colossal statue, carved by the famous\nsculptor Phidias, adorned the interior. They called this temple the\nParthenon,[7] and from the ruins that still remain we know that the\nhand of man has never built anything to equal it in beauty.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\nApollo and King Admetus\n\n\nThere would have been but little trouble between Jupiter and his\nstately wife if no one but Minerva ever gave the watchful Juno[8] cause\nfor jealousy; but other goddesses, and even mortal maidens, found\nfavor in the eyes of Jupiter, and for their sake he often left her\nside. From his throne in the high heavens the ruler of the world saw\nnot only the goddesses, with their glory of immortal youth, but also\nthe daughters of men endowed with that same beauty and grace which\nthe gods themselves had bestowed upon the first woman. Though Juno\n\"of the snow-white arms\" alone enjoyed the title of queen of heaven,\nshe knew that she had many rivals for the love of Jupiter; and it was\nthis jealousy of all loveliness in woman that made her ever watchful\nand revengeful. Perhaps it was the cause, too, of the very changeable\ntemper that her husband accused her of possessing.\n\n[Illustration: Apollo Belvedere]\n\nWhoever won the affections of Jupiter was sure to be persecuted by\n\"cruel Juno's unrelenting hate,\" as the poet Virgil says; but this\ndid not hinder the ruler of the gods from leaving very often the marble\nhalls of Olympus to wander, in some disguise, about the earth. It was\nafter such an absence that the watchful Juno learned of Jupiter's love\nfor fair-haired Latona, goddess of dark nights. As this new rival was\nnot a mortal maiden who could be punished with death, the wrathful\nqueen was forced to be content with banishing the goddess forever from\nOlympus, and compelling her to live upon the earth. Not satisfied with\nthis, she decreed that any one who took pity on the unhappy goddess, or\ngave her any help, would incur the lasting displeasure of Juno.\n\nFor days and nights Latona wandered, not daring to ask for food or\nshelter, since all men knew of Juno's decree. She slept at night in\nsome spot where the trees offered protection from wind and rain,\nand her only food was the scanty store that she could gather by the\nway--berries, nuts, wild honey, and sometimes bits of bread dropped\nby children in their play. One day, being very thirsty, she stopped\nbeside a clear pool to drink; but some reapers who were passing by saw\nher, and hoping to gain favor with Juno they stepped into the pool and\nstirred up the water into such muddiness that poor Latona could not\ndrink. Angered by such uncalled-for cruelty, the goddess prayed to\nJupiter that these wicked men might never leave the spot where they\nwere standing. Jupiter from his throne in the high heavens heard her\nprayer, and in answer he turned the reapers into ugly green frogs and\nbade them stay forever in the muddy pool. And ever afterward when men\ncame upon slimy ponds, where rank weeds grew and the water oozed from\nmuddy banks, there they found the blinking frogs--even as Jupiter had\nwilled.\n\nAfter wandering some miles further Latona came at last to the seashore\nand here she begged Neptune, \"the god who shakes the shores,\" to come\nto her aid, for she knew that Juno's power did not extend to the ruler\nof the sea. Seeing her distress, and pitying the poor persecuted\ngoddess, Neptune sent her a dolphin, who took her on his back and swam\nwith her to the floating island of Delos, which the kindly sea-god had\ncaused to appear out of the depth of the ocean. Here Latona landed,\nand was for a time content; but the rocking of the island soon grew\nunbearable, and she begged the aid of Neptune a second time. He\nobligingly chained the island to the bottom of the \u00c6gean Sea, and\nLatona had no further cause for complaint. On this island were born her\ntwo children: Apollo, god of the sun, and Diana, goddess of the moon.\n\nWhen the children were grown, Jupiter took them to Olympus, though not\nwithout much protest from the ever-jealous Juno. The young Apollo's\nbeauty and his skill in music gained him great favor among the gods,\nand found him worshipers in every town and city throughout the land of\nGreece. So conscious of his power did Apollo become, that he sometimes\ndared to assert his authority, unmindful of the will of Jupiter; and on\none occasion he so angered his divine parent that he was banished to\nthe earth, and made to serve Admetus, king of Thessaly.\n\nIn spite of his disgrace, Apollo managed to cheer his lonely hours of\nlabor with his music; and as his work was no more difficult than to\ncare for the king's sheep, he had abundant leisure to play upon his\nlyre while his flocks grazed on the sunny hillsides. As soon as he\ntouched the strings, all the wild things in the forest crept out to\nhear. The fox came slinking from his hole among the rocks, and the\ntimid deer drew close to the player and stayed beside him, listening.\nThe strains of the wonderful music were carried across the meadows,\nand the mowers stopped their work, wondering where the player might\nbe. One day they brought word to the king that some god must be among\nthem, for no mortal could produce such music as they had heard. So\nAdmetus sent for the shepherd, and when the youth stood before him, he\nmarveled at his great beauty, and still more at the golden lyre that\nApollo held in his hand. Then when the young musician, in obedience to\nthe king's command, began to play, all those who heard him were filled\nwith wonder, and felt sure that a god had come to dwell among them. But\nAdmetus asked no questions, only made the youth his head shepherd and\ntreated him with all kindness.\n\nThough a god, and no true shepherd, Apollo served the king faithfully,\nand when, at last, his time of service was over and Jupiter called\nhim back to Olympus, Apollo, wishing to show some favor in return for\nthe king's kindness, begged for Admetus the gift of immortality. This\nrequest the wise Jupiter granted, but only on the condition that when\nthe time came for the king to die, some one could be found to take\nhis place. Apollo agreed to these terms, and Admetus, knowing the\nconditions on which the gift was made, accepted his immortality gladly.\nFor a time all went well; but the inevitable hour came when the Fates\ndecreed that Admetus's life was ended, and that he must go the way of\nall mortals unless some one would die in his stead. The king was much\nbeloved by his people; but no one's devotion to his sovereign was great\nenough to inspire him to make the needed sacrifice.\n\nThen Alcestis, the beautiful wife of Admetus, learned of the price that\nmust be paid for her husband's immortality and gladly offered her life\nin exchange for the king's. So, in all her young grace and beauty,\nshe went down into the dark region of Hades, where no sunlight ever\ncame and where her joyous laughter was forever hushed in the silence\nthat reigns among the dead. Thus Admetus gained immortality; but his\nhappiness was too dearly bought, for as the days went by he mourned\nmore and more for his beautiful young wife, and in his dreams he saw\nher walking like a shadow among the grim shapes that move noiselessly\nin the silent halls of death. Bitterly he repented of his selfishness\nin accepting the sacrifice of her life, and his immortality grew\nhateful to him since each day only added to his sorrow. So he prayed to\nApollo to recall his gift, and to give him back his wife Alcestis. It\nwas not in the power of that god to change a decree of Jupiter's; but\nthe Ruler of all things looked down from heaven, and, seeing the great\ngrief and remorse of Admetus, he withdrew the gift that had cost the\nking so dear, and sent Hercules to the kingdom of Pluto with commands\nto let Alcestis go. Very gladly the god carried this message to the\ngloomy realm of Hades, where amid the myriad shadow-shapes he sought\nand found Alcestis; and out of the dreadful darkness in which she\nwalked alone, Hercules led her back to earth again.[9]\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\nApollo the Musician\n\n\nI\n\nWhen Apollo left King Admetus and returned to the halls of Olympus,\nhe had not rested there long before he found that there was further\nservice for him to render on the earth. Among the many noted deeds that\nhe performed, the most famous was his slaying of a monstrous serpent\ncalled the Python, which was born of the slime that remained on the\nsurface of the earth after the Deluge.[10] Apollo killed the creature\nwith his golden arrows, and then went to the help of Neptune, who,\nthough a powerful deity in his own realm, was often obliged to ask\nhelp of the other gods when he wished to accomplish anything on land.\nHearing that Neptune wished to build a great wall around the city of\nTroy, and remembering the aid that the sea-god had given his mother\nLatona in her great need, Apollo went down to the sea and offered his\nservices to Neptune. Of course no son of Jupiter could be expected\nto do the work of a slave, but this was not necessary, even in the\nbuilding of a wall; for Apollo sat down on a grassy bank near by, and,\nwith his lyre in his hand, began to play such exquisite music that the\nvery stones were bewitched, and rising from the ground of their own\naccord took their places in the wall. Still under the spell of Apollo's\nmusic, others followed in quick succession, and the wall rose higher\nand higher, until before nightfall the whole work was finished. When\nthe last stone had dropped into place, Apollo stopped his playing and\nreturned to the bright halls of Olympus; while Neptune, shaking the\nsalt spray from his shaggy eyebrows, stared hard at the walls that had\nrisen by magic before his wondering eyes.\n\n\nII\n\nThe story of Arachne's sad fate should have been warning enough to all\nmortals not to compare themselves with the gods; but such was the pride\nof a certain youth named Marsyas that he boasted openly of his skill\nin flute-playing, and dared to proclaim himself the equal of Apollo.\nNow Marsyas had not always been a musician, for he was by birth a\nshepherd--some even say a satyr--and had never seen a flute or heard\nit played until one day, as he sat tending his flock on the bank of a\nstream, he heard sounds of music coming from some spot near by. He was\nvery curious to see who the musician might be, but he dared not move\nlest he startle the player and make the beautiful melody cease. So he\nsat still and waited; and presently there came floating down the stream\na flute--something that Marsyas had never seen before. He hurriedly\nsnatched it out of the water, and, no longer hearing the wonderful\nmusic, he guessed that it had come from the strange thing he held in\nhis hand. He put the flute to his lips, and lo, the same sweet melody\ngreeted his ears, for the flute was not a common thing such as any man\nmight use--it was a beautiful instrument that belonged to no less a\nperson than Minerva. The goddess had hidden herself on the bank of the\nstream and had been trying her skill as a flute-player; but chancing to\nlook down into the water, she saw her puffed-out cheeks and distorted\nfeatures and angrily threw the flute into the stream. Thus it had\ncome into Marsyas's possession; and the shepherd, having found such a\ntreasure, never let it leave his hands. He neglected his work and left\nhis flocks unguarded while he spent all his days in the delight of\nflute-playing.\n\nIt was not long before he believed himself to be the greatest musician\nin all Greece; and then it was only a step further to declare that even\nApollo could not equal him in the sweetness of his playing. The god of\nmusic allowed this boasting to go for some time unpunished; but at\nlast he grew angry at the presumption of the shepherd boy, and summoned\nMarsyas to a contest in which the nine Muses were to be judges. Nothing\ndaunted, Marsyas accepted the challenge; and on the morning when the\ncontest took place, a great silence fell over all the earth, as if\nevery living thing had stopped to listen. The playing of Marsyas was\nwonderfully sweet, and as the soft tones of his flute greeted the\nlisteners' ears they sat as if under a spell until the last sounds died\naway. Then Apollo took up his golden lyre, and when he struck the first\nchords, the air was filled with music far sweeter than any melody that\nhad fallen from the lips of Marsyas. The judges, however, found it\nhard to give a verdict in favor of either musician; so a second time\nMarsyas began to play, and his music was so strangely wild and sweet\nthat even Apollo listened in delight. But, charmed as he was by the\nyouth's playing, the god of music had no intention of being outdone by\na shepherd; so when he took up his golden lyre again, he began to sing,\nand added the wonder of his voice to the sweetness of his playing. When\nthe singing ended there was no longer any doubt to whom the victory\nbelonged; and Marsyas was forced to admit his defeat. As the price\nof failure was to be the terrible penalty of being flayed alive, the\nwretched Marsyas had to submit to this cruel death. Apollo bound him\nto a tree and slew him with his own hands.\n\n\nIII\n\nWhen the news of Marsyas's dreadful fate spread abroad, people were\ncareful for many years not to anger any of the deities by presuming to\nrival them; but in time the memory of that tragic event faded away, and\nthe horror of it was forgotten.\n\nIn the halls of King Midas was the noise of great mirth and feasting,\nand the sound of music filled the spacious room where the king and\nhis court sat at the banquet-table. Beside the king stood Pan, his\nfavorite flute-player, who was no other than the famous sylvan god of\nshepherds; and as the wine went round and the king grew boastful of his\npossessions, he exclaimed loudly that not even Apollo himself could\nproduce such exquisite music as fell from the flute of Pan. The guests,\nremembering the fate of Marsyas, grew pale and begged the king not to\nlet his boast be heard; but Midas laughed scornfully and, raising his\ndrinking cup above his head, called upon Apollo to appear.\n\nTo the surprise and dismay of all, the god of music suddenly stood\nbefore them, beautiful as the dawn and glowing with divine wrath.\nThough Pan was himself a deity, he had no desire to challenge Apollo,\nand looked fearfully at the sun-god's angry frown; but the king, drunk\nwith pride, commanded him to play, and bade the god of music surpass\nthe playing if he could. There was, of course, no question as to which\nwas the better musician, and the guests loudly proclaimed Apollo the\nvictor. One story tells that to prove further the superiority of\nApollo's playing the company went to the old mountain-god Tmolus, and\nlet him make the final decision. Tmolus had to clear the trees from\nhis ears to listen; and having done this he bent his head, and all his\ntrees leaned with him. He heard with delight both musicians play; and\nwhen the last soft notes fell from Apollo's lyre, the mountain-god\nawarded him the victory. But Midas at the beginning of the contest\nhad demanded the right to decide on the merits of the players, and he\nwould not accept this verdict. In his mad perversity and fondness for\nhis favorite, he cried out that Pan was the better player, and would\ntherefore be awarded the prize. Angered at this unfair decision, Apollo\nleft the banquet-hall, but not before he had assured Midas that the\ninjustice would be punished.\n\nThese words came true in a most unexpected way, for when the king\nlooked into his mirror the next morning, he found a pair of large fuzzy\nass's ears growing in the place of his own natural ones. Horrified at\nhis absurd appearance, Midas did not dare show himself to his people;\nbut sent in haste for a barber, and bade him make a wig large enough\nto cover the monstrous ears. For many hours the barber was closeted\nwith the king, and when the wig was finished, he was allowed to leave\nthe palace, after having sworn never to reveal the king's misfortune\nunder pain of death. For some time the secret was safely kept; but the\npoor barber found life unbearable, since he lived in constant fear of\nletting out the truth about the king's ears in spite of his frantic\nefforts to be silent. Whenever Midas appeared in the city streets, the\nbarber had to rush home and shut himself up lest he should scream out\nthe story of the wig.\n\nOne day he thought of a happy solution of his difficulty and one that\nbroke his long seal of silence without endangering his life. He went\nout into the fields, dug a deep hole, and putting his head down as far\nas he could he shouted:--\n\n\"King Midas has ass's ears, King Midas has ass's ears.\"\n\nThen he went home again, much happier for having told some one of his\nsecret, even though it was only Mother Earth. But the truth once told\ndid not stay hidden even in the earth; for in time the hole was filled\nagain and reeds grew over the spot, and as the wind swayed them back\nand forth they murmured: \"King Midas has ass's ears. King Midas has\nass's ears.\"\n\nIt was not long before all the people in the countryside had gathered\nto hear the strange whispering of the reeds, and then the secret could\nbe kept no longer. But though every one knew the truth King Midas\ncontinued to wear his wig, and no one ever saw the real size of his\nears.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\nThe Love of Apollo\n\n\nI\n\nLike his father, Jupiter, the young Apollo was not content to stay\nalways in the shining halls of Olympus, but spent many days wandering\nover the broad lands of Greece in search of adventure, or for the sake\nof some maiden's love. There were many fair ones among the daughters\nof men, and they were wont to look with favor upon the beautiful young\ngod who came down from the high heavens to woo them. Each morning as\nhe drove across the sky the fiery horses that were harnessed to the\nchariot of the sun, some maiden gazed with longing at the splendor\nabove her, and prayed that the radiant Apollo might look kindly upon\nher. Seldom did these prayers go unanswered; but sometimes the heart of\nthe god was untouched by the devotion so freely offered, and the maiden\npined away over her hopeless love.\n\nSuch a one was Clytie,[11] who worshiped the glorious sun-god, and\nlonged in secret for his love; but in spite of her tears and sighing\nshe met with only coldness in return. Each day she rose before the dawn\nto greet Apollo as soon as his chariot appeared in the heavens, and all\nday long she watched him until the last rays of light were lost behind\nthe hills. But the young god felt no sympathy for her sorrow, and the\nunhappy Clytie grew so pale and sick with longing that Jupiter in pity\nchanged her into a sunflower, that she might always stand watching the\ncourse of the sun, and turn her face forever toward him, no matter\nwhere his beams might shine.\n\n\nII\n\nThe great beauty of Apollo[12] usually assured his success whenever\nhe stooped from his high estate to love the maidens of the earth; but\nonce he was repaid for his hard-heartedness to poor Clytie, and failed\nin his wooing when he sought the love of the beautiful wood-nymph\nDaphne. He was wandering one day in the forest when he came suddenly\nupon Daphne as she was gathering flowers, and her beauty and grace\nso charmed him that he desired her love above everything else in the\nworld. Not wishing to frighten her, he stood still and softly spoke her\nname. When the nymph heard his voice, she turned quickly and looked at\nhim with the startled eyes of some wild forest-creature. Surprise and\nfear held her for a moment while Apollo spoke again gently and begged\nher not to be afraid, for he was no hunter nor even a rude shepherd.\nBut Daphne only shrank away, fearful of his eagerness; and when Apollo\ngrew bolder and ventured to draw near, she turned and fled through the\nforest. Angered at this rebuff, the god followed her, and though the\nnymph ran swiftly she could not escape from her pursuer, who was now\nmore than ever determined to win her.\n\n[Illustration: Apollo and Daphne]\n\nIn and out among the trees she darted, hoping to bewilder him into\ngiving up the chase; but Apollo kept close behind, and little by little\ngained on her flying feet. Wearied but unyielding, Daphne now hurried\nher steps toward the stream at the edge of the forest, where she knew\nthat she would find her father, the river-god Peneus. As she neared the\nstream she cried aloud to him for help; and just as Apollo had reached\nher side and his outstretched hand was on her shoulder, a rough bark\nbegan to enclose her soft body in its protecting sheath; green branches\nsprouted from the ends of her uplifted arms; and her floating hair\nbecame only waving leaves under the grasp of the god's eager fingers.\nApollo stood dismayed at this transformation, and when he saw a laurel\ntree rooted in the spot where, but a moment ago, had stood a beautiful\nliving maiden, he repented of his folly in having pursued her and\nsat for many days beside the river, mourning her loss.\n\nThus it was that the laurel became the favorite tree of Apollo; and\nwhen the god returned sadly to Olympus, he decreed that whenever poet\nor musician or any victor in the games was to be crowned with a garland\nof leaves, those leaves were to be taken from the laurel tree in memory\nof Daphne.\n\n\nIII\n\nIn one of the flower-filled meadows of sunny Greece, there played\nall day a golden-haired boy named Pha\u00ebton,[13] who was the pride and\ndelight of his mother Clymene, a stately maiden whom Apollo had once\nwooed and won. The boy was willful and headstrong, but beautiful as\na young god; and his mother, in her foolish pride, often reminded\nhim how favored he was above all other children in being the son of\nApollo. Each morning she led him to a place where he could see the sun\nrise, and told him that his father was just then harnessing the fiery\nsteeds to his golden-wheeled car, and would soon be leaving his palace\nof burnished gold to drive across the heavens, bringing daylight to\nthe darkened earth. She told him of Apollo's great beauty, and of his\nwonderful music, and of his high position among the gods, because his\nchariot was nothing less than the glorious sun. Pha\u00ebton never tired of\nhearing these stories, and it was no wonder that he became very proud\nof his divine parentage, and boasted of it among his playmates. The\nchildren only laughed at his wonderful tales, and to convince them he\ngrew more arrogant in his bearing, until they, angered by his continued\nboasts, bade him give some proof of his claims or else be silent. This\nPha\u00ebton could not do; so they taunted him with his godlike appearance,\nand sneered at his pretensions until the boy, roused to action by their\nrepeated insults, ran to his mother, and begged her to tell him whether\nhe might not speak to his wonderful, but unknown father, and obtain\nfrom him some proof to silence the children's tongues.\n\nClymene hesitated to send the child on the long necessary journey,\nbut yielding at last to his entreaties, she showed him the way to his\nfather's palace. It was night when Pha\u00ebton set out, and he was obliged\nto travel quickly if he wished to reach his journey's end before the\nsun-car left the golden portals of the east. The palace of the sun\nwas marvelously wrought, and the light from its golden columns and\nglittering jeweled towers so dazzled the eyes of Pha\u00ebton that he was\nafraid to draw near. But remembering the taunts of his playmates, he\ngrew bolder, and sought out his father to beg the boon for which he had\ntraveled so far and wearily. When Apollo, from his ivory throne, saw\nthe boy approaching, he welcomed him kindly and called him by the name\nof son. Hearing this, Pha\u00ebton lost all fear, and told his father how\nthe children had refused to believe Clymene's stories, and had taunted\nhim because he could not prove the truth of his mother's claim.\n\nThe lofty brow of Apollo grew cloudy as he listened to Pha\u00ebton's words,\nand he promised to give the boy the proof he desired by granting him\nany favor he might ask. Instantly Pha\u00ebton demanded that he be allowed\nthat very day to drive the sun-chariot; for when those on the earth saw\nhim in that exalted place, they could no longer refuse to believe that\nhe was indeed the favored child of Apollo. Dismayed at this unexpected\nrequest, the sun-god sought to persuade Pha\u00ebton to ask some other boon,\nfor he knew that no hand but his own could guide the four winged horses\nthat were harnessed to the golden sun-car. But the boy was determined\nto carry out his plan; and with all the willfulness of a conceited\nchild, he refused to heed his father's warnings. As Apollo had sworn\nby the river Styx--the most terrible of all oaths--to grant Pha\u00ebton's\nrequest whatever it might be, he was obliged to fulfill his promise;\nand very reluctantly he led the boy to the portals of the palace, where\nthe impatient horses already stood pawing the ground.\n\nPha\u00ebton gazed at the sun-car in delight, for it was all of gold--except\nthe spokes of the wheel, which were of silver--and the body of the\nchariot was studded with chrysolites and diamonds that reflected the\nsun's dazzling brightness. The impatient boy sprang into the chariot\nand seized the reins in his hands, while his father bound on his head\nthe blazing sun rays; but before the journey was begun, Apollo poured\nover him a cooling essence, that his skin might not be shriveled by\nthe burning heat of the sun, and gave him careful instructions how to\nhandle the restless steeds. Pha\u00ebton but half listened to these words,\nand fretted to be off on his triumphant course; so Apollo ordered the\ngates to be thrown open, and the sun-car dashed out into the heavens.\n\nFor a while all went well, for the boy remembered his father's caution\nabout using a whip on the fiery horses; but as the day wore on he\nbecame reckless, and forgot everything but his own proud triumph.\nFaster and faster he drove, flourishing his whip, and never heeding\nin what direction the maddened horses sped. Soon he lost his way and\nthe chariot came so close to the earth that its fierce heat dried up\nthe rivers and scorched the ground and shriveled up all vegetation,\neven turning the natives in that part of the country brown,--which\ncolor they are still to this very day. Smoke rose up from the charred\nand blackened earth, and it so clouded the eyes of the now terrified\nPha\u00ebton that he could not find his way back to the path of the sun and\ndrove wildly far away from the earth. This caused terrible disaster,\nfor under the sudden cold all growing things withered, and the blight\nof frost settled over all the land.\n\nThen a great cry arose from the people of the earth when they saw their\ncountry laid waste; and though Jupiter was fast asleep on his golden\ncouch he heard the cry, and started up in surprise. What _could_ be\nhappening on the earth that the sound of human wailing should break in\nupon the silence of his dreams! One glance was sufficient for him to\nsee the smoke rising from the burnt-up land and to realize the cause\nof all that useless destruction; for far across the heavens--like a\nvanishing comet--Pha\u00ebton was madly driving the flaming chariot of the\nsun. Angered at the sight of a mere boy presuming to take upon himself\nso great a task, Jupiter seized one of his deadliest thunderbolts and\nhurled it at the unhappy youth, whose scorched body was immediately\ndashed from its lofty seat and sank into the calm waters of the\nEridanus River.\n\nClymene mourned her son's untimely death, and gathered his remains from\nthe river that they might have honorable burial. Pha\u00ebton's dearest\nfriend, Cycnus, continued to haunt the river's edge, looking for any\nrelic of his favorite that might chance to rise to the surface of the\nwater. In recognition of this devotion the gods changed him into a swan\nthat might stay forever on the river and plunge his head fearlessly\ninto the clear waters to search for some scattered fragments of his\nunfortunate friend.\n\n[Illustration: Niobe]\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\nDiana\n\n\nI\n\nDuring the childhood of Apollo and Diana the goddess Latona lived\nhappily on the island of Delos, and forgot all her early misfortunes in\nthe joy of her children. As they grew up she boasted of their strength\nand beauty to all who came to the shores of Delos, and no village or\nhamlet--however small--but had heard of Latona's children. When Grecian\nmothers put their little ones to bed at night, they told wonderful\ntales of an island far out at sea where a brother and sister lived who\nwere fairer than all the flowers in the meadows; and maidens, sighing\nfor a loveliness greater than their own, wove garlands to adorn the\nshrines of those two who walked the earth in all their immortal grace.\n\nLatona was proud of her children's fame, and boasted of it far and\nwide. Few mothers cared to dispute her claim, and these spoke only in\nwhispers; but there was one, bolder than the rest, who openly laughed\nat the goddess's boast and taunted her with having but _two_ such\nchildren whom she could praise. This was Niobe, a Grecian princess and\nthe mother of fourteen children,--seven sons and seven daughters,--all\nof them fair and strong and godlike in spite of their mortal birth.\nWhen Niobe learned that the people in her kingdom were loud in their\npraises of Latona's children, and were neglecting to honor her own\nsplendid sons and daughters, she was very angry and ordered all the\nstatues of Apollo and Diana to be destroyed; for the people, in their\ndevotion to beauty, had set up many in the temples and the market\nplace. Then she bade a messenger go tell the goddess what had been\ndone, and show her in what contempt the mother of fourteen children\nheld her who had but two.\n\nWhen Latona received the message she was so enraged at the insult that\nher desire for revenge knew no bounds. She called Apollo and Diana to\nher side and commanded them to go forth and slay the children of Niobe.\nIt was easy for Apollo to accomplish his part of the cruel task, for he\nmet the seven sons of Niobe hunting, and slew them so quickly that not\none of the brothers had time to ask what he had done to merit the god's\nwrath. The daughters of Niobe were in the palace with their mother; but\nthis did not daunt the young Diana, who put seven sharp arrows in her\nquiver, and, bow in hand, went forth to complete Latona's revenge.\nShe found the maidens seated at Niobe's side, weaving, and one by one\nthe remorseless goddess shot them down in spite of their mother's\nheart-broken cries for mercy. Finding that her entreaties were in vain,\nand seeing six of her daughters lying dead beside her, the distracted\nNiobe sought to shield the remaining one with her own body while she\nprayed wildly to the gods to spare her this one child. But the gods\nwere deaf to her cries, and Diana, fitting the last arrow to her bow,\nshot the maiden as she cowered in her mother's arms.\n\nOver her fallen body the wretched Niobe wept so long that the gods at\nlast felt pity for her grief, and changed her into stone. This statue\nwas placed by a running stream, and ever afterward the waters were fed\nby the tears that continued to course down the cheeks of the stone\nimage; and travelers came from foreign lands to gaze on this marvel of\na devoted mother who could not cease from mourning for her children\neven when turned into stone.\n\n\nII\n\nThough the goddess Diana[14] spent most of her daylight hours in\nhunting, it was not often that she exercised her skill to such cruel\npurpose as was shown in the case of poor Niobe. Wherever the wild deer\nroamed, and the pathless forest knew no touch of woodman's ax, there\nDiana, fleet-footed and tireless, followed the chase. As soon as the\nflaming chariot of the sun threw its first streak of light across the\nhills, the goddess donned her short tunic, and, armed with her golden\nbow and quiver, set out with her band of nymphs for the day's hunt. At\nnoontide, wearied with the chase, she sought out some secluded spot\nwhere the mountain stream ran clear, and where the foliage hung round\nher like a curtain.\n\n[Illustration: Diana of Versailles]\n\nOn a certain day, when she and her maidens were enjoying the refreshing\ncoolness of the water, they heard a slight rustle among the trees,\nand looking around, perceived a young hunter watching them. This was\nAct\u00e6on, who had himself been following the deer since daybreak, and had\nbeen drawn to this spot by the noise of running water. As he neared\nthe stream he heard sounds of girlish laughter, and this so roused\nhis curiosity that he hastily put aside the branches to see who the\nmerrymakers might be. Great was his dismay when he recognized Diana and\nher nymphs; but before he could disappear among the bushes the goddess\nsaw him, and catching up some water in her hand, she threw it into his\nface, crying: \"Go now, if you can, and say that you have seen Diana at\nher bath.\"\n\nThe moment these words were spoken Act\u00e6on felt a queer change coming\nover him, and he stared in horror at his hands and feet, which were\nbecoming hoofs, and at his skin, which was rapidly changing into a\ndeer's hide. Antlers grew out of his head, he dropped on all fours,\nand found himself turned into a stag. Before he quite realized what\nhad befallen him he heard the baying of hounds, and knew that his only\nsafety was in flight. He dashed off through the bushes, but the dogs\nwere on his track. Before he had gone far the pack had overtaken him,\nsince he knew no lore of the wild things by which they elude their\nenemies, and were snapping and snarling at his throat. Deprived of his\nhuman voice he could not cry for help, and in a moment the hounds had\ntorn him into pieces. So was Diana avenged.\n\n\nIII\n\nThere was another young hunter who encountered Diana and her maidens\nin the woods, but he met with a kinder fate at the hands of the\ngoddess than did poor Act\u00e6on, whose only fault had been a most natural\ncuriosity.\n\nThe fleet-footed Diana was no more ardent in the chase than was the\nhunter Orion, who roamed the forest all day with his faithful dog,\nSirius. One morning, as he rushed eagerly through the woods in\npursuit of a deer, he came suddenly upon the seven Pleiades,--nymphs\nof Diana,--who were resting after a long and arduous hunt begun at\ndaybreak. Charmed with their beauty, Orion drew nearer, but the\nmaidens, terrified at his outstretched arms, fled away through the\nforest. Undaunted by the remembrance of Act\u00e6on's fate, the hunter\npursued the flying nymphs, determined that so much beauty should not\nescape him. Seeing that he was gaining on them in spite of their swift\nfeet, the maidens called upon Diana for help, and were at once changed\ninto seven white pigeons which flew up into the heavens before Orion's\nastonished eyes. Sometime later these same Pleiades became seven bright\nstars, and were set as a constellation in the sky, where they have\nremained ever since.\n\nOrion continued to hunt from early dawn until nightfall without any\nmisfortune overtaking him on account of his impetuous love-making.\nOn the contrary his ardor evidently found favor with the goddess\nDiana, for one day, when he unexpectedly met her alone in the forest,\nshe smiled graciously upon him and offered to share the day's sport\nwith him. Perhaps it was the beauty of the young hunter as well as\nhis boldness that charmed the goddess; but however that may be, she\ncontinued to meet him in the forest, and they hunted together hour\nafter hour until the twilight began to fall. Then Diana knew that she\nmust leave her lover and mount her silver moon-car.\n\nWhen Apollo learned of his sister's affection for the young hunter,\nhe was very angry, for Diana had refused the love of the gods, and\nhad begged of Jupiter the right to live unwed. The sun-god determined\ntherefore to put an end to Orion's wooing. So he waited at the shadowy\nportals of the west until Diana, her nightly journey over, descended\nfrom her silver car and threw the reins on the necks of her wearied\nsteeds. Then Apollo spoke to his sister of her hunting, and praised\nher skill with the bow. Presently he pointed to a tiny speck that was\nrising and falling on the crest of the waves a long distance away, and\nbidding her use this as a target, he challenged her to prove her skill.\nDiana, suspecting no treachery, fitted an arrow into her bow and let\nit fly with unerring aim. Great was her distress when she learned what\nher brother's trickery had led her to do; for it was no floating log\nor bit of seaweed that her arrow had pierced, but the body of Orion.\nApollo had seen the hunter go each morning to the ocean to bathe, and\nhe thought this an easy way to dispose of the unworthy lover.\n\nDiana mourned Orion[15] many days; and to keep his memory honored she\nplaced him and his faithful dog, Sirius, in the sky as constellations.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\nThe Story of Endymion\n\n\nThe chaste Diana was not only a famous huntress, but she was goddess of\nthe moon as well. By day she roamed the forest with her band of nymphs,\nand by night she sailed in her bright moon-car across the star-strewn\nsky, and looked down at the sleeping earth lying in the shadow except\nwhere her soft light fell. As soon as Apollo had driven his tired,\nfoam-flecked horses within the western gates, and twilight had begun to\ncreep over the hills, Diana mounted her silver car drawn by milk-white\nsteeds, and started on her nightly journey. During the first hours of\nher ride, the friendly twilight kept a faint glow in the heavens, and\nthe road lay plain before her; but as night came on and the blackness\ndeepened, her horses might have wandered from their accustomed path had\nnot the stars wakened from their day-dreaming and come out in great\nluminous clusters to light the goddess on her way. Though the journey\nwas always the same, night after night, Diana never wearied of her\ncourse or found the sleeping earth less lovely, as it unfolded hour by\nhour before her eyes.\n\nOne evening as she looked down upon the quiet scene, she saw the form\nof a shepherd-boy lying upon a grassy hilltop, where the moonlight\nshone full upon his upturned face. Diana was not susceptible to love;\nbut when she saw Endymion sleeping, she marveled at his beauty, and\nfelt a strange longing to be near him. So she stepped softly from\nher silver car and floated down to the earth--to the spot where the\nunconscious shepherd lay dreaming. There was perfect stillness all\naround, and no whisper came but the soft murmur from the pine-trees,\nwhich sounded like some great creature sighing in its sleep. For some\ntime the goddess watched the youth in silence, then, stooping, she\ngently kissed him. Endymion half wakened at her touch, and looked\nsleepily around, bewildered by the radiance that seemed to be enfolding\nhim in its unearthly light. But in a moment the glory had faded away,\nand there was only the deep blueness of the night all about him; for\nDiana, frightened at her own boldness, had hurried back to her silver\ncar and had sped away into the darkness. Endymion thought then that he\nhad dreamed a dream of some beautiful form that had lingered by his\nside, and although he waited patiently and hopefully all through the\nnight, he saw no other vision, and only the dawn came to greet his\nweary eyes.\n\nThe next night Diana drove her milk-white horses impatiently and often\nat random, until the quiet stars, as they watched her restless course,\nwondered and felt half afraid. When the clouds wrapped her closely in\ntheir white embrace, the goddess drove them angrily aside, lest they\nshut out from her eyes the sight of the sleeping earth. At last she\ndrew near the hillside where Endymion lay, and, on seeing him there,\nDiana glided again from her silver car and stood beside his unconscious\nform. At her light touch he stirred, and tried to rouse himself from\nhis heavy slumber; but some spell seemed to bind his eyelids, and\nthrough sleep-dimmed eyes he saw the radiance fade away. Night after\nnight he felt the presence of that bright being whom his eyes so longed\nto behold; but only in his dreams could he see her face or touch her\nfloating garments that passed by him like the rustle of the night wind.\n\nEach night Diana left her restless horses to stand unwatched among\nthe shifting clouds, while she lingered on the earth to gaze upon the\nsleeping shepherd-boy; and as she stood beside him she wished that he\nmight always be as now--ever beautiful, ever young. So to keep him\nuntouched by sickness or sorrow or death she took him to Mount Latmus,\nwhere there was a cave dedicated in her honor which no mortal foot had\never profaned. Here she placed Endymion, and caused an eternal sleep\nto fall upon him, so that his body in all its youth and beauty might\nnever know decay. And every night when her long journey was ended,\nand the watchful stars had withdrawn their shining, Diana hastened to\nthe lonely cave on Mount Latmus, there to linger beside Endymion[16]\nsleeping, and touch him with a kiss that could not waken.\n\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\nMercury\n\n\nI\n\nMercury was the son of Jupiter and Maia, goddess of the plains, and\nfrom the day of his birth he was a most remarkable infant, even for a\ngod. When scarcely a day old, he sprang from his mother's arms, and ran\nsome distance off to where a tortoise shell was lying on the ground.\nPicking this up, he bored holes in its side, stretched strings across\nit, and began to play. Thus it was that the first lyre was made.\n\n[Illustration: Flying Mercury]\n\nProud of this beginning to his day's adventures, Mercury ran away\nagain toward evening, when his mother was asleep, and roamed about the\nfragrant meadows where Apollo kept his herd of cattle. The pasturage\nwas rich and the oxen were fat, and the mischievous young god--only a\nday old--decided to have some of them for his dinner. He took fifty of\nthe herd and tied branches of leaves to their feet--so that their hoofs\nmight leave no print on the smooth turf--and drove them to a quiet spot\nfar away from the meadow. Here he killed and ate two of the oxen,\nand kept the rest in hiding for another day's feast. Then he hurried\nback to his mother who had not yet wakened.\n\nWhen Apollo found late that evening that fifty of his cattle were gone,\nhe searched but could not find them. As he was about to give them up as\nlost, he remembered that a son had been lately born to Jupiter, whom\nthat divine ruler had appointed to be the god of thieves. Suspecting\nthat his stolen oxen were in the hands of this master-thief, Apollo\nhastened to where Maia and the babe were sleeping. Rousing the child\nangrily, the irate god accused him of the theft; but Mercury protested\nhis innocence, and asked, \"How could an infant but a day old ever do\nsuch an unheard-of thing?\" Apollo was unconvinced, however, by this\nappearance of candor, and feeling sure of the boy's guilt, dragged\nhim off to Olympus, where Mercury found it impossible to pretend any\nlonger that he knew nothing of the missing oxen. He acknowledged his\nthieving, showed Apollo the hiding place of the stolen cattle, and\nin return for those that he had eaten gave the sun-god his wonderful\nnew lyre. This gift so delighted Apollo that he presented the day-old\nprince of thieves with a magic wand, which, when held between any who\nwere quarreling, would cause all anger and strife to cease. To test\nthe value of the wand Mercury thrust it between two snakes which were\nstruggling over the possession of a wounded bird; and immediately they\ntwined themselves around the staff, and remained coiled together in\nperfect friendliness. This pleased Mercury so much that he bade them\nstay there forever as long as the wand should last.[17]\n\nThere were two other valuable gifts that the gods gave the young\nMercury,--a winged cap and a pair of winged sandals,--so that, as the\nmessenger of the gods, he might be fleet of foot on his many errands to\nand from Olympus.\n\n      \"Hastily beneath his feet he bound\n      The fair ambrosial golden sandals, worn\n      To bear him over ocean like the wind\n      And o'er the boundless land.\"\n\n                  --BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book V, line 56.\n\nAmong the varied duties assigned to Mercury was that of conducting\nthe souls of the dead to Hades; but this did not occupy all the god's\ntime, and he still had many hours in which to go on other missions. In\nspite of his rather doubtful reputation for honesty, the gods often\nsought his assistance in their difficulties; and in one very delicate\ncommission he proved himself a competent ally. This was when Jupiter\nwent wooing the maiden Io.\n\nThe jealous and vengeful Juno was always on the watch whenever her\nlord took a fancy to go wandering about the earth; so to woo the\ngentle Io unseen by his wife required some diplomacy on Jupiter's part.\nAccordingly he spread a thick cloud over the meadow where he was wont\nto meet the maiden, and trusted that its appearance would not arouse\nJuno's suspicions. He also took the precaution to visit Io at the time\nwhen the watchful queen of heaven was accustomed to sleep; but one\nday Juno awoke sooner than usual, and finding Jupiter absent, she at\nonce surmised that he was adventuring again in some love-affair. When\nshe looked down at the earth, she saw the thick cloud that hung over\nthe meadow and noticed that it never altered its position, no matter\nhow the winds blew. Feeling sure that this was some trick intended to\ndeceive her, the wrathful goddess glided down to the earth and appeared\nat the astonished Jupiter's side--but not before he had had time to\nchange Io into a heifer.\n\n\"Golden-sandaled\" Juno walked about the meadow gathering flowers, then\nshe asked her husband why he was lingering there, so far from bright\nOlympus. Jupiter answered that he was amusing himself by creating a\nheifer. This explanation did not deceive Juno; but she pretended to be\nsatisfied, and praised the beautiful creature's glossy skin and large\nsoft eyes. Then she demanded it of Jupiter as a gift, and the ruler of\nthe gods, not knowing how to refuse, consented. The triumphant goddess\nled away the heifer and put her in charge of Argus. Now Argus had a\nhundred eyes, and though he often went to sleep, some of his eyes\nalways kept awake; so Juno felt sure that no device of Jupiter's could\nenable Io to escape from the watchful guardian who never wholly slept.\n\nMeanwhile Jupiter was in despair over this unhappy ending to his\nwooing, and sought the help of Mercury, who often lent his ready wits\nto gods and mortals in distress. Laying aside his cap and sandals and\nsnake-entwined wand, by which he might easily be recognized, Mercury\nwent down to the earth in the disguise of a shepherd. With his pipes\nin his hand he strolled through the country until he came to the\nmountain-side, where Argus sat watching the heifer; and when he began\nto play, the music was so sweet that Argus begged him to stop awhile\nthat he might listen longer to the wonderful playing. The wily god\nconsented, and as he piped on, some of the hundred eyes grew drowsy\nwith sleep, but some of them stayed open and watchful.\n\nThe droning of the pipes kept on, and to add to the drowsiness of the\nmusic, Mercury began to tell stories in a low sing-song tone that cast\na kind of spell over the eyes that were still watching. He told of\nApollo's affection for the youth Hyacinthus,[18] whom Zephyrus, god\nof the west wind, also loved; and how, when the sun-god was playing\nquoits with his friend, Zephyrus in a fit of jealous anger blew aside\nthe missile hurled by Apollo so that it struck Hyacinthus and killed\nhim. But the sun-god would not let the fair youth be forgotten, and\nchanged each drop of his blood into delicate white flowers which were\nforever to bear his name.[19] Then Mercury told of \u00c6sculapius, son of\nApollo and Coronis, who was entrusted to the care of Chiron,--most\nfamous of the Centaurs,--and was also taught by his divine parent the\nart of healing. In this he became so skillful that he even restored\nthe dead to life, and so incurred the wrath of Jupiter, who, fearing\nthat \u00c6sculapius[20] would receive undue honor, killed him with a\nthunderbolt. To these stories Mercury added many more that told of\nthe loves of the gods, and at last all the hundred eyes of Argus were\nclosed. Then Mercury, drawing a sharp sword, cut off the great head as\nit drooped forward, and rolled it down the rocks.\n\nWhen Juno heard of the death of her faithful servant she was terribly\nangry, and vowed that she would bring punishment on those who had\nbeen the cause of his slaying; but before doing this she commemorated\nthe fidelity of Argus by taking his hundred eyes and putting them in\nthe tail of her favorite bird, the peacock. Then she carried out her\nrevenge by sending an enormous gadfly to torment poor Io, who was\nstill in the form of a heifer. From one country to another the unhappy\ncreature wandered; and once, in a desperate effort to escape her\ntormentor, she plunged into the sea, which was afterwards called Ionian\nin her honor. Across this she swam and reached the shore of Africa;\nbut even here the gadfly followed her, and the vengeance of Juno never\nallowed her a moment's rest. Jupiter could do nothing to ease her\nsufferings by interceding for her to the remorseless queen of heaven;\nbut at last Juno consented to send away the gadfly and to restore Io\nto her own form if Jupiter would promise never to visit her again.\nReluctantly the ruler of the gods agreed to this demand, and Io became\nonce more a beautiful maiden.\n\n\nII\n\nWhen Jupiter went wandering on the earth in search of adventures other\nthan the wooing of some maiden, he often made Mercury his companion,\nfor this slender young god was his favorite among all the dwellers of\nOlympus. One day both the gods, disguised as travelers, stopped at\nthe hut of an aged couple named Philemon and Baucis; and pretending\nweariness, they asked to be allowed to rest. The old couple were\ndelighted that strangers had honored their humble roof, and in order\nto extend the hospitality still further, Philemon decided to kill the\none thing he had that could furnish meat for the guests. This was a\nlarge fat goose, who had no mind to be killed and eaten, even to supply\na meal for gods; so when the old man tried to catch him, he sought\nrefuge between Jupiter's knees. When the ruler of the gods learned\nthat the couple intended to sacrifice their one possession, he was\ngreatly touched by their kindness, but would not allow them to kill the\ntrusting bird that had fled to him for protection.\n\nThen the good wife Baucis set before her guests olives, and cornel\nberries preserved in vinegar, and cheese, with eggs cooked in the\nashes. She laid earthen cups and dishes on the table, which she had\nalready rubbed with sweet-smelling herbs, and placed beside them an\nearthen pitcher full of their best wine. While the simple meal was\ngoing on, and the guests were partaking of a dessert of apples and wild\nhoney, Baucis was so fluttered over her duties as hostess that she did\nnot observe the pitcher; but old Philemon looked on in astonishment at\nthe wine which renewed itself in the pitcher as fast as it was poured\nout. He whispered to his wife to watch this miracle; and when she, too,\nsaw the never-empty pitcher, she was filled with a vague terror, and\nlooked fearfully at the smiling strangers. So Jupiter told the old\nman and his wife who their guests really were, and bade them ask of\nhim some boon, swearing by the terrible river Styx to grant whatever\nthey might desire. Then Philemon and Baucis begged that they might be\nallowed to serve the gods as long as they lived; and that when their\ntime of service was over, they might die together. Pleased with the\nsimplicity of this request, Jupiter gladly promised that all should\nbe as they wished; and he transformed their humble cottage into a\nbeautiful temple, where they might worship the gods all their days. And\nwhen after years of faithful service Philemon and Baucis died, Jupiter\nchanged them into lordly oaks, which stood before the pillars of the\ntemple as a monument to their fidelity.\n\n[Illustration: Juno]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\nVenus\n\n\nI\n\nOnce the stately Juno looked down from high-peaked Olympus and saw\nJupiter walking in a meadow with a maiden so exquisitely fair that\nthe flowers at her feet looked dull and faded beside her dazzling\nwhiteness. This was Callisto, so famous for her beauty that suitors\ncame from distant lands to woo her; but she cared nothing for their\nrich gifts, nor would she listen to any vows of love. Then Jupiter\nsought her as she wandered alone in the meadow; and the maiden gladly\nyielded to the great ruler of the gods the love that no mortal man\nhad been able to win. When white-armed Juno learned how many hours\nJupiter spent by the side of Callisto, she determined to punish the\nhelpless maiden, and accordingly turned her into a bear. For a long\ntime Jupiter sought her in the familiar meadow, but she never came\nagain to meet him. Then one day he found her in the forest with her\nlittle son Arcas--both turned into bears by the jealous hate of Juno.\nGrieved as he was at this misfortune, the ruler of Olympus could not\nrestore them to their human form; but he took them to the heavens, that\nthey might suffer no further harm, and placed them in the sky as the\nconstellations of the Great and Little Bear.\n\nJupiter often assumed the form of a bird or animal so as to escape\nJuno's watchful eyes. As a swan he won the love of Leda, and their\nchild was the fair-haired Helen whose beauty cost the men of Troy\nso dear. As a white bull he wooed the gentle maid Europa, who was\nfrightened at his sudden appearance in the meadow where she was\nplaying; but as soon as she saw how tame the beautiful animal was and\nhow anxious to be petted, she lost all her fear. She made a wreath\nof flowers to hang about his neck, and grew so accustomed to her new\nplaymate that she got upon his back as he bent his lordly head to\nreceive her garlands. The bull then galloped away toward the sea, and\nbefore the terrified girl could realize what had happened he plunged\nwith her into the waves. As soon as they were far from the land, the\nwhite bull spoke gently to Europa and told her who he really was and\nhow, for love of her, he had assumed this strange disguise. So the\nmaiden was no longer afraid, but allowed herself to be carried to an\nunknown land that was afterward called Europe in her honor.\n\nIt was no wonder that Juno kept watch over the earth as no other\ngoddess needed to do, for she knew that the loveliness that belonged to\nthe daughters of men could easily lure great Jupiter from his golden\nthrone. She was therefore very reasonably angry when she looked one\nday through the white clouds around Olympus and saw--not on the earth,\nbut in the lap of the ever-tossing sea--the most beautiful being that\ncould exist outside of a dream. So wonderfully fair was this maiden\nupon whom Juno fixed her resentful gaze, that she seemed too perfect\nto be made of flesh and blood, and the jealous watcher was almost\npersuaded that it was no real living thing which rested softly on the\ncrest of the waves, but some creature made from the rainbow colors and\nwhite mist of the sea. The ocean rocked her lightly on its breast, and\nZephyrus, the west wind, bore her gently toward the shore. The sunlight\nshone on her rosy flesh, and her long hair lay out upon the waves,\nglistening like spun gold. The sky above her was not more soft or deep\nthan the blueness of her eyes, and the smile upon her perfect lips was\nof a subtle sweetness more alluring than the breath of spring. As she\nlay pillowed in the arms of the slow-swinging sea, the west wind bore\nher to the island of Cyprus; and when her foot touched the warm sand,\nthe goddess rose from the waves, which were so loth to yield her to\nthe waiting earth, and stepped lightly upon the shore. She flung the\nwet ringlets from her forehead, shook the foam from her breast and\nshoulders--white as the purest marble--and stood upright in the warm\nsunshine--the most perfect thing that the wondering old earth had ever\nlooked upon. This was Venus,[21] goddess of love and beauty, born of\nthe foam of the sea, and destined to be the most far-famed of all the\ndwellers in Olympus.\n\nIt was not long before others than the watchful Juno had seen this\nvision of loveliness, and she was eagerly welcomed by the gods as soon\nas she appeared among them. The beauty and grace of the new goddess\nso charmed them that all were eager to yield her homage, and she was\nimmediately sought in marriage--even Jupiter himself becoming an\nenamored suitor. But \"laughter-loving\" Venus refused to be wed, and\nwould not listen to any wooing. Then the ruler of the gods, finding his\nproffered love scorned by the proud goddess, determined to punish her\nby compelling her to marry Vulcan, the ugliest and most ill-favored of\ndeities; and as Jupiter's word was law in all the universe, Venus was\nobliged to obey. But though married, she was by no means a devoted or\nfaithful wife, and she caused poor Vulcan many unhappy moments; for he\nsaw how his misshapen form repelled her, and he knew that she would\nsoon seek for happiness elsewhere.\n\nThe first to win the love of \"golden\" Venus was Mars, the handsome god\nof war, who, though delighted at being honored as the chosen one of\nbeauty, was careful that the goddess's preference should not be known.\nWhen he and Venus met in some lover's bower, they placed Alectryon--the\nattendant of Mars--on guard, so that no one, not even prying Juno,\nwould come upon them unawares. Things went on happily for some time;\nbut one day Alectryon fell asleep at his post, and slept so soundly\nthat he did not see Apollo, in his golden chariot, driving close to\nthe trysting place of the lovers. When the sun-god realized what was\nhappening, he went straightway to Vulcan and told him how much his wife\nwas enjoying the society of Mars.\n\nVulcan, angry and ashamed, set to work to forge a net of linked steel;\nand when it was finished, he hurried with it to the spot where Venus\nand the god of war were still conversing together. Stepping up softly\nbehind them, Vulcan drew the net over their heads, and thus held them\nfast. Then he hastened back to Olympus, where he told his story and\nbade all the gods go look upon the ridiculous and humiliating plight of\nthe imprisoned lovers. When the captured pair were at last set free,\nMars rushed off to find Alectryon and to learn why they had not been\nwarned of Apollo's approach. Finding his sentinel peacefully sleeping,\nunmindful of the disaster that had occurred through his neglect of\nduty, Mars was so enraged that he changed Alectryon into a cock, and\ncommanded him to rise early every morning and crow to announce the\ncoming of the sun.\n\n\nII\n\nThe next fancy of Venus was for Adonis,[22] a handsome young hunter,\nwho was so fearless in his pursuit of game that the goddess often felt\nanxious for his safety. She urged him to give up the chase and spend\nall his day with her; but however much Adonis enjoyed the society of\nVenus, he also loved to roam the forests, and no entreaties could\ninduce him to give up his favorite sport. One day Adonis was following\na wild boar, and believing that the creature was wounded, he boldly\ndrew near, when the boar turned suddenly upon him and drove his long\ntusks into the youth's side. As he lay dying in the forest, Venus heard\nof the tragic ending of the day's hunt and hurried to save him. So\ncareless was she of her own hurt that she rushed heedlessly through the\nrough briers, which tore her soft skin and scattered drops of blood on\nthe white wood flowers. When she reached Adonis, he was already past\nher help and could not respond to her caresses. Holding his lifeless\nbody in her arms, Venus wept and mourned for her beloved; and her\ntears, as they fell upon the sympathizing earth, were changed into\nanemones. Then to hide from her eyes the painful sight of the young\nhunter's mangled body, the kindly earth again took pity on her grief\nand turned the drops of blood that came from Adonis's side into red\nroses. Still the goddess would not be comforted, but sat mourning alone\nwith her dead.\n\nThen Mercury came to lead the soul of Adonis to gloomy Hades; and\nwhen the messenger of the gods had departed with his slight burden,\nVenus went back to Olympus, and throwing herself on the ground before\nJupiter's throne, she besought him to give Adonis back to her, or else\nto allow her to stay with him in Hades. Since the world could not well\nspare the goddess of beauty, Jupiter refused to let her go to the\nsunless realm of Pluto; but neither would that dread ruler consent\nto give up Adonis to her longing arms. Then the gods, touched by the\ndepth of Venus's grief, interceded in her behalf, and reluctantly Pluto\nagreed to allow Adonis to spend six months with the goddess in the\nwarmth and joy of the sunlight if for the rest of the year he would be\ncontent to dwell in Hades.\n\n\nIII\n\nAnother of the fortunate ones who gained the love of Venus was\nAnchises, prince of Troy; but though the goddess lavished much\naffection upon him, she was rather ashamed of her attachment, for\nAnchises was of only mortal birth. She therefore bade him to keep the\nmatter secret, and for a time Anchises obeyed; but being proud of his\nrelation to the goddess he forgot her instructions, and boasted of his\ngood fortune. This so angered the willful Venus that she never bestowed\nher favors on him again; but transferred all her affection to her son\n\u00c6neas, who fared better at her hands than his father Anchises. In\nthe many adventures that befell this famous hero, Venus was always a\nready protectress, and whenever \u00c6neas was involved in some apparently\nhopeless situation, his goddess mother would immediately hide him in a\nthick mist which was sure to baffle his enemies. Sometimes, as in the\nTrojan war, she wrapped him in her shining robe and bore him from the\nbattle-field; and if the hero _was_ constantly in tears, as the poet\nVirgil says, it was certainly not the fault of Venus.\n\nAs to the ultimate fate of Anchises, some authorities say that the\noffended goddess borrowed one of Jupiter's thunderbolts and disposed\nof her talkative lover in this fashion; but the most probable story\nis that he lived to see \u00c6neas become a famous prince of Troy, and was\nhimself carried from the ruins of that burning city on the shoulders of\nhis devoted son.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\nThe Story of Cupid and Psyche\n\n\nCupid,[23] god of love, was the son of Mars and Venus; and though he\nwas always the happiest of children, his mother was distressed because\nhe never grew up, but remained year after year a chubby, dimpled child.\nWhen she consulted Themis, the goddess of Justice, to find out why\nCupid was never any older, she was told that \"Love cannot grow without\nPassion.\" This explanation was at first very mystifying; but later,\nwhen Anteros was born, Venus understood the meaning of the strange\nwords. Cupid then developed into a tall slender youth who did not\nrevert to his childish form except in his brother's absence, when he\nagain became a rosy, mischievous child. Though grown larger in stature,\nthe god of love still kept his gauzy wings, and always carried a bow\nand a quiver full of arrows. No mortal ever saw him, though many knew\nwhen he had come and gone; but should any one be touched by a shaft\nsent carelessly from Cupid's golden bow, he was henceforth a slave to\nthe slender winged god who bore lightly in his hand so much of human\nhappiness and misery.\n\nThere was once a king who had three daughters whose beauty was\nfamed far and wide; but the loveliness of the youngest was so great\nthat people called her the goddess of Beauty and worshiped her with\nofferings of flowers. The maiden, Psyche, was troubled over all this\nadoration, and begged her followers to cease from their mad worship;\nfor she knew that Venus would be sure to punish the one who usurped\nher title and received the homage due only to an immortal. The people\ncontinued, however, to call Psyche the goddess of beauty; and when\nVenus saw her own temple forsaken and her shrines ungarlanded, she was\nso incensed at the insult that she vowed to punish poor Psyche, who had\nbeen a most unwilling object of all this mistaken devotion. The goddess\nsummoned her son Cupid to her presence and bade him go slay the maiden\nwho had presumed to be her rival in beauty.\n\nBelieving that his mother's anger was justified, Cupid was quite\nwilling to kill the offending mortal with one of his poisoned arrows;\nand accordingly he went in search of Psyche, whom he found asleep\nin one of the rooms of her father's palace. It was night, and the\nmoonlight shone through the open window, falling softly upon the couch\nwhere the maiden, unconscious of her doom, lay sleeping. One bright\nbeam had lightly touched her forehead just as Cupid entered, and he saw\nwith delight the loveliness that his mother had been eager to destroy.\nAs he leaned nearer to the sleeping maiden one of his own arrows grazed\nhis side, and all unknowingly he was wounded. Not wishing to harm the\nbeauty that he was now beginning to love, Cupid softly left the room\nand went back to Olympus.\n\nWhen Venus found that her rival was not dead, and that Cupid refused\nto hurt a thing so fair, she began to persecute poor Psyche until\nlife grew unbearable for the helpless maiden, and she determined to\nkill herself. So she stole secretly from the palace and climbed up a\nhigh mountain, where there was a ledge of rock overhanging a steep\ncliff. It was rather fearful to look down into the valley from the\nrocky ledge, and for a moment Psyche's heart failed her; but then she\nremembered the daily annoyances that Venus inflicted upon her, and she\nremembered also the words of the oracle which said that her future\nhusband was to be \"no mortal, but a monster whom neither gods nor men\ncan resist.\" So, summoning all her courage, she threw herself over the\ncliff, expecting to be dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. But Cupid\nhad been watching over her, ever since she began her weary journey up\nthe mountain; and when he realized what she meant to do, he commanded\nZephyrus to keep very near and to catch her lightly when she fell. So\nit was not upon the cruel rocks that Psyche's soft body lay, but in the\nfriendly arms of the west wind who bore her to a distant island, where\nCupid had already made preparations for her coming.\n\n[Illustration: Psyche]\n\nOn the thick grass in the midst of a beautiful garden, Zephyrus laid\nhis slight burden; and when Psyche opened her eyes, she found herself\nunhurt, though bewildered by her strange journey through the air and\nby its unexpected ending. She rose from the grass and began to wander\nabout the garden, wondering where she might be and what land lay beyond\nthe blue water whose waves rolled lazily upon the beach that stretched\naway for miles at the foot of the garden. Then she strolled further\ninland among the flowers, and soon came to a beautiful palace whose\ndoors were opened wide as if to welcome her. Timidly she entered the\nstately hall, and saw before her a richly-laden table and a chair\nplaced in readiness for the coming guest. Soon she heard voices\nspeaking to her gently, and they bade her eat and drink, for the feast\nwas spread in her honor. Seeing no one, but reassured by the kindly\nvoices, she ate of the food so generously provided. Then she went again\ninto the garden, but left it soon and hurried down to the sea; for when\nevening came on, she began to be lonely, and the silence of the garden\ngrew oppressive. On the beach she heard the sound of lapping water\nand felt herself a part of the life that beats forever in the restless\nchanging sea.\n\nAt night she sought the palace where the unseen servitors again\nministered to her wants; and in the darkness, Cupid came to woo her.\nHe did not reveal his name, but he told how he had rescued her from\ndeath and brought her to this island, that she might never again be\npersecuted by jealous Venus. Everything that she wished for would be\nhers for the mere asking, and the invisible attendants would always be\non hand to do her bidding. He himself would ever be her loyal lover;\nand would come each night to cheer her solitude. The only thing that\nhe asked in return was that she should never seek to know his name or\ntry to see his face. Psyche listened to the words of Cupid, and was\nwon by the soft pleading of his voice. She was content to stay on the\nunknown island, and to be with her unseen lover, whose name and face\nmust remain forever a mystery. Many happy weeks passed, and Psyche\nnever wished to leave her new home, for though she was often lonely as\nshe walked each day in the rose-garden, she forgot the long hours of\nsolitude when Cupid came at night to gladden her with his love and to\ntell her of his wanderings.\n\nAs time went on Psyche began to wonder how things were faring at her\nfather's palace; and she wished very much to see her sisters who must\nhave long since believed her dead. Cupid had told her she might ask for\nanything that she wished save the two forbidden things, so she summoned\nthe west wind and bade him bring her sisters to her. Zephyrus gladly\nobeyed, and soon Psyche saw her two sisters standing beside her, more\nastonished than she to find themselves there. For hours they talked\ntogether, and Psyche told them of her adventure on the mountain and how\nshe had been rescued by the friendly west wind. She told them of her\nmysterious lover, of his riches and his great kindness, and regretted\nthat she could not describe his appearance; but, she explained, this\nwas impossible since she herself had never seen him. As the sisters\nlistened to Psyche's story, their hearts were filled with bitter envy\nthat she should be thus favored above all other maidens; and they\nplanned to rob her of her happiness. They reminded her of the words of\nthe oracle that she should marry a monster; and under the pretense of\na loving interest in her welfare, they urged her to break her promise\nto her lover and to find out whether he was in truth a monster that\nwas only waiting his time to devour her. Psyche at first scorned these\nmalicious suggestions, but by and by they began to make an impression\non her troubled mind, and she found herself ready to listen and to\nbelieve. Finally she agreed to carry out the plan that her sisters\narranged, which was to secrete a sharp knife in her room and use it to\nkill the monster as he slept.\n\nWhen Zephyrus had taken the sisters back to their own home, and Psyche\nwas once more alone, she felt ashamed of the promise that she had made\nthem; but at the same time she could not forget the words of the oracle\nnor cast off the suspicions that now filled her mind. She was anxious,\ntoo, to see her lover's face and to be able to confront her sisters\nwith the truth when they should taunt her again. So that night when\nCupid was fast asleep, she rose softly, and by the light of a tiny\nlamp which she noiselessly lit, she groped for the knife with which\nshe intended to slay the creature who--her sisters assured her--was so\nfrightful that he dared not show his face. Cautiously she stepped to\nCupid's side, and held over him the flickering lamp; but how astonished\nshe was to behold--not an ugly monster as she had expected--but a\nslender youth whose beauty was so great that she felt her heart beat\nfast with joy. Breathless she gazed at the unconscious form, and dared\nnot move for fear of waking him; but as she bent adoringly over him a\ndrop of oil fell from her lamp on Cupid's shoulder, and he awoke.\n\nFor a moment he stared with startled eyes at the knife and the lamp\nheld in her trembling hands; then he understood the meaning of it\nall, and his beautiful face grew sad. In a voice full of pity he spoke\nto the now remorseful Psyche, and told her that, as she had broken\nher promise, he must go away from her and never come again. In vain\nPsyche wept and begged him to forgive her rash deed, confessing that\nit was her sisters who had tempted her to betray her trust. But Cupid\ngently freed himself from her clinging arms, and spreading his gauzy\nwings flew out into the night. Psyche, still weeping, went down into\nthe garden, hoping that Love might relent and return in spite of his\nparting words; but as the hours passed she was still waiting alone, and\nwhen the morning came it found her fast asleep, lying wet-eyed among\nthe dew-laden flowers.\n\nWhen at last Psyche awoke, it was midday; and looking around she found\nto her surprise that she was in a deep valley with mountains on all\nsides, and that the palace with its rose-garden had vanished. All day\nshe wandered in the valley, meeting no one who might direct her to\nher home; and when at length she came to a stately marble temple, she\nwas glad to enter it and rest. Though she did not know to whom the\ntemple was dedicated, Psyche prayed to the gods for help; and Ceres,\nat whose altar she was kneeling, heard her, and in pity answered her\nprayers. She told the disheartened maiden that her lover was no other\nthan Cupid, the god of Love, \"whom neither gods nor man can resist,\"\nand that if she wished to gain favor in the eyes of his mother,--and\nthereby win her lover back,--she would do well to seek the temple of\nVenus and offer her services to the offended goddess.\n\nPsyche listened to these friendly words, and thanked Ceres for taking\npity on her suffering. When she left the temple she walked many miles\nthrough the valley, until she came to a shrine on which were hung\nflowers, fruit, and jewels, which the suppliants of Venus had brought\nas votive offerings. Before this shrine Psyche knelt very humbly, and\nimplored the goddess of Beauty to accept her service and set her some\ntask by which she could prove her fidelity. Venus was still angry at\nthe memory of Psyche's former honors, and she was not to be placated by\nany prayers, however sincere. She accepted the maiden's service, but\ndetermined to torment her by setting impossible tasks.\n\nShe brought Psyche into a granary, where there were thousands of\ndifferent kinds of seeds all thrown in bewildering and unsorted heaps.\nPointing to these, the goddess bade her separate them all, and pile\nthem together so that by nightfall each seed should be in its proper\nplace. Poor Psyche was in despair at ever being able to tell one kind\nof seed from another; but Cupid, hearing her sighs, sent an army of\nants who worked silently and swiftly at the enormous heap of seeds,\nand before twilight came the work was done.\n\n[Illustration: Charon and Psyche]\n\nWhen Venus saw this almost impossible task accomplished, she knew that\nPsyche had never done the work unaided; so reproving her angrily for\nher incompetence, she gave the maiden another commission, which was\nto gather some golden fleece from the sheep that were browsing in a\nmeadow not far from Venus's shrine. Next morning Psyche set about her\ntask, but as she neared the river that must be crossed before she could\nreach the meadow, the kindly reeds on the water's edge spoke to her,\nand warned her of the danger of her undertaking. They told her that the\nrams in the flock were so fierce that they would surely destroy her\nif she ventured at this hour among them; but that if she waited until\nnoontide, when they grew drowsy and lay down on the grass beside the\nriver, then she could cross in safety, and gather the bits of golden\nfleece which she would find caught on the bushes. Psyche listened\ngratefully to this advice; and when the sun was high overhead, and the\npanting sheep were gathered by the river, lulled to sleep by the drowsy\nmurmur of the reeds, she crossed the water fearlessly, and gathered\nan armful of golden fleece from the bushes among which the flock had\nwandered. That night she delivered her precious burden to Venus, who\nagain reproved her angrily, knowing well that it was through Cupid's\nintervention that she had escaped the dangerous rams.\n\nThen the goddess gave her a third errand, and bade her go down to\ngruesome Hades to beg of Proserpina, Pluto's queen, a box of her\nmagic ointment, which could restore all fading beauty to its former\nperfection. In the early morning Psyche set out on her journey,\nfearful of the dangers that lurked by the way, but eager to gain the\nfavor of her hard-hearted mistress, so that she might thereby win her\nlover back. When she had walked many hours, not knowing where to find\nthe entrance to remote and unsought Hades, a voice whispered softly\nin her ear, telling her of a certain cave through which she might\nenter the dreaded region of the dead. Then the voice directed her\nhow to go unharmed past Cerberus, the three-headed dog, and how to\npersuade Charon, the silent ferryman, to row her across the black and\nswiftly-flowing river. Encouraged by this timely help, Psyche was able\nto secure the desired box, and to come safely out of that dark country\nfrom which only the gods are privileged to return.\n\nAs she trod wearily up the valley back to the shrine of Venus, it\noccurred to her to take a little of the magic ointment for herself, for\nshe knew that these days of waiting and working had dimmed the beauty\nthat once charmed Cupid's eyes. So she opened the box and out sprang\nthe invincible Spirit of Sleep, who seized upon poor unresisting\nPsyche and laid her, apparently lifeless, by the roadside. But Cupid\nwas watching over his beloved through all the stages of her journey;\nand when he saw her unconscious on the ground, he flew quickly to her\nassistance, and fought with the masterful Spirit of Sleep until he\nconquered it, and compelled it to return to the box from which it had\nbeen set free. Then he roused Psyche from her sudden sleep and told her\nthat her troubles were at an end, for henceforth he would always stay\nbeside her. Together they went up to bright Olympus and stood before\nJupiter's throne, where Cupid besought the gods to look with favor upon\ntheir love and to grant to Psyche the gift of immortal life. To this\ngreat Jupiter gladly consented; and Venus, who was now ready to forgive\nher one-time rival, welcomed her as the fitting wife of Cupid,--for\nPsyche is but another name for Soul, and the Soul, to find its true\nhappiness, must dwell forever with Love.[24]\n\n[Illustration: Cupid and Psyche]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIII\n\nFamous Lovers\n\n\nI. Echo and Narcissus\n\nEcho was a wood-nymph and a follower of Diana; and she had the one\nfault of wanting to talk all the time, especially if she found some\none who was willing to listen. One day Juno went down in great haste\nto the earth, suspecting that Jupiter was spending too much time in\nthe society of the nymphs; but before she had gone very far into the\nforest she met Echo and stopped to speak to her. Now Echo knew that\nthe ruler of the gods was happily engaged with the nymphs, and would\nnot be pleased at his wife's sudden appearance; so she began to talk\nrapidly to Juno, and to tell her such entertaining stories that the\nunsuspicious goddess waited to listen. While Echo was thus keeping the\njealous queen from seeking for her husband, Jupiter--warned of her\ncoming--left the nymphs and returned in haste to Olympus. When, later\non, Juno learned that Echo had intentionally kept her listening so\nthat Jupiter could make his retreat unseen, she was so angry with the\nofficious nymph that she forbade her ever to speak again, except to\nrepeat the last word of any conversation she might hear. Thus she could\nnever more tell beguiling stories, or interfere in behalf of Jupiter.\n\nAt first Echo was very miserable over this misfortune; but in spite\nof it she managed to spend her time happily in the forest, and to\nhunt with the other nymphs of Diana. One evening as she stopped at a\nbrookside to drink, she met a handsome youth named Narcissus, and at\nonce fell in love with him; but unfortunately she could not tell him\nof her affection except by languishing looks and sighs. Narcissus was\nnot at all pleased by her evident interest in him, for many maidens had\nloved him, and he had turned coldly from their advances, preferring\nto roam the forest alone. Sometime later Narcissus was hunting with\na companion, and, having rushed away in pursuit of a stag, he found\nthat his friend was no longer in sight. He called to him, but no one\nanswered except the devoted Echo who was always dogging his footsteps.\nWhen Narcissus called \"Are you here?\" Echo replied, \"Here.\" \"Come!\"\ncried the youth, and Echo answered, \"Come.\" Then she appeared before\nthe young hunter and mutely begged for his love; but Narcissus\nscornfully turned from her, exclaiming, \"You shall never have me.\"\n\"Have me,\" cried the unhappy maiden; but her frank offer was repulsed,\nand the hard-hearted youth turned away. Echo made no further attempt\nto win his love, but went into the mountains to live out her sad life\nalone. No one ever saw her again, and in time she pined away and died;\nbut her voice remained to whisper among the hills, and to give back the\nlast word to any one who sought to call her.\n\nAs for Narcissus, his scorn of love brought its just punishment, for\nVenus decreed that he should suffer even as poor Echo had done. One\nday when he was hunting in a remote part of the forest, he came upon a\nbeautiful deep pool in which all objects were reflected as clearly as\nin a mirror. No wild things had ever come to drink of the cool stream;\nno feet of beasts had ever trampled the grass on its margin or muddied\nits pure waters; not even a floating leaf had ruffled its calm surface.\n\nWhen Narcissus knelt on the lush grass at the pool's edge and looked\ndown into the clear water, he was surprised to see a beautiful face\ngazing up at him from the depth of the pool. He leaned nearer, and\nthe face did not withdraw, but seemed to approach his own. Then he\nput out his arms to the water-nymph who, he believed, was returning\nhis advances, and he was delighted to see two white arms stretched\nout as if to clasp him in their embrace. But as soon as he attempted\nto grasp them, there was only the cool water in his hands, and the\nnymph had vanished. When the surface of the pool had grown clear again,\nand Narcissus leaned anxiously over it to see what had become of this\nbaffling maiden, there she was still, gazing at him with her beautiful\neyes. Again and again Narcissus strove to embrace her, but she eluded\nhis eager arms, and each time he clasped only the unsubstantial water.\nMaddened by these repeated defeats, he spoke reproachfully to the\nwater-nymph, and asked her why she thus tormented him; but though the\nlovely mouth so near his own seemed to move as if framing words, no\nanswer came to his appeal.\n\nEach day Narcissus sought the forest pool, and each day he found the\nnymph ready to return his smiles and fond looks, but always escaping\nfrom his touch. By and by he spent all his time beside her, and cared\nfor nothing else than to gaze beseechingly into the lovely eyes that\nlooked into his own with the same fever of longing. Absorbed in the\nadoration of this strange being who seemed so responsive to his passion\nand yet so unwilling to allow him near, he forgot to eat or sleep,\nand became only a wan shadow of his former self. The nymph, too, was\npining away with hopeless love, for her face grew pale and thin, and\nthe deep-shadowed eyes were full of sadness. Sometimes Narcissus slept\nfrom sheer exhaustion; but when the moonlight fell on the calm water,\nhe would wake with a start and look anxiously to see whether the nymph\nwas sharing his weary vigil. And always he found her waiting there\nin the cool depths of the pool. Finally he grew so sick with longing\nthat he died of his hopeless love without ever knowing that it was no\nwater-nymph whom he adored, but only his own reflection. The gods,\nbelieving that such devotion should not go unrecognized, changed him\ninto a white flower which bears his name; and this is usually found\nblooming beside some clear lake or tiny crystal pool.\n\n\nII. Pyramus and Thisbe\n\nIn far-off Babylon there dwelt a youth and maiden whose families lived\nin adjoining houses with a party-wall between the two estates. As\nthe heads of these households were sworn enemies, in spite of their\nproximity, the wall was made so high that no one could climb over it,\nmuch less see what was on the other side. The maiden Thisbe, as she\nwalked in her garden, often wondered who it was whose feet she could\nhear pacing up and down along the wall; and one day she was delighted\nto find a small crack in the masonry which enabled her to peep into\nthe adjoining garden. About this time young Pyramus was planning some\nway to scale the wall, when he, too, discovered the same chink; and\nwhen he peered cautiously through it, he found to his great joy that\nthere was a sweet-faced maiden standing near, who hastened to assure\nhim that she did not share in the family feud. This acquaintance soon\nripened into friendship, and Pyramus and Thisbe spent many hours\nstanding patiently by the chink in the wall, which was the only way in\nwhich they could exchange confidences. Soon they grew dissatisfied with\nthis meager allowance of space in which to see each other, for by this\ntime they had become so much in love that the tender whispers breathed\nthrough the broken wall only made them long to be together without this\ncruel barrier between them.\n\nSo they planned to steal away from their watchful parents on a certain\nnight, and meet just outside the city walls at Ninus's tomb, where a\ngreat white mulberry tree would hide them in its protecting shadow.\nAccordingly, at the appointed hour, the trembling Thisbe wrapped\nherself closely in her veil and crept out of the house. Finding that\nshe had come first to the trysting-place, she waited under the mulberry\ntree, and idly watched the moonlight shining on a broad pool that lay\nclose to Ninus's tomb. Suddenly a lioness stole out of the bushes,\nher mouth bloody with the recent gorging of oxen, and slunk down to\nthe pool to drink. Thisbe, terrified at the sight of the creature's\ndripping jaws, fled into a near-by cave for refuge; but in her fright\nshe let fall her silken veil, and it dropped on the ground near the\ntree.\n\nThe lioness having drunk her fill walked over to the tree and sniffed\ncuriously at the bit of silk, then worried at it with her bloody teeth,\nas a dog plays with a rag. Just as the lioness departed, Pyramus\ncame hurrying to the trysting-place, and seeing Thisbe's torn and\nblood-stained veil and the print of the lioness's feet on the ground,\nhe was beside himself with remorse and horror. Being certain that his\nbeloved had been torn to pieces by some wild beast, he cursed his own\ncarelessness in letting her come first to a spot so full of dangers.\nThen he drew his sword, exclaiming that he no longer wished to live now\nthat Thisbe was dead. He called upon the mulberry tree to bear witness\nto his oath of undying devotion, and then fell heroically upon his\nsword, uttering the name of Thisbe with his last breath. As his blood\ngushed out upon the ground at the foot of the tree, the earth absorbed\nit so quickly that the white fruit of the tree turned a deep purple,\nand its juice became like drops of crimson blood.\n\nAll this time Thisbe was hiding safely in the cave, and when she at\nlength ventured out, she gazed fearfully around to be sure that no\nlioness was lying in wait to devour her. When she reached the spot\nwhere she hoped to meet her lover, what was her terror and dismay to\nfind him stretched dead upon the ground with her veil held close to his\nparted lips. Realizing what had happened, and that it was too late now\nto convince him of his terrible mistake, Thisbe knelt down beside him\nand vainly strove to bring him back to life. Finding this useless, she\nseized Pyramus's sword and plunged it into her heart determined to die\nwith him. As she sank forward on her lover's lifeless body, she prayed\nthe gods to have pity on her great love and to allow her to be buried\nin the same tomb with her beloved Pyramus. The gods heard her dying\nprayer and answered it by making the hard hearts of the parents relent\nso far that they consented to bury the lovers together. A costly tomb\nwas erected over them as a fitting monument to these two unfortunates\nwhom life so cruelly divided.[25]\n\n\nIII. Hero and Leander\n\nIn the town of Sestus on the Hellespont lived a beautiful maiden\nnamed Hero, who was a priestess in the temple of Venus. Most of her\ntime was spent in the service of the goddess; but when these hours of\nattendance were over, and she was free to leave the temple, Hero was\nglad to seek her own dwelling-place, which was a lonely tower on the\ncliffs overlooking the sea. Here the maiden loved to sit, watching the\nwhite-winged gulls as they skimmed over the waves, or listening to the\nbreakers as they dashed angrily against the rocks at the foot of her\ntower. The beauty of Hero was famed throughout the country-side; and\nmany a youth sought the temple of Venus at festival time under the\npretext of honoring the goddess, but really to gaze upon the lovely\nyoung priestess. Among those most eager to see the maiden was Leander,\na youth who lived in a town just across the Hellespont and within\nsight of Hero's tower. When he joined the solemn procession that came\nto do homage to Venus, he saw the beautiful priestess and determined\nto win her in spite of the many restrictions that forbade even an\nacquaintance with one dedicated to the temple. Ignoring the thought of\nthe inevitable punishment that would be meted out to him if his rash\npresumption were known, Leander managed to find an opportunity to speak\nwith Hero and to tell her of his love.\n\nAt first she would not listen to his pleading; but at last she was won\nby the sincerity of his words, and consented to disregard her sacred\nvows by receiving him in her tower. Leander did not dare to visit her\nuntil nightfall; and as he would have to swim across the Hellespont in\nthe darkness, Hero promised to put a light in her tower so that he\nmight have some beacon to guide him as he breasted the uncertain sea.\nWhen night came and Leander stood impatiently on the shore, waiting\nfor the promised signal, suddenly a torch blazed in the distance, and\nhe knew that Hero was awaiting him in her lonely tower. He plunged\nfearlessly into the waves; and though the current was swift, he struck\nout boldly and was carried out of its dangerous grip. Now and then he\nlooked up to where the light was still burning, and his heart beat fast\nwith hope when he saw it grow larger and brighter as he neared the\nland. At last he reached the rocks at the foot of the tower and was\nsoon standing beside the trembling Hero, who had feared each moment to\nsee him sink beneath the waves.\n\nThe lovers were so happy in being together that each night Leander swam\nacross the treacherous sea, and Hero placed her torch in the tower\nto light him on his perilous journey. All summer they lived in this\nidyllic happiness, but when winter came with its storms and its icy\nhand, Hero feared for her lover's safety and begged him not to venture\ninto the sea. Leander laughed however at her fears and continued to\nbrave the narrow stretch of water that lay between his home and Hero's\ntower. The wind often beat him out of his path, and the icy water\nnumbed his limbs; but he kept bravely on, with his eyes fixed on the\nwelcoming light. One morning a fierce storm broke over the sea, and\nincreased in fury through the day, so that by night the waves were\nlashing themselves madly against the rocks, and the wind beat the\nsea-gulls back to land. Hero dreaded the approach of that hour when\nLeander would start on his nightly journey, for she knew that he would\nnot hesitate to risk his life in the maddened sea for the sake of being\nbeside her.\n\nWhen the time came for her to light the torch, she did so reluctantly,\nhoping that Leander would not come. On the opposite shore stood the\nimpatient lover, waiting for the accustomed signal, and when it blazed\nout into the night, he plunged boldly into the waves. But now the\nsea was too strong even for his experienced arms, and the huge waves\ntossed him about as though he were so much foam. The wind and rain\nbeat upon his defenseless body, and the cold sea gripped him in its\ndeadly embrace. He struggled bravely to make some headway, and called\nupon the gods for help; but his cries were drowned in the howling of\nthe storm. His strength began to fail as he fought desperately with\nthe current,--grown terrible in its swiftness,--but now and then he\nlifted his head weakly above the waves to see whether Hero's torch was\nstill burning. Just as he was making a last heroic effort to reach\nthe land, a sudden gust of wind blew out the light; and seeing this,\nLeander with a despairing cry, gave up his unequal battle and sank down\ninto the sea. The next morning when Hero, anxious and fearful, stood\non the rocks at the foot of the tower, she saw Leander's body, which\nhad been tossed there in wanton cruelty by the waves. Unable to endure\nthis sight, and not wishing to live any longer now that her lover had\nperished, Hero threw herself into the sea; and when the tardy fishermen\ncame to launch their boats on the furious waves, they found the\nwhite-robed body of the young priestess lying dead beside her faithful\nLeander.[26]\n\n[Illustration: Hero and Leander]\n\n\nIV. Pygmalion and Galatea\n\nPygmalion, king of Cyprus, was a sworn bachelor, and had shunned the\nsociety of women for many years. He was also a famous sculptor, and\nspent all his leisure hours carving wonderful things out of marble\nand ivory. Though he would not deign to admire any living woman, he\nhad lofty ideals of feminine beauty, and loved to carve statues whose\nperfection of form and exquisite grace surpassed any charms that\ncould be claimed for a flesh-and-blood maiden. Once Pygmalion made a\nbeautiful ivory statue that was such a marvel of loveliness that even\nthe sculptor himself became enamored of it, and lavished upon it a\ndevotion that was hardly consistent with his supposed indifference to\nlove. This perfect creation he called Galatea, and he treated her with\nall the extravagant fondness that a lover bestows upon his mistress.\nHe brought her presents of quaint seashells and delicately perfumed\nflowers, beads, pearls, and the rarest of jewels, and even gayly\ncolored birds. Sometimes he hung a string of precious stones about her\nneck, and draped her white body in softest silks, treating her in every\nway as a maiden reluctant to be wooed.\n\nWhen the festival of Venus was being celebrated, Pygmalion joined in\nthe procession and placed a rich offering on the goddess's shrine. As\nhe did so he looked up toward high Olympus and prayed Venus to grant\nhim a wife like his peerless Galatea. The goddess heard his prayer,\nand as the patroness of all true lovers, she inclined with favor to\nhis wish; so when Pygmalion returned to his home and hastened into the\npresence of his adored statue, he was bewildered at the change that\nseemed to be coming over it. A beam of sunset light that was streaming\nin through the open window had touched the ivory coldness of the statue\nand warmed it with a rosy glow that made it look wonderfully soft and\nyielding. But this was not all, for as the astonished sculptor stood\nwondering at this unexpected answer to his prayer, the beautiful face\nof Galatea turned toward him, and the perfect lips parted as if to\nspeak. Breathlessly Pygmalion watched the statue gradually warming\ninto life, and when he was at last assured that it was no longer a\npiece of unresponsive ivory, but a breathing, blushing maiden, he knelt\nadoringly at her feet and besought her to be his queen.[27]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIV\n\nThe Story of Orpheus and Eurydice\n\n\nThe deeds of the immortal gods were told and sung at every fireside in\nGreece; and among these hero-tales there was none more popular than the\nstory of how Apollo built for Neptune the famous wall of Troy. Many\nmusicians would have been glad to perform a similar service for the\nmere fame that it would bring them, but they feared that the attempt to\nimitate Apollo would only result in failure and ridicule. So no mortal\never presumed to say that he could make rocks and stones obedient to\nthe spell of his music. There was, however, one musician, Amphion,\nking of Thebes, who was anxious to prove that his playing was equal\nto Apollo's, but knowing how unwise it was to vie with an immortal,\nhe determined not to test his skill publicly, but to carry out his\ncherished plan at night, when men were dreaming in their beds. He was\neager to build a high wall around Thebes, and to build it as Apollo\ndid the wall of Troy; so when the sun set, and darkness crept over the\nearth, Amphion stood just outside the city gates and began to play\non his lyre. Immediately the stones rose from the ground and moved\nrhythmically into their places in the wall, which soon rose strong and\nhigh--a firmer defense than any that could be built by men's hands.[28]\n\nAnother famous musician was Arion, who won not only praise for his\ngreat skill in playing, but also much wealth. Whenever a contest\nwas held in which a prize of money was given, Arion was usually a\ncompetitor; and, as his music was really finer than that of most\nplayers, he easily won the reward. Once he was returning from a\nfestival in Sicily whither many musicians had gone on account of the\nrich prize; and as he had come off victor, he was leaving the foreign\nshores well-laden with gold. Unfortunately he happened to embark on\na ship owned by pirates who had heard of his great wealth, and were\nplotting to seize whatever part of it he had on board. As the easiest\nway to do this was to kill him, the pirates began to bind him with\nropes that he might not be able to struggle when thrown over-board.\nArion calmly accepted his fate, but begged the brutal crew to allow\nhim to play once upon his lyre before going to his death. To this\nthe pirates consented, and when the wonderful music filled the air,\na school of dolphins swam toward the ship and kept close beside it,\ncharmed by Arion's playing. Feeling sure that there was some magic in\nthe music, the pirates hastened to throw the player and his lyre into\nthe sea without waiting to bind him; but Arion did not drown as they\nhad expected, for a friendly dolphin caught him on its back and swam\nwith him to the shore, where he landed in safety. When in the course of\ntime Arion died, the gods placed him, together with his lyre and the\nkindly dolphin, in the sky as constellations.\n\nThe most famous of all musicians, except the one who played in the\nshining halls of Olympus, was Orpheus, son of Apollo and of the muse\nCalliope.[29] When he was a mere child, his father gave him a lyre and\ntaught him to play upon it; but Orpheus needed very little instruction,\nfor as soon as he laid his hand upon the strings the wild beasts crept\nout of their lairs to crouch beside him; the trees on the mountain-side\nmoved nearer so that they might listen; and the flowers sprang up in\nclusters all around him, unwilling to remain any longer asleep in the\nearth.\n\nWhen Orpheus sought in marriage the golden-haired Eurydice, there\nwere other suitors for her hand, but though they brought rich gifts,\ngathered out of many lands, they could not win the maiden's love, and\nshe turned from them to bestow her hand upon Orpheus who had no way to\nwoo her but with his music. On the wedding day there was the usual\nmirth and feasting, but one event occurred that cast a gloom over the\nhappiness of the newly-married pair. When Hymen, god of marriage, came\nwith his torch to bless the nuptial feast, the light that should have\nburned clear and pure began to smoke ominously, as if predicting future\ndisaster.\n\nThis evil omen was fulfilled all too soon, for one day when Eurydice\nwas walking in the meadow, she met the youth Arist\u00e6us, who was so\ncharmed with her beauty that he insisted upon staying beside her to\npour his ardent speeches into her unwilling ears. To escape from these\ntroublesome attentions, Eurydice started to run away, and as she ran\nshe stepped on a poisonous snake, which quickly turned and bit her. She\nhad barely time to reach her home before the poison had done its work,\nand Orpheus heard the sad story from her dying lips. As soon as Mercury\nhad led away the soul of Eurydice, the bereaved husband hastened to the\nshining halls of Olympus, and throwing himself down before Jupiter's\ngolden throne, he implored that great ruler of gods and men to give\nhim back his wife. There was always pity in the hearts of the gods for\nthose who die in flowering time, so Jupiter gave permission to Orpheus\nto go down into Hades, and beg of Pluto the boon he craved.\n\nIt was a steep and perilous journey to the kingdom of the dead, and\nthe road was one that no mortal foot had ever trod; but through his\nlove for Eurydice Orpheus forgot the dangers of the way, and when he\nspoke her name, the terrors of the darkness vanished. In his hand he\nheld his lyre, and when he arrived at the gate of Hades, where the\nfierce three-headed dog Cerberus refused to let him pass, Orpheus stood\nstill in the uncertain darkness and began to play. And as he played the\nsnarling of the dog ceased and the noise of its harsh breathing grew\nfaint. Then Orpheus went on his way undisturbed, but still he played\nsoftly on his lyre, and the sounds floated far into the dismal interior\nof Hades, where the souls of the condemned labor forever at their\ntasks. Tantalus heard the music, and ceased to strive for a drop of the\nforbidden water; Ixion rested a moment beside his ever-revolving wheel;\nand Sisyphus stood listening, while the rock which he must roll through\nall eternity fell from his wearied arms. The daughters of Dana\u00fcs laid\ndown their urns beside the sieve into which they were forever pouring\nwater, and as the mournful wailing of Orpheus's lyre told the story of\nhis lost love, they wept then for a sorrow not their own. So plaintive,\nindeed, was the music, that all the shadowy forms that flitted\nendlessly by shed tears of sympathy for the player's grief, and even\nthe cheeks of the Furies were wet.\n\nWhen Orpheus came before the throne of Pluto, that relentless monarch\nrepulsed him angrily as he attempted to plead his cause, and commanded\nhim to depart. Then the son of Apollo began to play upon his lyre,\nand through his music he told the story of his loss, and besought the\nruler of these myriad souls to give him the single one he craved. So\nwonderfully did Orpheus play that the hard heart of Pluto was touched\nwith pity, and he consented to restore Eurydice to her husband on\ncondition that as they went out together from the loathed country of\nthe dead he should not once turn his head to look upon her. To this\nstrange decree Orpheus gladly promised obedience; so Eurydice was\nsummoned from among the million shadow-shapes that throng the silent\nhalls of death. Pluto told her the condition on which her freedom was\nto be won, and then bade her follow her husband.\n\n[Illustration: Orpheus and Eurydice]\n\nDuring all the wearisome journey back to earth, Orpheus never forgot\nthe promise he had made, though he often longed to give just a hurried\nglance at the face of Eurydice to see whether it had lost its sadness.\nAs they neared the spot where the first faint glimmerings of light\nfiltered down into the impenetrable darkness, Orpheus thought he heard\nhis wife calling, and he looked quickly around to find whether she\nwas still following him. At that moment the slight form close behind\nhim began to fade away, and a mournful voice--seemingly far in the\ndistance--called to him a sad farewell.\n\nHe knew that no second chance would be given him to win his wife from\nPluto's hold, even if he could again charm the three-headed Cerberus\nor persuade Charon, the grim ferryman, to take him across the river.\nSo he went forlornly back to earth and lived in a forest cave far\nfrom the companionship of men. At first there was only his lyre to\nshare his solitude, but soon the forest creatures came to live beside\nhim, and often sat listening to his music, looking exceedingly wise\nand sorrowful. Even in his sleepless hours, when he fancied he heard\nEurydice calling, he was never quite alone, for the bat and owl and\nthe things that love the darkness flitted about him, and he saw the\nglow-worms creep toward him out of the night-cold grass.\n\nOne day a party of Bacchantes found him seated outside the cave,\nplaying the mournful music that told of his lost love, and they bade\nhim change the sad notes to something gay so that they might dance.\nBut Orpheus was too wrapped up in his sorrow to play any strain of\ncheerful music, and he refused to do as they asked. The Bacchantes were\nhalf maddened by their festival days of drinking, and this refusal so\nenraged them that they fell upon the luckless musician and tore him to\npieces. Then they threw his mangled body into the river, and as the\nhead of Orpheus drifted down the stream, his lips murmured again and\nagain \"Eurydice,\" until the hills echoed the beloved name, and the\nrocks and trees and rivers repeated it in mournful chorus. Later on,\nthe Muses gathered up his remains to give them honorable burial; and it\nis said that over Orpheus's grave the nightingale sings more sweetly\nthan in any other spot in Greece.[30]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XV\n\nMars and Vulcan\n\n\nI\n\nThe three children of Jupiter and Juno were Hebe, Mars, and Vulcan.\nHebe, goddess of youth, was cupbearer at the feasts of Olympus and\npoured from golden flagons the sparkling, ruby-tinted nectar. Many\ntimes were the brimming cups emptied and filled again, for the gods\nloved long draughts of the life-giving nectar that kept off all\nsickness and decay. No wine of earth's yielding ever appeared at these\nroyal banquets, nor were there seen here the heaped-up platters of food\nsuch as mortals crave; for the gods ate only of the divine ambrosia\nwhich insured to them eternal youth and beauty.\n\nFor so long a time had fair-haired Hebe served at the feasts of Olympus\nthat the gods never thought that she could be deprived of her office;\nbut once, as she was handing Jupiter a well-filled cup, she stumbled\nand fell, and the ruler of gods and men was so angry that he vowed that\nshe should never again be cupbearer. Since no one among the gods was\nwilling to fill this humble position, Jupiter was obliged to seek over\nthe earth for some mortal to take the place of poor disgraced Hebe.\nTo make the journey as speedily as possible he assumed the form of an\neagle, and spent many days soaring over the land before he found the\nyouth whose slender grace made him feel assured that its possessor\nwould be able to serve the gods less awkwardly than Hebe. On the sunny\nslopes of Mount Ida he saw a group of youths playing games, and among\nthem was one whom Jupiter determined to bear away at once to Olympus.\nThis was Ganymede, a prince of Troy; and the fact that he was no common\nmortal, but a king's son, did not deter Jupiter from swooping down upon\nthe astonished youth, and carrying him aloft on his wings. Whether\nGanymede was happy in Olympus we do not know; but the story goes that\nhe remained forever at Jupiter's side, and the city of Troy never saw\nhim again, nor did the king his father ever know the reason for his\nstrange disappearance.\n\n\nII\n\nMars[31] was the god of war; and though he was the least loved of\nall the deities in Olympus, he was the one most feared by the people\nof every land. As he was always a hater of peace, and would stir\nup strife among men for the mere delight of fighting and bloodshed,\nthe poet Homer calls him \"the slayer of men, one steeped in blood,\nthe destroyer of walled towns.\" His shrines were never wreathed with\nflowers, nor were children often found among the people grouped\nabout his altars. Instead of the yearling ox with gilded horns, men\nsacrificed a savage bull to the god who took no pleasure in the tame\nshedding of blood. Sometimes Bellona, goddess of war, accompanied Mars\nin his chariot to watch over his safety; and since she was equally\neager to urge men on to bloody fighting, their appearance together\non the battle-field brought terror to the bravest heart. Seldom were\nprayers addressed to these two deities, except those of vengeance upon\nenemies; and there was little hope of peace for the nation when men\nthronged the temples where Mars and Bellona were jointly worshiped. The\nfiercest passions were kindled at their shrines, and their altars were\nthe only ones that were ever defiled by human sacrifices.\n\nThough so fierce in warfare, Mars was as susceptible to love as were\nall the immortals; for he was not only the chosen one of golden-haired\nVenus, but was also the devoted lover of the vestal Rhea Silvia.[32]\nThis maiden, being dedicated to the goddess Vesta, did not dare to\nlisten to any words of love until her time of service in the temple\nwas over; for the penalty of breaking her solemn vows would be the\nterrible one of being buried alive. But Mars was not to be denied; so\nat last the vestal yielded, but kept her marriage secret and continued\nto live in the temple until the birth of her twin sons Romulus and\nRemus. When her parents learned that she had failed to keep the sacred\npromise made at the altar fire of Vesta, they demanded that she should\nsuffer the prescribed punishment. She was therefore taken at night into\nan underground room of the temple and inclosed in the wall which had\nbeen built to allow for just such a tragic event. As her children were\ndeclared outcasts, they were taken into the forest and left to perish\nby the teeth of wild beasts. Romulus and Remus did not die, however;\nfor a she-wolf carried them to her lair and reared them with her own\ncubs. Later on they were found by a kindly shepherd who took care of\nthem until they grew to manhood. Then they left him, and went out into\nthe world to seek adventures, which soon ended in Romulus killing his\nbrother Remus and himself becoming the founder of Rome.\n\nWhen this new city was well established, Mars was made its patron deity\nand protector; and before an army set out on any military campaign the\nleader would first go into the temple where the sacred shield--the\nAncile--hung; and touching it fearfully would pray, \"Oh, Mars, watch\nover us.\" This shield was carefully guarded in Rome, for upon it\ndepended the safety of the city. It was a special token sent by the god\nof war to show that the people of Rome were under his protection; for\nonce when a plague was raging among them and the dead were numbered\nby thousands, the Romans fled to the temple of Mars and begged him to\nhelp them. As they were praying, a shield fell from the skies into\ntheir midst, and a voice told them that as long as this--the sacred\nAncile--was with them, no harm could come to Rome. That day the plague\nceased, and ever afterward the shield was jealously guarded. To insure\nits safety, eleven other shields were made so like the Ancile that no\none but the Salii, the priests of the temple, knew which it was. These\nwere carried in the streets during the festivals in honor of Mars which\nwere held in March--the month that bears his name; and as the priests\nbore aloft the shields they sang war-songs and performed rude war\ndances. Sometimes the shields were displayed on the broad grounds where\nthe soldiers and youths of the city held their exercises. This place\nwas dedicated to the god of war, and was called the Campus Martius, or\nField of Mars.\n\nDuring the war between the gods and giants, Mars was so eager to prove\nhis skill in warfare that he engaged in a fierce battle with Otus and\nEphialtes. These two giants were only nine years old; but they were\nalready of immense size, as they increased in height at the rate of\nnine inches every month. The young giants were very proud of having\nconquered the god of war, and carried him off the battle-field in\ntriumph. They bound Mars with iron chains, and kept a careful guard\nover him so that none of the gods could set him free. Whenever Mars\nattempted to escape at night, believing that the giants were asleep,\nthe rattle of the chains woke his guardians, and all hope of rescuing\nhim was over. In this disgraceful bondage the unhappy Mars lingered for\nfifteen months until Mercury, the prince of thieves, unfastened the\nchains and restored the god to freedom.\n\nWhen Cadmus went on his search for his sister Europa, whom Jupiter, in\nthe form of a white bull, had carried off to a distant land,[33] the\ndevoted brother was at last bidden to give up his hopeless quest, to\nsettle in the country, later called B\u0153otia, and to found a city there.\nCadmus was glad to rest after his long march, and he sent some of his\nmen in search of a spring. When they did not come back, he sent others\nto look for them, and when these did not return, he went himself to see\nwhat had caused all this delay. He carried his sword in his hand, and\nalso a long spear, for he guessed that some disaster had overtaken his\nmen. He wandered some time before he discovered any trace of them, and\nthen at the edge of a forest he came upon the lifeless body of one of\nthose who had first set out to find the spring. As he went farther into\nthe forest he found others of his men, all of them lifeless, and soon\nhe came to a large cave, at the entrance of which bubbled a fountain of\npurest water.\n\nNot knowing that this was a grove sacred to Mars, and a fountain that\nhad never been polluted by mortal touch, Cadmus stooped to drink, when\nsuddenly, out of the deep shadows of the cave, rushed a huge dragon\nwith crested head and glittering scales and a triple tongue vibrating\nbetween triple rows of teeth. This monster, twisting his body into a\nhuge coil, darted toward Cadmus with gleaming fangs; but the young\nprince dealt his assailant a terrific blow that pierced the dragon in\na vital spot, and it rolled over dead upon the floor of the cave. Then\nCadmus heard a voice telling him to take out the dragon's teeth and\nto sow them in the ground where he wished to build his future city of\nThebes. As soon as the teeth were sown, a crop of giants in glittering\narmor sprang up out of the ground, and when they were about to turn\ntheir spears upon Cadmus, he again heard the voice--this time bidding\nhim throw a stone into the midst of the armed men. This caused a\nterrific battle to begin among the giants themselves, and soon they\nwere all killed except five who laid down their weapons and offered\ntheir services to Cadmus.\n\nAs a punishment for the desecration of his grove and the slaying of\nits sacred guardian, Mars compelled Cadmus to serve him for eight\nyears. At the end of this time the prince was made ruler of the new\ncity of Thebes, and Mars so far forgave the sacrilege of his grove\nas to give Cadmus his daughter Harmonia in marriage. The career of\nthe new king was very prosperous at first, and Cadmus was supposed to\nhave contributed a great boon to his people by the invention of the\nalphabet. Later on he incurred the wrath of the gods by forgetting to\noffer them suitable sacrifices, and both he and his wife Harmonia were\nchanged into serpents.\n\nJust above the city of Athens was a hill called the Areopagus (from the\nGreek word meaning Mars Hill), which received its name from a famous\ntrial that took place there. Neptune's son had carried off the daughter\nof Mars; and when the god of war learned of the abduction, he hurried\nafter the daring youth and killed him. Then Neptune demanded that Mars\nshould be punished for his deed of blood; and to decide the matter,\nboth were summoned to appear before a court of justice, which was held\non the hill above Athens. As it was the custom for all important cases\nto be tried at night, so that the judges might not be prejudiced by\nthe favorable appearance of either party, the court assembled in the\ndarkness, and Mars told the story of his daughter's capture and his\nown subsequent revenge. In spite of Neptune's objections to what he\nconsidered an unfair verdict, the judges decided in favor of Mars, and\nhe was therefore acquitted. The hill was afterwards called by his name,\nand the judges of the principal court of justice were always termed\n_areopagit\u00e6_.\n\n\nIII\n\nVulcan,[34] god of fire and the forge, was not often seen in the halls\nof Olympus, for he knew that the gods despised him for his ungainly\nappearance, and he preferred to stay in his own sooty workshop. He had\nalso no desire for the society of his divine parents, since his mother\nhad never shown anything but indifference toward him, and his father\nhad been the cause of his deformity. Jupiter was once so angry with\nJuno for interfering in his love affairs that he fastened her to the\nend of a strong chain, and hung her out of heaven. Vulcan, seeing his\nmother in this sad plight, dragged at the chain and finally succeeded\nin drawing Juno into safety. Full of wrath at this defiance of his\nwishes, Jupiter kicked his son out of heaven; and as the distance of\nthe fall was so great, it was a whole day and night before Vulcan\nreached the earth. Had he been a mortal, there would have been nothing\nleft to tell the story of his meteorlike descent; but being a god, he\nstill lived and had only a slight deformity and lameness as the result\nof his fall. When he learned that Juno was so unconcerned over his fate\nthat she had never even inquired whether he was badly hurt, he would\nnot go back to Olympus, but shut himself up in the heart of Mount Etna,\nwhere he established a mighty forge that poured out fire and smoke for\nmany years after.\n\nVulcan did not forget about his mother's heartless indifference; but\nnone of the gods suspected him of harboring any revenge, until one\nday a beautiful golden throne arrived in Olympus as a present to Juno\nfrom her son. The goddess admired the exquisite designs carved on\nits polished surface, and seated herself in it proudly. Now Vulcan\nhad contrived to hide some springs in the interior of the throne,\nand these were so skillfully arranged that the moment a person was\nseated, the entire structure quickly contracted and held the occupant\nprisoner. So in a moment proud Juno found herself securely caught, and\nno assistance that the gods could render her was of the least avail.\nThen Jupiter sent Mercury to the grimy abode of Vulcan to beg politely\nthat the god of fire would honor, with his presence, the feast that\nwas that day to be held in Olympus; but Vulcan was not to be moved\nby any flattery, for he well knew why he was so much desired at this\nparticular time. So Mercury returned alone to Olympus, and Jupiter was\nobliged to think of some other device for luring Vulcan from his forge.\nThis time he sent Bacchus, god of wine; and when the scowling deity\nof Etna saw Bacchus's jolly red face and heard his hearty laugh, he\nwelcomed the jovial visitor and drank freely of the wine that Bacchus\npoured. The roisterous god of revels, who dearly loved to see good\nwine flowing, beguiled Vulcan into taking draught after draught of the\nchoice vintage that he had purposely brought, until the sullen master\nof the forge was unable to tell what was happening, and allowed himself\nto be led unresistingly to Olympus. Once there the gods persuaded him\nto release the repentant Juno, and to allow himself to be reinstated in\nJupiter's favor.\n\nThough Vulcan grudgingly complied with these requests, he would not\nconsent to live in Olympus, but returned to his workshop in Mount\nEtna. There he made many things out of gold and precious stones and\ngave them to the gods as an evidence that he no longer bore them any\nill will. Their golden thrones were made by Vulcan's crafty hands, and\nthe wonderful palaces, with all their costly furnishings, were the\nbest result of his skill. He also forged Jupiter's thunderbolts and\nfashioned the weapons that the gods used in battle. He made Apollo's\nmarvelous sun-chariot, and even deigned to use his skill in shaping the\narrows that Cupid used in his golden bow.\n\nWhen Jupiter decreed[35] that laughter-loving Venus should wed his\nmisshapen son, Vulcan took his reluctant wife to the smoky workshop in\nMount Etna, and for a while Venus was amused at the unusual sights and\nsounds that greeted her in her new home; but she soon wearied of the\ndirt and darkness, and left the society of her surly husband to return\nto Olympus, where there was plenty to delight her pleasure-loving\nsoul.\n\n[Illustration: The Abduction of Proserpina]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVI\n\nThe Story of Proserpina\n\n\nWhen Jupiter made himself ruler of the world, he imprisoned some of\nthe warring giants under Mount Etna in Sicily, much to the disgust\nof Pluto, who was always fearing that when the giants got restless\nand turned over and over underground (thus causing earthquakes), they\nwould some day make such a large crack in the earth that daylight would\nbe let into Hades. So Pluto often went up out of his sunless land to\nlook carefully over the island, and to be sure that no new fissure\nwas being made in the earth's surface. One day, as he was driving his\nfour coal-black horses through the vale of Enna, he saw a group of\nmaidens gathering violets on the hillside; and among them was one so\nexquisitely fair that Pluto determined to take her for his wife. This\nwas Proserpina,[36] daughter of Ceres, the goddess of agriculture, a\nmaiden who had ever shunned the thought of marriage and preferred to\nspend her life playing games, and dancing in the beautiful plain of\nEnna, where there is never any frost or snow, but springtime lasts\nthrough all the year.\n\nPluto had often tried to gain a wife by gentle means, but no one would\nconsent to share his grewsome home; so, knowing that this maiden he\ndesired would never listen to soft words of love, he determined to take\nher by force. Driving his fiery horses at full speed, he rushed toward\nthe group of laughing girls, who scattered and fled at his approach.\nProserpina alone stood still, and stared, frightened and wondering, at\nthe grim figure confronting her, while the flowers she had gathered\ndropped from her trembling hands. In a moment Pluto had seized her in\nhis strong arms; and, trampling all her violets under his ruthless\nfeet, he sprang into the chariot and urged his horses to their full\nspeed, hoping to reach Hades before the maiden's cries brought Ceres to\nthe rescue.\n\nAs he neared the Cyane River the waters, wishing to befriend\nProserpina, began to rise higher and higher, and with tossing waves\nopposed the madly-rushing steeds. Fearing to risk the chariot in the\nangry waters, Pluto struck the ground with his terrible two-pronged\nfork, and a great chasm opened before him, into which the ruler of\nHades hurriedly plunged. Then the earth closed again over him and the\ncaptured maiden. During the dreadful moments when Proserpina felt\nherself held a prisoner in the arms of this bold wooer, she called\nwildly to her mother for help; but soon she realized that her cries\nwould never reach Ceres's ears, and that she must find some other way\nto let the goddess know of her unhappy fate. So she summoned enough\nstrength to struggle in her captor's embrace until she freed one arm\nfrom his hold, and with it loosened her girdle, which she flung into\nthe Cyane River just before the yawning earth hid her so completely\nthat no traces were left to tell where she had gone.\n\nWhen Ceres[37] came that evening into the vale of Enna and found that\nher daughter was not playing as usual with the other maidens, she\nquestioned them, and learned their tearful story of the chariot with\nits four black horses and terrible driver. Just what had become of\nProserpina no one could tell her; so the distracted mother began her\nsearch, not knowing whether she might at any moment come upon her\ndaughter's body mangled by the chariot wheels. For days and days she\nwandered, never stopping to rest except for a few hours at night when\nit was too dark for her to see her way. Rosy-fingered Aurora, when she\nleft her soft couch to open the gates of the morning, and Hesperus,\nwhen he led out the stars at evening, saw her still searching for the\nlost Proserpina. Sometimes she was so weary that she sank down by the\nroadside and let the night-dew drench her aching limbs. Sometimes she\nrested under the trees when a storm broke over her head; but even here\nthe rain beat down upon her, and the wind blew its cold breath in her\nface. Kindly people gave her food whenever she stopped to ask for it,\nand though none knew that she was a goddess, they sympathized with her\ngrief when she told them that she was seeking her lost child. Only once\ndid she meet with unkindness. She was sitting at a cottage door eating\ngruel from a bowl, and a lad--Stellio by name--laughed insolently at\nher enjoyment of the meal. To punish him for his rudeness the goddess\nthrew some of the gruel in his face, and immediately he was changed\ninto a lizard.\n\nOne day Ceres found herself near the city of Eleusis, and to avoid\nbeing recognized as a goddess, she disguised herself as an old beggar\nwoman. She sat for a long time on a stone by the roadside, mourning\nher lost Proserpina, until a little girl came by, driving some goats.\nSeeing the old woman's tearful face, the child stopped to ask her her\ntrouble, but before Ceres could answer, the girl's father joined her\nand together they begged the stranger to come to their cottage and\nrest. The goddess yielded at last to their kindly insistence, and as\nshe walked beside the old man, whose name was Celeus, he told her that\nat home he had a sick boy who had lately grown so ill that to-day they\nbelieved he would surely die. Ceres listened to his pathetic story, and\nfor a moment forgot her own grief. Seeing a chance to return the old\nman's kindness, she followed him into the cottage; but first stopped by\nthe meadow to gather a handful of poppies. When the parents led her to\nthe sick child's bedside, she stooped and kissed the pale little face\nand immediately it became rosy with health. The boy sprang up well and\nstrong again, to the great astonishment of his delighted family.\n\nAs they sat at the simple evening meal, the goddess put some\npoppy-juice in the glass of milk set out for the boy; and that night,\nwhen he was in a heavy sleep, she rubbed his body with oil, murmured\nover him a solemn charm, and was about to lay him on the red-hot ashes\nin the fire--that his mortal parts might be consumed and he himself\nbe made immortal--when his mother chanced to enter the room, and\nspringing forward with a cry of horror, snatched the boy from the fire.\nBefore the excited mother could vent her wrath on the old woman, Ceres\nassumed her goddess form and quietly reproved the intruder; for her\ninterference had not averted a harm, but had prevented a great gift\nfrom being conferred upon the unconscious child.\n\nWhen Ceres left the cottage of Celeus, she continued her wanderings\nover the earth, and finally returned, discouraged and heartbroken,\nto Sicily. Chancing to be near the river Cyane, she went down to\nthe water's edge to drink, and happily discovered the girdle that\nProserpina had dropped there in her flight. This made her hopeful of\nfinding further traces of her lost daughter, so she lingered by the\nriver bank, eagerly scanning the overflowing stream. As she stood there\nholding the recovered girdle in her hand, she heard a low murmuring\nsound as if some one were speaking in whispers. The goddess listened,\nwondering from what place the voice came; and soon she found that the\nsoft tones proceeded from a fountain which was so close to her that its\nlightly-tossed spray fell on her hand. The murmur was often indistinct,\nbut Ceres understood enough to realize that the words were addressed to\nher, and that the fountain was trying to tell her how Pluto had come up\nfrom Hades and carried off Proserpina to be his wife.\n\nWhile the goddess was musing over this painful revelation, the fountain\nwent on to say that it had not always been a stream in sunny Sicily,\nbut was once a maiden named Arethusa[38] and a native of the country\nof Elis. As a follower of Diana she had roamed the wooded hills; and\none day, being wearied from the chase, she sought refreshment in the\nforest stream. The drooping willows hung protectingly over the water,\nand here the nymph bathed fearlessly, believing herself alone. But\nAlpheus, the river-god, heard the splashing of the water, and rose\nfrom his grassy bed to see who was disturbing his noon-day rest. At\nthe sight of Arethusa he was so delighted that he ventured to approach\nher; but she fled terrified through the forest, calling on Diana for\nhelp. The goddess, hearing her cries, changed her into a fountain; and\nto further baffle the pursuing Alpheus, she wrapped it in a thick mist.\nAs the river-god could no longer see the nymph, he was about to give up\nthe chase, when Zephyrus maliciously blew away the cloud, and Alpheus\nsaw the bubbling fountain. Suspecting that this was Arethusa, the god\nchanged himself into a rushing torrent, and was preparing to mingle\nhis impetuous waves with the waters of the fountain, when the nymph\nagain called on Diana to protect her. The goddess came to her rescue by\nopening a crevice in the earth, and here the shivering waters of the\nfountain found a speedy refuge. To keep far out of the reach of Alpheus\nit continued to flow underground for many miles, and even crept beneath\nthe sea until it reached Sicily, where Diana again cleft the earth and\nallowed the fountain to come up into the sunlight. During her journey\nthrough the dark underworld, Arethusa said that she had seen Proserpina\nsitting, tearful and sad, on a throne beside the grim ruler of the\ndead.\n\nWhen she heard this story, Ceres was no longer in doubt where her lost\ndaughter could be found; but the knowledge gave her little comfort,\nfor she was aware how useless it would be to ask Pluto to give up the\nwife he had so daringly won. Seeing no hope of regaining her child,\nCeres retired to a cave in the hills, and paid no heed to the waiting\nearth that had suffered so long from her neglect. There was drought\nin the land, and the crops were failing for want of water. The fruit\ntrees were drying up, and the flowers were withering on the parched\nhillsides. Everything cried out for the protecting care of Ceres; but\nthe goddess stayed her hand, and in the solitude of the cave mourned\nunceasingly for Proserpina. Famine spread over the land, but the\npeople, in spite of their dire need of food, burned sacrifices of sheep\nand oxen on the altars of Ceres, while they importuned her with their\nprayers. Jupiter heard their cries and besought the goddess to take the\nearth again under her wise care; but Ceres refused to listen, for she\nwas indifferent now to the welfare of men, and no longer delighted in\nthe ripening harvest.\n\nWhen sickness and death followed hard upon the famine, Jupiter saw\nthat he must save the sorely-stricken land, so he promised the goddess\nthat her daughter should be restored to her if she had eaten nothing\nduring all her sojourn in Pluto's realm. Mercury was sent to lead\nProserpina out of Hades; but when he reached there, he found that Pluto\nhad already given his wife some pomegranate seeds, hoping that she\nwould thereby stay forever in his keeping. Dismayed at this unexpected\ndownfall of her hopes, Ceres was about to shut herself up again in the\ncave, when Jupiter, in behalf of the suffering earth, made a compromise\nwith Pluto whereby Proserpina was to spend half her time with her\nmother in the land of sunshine and flowers, and the rest with her\nhusband in cold and cheerless Hades. Each spring Mercury was sent to\nlead Proserpina up from the underworld lest her eyes, grown accustomed\nonly to shadows, should be dazzled by the blinding sunlight, and she\nherself should lose the way. All things awaited her coming; and as soon\nas her foot touched the winter-saddened earth the flowers bloomed to\ndelight her eyes, the grass sprang up to carpet her way with greenness,\nthe birds sang to cheer her long-depressed spirit, and above her the\nsun shone brilliantly in the blue Sicilian sky.\n\nCeres no longer mourned, nor did she again suffer a great famine to\nafflict the land. The patient old earth smiled again on Proserpina's\nreturn, for then her mother gave the blighted vegetation a redoubled\ncare. But her happiness did not make the goddess forget the kindly old\nman who had given her food and shelter at Eleusis, for she returned\nthere and taught the boy Triptolemus all the secrets of agriculture.\nShe also gave him her chariot, and bade him journey everywhere,\nteaching the people how to plow and sow and reap, and care for their\nharvests. Triptolemus carried out all her instructions; and as he\ntraveled over the country he was eagerly welcomed alike by prince and\npeasant until he came to Scythia, where the cruel King Lyncus would\nhave killed him, in a fit of jealous wrath, had not Ceres interfered\nwith timely aid and changed the treacherous monarch into a lynx.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVII\n\nPluto and the Underworld\n\n\nIn the beginning of the world, before the gods came to dwell in\nOlympus, all the universe was in the hands of the Titans; and among\nthese the greatest was Saturn,--or Cronos,[39]--who wedded his sister\nRhea (also called Cybele) and became the father of three sons and\nthree daughters, Jupiter, Pluto, Neptune, Ceres, Vesta, and Juno. For\nmany ages Saturn and Rhea, having subdued all the opposing Titans,\nruled over heaven and earth; but when the cruelty of Saturn drove his\nchildren into rebellion, there arose a mighty war in the universe, in\nwhich the sons and daughters of Saturn leagued against their father,\nwho had called upon the other Titans for aid. After years of combat\nthe six brothers and sisters, helped by the Cyclops,[40] defeated the\nallied Titans and imprisoned them in the black abyss of Tartarus--all\nexcept a few who had not joined in the war against the children of\nSaturn. Among those who were wise enough to accept the new sovereignty\nwere Mnemosyne (Memory) and Themis, goddess of justice. Those\ndescendants of the Titans who refused to acknowledge the supremacy of\nJupiter were consigned to the center of Mount Etna, and were the giants\nwho constantly turned over and over, making Pluto fear for the safety\nof his realm. A few of the giants were spared: Atlas, whose punishment\nwas to hold the heavens on his shoulders, and Prometheus and Epimetheus\nwho had espoused the cause of Jupiter and so escaped the fate of\nthe conquered Titans. When the children of Saturn found themselves\nmasters of the world, they agreed to accept Jupiter as their ruler, on\ncondition that the two other brothers be given a share in the universe.\nSo a division was made whereby Pluto became king of the underworld--or\nHades; Neptune took the dominion of the sea; and Jupiter, having\nmarried his sister, Juno, established his dwelling in Olympus as lord\nof heaven and earth.\n\nThe kingdom of Pluto[41] was dreaded by all mortals, and its ruler\ninspired men with great fear. Though Pluto was known to visit the earth\nfrom time to time, no one wished to see his face, and each man dreaded\nthe moment when he should be obliged to appear before the grim monarch\nof Hades, and be assigned a place among the innumerable dead. No\ntemples were dedicated to Pluto, though altars were sometimes erected\non which men burned sacrifices to this inexorable god while petitioning\nhim to be merciful to the souls of the departed. The festivals held in\nhis honor were celebrated only once in a hundred years, and on these\noccasions none but black animals were killed for the sacrifice.\n\nThe underworld, over which Pluto reigned, was deep in the heart of the\nearth; but there were several entrances to it, one being near Lake\nAvernus, where the mist rising from the waters was so foul that no\nbird could fly over it. The lake itself was in an extinct volcano near\nVesuvius. It was very deep, and was surrounded by high banks covered\nwith a thick forest. The first descent into Hades could be easily\naccomplished (_facilis descensus Averno_, says the poet Virgil); but no\nmortal was daring enough to venture far into the black depths, lest he\nshould never again see the light of day.\n\nAt the portals of Hades sits the fierce three-headed dog Cerberus, who\nkeeps all living things from entering the gate, and allows no spirit\nthat has once been admitted to pass out again. From here a long dark\npathway leads deeper into Hades, and is finally lost in the rivers that\nflow around Pluto's throne. The waters of the river Cocytus are salt,\nas they are made of the tears that stream forever from the eyes of\nthose unhappy souls who are condemned to labor in Tartarus--that part\nof Hades that is the exclusive abode of the wicked. The Phlegethon\nRiver, which is always on fire, separates Tartarus from the rest of\nHades, and wretched indeed is the soul that is forced to cross its\nseething waters. On the banks of the Acheron, a black and turbid river,\nstand the souls who come fresh from the sunlit earth; for all must pass\nthis river and be brought before the judgment-throne of Pluto. There is\nno bridge over the murky stream, and the current is so swift that the\nboldest swimmer would not trust himself to its treacherous waters. The\nonly way to cross is by the leaky, worm-eaten boat rowed by Charon, an\naged ferryman who has plied his oar ever since the day that the curse\nof death first came upon the earth.\n\nNo spirit is allowed to enter the leaky craft until he has first paid\nCharon the fee of a small coin called the obolus. (During the funeral\nservices, before the body is committed for burial, this coin is laid on\nthe tongue of the dead, that the soul may have no trouble in passing\nto the throne of Pluto.) If any spirits cannot furnish the necessary\nmoney, they are ruthlessly pushed aside by the mercenary boatman and\nare required to wait a hundred years. At the end of this time Charon\ngrudgingly ferries them over the river free of charge. As the unstable\nboat can hold but few, there is always an eager group of spirits on\nthe further bank, clamoring to be taken across the river; but Charon\nis never in a hurry, and repulses, sometimes with his oar, the pitiful\ncrowd that waits his grim pleasure.\n\nThere is also in Hades the river Styx, by whose sacred waters the gods\nswear the most terrible of all oaths, and on the other side of Pluto's\nthrone is the softly flowing Lethe, of which only those souls can drink\nwho are to spend endless days of happiness in the Elysian Fields. As\nsoon as those blessed spirits have tasted of the waters of Lethe, all\nregrets for friends that mourn completely vanish, and the joy and\ngrief, and pleasure and pain of the soul's life on earth are forgotten.\nIn the Elysian Fields there is no darkness such as fills the rest of\nHades with its thick gloom; but a soft light spreads over the meadows\nwhere the spirits of the thrice-blessed wander. There are willows here,\nand stately silver poplars, and the \"meads of Asphodel\" breathe out a\nfaint perfume from their pale flowers.\n\n      \"There do men lead easiest lives.\n      No snow, no bitter cold, no beating rains are there.\"\n\n                  --BRYANT'S _Odyssey_, Book IV, line 722.\n\nThe sighs and groans that rise by night and day from the black abyss\nof Tartarus do not reach the ears of those who dwell at peace in the\nElysian Fields, and the sight of its painful torments is hid forever\nfrom their eyes.\n\nBeside Pluto's throne sit the three Fates (also called Parc\u00e6), those\ndeathless sisters who hold the threads of life and death in their\nhands. Clotho, the youngest, spins the thread; Lachesis, the second,\ntwines into it the joys and sorrows, hopes and fears that make up human\nexperience; and Atropos, the eldest sister, sits by with huge shears in\nher hand, waiting for the time when she may cut the slender thread.\n\n[Illustration: The Three Fates]\n\nPluto and his queen Proserpina are seated side by side on a sable\nthrone, ruling over the myriad souls that compose the vast kingdom\nof the dead. Perched on the back of the throne is the blinking owl,\nwho loves this eternal darkness, and the black-winged raven that was\nonce a bird of snowy plumage and the favorite messenger of Apollo. The\nraven fell from his high estate on account of some unwelcome tidings\nthat he once brought to Apollo when that god was an ardent lover of\nthe fair-haired Coronis. Believing that no one could supplant him in\nthe maiden's affections, Apollo was happy in the thought of being\nbeloved by so beautiful a mortal; but one day his snow-white raven\nflew in haste to Olympus to tell him that the maiden was listening to\nthe wooing of another lover. Enraged at this duplicity, Apollo seized\nhis bow and shot the faithless Coronis; but the moment that he saw\nher lying dead, he repented of his rash deed and vainly sought to\nrestore her to life. Though skilled in the art of healing, Apollo\ncould not save the maiden; and in his frenzied grief he cursed the\nunfortunate raven that had brought the evil tidings, and banished it\nforever from his sight.\n\n      \"Then he turned upon the Raven,\n      'Wanton babbler! see thy fate!\n      Messenger of mine no longer,\n      Go to Hades with thy prate!\n\n      'Weary Pluto with thy tattle!\n      Hither, monster, come not back;\n      And--to match thy disposition--\n      Henceforth be thy plumage black.'\"\n\n                  --SAXE.\n\nNear Pluto's throne are seated the three judges of Hades (Minos,\nRhadamanthus, and \u00c6acus) who question all souls that are brought across\nthe river. When they have learned every detail of the newcomer's past\nlife, they deliver the cowering spirit into the hands of Themis, the\nblindfolded goddess of justice, who weighs impartially the good and bad\ndeeds in her unerring scales. If the good outweighs the evil, the soul\nis led gently to the Elysian Fields; but if the bad overbalances the\ngood, then the wretched spirit is driven to Tartarus, there to suffer\nfor all its wrongdoings in the fires that burn forever and ever behind\nthe brazen gates. To these gates the guilty one is urged by the three\nFuries,[42] whose snaky hair shakes hideously as they ply their lashes\nto goad the shrinking soul to its place of torment. Sometimes they are\njoined by Nemesis, goddess of revenge, who hurries the doomed spirit\nover the fiery waters of the Phlegethon with her merciless whip, and\nsees that it follows no path but the one leading to the brazen gates of\nTartarus.\n\nAs soon as the gates close on the newly-admitted soul, there is a\nrenewed clamor of voices, while heart-breaking sighs and groans mingle\nwith the curses of those who in their misery dare to defy the gods.\nAnd beneath all the awful sounds that greet the listener's ears,\nthere is an undertone of pitiful wailing like the sea's \"melancholy,\nlong-withdrawing roar\" that seems to come from millions of throats\ntoo feeble to utter a loud cry. The deepest sighs proceed from the\nDana\u00efdes,--the beautiful daughters of Dana\u00fcs, king of Argos,--who\nmust forever strive to fill a bottomless cask with water. They form a\nsad procession as, with their urns on their arms, they go down to the\nstream to begin their hopeless task, and then climb wearily up the\nsteep bank to pour the water into the ever-empty cask. If they pause a\nmoment, exhausted with fatigue, the whips of some avenging attendants\nof Pluto lash them again into action. Their punishment is severe,\nbut the crime for which they are suffering was a dreadful one. The\nfifty daughters of Dana\u00fcs were once pledged in marriage to the fifty\nsons of \u00c6gyptus, brother of Dana\u00fcs; but when the wedding was being\ncelebrated, their father remembered the words of an ancient prophecy\nthat said that he would die by the hand of his son-in-law. Fearing for\nhis life, he confided to his daughters what the oracle had foretold,\nand gave them each a dagger, bidding them slay their husbands. On\nthe evening of the wedding, when the sons of \u00c6gyptus were heavy with\nwine, the new-made wives stole in upon them and killed them as they\nslept. Dana\u00fcs then believed himself safe, until he learned that one\nof his daughters had spared her husband out of love for him. This\nson-in-law was eager to avenge his brothers' murder, and having sought\nout the wicked Dana\u00fcs, fulfilled the prophecy by killing the king with\nthe very dagger intended for his own death. The gods punished the\ncruel daughters--except Hypermnestra, who had saved her husband--by\ncondemning them to labor in Tartarus at their impossible task.\n\nNear the Dana\u00efdes stands Tantalus, the father of Niobe, who on earth\nwas a most inhuman and brutal king. He ill-treated his subjects, defied\nthe gods, and dared to make his own will the religion of his kingdom.\nHe boasted that the gods were not so omniscient as people were led to\nbelieve; and insulted the immortals by offering them at a banquet the\nflesh of his own son Pelops, believing that they would never learn the\ntruth of this loathsome feast. But the gods were not deceived, and left\nthe meal untouched,--all except poor Ceres, who, still mourning over\nher daughter's detention in Hades, did not realize what was happening\nand bit off some of the lad's shoulder. When the gods restored Pelops\nto life, Ceres was very sorry for her carelessness and gave him a\nshoulder of ivory. The inhuman Tantalus was condemned to the torments\nof Tartarus, where he stands up to his chin in a clear stream. Though\nfrenzied with thirst he can never drink of the water, for whenever he\nbends his head the stream recedes from his parched lips. Above him\nhangs a branch of delicious fruit; but when, tormented with hunger,\nhe strives to grasp it, the branch eludes his eager fingers. Thus he\nstays, always \"tantalized\" by the sight of food and drink he never can\nsecure.\n\nNot far from Tantalus is Salmoneus, also a king, who dared to challenge\nthe gods by impersonating Jupiter. He made a huge bridge of brass, and\ndrove heavily over it while he threw lighted torches among the people\nwho were waiting below, hoping thus to frighten them into believing\nthat he was the very ruler of the heavens who hurls the mighty\nthunderbolts. This insult to his divinity so angered Jupiter that\nhe seized a real thunderbolt and soon dispatched the arrogant king.\nWhen Salmoneus came before the throne of Pluto, his fate was quickly\ndecided, and he was driven to terrible Tartarus, where he sits under a\nhuge rock that threatens every moment to fall and crush him beneath its\nweight.\n\nAnother unhappy king is Sisyphus, who, when ruler of Corinth, became\na famous robber, and in the pride of his great wealth dared to set\nthe gods at naught. Therefore he was consigned to Tartarus, and his\npunishment is to roll an immense stone to the top of a steep hill. As\nsoon as he reaches the summit, the rock slips from his aching arms\nand tumbles to the foot of the hill, and he must at once start on the\nhopeless task of pushing it up the long ascent again.\n\n      \"With many a weary step, and many a groan,\n      Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone.\"\n\n                  --HOMER--Pope's translation.\n\nBeyond Sisyphus lies Tityus, a giant whose huge body covers nine acres\nof ground. He was condemned to the blackness of Tartarus because he\ndared to affront a goddess with his addresses, and so was doomed to\nsuffer, like Prometheus, by being chained to a rock, while a vulture\ntears at his liver. Near him is Ixion, who was promised the hand of a\ncertain maiden in marriage, on condition that he would give her father\na large sum of money. Ixion agreed, but when the maiden became his\nwife, he refused to give the stipulated sum, in spite of her father's\nclamorous demands. At length, wearied by the old man's insistence,\nIxion slew him; but the deed did not go unpunished, for the gods\nsummoned him to appear before them and answer for his cruelty. Ixion\npleaded his cause so well that Jupiter was about to dismiss him, when\nhe saw the presumptuous mortal making love to Juno. This offense could\nnot be overlooked, so Ixion was sent to Tartarus, where he was bound to\nan ever-revolving wheel of fire.\n\nIf any one could follow the course of the gentle Lethe River, it would\nlead beyond the sunless realm of Pluto to a quiet and far-distant\nvalley, where, in a soundless cave, live Somnus, the god of sleep, and\nhis twin brother Mors, god of death. \"Here the sun, whether rising\nor in his mid course, or setting, can never come; and fogs, mingled\nwith the dimness, form a strange twilight. No wakeful bird calls forth\nthe morn, nor do watchful dogs disturb the brooding silence. No sound\nof wild beast or cattle, nor any noise of creaking bough, nor human\nvoice, breaks in upon the perfect stillness, where mute Rest has her\nabode. Before the cave bloom abundant poppies and other sleep-producing\nherbs, which Night gathers, that she may distil their juice and scatter\nslumbers on the darkened earth. Within the cave is no door that could\ncreak on rusty hinges, and no porter stands at the entrance of that\ninner room where, on a downy couch made of black ebony and draped with\nsable curtains, over which black plumes wave, lies Somnus, the god of\nsleep,--Sleep, the repose of all things, gentlest of the deities from\nwhom all care flies, the peace of mind who can sooth the hearts of men\nwearied with the toils of the day, and can refit them for labor.\"[43]\n\nNear Somnus sits Morpheus, one of his many sons, who watches over his\nslumbers and sees that no one shall break in upon his sleep. This god\nholds a vase in one hand, and with the other he shakes the nodding\npoppies that bring drowsiness and sleep. Sometimes he assumes varied\nforms in which he appears to men at night, and always he flies through\nthe darkness with wings that make no noise. Around the couch of Somnus\nhover shadowy forms, the Dreams,[44] which are as numerous as the\nforest leaves or the sands upon the seashore. In a distant corner of\nthe room lurk the horrid Nightmares, which creep out of the cave to\nvisit sleeping mortals, but are never led to earth by Mercury, as are\nthe welcomed Dreams. Two gates lead out of the valley of sleep, one of\nhorn and one of ivory.\n\n      \"Of dreams, O stranger, some are meaningless\n      And idle, and can never be fulfilled.\n      Two portals are there for their shadowy shapes,\n      Of ivory one, and one of horn. The dreams\n      That come through the carved ivory deceive\n      With promises that never are made good;\n      But those which pass the doors of polished horn,\n      And are beheld of men, are ever true.\"\n\n                  --BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book XIX, line 679.\n\n      \"Sunt gemin\u00e6 Somni port\u00e6, quarumaltera fertur\n      Cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus Umbris;\n      Altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto,\n      Sed falsa ad c\u00e6lum mittunt insomnia Manes.\"[45]\n\n                  --VIRGIL, _\u00c6neid_, Book VI, line 893.\n\nMors, god of death, occupies one of the rooms in the cave of sleep. He\nis a fearful-looking deity, cadaverous as a skeleton, and wrapped in a\nwinding sheet. He holds an hourglass in one hand, and a sharp scythe in\nthe other; and stands watching the sand run out of his glass that he\nmay know when a human life is nearing its end. Then, as the last grains\nfall, he glides from the valley of sleep and stalks silently and unseen\nupon the earth, where he cuts down the unhappy mortal, who cannot even\nhear the rustle of his garments as he approaches. It is nothing to him\nwhether the life he takes belongs to childhood or youth, for he mows\nthem down as relentlessly as he does tottering old age. And to the rich\nhe is as unsparing as to the poor.\n\n      \"Pallida Mors \u00e6quo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque\n            turres.\"[46]\n\n                  --HORACE, _Carminum_, Book I, \u00a7 IV, line 13.\n\nThe divinities who dwelt in the Cave of Sleep were distrusted by the\nancients, and Mors was held in universal dread. No homage was ever\noffered to him, and no temples were dedicated in his honor; though\nsacrifices were sometimes made to ward off his dreaded coming. He was\nnever represented in art except in a pleasing aspect, for although they\nbelieved him to have in reality the fearful appearance that tradition\nascribed to him, yet the beauty-loving Greeks refused to have this kind\nof horror embodied in marble. So when Death appears in sculpture, it is\nusually with his brother Sleep, and both are represented as sleeping\nyouths, whose heads are crowned with poppies or amaranths, and who hold\ninverted torches in their listless hands.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII\n\nNeptune and the Sea-Gods\n\n\nI\n\nIn the days when the Titans ruled the universe, Oceanus, with his wife\nTethys, controlled all the lakes, rivers, and seas; but when the Titans\nwere overthrown, Neptune took possession of this great kingdom, and\nold Oceanus reluctantly gave up his dominion over the waters of the\nearth. Though anxious to assert his supreme authority, Neptune allowed\nsome of the descendants of the Titans to keep their small kingdoms,\non condition that they own allegiance to him as their ruler. Among\nthese was Nereus, son of Oceanus, who was celebrated for his vast\nknowledge, his gift of prophecy, and his love of truth and justice. He\nand his wife Doris (also a child of Oceanus) had fifty daughters called\nNereids,[47] and they were so beautiful that Neptune chose one of them,\nnamed Amphitrite, for his wife. There were two others of the Nereids\nwho became famous: Galatea, beloved by the Cyclops Polyphemus,[48]\nand Thetis, the mother of Achilles; but none of them equaled Amphitrite\nin beauty.\n\n[Illustration: Fountain of Neptune]\n\nWhen Neptune first went wooing the Nereid, she was frightened by\nhis formidable appearance, for he drove in a chariot drawn by huge\nsea-horses with brazen hoofs and golden manes; and the god himself\ncarried his terrible trident, or three-pronged spear, with which he\nshatters rocks, and commands the storms, and shakes the shores of\nearth. None knew better than Amphitrite the extent of Neptune's power,\nfor she had often watched him, when a storm was at its height, raise\nhis all-compelling trident, and immediately the waves would cease\nraging and there would be a great calm. Sometimes she saw a ship,\ndoomed by the sea-god to disaster, gliding confidently in quiet waters,\nwhen all at once a fierce storm would break over its head; and the\nhapless sailors, as they breasted the angry waves, would pray vainly to\nNeptune for the help that would never come. Many a good ship had nearly\ngained her port when\n\n      \"He spake and round about him called the clouds\n      And roused the ocean--wielding in his hand\n      The trident--summoned all the hurricanes\n      Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky\n      At once with mists, while from above the night\n      Fell suddenly.\"\n\n                  _Odyssey_, Book V, line 348, Bryant's trans.\n\nWhen Amphitrite saw this imposing-looking god driving toward her, she\nwas frightened by so much splendor, though she could not help admiring\nNeptune himself with his sea-green beard, and his long flowing hair\ncrowned with shells and seaweed. Since the enamored god could never\ncome near enough to plead his suit, he sent one of his dolphins to\ndo the wooing; and this was so successful that the fair Nereid was\npersuaded to become Neptune's wife, and share his golden throne in the\nheart of the sea. To reward the dolphin for its skill in having won\nfor him his much-desired bride, Neptune placed it in the sky, where it\nforms a well-known constellation.\n\nThough Neptune had undisputed control over all the waters of the earth,\nand over all that moves through the paths of the sea, he once aspired\nto greater power, and even plotted to dethrone Jupiter. But the ruler\nof gods and men discovered his wicked plans, and to punish him deprived\nhim of his kingdom for some years, during which time he was obliged to\nsubmit to the humiliation of serving Laomedon, king of Troy. It was\nwhile he was in service here that he sought Apollo's help in building\nthe wall of Troy, whose stones fell into place under the spell of the\nsun-god's music.[49] Laomedon had promised Neptune a large reward if\nthe wall was built within a certain time; but when it was finished, he\nrefused to pay the sum agreed upon. Though angered at this treachery,\nNeptune had to endure the king's injustice until his years of service\nwere over; but as soon as he was restored to his former power, he\ncreated a terrible sea-monster, which spread terror and death over all\nthe land. Not knowing how to meet this calamity, the Trojans consulted\nan oracle, and were advised to sacrifice to the monster a beautiful\nmaiden each year; and so prevent the wrath of Neptune from overwhelming\nthe whole country in disaster.\n\nReluctantly the sorrowing people prepared to obey the oracle; and a\nvictim was chosen by lot, and led by the priest to a large rock on the\nseashore, where she was securely chained. Then the hideous sea-beast\nglided out of its cave in the slimy rocks and devoured her. Each year\nthis terrible ceremony was repeated, and at last the lot fell upon\nHesione, the king's only daughter. Laomedon tried in vain to save her,\nbut the lot was cast, and nothing could avert the appointed sacrifice.\nIn despair, the wretched father saw the fatal hour approaching; and\nwhen the day drew near when Hesione was to be led down to the sea, he\nforgot his avarice and proclaimed throughout the land that a great\nreward would be given to any one who could slay the monster. Hercules\nappeared just in time to save the doomed maiden, and killed the monster\nwith his oaken club as it was dragging Hesione into its cave. The\nking was overjoyed at his daughter's rescue, and told Hercules that he\nmight claim the reward; but even when he saw the hero come with the\nbeast's head as a proof that he had slain it, he refused to part with\nhis much-loved gold. So Hercules returned home, but he did not forget\nLaomedon's perfidy; and when later on he came again to Troy, he killed\nthe king and took his children captive to Greece.[50]\n\nNeptune, like all the immortals, loved more than once; and among those\nwho shared his affections was a maiden named Theophane, who had so\nmany suitors that it kept the jealous sea-god in constant fear lest\nshe should prefer some earthly lover. So he took her to the island of\nCrumissa, and there changed her into a sheep, while he carried on his\nwooing in the form of a ram. The offspring of this marriage was the\nfamous golden-fleeced ram, whose pelt was the object of that ill-fated\nexpedition made by Jason and his fellow Argonauts.\n\nNeptune also loved the goddess Ceres, and followed her during the\nlong time that she spent in search of her daughter Proserpina. Ceres\nwas angered by the sea-god's persistent wooing, and hoping to escape\nfrom him, she took the form of a mare; but Neptune was not so easily\ndiscouraged, for he changed himself into a horse and contentedly\ntrotted after her. The child of this strange pair was Arion,[51] a\nwonderful winged steed that had the power of speech, and was of such\nincredible swiftness that nothing could ever equal it in speed.\n\nThe most famous children of Neptune and Amphitrite were Triton and\nProteus. Triton was his father's trumpeter, and at Neptune's command\nhe blew upon his conch-shell to calm the restless sea. His body was\nhalf man and half fish, and he gave the name of Tritons to all his\nmale descendants, who, with the Nereids and Oceanides (daughters of\nOceanus), followed the chariot of Neptune when he went abroad to view\nhis kingdom. Proteus had charge of the great flock of sea-calves which\nfed on the soft seaweed and basked in the warm sands near his cave. He\nwas celebrated for his wisdom and for the truth of the answers that\nhe gave to those fortunate enough to make him speak. Homer calls him\n\"the Ancient of the Deep whose words are ever true\"; but his knowledge\nwas not easy to obtain, for he had the extraordinary power of assuming\nany shape he pleased, and only those mortals gained his advice who\npersistently clung to him through his many bewildering changes.\n\n      \"When the climbing sun has reached\n      The middle heaven, the Ancient of the Deep,\n      Who ne'er deceives, emerges from the waves,\n      And, covered with the dark scum of the sea,\n      Walks forth, and in a cavern vault lies down.\n      The sea-calves from the hoary ocean throng,\n      Rank with the bitter odor of the brine,\n      And slumber near him. Then ye must exert\n      Your utmost strength to hold him there, although\n      He strive and struggle to escape your hands;\n      For he will try all stratagems, and take\n      The form of every reptile on the earth,\n      And turn to water and to raging flame.\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      But hold him fast, until the aged seer\n      Is wearied out in spite of all his wiles,\n      Then question him.\"\n\n                  --BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book IV, line 518.\n\n\nII\n\nArist\u00e6us was the son of Apollo, and the water-nymph, Cyrene. Beside\ntending his flocks and herds, he took care of the olive trees and\nvineyards, and was a famous keeper of bees. He was very proud of his\nhives, and the swarm of bees increased each year under the guidance of\nhis skillful hands; but one day he found hundreds of the bees lying\nlifeless beside the hives, and on the morrow there were still more\namong the dead. Not knowing how to account for this disaster, Arist\u00e6us\nhurried to his mother to ask her help in saving the few bees that\nremained. Cyrene lived under a mountain stream; and, hearing that\nher son wished to speak to her, she commanded the river to divide and\nform a wall on either side, so that Arist\u00e6us might walk in dry places.\nWhen the youth told her of the tragedy befalling his hives, she could\nnot help him, but bade him go to old Proteus, for he alone could tell\nwhat the trouble was and find a remedy. She warned Arist\u00e6us of the\ndifficulty in holding the Ancient of the Deep when he tried to bewilder\nand terrify the stranger by rapidly assuming different forms; and she\nbade him remember that he must keep the sea-god fast bound if he would\nreceive the wished-for answers. Then she led him to the cave of Proteus\nand hid him there, exhorting him to be bold and fearless.\n\nAt noon the Wizard of the Deep came up out of the sea, followed by\nhis herd of sea-calves; and while they lay stretched out on the warm\nsands, the god sought the retreat of his cave and soon was in a deep\nslumber. When Arist\u00e6us saw Proteus fast asleep, he stepped cautiously\nup to him and bound him with strong fetters. The god woke with a\nstart, and tried to shake himself free of his chains; but on finding\nthat he was a prisoner, he resorted to all the trickery that he could\ncommand. He became a fire, a flood, a wild beast, a horrible serpent,\nand many other forms calculated to terrify the beholder. But Arist\u00e6us\nwas not afraid, and soon the old wizard realized that he must submit;\nso he assumed his own shape, and asked the youth what it was that he\nwished to know. The son of Cyrene told him of the death of his bees,\nand begged for some remedy. Then Proteus reminded him of how he had\nbeen the real cause of Eurydice's death, by making her flee from him\nin such haste that she did not see the snake at her feet.[52] The\nwood-nymphs, who were Eurydice's companions, had therefore wished to\npunish Arist\u00e6us, and had sent this destruction to his hives. It was\nnecessary to appease the wrath of the nymphs; and to do this Proteus\nbade the youth build four altars, and sacrifice on them four bulls and\nfour cows of perfect form and size. This burnt-offering was to placate\nthe nymphs, and when it was made, he must pay funeral honors to Orpheus\nand Eurydice to pacify their anger against him. At the end of nine days\nhe was to return to the grove where he had made the sacrifices.\n\nArist\u00e6us thanked the Ancient of the Deep for his wise words, and after\nreleasing him from the fetters, hurried away to do as Proteus had\nadvised. The sacrifices were made, and suitable honors paid to the\ndead; and then, after waiting impatiently for nine days, Arist\u00e6us went\nback to the grove. To his great joy he found that a swarm of bees had\ntaken possession of the carcasses, and that he was now the owner of a\nmuch larger number than he had ever had before.\n\n\nIII\n\nOne of the many sea-gods who ruled under Neptune was Glaucus, who was\nonce a poor fisherman, and earned his living by selling the fish that\nhe caught each day. One morning he had an extra large haul; and when\nhe threw the fish on the ground beside him, he noticed that they were\neagerly nibbling the grass that grew very thickly in the spot where\nhe had flung his net. As he stood watching them, the fish suddenly\nleaped up from the ground; and having flopped back into the water,\nswam away. Curious to see whether it was the grass that gave them\nthis extraordinary power, Glaucus chewed a bit of it himself, and\nimmediately he felt an irresistible desire to plunge into the sea.\nFearlessly he dived beneath the waves, and soon found no difficulty in\nkeeping under water, for the ocean seemed now to be his native element.\nHe saw his beard turning a lovely sea-green; and he found that his\nhair, grown suddenly long and green, was trailing out behind him. His\narms were azure-colored, and his legs became a fish's tail; but he felt\nno regrets over losing his human form, and stayed contentedly in the\nocean. In time Neptune made him one of the lesser gods, and took him\ninto the friendly fraternity of the sea.\n\nAs Glaucus was swimming one day near the shore, he saw a beautiful\nmaiden named Scylla; and fell so much in love with her that he forgot\nhe was half fish, and begged her to be his wife. Scylla stared at\nhis green hair and blue skin, but this did not frighten her, nor did\nshe wonder at his fish's tail; for she had often played with the\nsea-nymphs, and was accustomed to their strange appearance. Glaucus\nfelt encouraged by her behavior, and begged her to listen to the story\nof his life. He told her how he had suffered a sea change, and now\noccupied the lofty position of a god. The maiden was interested in\nthis recital, but she had no desire to marry a merman, even if he were\na god; so when Glaucus ventured to come nearer to her, she turned and\nfled. Discouraged but still determined, the young god sought the aid\nof the enchantress Circe, and begged her to give him some love-potion\nby which he might win the unwilling Scylla. Circe was so well pleased\nwith the handsome sea-god that she urged him to accept her love, and\nforget the maiden who scorned him; but Glaucus would not yield to the\npersuasions of the enchantress, and kept pleading for the desired\nlove-potion.\n\nSeeing that she could not gain his affections, Circe determined that\nat least no one else should enjoy his love; so she refused to make the\npotion, and sent Glaucus angrily away. When she saw him go sorrowfully\nfrom her palace, she mixed a magic liquid, brewed from poisonous plants\nand deadly weeds, and this she poured over the waters where Scylla was\nwont to bathe. The maiden, suspecting no treachery, sought the ocean\nat her accustomed hour, and as soon as the poisoned waves touched her\nbody she became a horrible monster with six heads--each having three\nrows of sharp teeth. She saw all around her serpents and barking dogs\nthat were part of her own body, which had suddenly become rooted to the\nspot where she stood. She never regained her human form, but stayed\nin this place forever to terrify all mariners, and to devour the\nhapless sailors that came within her reach. Opposite her was the den\nof Charybdis, who three times a day swallowed the waters of the sea,\nand three times threw them up again. On the rock above the den was an\nimmense fir-tree, and all ships that passed that way watched eagerly\nfor this signal of danger, and prayed that they might safely steer\nbetween the double horrors of Scylla and Charybdis.\n\n                            \"There Scylla dwells,\n      And fills the air with fearful yells; her voice\n      The cry of whelps just littered, but herself\n      A frightful prodigy--a sight which none\n      Would care to look on, though he were a god.\n      Twelve feet are hers, all shapeless, six long necks,\n      A hideous head on each, and triple rows\n      Of teeth, close set and many, threatening death.\n      And forth from the dark gulf her heads are thrust,\n      To look abroad upon the rocks for prey,--\n      .... No mariner can boast\n      That he has passed by Scylla with a crew\n      Unharmed.\"\n\n                  --BRYANT'S Homer's _Odyssey_, Book XII, line 100.\n\n\nIV\n\nTwo other minor deities of the sea were Leucothea and Pal\u00e6mon. They\nwere not born of the ocean-nymphs or any water-god, but were once\nmortals, named Ino and Melicertes. Ino was the wife of King Athamas,\nwhom cruel Juno goaded into madness; and through fear of him Ino fled\nfrom the palace with her little son, Melicertes, in her arms. She hoped\nto reach some place of safety; but imagining herself pursued, in her\nfrenzy she plunged from a cliff's edge into the sea. Neither she nor\nher son perished, however, for the gods, in pity for her sufferings,\nchanged them both into ocean deities under the names of Leucothea\nand Pal\u00e6mon. They were widely worshiped by all who had business in\ngreat waters, and their protection was invoked against the danger\nof shipwreck. A famous altar to Pal\u00e6mon was built on the shores of\nCorinth, and in his honor were instituted the celebrated Isthmian\ngames.[53]\n\n\nV\n\nNeptune was not only willing to befriend a goddess in distress, as\nhe did when he raised the island out of the sea for Latona, but was\nequally ready to assist mortals--especially in their love affairs.\nOnce he lent his chariot to a youth named Idas when he wished to\nelope with the maiden Marpessa, whose father had refused to allow\nthe lovers to wed. They were overjoyed at Neptune's kindly offer of\nassistance; and on the day arranged for their flight, the happy pair\nmounted the chariot, and the swift steeds carried them far out of reach\nof Marpessa's angry father. When he discovered that his daughter had\neloped with her lover, he started in pursuit; but finding it impossible\nto overtake Neptune's splendid horses, he flew into such a rage that\nhe flung himself into a river and drowned. (The river was afterwards\ncalled by his name--Evenus.)\n\nKnowing themselves out of reach of the irate father, the lovers\ncontinued their journey very happily, and believed that no misfortune\ncould overtake them, when suddenly Apollo appeared before them, and,\ndeclaring himself in love with Marpessa, offered to fight Idas then\nand there for the possession of the maiden. Poor Idas felt that his\nchances for happiness were indeed ended, for how could a mortal contend\nwith an omnipotent god? Suddenly a thunderbolt fell from the blue sky,\nand a voice declared that Marpessa herself should choose between her\ntwo suitors. The maiden looked at the glorious sun-god, and her heart\nbeat fast at the thought of being loved by one so beautiful and young;\nbut when she turned to Idas, she remembered that he was a mortal like\nherself, who would grow old as she grew old, and would, therefore,\nnot cast her aside when her youthful charm was gone, as Apollo would\nbe sure to do as soon as her beauty waned. So she held out her hand\nto Idas, and refused the sun-god's love. This choice was approved by\nJupiter, and the lovers, happy once more, urged Neptune's swift horses\nover the mirror-like sea, which the kindly god had made calm as a\nforest pool on the softest summer day. In time they reached a pleasant\nland far from their native country, and here they lived happily ever\nafterward. The chariot, no longer needed, was sent back to Neptune with\nmany thanks for his timely aid; and each year Idas and Marpessa burned\nas sacrifices to their protector a white bull, a white ram, and a white\nboar, which was the kind of offering most pleasing to Neptune.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIX\n\nBacchus\n\n\nAmong all the maidens whom Jupiter honored with his love, none was more\nbeautiful than Semele, daughter of Cadmus and Harmonia. Cadmus was the\nbrother of Europa, whom Jupiter, in the form of a white bull, carried\non his back across the sea. The maiden's three brothers had been with\nher in the meadow, and had witnessed her strange departure, but knowing\nthat it would be useless to attempt to catch the fleet animal, they\nhurried to their father, Agenor, and told him of the manner in which\nhis favorite daughter had been spirited away. The old man was frenzied\nwith grief, and bade his three sons to go in search of Europa and not\nreturn until they had found her. The youths set out, accompanied by\ntheir mother, Telephassa, and spent many weary days in a fruitless\nsearch for the stolen maiden. At last Ph\u0153nix refused to go any farther,\nand, not daring to return to his father, he remained in a land that was\nafterwards called in his honor--Ph\u0153nicia. Cilix, the second brother,\ngrew weary of the hopeless quest and settled in a country named\nfrom him--Cilicia; and finally Telephassa, exhausted by fatigue and\ngrief, died, and Cadmus was left to continue the search alone. He kept\ndoggedly on for many days, and when he reached the town of Delphi, he\nconsulted the oracle, hoping to find some clew to help him. To his\nsurprise the oracle gave this ambiguous answer: \"Follow the cow and\nsettle where she rests.\" Cadmus left the temple, and before he had\njourneyed far he saw a cow walking leisurely in front of him. Judging\nthis to be the animal intended to guide him, he followed her, and on\nthe way was joined by a curious crowd who were eager to see where the\nabsurd procession would finally stop. Some hoped that by accompanying\nthe hero on his march they might meet with new adventures. The cow at\nlast lay down in B\u0153otia, and here Cadmus founded the city of Thebes.[54]\n\nTo reward Cadmus for his loving search for Europa, Jupiter gave him in\nmarriage the fair Harmonia, daughter of Mars and Venus. The child of\nthis union was Semele, whom Jupiter wooed in the disguise of a mortal;\nbut such was the maiden's pride that she would not listen to his\npleading until he told her who he really was. Then her love was easily\nwon, for no pride could be above yielding to the ruler of Olympus.\nJupiter was very happy in the society of Semele, and went down to\nearth many times to visit her, but it was inevitable that Juno should\nnotice his frequent absences, and should set about finding out where\nthe charm lay that lured him so often to the earth. When she discovered\nher beautiful rival, she decided upon an ingenious method of punishing\nher, and accordingly took the form of Semele's old nurse, Bero\u00eb. By\nfeigning a loving solicitude for her charge's welfare, she soon won the\nconfidence of the unsuspecting maiden, and listened with well-concealed\nanger while Semele talked of her lover and showed her pride in having\nwon the affections of the greatest of gods.\n\nThe nurse was evidently delighted at Semele's happiness, but seemed\nworried over the new suitor's identity, and now and then expressed a\ndoubt as to whether he really was the great Jupiter. On questioning the\nmaiden more closely, she assumed a virtuous indignation when Semele\nadmitted that her lover always visited her in the disguise of a mortal,\nand that she had only his word as proof of his divinity. Hearing this,\nthe old woman urged Semele to make sure that it was no impostor who was\nplaying on her credulity, and pricked the girl's pride by asking her\nwhy it was that Jupiter--if it were indeed he--should not honor her as\nhe did the stately Juno by appearing before her in all his splendid\nmajesty. Then the pretended nurse described the glory of Jupiter as\nit was seen by the dwellers in Olympus, and finally so worked upon\nSemele's pride and curiosity that the unsuspicious maiden promised to\nput her lover to the test. So when Jupiter came again, she begged him\nto grant her a favor, and the ruler of the gods, not knowing of Juno's\nwiles, readily promised to grant any request Semele might make. To\nfurther bind himself, he swore by the river Styx--the most terrible of\nall oaths. Then the maiden bade him return to Olympus, clothe himself\nin all his regal apparel--omitting no part of his terrible splendor,\nnot even the dreaded thunderbolts--and having done this, return to her,\nthat she might know he was indeed the awful Thunderer.\n\nJupiter was dismayed at this request, for he knew that no mortal could\nendure the greatness of his glory. He begged Semele to ask another\nboon; but the maiden was obstinate, and insisted upon her request being\ngranted. Sorrowfully Jupiter returned to Olympus, and after robing\nhimself in his fearful majesty, he dimmed the radiance wherever he\ncould, wrapped about him the mildest lightning, and took in his hand\nthe feeblest thunderbolt.\n\n      \"To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds\n      His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds;\n      Whilst all around, in terrible array,\n      His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play.\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      Thus dreadfully adorned with horror bright\n      The illustrous god, descending from his height,\n      Came rushing on her in a storm of light.\"\n\n              --ADDISON'S Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, Book III, line 302.\n\nBut in spite of his attempt to lessen his splendor, even this mild\nglory so overwhelmed poor Semele that when Jupiter appeared before\nher, she dropped dead at his feet. In trying vainly to bring her back\nto life, Jupiter did not notice what havoc the lightning, that played\nabout his head, was making in the palace. In a short time the whole\nplace was reduced to ashes, and in the smouldering ruins the body of\nSemele was consumed. The only person who escaped uninjured was the\ninfant son of Jupiter and Semele, the golden-haired Bacchus.[55]\n\nHaving rescued his son from the burning palace, Jupiter first intrusted\nhim to his aunt Ino, who cared for him as tenderly as if he were her\nown child. But the jealous hatred of Juno was not satisfied with the\ndeath of Semele, and she tried to extend her vengeance to Bacchus by\nsending the fury Tisiphone to goad Athamas, the husband of Ino, into\nmadness. As king of Thebes, Athamas had always been a kind ruler, but\nwhen the frenzy, inspired by cruel Juno, took possession of him, he\nimagined that his wife and children were wild beasts, and attempted to\nkill them. He did succeed in slaying Learchus, but Ino and her other\nson, Melicertes, escaped from his murderous fury, and afterwards became\ndeities of the ocean.[56]\n\n[Illustration: Faun]\n\nNot daring to leave the infant Bacchus in such a household, and fearing\nthe further persecutions of Juno, Jupiter took the boy to Mount Nysa,\nwhere the nymphs--the Nysiades--guarded him faithfully. During his\nyouth, Bacchus was made god of wine and revels, and was intrusted to\nthe tutorship of Silenus, one of the most famous of the satyrs. This\njovial old man had a bald head, pointed ears, a fat red face, and a\nbody that was half man and half goat. As he carried a wine bag with him\nwherever he went, he was generally tipsy, and would have broken his\nneck long before reaching old age if he had tried to walk unsupported;\nbut some of Bacchus's chosen band of followers always held him up on\neither side; or, when they themselves were unsteady, set him on an\nass's back. Thus protected, he roamed about with Bacchus, and taught\nhim all the craft of wine-growing and the making of choicest wine. The\nyoung god soon became a master of revels, and had a large train of\nfollowers composed of men and women, nymphs, fauns, and satyrs. They\nwere usually crowned with ivy leaves, and were always drinking wine,\neating grapes, singing, and dancing. The most unruly among them\nwere the Bacchantes, who, though women, were often so crazed with wine\nand the excitement of their dancing that they committed such inhuman\ncrimes as tearing the musician Orpheus to pieces.[57] Wherever Bacchus\ntraveled--and it was far and wide--he taught the people the art of\ncultivating grapes and making wine. He was always welcomed, and when\nthey knew he was approaching, men, women, and children flocked to meet\nhim and his merry company.\n\nJuno tried hard to check his triumphant progress, but she did not\ndare take his life for fear of Jupiter's wrath; so she afflicted him\nwith a kind of madness that drove him forth a wanderer alone over the\nearth. He had many adventures during this unhappy period, and finally\nlanded in Phrygia, where the goddess Rhea cured him and taught him her\nreligious rites. After this he wandered in Asia and India, teaching\nthe people the wonderful new art of making wine. When he returned to\nGreece, he was welcomed everywhere, until he reached his native city\nof Thebes, where his cousin Pentheus was king. When Pentheus heard\nthat the people were flocking out of the gates to meet Bacchus and his\nrevelers, he tried to stop the excited crowds and force them to return.\nIn vain he pleaded, commanded, threatened. Men and women, and even\nchildren, were eager to join in the revels, and would not turn back.\nThen Pentheus sent some of his servants to seize Bacchus and bring him\na prisoner to the city. Soon the messengers returned, but they had not\nsucceeded in getting near the god--so great was the crowd that pressed\neagerly around him. They had, however, captured one of his followers;\nand when they dragged their prisoner before the king, he stood in the\npresence of the angry monarch without any sign of fear in his calm\nface. Pentheus commanded the man to tell what sort of revelry and rites\nwere performed under the leadership of Bacchus; and threatened to put\nhim instantly to death if he did not tell the truth. The prisoner\nsmiled at the king's anger, and seemed quite undisturbed by the threats\nagainst his life. He refused to tell anything of the ceremonies\nattending the worship of Bacchus, but began calmly to relate his own\nstory.\n\nHe said that his name was Acetes of M\u00e6onia, and that he was a poor\nfisherman by birth, but had himself learned the pilot's art of steering\nby the stars. He had thus become master of a cruising vessel; and once,\nwhen he was near the island of Dia,[58] he sent some of his men to\nshore for fresh water. They soon returned, bringing with them a youth\nwhom they had found asleep in the forest, and had captured, hoping\nto obtain a large ransom for him, as the lad was surely some king's\nson--so haughty and regal was his bearing. When Acetes saw the youth,\nhe begged his men not to force him on board the ship, for the pilot\nfelt convinced that it was no mere mortal who stood so proudly before\nthem. But the sailors would not listen to his advice, and thrust the\nyouth roughly on board. Then Acetes refused to steer the ship; but\nthe men only laughed and declared that they could pilot the craft as\nwell as he. An angry discussion took place on the decks, and soon the\nquarreling grew so loud that the captured youth, who had been gazing\nlistlessly over the sea, turned to the wrangling crew and asked in what\ndirection the ship was sailing.\n\n\"We will steer wherever you wish to go,\" replied one of the men with a\nwink at his companions.\n\n\"Then sail back to Naxos, for that is my home,\" said the youth. The\nsailors promised to do so, but turned the ship toward Egypt, where they\nhoped to sell their prize for a large sum in gold. Acetes made several\nbrave attempts to get possession of the helm and steer for Naxos, but\nthe sailors struck him down, and threatened to throw him overboard if\nhe interfered in their plans.\n\nSoon the lad seemed to notice that the familiar shores were receding,\nand anxiously inquired if they were really sailing toward Naxos.\nHe begged them not to ill-treat a friendless boy; but to let him\nreturn home in safety. Then the crew, weary of their pretense, told\nhim brutally that he was being taken to Egypt to be sold as a slave;\nand that he could try his pretty speeches on his future master. The\nyouth did not reply to these taunts, but looked calmly at the jeering\nsailors, and raised his hand above his head. Immediately the ship\nstopped as if it had been suddenly rooted to the sea; and though the\nmen pulled frantically at the oars, not an inch could the vessel move.\nThen, as in a dream, they saw ivy twining rapidly about the sails,\nand wrapping the oars in its strong tendrils. A vine with its heavy\nclusters of grapes clung to the mast and the sides of the ship. There\nwas the delicious smell of crushed fruit in the air, and the fragrance\nof new-made wine.\n\nThe sailors stared at the transformed ship and at the captured youth,\nwho now shook off his mask of simplicity and appeared before them in\nall his godlike beauty--for it was no other than the divine Bacchus\nwhom they had derided and had hoped to sell as a slave. The sound of\nflutes was heard all around him, and the shrill notes of the pipes. At\nthe feet of Bacchus crouched tigers, lynxes, and panthers, and the god\nhimself bore in his hand a staff wreathed with ivy. Then terror seized\nthe trembling sailors, and they sprang madly over the side of the ship;\nbut as soon as they touched the water they were changed into dolphins.\nOnly Acetes was left standing on the deck before the smiling Bacchus,\nwho bade him have no fear, but take the helm and steer straight for\nNaxos. The pilot gladly obeyed, and soon reached the desired port,\nwhere he left his ship and became a follower of the god of wine.\n\nWhen Acetes finished this remarkable story, King Pentheus swore that\nnot a word of it was true, and ordered his prisoner to be taken away\nat once and executed. The soldiers threw Acetes into a dungeon; but\nwhile the preparations for his execution were being made, his chains\nsuddenly dropped off and his prison doors flew open. When the jailers\ncame to lead him to his death, he was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile\nthe king had learned that the people were thronging around Bacchus on\nthe Cith\u00e6ron mountain, just outside the city, and were eagerly joining\nin all the joyous rites that attended the worship of the god of wine.\nThe shouts of the Bacchanals filled the air, and in spite of his anger\nagainst them, Pentheus was curious to see what these ceremonies were\nthat occasioned such roisterous mirth. So he disguised himself as a\nbeggar, and joined the shouting crowd that surrounded Bacchus and\nhis followers. The noisiest of the revelers were the Bacchantes, who\ndanced and sang in a very frenzy of excitement as they tossed their\nivy wreaths into the air and poured the red wine recklessly upon the\nground. When this group, flushed with wine and half clad, whirled madly\ntoward him, the king was astonished to see among them his own mother\nAgave. As he leaned nearer to the shouting dancers, wondering how his\nmother came to join in such orgies, she suddenly saw him, and pointing\na finger at his shrinking figure cried:--\n\n\"There is the monster who prowls in our woods. Come on, sisters. I will\nbe the first to strike the wild boar.\" Blinded by the madness that\nBacchus had purposely inspired, she rushed upon the terrified king,\nfollowed by the crowd of half-crazed Bacchantes. In vain did Pentheus\ncry out that he was her son. Agave and her companions trampled him down\nin their fierce onslaught, and in a moment tore him to pieces. Thus was\nthe worship of Bacchus established in Greece.\n\nThe spot that the god of wine loved best was the island of Naxos; and\nhere he spent much of his time when he was not wandering over the earth\nto teach the art of making wine. One day Bacchus was walking on the\nseashore with his ivy-crowned company, who followed him singing and\ndancing to the music of their shrill pipes. As they neared a spot where\nthe rocks rise like a cliff above the water's edge, they discovered\na maiden sitting on the white sand. This was Ariadne, who had been\ndeserted by her lover, Theseus,[59] and left to pine away alone on the\nisland. For days Ariadne had sat looking mournfully out over the sea;\nand now when Bacchus, with his joyous group of revelers, suddenly broke\nin upon the silence of her solitude, she was frightened by the sight\nof so many strangers. Bacchus soothed her fears, and in a short time\nso won the maiden's confidence that he persuaded her to become his\nwife. Ariadne was quite content to stay on the island with such a merry\ncompany, and if she ever felt any regret over the faithless Theseus, it\nwas soon forgotten in the joy of the wedding celebrations, which lasted\nfor several days. As a marriage gift, Bacchus placed on Ariadne's white\nforehead a crown adorned with seven glittering stars; but wonderful as\nit was, it did not eclipse the beauty of the wearer. The happiness of\nthe newly-wedded pair did not last long, however, for in a few months\nAriadne sickened and died. After her death Bacchus left the island,\nand did not return there for many years; but before he set sail he\ntook Ariadne's crown and threw it up into the sky, where it forms a\nbrilliant constellation known as Corona.\n\nOne day Silenus fell asleep in the forest, and his companions,\nbelieving him safe for a while, went away and left him propped up\nagainst a tree with his wine-bag at his side. Here he was found by\nsome peasants, who were subjects of Midas, king of Lydia. The rustics\nwatched the sleeping Silenus for a long time, wondering who he might\nbe. At length the old man woke up, and after rubbing his eyes, asked\nthe staring peasants where he was. As he received no answer to his\nquestion, Silenus motioned to the rustics to help him up, and then\nstarted to hunt for Bacchus and his lost companions. Seeing him unable\nto walk the men led him to the court of King Midas who, as soon as he\nsaw the wanderer's jolly red face and his body--half goat and half\nman--knew at once that it was Silenus, the tutor of Bacchus. This Midas\nwas the same king who had challenged Apollo to compete in the musical\ncontest with Pan; and, because of his unfair decision, had been cursed\nwith ass's ears by the offended god.[60] The fact that Silenus had ears\nunlike the average mortal may have made King Midas feel a bit more\nsympathy for the old man's distress; but whatever the reason might be,\nhe entertained Silenus royally for ten days, and then led him back to\nhis pupil, who had been wondering at his long absence.[61]\n\nDelighted to have Silenus returned to him unharmed, Bacchus promised\nto give the king any reward he might name; and Midas, being very\navaricious, asked the god to grant that all that he touched should turn\ninto gold. Bacchus had hoped that Midas would desire a better gift\nthan this; but having made a promise, the god was ready to fulfill it,\nand he therefore assured the king that his wish was granted. Midas,\noverjoyed at his good fortune, hastened back to his palace, and on\nthe way he hesitatingly tried his new power. He touched some leaves\nthat hung from the trees near by, and immediately they became golden.\nHe took up a stone from the roadway, and it turned into gold in his\nhand. He plucked an apple, and in a moment it looked like one of the\ngolden fruit from the garden of the Hesperides. Midas was almost beside\nhimself with joy; and as soon as he reached his palace he began at once\nto turn all its furnishings into gold. He was so delighted with his\nwonderful gift that he felt no desire to eat or drink or rest; but at\nlast he grew a little weary of turning things into gold, and, being\nhungry, sat down at his well-filled table.\n\nHe took great pleasure in seeing the cloth and the cups and the plates\nchange as everything else had done at his touch; but to his great\namazement and horror, he also found that the bread he took in his hand,\nthe food that touched his lips, turned into hard, unyielding gold. He\ntried to drink from the shining cups, but the wine in his mouth became\nmelted gold. Then Midas knew the real meaning of his magic touch, and\nrealized sorrowfully that until it was taken away, he would slowly\nstarve in the midst of his great wealth. Already he hated his gift,\nand longed for some way to divest himself of his ill-fated power. He\ncried aloud to Bacchus for help, but no answer came to his prayers.\nAgain he besought the god, and this time acknowledged his avarice, and\nlamented the greed that had led him to ask for the gift of the golden\ntouch. Bacchus heard his prayers, and, believing him truly repentant,\ncommanded him to go to the river Pactolus, trace the stream to its\nsource, and plunge his head and body into the purifying water. In this\nway he could cleanse himself of his fault and its punishment. Midas did\nas he was instructed, and came away from the river a wiser and happier,\nthough a poorer man. If at any time he was ever tempted to regret his\nlost gift, he had only to look into the river at the glittering golden\nsand on the bed of the stream; for where the king had stood, the sand\nwas changed into gold, and so it has remained to this very day.[62]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XX\n\nPan and the Nymphs\n\n\nPan,[63] the god of woods and fields, god of the flocks and herds, and\npatron deity of all shepherds, was said to be the son of Mercury. It\nis apparently not known who his mother was, but she must have had some\nsylvan blood in her veins, for the youthful Pan showed every evidence\nof having been born of woodland creatures, as he had the pointed ears\nof the fauns, and the horns and goat's legs of the satyrs. The story\ngoes that his mother--whichever nymph it was of the many reputed to\nhave borne him--was disgusted with his absurd appearance, and refused\nto own him for her child; but Mercury was delighted with his son's\ngrotesque figure, and took him to Olympus to amuse the gods.\n\nPan's favorite dwelling place was Arcadia; and here he wandered over\nthe hills and among the rocks, or roamed through the fertile valleys.\nHe delighted in hunting, and amused himself with various pastimes--his\nespecial pleasure being to lead in the dances with the nymphs. He\nwas devoted to music, and was usually seen playing on the syrinx,--or\nshepherd's pipes,--which he himself invented and named from a nymph\nwhom he unsuccessfully wooed. The maiden Syrinx was a follower of\nDiana; and one day, as she was returning from the chase, she met Pan,\nwho immediately fell in love with her beauty, and begged her to be\nhis wife. The nymph had always scorned to listen to any lover, and\nPan's appearance did not tend to soften her objections; so while he\nwas praising her many charms and pleading for her love, she turned and\nran away. The woodland god was not to be put off so lightly, however;\nand he promptly gave chase to the fleeing maiden, who, finding that\nher pursuer was gaining on her, called wildly on the river-nymphs for\nhelp. She had by this time reached the water's edge; and just as Pan's\narms were about to enfold her, the kindly nymphs changed her into a\ncluster of reeds. The god was much chagrined at the failure of his\nhopes; but since he could not have the living maiden, he determined to\ntake whatever remained of the beautiful thing that had charmed him. So\nhe gathered a bunch of the reeds, and after cutting them into unequal\nlengths, bound them together into a sort of shepherd's pipes. When\nhe put the reeds to his lips, they gave forth the softest and most\nplaintive tones, and Pan called them the syrinx in honor of the nymph.\n\nBefore inventing this new instrument, Pan had played upon the flute,\nand it was his skill in this direction that made King Midas dare to\naffront Apollo by declaring Pan to be the better musician. The god of\nwoods and fields was not, however, a frequenter of palaces, but made\nhis home in grottoes and piped to the murmuring trees. He loved to\nprowl by night in lonesome places, and lurk among the shadows where\nsome belated traveler, startled by the weird hoot of an owl, would\nsee his grotesque form and rush away, filled with that unreasoning\nterror called a \"panic.\" Pan's partners in the sylvan dance were the\nwood-nymphs, who always welcomed him and his followers. When his days\nwere spent among the mountain solitudes, the Oreads, or mountain\nnymphs, danced with him in the moonlight; and when he preferred to\nlive in the valleys, the Dryads, or nymphs of vegetation, joined in\nthe revels led by Pan and his company of fauns and satyrs.[64] The\nNaides, the beautiful water-nymphs who dwelt in the clear depths of\nthe fountains, did not come out of their quiet haunts to take part in\nthe merriment; nor did the shy Hamadryads leave the safe shelter of\ntheir trees to mingle in the joyous dance. Among these latter nymphs\neach had her particular tree, and lived and died with the one intrusted\nto her care. It was held, therefore, to be an act of wanton cruelty\nto destroy or even mar a tree, lest the Hamadryad who inhabited it\nshould be hurt and possibly killed. It was unwise to break off a flower\nrecklessly, or to pull it rudely from the earth, for in this humble\nform might be lodged the spirit of some woodland creature.\n\nSuch a sad mistake did Dryope once make, and suffered for her\ncarelessness by being changed from a mortal into a Hamadryad. Dryope\nwas a beautiful young princess, the wife of Andr\u00e6mon, and the mother of\na golden-haired boy. Every day she carried her child to a small lake\nnear the palace, and let him gather the gayly-colored flowers that grew\non the water's edge. One day, as she wandered by the lake, Dryope saw\na lotus blossom and pointed it out to her little son, who immediately\ntried to pluck it. As it was much beyond his reach, his mother leaned\nover the water and broke it off the stem. To her surprise, she saw\ndrops of blood slowly oozing from the stem; and as the boy eagerly\ngrasped the lovely flower in his chubby hand, a crimson stream trickled\nthrough his clasped fingers. He dropped the blossom with a frightened\ncry, and ran screaming to the palace, while Dryope stood looking down,\nbewildered, at the bleeding flower. Just then she heard a voice\ntelling her that she had killed the nymph Lotis, who, to escape from\nthe arms of the hateful god Priapus, had taken the form of a lotus.\n\nWhen Dryope realized the dreadful thing that she had unknowingly done,\nshe turned pale with fright, and would have hurried away from the\nunlucky spot; but when she tried to turn from the sight of the dying\nflower, she found that she could not move. Her feet seemed rooted to\nthe ground; and, as she looked down, she was horrified to see that a\nrough bark was beginning to inclose her limbs. With dreadful rapidity\nit spread upward, and soon encircled her whole body, while her arms\nchanged into twisted branches and her hands into green leaves. In vain\nshe called to her husband and her friends for help. When they arrived,\nthere was nothing left of the fair Dryope but her tear-stained face,\nwhich was covered all too soon by the cruel bark. Just before she\ndisappeared completely from their sight, she begged that her little\nson might be taught to play beneath her branches; and when, in all\nthe after days, the boy sat willingly beside the tree and listened to\nthe soft rustling of its leaves, the passers-by would say: \"Dryope is\nwhispering to her child.\"[65]\n\nThe danger of recklessly destroying any tree is shown by the story of\nErysichthon, who dared to defy the goddess Ceres, and so received a\nfitting punishment. There was a certain grove of trees sacred to Ceres,\nand among them was a lofty oak on which votive tablets were often hung,\nand around which the nymphs and Dryads danced hand in hand. Erysichthon\nordered his servants to cut down this venerable oak; and when they\nhesitated, telling him that it was a tree beloved by Ceres and should\nnot suffer such a sacrilege, he seized the ax himself and made a deep\ngash in the trunk. To the great horror of those who stood by, blood\nbegan to flow from the wound; and as Erysichthon was about to deal the\ntree another blow, one of his servants caught at his arm, imploring\nhim not to touch the oak again, for the blood showed that a Hamadryad\nwas being wounded. Maddened at this interference, and determined to\ncarry out his brutal will, Erysichthon declared that he would cut\ndown the tree if by so doing he killed a dozen Dryads. He lifted his\nax for a mighty stroke, and as the servant again sought to stay his\narm, he turned fiercely and killed the man with one swift blow. Then\nhe proceeded to fell the tree, and soon it was lying, bruised and\nbleeding, on the ground.\n\nThe nymphs rushed to Ceres, and begged her to punish this wicked\nviolation of her grove. The goddess promised that Erysichthon's deed\nshould not go unpunished, and sent an Oread to the remote part of\nScythia, where the ice lies thick on the dreary soil and the land is\nalways desolate. \"Here dwell drowsy Cold and Paleness and Shuddering\nand dreadful Famine.\" When the Oread drew near this barren country,\nshe saw far off the gaunt form of Famine pulling up with her teeth and\nclaws the scant bits of vegetation that could be found here and there\nin the frozen earth. The nymph did not want to linger near the dreadful\nform of Famine, lest the hag should reach out her lean finger and touch\nthe maiden's robes; so she hurriedly delivered the message of Ceres,\nand sped quickly back to her own fair land of Thessaly.\n\nNot daring to disobey the goddess's command, Famine left her dreary\ncountry and sought out the home of Erysichthon. She found him asleep;\nand as he slept she enfolded him with her wings, and breathed into his\nnostrils her deadly breath. Then she returned to her frantic digging in\nthe unyielding soil. When Erysichthon awoke, he was at once consumed\nwith a fierce desire for food; but, however much he ate, the terrible\ncraving never ceased. All day long he devoured things greedily, but at\nnight his hunger was still unsatisfied. His servants piled up food in\nenormous quantities before him, but the gnawing pangs of hunger never\nleft him. He spent all his wealth in a vain attempt to buy enough food\nto appease the insatiable monster within him; but, though he at last\nsold all that he had, even to his house and his clothing, it was not\nenough to buy him the food he craved. There was nothing left him now\nbut his daughter; and frenzied by his hunger, he offered to sell her to\na slave-dealer.\n\nThe girl pitied her father's sufferings and would have done anything to\nhelp him; but she resented his baseness in selling her, for she came\nof a noble race. While her purchaser was disputing with her father\nover the price, the maiden, who was standing on the seashore, a short\ndistance away from her new master, implored Neptune to save her from\nthe disgrace of being sold as a slave. The kindly sea-god heard her\ncry, and changed her into an old fisherwoman. When the bargain between\nErysichthon and the dealer was settled, the man looked around for\nhis new purchase, but she was nowhere to be seen. The only person on\nthe seashore, beside the brutal bargainers, was an old woman who sat\nmending her net. The irate owner searched in vain for his slave and\neven asked the fisherwoman if she had seen a weeping maiden. Unable\nto find the girl, he at last went away, concluding that Erysichthon's\ndaughter had tried to escape and so had been drowned in the sea. The\nmaiden was rejoiced at her deliverance; but her cruel father, on seeing\nher regain her own form, decided that this was an easy way of making\nthe money he desperately needed. So he sold his daughter again and\nagain, and each time she sought the help of Neptune, who obligingly\nturned her into many different shapes. At last even this device failed\nto bring to Erysichthon enough money to meet the ever increasing\ndemands of his hunger. In despair over the lack of food he began to eat\nhis own flesh; and in a short time he had devoured so much of his body\nthat death came to end his torment. So was Ceres avenged.\n\nThe Hamadryads were seldom seen by men, but people knew them to be both\ngentle and beautiful. That they could repay a kindness is well shown\nby the story of Rh\u0153cus, who gained the love of one of the shyest of\nthese nymphs. One day the youth happened to see an oak-tree bent so\nfar down by the wind that some of its branches were already broken. He\npropped up the tree, and gently bound up the broken limbs; then as he\nturned to go, he heard a soft voice calling him. It was the Hamadryad\nwho had expected to die with her stricken tree, and was now so grateful\nto Rh\u0153cus that she bade him ask of her any reward he wished. The\nyouth boldly asked for her love, and the nymph reluctantly yielded to\nhis wish, promising to meet him at the oak-tree each day just before\nsunset. To keep him mindful of the hour set for the tryst, she told\nhim that she would send him a messenger--a bee--which would also guide\nhim to the spot where she was waiting.\n\nRh\u0153cus was very happy with the Hamadryad; and never failed to follow\nthe flight of the bee that came each day at sunset to lead him to the\ntrysting-place. One morning, however, he began to play at dice with\nhis friends, and the game continued through the long summer afternoon.\nAs it drew toward sunset, Rh\u0153cus forgot that it was his hour to meet\nthe Dryad, and continued his game, even though he noticed vaguely that\na bee was buzzing near him. Soon the bee came close to his face, and\nbuzzed so persistently that Rh\u0153cus brushed it angrily away. Each time\nhe tried to shake it off it came buzzing back, and at last he struck\nat it so viciously that it fell to the ground. Then in a flash Rh\u0153cus\nremembered his promise to the Dryad, and throwing away his dice, he\nhurried to the trysting-place. He called to the nymph and begged her\nto come to him once more; but no sweet face appeared though a voice\nspoke from the heart of the oak-tree bidding him a sad farewell. Rh\u0153cus\nhad already repented bitterly of his forgetfulness; but nothing could\nrestore him to favor. He sat all night beside the oak-tree, but the\nDryad never came to him again.[66]\n\n[Illustration: Vestals]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXI\n\nThe Vestals\n\n\nVesta was the oldest child of Saturn and Rhea, and was the goddess of\nthe family hearth. As the hearth was the basis of all domestic ties,\nVesta was considered the guardian of family happiness, and her worship\nwas an essential part of the family life. The hearth in ancient days\nhad a much greater significance than in modern times, for it was the\ncenter of the household, around which the family gathered for their\ncommon meal and common worship. On the hearth, as an altar-fire, the\nhead of the household offered prayers and sacrifices; and it made a\nbond of union so generally recognized that he who partook of food\nthere, or who shared in the family worship, could ever afterward\nlay claim to the master's hospitality. If a suppliant was seeking\nprotection from any danger, it was to a man's hearth that he came as\na sure place of refuge. The flames that burned on this family altar\nwere sacred to the goddess Vesta, and prayers for domestic happiness\nand the household's welfare were usually offered to her. Thus the fire\nburning on the hearth of each dwelling was a perpetual worship of\nthe beneficent Vesta, and even the sacrifices made to other gods were\npartly in her honor; for whenever the flames were rekindled, a prayer\nwas offered to the goddess of the family fireside.\n\nEvery dwelling was, therefore, in some sense, a temple of Vesta; but\nthere was also in each city a stately edifice where all the citizens\nworshiped at her sacred fire, and were thus bound together in one\ngreat family. In Rome, where the worship of Vesta was most celebrated,\na beautiful circular temple, dedicated to the goddess, stood in the\nForum. It was not necessary to place a statue of Vesta here, for the\neternal fire that glowed on her altar was her living symbol, and\nthrough this she was worshiped. This fire was supposed to have been\nbrought to Italy by \u00c6neas when he fled from burning Troy and carried\nwith him out of the city two valuable possessions, _i.e._ the fire of\nVesta and his own household gods--or Penates. When a colony was sent\nout from any city, the emigrants took some of the fire from the temple\nof Vesta in the mother town, and guarded it during their voyages, that\nthey might use its flames to light the fires that were to burn on the\nhearths of the new homes. Each city cherished carefully the fire that\nwas sacred to Vesta, and never allowed it to burn out, for that was an\nevil omen sure to presage disaster. If by any chance it was allowed\nto become extinct, it was never relit from any ordinary fire, but was\nkindled with a spark produced by friction, or by drawing fire from the\nsun's rays through a glass.\n\nThe temple at Rome was the most famous of those dedicated to Vesta, for\nhere was the school of the Vestal Virgins whose duty it was to tend her\never-living fire. As any neglect on their part might bring some public\ncalamity upon Rome, this altar was jealously guarded; and when, as it\nsometimes happened, enemies threatened the city, the Vestals carried\nthe fire of Vesta down the Tiber and kept it in concealment until\nthe danger was over. Since so much depended on the watchfulness and\nfidelity of the Vestals, the office of priestess to the temple was held\nin high honor, and the maidens were chosen from the noblest families\nof Rome. They entered the service at the very youthful age of six, and\nspent thirty years in the temple. The first ten years were devoted to\nlearning their important duties; the next decade was the period for\nfilling the office of priestess, and performing all the solemn rites\nthat belonged to the worship of Vesta; the last ten years were given to\ninstructing the novices. When the thirty years of service were over,\nthe Vestals could continue in the temple, or leave it and marry if they\ndesired; but so holy were the Virgins thought to become through their\nlong residence in the temple, that it was held a sort of sacrilege for\nany man to marry them. Therefore the priestesses usually died, as they\nhad lived, in the service of the goddess.\n\nThe chief duty of the Vestals was to watch in turns, by night and day,\nthe sacred fire of Vesta, and to see that the flames never grew dim.\nDuring their entire period of service, they were obliged to keep the\nstrictest vows of chastity, under penalty of being buried alive in\na vaulted room, built especially for this purpose by the king, Numa\nPompilius. The Vestals, were, however, so true to all the vows made at\nthe great altar-fire, that in a thousand years only eighteen failed in\ntheir promises and thus suffered punishment. The story is told that the\nVestal Tuccia was accused of having broken her vow, but was able to\nprove her purity, by being given the miraculous power to carry water in\na sieve from the Tiber to the temple.\n\n[Illustration: Tuccia]\n\nThough the restrictions placed upon the Vestals were severe, and the\nrules of their order were pitilessly enforced, yet the privileges\nthat they enjoyed were such as to raise them in dignity above the\nother women of Rome. They were entirely released from all parental\nauthority; they had conspicuous places at the theaters and gladiatorial\nshows, and occupied seats of honor at all public festivals. Treaties\nand important state documents were intrusted to their care as in a\nplace inviolable; and their persons were held so holy that, when they\ndied, they were buried within the city limits--a privilege granted to\nbut few. When they went abroad, each was preceded by a lictor; and\nconsuls, pr\u00e6tors, and even tribunes made way for them, while if any one\npassed under their litter, he was put to death. If they chanced to meet\na criminal on his way to punishment, they could demand his release,\nprovided that it could be proved that the meeting was accidental. The\nVestals wore a robe of pure white linen with a wide purple border,\nand over their shoulders was a purple mantle. When the festivals of\nVesta, the Vestalia, were held, the priestesses marched in a procession\nthrough the streets, carrying their sacred fire, while the Roman\nmatrons followed them barefooted, chanting hymns in praise of Vesta.\nDuring these ceremonies all work was suspended in the city, the houses\nwere decked with flowers, and the beasts used in the procession were\nwreathed in garlands; banquets were set out before the houses, and the\npeople gave themselves up to a gala-day.\n\n\nII\n\nWhen \u00c6neas fled from burning Troy, and took with him some of the\nfire from the temple of Vesta, as the thing most necessary in the\nfounding of a new city, he also brought to the shores of Italy his\nown household gods--or Penates--who presided over the daily affairs of\nthe household, and were the guardians of each member of the family on\nwhose hearth they held the place of honor. The statues of the Penates\nwere of clay, wax, ivory, silver, or gold according to the master's\nwealth, and were always carried to the new home when the family changed\nits dwelling place. When the common meal was served, a small portion\nof it was set aside for the Penates, and a libation of wine was poured\nto them on the hearth. In return for this daily deference, the Penates\nblessed the household with happiness and prosperity.\n\nThe Lares were also worshiped by the Roman family, though they were\nquite unknown to the Greeks. They were the divinities that preserved\nthe family unity, and often were a sort of embodiment of the spirit of\nits head and founder. The Lares also guarded the welfare of the city,\nand presided over the fortunes of those great groups of families that\nwere the probable foundation of every Roman town. Tradition tells us\nthat the Lares were the two children of Mercury and a beautiful Naiad\nnamed Lara. This nymph was so loquacious that she talked from morning\nto night, and was very fond of prying into other people's affairs, that\nshe might thereby have some new subjects for conversation. One day\nshe heard Jupiter making love to a beautiful wood-nymph, and instead\nof keeping the matter discreetly to herself, she hurried off to tell\nthe whole affair to Juno. This impertinence so angered Jupiter that he\ndetermined to punish her severely and also to prevent her from doing\nany more talebearing; so he had poor Lara's tongue cut off. Then he\nsummoned Mercury and bade him take the nymph to Hades, where the sight\nof her sad face could never offend his eyes. On the way down to Pluto's\nkingdom, Mercury fell in love with his fair companion; and instead of\nleading her into Hades, he took her to a kindlier place, where he soon\nwon her love and persuaded her to be his wife. The two children of\nMercury and Lara were called Lares, and to them the Romans paid many\nhonors, reserving for them a place of honor on the family hearth.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXII\n\nMinor Deities\n\n\nI. \u00c6olus\n\nNot far from sunny Sicily and the deep crater of Etna, in which Vulcan\nbuilt his glowing forge, were the \u00c6olian Islands--now called Lipari\nIslands--where \u00c6olus, god of the winds and storms, kept his turbulent\nchildren. He never allowed them to roam at will, but held them securely\nbound in a great cave, and let them loose one at a time when they\nneeded exercise or when the gods demanded their release. Only once were\nthey allowed to give free play to their boisterous feelings, and rush\nover the waters, making havoc everywhere, and this was when Jupiter\nsent a deluge upon the impious earth. Since that time the winds have\nnever roamed at large, though they always chafe at being restrained in\ntheir narrow prison and long to break free.\n\n            \"Hic vasto rex \u00c6olus antro\n      Luctantes ventos--tempestatesque sonoras\n      Imperio premit ac vinclis et carcere frenat.\n      Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montis\n      Circum claustra fremunt; celsa sedet \u00c6olus arce,\n      Sceptratenens, mollitque animos et temperatiras;\n      Ni faciat, maria ac terras c\u00e6lumque profundum\n      Quippe ferant rapidi secum verrantque per auras.\"[67]\n\n                  --VIRGIL, _\u00c6neid_, Book I, line 52.\n\n\u00c6olus wooed and married the dainty Aurora, goddess of the morning,\nwho bore him his sons, _i.e._ Boreas, the north wind; Notus, the\nsouth wind; Eurus, the east wind; and Zephyrus, the soft and gentle\nwest wind. Sometimes Aurora sought the services of her children, but\nthey were entirely under the control of their father \u00c6olus who ruled\nthem with a strict hand. Sometimes when the stately Juno sought his\nassistance, he let the winds sweep over the calm sea until the waves\nrose mountain high, for he was reputed to have received his royal\nstatus as god from Juno's hands, and so was ever anxious to serve her.\nOnce, at her request, he let loose the fiercest winds to destroy the\nships of \u00c6neas--that unfortunate hero who was always being pursued\nby \"cruel Juno's unrelenting hate.\" The goddess was so eager for his\ndestruction that she went herself to the cave of the winds, and begged\n\u00c6olus to shatter the Trojan ships. So a terrible storm broke over the\nsea, and the winds drove the vessels of \u00c6neas far out of their course,\nscattering them here and there, until no two could see each other amid\nthe fury of the tempest. When Neptune realized what was happening, he\nlifted his head above the white-capped waves and saw the Trojan ships\ntossed about and beaten out of their course. As he himself had given no\ncommands for such a storm, he knew it was the never-ending hatred of\nJuno for the Trojans that had brought about the disaster. But the sea,\nand all that therein is, was Neptune's to control, and he was justly\nangry with Juno's interference; so he recalled the winds from their mad\nrace and bade the storm cease.\n\nQuite differently did \u00c6olus treat another famous hero, Ulysses, whose\nships, on the long homeward journey, touched at the Lipari Islands.\nHere the wanderer was hospitably entertained by \u00c6olus, and when he\nset sail again, the kindly god sent the west wind to blow the ships\ngently over the sea, while he shut up the blustering winds in a leather\nbag and tied it with a silver string. This bag he gave to Ulysses,\n\"the sagacious,\" and bade him keep it closed until the journey was\nover. For nine days and nights the hero stood at the helm watching,\nwhile the west wind bore the ships along without the help of oars.\nAt last, exhausted by his long vigil, Ulysses fell asleep; and the\nsailors, believing that the bag contained treasure that King \u00c6olus had\ngenerously given, untied the string and freed the roistering winds.\nThe ships were now driven hither and thither by the madly-rushing\nwinds, and were tossed over the sea far away from the longed-for\nIthaca. Finally they were blown back to the Lipari Islands, where \u00c6olus\nreceived them but coldly, and refused to help them further. So they\nturned their prows once more toward home, and worked wearily against\nwind and weather by the slow pull of the oars.\n\nThe Athenians built a temple to \u00c6olus, which is still extant, and is\ngenerally known as the Tower of the Winds, or the Temple of \u00c6olus.\nThe structure is hexagonal, and on each side there is a flying figure\nof one of the winds. Notus (or Auster), the south wind, was usually\nrepresented by an old man with dusky wings. He is clad in a black robe,\nand his head is covered with clouds, for he sends the rains and sudden\nshowers. Eurus, the east wind, was a young man full of impetuous and\nlively motion. Corus, the northwest wind, drove clouds of snow before\nhim, and Boreas was a figure rough and shivering. Zephyrus had a lapful\nof flowers, and was the one wind sent to play among children. Boreas\nwas the bringer of hail and tempests, and when he wooed the nymph\nOrithyia, he sought in vain to approach her gently, and to breathe his\nlove softly. But he could not sigh, and his lightest whisper frightened\nthe maiden by its harshness; so Boreas gave up attempting to win her\nby gentle means and boldly carried her off to his home in the midst of\nsnow and ice. Their children were Zetes and Calais--winged warriors who\naccompanied the Argonauts on their famous expedition, and performed a\nvaluable service in driving away the Harpies.[68]\n\n\nII. Janus\n\nJanus,[69]--god of the past, present, and future; of gates and\nentrances; of war and peace,--was said to be the son of Apollo; but\nas he is a Roman god, and entirely unknown to Greek mythology, his\nancestry is a matter of doubt. He presided over the beginning of\neverything, and was therefore invoked first in every undertaking--even\nbefore Jupiter. He opened the year and the seasons, and the first\nmonth of the year was called after him. He was the porter of heaven,\nand in this capacity he was represented as holding a key in his left\nhand and a staff or scepter in his right. On earth he was the guardian\ndeity of gates, and as such he had always two faces turned in opposite\ndirections, because every door looks both ways. Another explanation of\nhis physical duality is that as god of the past and future he sees what\nis behind and what is before. Janus was also considered an emblem of\nthe sun, and had therefore two faces, one to look at its rising and one\nto see its setting. Sometimes these faces were alike, but more often\nthey were represented by a white-haired and white-bearded old man on\nthe one side, and a smooth-cheeked youth on the other.\n\nAt Rome Numa Pompilius is said to have dedicated to Janus the covered\npassage--erroneously called a temple--that stood close by the Forum.\nThis was kept open in times of war and closed in times of peace; but\nsuch was the belligerent nature of the Romans that the gates were\nclosed but three times in seven hundred years, and then only for a\nshort period.\n\nAs he was god of all beginnings, the first of every new year, month,\nand day was held sacred to Janus, and special prayers and sacrifices\nwere then offered at his shrines. When he presides over the year, he\nis represented as holding the number three hundred in one hand and\nsixty-five in the other. Festivals in honor of Janus were celebrated\non the first day of the new year, and on this day people exchanged\nvisits, good wishes, and gifts, which usually consisted of sweetmeats\nand copper coins showing on one side the double head of Janus. The\nsacrifices offered to Janus on New Year's day and at other times of\nbeginnings were barley, incense, cakes, and wine.\n\n\nIII. Iris and Aurora\n\nIris was the special attendant of Juno, and was often employed as a\nmessenger by both Juno and Jupiter. In the Iliad she is the swift\nservant of the gods; but in the Odyssey it is Mercury who is the\nmessenger to and from Olympus, and Iris is never mentioned. Sometimes\nIris is described as the rainbow itself; sometimes the rainbow is only\nthe road over which she travels, and which therefore vanishes when\nit is no longer needed. When Juno sends Iris to the Cave of Sleep\n\"she assumes her garments of a thousand colors, and spans the heavens\nwith her curving arch.\" As the personification of the rainbow--that\nbrilliant phenomenon that vanishes as quickly as it appears--Iris might\neasily be considered the swift messenger of the gods.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: Aurora]\n\nAurora, rosy-fingered goddess of the dawn, opened the gates of the\nmorning for the impatient horses of the sun, who chafed at being held\nbehind the golden bars until Apollo was ready to start forth on his\ndaily course, attended by the faithful Hours. Though Aurora was the\nwife of \u00c6olus and mother of the winds, she had the usual weakness\nof the deities of Olympus for falling in love with mortals who won her\nfavor. Thus she became enamored of the young hunter Cephalus, but was\nunable to gain his love, as he himself had already wedded the fair\nProcris, one of Diana's nymphs. The happiness of these lovers was a\nmaddening sight to the jealous Aurora, and she determined to find\nsome way to end it. Procris had brought to her husband as a dowry a\nhunting dog named Lelaps, who could outrun the swiftest deer, and a\njavelin that never missed its mark. So all day long Cephalus hunted in\nthe forest, and his long absences gave the malicious Aurora an excuse\nfor whispering to the young wife that her husband spend his time in\nthe society of a wood-nymph. For some time Procris resisted these\nsuggestions of the goddess; but at last, overcome by jealousy, she\nfollowed Cephalus to the forest to see who the maiden was that charmed\nhim. At noonday the weary hunter sought his accustomed resting place;\nand as he lay beneath a wide-spreading tree, he called to the breeze to\ncome and refresh him. Believing that he referred to some wood-nymph,\nProcris sank down among the bushes in a swoon; and her husband, hearing\nthe leaves rustle suddenly behind him, hurled his javelin into the\nthicket, supposing that some wild beast was crouching near him ready to\nspring. To his horror he discovered the body of Procris; and though he\ndid all that he could to stanch the wound made by his unerring spear,\nhis wife died in his arms--but not before an explanation had been\ngiven.[70]\n\nThough Aurora had succeeded in separating the lovers forever, she\ndid not thereby gain the affections of Cephalus, but was obliged to\nconsole herself with the Trojan prince, Tithonus. She begged Jupiter\nto confer upon him the boon of immortal life; but forgetting that he\nwould sometime grow old, she neglected to ask for him the greater gift\nof eternal youth. For a while she was very happy with her lover, but\nas soon as he lost the attractions of youth she wearied of his company\nand wished to get rid of him. She shut him up in a room of her palace,\nwhere his feeble voice could often be heard; and then, knowing that he\nwould never die, she cruelly changed him into a grasshopper.[71]\n\nThe son of Aurora and Tithonus was Memnon, who became king of the\nEthiopians, and went with a band of warriors to help his kindred in\nthe Trojan war. He fought bravely, but at length met his death at the\nhands of Achilles. When he fell on the battle-field, Aurora commanded\nher sons, the winds, to carry his body to the banks of the river \u00c6sepus\nin Asia Minor, where a tomb was erected to his memory. To honor him\nfurther, Jupiter caused the sparks and cinders from his funeral pyre to\nbe changed into birds, which divided into two flocks and fought until\nthey fell into the flames. Every year, on the anniversary of Memnon's\ndeath, the birds returned to celebrate the funeral rites in this same\nstrange way. When the flames from the funeral pyre had burned out,\nAurora sat by the ashes of her son, weeping and mourning his loss; and\nthe many tears that she shed turned into glistening dewdrops. In Egypt\nthere were two colossal statues, one of which was said to be the statue\nof Memnon; and tradition tells that when the first rays of morning fell\nupon it, it gave forth a sound like the snapping of harp strings.\n\n\nIV. Flora, Vertumnus, and Pomona\n\nFlora, goddess of flowers and of spring, was not among the deities\nworshiped in Greece, but was everywhere honored among the Romans. She\nwas reputed to have married Zephyrus, the balmy west wind, and with him\nshe wandered happily over town and country, distributing her favors\nwith lavish hand. Though the gentle goddess was universally beloved,\nher principal devotees were young girls, who delighted in keeping her\naltars decorated with fruits and garlands of flowers. Her festivals\nwere held during the month of May and were called the Floralia.\n\nVertumnus and Pomona were also Roman deities and presided over orchards\nand gardens. Pomona was a Hamadryad, and was so devoted to the care of\nher trees that she scorned the idea of love. Fauns and satyrs sought to\nwoo her, and Sylvanus--a woodland deity--tried in vain to approach her.\nEven the wily Pan was never able to come near enough to her to urge\nhis suit, but the youthful god Vertumnus was not to be discouraged by\nthe nymph's coldness, and determined to win her for his wife. Hoping\nto catch her eyes and so get speech with her, he assumed various\ndisguises. \"How often did he carry the ears of corn in a basket under\nthe guise of a hardy reaper. How often he bore a whip in his sturdy\nhand so that you would have sworn he had that instant been unyoking the\nwearied oxen. Now he was carrying a ladder, and you would suppose he\nwas going to gather fruit. Sometimes he was a soldier with a sword, and\nsometimes a fisherman, taking up the rod.\"[72] But no attractions in\nthe form of man could induce Pomona to leave her orchard, or to admit\none of the hated beings. At last the resourceful Vertumnus hit upon\nthe plan that brought him well-earned success. \"Having bound his brows\nwith a colored cap, leaning on a stick and with white hair falling\naround his temples, he assumed the shape of an old woman and entered\nthe well-cultivated gardens.\"[73] After praising the fruit and flowers,\nthe pretended old woman began to ask Pomona why she had persistently\nremained unwed, and told her how foolish it was to fly from love. Much\nto the surprise of Vertumnus, the maiden seemed to receive this advice\nvery kindly; and when he went on to speak of a certain youthful god who\nhad long sought her love, he was delighted at gaining the confession\nfrom Pomona that she might be willing to listen to Vertumnus if he came\nto woo. At this admission the bold lover threw off his disguise, and\nclaimed the fulfillment of the maiden's promise.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII\n\nHercules\n\n\nPart I\n\nHercules was the son of Jupiter and Alcmene--a lovely princess, the\ngranddaughter of Perseus and Andromeda. Juno hated her as she did\nall her mortal rivals, and sought to bring misery and suffering on\nthe unoffending maiden. When she learned that Hercules, the son of\nAlcmene, was born, she sent two immense serpents with poisonous fangs\nto attack the child while he slept. The baby happened to waken just as\nthe creatures were twining themselves about him; and grasping their\nnecks in each of his tiny hands, he strangled them, thus showing from\nhis birth the wonderful strength that was later to make him a famous\nhero. The education of Hercules was intrusted to Chiron, the most\nrenowned of the centaurs, who had himself been instructed by Apollo\nand Diana in hunting, medicine, music, and the art of prophecy. The\nidea of a creature half man and half horse was not repulsive to the\nancients, who were too fond of a horse to consider man's union with\nhim degrading. When Hercules left the kindly tutelage of Chiron, he\nset out on his own adventures, and before he had traveled far he met\ntwo beautiful women, each of whom offered to guide him on his journey.\nKakia (Vice) told him that if he followed her, he would gain love,\nriches, and ease; and Arete (Virtue) promised him honor, bought at the\nprice of hardship, poverty, and endless toil. For a while the youthful\nhero deliberated over the two very different rewards offered him, and\nat last he gave his choice to Arete, who henceforth led him through\nmany perils, and into labors such as no man had ever yet performed.[74]\n\n[Illustration: The Infant Hercules]\n\nLike most heroes, Hercules was a great wanderer; and on one of his\njourneys he came to the city of Thebes, where Creon, the king,\nentertained him and showed him so much favor that when Hercules asked\nfor the hand of Creon's daughter Megara in marriage, the king gladly\ngave his consent. The hero then rested from his wanderings, and spent\nmany happy years in the society of his wife and children; but Juno had\nnot forgotten her old hatred of Alcmene's offspring, and she determined\nto end this happiness. So she afflicted Hercules with a sudden madness;\nand in his delirium he killed his wife, and threw his children into the\nfire. When at last he recovered his senses, he suffered terribly over\nthe thought of the crimes that he had unwittingly committed, and would\nhave gone off to the mountains to spend his days in sorrow and remorse,\nhad not Juno demanded that he should expiate his deeds of bloodshed.\nAccordingly she sent Mercury to lead him from his solitude among the\nhills and to take him to his cousin Eurystheus, king of Argos, whom he\nwas compelled to serve for a whole year. During this time he performed\nthe twelve great labors that have made his name famous as the doer of\nmighty deeds.\n\nThe first task that Eurystheus gave the hero was to procure the skin\nof a monstrous lion that inhabited the Nemean forest. This creature's\nfrequent attacks had brought terror to all the countryside, for it was\nnot content with carrying off cattle and sheep, but had killed the\nchildren at play, and mangled shepherds who were watching with their\nflocks. When the people heard that Hercules was setting out to fight\nthe lion, they tried to persuade him to give up the adventure; but he,\nwho had strangled two huge serpents in his infancy, was not afraid of\na lion, however fierce and strong it might be. So he boldly entered\nthe forest, and having tracked the great brute to its den, he attacked\nit fearlessly and killed it with his bare hands. Then, throwing the\nbody of the lion over his shoulder, he started back to the palace of\nEurystheus; but when the king saw Hercules approaching, he begged him\nto leave his burden outside the city gates. So the hero skinned the\nlion, and took the shaggy pelt to be henceforth his favorite covering.\n\nHercules's second labor was to kill the Hydra, a nine-headed monster\nthat infested the marshes of Lerna. With the blows of his great oak\nclub the hero was able to strike off eight of the heads, but the\ncentral one was immortal and could not be destroyed. Further to\ncomplicate the difficulty, Hercules found that as soon as he struck\noff one head, two others sprang up in its place. To prevent this\ndiscouraging miracle from continuing, the hero bade his friend Iolaus,\nwho had accompanied him, take a lighted brand and sear the wounds as\nsoon as they were made. Through this wise precaution the Hydra was\nfinally killed, and its one immortal head was buried under a huge\nrock. While this difficult struggle was going on, Juno, always eager\nto thwart the hero, sent a large crab to pinch Hercules's feet as he\nwrestled with the Hydra. He succeeded in crushing it with his club; but\nJuno did not leave its body on the trampled and blood-stained ground.\nIn recognition of its services to her, she placed it in the sky as the\nconstellation of Cancer (the Crab). Before Hercules left the dead Hydra\nhe dipped some arrows in its venomous blood, knowing that any wound\nreceived from their poisoned tips would surely be fatal. These arrows\nwere later of great service to Hercules, and only once did he regret\ntheir deadly quality.\n\nThe next task that Eurystheus set was the capture of the golden-horned\nand brazen-hoofed stag of Cerynea, which ran so swiftly that it did not\nseem to touch the ground. Hercules pursued the stag for many miles, but\nwas unable to overtake it until he drove it into the cold regions of\nthe north, where its fleetness was hindered by the great drifts and the\nice-covered ground. Finally the stag ran into a deep snow bank, and so\nHercules captured it and took it home in triumph.\n\nThe fourth labor to which Hercules lent his great strength was the\nkilling of a wild boar that haunted Mount Erymanthus in Arcadia. While\non this expedition, the hero was attacked by the centaurs, and when he\nshot at them with his poisoned arrows, one of the deadly missiles flew\nfar and struck his loved tutor Chiron, who was galloping toward the\ncombatants, hoping to settle the quarrel peaceably. When Hercules saw\nChiron fall, he rushed to his side and tried to stanch the fatal wound;\nbut the dying centaur knew that his end had come, and sorrowfully bade\nthe hero farewell. To reward Chiron for his long service, the gods\ntransferred him to the heavens as the constellation Sagittarius.\n\nHercules was next sent to kill the flock of fierce birds whose\ncruel beaks and sharp talons made havoc in the country around Lake\nStymphalus. The foul mist that rose from the stagnant water over which\nthe birds hovered was so deadly to breathe that Hercules could hardly\napproach the lake; but with the help of his poisoned arrows he was able\nto wound the birds at a distance. After hours spent in this pestilent\natmosphere he killed the entire flock and returned to the court of\nEurystheus to report his success.\n\nThe most unpleasant of all Hercules's labors was the cleaning of the\nstables where Augeas, king of Elis, kept his herd of a thousand oxen.\nThese stables had not been cleaned for thirty years; and when Hercules\ncaught one glimpse of the filth within them, he felt that this was too\ndegrading a task for him to undertake. But the work had to be done; and\nsince he could not put his hand to anything so foul, he looked about\nfor some other means to accomplish the labor. Not far from the stables\nflowed two rivers, the Peneus and Alpheus, and these Hercules turned\nout of their courses and made them rush through the filthy building\nuntil every part of the stables of Augeas was washed perfectly clean.\nThen he restored the rivers to their former beds, and returned home to\nreport this task fulfilled.\n\nThe next labor that was assigned to the hero was the capture of a mad\nbull given by Neptune to King Minos. In the early days of his power,\nMinos had boasted that he could obtain anything that he wished from the\ngods; and had accordingly begged of Neptune a bull for the sacrifices.\nThe kindly sea-god sent a splendid offering, but when Minos saw the\nbull's size and beauty, he resolved to keep it. So he substituted\nanother animal for the sacrifices. This angered Neptune so much that\nhe made the bull go mad; and it rushed here and there over the island,\ncausing great terror among the people. The creature was finally caught\nand overcome by Hercules, who rode it through the waves to Greece. The\noffspring of this bull was the famous Minotaur which the hero Theseus\npursued through its labyrinth, and slew.\n\nThe eighth labor of Hercules was to bring from Thrace the horses of\nDiomedes. These splendid creatures the king fed on human flesh; and in\norder to get a sufficient supply of fresh meat, he decreed that all\nstrangers who came into his kingdom should be imprisoned, fattened up,\nand then served as food to the horses. To punish Diomedes for his years\nof cruelty, Hercules fed him to his own steeds, and then led them back\nto Eurystheus, who was proud to be the possessor of such a prize.\n\nAt the court of Eurystheus was the king's beautiful daughter, Admete,\nwho loved purple and fine linen, and decked herself with all the\njewels that her father's wealth could command. One day Admete heard\na traveler telling wonderful tales of the girdle that was worn by\nHippolyte, queen of the Amazons; and at once the spoiled princess\ndemanded of her father that he send Hercules to procure for her the\ncoveted girdle. So the hero set out again, accompanied by his friend\nIolaus; and after a hard and perilous journey came to the country of\nthe Amazons. These were a fierce, warlike nation of women who kept in\ntheir tribe only the girls who were born among them and disposed of the\nboys by killing them, or by giving them to the neighboring peoples. The\ngirls were trained in severe military discipline, and became a race of\nvery redoubtable warriors whom no king cared to treat with contempt.\nWhen Hercules came before the queen Hippolyte, she received him kindly,\nlistened to the explanation of his visit, and even promised to give\nhim the girdle that the selfish Admete coveted. Before the hero and\nhis friend set out on their journey homeward, the queen entertained\nthem royally with feasting and games that lasted several days. Meantime\nJuno saw an opportunity for indulging her hatred of Hercules; and\ntaking the form of an Amazon, she mingled freely with the women. By\npretending to have received a heaven-sent message, she persuaded them\nthat the stranger had used the girdle as a mere pretext for his visit,\nand that his real intention was to carry off the queen. The Amazons\nbelieved this artfully-contrived report, and rushed in a body to\nprotect Hippolyte. They attacked Hercules fiercely, but he beat them\noff and finally escaped with his friend, but not before he had killed\nseveral of the Amazons, including the queen who had befriended him.[75]\nWith the dearly-bought girdle he returned homeward, and on the way he\nheard the proclamation of Laomedon that whoever would save his daughter\nHesione from the sea-monster should receive a large reward. Hercules\nkilled the beast and freed the maiden, but was obliged to leave Troy\nwithout the promised gold, because of Laomedon's perfidy and greed.[76]\n\nWhen the ancients looked each evening at the glowing west, they\npictured it as a far-distant country, more wonderful than any ever seen\nby mortal eyes. Here in this land of heart's desire lay the Garden of\nthe Hesperides, where a dragon guarded the golden apples that grew\non a wonderful tree which had sprung up miraculously to grace the\nwedding of Jupiter and Juno. In this far-off sunset land were also\nthe Isles of the Blest,[77] where mortals who had led virtuous lives\nwere transported without ever tasting of death. Here the blessed of\nthe gods enjoyed an eternity of bliss; and wandered happily over the\nIsles, which had a sun and moon and stars of their own, and never felt\nthe touch of wintry winds. In this mysterious region of the west was\nthe island of Erythea, called \"the red\" because it glowed in the light\nof the setting sun. To this spot Hercules was sent to take possession\nof the oxen of Geryon--a monster with three bodies. On his journey to\nthe island, Hercules's way was blocked by a huge mountain; and with one\nblow of his strong oak club he cleft the opposing rock, and allowed the\nwaters of the sea to flow through. This is now the strait of Gibraltar,\nand the cliffs on either side are called the Pillars of Hercules.\n\nWhen the hero reached the island of Erythea, he found the oxen guarded\nby the giant Eurytion and his three-headed dog; but even this did\nnot daunt the slayer of the Hydra. He boldly attacked the giant; and\nafter a fierce battle, in which his oak club stood him in good stead,\nkilled both Eurytion and the monstrous dog. Then he went in search of\nthe oxen, and, after herding them closely, drove them toward his own\ncountry. On the journey homeward he passed Mount Aventine, where the\ngiant Cacus lived in a rocky cave. One night, as Hercules was asleep\nnear the mountain, the giant stole part of the cattle; and, to deceive\nthe hero, he dragged them backwards by their tails into his cave.\nHercules might have been tricked by this stratagem if the stolen oxen\nhad not lowed loudly as the rest of the herd passed the cave, and so\nbetrayed their hiding place. Hercules rushed into the giant's dark,\nill-smelling dwelling, slew him, and recovered all the stolen cattle.\n\n[Illustration: Hercules and the Centaur]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV\n\nHercules\n\nPart II\n\n\nOne of the most difficult of Hercules's labors was to procure the\ngolden apples that the Hesperides, daughters of Hesperus, god of the\nwest, guarded very jealously. At the foot of the tree coiled a fierce\ndragon whose nostrils poured out fire, and whose deadly breath would\nhave slain any venturesome robber, even if he had escaped the dragon's\nclaws. As Hercules did not know in what part of the great glowing west\nthe Garden of the Hesperides lay, he wandered many miles before he\nmet with any one who could direct him where to go. The first help he\nreceived was from the nymphs of the Eridanus River, who were sporting\non the river bank and called to Hercules to come and join in their\ngames. Much as he would have liked to rest, the hero dared not tarry;\nbut he begged the friendly nymphs to tell him the way to the Garden of\nthe Hesperides. They could not help him, but they advised him to go to\nold Proteus, \"the Ancient of the Deep,\" who could tell him whatever\nhe wished to know better than any one else. So Hercules went down to\nthe seashore, and found the hoary god asleep in his cool green cave.\nKnowing the old man's wiles, the hero grasped him firmly and held him\nfast through all the bewildering changes by which he sought to frighten\naway the stranger. At last, finding himself securely caught, the Wizard\nassumed his own form, and asked Hercules what it was that he wished to\nknow. The hero stated his errand, and Proteus told him, \"in words that\nne'er deceive,\" that he must find the giant Atlas who alone knew where\nthe Garden of the Hesperides lay.\n\nHercules then started again on his search, and in the course of his\njourney came to the Caucasus Mountains, where he found Prometheus, the\nstealer of the sacred fire, bound with adamantine chains to the rock,\nwhile a vulture daily feasted on his liver.[78] Hercules killed the\nfoul bird, broke the chains, and set Prometheus free; and in return\nfor his deliverance the grateful Titan directed his rescuer where to\nfind the giant Atlas. Following Prometheus's advice, Hercules traveled\nstraightway to Africa; and on the way he passed through the land of\nthe Pygmies, a tiny race of warriors who waged continual warfare with\nneighboring tribes, and especially with their deadly enemies, the\ncranes. Hercules was not aware that he had reached the country of the\nPygmies;[79] but one day, when he had fallen asleep from weariness, he\nwas wakened by sharp prickings over his body; and looking around he saw\na host of diminutive men, attacking him with their tiny weapons. The\nhero laughed at these brave efforts, caught up a few of the doughty\nlittle warriors, and, wrapping them in his lion skin, carried them back\nwith him to the court of Eurystheus.\n\nAs he journeyed through Africa in search of Atlas, Hercules came to the\ncountry of Anteus--a mighty giant and wrestler, and the son of Terra,\nthe Earth. All strangers who came into the land were obliged to wrestle\nwith him, and if they were defeated, they were immediately killed. As\nno one had ever overcome Anteus, he had brought an untimely death on\nmany a brave hero; so Hercules was eager to defeat him and avenge the\nunknown dead. As soon as they had grappled for the first struggle,\nthe slayer of the Hydra knew that he had met more than his equal in\nstrength. For a long time they wrestled, Anteus growing stronger\nafter each fall, and Hercules growing fainter from every additional\nblow of the giant's hand. Again and again the undaunted hero threw\nhis adversary to the ground, but Anteus rose with redoubled vigor and\ncontinued the unequal contest. Then, all at once, Hercules remembered\nthe tale he had once heard told of a giant who drew strength from his\nmother Earth; and believing that this was the case with Anteus, he made\na mighty effort and lifted the giant from the ground. Anteus struggled\nto get his feet again on the earth; but Hercules kept him in the air,\nand held him there until he felt the powerful body beginning to weaken.\nLittle by little the miraculous strength oozed away, and soon Anteus\ngrew so weak that Hercules easily crushed the limp form with his hands.\n\nThe hero then traveled on in search of Atlas, whom he finally found\nstanding on the coast of Africa, with the great weight of the heavens\nresting on his broad shoulders. As Hercules looked up at the enormous\nfigure, which reached so far into the clouds that nothing could be seen\nabove his waist, he noticed that the forests had grown up so thick and\ntall all around that only a glimpse of the giant's huge legs could be\nseen through the heavy foliage. As the hero stood watching this figure\nthat for centuries had stood here in obedience to the divine command\nof Jupiter, he saw dark clouds beginning to gather about the giant's\nhead, and soon a storm broke over the sea and land. Amid the beating of\nthe rain and the crash of the thunder, Hercules thought he heard the\nvoice of Atlas speaking to him; but it might have been only a peal of\nthunder. When the storm was over and the mists rolled away from the\nearth, Hercules saw the head of Atlas through rifts in the scurrying\nclouds. The snow-white hair gave the giant's face a benign look as it\nfell thick and white over the stooping shoulders that bore so terrible\na weight. In a voice that he strove hard to make gentle, Atlas asked\nthe hero what he was seeking, and Hercules told him that he had come to\nget some of the golden apples from the Garden of the Hesperides.[80]\nAtlas laughed at these words, and his great shoulders shook so with\nmerriment that a few of the stars fell out of their places. Then he\ntold Hercules that such a feat was impossible even to so great a hero;\nbut that if some one would take the heavens from his shoulders for a\nfew hours, he himself would get the apples.[81]\n\nHercules was delighted with this offer of assistance, and agreed to\ntake the giant's burden while the latter went on his friendly errand.\nVery carefully Atlas transferred the heavens to the shoulders of\nHercules, and then sped westward to the Garden of the Hesperides. The\nhero was a bit troubled when he saw Atlas shake his huge shoulders and\nstretch himself in delight at his freedom, for it would be strange,\nindeed, if the giant were ready to resume his burden after having\ntasted the joy of liberty. With some anxiety Hercules watched him\nstep into the sea that came only to his knees though he had waded out\na mile from the shore. As Atlas went deeper and deeper into the waves,\nat first his huge bulk loomed like a cliff against the horizon; but\nsoon it dwindled into a mere speck, and was presently lost to view. How\nlong he stood holding the heavens Hercules never knew; but he found\nhimself growing very weary of his burden, and anxious over Atlas's long\nabsence. Suddenly he saw a dark spot on the horizon, and he knew that\nit was the giant returning.\n\nIt had not been a difficult task for Atlas to reach the Garden, or to\npluck the golden apples from the carefully-guarded tree; and Hercules,\ndelighted with the giant's success, thanked him for his trouble and\nasked him politely to take the sky again on his shoulders, for the\njourney back to the court of Eurystheus was a long one. Now Atlas had\nno desire to stand for another dozen centuries with his old burden;\nand seeing a good opportunity of getting rid of it forever, he told\nHercules that he would carry the apples to Eurystheus himself; and\nmeanwhile the hero could keep the heavens supported until Atlas\nreturned. Pretending that he was quite satisfied with this arrangement,\nHercules bade the giant good-by; then hastily asked him to wait a\nmoment while he made a pad for his shoulders to ease the weight of\nthe unaccustomed burden. The unsuspicious giant good-naturedly agreed\nto this, and took the heavens from Hercules; but instead of making a\ncushion, the hero picked up the golden apples, which Atlas had dropped\non resuming his burden, and started back to his own country, leaving\nthe giant to stand on the seashore forever, or until the pitying gods\nshould release him.\n\nThe twelfth and last labor of Hercules was to bring from Hades the\nthree-headed dog, Cerberus. With the help of Mercury and Minerva, he\ndescended into the dread realm of Pluto, and begged that grim monarch\nto let him take Cerberus into the upper world. Pluto was not willing\nat first to lose the guardian of his gates even for a short time; but\nat length he consented to let Hercules do as he desired on condition\nthat Cerberus should not be bound or any weapons used upon him. So the\nfierce three-headed creature was carried, snarling and struggling, in\nthe hero's strong arms; and when the pair approached the throne of\nEurystheus, the horror-struck monarch implored Hercules to take the\nmonster back as quickly as possible, for the sight of its dripping\njaws, from which oozed the deadly nightshade, so terrified Eurystheus\nthat he sought refuge in a huge jar, and would not come out until his\ncourtiers assured him that Cerberus was safely out of the country.\n\nWhen the twelve labors were ended, Hercules's term of service at the\ncourt of Eurystheus was over, and he was free to wander where he\nwilled. He spent many years roaming through various lands and assisting\nother heroes who, like himself, were in search of adventures. He took\npart in the battle between the Centaurs and Lapith\u00e6;[82] joined in\nthe Argonautic expedition; organized the first siege of Troy, and\nbraved the terrors of Hades to bring Alcestis back to her repentant\nhusband.[83] The expedition against Troy was one of revenge, for the\nfalse Laomedon had never paid the gold that he had promised for the\nrelease of his daughter Hesione from the sea-monster; and Hercules\nnow set out to punish the treacherous king.[84] So he sailed for Troy\nwith eighteen ships, and the city fell into his hands with but little\nresistance. Laomedon was killed, his son Priam placed on the throne of\nTroy, and Hesione given in marriage to Telamon, one of the Greeks who\naccompanied Hercules.\n\n[Illustration: Hercules serving Omphale]\n\nThe hero's splendid career received a check, however, for in a quarrel\nhe killed his friend Iphitus, and the gods, angry at this unnecessary\nbloodshed, compelled him to go once more into bondage. So for three\nyears Hercules served Omphale, queen of Lydia; and during this time\nhe lived very effeminately, wearing sometimes the dress of a woman\nand spinning wool with the handmaidens of Omphale, while the queen\nwore his lion's skin and wielded his renowned club. When his years of\nservitude were over, he set out again on his wanderings; and during\none of his journeys he met the beautiful De\u00efaneira, daughter of \u0152neus\nof Calydon and sister of Meleager, famous in the Calydonian hunt.\nHercules immediately sought the maiden's hand in marriage; but she\nhad another suitor, the river god Achelous, who had already obtained\nher father's consent. De\u00efaneira, however, much preferred her new\nlover, and begged him to free her from the betrothal with Achelous. So\nHercules challenged the river-god to a wrestling match, the conditions\nof the contest being that he who won should have the maiden in\nmarriage. Achelous readily agreed to this way of settling their rival\npretensions, for he had no doubt as to the result of the wrestling.\n\nThe opponents were well matched as to strength, but the river-god had\none great advantage, for he could assume any form he pleased, and thus\nbewilder any one who tried to grapple with him. Among his many changes,\nhe took the form of a serpent; but when Hercules grasped it by the neck\nand was about to strangle it, Achelous became a bull and rushed at the\nhero with lowered horns. Skillfully eluding this unexpected attack,\nHercules seized the bull by one horn and held on so firmly that when\nthe creature tried to wrench himself free the horn broke. This decided\nthe victory in favor of Hercules, and Achelous departed sullenly to\nhis bed in the river. The broken horn was appropriated by Fortuna, the\ngoddess of plenty, who filled it with her treasures, and adopted it\nthenceforth as her symbol, calling it Cornucopia.\n\n[Illustration: Fortuna]\n\nThere was nothing now to hinder the marriage of Hercules with\nDe\u00efaneira, and the wedding took place with much mirth and feasting.\nAfter several days of festivity Hercules departed with his wife; and in\nthe course of their journey homeward, they came to the river Evenus,\nwhich had grown so swollen and turbid from the heavy rains that it\nwas impossible to ford it. As the travelers stood helpless on the\nbank, the centaur Nessus came galloping up to them, and offered to\ncarry De\u00efaneira across the river in safety. Grateful for this timely\nassistance, Hercules placed his wife on the back of the centaur, who\nswam with her through the swift-flowing stream. When they reached the\nopposite bank, De\u00efaneira expected the centaur to stop, that she might\ndismount; but Nessus set off at a brisk trot, hoping to kidnap his fair\nrider before her husband could overtake them. Hercules heard the cries\nof his terrified bride, and as soon as he swam the river he sent a\nswift arrow after the treacherous Nessus. The poisoned tip sank deep\ninto the centaur's side, and he knew at once that he had received\nhis death-wound. With a pretense at repentance, he asked De\u00efaneira\nto forgive his rash deed; and then, as if granting her a favor, he\ntold her to take his robe which was stained with blood, and keep it\ncarefully, for it had wonderful properties. He assured her that if the\ntime ever came that Hercules's love grew cold, she had only to persuade\nhim to put on this magic robe, and his devotion to her would become\nmore ardent than ever before. De\u00efaneira took the robe, but said nothing\nto her husband of the centaur's gift, hoping that she would never have\nto make use of it.\n\nFor many years Hercules and his wife lived happily together; for,\nalthough the hero went on other adventures, he was always eager\nto return to De\u00efaneira, and she had no need to be reminded of the\ncentaur's gift. On one of his expeditions, however, he brought back\nwith him a fair maiden named Iole, of whom his wife soon grew to be\nextremely jealous. Not long after the arrival of Iole, Hercules wished\nto offer sacrifices to the gods in honor of his safe return; so he sent\nto De\u00efaneira for a suitable robe. His wife, trembling for the success\nof her venture, bade the messenger Lichas carry to Hercules the magic\nrobe of Nessus, which she had carefully guarded all these years. The\nhero, not knowing the history of the fatal garment, threw it over his\nshoulders, and as soon as it touched his flesh, the poisoned blood\nbegan its deadly work. The body of Hercules burned suddenly as if on\nfire, and agonizing pains convulsed his frame. He tried to unloose\nthe fatal robe, but it clung to his skin, and he tore off part of his\nflesh in trying to set himself free. In his rage and pain he turned\nupon Lichas, the unhappy bearer of the poisoned robe, and seizing him\nin his still powerful arms flung him into the sea from the top of Mount\n\u0152ta, where they had assembled for the sacrifices. Then the hero tore\nup huge oak trees by their roots and built a lofty funeral pyre on\nwhich he stretched his pain-wracked limbs. Calmly he bade his servants\napply the torch, but no one was willing to do this, even to ease his\nsufferings; so Hercules turned to his friend Philoctetes, and after\ngiving him the poisoned arrows, begged him in pity to light the funeral\npyre. The youth placed beside Hercules the hero's famous oak club, and\ncovered his body with the lion's skin. Then he applied a torch to the\nwood, and the flames rose with a roar and cracking to the skies. But\nonly the mortal part of the hero perished, for Jupiter would not allow\nthe divinity that he had bestowed upon Hercules to suffer extinction.\nPurged of his mortality, the hero took his place in high Olympus, and\neven revengeful Juno was so reconciled to his presence, that she gave\nhim her daughter Hebe in marriage.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXV\n\nPerseus\n\n\nWhen the wicked King Dana\u00fcs persuaded his daughters to kill their\nhusbands on their wedding night, there was one, Hypermnestra, who\nrefused to slay her lover, and by saving him brought upon the head of\ncruel Dana\u00fcs the doom that he had striven to escape.[85] The grandson\nof Hypermnestra and Lynceus was Acrisius, king of Argo, a kindly\nruler who dearly loved his only daughter Dana\u00eb, and kept her always\nnear him to delight his eyes with her great beauty. Unfortunately the\nking chanced to learn from an oracle that he would one day be killed\nby his grandson; and hoping to prevent this, he shut Dana\u00eb in a high\nbrazen tower which no one was allowed to enter on pain of death. He\nplaced around the tower a strong guard, so that no one could get even\na glimpse of the imprisoned princess; but though no mortal wooer\ncould approach her, Dana\u00eb's loveliness was not hidden from Jupiter's\neyes, and as he looked down from high Olympus he pitied the maiden's\nloneliness and loved her for her great beauty. Fearing to frighten her\nif he assumed any mortal disguise, and not daring to appear before her\nin his divine splendor, he took the form of a golden shower, which fell\nsoftly on the sill of the tower window and charmed the lonely captive\nwith its brightness. Each day this strange visitor came to glorify her\ndarkened room, and Dana\u00eb looked forward eagerly to its appearance. Thus\nby means of the golden shower Jupiter won the maiden's confidence and\nlove, and spent many hours with her in the high tower room. Dana\u00eb was\nnot lonely any more, but people who passed beneath her window could\nhear her singing to herself all day long.\n\nOne morning the astonished attendants rushed to King Acrisius and told\nhim that in the brazen tower was a mother and child--his daughter\nDana\u00eb had given birth to a son who was so beautiful that they called\nhim Perseus. The king was enraged at this news, and threatened to put\nthe boy to death; but as he was unwilling to stain his hands with the\nblood of his grandson--even though this grandson might cause his own\ndeath--he put Dana\u00eb and her infant in a cask, and set them adrift on\nthe sea. For days the strange boat tossed about on the ever-rocking\nwaves, and the poor frightened mother prayed to the gods to save her\nand her hapless child. Jupiter heard her cries, and no storms came to\nbeat the frail boat upon the rocks, nor did any rough seas imperil the\nvoyager's safety. At last the cask was washed gently up on the shores\nof the island of Seriphus, where a friendly fisherman rescued Dana\u00eb and\nher child and took them to the king, Polydectes. This ruler received\nthem kindly, and allowed them to live at his court; and here the young\nPerseus grew up into manhood, learning all the games and sports that\nbelonged to the training of a Grecian youth.\n\nMeanwhile Polydectes had become so enamored of Dana\u00eb that he wished to\nmarry her, and grew very angry at her continued refusals. His wrath\nwas increased when Perseus forbade him to distress Dana\u00eb any longer\nwith his unwelcome attentions. As Polydectes did not dare to kill\nPerseus or banish him from the kingdom--for he knew that his suit would\nthen be hopeless--he began to taunt the youth with his inexperience,\nand asked him why he did not set out on some adventure to prove his\nmettle like other heroes. Perseus did not consider himself a hero,\nbut he hoped some day to do great things; and the sneers of the king\nworked on his proud heart, as that wily old monarch had expected. The\nyouth then demanded to have his courage and endurance put to the test,\nand Polydectes promptly told him to go and slay the Gorgon Medusa,\nand bring her head back as the proof of his valor. Perseus needed\nno urging to set out at once, though he well knew the danger of the\nundertaking. His mother implored him to remain with her, but the youth\nwas determined not to endure Polydectes's taunts any longer, and he was\neager to prove his bravery, even at the risk of his life.\n\nThere were three of the Gorgons, all of them hideous to behold; but\nMedusa was by far the most terrible,[86] for besides her frightful\nappearance she had the power to turn those who looked at her into\nstone. She was once a beautiful maiden, who had had the misfortune to\noffend Minerva, and that goddess, to punish her, changed her into a\ndragonlike creature with long tusks, a scaly hide, brazen claws, and\ninstead of hair a writhing mass of snakes. To this monster Polydectes\nsent the young Perseus, feeling sure that he would never return home\nalive.\n\nThe young hero had not journeyed far before he noticed that some one\nwas walking beside him, and, turning to look more closely at the\nstranger, he was at once surprised and frightened at recognizing\nMercury. But the messenger of the gods bade him have no fear, for\nhe himself had come to help in the perilous quest for the Gorgon's\nhead. Then Mercury lent Perseus his own winged sandals, and told the\nyouth that he would have to do some swift moving in the course of his\nadventures. The god also lent him a magic helmet that rendered the\nwearer invisible, and bade him offer thanks to Pluto as the sender of\nthis invaluable gift. Not to be outdone by the other gods in kindness,\nthe august Minerva lent Perseus her shield--the terrible \u00c6gis of\nJupiter--which the warrior-goddess carried with her to battle. Thus\nequipped for the combat Perseus had no fear of encountering the dread\nMedusa of the snaky locks, and pressed forward eagerly on his journey.\nHe had already inquired of Mercury the way to the Gorgon's cave, but\nthe god could not direct him, and told him that he must find the Gr\u00e6\u00e6\nand learn the way from them.\n\nThe Gr\u00e6\u00e6 were three hideous old women who had been gray-haired from\nbirth,--and so received their name,--and they lived in a far-off land,\nwhere eternal darkness reigned. They had only one tooth and one huge\neye among them, and passed these around to each other in turn. As they\nalone could tell him where Medusa dwelt, Perseus started northward on\nMercury's winged sandals, and after flying for many days in search of\nthe Three Sisters, he came at last to their cheerless land. He found\nthe Gray Old Women seated under a drooping willow-tree that fell so far\nover them that it almost hid their shrunken forms.\n\n      \"There sat the crones that had the single eye,\n      Clad in blue sweeping cloak and snow-white gown;\n      While o'er their backs their straight white hair hung down\n      In long thin locks, dreadful their faces were,\n      Carved all about with wrinkles of despair;\n      And as they sat they crooned a dreary song,\n      Complaining that their lives should last so long,\n      In that sad place that no one came anear,\n      In that wan place desert of hope and fear;\n      And singing, still they rocked their bodies bent,\n      And ever each to each the eye they sent.\"\n\n                  --WILLIAM MORRIS, _The Doom of King Acrisius_.\n\nAs Perseus approached the spot where the Gray Old Women sat crooning\nto themselves, he took good care to keep on his magic helmet, and he\nwatched closely to see when the eye was being transferred from one old\nhead to the other. Just as the eldest sister was taking out the great\neye, and the one who was next in turn was holding out her shriveled\nhand to receive it, Perseus stepped quickly between them and snatched\nit away. The old woman began to grope for it in her pitiable blindness,\nand then arose a fierce dispute among the sisters as to who really had\nthe eye. To end the quarreling Perseus spoke gently to them, telling\nthem that he had taken their treasured eye, and would return it to them\nas soon as they had informed him where to find Medusa of the snaky\nlocks. For a while the Gray Old Women pretended that they had never\nheard of Medusa, but finding that the unseen speaker was determined to\nkeep their precious eye until he had received the desired information,\nthey told him the way to the Gorgon's Cave. Perseus then returned to\nthem the huge eye, which seemed to stare at him with a very knowing\nlook, and sped off on his winged sandals to the country where Medusa\ndwelt.\n\nAs he flew along the seacoast he saw in the distance a dark cavern\namong the rocks, and in front of it, on the glaring white sand, lay\na monster which, even from his great height above the water, Perseus\ncould not glance at without shuddering. Remembering Minerva's caution\nwhen she gave him her shield, he used its bright surface as a mirror\nin which were reflected all the objects below; and never once was he\ntempted to turn his eyes toward the dreadful figure on the beach. Its\nscaly hide glistened in the sunlight, its brazen claws shone like\nlive coals, and the snakes that lay coiled around its head shot out\ntheir tongues and hissed whenever the Gorgon stirred in its sleep.\nAs Perseus drew nearer he saw, reflected in his polished shield, the\nforms of men and animals that had been turned to stone by one glance at\nMedusa's face. These were very numerous around the mouth of the cave,\nand Perseus silently prayed to the gods that his figure might not be\nadded to the number. Some distance away lay the other two Gorgons,\nMedusa's sisters, but the young hero had no thought for them. His\nwhole attention was centered on the blow that he must deal the sleeping\nMedusa before the snakes hissed so loudly that she would awaken. Even\nin his shield the sight of that twisting, wriggling mass of reptiles\nwas so repulsive that Perseus shuddered and was tempted to turn away;\nbut just then he heard a whisper. \"Be quick. Strike swift and sure;\"\nand as he recognized the voice of Mercury, all his courage returned.\n\nGrasping his sword more firmly and holding his bright shield above the\nsleeping monster, he swooped suddenly down upon it, and with one swift\nstroke cut off the great head with all its coils of serpents. It was\nonly a moment's work to sheathe his sword and grasp the hideous trophy\nin his hands; but even then the danger was not over, for the snakes on\nMedusa's head began to hiss so loudly that their noise awoke the other\ntwo sleeping Gorgons, and they looked around to find why their sister\nhad disturbed their rest. Seeing Medusa's headless body on the sand,\nthey set up such terrible cries that the noise re-echoed like thunder\nthrough the cavern, and as far away as Perseus had already flown, he\ncould hear the awful sounds that made the seashore seem like some\nvision in a dreadful nightmare.\n\n[Illustration: Perseus]\n\nAs he hurried over the sea with Medusa's head held firmly in his hand,\nsome of the blood dripped down into the white-capped waves and was\ncherished by Neptune, who had once loved Medusa when she was a\nbeautiful maiden. From these drops of blood the sea-king created the\nwonderful winged horse, Pegasus, who was to share in the adventures of\nanother famous hero, Bellerophon. Some of the Gorgon's blood had also\ndropped on the hot African sand, as Perseus was flying upward from the\nGorgon's cave, and from this sprang a brood of poisonous reptiles that\never afterward infested that region and brought death to many an unwary\nexplorer.\n\nThe journey homeward was long and wearisome, and Perseus was often\nobliged to seek the seashore to rest. Once as he was flying along\nthe coast of Africa, borne aloft on the winged sandals, he saw\nold Atlas standing where he had stood for many centuries with the\nweight of the heavens on his bent shoulders. The clouds wrapped his\nhead so completely that Perseus could see only his immense body.\nForests had grown up so high all around him that his huge legs were\nscarcely visible among the heavy foliage, and his broad shoulders\nlooked like mighty bowlders rising up above the tree-tops. But though\nhis head _was_ so far in the clouds, Atlas knew that Perseus was\napproaching,--for giants have certain senses unpossessed by mortal\nmen,--and he shook the clouds from about his face, and blew away the\nmists with his breath. Then, when the air was clear, and Perseus\ncould see the white hair that was previously hidden above the clouds,\nhe pitied poor Atlas for his heavy punishment and stopped to speak\nwith him. The giant looked down from his great height and begged the\nhero to uncover Medusa's head,--which Perseus had kept wrapped in\nhis cloak,--for he was anxious to gaze upon it and become himself an\nimage of stone. He told how weary he was of standing for all these\nages without ever being able to rest, and he could not endure the\nthought of keeping up this torture for eternity. So Perseus lifted up\nthe Gorgon's head, being careful to keep his own averted, and Atlas\ngazed long and eagerly at the dead face, with its wreath of lifeless\nserpents. Then slowly the giant's great bulk began to harden, and the\nstooping shoulders became firm, unfeeling stone. As Perseus stood there\nwatching the strange transformation, he seemed to see no longer the\nfloating white hair of Atlas, but a pile of snow on a mountain top; and\nhe looked no more on the huge limbs surrounded by forests, but he saw\nrents and clefts on a mountain side that just showed themselves through\nthe thick trees. Thus was the burden of Atlas forever removed from his\naching shoulders, and the heavens now rested securely on a mountain.\n\nWhen Perseus resumed his journey along the coast, he soon came to a\nplace where the cliffs rose abruptly from the sea; and as he looked\ndown at the rocks below him, he saw, outlined against their dark\nsurface, a figure that made him pause in his swift flight, and wonder\nif a sudden madness had taken hold on his fancy; for chained to the\nrock was a maiden so beautiful that even her constant weeping had\nnot marred the perfect loveliness of her face. Keeping the Gorgon's\nhead carefully concealed under his cloak, so that the captive maiden\ncould get no glimpse of the snaky locks, Perseus flew to the girl's\nside, and, taking off his magic helmet, spoke to her gently. At any\nother time she would have been startled at this sudden appearance of a\nstranger; but the thought of her dreadful fate, so near at hand, drove\nall other fears from her mind. The spray from the sea dashed over her,\nand the cold winds blew on her shivering form; but of this she seemed\nto be hardly aware. Her eyes were fixed in wild terror upon a cavern in\nthe rocks, where Perseus could see a huge dragon lying stretched out on\nthe cool, slimy seaweed.\n\nWhen the young hero spoke to the maiden, she did not seem to hear him,\nbut, at his gentle persistence, she at last turned her eyes away from\nthe dreaded cavern and told him her story. She said that her name\nwas Andromeda, and that her mother, Cassiopeia,[87] had angered the\nsea-nymphs by presuming to rival them in beauty. To punish the queen\nfor her vanity, the nymphs sent a fierce sea-monster to devastate the\nhomes along the coast; and when the terrified people consulted an\noracle to know how they might save themselves from further disaster,\nthey were told that the monster would not depart until the Princess\nAndromeda was sacrificed to its fury. So the king, her father, and her\nwretched, remorseful mother, and a procession of weeping attendants had\nled her, that very day, to the rocks, and had chained her fast to await\nthe monster's pleasure.\n\nJust as Andromeda was speaking, there was a rustling sound in the cave,\nas if the dragon were stretching its huge wings. Then came a sudden\nwhir and rush, as the monster glided out of the dim interior of its\ncave, and came speeding through the water toward its victim. The scaly\nhide glittered in the sunlight, and the great coils of its snaky body\nbeat up the waves as it came with incredible swiftness toward the\ncaptive maiden, whose terrified shrieks almost unnerved the young hero\nwho had come to rescue her. Quickly he donned his magic helmet and\ngrasped the keen-edged sword that had already stood him in good stead.\nAs the monster's head emerged from the waves, Perseus rushed upon it\nunseen, and with a quick thrust pierced the creature in its one vital\nspot. The dragon sank back into the blood-stained water, and then made\na few ineffective plunges toward its victim; but Perseus's blow had\nbeen sure, and the creature's great body finally disappeared beneath\nthe waves. While Andromeda was thanking her deliverer with grateful\ntears, he struck off the chains that bound her to the rock, and led\nher to where her parents and an astonished group of watchers had been\nlooking on at the strange combat. The great joy of Andromeda's father\nwas equaled only by the mother's happiness over her rescued child; and\nthey both welcomed the young hero who had saved her from so terrible a\nfate.[88]\n\nWhen Perseus had been entertained royally for several days, the king\nbade him demand any reward that he wished for his heroic services;\nand the youth boldly asked Andromeda's hand in marriage. To this the\nparents gladly consented, although she was already betrothed to her\nuncle Phineus, and the preparations were begun at once for the wedding.\nWhile the marriage celebrations were in progress, the jilted suitor,\nwho had been too timid to attempt any rescue of Andromeda, now came\nforward to claim his wife. His pretensions were laughed at, however,\nand he left the court angry and plotting revenge. The following day\nhe appeared with a band of followers and suddenly attacked Perseus,\nwho had barely time to defend himself. The friends of the young hero\nrallied to his support, but they were outnumbered by the attacking\nparty, and a disastrous battle might have ensued, had not Perseus\nbethought himself of a sure means of defense. Catching up the cloak\nin which he had wrapped the Gorgon's head, he cried: \"Whoever is my\nfriend, let him turn away his eyes.\" The courtiers of King Cepheus,\nand the men fighting around Perseus obeyed him; but Phineus and his\nfollowers believed this to be a mere trick to gain time, and looked\non while Perseus unveiled Medusa's snaky head. Some of the gazers had\ntheir spears in uplifted hands; some were fitting arrows to their bows\nas they turned their eyes a moment toward Perseus; but in whatever\nposition they stood, just so they were suddenly turned into stone. By\nsome chance Phineus had been watching his men instead of looking at the\nGorgon's head; and when he saw their dreadful transformation, he fell\non his knees before Perseus, and with outstretched hands implored the\nhero to spare his life. But Perseus forced him to look upon the hideous\nface of Medusa, and he became a stone image with averted head and\nsupplicating arms.\n\nHaving thus disposed effectively of his enemies, Perseus covered up his\ndeath-dealing trophy, and the wedding ceremonies were resumed. Later\nhe departed with his bride to the country of Polydectes, where that\nking had been keeping his mother a prisoner until she would consent to\nmarry him. He had long ago believed Perseus dead, and was therefore\nmuch astonished to see him appear unharmed and victorious. Hearing of\nthe cruel treatment his mother had received from Polydectes, the young\nhero determined on a swift revenge. In the presence of the king and his\ncourt, he suddenly displayed the head of Medusa; and the whole company,\njust as they stood, were turned into stone. Then Perseus set sail with\nhis wife and mother for his own country; but before he left he returned\nto Pluto the magic helmet, to Mercury the winged sandals, and to\nMinerva the wonderful \u00c6gis. The august goddess of wisdom seemed to have\ntaken a strange fancy to the Gorgon's head, so Perseus gave her this\ntrophy of his victory, and she fixed it in the middle of her shield.\n\nWhen Perseus, with Andromeda and Dana\u00eb, arrived in Argo, they found\nthat old Acrisius had been driven from his throne, and that a usurper\nwas enjoying the kingdom. It did not take long for the hero who\nhad slain Medusa to kill the unlawful claimant, and reinstate his\ngrandfather. The old man had been languishing for years in prison,\nand was hardly able to endure the great joy of his release at the\nhands of one whom he had long since believed to be dead. Things seemed\nto be settled very happily in spite of the oracle; but the decrees\nof the gods are sure to be fulfilled, and one day when Perseus was\nplaying quoits, he accidentally threw one wide of the mark. It struck\nAcrisius, who was looking on at the game, and killed him instantly.\nThis unfortunate mishap so preyed upon Perseus's mind that he could\nnot remain in Argo, but exchanged his kingdom for that of Mycen\u00e6,\nover which he ruled for many years very wisely and well. When at\nlast Perseus died, the gods placed him among the stars with his wife\nAndromeda, and with Cassiopeia, who had long since been cured of her\nvanity.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI\n\nBellerophon\n\n\nAt the court of Pr\u0153tus, king of Argos, there dwelt as guest of honor\na young prince named Bellerophon. He was a kinsman of Pr\u0153tus and a\ngrandson of Sisyphus, king of Corinth, so much honor was shown him.\nAs he was strong, brave, and fearless, he was a leader in all the\ngames; and his beauty won such favor at the court that Pr\u0153tus's wife,\nQueen Anteia, sought his love. Since the youth could not in loyalty\nreturn her affection, he found it difficult to remain in Argos; for\nthe queen was not content to receive only the courtesy due her, but\nimportuned Bellerophon for his love. He tried many times to find some\npretext for leaving his kinsman; so when Pr\u0153tus proposed that he\nshould make a journey to Lycia to deliver some important messages to\nits ruler, the youth was eager to go. Meanwhile the queen, angered at\nhis indifference, had told her husband that Bellerophon delighted in\ntreating her with contempt in return for all her kindness, and that she\ncould not endure his presence in Argos any longer. She demanded further\nthat Pr\u0153tus should put the young man at once to death, but that he\nshould not let Bellerophon suspect that she had been the instigator\nof the deed. The king readily believed his wife's artfully contrived\nstory, and declared that the insolent youth should be made to pay\ndearly for his ingratitude. As Bellerophon was already a hero at the\ncourt, Pr\u0153tus dared not condemn him openly to death; so when the prince\ndeparted on his journey to Lycia, he carried with him some letters[89]\nwhose purport he was far from suspecting; for the sealed message that\nhe bore so light-heartedly was a request to King Iobates to put the\nbearer at once to death.\n\nKing Iobates was the father-in-law of Pr\u0153tus; and the ruler of Lycia\nhad often relied on his powerful relative as an ally in time of war;\nso the king of Argos was confident that his instructions would be\ncarried out. The expedition to Lycia might, therefore, have had a\ndifferent ending had not Bellerophon forgotten to deliver his letters\nfor several days. Meanwhile King Iobates, supposing him to be on a\nfriendly visit, received him very hospitably and made him a member\nof the royal household. After much feasting and entertainment, the\nyoung prince suddenly remembered the sealed message intrusted to his\ncare, and hastened to deliver it to Iobates with many apologies for\nhis forgetfulness. When the king read the letter, he was surprised\nand horrified at its contents, for he could not, in cold blood, kill\nthe guest who had sat at his table; and yet he did not wish to refuse\nany demand made by Pr\u0153tus. When the courtiers saw his white face and\ntroubled looks, they wondered what the message contained; but no one\nsuspected its real import.\n\nAt last a solution of the difficulty came to the king's mind, and he\nbegan to praise Bellerophon for the bravery and courage that had made\nthe young prince famous throughout Greece. He lamented that no such\nfearlessness dwelt among the men of Lycia, for otherwise the Chim\u00e6ra\nwould not be living in security and laying waste the king's lands. When\nBellerophon heard what terror was inspired by the mere mention of the\nChim\u00e6ra's name, he wondered whether he would be afraid to face this\nfearful creature with its lion's head, goat's body, and dragon's tail.\nWhen he expressed surprise that no hero had slain it, the wily Iobates\nat once implored him to help the stricken country and to go himself\nto fight the Chim\u00e6ra. Bellerophon might have been eager for this\nadventure, had he not learned to love the king's daughter Philono\u00eb, who\nhad found the handsome stranger more to her liking than all the youths\nof Lycia. He was, therefore, loath to leave the princess and depart on\nso perilous a venture; but at the repeated urging of Iobates, he began\nto make preparations for the journey.\n\nBefore setting out he first consulted the soothsayer Polyidus,[90] who\nadvised him to procure the winged horse Pegasus[91] if he hoped to\nsucceed in slaying the Chim\u00e6ra. This advice was probably well-meant,\nbut it was very discouraging; for how could Bellerophon expect to\nbridle the famous immortal steed that had never known the touch of any\nman's hand? He knew too well that Pegasus was rarely seen by mortal\neyes, for he dwelt on the calm heights of Mount Helicon, a spot sacred\nto the Muses, and seldom came to earth except to visit the fountain\nof Pirene, near Corinth, whose clear waters sometimes tempted him to\nleave his lofty home. Very few people had ever seen the snow-white\nhorse, with his wonderful silvery wings that carried him through the\nair as buoyantly as an eagle in its flight. Whenever Pegasus deigned\nto come to earth to taste the sweet waters of Pirene he sped over the\ngrassy meadows so swiftly that even the fleetest runner could not hope\nto catch him. He had never been bridled in all his wild, free life,\nand for beauty and strength and sheer joy of living there was nothing\nlike him in the whole wide world. \"Sleeping at night as he did, on a\nlofty mountain top, and passing the greater part of the day in the\nair, Pegasus seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth. Whenever he\nwas seen, up very high above people's heads, with the sunshine on his\nsilvery wings, one would have thought that he belonged to the sky, and\nthat, skimming a little too low, he had got astray among our mists and\nvapors, and was seeking his way back again.... In the summer time, and\nin the beautifullest of weather, Pegasus often alighted on the solid\nearth, and, closing his silvery wings, would gallop over hill and dale\nfor pastime as fleetly as the wind.\"[92]\n\nWhen Bellerophon was advised to catch this glorious winged steed, it\nwas no wonder that he felt discouraged, for nowhere could he find an\nold man, a maiden, or a child who had ever had so much as a glimpse of\nthe snow-white Pegasus. Some one told him, however, that the immortal\nsteed had once been tamed by Minerva, and owed obedience to her; so\nhe went immediately to the temple of the warrior-goddess, and begged\nher to help him. For many hours he prayed before Minerva's shrine,\nbut there came no answer to his petition; and, at last, worn out with\nfatigue and discouragement, he fell asleep on the steps of the temple.\nWhen the first rays from Apollo's golden sun-car fell on the white\nmarble pillars of the temple, Bellerophon awoke, and to his great\nastonishment he found in his hand a golden bridle. Believing this to be\nthe answer to his prayers, he set out hopefully on his search for the\nwinged horse; and before journeying very far, he came to the fountain\nof Pirene, where the beautiful, clear stream bubbled up beside a grassy\nmeadow so redolent of ripening clover that it might tempt a far more\nfastidious horse than the immortal Pegasus. Bellerophon spent many days\nbeside the fountain, but he never caught a glimpse of the white-winged\nsteed, nor saw any mark of his hoofs upon the sod. Once an old man\nstopped to ask him why he was lingering so long beside the fountain,\nand then shook his white head incredulously when Bellerophon spoke of\nPegasus and his silvery wings.\n\nAt last the young hero grew so discouraged that he decided to return to\nthe court of Iobates; but on the very morning that he was intending to\nleave Pirene, he chanced to wake just at dawn, and, leaning over the\nfountain to bathe his flushed face he saw reflected in the water an\nimage that made his heart beat fast with hope and joy. It seemed like a\ngreat white bird, flying high up among the clouds, where the sunlight\nshone on its silvery wings. Nearer and nearer it came, sweeping the air\nin great wide circles, and at last it alighted beside the fountain.\nBellerophon meantime had hidden himself in the bushes, and now he\nwatched the beautiful creature as it folded its gorgeous wings and\nbent its arching neck to drink the clear water. Then Pegasus daintily\ncropped a few clover blossoms, shook his long white mane, and began to\nrun up and down over the meadows, capering madly like a colt just set\nfree in the pasture. After rolling luxuriously in the thick grass, and\nracing like the wind across the meadow, Pegasus grew tired of his play,\nand folding his snow-white wings, trotted quietly up to the fountain to\ntake one more drink before flying back to his home on Mount Helicon.\n\nThen Bellerophon crept noiselessly out of his hiding place, and while\nthe unsuspicious Pegasus was drinking the cool water and his eyes were\nno longer watchful, the youth boldly sprang upon his back and took firm\nhold of the thick mane, being careful meantime not to let Minerva's\ngolden bridle slip from his fingers. Bellerophon had ridden many a\nhorse, but never one as wild and spirited as this; for the glorious\nPegasus had not known, until now, the ignominy of bearing a mortal\nrider on his back, and he did not intend to submit to the disgrace.\nWhen he felt the touch of Bellerophon's knees on his broad flanks, he\nmade a tremendous bound into the air, and before the youthful rider\ncould realize what had happened, he found himself hundreds of feet\nabove the earth. The winged horse snorted, and shook with anger, and\ntried to unseat his rider by every trick known to equine ingenuity. He\nbounded forward with a sudden jerk, reared, turned over and over in the\nair, until half the time Bellerophon was riding with his head downward;\nbut in spite of all his efforts, he could not throw off the strange\nthing that clung to his back. All at once Bellerophon saw his chance to\nslip the golden bridle between the maddened horse's teeth, and suddenly\nPegasus became as gentle and tractable as if he had always obeyed the\nwill of a master.\n\nHappy to find the conflict over, the young hero turned the head of his\nwhite-winged steed toward the mountain-region where the dread Chim\u00e6ra\ndwelt. It was a wild and rocky part of the country that Bellerophon\nlooked down upon, and he saw all around him the evidence of ruin\nwrought by the fire-breathing monster. The dwellings of the peasants\nwere in smoking ashes; carcasses of half-eaten cattle were strewn about\nthe barren pastures; and human bodies were also to be seen, torn and\nmangled by the Chim\u00e6ra's ruthless claws. On the mountain side was a\ndeep hole in the rocks, and from it issued clouds of black smoke that\nhad a horrid stifling smell as it rose up from the cavern's mouth. As\nBellerophon descended nearer to the earth, the delicate nostrils of his\nhorse dilated at the first contact with the foul smoke, and he found\nit hard to persuade Pegasus to fly closer to the Chim\u00e6ra's den. When\nthey did approach through the thick clouds of smoke, Bellerophon saw\nthe monster's great body stretched out at full length in the cave,\nwhile all the three heads lay on half-eaten carcasses that were strewn\nabout the floor. The lion and the goat part of the Chim\u00e6ra were asleep,\nbut the snake was wide awake; and when it saw Bellerophon approaching\non his winged horse, it raised its head and began to hiss so loudly\nthat it roused up the other creatures until they too were intent and\nwatchful.\n\nThen the smoke poured out of the cave more thickly than before; and\nif Pegasus had not carried him quickly away from the poisonous fumes,\nBellerophon would have been suffocated long before he was able to get\nnear enough to deal the Chim\u00e6ra a mortal blow. But the brave horse\nbore him out of danger, and kept him far above the thick smoke until\nthe monster crawled out of its lair. Then like the swift rush of air,\nBellerophon swooped down upon the Chim\u00e6ra and cut off its three horrid\nheads with his sword; but even then the danger was not over, for the\nheadless creature sprang into the air, and clutched wildly for its\nenemy with its long claws. So sure an instinct for destruction did the\nChim\u00e6ra have that, mangled and dying as it was, it struck directly at\nBellerophon and would have torn him into pieces had not the faithful\nPegasus borne him swiftly out of reach of the deadly claws. After a few\nvain attempts to grasp its destroyer, the Chim\u00e6ra's great body gave\na convulsive shudder, and fell back stone-dead upon the blood-soaked\nground.\n\nThen Bellerophon sped back to the court of Iobates and announced that\nthe Chim\u00e6ra was dead. The king was glad to hear that the monster could\nno longer devastate his land, but he was sorry to see Bellerophon\nreturning unhurt and victorious, and with such a wonderful prize as\nthe winged horse, Pegasus. Most people had never believed that this\nimmortal steed really existed, and had thought that the stories about\nit were merely old wives' tales. Iobates did not dare to kill so\npopular a hero as the young prince became after this adventure, but he\nsent him off on other perilous journeys, hoping that on one of them he\nmight meet his death. Bellerophon, however, never came to any harm, for\nhe had always the sure help of Pegasus, and he returned safe from each\nexpedition with trophies to lay at the feet of his beloved princess,\nPhilono\u00eb. At length the king was convinced that Bellerophon was under\nthe special protection of the gods, and, hoping to win their favor, he\ngave the young hero his daughter in marriage, and appointed him his\nsuccessor to the throne.\n\nFor several years Bellerophon lived happily in Lycia; but his many\nvictories with Pegasus had made him presumptuous, and he felt that\nhis true place was with the immortals. So one day he mounted his\nwinged steed and flew far above the earth into the white clouds that\nwrap the top of Mount Olympus. Angered at this insolence and daring,\nJupiter sent an enormous gadfly which stung Pegasus so cruelly that\nhe gave a sudden leap forward, and this unexpected movement threw his\ntoo-confident rider from his back. The luckless Bellerophon felt the\nreins slip through his fingers, and he plunged downward through mist\nand clouds many, many miles to the earth. This terrible fall would have\nkilled any one but a mythological hero, but Bellerophon, though bruised\nand shaken, only lost his eyesight. Ever afterwards he wandered through\nthe fair places of the earth, lame and blind and lonely, lamenting the\nfoolish pride that had led him to risk the anger of the gods. What his\nend was no one ever knew, but he probably died in some distant land,\nalone and forgotten, while Pegasus went back to the sunny slopes of\nMount Helicon and never visited the earth again, even to drink the\nsweet waters of Pirene.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVII\n\nThe Story of Jason\n\nPart I\n\n\nIn Thessaly there once ruled a wise and good king named \u00c6son, who\ndwelt happily with his wife Alcimede, and his little son Jason. The\nking's reign did not last long, however, for his wicked brother Pelias\ncollected a band of armed warriors and made war upon \u00c6son, who, after\na feeble resistance, surrendered his throne to the invader and escaped\nsecretly from the kingdom with his wife and child. The dethroned\nmonarch took refuge in a distant country, and lived in concealment\nuntil Jason was old enough to be sent to some place of greater safety,\nfor they knew that the cruel Pelias would try to seek him out and kill\nhim. So they intrusted the boy to the care of the centaur Chiron, after\ntelling that wise teacher who the lad really was, and begging him to\nbring Jason up with the desire some day to avenge their wrongs.\n\nChiron instructed the youth in all the arts of which he himself was\nmaster, and when the young prince reached manhood, he was one of the\nbravest and most skillful of the centaur's pupils. Jason had been\ntold many times of his uncle's tyranny, and he burned to avenge the\nwrongs of his parents; but his wise teacher cautioned him to wait until\nhe had strength and power enough to face the wicked usurper. When\nhe deemed the youth sufficiently trained to leave his care, Chiron\nsent Jason forth, bidding him satisfy now his desire for revenge. He\nadvised his pupil, however, to be careful and to do no harm to any one\nexcept the man who had wronged him. Jason promised to obey his tutor's\ninstructions, and, girding on his sword, set out on the journey to his\nnative city.\n\nIt was springtime when Jason turned his steps toward his father's\nkingdom, and the rains had swollen all the streams, making them\ndifficult to ford. One day as he stood on the bank of a river,\nwondering where he had best attempt to swim across, he saw an old woman\nlooking despairingly at the rushing, foaming water. Jason spoke gently\nto her, and offered to carry her across the river. This unexpected\nassistance was gratefully accepted, and Jason bravely waded into the\nshallowest part of the stream. The swift current and his unwieldy\nburden made the crossing very difficult, so that when Jason at last\nreached the opposite bank, he was glad to rest. He did not mind the\nwetting, but he was sorry to find that he had lost one of his sandals\nin the river. As it was useless to try to find it, he set off with\nonly the remaining one, but first he stopped to say good-by to the old\nwoman. To his surprise he no longer saw a bent and trembling figure\nbeside him, but he stood in the presence of a beautiful, imperious\nwoman, whose royal bearing would have proclaimed her a goddess even\nif the startled youth had not seen beside her the peacock that ever\nattends the stately Juno. Jason trembled at this transformation of his\naged passenger, but Juno smiled graciously upon him and bade him have\nno fear, for she had come to promise him her aid and protection.\n\nBefore he could render suitable thanks, the goddess had disappeared,\nand Jason continued his journey, full of courage and confident of\nsuccess. Soon he came to his native city, where he found a great\ncrowd of people assembled at the temple, for Pelias, the king, was\noffering on that day special sacrifices, and a public festival had been\nproclaimed throughout the city. Jason joined in the crowds that were\nhurrying to the temple, and stood quite near his uncle, while the king,\nunconscious of his presence, was performing the sacrifices. When the\nceremony was over, Pelias glanced around at the assembled company, and\nstarted back pale with terror when he saw Jason; for although he did\nnot recognize his nephew, he had been warned by an oracle to beware of\na youth who would appear before him wearing only one sandal. Trembling,\nbut striving to hide his fear, Pelias spoke to the stranger and asked\nhim his name. Then Jason confronted his uncle boldly, declared his own\nparentage, and demanded that the usurper should at once resign his\nthrone and restore old \u00c6son to his rightful place in the kingdom.\n\nPelias did not dare openly to defy this fearless youth, but neither did\nhe intend to give up his power and wealth; so being a crafty man he\nsought to beguile Jason with soft words, and promised to send at once\nfor the absent king and queen. He urged his nephew to remain meanwhile\nat the court, and invited him to join the royal household that evening\nin a splendid banquet. Jason needed no persuasion to eat, drink, and\nbe merry; and as the wily Pelias plied him with rich viands and the\nchoicest wine, his heart warmed toward his uncle, and he felt less\neager to carry out his long-cherished vengeance. During the feast the\nbards sang of brave deeds done by heroes, and one old musician told of\nthe famous golden fleece that many had sought to take by stealth; but\nof those who went on the quest, no one ever came back to tell why he\nhad failed.\n\nJason listened eagerly while the old singer told how the famous fleece\nonce belonged to a ram that the friendly Neptune sent to Phryxus\nand Helle to enable them to escape from the persecutions of their\nstepmother Ino. This was the same Ino who cared so tenderly for the\ninfant Bacchus; but to her stepchildren she was very cruel. Their\nown mother Nephele had been sent away by King Athamas because he had\nwearied of her, and wished to marry Ino; and when the banished mother\nlearned how neglected and ill-treated her children were, she begged\nNeptune to help them. So the sea-god sent a golden-fleeced ram, which\nPhryxus and Helle mounted and thus escaped from their cruel stepmother.\nOnly Phryxus reached the land of Colchis, however; for when the ram\nflew over the sea, Helle grew frightened at the sight of the waves\ntossing so far beneath her, and suddenly lost her hold on the golden\nfleece. Her brother reached out to clutch her as she slid from the\nram's back, but it was too late, and the unfortunate maiden fell into\nthat part of the sea that is since known as the Hellespont. Phryxus\nreached Colchis safely, and here he sacrificed the ram to Neptune, and\nhung its golden fleece on a tree under which he placed a dragon to\nguard it night and day.\n\nAs Jason listened to this story he felt as though here was a task worth\nhis mettle; and it needed no urging from Pelias to make him declare\nhimself ready to set forth on the adventure without further delay.\nThe wily king praised Jason's courage, and prophesied that he would be\ncalled the greatest among heroes, while in his heart he felt assured\nthat the troublesome nephew would never return alive. He promised to\nrender Jason every assistance in his power, and offered to fit him out\nwith a well-manned ship; but the young adventurer had been thinking\nover the matter more calmly, and had begun to distrust his uncle's\napparent kindness. So he went for counsel to the shrine of Jupiter at\nDodona, where there was an oracle called the Speaking Oak; and, on\nconsulting this, he learned, to his great satisfaction, that Juno was\nstill watching over his welfare, and would aid him in the quest of the\ngolden fleece. The Speaking Oak then bade him cut off one of its great\nlimbs, and carve from it a figurehead for his ship. It told him also\nthat the ship in which he was to sail should not be made of timber cut\nfrom any ordinary trees, but should be built of the wood taken from\npine-trees that grew on Mount Pelion.\n\nWhen Jason had carved his figurehead, he found that it had the gift of\nspeech and could counsel him wisely in all his affairs, so as soon as\nthe ship was ready, the figurehead was fastened to its prow, and Jason\nset out on his memorable voyage. He called his ship the Argo,[93] and\nhimself and his fellow adventurers the Argonauts. Among his companions\nwere many men famous for their brave deeds: Hercules, Admetus, Castor\nand Pollux, Meleager, Orpheus, and Theseus. All these were eager for\nnew adventures, and no one doubted that with so many heroes to aid\nhim, Jason would succeed in winning the golden fleece. Even Pelias, as\nhe watched the voyagers sail away, wished that he had sent the daring\nyouth on a still more perilous journey.\n\nThe voyage to Colchis was full of strange happenings, both on land\nand sea. The first disaster that overtook the Argonauts occurred when\nHercules went ashore to get some fresh water, with a youth of the party\nnamed Hylas. There had been several occasions on which it was necessary\nfor some of the heroes to land in order to get food or water, but the\ndelay had been brief and the voyage quickly resumed. This time they\nwere in need of new oars, so Hercules offered to procure them, and took\nwith him his favorite companion Hylas. While he himself was felling\ntrees, he sent Hylas in search of fresh water; and the youth, after\nwandering about for some time, came at last to a fountain whose waters\nwere so pure and cool that he lingered long beside it. The nymphs\nwho lived in the fountain were charmed with the beauty of Hylas, and\ndetermined to keep him with them; so when he bent over the water, they\ndrew him gently down into its clear depths. Hercules, after waiting\nlong for the lad's return, went in search of him; but no trace of\nHylas could be found anywhere in the lonely forest. Though he called\nagain and again, no voice answered him; for Hylas lay in the green bed\nof the fountain, and his ears were deaf to the cries of his friend.\nHercules's grief was so great over the loss of Hylas that he refused to\naccompany the expedition any further, and made his way home alone and\non foot.[94]\n\nOn another occasion Jason landed in Thrace; and here he learned that\nthe blind King Phineus was tormented by some Harpies--creatures half\nwomen and half bird--that ate or befouled all the food placed before\nthe wretched king. The only meals Phineus could take were by stealth,\nand the poor king's life was rendered miserable by the constant\npresence of these foul monsters. When the two sons of Boreas, who were\nhappily gifted with wings, heard Jason relate the story of the Harpies\nto his companions, they promptly offered to help the blind Phineus;\nand, flying at the loathsome birds with drawn swords, the brothers\ndrove them out of Thrace into an island so far away that they never\ncame back to trouble the king.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVIII\n\nThe Story of Jason\n\nPart II\n\n\nOnce, in the course of the voyage, Jason was attacked by a flock of\nbrazen-feathered birds that showered their sharp metal plumage down\non the Argonauts, and wounded some of them sorely. Jason soon found\nthat weapons were of no avail against these formidable enemies, so\nhe consulted the figurehead that had always counseled him wisely. In\nobedience to its advice the heroes clashed their swords and spears\nfuriously against their shields until the birds, terrified by the\nnoise, flew away and never returned.\n\nWhen the Argo approached the Symplegades,--or Clashing Islands,--Jason\nremembered the words of Phineus, who had advised him to let free a\ndove, whose speed was less than that of his swift vessel, before he\nattempted a passage. If it flew easily between the rocks, then the\nship could safely follow it with no chance of being ground to pieces\nas the islands clashed together. When the Argonauts reached this\ndangerous spot, Jason sent a dove out before him. He watched its flight\nanxiously, and when it glided between the rocks with only a tail\nfeather caught, he guided the ship so close behind it that, as he slid\nthrough the opening made by the rebound of the islands, the deadly\nrocks merely grazed his rudder. Since their destructive power depended\non allowing no vessel to pass them unharmed, the evil force that the\nislands possessed was now broken, and they were henceforth chained fast\nto the bottom of the sea.\n\nAt last the Argo reached the shores of Colchis, and Jason made known\nto King \u00c6etes his desire to possess the golden fleece. The owner of\nthat wonderful pelt was very naturally not ready to give it to even\nthe boldest stranger; but he treated the Argonauts kindly, and even\npromised to bestow upon Jason the coveted fleece if he could catch and\nharness to a plow two brazen-hoofed, fire-breathing bulls. Then, having\ndone this, he must plow up a certain piece of ground sacred to Mars,\nand sow the field with dragon's teeth just as Cadmus had done.[95]\nLast of all he must conquer the armed giants that would spring up in\nthe field after the sowing, and then slay the dragon that guarded the\ngolden fleece. This was certainly enough to daunt any hero, but Jason,\nrelying on the help of Juno, agreed to the king's terms and went down\nto the seashore, where his ship lay, to consult the figurehead who had\nnever yet failed him. On the way he met Medea, the king's daughter, who\nwas much taken with the young stranger's beauty, and hoped to induce\nhim to marry her. Medea herself was very beautiful, and being also a\nsorceress she was an invaluable ally in the adventure that had brought\nJason and his friends from a far-distant land. So before many days\nhad passed Medea plighted her troth to the young hero who needed help\nsorely and the king's daughter promised to give him the aid of her\nmagic arts.\n\nOn the day appointed for the great task, Jason boldly approached\nthe fire-breathing bulls, for Medea had given him a charm by which\nthe fierce brutes were rendered harmless, and were easily yoked\nand harnessed to the plow. Then, in the presence of the astonished\nspectators, who expected to see him crushed beneath the brazen hoofs,\nJason plowed the field; and having sown it with dragon's teeth, stood\nready, sword in hand, to meet the attack of the giants who sprang\nup out of the ground clad in full armor. When he saw the glittering\nspears turned toward him, Jason's heart began to quail lest, after\nall, Medea's help should prove ineffective; and even the sorceress\nherself felt a momentary doubt of her own power to save her lover from\nhis foes. As the armed men were about to rush upon him, Jason threw a\nstone in their midst, according to Medea's instructions, and the giants\nturned against each other and began a furious battle that ended in the\ndestruction of the whole armed host.\n\nThen the hero, accompanied by Medea, hastened to the tree where the\ngolden fleece hung, and here a charm was needed to lull to sleep the\ndragon that guarded the treasure. As soon as the great eyes that had\nnever been known to close began to shut one by one, Jason stepped\nsoftly up behind the monster and cut off its head. It was but a\nmoment's work to tear the fleece from the tree where it had hung for\nso many years, and to bear it in triumph to the Argo, where Jason's\nfriends stood anxiously awaiting his coming. The men were already at\nthe oars, for he had told them to be ready to sail at a moment's notice\nwhen he should appear bearing the golden fleece. In spite of \u00c6etes's\npromise the hero did not trust him, and so made his preparations for\ndeparture very secretly. When he and Medea boarded the Argo with their\nprize, the rowers bent with all their strength to the oars, and the\nship slid silently and swiftly out of the harbor.\n\n\u00c6etes soon learned that the Grecian vessel had left his shores,\ncarrying on board the golden fleece, his daughter, and--worst of\nall--his only son and heir Absyrtus; so he hurriedly manned his royal\nbarge with rowers, and set out after the Argonauts. Although the\nfugitive vessel made good speed, the king's ship began to gain on it;\nand as Jason watched the distance between the vessels growing less and\nless, he was filled with despair and begged the sorceress to aid them\nwith her magic. Medea did not care what fate befell the Argonauts, but\nshe had no desire to leave Jason and return to her father's court; so\nshe did not hesitate to resort to any means of preventing the king\nfrom overtaking her. She therefore killed her brother Absyrtus, and,\ncutting his body into pieces, dropped them one by one over the side of\nthe vessel. \u00c6etes, seeing the remains of his only son floating on the\nwater, stopped to collect them so that the body might have suitable\nburial; and by this delay the Argonauts were allowed to escape. The\nwretched king then returned to Colchis, where he buried Absyrtus with\nprayers to the gods to bring vengeance upon his inhuman daughter.\n\nWhen the Argo with its triumphant crew reached Thessaly, they found\nthat their arrival caused great surprise as well as joy, for King\nPelias had never supposed they would return, and felt himself secure\nagainst any further trouble from the youth with only one sandal. He\nwas therefore much dismayed at seeing Jason return, especially as he\ncame unharmed and bearing so rich a trophy as the golden fleece. The\nusurper knew that his days of power were over, and when Jason again\ndemanded the kingdom in his father's name, Pelias was forced to resign\nhis throne to the lawful king. Old \u00c6son was then summoned from his\nplace of banishment, and restored to his rightful place; but he was so\nweak and decrepit that power had no charm for him, and he accepted his\nthrone very reluctantly.\n\nSo Jason begged his wife to use her magic in behalf of the old king;\nand Medea, anxious to please her lover, willingly promised to restore\n\u00c6son to all the vigor of manhood. To prepare the magic potion that was\nto bring youth and health, the sorceress went out into the meadows\non nine successive nights beginning with the new moon, and gathered\nherbs whose magic properties she alone could tell. Then she set a\ncaldron in the deepest part of the woods, and built under it a slow\nfire that burned always night and day. In the caldron she threw the\nmagic herbs, flowers with acrid juice, stones from the far east and\nsand from the all-surrounding ocean, hoar frost gathered by moonlight,\na screech-owl's head and wings, and the entrails of a wolf. Then she\nadded some bits of tortoise shell and the liver of a stag--for these\nanimals are tenacious of life--and the head and beak of a crow that\noutlives nine generations of men. All these she boiled together,[96]\nstirring them with an olive branch; and when she lifted out the\nbranch, it was full of new leaves and heavy with young olives. These\npreparations being finished, and the time being full moon, Medea went\nforth alone into the forest with old \u00c6son, just at midnight when all\ncreatures slept, and no breath of wind stirred the trees. She laid the\nold man on a bed of herbs, and after putting him into a deep sleep, cut\nhis throat and let out the sluggish blood of age. Then she poured into\nthe wound the juices from her caldron; and when these began to flow\nthrough the king's weak frame, he underwent a wonderful change, for\nhis hair and beard lost their whiteness and took on the glossy hue of\nyouth. His paleness changed to the ruddiness of manhood; and his feeble\nlimbs felt all the vigor of a hero in his prime.\n\n[Illustration: Medea]\n\nWhen the daughters of Pelias saw this miracle of old \u00c6son transformed\ninto a stalwart man, they begged Medea to use her magic in restoring\ntheir father to his former youthfulness; and the sorceress promised\nto help Pelias just as she had the father of Jason. So she prepared\na caldron full of boiling water, and pretended to put into it the\nnecessary ingredients for the magic potion; but when the devoted,\nthough too-credulous daughters of Pelias killed their father, and put\nhis body into the caldron, as Medea had directed, they did not restore\nhim to youth, but merely ended very effectively the life that they so\nardently wished to prolong.\n\nThough Medea's great beauty and her power as a sorceress kept Jason\nfaithful to her for many years, he at last grew weary of her and\nprepared to wed a maiden named Creusa.[97] Pretending to approve of\nhis choice, and concealing her rage at Jason's heartlessness, Medea\nsent the bride a beautiful, though poisoned, robe. The unsuspicious\nCreusa was delighted with this rich gift; but as soon as it rested on\nher shoulders the hapless maiden was seized with terrible convulsions,\nfrom which she shortly died. Then Medea killed with her own hands\nthe children that she had borne to Jason--so that she might have no\nreminder of his falseness--and fled in her dragon-car to Athens, where\nshe sought the protection of King \u00c6geus, the father of Theseus. Here\nshe lived many years, for the king, not knowing her history, and being\nenamored of her beauty, married her and made her his queen.\n\nJason, filled with remorse and despair, now led a most unhappy life,\nand spent most of his time on the seashore beside the great hulk of the\nArgo, which was slowly rotting away on the beach. One day a sudden gale\ndetached a loose beam from the vessel, and it fell on Jason's head,\nkilling him instantly. Thus ended forever the voyages of the Argonauts.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIX\n\nThe Calydonian Hunt\n\n\nOne of the heroes of the Argonautic expedition was Meleager, son of\n\u0152neus and Alth\u00e6a, king and queen of Calydon. When Meleager was born,\nhis mother saw in a vision the three Fates spinning the thread of her\nchild's life; and she heard them foretell that he would live until the\nbrand then burning on the hearth should be consumed. Alth\u00e6a, terrified\nby the vision, awoke; and snatching the brand from the fire she plunged\nit into an earthen jar full of water. When she saw that the last spark\nwas extinguished, she carefully hid the brand on whose existence\ndepended the life of her son. Meleager, thus saved from death, grew\nup into splendid and vigorous manhood, and was welcomed by Jason as a\nfitting companion for the famous voyage to Colchis.\n\nWhile his son was absent on this expedition, \u0152neus offended Diana by\nomitting to offer to her the customary yearly sacrifice; so the angry\ngoddess sent a fierce boar to devastate the country. This creature was\nof such enormous size and strength that no hunters dared attack it,\nand it laid waste the fields of Calydon by trampling on the young\ncorn, rooting up vines and olive trees, and devouring flocks and herds,\nthus creating wild confusion among the panic-stricken people. When\nMeleager returned from his voyage, and learned of the disaster that\nhad overtaken the land, he summoned a band of heroes and set out to\nslaughter the wild boar. Jason, Nestor, Telamon the father of Ajax,\nTheseus and his friend Pirithous, Peleus (afterwards the father of\nAchilles), the twin brothers Castor and Pollux on their snow-white\nhorses--all these and many others came at Meleager's call to join in\nthe hunt.\n\nWith the youths came also Atalanta, daughter of Jasius, king of\nArcadia. This princess had been left when an infant on Mount\nParthenium, and exposed to the hunger of wild beasts, for her father\nwas angry at finding that the gods had sent him a daughter instead of\nthe longed-for son. Atalanta was not devoured, however, nor did she\nperish from cold, for a kindly she-bear nursed the deserted infant,\nand she grew up strong and fearless. Later on some shepherds found the\nsturdy little maiden in the woods; and taking her to their rude home,\nthey cared for her, and taught her to follow the chase. Thus she had\ngrown up like a boy, fearless, bold, and skilled beyond most youths in\nthe use of the bow and spear.\n\nWhen the company of heroes saw Atalanta ready to join them in the\nchase for the wild boar, they were disposed to scoff at the idea of a\nmaiden taking part in an adventure whose dangers might make a brave man\nfearful; but Meleager, won by Atalanta's beauty, welcomed her eagerly,\nand begged her to share in the hunt. Then the company set forth into\nthe forest, and they did not have to wait long for their quarry, for,\nas soon as the wild boar heard the barking of the dogs and the sound\nof snorting steeds, he rushed out of his lair and savagely attacked\nthe hunters. One after another of the heroes was gored by the boar's\nlong tusks, or thrown down and trampled on by the cruel hoofs, or put\nto flight. Jason threw his spear, but it only grazed the boar's side.\nTelamon rushed forward, but stumbled over a projecting root and fell\nto the ground. Nestor, thrown headlong by a furious attack from the\nboar, sought safety in the branches of a tree. Theseus hurled his\nlance, but it was caught by a bough and turned aside. Then an arrow\nfrom Atalanta's bow pierced the brute's side, and blood flowed from the\nwound. The infuriated boar turned savagely upon her, but Meleager, who\nwas ever near the maiden, hurled his spear with so true an aim that the\nboar fell dead upon the bloody and trampled ground.\n\nThen the heroes crowded around Meleager, congratulating him on his\nvictory; but he refused to accept the honor of having slain the boar,\nand gave to Atalanta its head and rough hide as trophies belonging\nto the victor. His companions were angered that such honor should be\ngiven a mere girl, and they feared the scorn and ridicule that would be\nheaped upon them when they returned to report the success of the hunt.\nMeleager, however, did not heed their murmured threats, nor did he\nlisten to the reproaches of his two uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, who\nhad accompanied him. To see themselves thus rivaled by a boyish girl\nwas too humiliating for the pride of these two princes; and they began\nto insult Atalanta by chiding her for joining in the sports of men,\nand showing such unmaidenly boldness. Then they attempted to snatch\nfrom her the trophies of the hunt; and at this Meleager, who had been\nincensed at their taunts to Atalanta, turned upon them in a blaze of\nfury, and killed them both with his sword.\n\nMeanwhile Alth\u00e6a had heard that the boar was slain, and was on her way\nto the temple with a thank-offering when news was brought her that her\ntwo brothers had been killed--and by the hand of her son. Then the\nsister's desire for vengeance crowded out of her heart the mother's\nlove for her son; and she brought out of its place of concealment the\nbrand on whose existence depended Meleager's life. She lit a fire,\nand then hesitated for a moment whether to commit this dreadful deed\nor not; but the thought of her murdered brothers hardened her heart,\nand she threw the brand into the fire. As the flames wrapped around it,\nAlth\u00e6a fancied that she heard it give a groan and, seized with remorse,\nshe was about to snatch it from the fire, but the memory of her dead\nbrothers stayed her hand, and she sat by the fire watching the flames\nconsume the brand. While this was going on, Meleager suddenly felt his\nbody seized with deadly pangs; and, though not knowing the cause, he\nwas certain that his death was at hand. Then, like a brave man and a\nwarrior, he lamented that he must die in this mysterious way and not\nmeet his death fighting like the heroes of old. He called upon his\nmother and father, upon his sisters, and upon his loved Atalanta, but\nno one could save him from his fate. When the last bit of the brand\nfell into the ashes, Meleager died; and his mother, now filled with\nhorror and remorse at her deed, committed suicide.\n\nAtalanta, having won fame and the spoils of a celebrated hunt, was\nnow welcomed at her father's court and returned there to live. But\nthough she spent much time at the palace, she could not be induced to\ngive up the chase, and roamed the forests as before, glorying in her\nfreedom. Her father could not persuade her to marry, although many\nnoble suitors sought her hand; for an oracle had once warned her that\nmarriage would be her ruin. To her father's continued insistence she\nat last returned this answer--that she would wed the suitor who could\nbeat her in a foot-race; but the conditions of the race were to be\nthat the runner, if defeated, should lose his life. Rather than accept\nthese terms, many of the suitors withdrew; but some remained to run the\nrace, for the maiden's beauty was worth a great venture. None of them,\nhowever, succeeded in beating the fleet-footed Atalanta; and each man\npaid the price of defeat with his life. In vain the old king implored\nhis daughter to alter the hard conditions, but Atalanta was determined\nnever to wed.\n\nAt one of the races a youth named Hippomenes[98] was made the judge;\nand when he learned the terms of the contest, he turned to the\ncompetitors and asked them why they were so foolish as to risk their\nlives for the sake of a maiden's beauty. As he was speaking, Atalanta\nappeared dressed for the race, and when he looked at her, Hippomenes\nsaid: \"Pardon me, youths, I knew not the prize you were contending\nfor.\" When the race was over, and the defeated runners put to death,\nHippomenes, undaunted by this result, boldly asked that he might try\nhis fate. Atalanta looked at him pityingly, for he was a youth of\nnoble bearing, and she felt a strange reluctance to see him go so\nblithely to his death. She would not admit to herself that she could\nfall in love so quickly with a stranger; and yet she half hoped that in\nthis race she would not come first to the goal. As Hippomenes prepared\nhimself for the running, she thought: \"What unkind god wishes to bring\ndisaster upon this youth, and commands him, at the risk of a life so\ndear, to seek this marriage. In my own opinion I am not of such great\nvalue. It is not his beauty that moves me, though he is good to look\nupon, but I pity him because he is still a boy. He himself cannot\naffect my sympathies, but his youth moves me.\"[99] Then she tried to\npersuade Hippomenes to give up the race; but the more he looked at\nAtalanta, the more determined he was to win her, and he demanded the\nright to compete alone with the fleet-footed maiden.\n\nReluctantly Atalanta prepared for the race, and as Hippomenes waited\neagerly for the sound of the trumpet he breathed an ardent prayer to\nVenus to help him win the peerless maiden. Venus, the patroness of\nlovers, heard his prayer, and, unseen by any watchers, slipped into\nhis hand three golden apples gathered from a wonderful tree on her own\nisland of Cyprus. When the signal was given for the start, each runner\nshot forward like an arrow from the bow; but Atalanta soon outdistanced\nher lover, and his fate seemed assured; but just as she passed him he\nthrew in front of her a golden apple, and the maiden, surprised at this\nunexpected interruption, stopped to pick it up. Hippomenes pressed\neagerly forward, but Atalanta soon overtook him and as she sped by\nhim he tossed another golden apple in her path. Caught by its glitter\nthe maiden stooped again, and while she paused to recover the apple,\nHippomenes shot ahead. This advantage was soon lost, however, for again\nAtalanta outran him and was speeding past him toward the goal. Then the\nlover, with another prayer to Venus, threw the third golden apple; but\nby this time the maiden had begun to fear that she might be beaten by\nthe handsome stranger, and so hesitated to stop for the tempting golden\nfruit. Venus impelled her, however, to pause long enough to snatch the\napple quickly from the ground, and in that moment's delay Hippomenes\npassed her and reached the goal.[100]\n\n[Illustration: Cybele]\n\nThus for the first time the race was won by another than Atalanta, and\nHippomenes claimed the maiden as his rightful reward. Triumphantly he\ncarried off his prize, and for a long time he and Atalanta were so\nhappy that the words of the oracle seemed unlikely to be fulfilled;\nbut unfortunately the lovers forgot to do honor to Venus, and the\ngoddess was so angered at their ingratitude that she caused them to\ngive offense to Cybele (Rhea) by desecrating her sacred grove. To\npunish them for this impiety, Cybele changed them into a lion and\nlioness, and yoked them to her car, which they were ever afterward\ncompelled to draw.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXX\n\nTheseus\n\nPart I\n\n\nTheseus was among the heroes who joined Jason in the famous Argonautic\nexpedition; and he also accompanied Meleager on the Calydonian hunt.\nThus it seems that he was well-known throughout Greece for a brave and\ndaring youth who was ready to follow his friends into any adventure, no\nmatter how dangerous. When Theseus was a mere child, his father \u00c6geus,\nking of Athens, went on a journey to some distant country, taking with\nhim his wife \u00c6thra and his little son. He returned alone to Athens,\nleaving Theseus and his mother in the stranger's land; but before he\ndeparted he hid his sword and sandals under a large rock, and bade\n\u00c6thra leave them there until she deemed her son strong enough to raise\nthe stone. If Theseus proved equal to the test, he was to take the\nsword and sandals and go straightway to his father's court at Athens,\nwhere he would be acknowledged as the king's son and heir.\n\n\u00c6thra carefully obeyed these instructions, and when the time came that\nshe considered Theseus strong enough to meet his father's test, she led\nhim to the rock and bade him raise it. With a mighty effort the youth\nlifted the huge stone, and to his surprise he found beneath it a pair\nof sandals and a fine sword--both so perfectly preserved that they\nmight have been placed there only the day before. Then \u00c6thra explained\nthe presence of these gifts, and told her son how the king, his father,\nhad placed them there beneath the rock, so that he might know whether\nTheseus was to be a future hero or a weakling. While his mother was\nspeaking, the youth eagerly girded on the bright sword and put the\nsandals on his feet, and he needed no urging when \u00c6thra bade him set\nout at once for his father's kingdom. She warned him of the perils that\nbeset the road to Athens, for giants and robbers would bar his way, and\nmany other dangers lay in wait for the traveler; but Theseus was young\nand fearless, and he would have faced greater dangers than these to\nreach King \u00c6geus and the wonderful city of Athens.\n\nHe had gone but a few miles on his journey, when he was accosted by\nthe giant Periphetes, son of Vulcan, who stood in the road, with his\nhuge club in his hand and refused to let Theseus pass. When the young\nhero pushed boldly forward, Periphetes raised his club to strike the\nyouth to the ground, as he had done many another wayfarer; but as he\nlifted his arm for the blow, Theseus plunged his sword quickly into the\ngiant's side, and Periphetes fell dead upon the very roadway where he\nhad been for so long a terror to all travelers.\n\nElated with his victory, Theseus took the stout club of his fallen\nenemy and continued his journey to the Isthmus of Corinth, where he\nfound that the road soon grew very narrow and led along the edge of\na rocky precipice. Here he encountered a famous robber named Sciron,\nwho compelled all those who passed his way to wash his feet. When\nthe terrified traveler, unable to refuse, was thus occupied, the\nrobber would suddenly raise his foot and kick the man over the side\nof the cliff into the sea below, where a hungry tortoise lay waiting\nwith ever-open jaws. When Theseus was told the condition on which he\nwould be allowed to pass, he drew his sword and set upon his enemy\nso fiercely that Sciron quickly withdrew his demand, and offered to\nlet the hero go on his way undisturbed. Then Theseus, as he held his\nsword point at the robber's throat, commanded Sciron to perform the\nsame menial task that he had set so many others; and when the robber,\nnot daring to refuse, was kneeling before him, Theseus hurled him over\nthe precipice and gave one more meal to the hungry tortoise, who never\nagain was able to feast on the bodies of luckless travelers.\n\nThe next adventure that befell the hero was with a cruel giant called\nSinis, or the Pine-Bender, because he delighted in bending over some\ntall pine-tree until its top reached the ground; and having done this,\nhe would call to some unsuspicious passer-by to help him hold it down.\nThe stranger usually complied with this request, and then the giant\nwould take his great hand from the tree, which would at once spring\nback to its upright position, hurling the unfortunate helper into the\nair, and often dashing him to pieces against the rocks. When Theseus\nencountered the giant and was asked for his help, he remembered that\nhis mother had told him long ago of this brutal giant's jest, and he\ndetermined that travelers should no more be killed or even terrorized\nby this curse of the highway. So when Sinis bent down a particularly\nlarge and strong pine-tree and begged Theseus to help him hold it,\nthe hero deftly fastened the giant himself to the tree which sprang\nupward as soon as it was released and dashed the huge body against the\nmountain side, crushing it to pieces.\n\nAfter disposing of the giant, Theseus continued his journey and next\nencountered Procrustes (called the Stretcher), a fearful giant who,\nunder the pretense of hospitality, lured travelers into his house.\nThough an offer of food and entertainment was so unusual that it\nmight have aroused suspicion, most of those who passed Procrustes's\nhouse accepted his invitation and entered. In the house was an iron\nbedstead on which the giant forced all his guests to lie. If they\nwere too short, he stretched their limbs to suit the size of the bed;\nand if they were too long, he cut off their legs to make them fit its\ndimensions. Theseus entered Procrustes's home, and partook freely of\nthe food set before him. Then he suddenly fell upon the giant, who\nwas unprepared for such an attack, bound him to his own bedstead, and\nby making his huge body fit into it, inflicted on Procrustes the same\ncruel death that he had delighted to visit on others.\n\nWhen Theseus finally reached Athens, he went straightway to the palace,\nand on his way he learned that his father had married the sorceress\nMedea. When he arrived at the royal apartments and came before \u00c6geus,\nhis cloak so completely hid his sword that the king could not possibly\nrecognize it as the one he had left for his son. Nevertheless he\nwelcomed the stranger, who seemed a brave and handsome youth, and bade\nhim take a place at the banquet-table. But though the king did not\nknow whom he was entertaining, Medea, the sorceress, was perfectly\nwell aware of the stranger's identity, and mixed a deadly poison in\nthe wine-cup that was intended for the guest. Handing this to \u00c6geus,\nshe bade him honor the youth with a cup of their choicest wine; and\nthe king, suspecting nothing, was about to offer the poisoned drink to\nTheseus when he suddenly saw the sword beneath the stranger's cloak.\nLooking down at the youth's sandals, he recognized them as the ones\nthat he had buried under a rock long ago, and he knew then that the\nsword was also his own. With a cry of joy he started forward to embrace\nhis son, and as he did so the cup of wine that he held in his hand was\noverturned and its contents poured on the table. Some of the drops of\npoisoned wine fell on a dog that was lying at the king's feet, and\nimmediately it gave one convulsive shudder and died. Realizing that\nthe deadly draught had been meant for him, and knowing that only the\njealous Medea could have dared to commit such a crime, Theseus sprang\ntoward her with drawn sword, intending to put an end to her wickedness;\nbut the sorceress fled from the banquet-hall, mounted her dragon-car,\nand escaped to a distant country, which was afterwards called by her\nname Media.\n\nKing \u00c6geus was delighted to find that his son had grown to be such a\nbrave and handsome youth, and he listened with pride while Theseus\nrelated all the adventures that had befallen him on the way to Athens.\nThen the king made a great feast in honor of his son, and publicly\nproclaimed him his heir. The time passed very happily to Theseus until\nthe day when he saw a sad procession of weeping people wending its way\nthrough the streets, and observed in the midst of them seven youths\nand seven maidens dressed in funeral garments. He inquired where this\nsolemn cort\u00e8ge was going, and was told that the casting of lots had\njust been concluded and the victims had been chosen for the Minotaur.\nThen the young prince learned for the first time that since Minos, king\nof Crete, had conquered the Athenians in a recent war, he had exacted\nof them a terrible tribute. Each year seven youths and seven maidens\nwere offered to the Minotaur,[101] an insatiable monster that dwelt in\nan intricate labyrinth built for its special use by King Minos, and\ndesigned by the celebrated architect D\u00e6dalus.\n\nThe labyrinth was so intricate that no one who entered it could ever\nhope to find his way out; and the victims which Athens supplied each\nyear were probably killed by terror and suspense as they threaded their\nway through the labyrinth's tortuous windings, long before the fearful\nMinotaur came upon them. The architect who designed this wonderful\ncave should have earned the lasting gratitude of Minos; but D\u00e6dalus\nunfortunately lost the king's favor, and for some slight offense was\nshut up in a tower with his son Icarus. The boy gave himself up for\nlost, but the father began at once to contrive some means of escape,\nand ingeniously fashioned two pairs of wings, which were to gain\nfreedom for himself and his son. When the last feather was adjusted,\nD\u00e6dalus fastened one pair of wings securely on Icarus, and cautioned\nhim not to fly too high lest the heat of the sun should melt the wax\nwith which the feathers were held together. The youth, impatient to be\nfree, paid slight attention to these warnings; and as soon as his wings\nwere fastened, he sprang boldly from the tower window and flew straight\ntoward the clouds. Higher and higher he rose, exulting in this glorious\nmotion, and soon the heat of the sun's rays began to soften the wax on\nhis wings. When it was too late, Icarus realized his danger and came\nnearer to the earth; but the wax was melting fast, and in a moment the\nfeathers separated and the adventurous boy was plunged headlong into\nthe sea. His body was never recovered, but that part of the sea was\nafterwards called the Icarian Sea. D\u00e6dalus enjoyed a happier fate than\nthat of his son, for he reached Sicily in safety and built a temple\nthere to Apollo. In the temple he hung up his wings as an offering to\nthe god.[102]\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXI\n\nTheseus\n\nPart II\n\n\nWhen Theseus heard the story of the Minotaur and its wonderful\nlabyrinth, he determined that it should no longer exact its yearly\ntribute of human lives, for he would offer himself as one of the\nvictims and end the terrible sacrifice by slaying the monster. When he\nannounced this intention to his father, the king sought to persuade him\nto remain at home; but Theseus joined the youths and maidens who had\nbeen chosen by lot to go to Crete, and they set sail for the country\nof the Minotaur. According to the custom, the ship hoisted only black\nsails, which Theseus promised to change for white ones when he returned\nunharmed, having slain the monster.\n\nNothing befell the voyagers until they reached the coast of Crete, but\nhere the ship was stopped by the giant Talus, whose body was made of\nbrass and was always so red hot that if he held any one in his embrace,\nthe victim was burnt to cinders. This giant was a very effective\nguardian of the island, and kept off all strangers who had no business\nalong that coast. As he knew that the black-sailed ship brought to his\nmaster, King Minos, the yearly tribute from the Athenians, he let the\nvessel pass; and the voyagers, having landed, were led before the king.\nThe cruel mouth of Minos relaxed into a smile when he saw the youths\nand maidens, for they were all young and beautiful,--the very flower of\nthe Athenians,--and it gave him special satisfaction to consign such a\nchosen company to death. Beside Minos stood his daughter Ariadne, who\nlooked compassionately at those who were destined for the sacrifice,\nand when she saw Theseus, she pitied him above all the rest, and wished\nshe might save him from his loathsome fate.\n\nWhen the young hero asked that he might go first into the labyrinth,\nand alone, King Minos smiled at what he considered a child's boast--for\nhe had heard that Theseus hoped to slay the Minotaur; but when he\nlearned that the bold youth was his enemy's only son, he gladly allowed\nhim to do as he wished, although it was contrary to all custom. Theseus\nwas therefore placed alone in a cell of the prison, and here he did\nnot feel quite so bold or so eager to face the Minotaur as he had when\nhe talked over the adventure at his father's court. His sword had been\ntaken away, and he had no other weapon with which to fight the monster,\nso his confidence was somewhat shaken; and as he watched the night\ndeepening the gloom of his prison, he felt disheartened and almost\nunnerved for his coming battle. Just then the door of the prison opened\nsoftly, and Ariadne, the king's daughter, entered. To Theseus's great\nsurprise she gave him a sharp sword and a ball of thread--two things\nthat she assured him were necessary for him to have if he hoped to come\nalive out of the labyrinth. She bade him fasten one end of the thread\nto the entrance of the cave, and keep the ball tight in his hand, so\nthat it might lead him back through the intricate windings after he had\nslain the Minotaur.\n\nTheseus was very grateful to Ariadne for her assistance, without which\nhe would never have been able to encounter the monster or to escape\nfrom its wonderful labyrinth. He assured the maiden that his father\nwould send her a generous reward of gold and jewels; but she refused to\naccept any return for her kindness until Theseus ventured to suggest\nthat if she would become his wife, he would be proud to take her back\nwith him to Athens. To this Ariadne gladly agreed, and they plighted\ntheir troth in the murky darkness of the prison. When at dawn of the\nfollowing day the hero, now full of courage and sure of success,\nwas led to the labyrinth, he fastened one end of the thread to the\nentrance. Then, with his hand on his sword, which was hidden under his\nlong cloak, he stepped boldly into the cave from which no human being\nhad ever come out alive. The passage was narrow and dark, and strewn\neverywhere with whitening bones, so Theseus stepped very cautiously,\nwith his ball of thread held fast and his hand ever ready on his sword.\nSuddenly the Minotaur rushed upon him at an unlooked-for turn in the\nroad, and though the hero had no warning of its presence he met it\nboldly. A terrible battle ensued, in which Theseus struck fiercely at\nthe Minotaur, wounding it mortally, while the pain-maddened brute tore\ngashes in his flesh and almost suffocated him with its deadly breath.\nAt last the hero gave a swift thrust with his sword that cut through\nthe monster's great head, and in a moment the Minotaur lay dead among\nthe bones of its former victims.\n\nWith the help of the thread, which he had never lost, even in the thick\nof the fight, Theseus was able to retrace his steps and to reach the\nentrance to the labyrinth, where he found Ariadne anxiously awaiting\nhim. At the sight of the blood-stained sword she knew that her lover\nhad slain the Minotaur, and together they hurried to the black-sailed\nship, to which Ariadne had already conveyed the youths and maidens who\nhad been Theseus's companions on the voyage. As quickly as possible\nthe ship sped out of the harbor; but before they could quite clear\nthe Cretan shores, the giant Talus came upon them, and, seeing that\nsome of his master's prisoners were escaping, he tried to catch hold\nof the vessel by its rigging. As he leaned forward to do this, Theseus\ndealt him such a mighty blow that he toppled over into the sea and was\ndrowned. At this spot there were later discovered some thermal springs,\nwhich gave evidence of the terrible heat in the giant's brazen body.\n\nOnly once did the vessel stop on its swift voyage homeward, and this\nwas at the island of Naxos. Here the whole company landed to explore\nthe beauties of the island, and to find some spring from which to get\na supply of fresh water. Ariadne wandered apart from the gay company,\nand being weary, threw herself down on the bank of a stream to rest.\nHere she fell fast asleep, and when Theseus later found her there, he\nat once conceived the treacherous idea of deserting her. So he summoned\nall his companions, and went stealthily down to the ship, where he\nembarked, leaving Ariadne alone on the island. For some days the\ndeserted maiden sat on the seashore watching in vain for the Athenian\nship to return; but she did not mourn her faithless lover long, for the\ngods sent her a greater happiness than she could ever have had with the\nfickle Theseus. The island of Naxos was the favorite spot of Bacchus,\ngod of wine, who landed one day with a merry company of followers,\nand found the weeping Ariadne. In a short time he won her love and\nconfidence, and persuaded her to be his wife. The wedding celebrations\nso occupied Ariadne's mind that the treacherous Theseus was soon\nforgotten.[103]\n\nThe Athenians had been so eager to return to their native city that\nthey had no thought but to reach home as quickly as the vessel could\nbear them; and Theseus forgot his promise to his father that, in case\nof success, white sails should replace the black ones that were hoisted\non the outgoing voyage. Old \u00c6geus went each day to the seashore, and\nstood on a high rock, watching the sea for some sign of the returning\nship. When, at last, he saw it loom up on the horizon, with its black\nsails showing ominously against the sky, he at once concluded that his\nson was dead; and in his grief over this great loss he threw himself\ninto the water, which has since been known as the \u00c6gean Sea.\n\nWhen Theseus entered Athens in triumph, the first news he heard was\nthe tidings of his father's death; and realizing that it had occurred\nthrough his forgetfulness, he was filled with remorse. Though this\nmisfortune made him king of Athens, he allowed the city no rejoicings\non his accession to the throne; and the power and wealth at his command\ngave him no happiness, for his conscience still accused him of causing\nhis father's death. He tried to divert his mind by absorbing himself\nin state duties, but soon found that nothing would bring forgetfulness\nas long as he stayed in Athens; so he set out again in search of\nadventures, and led an expedition against the Amazons, who had been\nharassing his land. After a long and fierce battle he defeated them and\ntook their queen, Antiope, prisoner. The Amazons then attacked Athens,\nand penetrated into the heart of the city, but were finally driven\nout. Shortly after this Theseus married the queen, Antiope,[104] and a\nson was born to them whom the delighted father named Hippolytus. When,\nlater on, the Amazons again made an invasion into the country under the\npretext of rescuing their queen, Antiope was killed by an arrow sent at\nrandom into the court of the palace.\n\nThe next adventure in which Theseus engaged was to lead the Athenian\narmy against Pirithous, king of the Lapith\u00e6, who had been secretly\ncarrying off some of his herds. Full of anger at these continued\nplunderings, Theseus came suddenly upon the marauders as they were\nboldly making off with their booty; but as soon as he and Pirithous\nwere brought face to face, they were seized with such an admiration\nfor each other that they had no longer any feelings of enmity. They\nthrew down their weapons, clasped each other's hands, and swore eternal\nfriendship. To prove his devotion to his new friend, Theseus agreed\nto accompany him to the court of Adrastus, king of Argos, and to be\npresent at the marriage of Pirithous to Hippodamia, the daughter of the\nking. Many guests came to the wedding, and among them were Hercules\nand a number of the centaurs. The beauty of the bride so won the\nadmiration of the centaurs that they determined to kidnap her, and a\nterrible battle ensued between them and the Lapith\u00e6, who were aided by\nTheseus and Hercules. Finally the centaurs were driven away, but not\nbefore many of them had been killed or wounded. The bride who had been\nthe cause of this strenuous fighting did not live long, however, and\nPirithous soon found himself like Theseus, a disconsolate widower.\n\n[Illustration: Theseus]\n\nHaving been so unfortunate in their wives, the two heroes determined\nnot to seek again any king's daughters in marriage, but to choose some\none of divine parentage. So Theseus decided upon Helen, the child of\nJupiter and Leda[105] whom the ruler of the gods wooed in the form of\na snow-white swan. Pirithous's choice fell upon Proserpina, the wife\nof Pluto. Theseus succeeded in carrying off Helen; but as she was\nat that time a mere child, he left her in the care of his mother \u00c6thra\nuntil she should be old enough for marriage. Meanwhile Helen's twin\nbrothers, Castor and Pollux, having discovered who her abductor was,\nwaited until he was absent on the venture with his friend Pirithous,\nand then went to the rescue of their sister, whom they took forcibly\nfrom \u00c6thra, and carried triumphantly home to Sparta.\n\nOf these twin brothers, Castor was mortal, and some time later was\nslain in battle. Pollux, who was immortal, then begged Jupiter to let\nhim die also, that he might not be separated from his brother. The\nruler of Olympus, touched by this evidence of devotion, allowed Castor\nto return to life on condition that Pollux would spend half of his time\nin Hades. Later on both brothers were translated to the heavens, where\nthey form a bright constellation, one of the signs of the Zodiac.[106]\n\nAlthough Theseus's attempt to win an immortal bride was unsuccessful,\nthe two friends were not discouraged; and the hero accompanied\nPirithous to Hades when he made the bold attempt to carry off\nProserpina. Pluto, having discovered their intention, was so enraged\nat the insult that he fastened Theseus to an enchanted rock, and bound\nPirithous to the ever-revolving wheel of his father Ixion. When\nHercules went down to Hades to ask Pluto's permission to carry the\nthree-headed dog Cerberus to the court of Eurystheus,[107] he freed\nTheseus from the enchanted rock and thus enabled him to return to\nAthens.\n\nThough somewhat advanced in years Theseus decided to marry again, and\nchose as his bride the beautiful Ph\u00e6dra,[108] a younger sister of\nAriadne. An embassy was accordingly sent to ask for the maiden's hand\nin marriage, and later she was brought to Athens; but she was not at\nall pleased with her elderly husband, and much preferred his handsome\nyoung son Hippolytus, whose years were better suited to her own. She\ntried to persuade Hippolytus to elope with her, and when he indignantly\nrefused to be so disloyal to his father, Ph\u00e6dra's affection for him\nturned to hate, and she determined to make him pay dearly for thus\nscorning her love. So she went to the king and told him that Hippolytus\nwas trying to persuade her to desert the husband she adored; and the\ninfatuated Theseus, believing her story, vowed to punish the youth\nfor his treachery. Learning that his son was then driving his chariot\nalong the seashore, the king implored Neptune to avenge his wrongs;\nand the obliging sea-god sent a huge wave over the chariot, which\ndashed it against the rocks and threw the lifeless body of Hippolytus\non the beach. When Ph\u00e6dra saw what had happened as the result of her\nfalse accusations, she was filled with remorse and despair; and after\nconfessing her wickedness to the king, she hung herself. One story\nrelates that Diana, pitying the innocent Hippolytus, restored him to\nlife with the aid of \u00c6sculapius; and, to remove him from the power of\nhis irresponsible father, placed him in the care of the nymph Egeria.\n\nTheseus, having grown bitter from his many misfortunes, now became so\nstern and tyrannical that his people began to hate him and to wish for\nanother ruler. At last, driven to desperation by his harsh measures,\nthey banished him to the island of Scyros, where the king Lycomedes\ntreated him at first with great kindness; but he soon grew tired of\nthe old man's presence and decided to get rid of him. So one day when\nTheseus was walking along the cliff's edge, a servant stole up behind\nhim and threw him into the sea. When the Athenians heard of the fate\nthat had befallen their king, they repented of having sent him into\nbanishment; and now, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, they made him\na national hero. Later on he was deified as a sort of demigod; his\nbones were brought piously back to Athens; and a magnificent temple was\nerected in his honor on the Acropolis.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXII\n\n\u0152dipus\n\n\nLaius and Jocasta, king and queen of Thebes, were very happy when the\ngods gave them a little son, and they sent to the oracle at Delphi\nto learn what auspicious omens attended the child's birth. To their\nhorror they were informed that the boy would kill his father, marry his\nmother, and bring great misfortune upon his native city.\n\nHoping to avert this dreadful calamity, Laius commanded a servant to\ntake the child away and kill him; but the man, not wishing to commit\nso heartless a crime, hung the infant by his ankles to a tree, and\nleft him there to perish of hunger or from the teeth of wild beasts.\nThe king, believing that his command had been carried out and that the\nboy no longer lived, was happy in the conviction that the oracle would\nnever be fulfilled. Meanwhile the helpless child was left hanging to\nthe tree until a shepherd, chancing to pass by, heard his pitiful cries\nand went to his rescue. The kindly peasant then carried the infant to\nhis master Polybus, king of Corinth, who befriended the little stranger\nand later adopted him as his son and heir, for he had no children of\nhis own. He called the boy \u0152dipus, which means swollen-foot.\n\nThe young prince grew up in entire ignorance of his real parentage, and\nnever suspected that he was not king Polybus's son until one day, at\nthe royal banquet, a guest, drunk with wine, was heartless enough to\ntell him that he was only an adopted child. At first \u0152dipus believed\nthis statement to be just a malicious invention; but as he saw the\nglances that the other guests exchanged, he was filled with dread lest\nthe words might be really true. So he went in haste to the woman he had\nalways called his mother, and demanded the truth about his birth. The\nqueen, fearing that \u0152dipus might kill himself if he knew that he had\nbeen deceived about his parentage, assured him that he was indeed her\nson. The youth believed her repeated assertions, and yet he was not\nwholly satisfied; so he went to consult the oracle at Delphi. From this\nhe could learn nothing but the terrible prophecy that he would kill his\nfather, marry his mother, and bring misfortune upon his native city.\n\nDetermined not to be forced into committing any of these crimes, \u0152dipus\nfled from Corinth and became a wanderer. Once, while he was walking on\nthe high-road, bewailing the cruel fat that drove him away from the\npeople he loved, he was met by a chariot in which sat an old man and\nhis servant. This was Laius, king of Thebes, who was journeying thus\nfar from his native city to consult the oracle of Delphi. The servant\nwho drove the king's chariot commanded \u0152dipus to move out of the road,\nand flourished his whip to enforce his demand. The young prince was\nnot accustomed to be thus ordered about, and refused to move so that\nthe king's chariot might pass. The driver then struck \u0152dipus with his\nwhip, at which the youth grew so enraged that he avenged the insult\nby killing the servant with his sword. The king hurled his spear at\n\u0152dipus and called loudly to his other servants, who were some distance\nbehind; but before they could come to their master's rescue, Laius was\nstretched dead in the road. Thus the first part of the prophecy was\nfulfilled.\n\nWhen the attendants came hurrying to the king's assistance, they were\nhorrified at finding both him and his charioteer dead; but although\nthey searched everywhere, no trace of the murderer could be found.\n\u0152dipus meanwhile had escaped and was on his way to Thebes, whither\nthe servants were now preparing to carry their dead master. Though\nstrangers were usually noticed as they came through the city gates,\n\u0152dipus was scarcely observed during the many days that Thebes was in\nmourning for the dead king. When the funeral ceremonies were over, the\nyoung stranger heard one day a herald proclaiming in the streets that\nthe throne of Thebes should belong to him who could kill the Sphinx and\nthus free the country from its baneful presence. The hand of the queen\nJocasta was also promised as a further reward.\n\nWhen \u0152dipus asked one of the natives what this creature called the\nSphinx might be, the old man to whom he spoke turned on him a look of\nsurprise, and remarked that he must indeed be a stranger to Thebes\nif he did not know that the city was suffering from the presence of\nthe Sphinx. This monster, he said, was half woman and half lion, with\nthe claws and wings of a huge bird; and it had stationed itself just\noutside the city gates, where it crouched upon a rock so close to the\nhigh-road that no traveler could pass it unseen, especially as it kept\nwatch both night and day. To each passer-by the Sphinx propounded a\nriddle, and those who solved it could pass undisturbed, but those who\nfailed were at once torn to pieces by the monster's claws. Thus far no\none had been able to solve the riddle, and many travelers had already\nbeen destroyed.\n\nWhen \u0152dipus heard this story, he determined to seek the Sphinx and try\nhis fate. Even if he himself were slain, he would not regret having\ngiven his life to the nation that had befriended him, especially since\nthe oracle had prophesied for him such a series of crimes that he had\nno love for life. So, sword in hand, he went out of the city gates, and\nwalked boldly along the road to the rock where the crouching Sphinx lay\nin wait for its prey. As soon as it saw \u0152dipus, it stopped him, and\ndemanded that he should answer the riddle or else lose his life.\n\n\"Tell me your riddle then,\" cried the hero, boldly; and the Sphinx\nreplied:--\n\n\"What is it that in the morning goes on four feet, at noon on two feet,\nand in the evening upon three?\"\n\nFor some minutes \u0152dipus did not answer, but he crept nearer to the\nSphinx, with his sword gripped firmly in his hand. The monster began to\nlick its cruel lips, and stretch out one long claw toward its victim,\nwhen \u0152dipus answered:--\n\n\"It is man, who in childhood creeps on hands and knees, in manhood\nwalks erect, and in old age moves with the help of a staff.\" The\nSphinx, with a cry of rage and disappointment, spread its wings,\npreparing to fly away to some other place where it could find new\nvictims; but \u0152dipus suddenly rushed upon it with his drawn sword, and\ndrove it over the edge of a precipice which was so steep that the\nmonster was instantly killed by its fall.\n\nWhen \u0152dipus returned to the city and announced that he had slain the\nSphinx, the people greeted him as their deliverer. They placed him\nin the royal chariot, proclaimed him their king, and carried him in\ntriumph to the palace, where the queen Jocasta welcomed him. Shortly\nafter this she married \u0152dipus, thus fulfilling the second part of the\nprophecy.\n\nIn spite of the crimes that he had unknowingly committed, \u0152dipus\nreigned many years in Thebes, and proved himself so wise and just a\nruler that the people never regretted having chosen him for their king.\nTwo sons were born to him and Jocasta, and two beautiful daughters.\nThe former were named Eteocles and Polynices, and the latter Ismene\nand Antigone. \u0152dipus himself was so content that he almost disbelieved\nthe fatal prophecy at Delphi; but his happiness was destined to be\nshort lived, for the city was suddenly afflicted with a pestilence and\nfamine which caused such distress throughout the land that the stricken\npeople came flocking to \u0152dipus, praying him to deliver them from the\nscourge. The king sent at once to consult the oracle at Delphi, and his\nmessengers returned with this answer from Apollo:--\n\n      \"The plague, he said, should cease,\n      When those who murdered Laius were discovered,\n      And paid the forfeit of their crime by death\n      Or banishment.\"[109]\n\nEvery effort was then made to discover who had slain the former king\nLaius, and it was not long before the crime of \u0152dipus was revealed. At\nthe same time the old servant who had been commanded to kill the infant\nson of Laius and Jocasta was found, and made to confess his part in the\ntragedy. \u0152dipus was now convinced of his real parentage, and discovered\nto his horror that he had already been guilty of the three crimes that\nthe oracle had foretold. In vain he had fled from Corinth to escape\nbeing near his supposed parents; and in vain, too, had he sought refuge\nin another city, believing that the one he had left was his birthplace.\nWhen the queen Jocasta realized the full horror of her relationship to\n\u0152dipus, she committed suicide; and the king, rushing into her apartment\nat the sound of her cries, saw her lifeless body on the ground. In\ndespair at this sight \u0152dipus, the unwilling cause of the tragedy, was\nseized with a sudden madness and put out both his own eyes, declaring\nthat the sunlight would be forever hateful to him.\n\n[Illustration: \u0152dipus and Antigone]\n\nBlind, penniless, and on foot, he left the palace and the city on which\nhe had brought such disaster, and wandered over the land accompanied\nby his devoted daughter Antigone, who clung to the fallen king the\nmore lovingly because of his misery and disgrace. After many days of\nwandering in the rain and cold, begging their scanty food and resting\nin any wayside spot that offered them shelter, \u0152dipus and his daughter\ncame to Colonus, a village near Athens. Here was a deep and almost\nimpenetrable forest, which the Greeks believed to be sacred to the\nFuries. In this grewsome spot \u0152dipus declared that he would stay the\nrest of his days; and bidding his daughter farewell, he entered the\ndark forest alone. Antigone, weeping and clinging to her father's arm,\nbesought him to let her stay beside him, for what could he--old and\nblind and helpless--do in that fearful spot but perish? \u0152dipus gently\nreleased her clinging hands, and refused to allow her to go any farther\nwith him, assuring her that to him who lived ever in the eternal night\nof blindness, there were no terrors in the darkness of the forest.\n\nSo Antigone sadly returned to Athens, and the blind king groped his way\namong the thick underbrush and fallen trees. At nightfall a terrible\nstorm came up, and its forerunner, the wind, shook the forest as if it\nwere some child's toy; but still the old king felt his way among the\ntrees, and the lightning, as it flashed into the dark places of the\nforest, illumined a figure bent and shaking, but grim, determined, and\nunafraid. The next day when the storm was over, a party of men sent\nby Theseus, king of Athens, went in search of \u0152dipus, but no trace of\nhim was ever found; and the ancients believed that the Furies dragged\nhim down into Hades, where he received a fitting punishment for his\ncrimes.[110]\n\nThe plague having been removed from Thebes by the death of\n\u0152dipus--according to the words of Apollo--the city returned to its\nformer prosperity; and then began a fierce dispute between the king's\ntwo sons as to which of them should succeed to the throne. A compromise\nwas finally agreed upon whereby the eldest son, Eteocles, was to reign\nfor one year, and at the end of the year the second son, Polynices,\nwas to accede to the throne and rule for the same length of time. The\ndispute being settled amicably, Polynices set out for adventures in\nforeign lands during his brother's reign; and at the end of the year\nhe returned to claim his right to wield the scepter of power. Eteocles\nrefused, however, to relinquish the throne; and with the help of the\nsoldiers, drove Polynices out of the city.\n\n[Illustration: Antigone and Ismene]\n\nFurious at this treachery, but unable to retaliate single-handed,\nPolynices fled to the court of Adrastus, king of Argos, where he was\nhospitably received. On relating the story of his wrongs, he so won\nthe sympathy of the king that the kindly monarch promised to help him\nregain his kingdom. Later on the banished prince married Adrastus's\ndaughter, and the king equipped a large army to go with Polynices to\nThebes. At the head of the troops he placed seven valiant chiefs who\nwere determined to win the city from the usurper, or perish in the\nattempt. These leaders gave this celebrated expedition the name of\n\"The Seven against Thebes.\"\n\nIf courage and boldness were enough to overthrow a city, the besiegers\nwould have won an easy victory; but their bravery was of no avail\nagainst a place so well fortified and defended as Thebes. After a\nseven years' siege the leaders of the attacking forces grew weary of\nespousing a hopeless cause, and decided that the quarrel between the\ntwo brothers must be settled by a duel. Accordingly Polynices and\nEteocles met face to face, and fought so fiercely that both of them\nwere killed. The only one left in the city who could rightfully assume\nthe reins of authority was Creon, the father of Jocasta, who was now\nproclaimed king of Thebes.[111] By Creon's order the body of Eteocles\nwas given all the honors of a royal burial; but the corpse of Polynices\nwas left on the battle-field a prey to dogs and vultures. Then the\nking issued a proclamation that if any one dared to touch the body of\nthe dead prince, he would be buried alive. The friends of Polynices\ndid not venture to defy this edict; but his sister Antigone, horrified\nat the thought of leaving her brother's body to suffer such disgrace,\ndetermined to ignore the king's barbarous decree. As she was unable to\nprocure any assistance, she dug a grave with her own hands and buried\nPolynices, performing such funeral rites for the repose of the dead as\nshe could accomplish alone.\n\nWhile she was engaged in this act of devotion she was seen by the\nsoldiers of Creon, who dragged her at once into the presence of the\nking. Although Antigone was one of his own family, and was also the\npromised wife of his son H\u00e6mon, the relentless monarch condemned her\nto death. H\u00e6mon pleaded with his father to spare the life of his\nbetrothed, since her deed, though in defiance of the king's order,\nhad been one of praiseworthy devotion; but Creon would not revoke his\ndecision, and condemned Antigone to the most horrible of deaths--that\nof being buried alive. While this inhuman sentence was being carried\nout, H\u00e6mon leaped into the grave where Antigone was kneeling, and\ndeclared that he would die by her side. As the terrible process of\nwalling-in the lovers was slowly completed, Antigone died in H\u00e6mon's\narms; and when he felt her lifeless body lying limp in his embrace, he\nended his own life with his dagger.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXXIII\n\nThe Apple of Discord\n\n\nJupiter, father of the gods, once fell in love with the beautiful\nsea-nymph \"Thetis of the silver feet,\" the daughter of Nereus and\nDoris. Before he arranged for the marriage, the ruler of Olympus first\nconsulted the Fates to see whether any misfortune was likely to attend\nhis nuptials; and the three sisters who spin the thread of life night\nand day declared that Thetis was destined to be the mother of a son who\nwould be far greater than his father.\n\nAlthough Jupiter could not imagine how any god could supplant him in\nOlympus, he was nevertheless unwilling to act in defiance of what\nthe Fates decreed; so he gave Thetis in marriage to Peleus, king of\nPhthia, who had long loved her and had sought her hand in vain. The\nsea-nymph was not very well pleased at having to accept a mere mortal\nas a husband, even though he was a king, after having been wooed by the\ngreatest of the gods. To induce her to consent to the marriage, Jupiter\npromised that he and the other gods would come down from high Olympus\nto attend the wedding; and the prospect of this great honor soothed the\npride of Thetis so that she consented to marry Peleus.\n\nThe preparations for the wedding were begun in the coral caves of\nher father Nereus, and all the ocean-deities and sea-nymphs helped\nto beautify the palace under the sea. When the wedding day arrived,\nJupiter, with all the attending gods, came to grace the marriage feast.\nThe guests took their seats at the well-filled table, and pledged\nthe bride in brimming cups of wine. There was nothing to mar the joy\nof the occasion until suddenly an uninvited guest appeared in the\nbanquet-hall, and the laughter died away into an ominous silence. This\nunexpected visitor was Eris (or Discordia), the goddess of discord, who\nhad not been asked to the wedding because her hideous face, snaky hair,\nand vicious temper made Thetis fear that her presence would anger the\nother guests. The strife-breeding goddess regarded this omission as an\ninsult, so she went unbidden to the marriage feast, determined to vent\nher wrath and spite on those who had received the coveted honor. For a\nmoment she stood looking at the assembled company with glances full of\nhatred, and she laughed mockingly when she saw them shrink away as she\nbreathed over them her poisonous breath. Then she threw on the table a\ngolden apple, and immediately vanished.\n\nThe guests were eager to see the beautiful fruit, and as they passed\nit about among themselves they were surprised to find engraved on its\nsmooth surface the words \"For the Fairest.\" Immediately there arose a\nlively discussion as to whom the apple should rightfully belong; and\neach of the goddesses present was inclined to believe that the fruit\nwas intended for her. At last all the contestants for the golden apple\nwithdrew their claims except Juno, Minerva, and Venus,--each of whom\ndisputed hotly for its possession. Juno contended that her power and\nmajesty gave her the best right to the prize; Minerva claimed that the\nbeauty of wisdom surpassed all other charms; while laughter-loving\nVenus asked who could rightfully be called \"the fairest\" if not the\ngoddess of beauty.\n\nAs the dispute grew more and more bitter, the goddesses called upon the\nother guests to decide their respective claims; but no one was willing\nto assume this responsibility. Since the apple could be given to but\none of the three, the other two would be sure to vent their anger and\ndisappointment on those who made the decision, each believing that\nthe judges willfully refused to admit her superior charms. So, at the\nsuggestion of one of the company, the entire wedding party adjourned to\nMount Ida, where the beautiful shepherd Paris was tending his flocks.\nJupiter appointed him to be the judge of the contest. The bewildered\nshepherd took some moments to recover from the surprise of having this\nbrilliant company break in upon his solitude; and he stood watching\nthem in awe and reverence, not daring to speak in the presence of the\nimmortals.\n\nParis was not, however, an uncouth peasant lad, for although occupying\nthe lowly position of shepherd, he was really the son of Priam and\nHecuba, king and queen of Troy. When he was a mere infant, he was left\non the mountain to perish, because an oracle had foretold that he would\ncause the death of his family and the destruction of his native city.\nBut though so inhumanly exposed to cold and the hunger of wild beasts,\nthe child did not die, for he was found by a shepherd, who adopted him\nand brought him up to follow his own calling.\n\nWhen Paris grew to manhood he was so handsome that the wood-nymphs, who\nwere his companions, all sighed for love of him. Among them was the\nfair and gentle \u0152none, whom Paris secretly married, and with whom he\nlived happily on Mount Ida. Though his foster-father had told him the\nstory of his birth, Paris had no longing for the glitter and grandeur\nof palaces, for he felt sure that king Priam would wish to kill him if\nhe learned that the son he feared and hated was alive.\n\n[Illustration: Paris]\n\nParis had grown so accustomed to the solitude of the mountain that\nwhen the wedding party suddenly came upon him, he stood fearful\nand silent while Jupiter, showing him the golden apple with its\ninscription, bade him judge which of the three goddesses should receive\nit. Before he could make any answer, Juno told him if he gave the\napple to her he would thereby win great wealth and honor. Minerva\npromised him the gift of wisdom far exceeding that of mortal men; but\nlaughter-loving Venus whispered in his ear that if he awarded her\nthe apple, he should have the most beautiful woman in the world for\nhis wife. Whether it was the alluring beauty of Venus that blinded\nhis judgment, or the reward which she offered that tempted him, it\nis impossible to tell. Perhaps it was for both of these reasons that\nParis turned quickly and placed the coveted apple in Venus's hand. This\ndecision brought upon him the wrath of both the discredited goddesses,\nwho began from that moment to cherish a hatred for the house of Troy,\nand to plot its destruction.\n\nVenus told Paris that in order for her to fulfill her promise, he\nmust now go down to the city of Troy and make himself known to his\nparents. She assured him that he need have no fear of his father, for\nshe herself would so order his affairs that the king would welcome\nhim and acknowledge him as his son. Later on she would arrange that\nhe should be furnished with ships in which to sail to Greece, for to\nthis country he must inevitably go, since Helen, wife of Menelaus,\nking of Sparta, was the most beautiful woman in the world. Obeying\ncarefully all the instructions of the goddess, who had now become his\nprotectress, Paris left his shepherding and went down to the court of\nhis father, King Priam. He was so blinded by the vision of his glorious\nfuture that he did not think how heartless he was to desert the loving\nand faithful \u0152none, who mourned for him until the hills echoed with the\nsound of her cries.\n\nTo tell the story of Paris's return to his native city, of his voyage\nto Sparta, and of his abduction of Helen, would be to tell the story\nof the Trojan war and of how dearly Paris and his household paid for\nthe most beautiful woman in the world. When the sons of Priam were\nfalling, one by one, beneath the fierce blows of the Greeks, Paris was\nwounded by a poisoned arrow shot by Philoctetes, who had received these\nfamous weapons from Hercules when he lit that hero's funeral pyre.[112]\nAs the poison entered Paris's veins, and he knew that he had received\na mortal wound, he sent at once for \u0152none, who had always loved him\nso dearly that he believed she must have forgiven his treachery and\ndesertion. He knew how skilled the nymph was in the use of healing\nherbs, and she had once told him, in the happy days of their love on\nMount Ida, that if he ever were wounded, he should send for her and she\nwould heal him. Paris therefore dispatched a messenger in all haste\nto bring his wife from her home among the hills; but \u0152none refused to\naccompany the messenger, for she knew that it was not for love of her\nthat her husband desired her presence. So Paris died of his poisoned\nwound, and when \u0152none heard of his death, she went down to the city and\nsaw the funeral pyre with its flames leaping toward the sky. Filled\nwith remorse at her refusal to come to his aid, \u0152none could not look on\nat the sight of Paris's burning body and live; so she sprang upon the\nblazing pyre and perished beside her lover.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nI\n\nThe only powers that dared oppose the will of Jupiter were the Fates\nand Destiny, who issued their irrevocable decrees without regard to the\nwishes of the ruler of Olympus. Jupiter's sovereignty is thus described\nby Homer:--\n\n      \"He whose all-conscious eyes the world behold,\n      The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold,\n      High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes,\n      And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,\n      Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,\n      The stamp of fate and sanction of the god;\n      High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,\n      And all Olympus to the center shook.\"\n\n                  --POPE'S TRANSLATION.\n\nThe principal temples of Jupiter were the Capitol at Rome, and the\nTemple of Jupiter Ammon in Libya. At Dodona was the oracle of Jupiter,\ncalled the \"Speaking Oak,\" where the responses were given by the trees\nwhose rustling branches made sounds that were interpreted by the\npriests. The oracle was said to have been established at Dodona in\nthe following manner: two black doves took their flight from Thebes in\nEgypt. One flew to Dodona in Epirus; and alighting in a grove of oaks,\nit proclaimed, in human language, to the people of that region, that\nthey must establish there an oracle of Jupiter. The other dove flew to\nthe temple of Jupiter Ammon, and delivered a similar command there.\nAnother account says that two priestesses were carried off from Thebes\nin Egypt by the Ph\u0153nicians, and set up oracles at Dodona and the Libyan\nOasis.\n\nA magnificent temple at Olympia was dedicated to Jupiter, and here,\nevery fifth year, the Greeks assembled to celebrate games. These\nfestivals lasted five days, and were known as the Olympic Games.\nVast numbers of spectators flocked to them from every part of Greece\nand from Asia, Africa, and Sicily. The Greeks usually reckoned time\nby Olympiads or five-year periods,--the space of time between the\ncelebrations. The first Olympiad was about 776 B.C.\n\nInside the temple at Olympia stood a wonderful statue of Jupiter made\nof ivory and gold. The parts representing flesh were of ivory laid on\na framework of wood, while the drapery and ornaments were of gold. It\nwas the work of Phidias, and was considered the highest achievement\nof Grecian sculpture. The height of the figure was forty feet, and\nthe pedestal was twelve feet. The god was represented as seated on his\nthrone, with his brows crowned with a wreath of olive and in his hand\na scepter. The statue was considered one of the Seven Wonders of the\nworld, but our knowledge of it is confined to literary descriptions and\nto copies on coins.\n\n\nII\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Prometheus Bound        \u00c6SCHYLUS\n  Prometheus Unbound      PERCY B. SHELLEY\n  Prometheus              HENRY W. LONGFELLOW\n  Prometheus              JAMES R LOWELL\n\nThe following are Byron's lines:--\n\n      \"Titan! to whose immortal eyes\n      The sufferings of mortality,\n      Seen in their sad reality,\n      Were not as things that gods despise;\n      What was thy pity's recompense?\n      A silent suffering, and intense;\n      The rock, the vulture, and the chain;\n      All that the proud can feel of pain;\n      The agony they do not show;\n      The suffocating sense of woe.\"\n\n\nIII\n\nThere is a full account of the story of Pandora in Hawthorne's \"Wonder\nBook.\"\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Pandora                DANTE G. ROSSETTI\n  Masque of Pandora      HENRY W. LONGFELLOW\n\n\nIV\n\nOther mythologists than Ovid, in treating the story of the flood, state\nthat Deucalion and Pyrrha took refuge in an ark, which, after sailing\nabout for many days, was stranded on the top of Mount Parnassus. This\nversion was far less popular with the Greeks, though it shows more\nplainly the common source from which all these myths are derived.\n\n      \"Who does not see in drowned Deucalion's name,\n      When Earth her men, and Sea had lost her shore,\n                      Old Noah!\"\n\n                  --FLETCHER.\n\n\nV\n\nThe city of Delphi, containing the famous oracle of Apollo, was built\non the slopes of Mount Parnassus in Phocis. It had been observed at\na very early period that the goats feeding on Parnassus were thrown\ninto convulsions when they approached a certain deep cleft in the side\nof the mountain. When a goatherd ventured near the spot, he found a\npeculiar vapor arising from the cavern, and as he inhaled it, he was\naffected in the same way as the animals had been. The inhabitants of\nthe country, unable to explain the goatherd's convulsive ravings,\nimputed his utterings to divine inspiration. A temple was therefore\nerected on the spot, and the prophetic influence was attributed to\nvarious gods, but was finally assigned only to Apollo. A priestess was\nappointed who was named the Pythia, and her office was to sit upon a\ntripod placed over the chasm from which the divine afflatus proceeded.\nThe priestess and the tripod were both adorned with laurel; and as\nshe inhaled the hallowed air, her words--believed to be inspired by\nApollo--were interpreted by the priests.\n\nThe Pythian Games were celebrated at Delphi every three years, and were\ninstituted by Apollo in commemoration of his conquest of the Python. At\nthese games were chariot racing, running, leaping, wrestling, throwing\nquoits, hurling javelins, and boxing. Besides the exercises in bodily\nstrength, there were contests in music, poetry, and oratory. These\noccasions gave the poets and musicians an opportunity to show their\nproductions to the public.\n\n\nVI\n\nThere was in Troy a celebrated statue of Minerva called the Palladium.\nIt was said to have fallen from heaven, and the Trojans believed that\nthe city could not be taken so long as this statue remained within\nit. Ulysses and Diomede entered the city in disguise, and succeeded in\nobtaining the Palladium, which they carried off to the Grecian camp.\n\nThe finest and most celebrated of the statues of Minerva was the one by\nPhidias in the Parthenon at Athens. This was forty feet in height, and\nwas covered with ivory and gold. It represented the goddess as standing\nwith a spear in one hand, and in the other a statue of victory. Her\nhelmet, highly decorated, was surmounted by a sphinx. The Parthenon\nitself was constructed under the supervision of the famous sculptor;\nand many of the reliefs which enriched the exterior were by the hand of\nPhidias himself. The statue of Minerva is not in existence, but parts\nof the frieze of the Parthenon are in the British Museum and are known\nas the Elgin Marbles.\n\nThe hero Theseus instituted at Athens the festival of Panathen\u00e6a in\nhonor of Minerva. The chief feature of the festival was a solemn\nprocession in which the Peplus, or sacred robe of Minerva, was carried\nto the Parthenon, and left on or before the statue of the goddess. The\nPeplus was covered with embroidery worked by virgins of the noblest\nfamilies in Athens. The festival was peculiar to the Athenians,\nbut among them persons of all ages and both sexes took part in the\ncelebrations. In the procession the old men carried olive branches\nand the young men bore arms. The women carried baskets on their heads\ncontaining the sacred utensils and cakes necessary for the sacrifices.\n\n\nVII\n\nThe most famous representations of Juno are the torso in Vienna from\nEphesus, the Barberini in the Vatican at Rome, the bronze statuette in\nthe Cabinet of Coins and Antiquities in Vienna, and the Farnese bust in\nthe National Museum at Naples.\n\nJuno's festivals, the Matronalia, in Rome, were always celebrated with\ngreat pomp. Less important feasts were held in each city where a temple\nwas dedicated to her. On one of these occasions, an old priestess was\nvery anxious to go to Juno's temple at Argos, in which she had served\nthe goddess many years in her maiden days, and which she had left only\nto be married. The way was long and difficult, and the old priestess\ncould not attempt to walk such a distance; so she bade her sons Cleobis\nand Biton harness her white heifers to her car. The youths were anxious\nto do her bidding; but they could not find the heifers, however\ndiligently they searched. As they did not wish to disappoint their\nmother who had set her heart on attending the services, they harnessed\nthemselves to the car, and thus conveyed her to the temple. The mother,\ntouched by their filial devotion, then prayed to Juno to bestow on her\nsons the greatest gift in her power; and when the old priestess went in\nsearch of the youths, after the services were over, she found them dead\nin the portico of the temple where they had lain down to rest. Juno\nhad taken them, while they slept, to the Elysian Fields to enjoy an\neternity of bliss as a reward for their devotion.\n\n\nVIII\n\nThere is another version of the story of how Hercules brought Alcestis\nback from Hades. This is in the Alcestis of Euripides, and Browning has\nrelated it in his \"Balaustion's Adventure.\" In this account the wife\nof Admetus is not surrendered willingly by Pluto, but the great hero\nHercules wrestles with Death for the body and life of Alcestis, and by\nwinning the victory over this dread adversary, restores Admetus's wife\nto his arms.\n\nOther poems:--\n\n  The Love of Alcestis          WILLIAM MORRIS\n  Alcestis                      FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE\n  Shepherd of King Admetus      JAMES R. LOWELL\n\n\nIX\n\nThe combat between a hero and a dragon is a favorite theme in mythology\nand folklore. Besides the myth of Apollo's slaying of the Python are\nthe well-known stories of Siegfried's killing of Fafnir, St. George\nand the Dragon, Perseus and the Sea Serpent, Cadmus and the Serpent,\nand Hercules and the Hydra.\n\nThe principal temples dedicated to the worship of Apollo were at Delos,\nhis birthplace, and at Delphi.\n\nOne of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, the famous Colossus of\nRhodes, was a statue of Apollo. His head was encircled with a halo of\nbright sunbeams, and his legs were set wide apart to allow vessels to\npass in and out of the harbor with all their sails spread.\n\nAmong the many remains of ancient sculpture, none is better\nknown--unless it be the Venus of Milo--than the statue of Apollo called\nthe Belvedere, from the name of the apartment of the pope's palace at\nRome in which it is placed. The artist is unknown, but the work is\nsupposed to be of the first century of our era, and is modeled on the\ntype of Greek sculpture of the Hellenistic period. It is restored to\nrepresent the god at the moment when he has shot the arrow that slays\nthe Python.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Apollo in \"The Epic of Hades\"      LEWIS MORRIS\n  Hymn to Apollo                     JOHN KEATS\n  Hymn to Apollo                     PERCY B. SHELLEY\n\n\nX\n\nThe story of Clytie is frequently alluded to in poetry, and the\nsunflower is often used as an emblem of constancy. Moore's lines are\nwell known:--\n\n      \"The heart that has truly loved never forgets,\n      But as truly loves on to the close;\n      As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets\n      The same look that she turned when he rose.\"\n\n\nXI\n\nThe sisters of Pha\u00ebton, the Heliades, spent their days by the Eridanus\nRiver shedding tears, wringing their white hands, and wailing over the\nloss of their brother, until the gods, in pity for their grief, turned\nthem into poplar trees. Their tears, which continued to flow, became\namber as they dropped into the stream.\n\n\nXII\n\nThe Diana of the Ephesians, referred to by St. Paul in Acts xix: 28,\nwas not the chaste moon-goddess of the Greeks, though a world-renowned\nsanctuary was dedicated to Diana at Ephesus.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Praise of Artemis               EDMUND GOSSE\n  Hymn to Diana                   BEN JONSON\n  Artemis in \"Epic of Hades\"      LEWIS MORRIS\n  Niobe                           WALTER S. LANDOR\n\nThe most beautiful statue of Diana is the Diana of Versailles, in the\nLouvre, Paris (also called the Diana of the Hind).\n\n\nXIII\n\nBefore Orion was slain by an arrow from Diana's bow he loved Merope,\ndaughter of \u0152nopion, king of Chios, who consented to the union on\ncondition that the lover should win his bride by some heroic deed. But\ninstead of meeting this requirement, Orion attempted to elope with\nMerope. The plan was frustrated, however, by the king; and the bold\nyouth was punished by the loss of his bride and also of his eyesight.\nThen Orion wandered about, blind and helpless, and finally reached the\nCyclops' cave, where one of them took pity on him and led him to the\nsun, from whose radiance his sight was restored.\n\n\nXIV\n\nThe story of Endymion is a favorite theme in poetry. The best-known\npoem on this subject is the Endymion of Keats. Other poems are by James\nR. Lowell, Henry W. Longfellow, Arthur H. Clough, Elizabeth L. Landon,\nand Lewis Morris.\n\n\nXV\n\nIn the story of Hyacinthus, as told by the poet Ovid in the\n\"Metamorphoses\" (Book 10, line 16, etc.) the account says: \"Behold the\nblood that had flowed on the ground and stained the herbage ceased to\nbe blood; but a flower of hue more beautiful than the Tyrian sprang\nup resembling the lily, except that this is purple and that silvery\nwhite.\" It is evident that the flower here described is not our modern\nhyacinth, but some species of iris or larkspur.\n\n\nXVI\n\nAnother unfortunate ending to one of the friendships of Apollo was the\ndeath of Cyparissus, a clever young hunter, whose companionship the\nsun-god often sought. Cyparissus accidentally killed Apollo's pet stag,\nand he grieved so sorely over this mischance that he pined away and\ndied. Apollo then changed his body into a Cyprus tree, which the god\ndeclared should henceforth be used to shade the graves of those who,\nwhen living, were greatly beloved.\n\n\nXVII\n\nThere were many oracles of \u00c6sculapius, but the most celebrated one\nwas at Epidaurus. Here the sick consulted the oracle and sought the\nrecovery of their health by sleeping in the temple. The treatment of\nthe sick was probably nothing like that of modern therapeutics, but\nresembled what is now called animal magnetism or mesmerism.\n\nSerpents were sacred to \u00c6sculapius, probably because of the\nsuperstition that those animals have a faculty of renewing their youth\nby a change of skin. The worship of \u00c6sculapius was introduced into Rome\nin a time of great sickness, and an embassy was sent to the temple at\nEpidaurus to implore the help of the god. \u00c6sculapius was so favorably\ninclined to the petitioners that he accompanied the returning ship in\nthe form of a serpent. When they reached the river Tiber, the serpent\nglided from the vessel, and took possession of an island in the river.\nHere a temple was later erected in honor of \u00c6sculapius.\n\n\nXVIII\n\nAccording to the more ancient Greek conception, Venus was the daughter\nof Jupiter and Dione, goddess of moisture; but Hesiod says that she\ncame from the foam of the sea, and was therefore called by the Greeks\nAphrodite--the foam-born. She was generally represented as a beautiful\nnude figure, or wearing her wonderful girdle, the Cestus--in which\nlay \"love and desire and loving converse that steals the wits even of\nthe wise.\" The most famous statue of Venus is the one that was found\non the island of Melos (Milo), and is now in the Louvre, in Paris. It\nis probably the work of some sculptor of about the third century B.C.\nHe followed an original of the age of Praxiteles, probably in bronze,\nwhich represented the goddess, partly draped, gazing at her reflection\nin an uplifted shield. A masterpiece of Praxiteles was the Venus of\nCnidos, based upon which are the Venus of the Capitoline in Rome, the\nVenus de Medici in Florence, and the Venus of the Vatican, which is\nmuch superior to the other two.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Chorus to Aphrodite in \"Atalanta\n    in Calydon\"                    ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n\n  Aphrodite in \"Epic of Hades\"     LEWIS MORRIS\n\n  Venus of Milo                    EDWARD R. SILL\n\n  Venus and Adonis                 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\n\n  Adonis in \"Epic of Hades\"        LEWIS MORRIS\n\n  Death of Adonis                  THEOCRITUS,\n                        trans. by  ANDREW LANG\n\n  Laus Veneris                     ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n\nThe \"Lament for Adonis\" by Bion has been translated by Andrew Lang,\nEdwin Arnold, and Mrs. Browning.\n\nThe following stanza is from Tennyson:--\n\n      \"Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,\n      Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,\n      With rosy slender fingers backward drew\n      From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair\n      Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat\n      And shoulder; from the violets her light foot\n      Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form\n      Between the shadows of the vine bunches\n      Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.\"\n\n\nXIX\n\nThe worship of Aphrodite was probably of Semitic origin, but was early\nintroduced into Greece. The Aphrodite of Homer and Hesiod displays both\nOriental and Grecian characteristics. Among the Ph\u0153nicians Venus is\nknown as Astarte, among the Assyrians as Istar. There were temples and\ngroves dedicated to Venus in many places, and in some of them--Paphos\nfor instance--gorgeous annual festivals were held. The festival of\nVenus that was celebrated in Rome in April was called the Veneralia.\n\nSapho calls Aphrodite the \"star-throned, incorruptible, wile-weaving\nchild of Zeus.\"\n\n\nXX\n\nOne of the many myths connected with Venus was that of Berenice who,\nfearing for her husband's life, prayed to the goddess to protect him\nas he set out to battle. She vowed to give her beautiful hair as a\nsacrifice to Venus if he returned home in safety. The prayer was\ngranted, and Berenice's luxuriant tresses were laid on the goddess's\nshrine, whence they soon mysteriously disappeared. When an astrologer\nwas consulted in regard to the supposed theft, he pointed to a comet in\nthe sky, and declared that the gods had placed Berenice's hair among\nthe stars to shine forever in memory of her wifely sacrifice.\n\n\nXXI\n\nReferences and allusions to Cupid abound in poetry. A few of the\nbest-known poems are:--\n\n  Eros                           EDMUND GOSSE\n  Ode to Psyche                  JOHN KEATS\n  The Lost Eros                  THOMAS ASHE\n  The Unknown Eros               COVENTRY PATMORE\n  Story of Cupid and Psyche      WILLIAM MORRIS\n  Hue and Cry After Cupid        BEN JONSON\n\nThe following is a charming little poem by John Lyly:--\n\n      \"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd\n      At cards for kisses, Cupid pay'd.\n      He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,\n      His mother's doves, and teeme of sparrows,\n      Looses them too; then downe he throwes\n      The coerall of his lippe, the rose\n      Growing on's cheek (but none knows how),\n      With these, the crystal of his brow,\n      And then the dimple of his chin;\n      All these did my Campaspe winne;\n      At last hee set her both his eyes;\n        She won, and Cupid blind did rise.\n      O love! has she done this to thee?\n      What shall (alas) become of mee?\"\n\n\nXXII\n\nThere is a very old story of a woman's love for her husband and her\nefforts to win him back from Death which is known in every part of\nIndia. On a certain night in the year millions of Hindu women celebrate\na rite in honor of Savitri. The story is told in the Mahabharata, an\nancient epic of India.\n\nWalter Pater, in \"Marius the Epicurean,\" gives the story of Cupid and\nPsyche as contained in Apuleius. Many of the incidents of the story\nwill be found in modern fairy tales and romances such as \"Beauty and\nthe Beast\"; Grimm's \"Twelve Brothers\"; the Gaelic stories: \"The Three\nDaughters of King O'Hara,\" \"Fair, Brown and Trembling,\" \"The Daughter\nof the Skies\"; and the Norse tale, \"East of the Sun and West of the\nMoon.\"\n\n\nXXIII\n\nThe most amusing use made of the story of Pyramus and Thisbe is in\nShakespeare's \"Midsummer-Night's Dream,\" Act III, Sc. 2, and Act V, Sc.\n1, which is a burlesque of what was, in the original story in Ovid, a\ntragedy.\n\n\nXXIV\n\nPoems on \"Hero and Leander\" have been written by Chistopher Marlowe,\nLeigh Hunt, Thomas Hood, and Thomas Moore. Keats wrote a sonnet, \"On a\nPicture of Leander.\"\n\nByron attempted Leander's feat of swimming across the Hellespont, a\nthing that was considered impossible until the English poet proved its\nfeasibility by performing it himself. The distance in the narrowest\npart is almost a mile, and there is a constant current setting out from\nthe Sea of Marmora. Since Byron's time the swimming of the Hellespont\nhas been achieved by others; but it still remains a test of strength\nand skill.\n\n\nXXV\n\nVarious modern stories have been based upon the myth of Pygmalion. One\nof the best known is \"The Venus of Ille,\" by Prosper M\u00e9rim\u00e9e.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  The New Pygmalion            ANDREW LANG\n  Pygmalion and the Image      WILLIAM MORRIS\n  Pygmalion the Sculptor       ROBERT BUCHANAN\n\n\nXXVI\n\nAmphion had a twin brother named Zethus who, however, had none of the\nmusician's artistic ability. The brothers heard that their mother\nAntiope had been put aside by her second husband Lycus, in order that\nhe might marry another wife; so Amphion and Zethus hastened to Thebes,\nwhere they found things worse than they had imagined, for Antiope was\nthrust into prison and subjected to very cruel treatment. The brothers\nbesieged the city; and, after taking possession of it, put Lycus to\ndeath. Then they tied Dirce, who had been the cause of their mother's\nsuffering, to the tail of a wild bull, and let it drag her over the\nstones until she was dead. This punishment of Dirce is the subject\nof a famous piece of sculpture called the \"Farnese Bull\" (as it once\nbelonged to the Farnese family), now in the National Museum at Naples.\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Amphion      ALFRED TENNYSON\n\n\nXXVII\n\nOrpheus's lute was placed in the heavens as the bright constellation\nLyra.\n\nThe story of Orpheus and Eurydice is often alluded to in poetry. Pope\nhas used it to illustrate the power of music in his \"Ode for St.\nCecilia's Day,\" and the wonderful beauty of the nightingale's song over\nthe grave of Orpheus is alluded to by Southey in his \"Thalaba.\"\n\nThe song of the nightingale seemed to the ancients so plaintive\nthat, wishing to account for its sadness, they invented the story\nof Philomela. King Tereus, having wearied of his wife Procne, tore\nout her tongue by the roots and then married her sister Philomela,\npretending that his wife was dead. Procne informed her sister of the\nhorrible truth by means of a web into which she wove her story. To\nrevenge themselves upon the king, the sisters killed the boy Itylus\n(son of Tereus and Procne) and served him up as food to his father. To\npunish them for this wickedness the gods changed Procne into a swallow,\nand Philomela into a nightingale, which forever bemoans the murdered\nItylus. The king, Tereus, they transformed into a hawk.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  The Power of Music        WILLIAM WORDSWORTH\n  Eurydice and Orpheus      ROBERT BROWNING\n  Orpheus and Eurydice      LEWIS MORRIS\n  Eurydice                  JAMES R. LOWELL\n  Eurydice                  EDWARD DOWDEN\n  Waking of Eurydice        EDMUND GOSSE\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nThe Muses were the daughters of Jupiter and Mnemosyne, goddess of\nmemory. Although they sometimes united in one grand song, they had\nseparate duties and powers. Apollo as leader of the choir of Muses was\ncalled Musagetes.\n\nClio, the Muse of history, recorded the great deeds of heroes, and was\nusually represented with a laurel wreath, and a book and stylus.\n\nEuterpe, the Muse of lyric poetry, was represented with a flute and\ngarlands of flowers.\n\nThalia, the Muse of comedy, was also the patroness of pastoral poetry,\nand so was often represented with a shepherd's crook as well as a mask.\n\nMelpomene, the Muse of tragedy, wore a crown of gold, and wielded a\ndagger and a scepter.\n\nTerpsichore, the Muse of choral dance and song, was usually portrayed\nin the act of dancing.\n\nErato, the Muse of love poetry, held a lyre.\n\nPolyhymnia, the Muse of sacred poetry, also presided over rhetoric.\n\nCalliope, the Muse of epic and heroic poetry, wore a laurel crown.\n\nUrania, the Muse of astronomy, held mathematical instruments.\n\n\nXXIX\n\nMars's attendants, or some say his children, were Eris (Discord),\nPhobos (Alarm), Metus (Fear), Demios (Dread), and Pallor (Terror).\n\nAs founder of Rome, Romulus was its first king, and ruled over the\npeople so tyrannically that the senators determined to get rid of him.\nSo one day when an eclipse plunged the city into sudden darkness, the\nsenators killed Romulus, cut his body into pieces, and hid them under\ntheir wide togas. When daylight returned, and the people looked about\nfor their king,--for all the citizens had assembled on the Forum,--the\nsenators informed them that Romulus had been carried off by the\nimmortal gods and would never return. After this Romulus was worshiped\nas a god under the name of Quirinus, and a temple was built on one of\nthe seven hills of Rome, which has since been known as Mount Quirinal.\nYearly festivals in honor of Romulus were held in Rome under the name\nof Quirinalia.\n\n\nXXX\n\nHomer gives two versions of the story of Vulcan's lameness,--one,\nthat Jupiter threw him out of heaven for helping his mother against\nJupiter's will; and the other, that he was born deformed, and that\nJuno, ashamed of his ugliness, cast him out of heaven.\n\n    (1) \"Yea once ere this, when I was fain to save thee (Juno), he\n    caught me by my foot and hurled me from the heavenly threshold.\n    All day I flew, and at the set of sun I fell in Lemnos, and\n    little life was in me.\"\n\n    (2) \"She (Thetis) delivered me when pain came upon me from my\n    great fall through the ill-will of my shameless mother who\n    would fain have hid me away for that I was lame.\"\n\n    He spake and from the anvil rose limping, a huge bulk, but\n    under him his slender legs moved nimbly. The bellows he set\n    away from the fire, and gathered all his gear wherewith\n    he worked into a silver chest; and with a sponge he wiped\n    his face and hands and sturdy neck and shaggy breast, and\n    did on his doublet and took a stout staff and went forth\n    limping.--_Iliad_, Book I and Book XVIII.\n\nVulcan's children were mostly monsters; but he is also the reputed\nfather of Servius Tullius, sixth king of Rome, by a slave Ocrisia whom\nhe visited in the form of a bright flame, which played harmlessly about\nher.\n\nVulcan was worshiped by all blacksmiths and artisans; and great\nfestivals, called the Vulcanalia and the Heph\u00e6stia, were celebrated in\nhis honor.\n\n\nXXXI\n\nThere were many versions of the creation of the world among the Greeks\nand Romans, but the most popular was the following: At first there\nwas nothing but a confused mass in which land, sea, and air were all\nmerged in one substance. Over this shapeless mass reigned a careless\ndeity named Chaos who shared his throne with his wife Nyx (or Nox) the\ngoddess of Night. They were dethroned by their son Erebus (Darkness)\nwho ruled over the universe with his children \u00c6ther (Light) and Hemera\n(Day). These two then succeeded to the throne, and by their combined\nefforts, together with the help of their own child Eros (Amor or\nLove) created Pontus (the Sea) and G\u00e6a (the Earth), also called Ge,\nTellus, Terra. The earth was divided into two equal parts by Pontus,\nand around it flowed the great river Oceanus. Soon G\u00e6a created Uranus\n(Heaven), and these two powerful deities took possession of all the\nuniverse, and became the parents of twelve gigantic children, the\nTitans, whose strength was so great that their father Uranus grew much\nafraid of them. To prevent their ever uniting against him he hurled\nthem, soon after their birth, into the dark abyss called Tartarus,\nwhich was situated far under the earth. Here he chained his six sons,\nOceanus, C\u0153us, Crius, Hyperion, Iapetus, and Saturn (Cronos or Time)\nand his six daughters (also called the Titanides), Ilia, Rhea, Themis,\nThetis, Mnemosyne, and Ph\u0153be. Later on, Uranus thrust into Tartarus his\nother children, the Cyclops, who made the darkness hideous with their\nincessant clamor.\n\nG\u00e6a was not pleased at this treatment of her children, so she descended\ninto Tartarus to urge the Titans to conspire against their father. But\nthey were all too fearful of the great Uranus and none dared defy him\nexcept Saturn, who, having been released from his chains by his mother,\nwent out of Tartarus armed with a scythe that G\u00e6a had given him. He\ncame upon Uranus unawares, bound him fast, and took possession of the\nthrone. Then he released his sisters and brothers, and the Titans, glad\nto escape from their dreadful bondage, agreed to accept Saturn as their\nruler. He chose his sister Rhea (Cybele) for his wife, and gave his\nbrothers and sisters different parts of the universe to govern.\n\nMeanwhile old Uranus had told Saturn, when the latter wrested from him\nhis throne, that he himself would one day be dethroned by his children.\nSo when Rhea bore her first son, Saturn determined to defy the prophecy\nand promptly swallowed him. One child after another was thus disposed\nof; and at last Rhea resolved to save her youngest son by stratagem.\nAs soon as Jupiter was born, his mother concealed him, and was able to\npersuade Saturn into swallowing a large stone which she had wrapped in\nswaddling clothes. Then Rhea intrusted her child to the care of the\nMelian nymphs, who bore him off to a cave on Mount Ida. Here a goat\n(Amalthea) was procured as nurse, and it fulfilled its duties so well\nthat it was later placed in the heavens as a constellation.\n\nWhen Rhea considered her son strong enough to cope with his powerful\nfather, she urged him to attack Saturn, who, surprised at the sudden\nappearance of a son of whose existence he was unaware, was defeated\nand forced to resign his power to Jupiter. Then by means of a nauseous\ndrink prepared by Metis, a daughter of Oceanus, Saturn was made to\ndisgorge the unfortunate children he had swallowed: Neptune, Pluto,\nVesta, Ceres, and Juno.\n\n\nXXXII\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Demeter and Persephone             ALFRED TENNYSON\n  Hymns to Proserpine                ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n  Demeter                            HELEN H. JACKSON\n  The Search after Proserpine        AUBREY DE VERE\n  Proserpine                         DANTE G. ROSSETTI\n  Persephone in \"Epic of Hades\"      LEWIS MORRIS\n  Persephone                         JEAN INGELOW\n  Song of Proserpina                 PERCY B. SHELLEY\n  The Search for Persephone          RICHARD H. STODDARD\n\nThe following stanza is from Shelley's \"Arethusa:\"--\n\n            \"Arethusa arose\n            From her couch of snows\n      In the Acroceraunian mountains,--\n            From cloud and from crag,\n            With many a jag,\n      Shepherding her bright fountains.\n            She leapt down the rocks,\n            With her rainbow locks\n      Streaming among the streams;--\n            Her steps paved with green\n            The downward ravine\n      Which slopes to the western gleams:\n            And gliding and springing\n            She went ever singing,\n      In murmurs as soft as sleep;\n            The earth seemed to love her,\n            And Heaven smiled above her,\n      As she lingered toward the deep.\"\n\nThe river Alpheus does, in fact, disappear underground in part of\nits course, finding its way through subterranean channels until it\nagain appears on the surface. It was said that the Sicilian fountain\nArethusa was the same stream that, after passing under the sea, came\nup again in Sicily. Hence the story arose that a cup thrown into the\nAlpheus appeared again in Arethusa.\n\nIt is this fable of the underground course of the Alpheus that\nColeridge alludes to in his poem of Kubla Khan:--\n\n      \"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan\n      A stately pleasure dome decree,\n      Where Alph, the sacred river, ran\n      Through caverns measureless to man,\n      Down to a sunless sea.\"\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nMany beautiful temples were dedicated to Ceres and Proserpina, both\nin Greece and Italy; and their yearly festivals, the Cerealia and\nThesmophoria, were celebrated with great pomp.\n\nTo commemorate her long search for her daughter, Ceres instituted at\nEleusis the Eleusinian Festivals and Mysteries. The Festivals were\nheld in February and September. The lesser festival, in February,\nrepresented the restoration of Proserpina to her mother; the greater,\nheld in September, lasted nine days and represented the abduction\nof Proserpina. All classes might participate in these festivals.\nThe Mysteries of Eleusis were witnessed only by the initiated, and\nwere surrounded with a veil of secrecy that has never been fully\nwithdrawn. The initiates passed through certain symbolic ceremonies\nfrom one degree of mystic enlightenment to another till the highest\nwas attained. The Mysteries apparently resembled the ceremonies of the\nmodern masonic orders.\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nThe following stanzas are from Swinburne's \"Garden of Proserpine\":--\n\n      \"We are not sure of sorrow,\n        And joy was never sure;\n      To-day will die to-morrow;\n        Time stoops to no man's lure;\n      And love, grown faint and fretful,\n      With lips but half regretful,\n      Sighs, and with eyes forgetful\n        Weeps that no loves endure.\n\n      \"From too much love of living,\n        From hope and fear set free,\n      We thank with brief thanksgiving\n        Whatever gods may be,\n      That no life lives forever;\n      That dead men rise up never;\n      That even the weariest river\n        Winds somewhere safe to sea.\"\n\n\nXXXV\n\nBesides Pluto, god of the Infernal Regions, the Greeks also worshiped\nPlutus, a son of Ceres and Jason, who was known exclusively as a god\nof wealth. Abandoned in infancy, he was reared by Pax, goddess of\npeace, who is often represented as holding him in her lap. Because\nPlutus would bestow his favors only upon good and worthy mortals,\nJupiter deprived him of his sight; and he then distributed his wealth\nindiscriminately.\n\nVirgil thus describes the crowd of spirits that wait to be ferried by\nCharon across the river:--\n\n              \"The shivering army stands,\n      And press for passage with extended hands,\n      Now these, now those, the surly boatman bore;\n      The rest he drove to distance from the shore.\"\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nThe Furies visited the earth to punish filial disobedience, irreverence\nto old age, perjury, murder, treachery to guests, and even unkindness\ntoward beggars. They avenged the ghosts of those who died by a violent\ndeath and had no one to avenge them. Therefore they persecuted Orestes,\nwho killed his mother, and brought to punishment the murderers of\nIbycus. This poet, beloved by Apollo, was journeying to the musical\ncontest at Corinth, and was attacked by two robbers. As he lay dying\nhe called upon a flock of cranes, that were passing overhead, to take\nup his cause and avenge his death. When his body was found, there\nwas great lamentation among the Greeks, and every effort was made\nto discover the murderers, but without success. Later on, when a\nvast assemblage was witnessing a play in which the Chorus personated\nthe Furies, the people sat terrified and still as death when the\nChoristers, clad in black, appeared bearing in their fleshless hands\ntorches blazing with a pitchy flame. As they advanced with measured\nstep, the company could see their bloodless cheeks and the writhing\nserpents that curled--in place of hair--around their brows. Then they\nbegan to sing: \"Woe, woe to him who has done the deed of secret murder.\nWe, the fearful brood of night, fasten ourselves upon him, flesh and\nsoul. Unwearied we pursue him; no pity checks our course; still on to\nthe end of life, we give no peace, no rest.\" As the Furies finished\ntheir weird chant a number of dark objects came sailing across the\nsky, and in the solemn stillness that had fallen over the assembly a\nterrified cry arose from one of the benches, \"Look, comrade, the cranes\nof Ibycus!\" Having informed thus far against themselves, it was not\nlong before the murderers were seized, and, having confessed their\ncrime, were put to death.\n\nThe effect upon the audience of this appearance of the Furies (as\nrelated in the story of Ibycus) is not exaggerated, for it is recorded\nthat \u00c6schylus, the tragic poet, having on one occasion represented the\nFuries in a chorus of fifty performers, the terror of the spectators\nwas such that many fainted and were thrown into convulsions, and the\nmagistrates forbade a like representation for the future.\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Cranes of Ibycus          SCHILLER\n\n\nXXXVII\n\nThe story of the true and false Dreams and the horn and ivory gates\nrests on a double play of words: \u1f10\u03bb\u03ad\u03c6\u03b1\u03c2 (elephas), ivory, and\n\u1f10\u03bb\u03b5\u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b9 (elephairomai), to cheat with false hope; \u03ba\u03b5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2 (keras),\nhorn, and \u03ba\u03c1\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd (krainein), to fulfill.\n\nPoem:--\n\n  The Ivory Gate      MORTIMER COLLINS\n\nDreams were sometimes sent through the gates of horn to prepare mortals\nfor misfortunes, as was the case of Halcyone. Ce\u00ffx, king of Thessaly,\nonce left his beloved wife, Halcyone, to go on a journey to the\noracle of Delphi. On the outgoing voyage, a tempest struck the ship\non which the king was sailing, and he with all his crew perished in\nthe waves. Every day the queen went down to the seashore to watch for\nthe returning vessel, and every night she prayed to the gods to bring\nher husband safely back to her. Juno, knowing that these prayers were\nin vain, pitied the faithful Halcyone, and wished to prepare her for\nthe great sorrow that must soon come with the news of Ce\u00ffx's death.\nSo she sent Iris to the cave of sleep, and the rainbow goddess bade\none of the Dreams go forth from the gate of horn to visit the sleeping\nqueen. The Dream glided to Halcyone's bedside, and, assuming the form\nof Ce\u00ffx, appeared before her pale, like a dead man, and dripping with\nthe salt sea. He told his wife that the storm had sunk his ship, and\nthat he himself was dead. Terrified at this vision, Halcyone sprang\nfrom her couch and hastened to the beach, where she found the body of\nher husband washed up by the waves. In pity for her grief, the gods\nchanged both Halcyone and Ce\u00ffx into birds that ever afterward lived on\nthe waters, and were known as the Halcyon birds. These birds uttered\nshrill cries of warning to all seamen whenever a storm threatened, but\nwere themselves so fearless of the sea that they built their nests and\nhatched their young on the ever-tossing waves.\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nThe Nereides trained Arion, the wonderful winged steed that had\nthe power of speech, to draw his father's chariot over the waves.\nHe was said to be the first and the fleetest of horses, and passed\nsuccessively into the hands of Cepreus (Pelops' son), Hercules, and\nAdrastus--the last of whom won all the chariot races, thanks to the\nfleetness of Arion.\n\nNeptune was a patron of horse trainers, and was himself especially\ndevoted to horses.\n\nThe Cyclops are described differently by different authors. Homer\nspeaks of them as a gigantic and lawless race of shepherds who dwelt in\nSicily. Each of them had a single eye in the center of his forehead.\nThe chief of the Cyclops was Polyphemus who fell in love with the\nNereid Galatea. He took great care of his appearance, harrowed his\ncoarse hair with a currycomb and mowed his beard with a sickle. When he\nlooked into the sea, he smiled complacently and said: \"Beautiful seems\nmy beard, beautiful also my one eye--as I count beauty--and the sea\nreflects the gleam of my teeth whiter than Parian Stone\" (Theocritus,\nIdyll VI.) Galatea did not return the Cyclops's affection, however, for\nshe loved the river god Acis. Polyphemus came upon the lovers one day\nin the woods, and was so enraged at the sight of them that he killed\nhis rival with a rock. As the blood of Acis crept in a stream from\nunder the rock it grew paler and paler until it turned into water. Soon\nit became a river which still bears the name of the unfortunate Acis.\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nMilton alludes to the ocean deities in the song at the conclusion of\n\"Comus.\"\n\n      \"Sabrina fair ...\n      Listen and appear to us,\n      In name of great Oceanus,\n      By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace,\n      And Tethy's grave majestic pace;\n      By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,\n      And the Carpathian wizard's hook,\n      By scaly Triton's winding shell,\n      And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell,\n      By Leucothea's lovely hands,\n      And her son that rules the strands;\n      By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,\n      And the song of Sirens sweet;\" etc.\n\nProteus is called the Carpathian wizard because his cave was on the\nisland of Pharos, or Carpathos.\n\n\nXL\n\nWordsworth's sympathy with the classical conception of nature is shown\nin the following sonnet:--\n\n      \"The world is too much with us; late and soon,\n      Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;\n      Little we see in Nature that is ours;\n      We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!\n      This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;\n      The winds that will be howling at all hours,\n      And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers;\n      For this, for everything, we are out of tune;\n      It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be\n      A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;\n      So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,\n      Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn,\n      Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;\n      Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.\"\n\n\nXLI\n\nPal\u00e6mon was usually represented riding on a dolphin. He was called\nPortumnus by the Romans, and was believed to have jurisdiction over the\nports and shores. Some authorities state that the Isthmian Games held\non the isthmus of Corinth were in honor of Neptune instead of Pal\u00e6mon.\n\nThe divinities of the lakes, rivers, fountains, etc., were hoary river\ngods, slender youths, beautiful maidens, and sometimes children. The\nfamous statue called \"Father Nile\" is in the Vatican at Rome.\n\n\nXLII\n\nBacchus was worshiped very widely throughout the ancient world, and\nmany festivals were held in his honor. The most noted were the Greater\nand Lesser Dionysia, the Liberalia, and the Bacchanalia. Bacchus is\ngenerally represented as crowned with ivy or grape leaves and bearing\nan ivy-circled wand (the thyrsus). He rides in a chariot drawn by\npanthers or leopards.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Semele                               EDWARD R. SILL\n  Alexander's Feast                    JOHN DRYDEN\n  The Praise of Dionysus               EDMUND GOSSE\n  Triumph of Bacchus                   RODEN NO\u00cbL\n  Sophron's Hymn to Bacchus            WALTER S. LANDOR\n  Prelude to Songs before Sunrise      ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n\n\nXLIII\n\nAs the ass was reverenced in Phrygia, the acquisition of ass's ears may\nnot have been such a disgrace as we imagine.\n\nOvid thus describes Midas' golden touch:--\n\n      \"Whose powerful hands the bread no sooner hold,\n      Than all its substance is transformed to gold;\n      Up to his mouth he lifts the savory meat,\n      Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:\n      His patron's noble juice of purple hue,\n      Touch'd by his lips, a gilded cordial grew,\n      Unfit for drink; and, wonderous to behold,\n      It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.\n      The rich poor fool, confounded with surprise,\n      Starving in all his various plenty lies.\"\n\n                  (Croxall's trans.)\n\n\nXLIV\n\nFauns and satyrs have been favorite subjects in art and especially in\nsculpture. The most famous are the Faun of Praxiteles (Vatican, copy);\nthe Dancing Faun (Lateran, Rome); Dancing Faun, Sleeping Faun, Drunken\nFaun, and Faun and Bacchus (National Museum, Naples); Sleeping Satyr,\nor the Barberini Faun (Glyptotek, Munich).\n\nThe use of the Faun in literature is best known in Hawthorne's \"The\nMarble Faun.\"\n\nReference is made to fauns and naiads in Milton's \"Lycidas.\" Robert\nBuchanan has two poems entitled \"The Satyr\" and \"The Naiad.\"\n\n\nXLV\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Hymn to Pan                    JOHN KEATS\n  The Dead Pan                   ELIZABETH B. BROWNING\n  Hymn of Pan                    PERCY B. SHELLEY\n  Cupid and Pan                  WALTER S. LANDOR\n  Pan                            ROBERT BUCHANAN\n  Pan and Luna                   ROBERT BROWNING\n  Song of the Priest of Pan\n    and Song of Pan in \"The\n    Faithful Shepherdess\"        FLETCHER\n\n\nXLVI\n\nKeats in \"Endymion\" alludes to Dryope thus:--\n\n      \"She took a lute from which there pulsing came\n      A lively prelude, fashioning the way\n      In which her voice should wander. 'Twas a lay\n      More subtle-cadenced, more forest-wild\n      Than Dryope's lone lulling of her child.\"\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Dryope          WALTER S. LANDOR\n\n\nXLVII\n\nJames R. Lowell has taken the story of Rh\u0153cus as the subject of one of\nhis finest poems.\n\n      \"Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,\n      As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,\n      As the immortal freshness of that grace\n      Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze.\"\n\nPoem:--\n\n  The Hamadryad          WALTER S. LANDOR\n\n\nXLVIII\n\nJanus is not the only one among the Greek and Latin deities whose name\nhas been given to a part of the week or year. In Latin, the names of\nthe days are--dies Solis (Sunday); dies Lun\u00e6 (Moon day); dies Martis\n(Mars' day); dies Mercurii (Mercury's day); dies Jovis (Jove's day);\ndies Veneris (Venus's day); dies Saturni (Saturn's day).\n\n\nXLIX\n\nAustin Dobson has a poem \"The Death of Procris.\"\n\nMoore, in his Legendary Ballads, devotes one ballad to \"Cephalus and\nProcris.\"\n\n\nL\n\nThe finest poetic treatment of the sadness of Tithonus over his\nimmortal old age is in Tennyson's \"Tithonus.\" The following are a few\nlines from this poem, which should be read in its entirety:--\n\n              \"Let me go; take back thy gift;\n      Why should a man desire in any way\n      To vary from the kindly race of men,\n      Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance\n      Where all should pause, as is most meet for all?\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      \"Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold\n      Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet\n      Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam\n      Floats up from those dim fields about the homes\n      Of happy men that have the power to die.\"\n\n\nLI\n\nThe story of Hercules's accepting Arete (Virtue) as his guide--the\n\"Choice of Hercules\"--may be found in The Tatler, No. 97.\n\nThe Nemean games instituted by Hercules in honor of Jupiter were\ncelebrated at Nemea, a city of Argolis.\n\nThe most famous statue of Hercules is the Farnese Hercules in the\nNational Museum at Naples. Another well-known piece of sculpture is The\nInfant Hercules Strangling a Serpent, in the Uffizi at Florence.\n\nQuite worth the student's consideration are the poems \"De\u00efaneira\" and\n\"Herakles\" in the classical but too-little-read \"Epic of Hades\" by\nLewis Morris. The following is an extract from the description of the\nCentaur Nessus:--\n\n                              \"Take\n      This white robe. It is costly. See, my blood\n      Has stained it but a little. I did wrong;\n      I know it, and repent me. If there come\n      A time when he grows cold--for all the race\n      Of heroes wander, nor can any love\n      Fix theirs for long--take it and wrap him in it,\n      And he shall love again.\"\n\n\nLII\n\nPoem:--\n\n  The Fortunate Isles          ANDREW LANG\n\nThe following is from Pindar:--\n\n      \"The Isles of the Blest, they say,\n        The Isles of the Blest,\n      Are peaceful and happy, by night and by day,\n        Far away in the glorious west.\n\n      They need not the moon in that land of delight\n        They need not the pale, pale star;\n      The sun is bright, by day and night,\n        Where the souls of the blessed are.\n\n      They till not the ground, they plow not the wave,\n        They labor not, never! oh, never!\n      Not a tear do they shed, not a sigh do they heave,\n        They are happy forever and ever!\"\n\n\nLIII\n\nThe chosen device of Charles V. of Germany represented the Pillars of\nHercules entwined by a scroll that bore his motto \"Plus Ultra.\" This\ndevice, represented on the German dollar, has been adopted as the sign\nof the American dollar ($).\n\n\nLIV\n\nThe Pygmies were a nation of dwarfs, so called from a Greek word\nmeaning the cubit or measure of about thirteen inches, which was said\nto be the height of these people. They lived near the sources of the\nNile, or, according to others, in India. Homer tells us that the\ncranes used to migrate every winter to the Pygmies' country, where\nthey occasioned a fierce warfare. H. M. Stanley, in his last African\nexpedition, discovered a race of diminutive men that correspond very\nwell in appearance to those mentioned by Homer.\n\nTerra is the same goddess as G\u00e6a (the Earth).\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Battle of Pygmies and Cranes      JAMES BEATTIE\n\n\nLV\n\nThe Apples of the Hesperides may have been suggested by the oranges of\nSpain.\n\nSee the poem \"The Golden Apples,\" in William Morris's \"Earthly\nParadise.\"\n\n\nLVI\n\nTwo poems on the Medusa which are well worth reading are \"The Doom of\nKing Acrisius\" in William Morris's \"Earthly Paradise,\" and Shelley's\nlines \"On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery.\"\n\n\nLVII\n\nThere are translations of Simonides's \"Lament of Dana\u00eb\" by William C.\nBryant and John H. Frere.\n\nTennyson has a singular use of the proper noun in the \"Princess\" when\nhe says:--\n\n      \"Now lies the Earth all Dana\u00eb to the stars,\n      And all thy heart lies open unto me.\"\n\n\nLVIII\n\nCassiopeia was said to have been an Ethiopian; and was, therefore,\nin spite of her boasted beauty black. Milton alludes to her in \"Il\nPenseroso\" as:\n\n            \"that starred Ethiop queen that strove\n      To set her beauty's praise above\n      The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.\"\n\nThough Cassiopeia attained the honor of being set among the stars, she\nwas placed--through the efforts of the sea-nymphs--in a part of the\nheavens near the pole, where she is half the time held with her head\ndownward, to teach her humility.\n\n\nLIX\n\nFor a Gaelic Andromeda and Perseus, see \"The Thirteenth Son of the King\nof Erin\" in Curtin's \"Myths of Ireland.\"\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Andromeda      CHARLES KINGSLEY\n\n\nLX\n\nFrom the incident of Bellerophon's bearing to Iobates the letters that\ncontained his own death-warrant, came the expression \"Bellerophontic\nletters.\" This is used to describe any written message that a person\nmay deliver, unknowingly, and that is prejudicial to himself.\n\nOn Mount Helicon, the home of the Muses and Pegasus, was the fountain\nHippocrene, which was opened by a kick from the hoof of Pegasus.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Pegasus in Pound             HENRY W. LONGFELLOW\n\n  Bellerophon in Argos and in\n    Lycia                      WILLIAM MORRIS\n\n  Pegasus in Harness           SCHILLER\n\n\nLXI\n\nThe most famous soothsayer was Melampus, who was also the first mortal\nendowed with prophetic powers. The story is told that before his house\nstood an oak tree containing a nest of serpents. The old serpents were\nkilled by some servants, but Melampus took care of the young ones, and\nfed them carefully. One day when he was sleeping under the oak tree,\nthe serpents licked his ears with their tongues; and when he awoke he\nwas surprised to find that he now understood the languages of birds and\ncreeping things. In this way he was able to foretell future events, and\nhe became a celebrated soothsayer. Once Melampus was taken captive and\nput into prison; but he overheard the woodworms saying that the timbers\nof the prison were so nearly eaten through that the roof would soon\nfall in. He told this to his captors, who immediately took advantage\nof the warning and left the building; but not before they rewarded\nMelampus by setting him free.\n\n\nLXII\n\nThe best description of Hercules's lament for Hylas is in Lang's\ntranslation of the thirteenth Idyl of Theocritus.\n\nPoem:--\n\n  Hylas          BAYARD TAYLOR\n\nThe naming of Jason's ship may have been after its builder, or from the\ncity of Argos, or from the word \"Argo,\" meaning swift or white.\n\nThe story of the Symplegades may be a reference to the rolling and\nclashing of icebergs. The dove incident occurs in many ancient stories,\nfrom that of Noah down.\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Talking Oak                  ALFRED TENNYSON\n  Life and Death of Jason      WILLIAM MORRIS\n  \u00c6son and King Athamas        FREDERICK TENNYSON\n\n\nLXIII\n\nMedea's preparations for her magic potion are like the incantations of\nthe witches in Macbeth, Act IV, Sc. I.\n\n      \"Round about the caldron go;\n      In the poison'd entrails throw.\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      Fillet of a fenny snake,\n      In the caldron boil and bake;\n      Eye of newt and toe of frog,\n      Wool of bat and tongue of dog,\n      Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,\n      Lizard's leg and howlet's wing:\n\n             *       *       *       *       *\n\n      Witches' mummy; maw and gulf\n      Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,\n      Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,\" etc.\n\n\nLXIV\n\nMedea's sorceries were assisted by the prayers that she addressed\nto Hecate, a mysterious divinity who embodied the terrors of the\ndarkness. She haunted cross roads and graveyards; and, being goddess\nof sorcery and witchcraft, wandered only by night and was seen only by\ndogs, whose barking told of her approach.\n\nTranslations of the Medea of Euripides are by Augusta Webster, William\nC. Lawton, and Wodhull.\n\n\nLXV\n\nPoems on Atalanta:--\n\n  Atalanta's Race in \"The\n    Earthly Paradise\"         WILLIAM MORRIS\n\n  Atalanta in Calydon         ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n\n  Hippomenes and Atalanta     WALTER S. LANDOR\n\n\nLXVI\n\nD\u00e6dalus shared with \u00c6olus the honor of inventing sails for the ships\nhitherto propelled by oars.\n\nD\u00e6dalus could never bear the idea of a rival; and when his nephew\nPerdix was apprenticed to him, the lad gave such promise of excelling\nhis teacher in mechanical arts that D\u00e6dalus grew to hate him. One day\nwhen Perdix was walking on the seashore he picked up the spine of a\nfish, and later on he imitated it in iron, thus inventing the saw.\nHe also invented a pair of compasses. Then D\u00e6dalus, envious of his\nnephew's skill, pushed him off a tower and killed him; but Minerva,\npitying the boy, changed him into a partridge, which bears his name.\n\n\nLXVII\n\nCastor and Pollux were deities of boxing, wrestling, and all equestrian\nexercises. They were generally seen mounted on snow-white horses, and\ntheir appearance on the battle-field was a good omen for the army among\nwhom they came. The Romans believed that they fought at the head of\ntheir legions at the famous battle of Lake Regillus.\n\n\nLXIX\n\nPoems:--\n\n  Theseus and Hippolyta        WALTER S. LANDOR\n  Ariadne                      FREDERICK TENNYSON\n  Hippolytus of Euripides\n  Ph\u00e6dra                       ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE\n  Ph\u00e6dra in \"The Epic\n      of Hades\"                LEWIS MORRIS\n\n\nLXX\n\nThe story of \u0152dipus is taken from the \"\u0152dipus Rex,\" \"\u0152dipus Coloneus,\"\nand \"Antigone\" of Sophocles (trans. of Plumptre or of Lewis Campbell).\n\nOther poems:--\n\n  Swell-foot the Tyrant        PERCY B. SHELLEY\n  The Downfall and Death\n    of King \u0152dipus             EDWARD FITZGERALD\n  Antigone                     AUBREY DE VERE\n  The Sphinx                   RALPH W. EMERSON\n  Fragment of an Antigone      MATTHEW ARNOLD\n\n\nLXXI\n\nIn her \"Characteristics of Women,\" Mrs. Jameson has compared the\ncharacter of Antigone with that of Cordelia in Shakespeare's \"King\nLear.\" The scene of \u0152dipus going alone into the forest at Colonus\nis similar in pathos and tragedy to Lear's defiance of the midnight\ntempest on the lonely heath.\n\n\nLXXII\n\nFor references in poetry to the judgment of Paris:\n\n  Judgment of Paris         JAMES BEATTIE\n  Judgment of Paris         JOHN STUART BLACKIE\n  \u0152none                     ALFRED TENNYSON\n\n\nLXXIII\n\nOther minor deities not mentioned in the text are:\n\nVictoria (Nike), goddess of victory.\n\nPhosphor, the morning star.\n\nHesperus, the evening star, god of the west.\n\nHygeia, a daughter of \u00c6sculapius, watched over the health of man.\n\nThe Graces, daughters of Jove, presided over banquets, dances, and\nalso social pleasures and polite accomplishments. They were three in\nnumber--Euphrosyne, Aglaia, and Thalia. They are also called Grati\u00e6.\n\nMomus was the god of laughter.\n\nThe Seasons were the four daughters of Jupiter and Themis. Their\ncollective name was Hor\u00e6 (the Hours). As the Hours they attended the\nsun-car of Apollo.\n\nFama, goddess of Fame.\n\nFaunus, god of fields and shepherds. He was also gifted with prophetic\npowers.\n\nFauna, the sister wife or daughter of Faunus. She was also called the\nBona Dea.\n\nPales, a deity who presided over cattle and pastures.\n\nManes, the souls of the departed who had become deified.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Absyrtus, 273-274.\n\n  Acetes, 174-177.\n\n  Achelous, 231.\n\n  Acheron River, 140.\n\n  Achilles, 152, 208, 279.\n\n  Acis, 359.\n\n  Acrisius, 234-236, 249-250.\n\n  Acropolis, 305.\n\n  Act\u00e6on, 56.\n\n  Admete, 219.\n\n  Admetus, 33-35, 268.\n\n  Adonis, 78-79.\n\n  Adrastus, 302, 314, 356.\n\n  \u00c6acus, 143.\n\n  \u00c6etes, 271, 273-274.\n\n  \u00c6gean Sea, 32, 300.\n\n  \u00c6geus, 277, 287-288, 291-292, 300.\n\n  \u00c6gis, 23, 239, 249.\n\n  \u00c6gyptus, 145.\n\n  \u00c6neas, 80, 194, 197, 201.\n\n  \u00c6olian Is., 200, 202.\n\n  \u00c6olus, 18, 200-204.\n\n  \u00c6olus, Temple of, 203.\n\n  \u00c6sculapius, 69, 305, 336-337.\n\n  \u00c6sepus, 208.\n\n  \u00c6son, 262, 265, 275-276.\n\n  \u00c6ther, 347.\n\n  \u00c6thra, 287-288, 303.\n\n  Agave, 178.\n\n  Agenor, 167.\n\n  Aglaia, 373.\n\n  Aidoneus; see Pluto.\n\n  Ajax, 279.\n\n  Alcestis, 34-35, 332.\n\n  Alcides; see Hercules.\n\n  Alcimede, 262.\n\n  Alcmene, 212.\n\n  Alecto, 144.\n\n  Alectryon, 77.\n\n  Alpheus, 133, 217, 350-351.\n\n  Alth\u00e6a, 278-282.\n\n  Amalthea, 349.\n\n  Amazons, 219, 301.\n\n  Ammon, Jupiter, 325.\n\n  Amor; see Eros.\n\n  Amphion, 107, 342.\n\n  Amphitrite, 152-154.\n\n  Anchises, 79-80.\n\n  Ancient of the Deep; see Proteus.\n\n  Ancile, 118.\n\n  Andr\u00e6mon, 186.\n\n  Andromeda, 245-247, 249, 367.\n\n  Anteia, 251.\n\n  Anteros, 81.\n\n  Anteus, 225-226.\n\n  Antigone, 311-312, 315-316, 372.\n\n  Antiope (1) (Amazon), 301.\n\n  Antiope (2), 342.\n\n  Aphrodite; see Venus, 337-339.\n\n  Apollo, 30-52, 59, 65, 77, 126, 142, 165, 332-333, 336, 344.\n\n  Apollo Belvedere, 333.\n\n  Aquilo; see Boreas.\n\n  Arachne, 24-26.\n\n  Arcadia, 183, 279.\n\n  Arcas, 73.\n\n  Areopagit\u00e6, 123.\n\n  Areopagus, 122.\n\n  Ares; see Mars.\n\n  Arete, 213, 363.\n\n  Arethusa, 132-133, 350-351.\n\n  Argo, 235, 250, 267, 274, 368.\n\n  Argonauts, 156, 267, 274, 277.\n\n  Argos, 144, 251, 273, 277, 331, 368.\n\n  Argus, 68.\n\n  Ariadne, 178-179, 296-300.\n\n  Arion (1) (musician), 108.\n\n  Arion (2) (horse), 157, 356.\n\n  Arist\u00e6us, 110, 158.\n\n  Artemis; see Diana.\n\n  Asphodel, the meads of, 141.\n\n  Astarte, 339.\n\n  Atalanta, 279-286, 370.\n\n  Athamas, 164, 171, 266.\n\n  Athena; see Minerva.\n\n  Athene; see Minerva.\n\n  Athens, 29, 122, 287-288, 291, 300-301, 313, 330.\n\n  Atlas, 4, 138, 224, 226-229, 243-244.\n\n  Atropos, 142.\n\n  Augeas (Augean Stables), 217.\n\n  Aurora, 129, 201, 206-209.\n\n  Auster; see Notus.\n\n  Aventine, Mt., 221.\n\n  Avernus, Lake, 139.\n\n\n  Babylon, 97.\n\n  Bacchanalia, 359.\n\n  Bacchanals, 177.\n\n  Bacchantes, 113, 173, 177.\n\n  Bacchus, 125, 167-182, 299, 359.\n\n  Baucis, 70-72.\n\n  Bear, Myth of Great and Little, 73.\n\n  Bellerophon, 243, 251-261.\n\n  Bellerophontic Letters, 367.\n\n  Bellona, 117.\n\n  Berenice, 339.\n\n  Bero\u00eb, 169.\n\n  Biton, 331.\n\n  B\u0153otia, 120, 168.\n\n  Bona Dea, 373.\n\n  Boreas, 201, 204, 269.\n\n\n  Cacus, 221.\n\n  Cadmus, 120-122, 271.\n\n  Caduceus, the, 66.\n\n  Calais, 204.\n\n  Calliope, 109, 345.\n\n  Callisto, 73.\n\n  Calydon, 278-279.\n\n  Calydonian Hunt, 278-282.\n\n  Campus Martius, 119.\n\n  Cancer, 215.\n\n  Capitol, 325.\n\n  Carpathian Wizard, 358.\n\n  Cassiopeia, 245, 366.\n\n  Castor, 268, 279, 303, 371.\n\n  Caucasus, Mt., 6, 224.\n\n  Celeus, 130.\n\n  Centaur, 69, 212, 216, 232-233, 302.\n\n  Cephalus, 207-208, 362.\n\n  Cepheus, 248.\n\n  Cepreus, 356.\n\n  Cerberus, 91, 111, 139, 229.\n\n  Cerealia, 351.\n\n  Ceres, 88, 129-136, 137, 146, 156, 188, 349, 351.\n\n  Cerynea, Stag of, 216.\n\n  Cestus, the, 337.\n\n  Ce\u00ffx, 355-356.\n\n  Chaos, 347.\n\n  Charon, 91, 140, 353.\n\n  Charybdis, 163.\n\n  Chim\u00e6ra, 253, 258-260.\n\n  Chios, 335.\n\n  Chiron, 69, 212, 216, 262.\n\n  Cilicia, 168.\n\n  Cilix, 167.\n\n  Circe, 162.\n\n  Cith\u00e6ron, Mt., 177.\n\n  Clashing Is., 270-271.\n\n  Cleobis, 331.\n\n  Clio, 344.\n\n  Clotho, 142.\n\n  Clymene, 47.\n\n  Clytie, 45, 334.\n\n  Cnidos, Venus of, 338.\n\n  Cocytus, 139.\n\n  C\u0153us, 348.\n\n  Colchis, 266, 271-273, 278.\n\n  Colonus, 312.\n\n  Colossus of Rhodes, 333.\n\n  Consentes; see Pan.\n\n  Cora; see Proserpina.\n\n  Corinth, 164, 251, 254, 289, 306-307, 359.\n\n  Cornucopia, 232.\n\n  Corona, 179.\n\n  Coronis, 69, 142.\n\n  Corus, 203.\n\n  Crab, 215.\n\n  Creon, 213, 315-316.\n\n  Crete, 293, 295.\n\n  Creusa, 277.\n\n  Crius, 348.\n\n  Cronos (Cronus); see Saturn.\n\n  Crumissa, 156.\n\n  Cupid, 81-92, 126, 340.\n\n  Cyane River, 128-129, 132.\n\n  Cybele; see Rhea.\n\n  Cyclops, 137, 335, 348, 357.\n\n  Cycnus, 51.\n\n  Cynthia; see Diana.\n\n  Cynthius; see Apollo.\n\n  Cyparissus, 336.\n\n  Cyprus, 75, 104, 284.\n\n  Cyrene, 158.\n\n  Cytherea; see Venus.\n\n\n  D\u00e6dalus, 293-294, 370.\n\n  Dana\u00eb, 235-237, 249, 366.\n\n  Dana\u00efdes, 111, 144-145.\n\n  Dana\u00fcs, 144-145, 235.\n\n  Daphne, 45-47.\n\n  Death; see Mors.\n\n  De\u00efaneira, 231-234.\n\n  Delos, 32, 53, 333.\n\n  Delphi, oracle of, 20, 168, 306-308, 311, 328, 355.\n\n  Deluge, The Story of the, 16, 21, 328.\n\n  Demeter; see Ceres.\n\n  Demios, 345.\n\n  Destiny, 325.\n\n  Deucalion, 19, 328.\n\n  Dia, 174.\n\n  Diana, 53-63, 133, 278, 305.\n\n  Diana of the Ephesians, 334.\n\n  Diana of Versailles, 335.\n\n  Diana of the Hind, 335.\n\n  Diomede, 330.\n\n  Diomedes, 218.\n\n  Dione (1) (goddess), 337.\n\n  Dione (2); see Venus.\n\n  Dionysia, 359.\n\n  Dionysus; see Bacchus.\n\n  Dirce, 343.\n\n  Dis; see Pluto.\n\n  Discordia, 318, 345.\n\n  Dodona, 267, 325-326.\n\n  Doris, 152.\n\n  Dreams, 149, 355-356.\n\n  Dryads, 185, 188.\n\n  Dryope, 186-187, 361.\n\n\n  Echo, 93-95.\n\n  Egeria, 305.\n\n  Egypt, 175.\n\n  Eleusinian Festivals, 351.\n\n  Eleusinian Mysteries, 351-352.\n\n  Eleusis, 130, 136, 351.\n\n  Elgin Marbles, 330.\n\n  Elis, 132, 217.\n\n  Elysian Fields, 141, 332.\n\n  Endymion, 61-63, 335.\n\n  Enna, Vale of, 127.\n\n  Eos; see Aurora.\n\n  Ephesus, 334.\n\n  Ephialtes, 119.\n\n  Epidaurus, 336.\n\n  Epimetheus, 4, 8-15, 138.\n\n  Epirus, 326.\n\n  Erato, 345.\n\n  Erebus, 347.\n\n  Eridanus River, 51, 223, 334.\n\n  Erinnys; see Furies.\n\n  Eris; see Discordia.\n\n  Eros; see Cupid. Also page 347.\n\n  Erymanthus, Mt., 216.\n\n  Erysichthon, 188-191.\n\n  Erythea, 221.\n\n  Eteocles, 311, 314-315.\n\n  Etna, Mt., 124-125, 127, 200.\n\n  Eumenides; see Furies.\n\n  Euphrosyne, 373.\n\n  Europa, 74, 167.\n\n  Eurus, 201, 203.\n\n  Eurydice, 107-114, 160.\n\n  Eurystheus, 214, etc.\n\n  Eurytion, 221.\n\n  Euterpe, 344.\n\n  Evenus, 165.\n\n\n  Fama, 373.\n\n  Famine, Goddess of, 189.\n\n  Farnese Bull, 343.\n\n  Farnese Hercules, 363.\n\n  Fates, 142, 317.\n\n  Father Nile, 359.\n\n  Fauna, 373.\n\n  Fauns, 183, 185, 360.\n\n  Faunus, 373.\n\n  Flora, 209.\n\n  Floralia, 210.\n\n  Fortuna, 232.\n\n  Forum, 194, 205.\n\n  Furies, 111, 144, 313, 353-354.\n\n\n  G\u00e6a, 347.\n\n  Galatea (1), (and Pygmalion), 104-106.\n\n  Galatea (2), (Nereid), 152, 357.\n\n  Ganymede, 116.\n\n  Ge; see G\u00e6a.\n\n  Geryon, 221.\n\n  Gibraltar, 221.\n\n  Glauce, 277.\n\n  Glaucus, 161-162.\n\n  Gorgons, 237-238, 241-242.\n\n  Gorgon's Cave, 241.\n\n  Graces, 372.\n\n  Gr\u00e6\u00e6; see Gray Old Women.\n\n  Grati\u00e6; see Graces.\n\n  Gray Old Women, 239-240.\n\n\n  Hades (1), 35, 79, 91, 110, 127, 138-151, 199, 303-304, 313.\n\n  Hades (2); see Pluto.\n\n  H\u00e6mon, 316.\n\n  Halcyon birds, 356.\n\n  Halcyone, 355-356.\n\n  Hamadryads, 185-186, 188, 191, 210.\n\n  Harmonia, 122, 168.\n\n  Harpies, 204, 269.\n\n  Hebe, 115, 234.\n\n  Hecate, 370.\n\n  Hecuba, 320.\n\n  Helen, 74, 302-303, 322.\n\n  Heliades, 334.\n\n  Helicon, Mt., 254, 257, 367.\n\n  Helios; see Apollo.\n\n  Helle, 266.\n\n  Hellespont, 100, 266, 341.\n\n  Hemera, 347.\n\n  Heph\u00e6stia, 347.\n\n  Heph\u00e6stus; see Vulcan.\n\n  Hera; see Juno.\n\n  Heracles; see Hercules.\n\n  Hercules, 6, 155, 212-234, 268-269, 322, 332, 356, 363, 368.\n\n  Here; see Juno.\n\n  Hermes; see Mercury.\n\n  Hero, 100-104.\n\n  Hesione, 155-156, 220.\n\n  Hesperides, 223.\n\n  Hesperides, Garden of, 181, 220, 223, 227, 365.\n\n  Hesperus (Hesper), 129, 223, 372.\n\n  Hestia; see Vesta.\n\n  Hippocrene, 367.\n\n  Hippodamia, 302.\n\n  Hippolyte (Hippolyta), 219-220, 301.\n\n  Hippolytus, 301, 304-305.\n\n  Hippomenes, 283-286.\n\n  Hor\u00e6, 373.\n\n  Hours, 206.\n\n  Hupnos; see Somnus.\n\n  Hyacinthus, 68, 335-336.\n\n  Hydra, 215.\n\n  Hygeia (Hygea), 372.\n\n  Hylas, 268, 368.\n\n  Hymen, 110.\n\n  Hyperion, 348.\n\n  Hypermnestra, 145, 235.\n\n\n  Iapetus, 348.\n\n  Ibycus, 353.\n\n  Icarian Sea, 294.\n\n  Icarus, 293-294.\n\n  Ida, Mt., 116, 319-320, 323, 349.\n\n  Idas, 165-166.\n\n  Ilia (1), (one of Titanides), 348.\n\n  Ilia (2), (Rhea Silvia), 117.\n\n  Ino, 164, 171-172, 266.\n\n  Io, 66-68.\n\n  Iobates, 252-253, 260.\n\n  Iolaus, 215, 219.\n\n  Iole, 233.\n\n  Ionian Sea, 70.\n\n  Iphitus, 230.\n\n  Iris, 206, 356.\n\n  Isles of the Blest, 220-221, 364.\n\n  Ismene, 311.\n\n  Istar, 339.\n\n  Isthmian Games, 164, 359.\n\n  Itylus (Itys), 344.\n\n  Ixion, 111, 147, 303.\n\n\n  Janus, 204-206, 362.\n\n  Jasius, 279.\n\n  Jason, 156, 262-277, 279.\n\n  Jocasta, 306, 309, 311-312, 315.\n\n  Jove; see Jupiter.\n\n  Juno, 23, 30, 31, 66-67, 73-74, 93, 123-124, 137, 169-170, 201-202,\n      212-213, 215, 219, 264, 319-320, 331, 346, 349.\n\n  Jupiter, 1-3, 33, 67, 70-72, 73-74, 76, 93, 123, 134, 137, 168-171,\n      199, 235, 261, 267, 317-318, 325-327, 344, 349.\n\n  Jupiter Ammon, temple of, 325-326.\n\n  Juventas; see Hebe.\n\n\n  Kakia, 213.\n\n\n  Lachesis, 142.\n\n  Laius, 306, 308, 311.\n\n  Laomedon, 154-156, 220, 230.\n\n  Lapith\u00e6, 301-302.\n\n  Lara, 198-199.\n\n  Lares, 198-199.\n\n  Latmus, Mt., 62.\n\n  Latona, 31-32, 53.\n\n  Leander, 100-104, 340.\n\n  Learchus, 172.\n\n  Leda, 74, 302.\n\n  Lelaps, 207.\n\n  Lerna, 215.\n\n  Lethe, 141, 148.\n\n  Leto; see Latona.\n\n  Leucothea, 164.\n\n  Liber; see Bacchus.\n\n  Liberalia, 359.\n\n  Libia, 326.\n\n  Lichas, 234.\n\n  Lipari Is.; see \u00c6olian Is.\n\n  Lotis, 187.\n\n  Lycia, 251-253.\n\n  Lycomedes, 305.\n\n  Lycus, 342.\n\n  Lydia, 180, 230.\n\n  Lynceus, 235.\n\n  Lyncus, 136.\n\n  Lyra, 343.\n\n\n  M\u00e6onia, 174.\n\n  Maia, 64.\n\n  Manes, 373.\n\n  Marpessa, 165-166.\n\n  Mars, 77, 116-123, 271, 345.\n\n  Mars, Field of, 119.\n\n  Marsyas, 37-40.\n\n  Matronalia, 331.\n\n  Medea, 272-277, 291-292, 369-370.\n\n  Media, 292.\n\n  Medici (Venus de), 338.\n\n  Medusa, 237, 241-242, 244, 248, 366.\n\n  Meg\u00e6ra, 144.\n\n  Megara, 213.\n\n  Melampus, 367-368.\n\n  Meleager, 231, 268, 278-282.\n\n  Melian Nymphs, 349.\n\n  Melicertes, 164, 172.\n\n  Melpomene, 345.\n\n  Memnon, 208-209.\n\n  Menelaus, 322.\n\n  Mercury, 9, 64-72, 79, 120, 125, 135, 183, 198-199, 206, 214, 238.\n\n  Merope, 335.\n\n  Metis, 349.\n\n  Metus, 345.\n\n  Midas, 40-43, 180-182, 360.\n\n  Milanion, 283.\n\n  Milo (Melos) (Venus of), 337.\n\n  Minerva, 22-29, 38, 238, 255, 319-321, 329-330, 370.\n\n  Minos (1), (Judge in Hades), 143.\n\n  Minos (2), (King), 218, 293, 296.\n\n  Minotaur, 218, 293, 295-298.\n\n  Mnemosyne, 137, 344, 348.\n\n  Momus, 373.\n\n  Morpheus, 149.\n\n  Mors, 148, 150.\n\n  Musagetes, 344.\n\n  Muses, 39, 254, 344.\n\n  Mycen\u00e6, 250.\n\n\n  Naiads, 185, 198, 361.\n\n  Narcissus, 94-97.\n\n  Naxos, 175, 178, 299.\n\n  Nemea, 363.\n\n  Nemean Games, 363.\n\n  Nemean Lion, 214.\n\n  Nemesis, 144.\n\n  Nephele, 266.\n\n  Neptune, 3, 28, 32, 36, 122, 137, 152-157, 165-166, 190, 202, 218,\n      243, 266, 304, 349, 357, 359.\n\n  Nereids, 152, 157, 356.\n\n  Nereus, 152, 318.\n\n  Nessus, 232-234, 364.\n\n  Nestor, 279-280.\n\n  Nightmares, 149.\n\n  Nike (Nice); see Victoria.\n\n  Ninus, 98.\n\n  Niobe, 54, 145.\n\n  Notus, 201, 203.\n\n  Nox; see Nyx.\n\n  Numa Pompilius, 196, 205.\n\n  Nysa, Mt., 172.\n\n  Nysiades, 172.\n\n  Nyx, 347.\n\n\n  Oceanides, 157.\n\n  Oceanus, 152, 347.\n\n  Ocrisia, 346.\n\n  Odysseus; see Ulysses.\n\n  \u0152dipus, 306-316, 371.\n\n  \u0152neus, 231, 278.\n\n  \u0152none, 320, 322-323, 372.\n\n  \u0152nopion, 335.\n\n  \u0152ta, Mt. (\u0152te), 234.\n\n  Olympia, 326.\n\n  Olympiads, 326.\n\n  Olympic Games, 326.\n\n  Olympus, 1, 2, 3, 138, 261, 317.\n\n  Omphale, 230.\n\n  Oneicopompus; see Mercury.\n\n  Ops; see Rhea.\n\n  Orcus; see Pluto.\n\n  Oreads, 185, 189.\n\n  Orestes, 353.\n\n  Orion, 57-59, 335.\n\n  Orithyia, 204.\n\n  Orpheus, 107-114, 160, 173, 268, 343.\n\n  Otus, 119.\n\n\n  Pactolus, 182.\n\n  Pal\u00e6mon, 164, 358.\n\n  Pales, 373.\n\n  Palladium, 329-330.\n\n  Pallas; see Minerva.\n\n  Pallor, 345.\n\n  Pan, 40-41, 183-185, 210, 361.\n\n  Panathen\u00e6a, 330.\n\n  Pandora, 8-15.\n\n  Parc\u00e6; see Fates.\n\n  Paris, 319-323, 372.\n\n  Parnassus, 19, 328.\n\n  Parthenium, Mt., 279.\n\n  Parthenon, 29, 330.\n\n  Pax, 353.\n\n  Pegasus, 243, 254-261, 367.\n\n  Peleus, 279, 317.\n\n  Pelias, 262, 264-265, 274-276.\n\n  Pelion, Mt., 267.\n\n  Pelops, 146.\n\n  Penates, 194, 198.\n\n  Peneus, 46, 217.\n\n  Pentheus, 173-174, 177-178.\n\n  Peplus, the, 330.\n\n  Perdix, 370.\n\n  Periphetes, 288-289.\n\n  Persephone; see Proserpina.\n\n  Perseus, 236-250, 367.\n\n  Ph\u00e6dra, 304-305.\n\n  Pha\u00ebton, 47-52, 334.\n\n  Pherephatta; see Proserpina.\n\n  Phidias, 29, 326, 330.\n\n  Philemon, 70-72.\n\n  Philoctetes, 234, 322.\n\n  Philomela, 343, 344.\n\n  Philono\u00eb, 253, 260.\n\n  Phineus (1), 247-248.\n\n  Phineus (2) (soothsayer), 269-270.\n\n  Phlegethon River, 140, 144.\n\n  Phocis, 328.\n\n  Ph\u0153be (1), (one of Titanides), 348.\n\n  Ph\u0153be (2); see Diana.\n\n  Ph\u0153bus; see Apollo.\n\n  Ph\u0153nicia, 167.\n\n  Ph\u0153nix, 167.\n\n  Phosphor, 372.\n\n  Phrygia, 173, 360.\n\n  Phryxus, 266.\n\n  Phthia, 317.\n\n  Pillars of Hercules, 221, 365.\n\n  Pine-Bender; see Sinis.\n\n  Pirene, 254, 256.\n\n  Pirithous, 279, 301-303.\n\n  Pleiades, 58.\n\n  Plenty, Goddess of; see Fortuna.\n\n  Plexippus, 281.\n\n  Pluto, 3, 112, 127, 129, 135, 137-147, 229, 302, 349.\n\n  Plutus, 352-353.\n\n  Pollux, 268, 279, 303, 371.\n\n  Polybus, 306.\n\n  Polydectes, 237-238.\n\n  Polyhymnia, 345.\n\n  Polyidus, 254.\n\n  Polynices, 311, 314-316.\n\n  Polyphemus, 153.\n\n  Pomona, 210-211.\n\n  Pontus, 347.\n\n  Portumnus; see Pal\u00e6mon, 359.\n\n  Poseidon; see Neptune.\n\n  Praxiteles, 337.\n\n  Priam, 230, 320, 322.\n\n  Priapus, 187.\n\n  Procne, 343-344.\n\n  Procris, 207-208, 362.\n\n  Procrustes, 290-291.\n\n  Pr\u0153tus, 251.\n\n  Prometheus, 4-6, 138, 224.\n\n  Proserpina, 91, 127-135, 142, 302, 352.\n\n  Proserpine; see Proserpina.\n\n  Proteus, 157, 159, 223-224, 358.\n\n  Psyche, 81-92.\n\n  Psychopompus; see Mercury.\n\n  Pygmalion, 104-106, 342.\n\n  Pygmies, 224-225, 365.\n\n  Pyramus, 97-100, 341.\n\n  Pyrrha, 19, 328.\n\n  Pytheus; see Apollo.\n\n  Pythia, 329.\n\n  Pythian Games, 329.\n\n  Python, 36, 329, 332.\n\n\n  Quirinal, Mt., 346.\n\n  Quirinalia, 246.\n\n  Quirinus, 345.\n\n\n  Remus, 118.\n\n  Rhadamanthus, 142.\n\n  Rhea, 137, 173, 286, 348-349.\n\n  Rhea Silvia, 117.\n\n  Rh\u0153cus, 191-192, 362.\n\n  Romulus, 118, 345.\n\n\n  Sagittarius, 216.\n\n  Salii, 119.\n\n  Salmoneus, 146.\n\n  Saturn, 137, 348-349.\n\n  Satyrs, 172, 183, 360.\n\n  Sciron, 289.\n\n  Scylla, 162-164.\n\n  Scyros, 305.\n\n  Scythia, 136.\n\n  Seasons, 373.\n\n  Selene; see Diana.\n\n  Semele, 167-171.\n\n  Seriphus, 237.\n\n  Servius Tullius, 346.\n\n  Sestus, 100.\n\n  Seven against Thebes, 315.\n\n  Seven Wonders, 327.\n\n  Sicily, 127, 131.\n\n  Silenus, 172, 179-180.\n\n  Silvia; see Rhea Silvia.\n\n  Sinis, 290.\n\n  Sirius, 57.\n\n  Sisyphus, 111, 147, 251.\n\n  Sleep, Cave of, 148-151, 206.\n\n  Sleep, God of, 148.\n\n  Sleep, Spirit of, 92.\n\n  Sol; see Apollo.\n\n  Somnus, 148.\n\n  Sparta, 303, 322.\n\n  Speaking Oak, 267.\n\n  Sphinx, 309-310.\n\n  Stellio, 130.\n\n  Stretcher, The; see Procrustes.\n\n  Stymphalus, Lake, 217.\n\n  Styx, 49, 72, 141, 170.\n\n  Sylvanus, 210.\n\n  Symplegades, 270-271, 368.\n\n  Syrinx, 184.\n\n\n  Talus, 295-296, 299.\n\n  Tantalus, 111, 145.\n\n  Tartarus, 137, 139, 143-148, 348.\n\n  Telamon, 230, 279-280.\n\n  Telephassa, 167.\n\n  Tellus; see G\u00e6a.\n\n  Tereus, 343.\n\n  Terpsichore, 345.\n\n  Terra; see G\u00e6a.\n\n  Tethys, 152.\n\n  Thalia, 344, 373.\n\n  Thanatos; see Mors.\n\n  Thebes, 107, 121, 168, 171, 173, 306, 308-309, 311-314, 326.\n\n  Themis, 81, 138, 143, 348.\n\n  Theophane, 156.\n\n  Theseus, 218, 268, 277, 279-280, 286-305, 330.\n\n  Thesmophoria, 351.\n\n  Thessaly, 33, 189, 355.\n\n  Thetis, 153, 316-318, 348.\n\n  Thisbe, 97-100, 341.\n\n  Thrace, 218, 269.\n\n  Thunderer, The; see Jupiter.\n\n  Thyrsus, the, 359.\n\n  Tiber, 195-196, 337.\n\n  Tisiphone, 144, 171.\n\n  Titanides, 348.\n\n  Titans, 137-138, 152, 347-348.\n\n  Tithonus, 208, 362-363.\n\n  Tityus, 147.\n\n  Tmolus, 41.\n\n  Toxeus, 281.\n\n  Triptolemus, 136.\n\n  Triton, 157.\n\n  Troy, 79, 116, 154, 194, 220, 320.\n\n  Tuccia, 196.\n\n\n  Ulysses, 202-203, 330.\n\n  Urania, 345.\n\n  Uranus, 347-348.\n\n\n  Veneralia, 339.\n\n  Venus, 78-80, 82-83, 89-92, 105, 126, 284-285, 319-321, 337-339.\n\n  Venus of Milo, 327.\n\n  Vertumnus, 210-211.\n\n  Vesta, 117, 136, 193-197, 349.\n\n  Vestalia, 197.\n\n  Vestals, 195-196.\n\n  Vesuvius, 139.\n\n  Victoria, 372.\n\n  Vulcan, 76-78, 123-126, 285, 346.\n\n  Vulcanalia, 347.\n\n\n  Winds, 200-201, 203.\n\n  Winds, Tower of the, 203.\n\n  Wizard of the Deep; see Proteus.\n\n\n  Zephyrus, 68, 83, 86, 133, 201, 203, 209.\n\n  Zetes, 204.\n\n  Zethus, 342.\n\n  Zeus; see Jupiter.\n\n  Zodiac, 303.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n\n[1] See Appendix, page 325.\n\n[2] See Appendix, page 327.\n\n[3] See Appendix, page 327.\n\n[4] See Appendix, page 328.\n\n[5] See Appendix, page 328.\n\n[6] See Appendix, page 329.\n\n[7] From the Greek word \"parthenos,\" which means \"maiden.\"\n\n[8] See Appendix, page 331.\n\n[9] See Appendix, page 332.\n\n[10] See Appendix, page 332.\n\n[11] See Appendix, page 334.\n\n[12] See Appendix, page 333.\n\n[13] See Appendix, page 334.\n\n[14] See Appendix, page 334.\n\n[15] See Appendix, page 335.\n\n[16] See Appendix, page 335.\n\n[17] Mercury's wand was called the Caduceus.\n\n[18] See Appendix, page 335.\n\n[19] Cf. \"Story of Cyparissus,\" Appendix, page 336.\n\n[20] See Appendix, page 336.\n\n[21] See Appendix, page 337.\n\n[22] See Appendix, page 338.\n\n[23] See Appendix, page 340.\n\n[24] See Appendix, page 341.\n\n[25] See Appendix, page 341.\n\n[26] See Appendix, page 341.\n\n[27] See Appendix, page 342.\n\n[28] See the \"Story of Dirce,\" Appendix, page 342.\n\n[29] See Appendix, page 345.\n\n[30] See Appendix, page 343.\n\n[31] See Appendix, page 345.\n\n[32] She was also known as Ilia.\n\n[33] See page 74.\n\n[34] See Appendix, page 346.\n\n[35] See page 76.\n\n[36] See Appendix, page 349.\n\n[37] See Appendix, page 351.\n\n[38] See Appendix page 350.\n\n[39] See Appendix, page 347.\n\n[40] Appendix, page 357.\n\n[41] See Appendix, page 352.\n\n[42] Also called Erinnys or Eumenides. Their names were Alecto,\nTisiphone, and Meg\u00e6ra. See Appendix, page 353.\n\n[43] See Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, Book XI, line 590, etc.\n\n[44] See \"Story of Ce\u00ffx and Halcyone,\" Appendix, page 355.\n\n[45] Two gates of sleep there are: one of horn, through which pass\nthe true dreams; the other of shining white ivory, through which the\nspirits send false dreams up to the world.\n\n[46] Pale Death steps with the same foot to the huts of the poor and\nthe palaces of kings.\n\n[47] See Appendix, page 356.\n\n[48] See Appendix, page 357.\n\n[49] See page 36.\n\n[50] See page 230.\n\n[51] See Appendix, page 356.\n\n[52] See page 110.\n\n[53] See Appendix, page 359.\n\n[54] See \"Story of the Dragon's Teeth,\" page 121.\n\n[55] See Appendix, page 359.\n\n[56] See page 164.\n\n[57] See page 113.\n\n[58] Old name for Naxos.\n\n[59] See page 299.\n\n[60] See page 40.\n\n[61] See Appendix, page 360.\n\n[62] \"Pactolus singeth over golden sands.\"--GRAY.\n\n[63] See Appendix, page 361.\n\n[64] See Appendix, page 360.\n\n[65] See Appendix, page 361.\n\n[66] See Appendix, page 362.\n\n[67] Here in a vast cave, King \u00c6olus keeps under his control the\nstruggling winds and roaring tempests, and holds them chained in\nprison. They, chafing at restraint, surge against their barriers with\nthe great rumbling of a mountain. \u00c6olus sits in a lofty stronghold,\nholding a scepter, and soothes their feeling and softens their wrath.\nIf he did not do this, they would surely carry with them in rapid\ncourse the seas and lands and the deep sky and sweep these with them to\nthe high heavens.\n\n[68] See page 269.\n\n[69] See Appendix, page 362.\n\n[70] See Appendix, page 362.\n\n[71] See Appendix, page 362.\n\n[72] See Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, Book XIV, line 645.\n\n[73] See Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, Book XIV, line 655.\n\n[74] See Appendix, page 363.\n\n[75] Some authorities state that Hippolyte was not killed, but lived to\nmarry the hero Theseus. See page 301.\n\n[76] See page 155.\n\n[77] See Appendix, page 364.\n\n[78] See page 6.\n\n[79] See Appendix, page 365.\n\n[80] See Appendix, page 365.\n\n[81] According to some stories, Atlas was the father of the Hesperides\nand owner of the Garden.\n\n[82] See page 302.\n\n[83] See page 35.\n\n[84] See page 155.\n\n[85] See page 145.\n\n[86] See Appendix, page 366.\n\n[87] See Appendix, page 366.\n\n[88] See Appendix, page 367.\n\n[89] See Appendix, page 367.\n\n[90] See Appendix, page 367.\n\n[91] See page 243.\n\n[92] Hawthorne's _Wonder Book_, \"The Chim\u00e6ra.\"\n\n[93] See Appendix, page 368.\n\n[94] See Appendix, page 368.\n\n[95] See page 121.\n\n[96] See Appendix, page 369.\n\n[97] Sometimes given as Glauce.\n\n[98] Sometimes given as Milanion.\n\n[99] Ovid, _Metam._, Book X, line 610.\n\n[100] See Appendix, page 370.\n\n[101] See page 218.\n\n[102] See Appendix, page 370.\n\n[103] See page 179.\n\n[104] Some authorities say that it was Hippolyte whom Theseus married,\nand that she was therefore not slain by Hercules. This is the story\nthat Shakespeare adopted in \"Midsummer-Night's Dream.\"\n\n[105] See page 74.\n\n[106] See Appendix, page 371.\n\n[107] See page 229.\n\n[108] See Appendix, page 371.\n\n[109] Sophocles, _\u0152dipus the King_.\n\n[110] See Appendix, pages 371, 372.\n\n[111] This was the same Creon whose daughter Megara had married\nHercules.\n\n[112] See page 234.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\n\nIn versions of this eBook that cannot display Greek (page 355), only\nthe author's transliterations are included.\n\nPunctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a\npredominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not\nchanged.\n\nSimple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced\nquotation marks retained.\n\nAmbiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.\n\nWhen accent marks or spelling of some Index entries differed from the\nreferenced text, the Index entries were changed. However, the Index was\nnot systematically checked for such errors.\n\nIllustrations: the \"Venus de Milo\" listed as facing page 78 was missing\nfrom the copy of the book used to prepare this etext.\n\nPage 95: \"cool stream\" was misprinted as \"cool steam\".\n\nPage 150: \"quarumaltera\" is a misprint for \"quarum altera\".\n\nPage 201: \"Sceptratenens\" is a misprint for \"Sceptra tenens\";\n\"temperatiras\" is a misprint for \"temperat iras\".\n\nPage 307: \"bewailing the cruel fat\" must be a misprint for \"fate\".\n\nPage 356: \"Pelops'\" was misprinted as \"Pelop's\"; changed here.\n\nPage 370: \"Euripides\" was printed as \"Eurypides\", but was changed to\nmatch the spelling on two other pages.","title":"Stories of Old Greece and Rome","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":85735}